By dlynn
dlynn1550@my-deja.com
 
 
 

CATAGORY:         x-file, MSR
SPOILERS:         Calusari, Amor Fati
RATING:           PG-13
SUMMARY:          I was always intrigued with the ending
                  to Calusari.  The face of evil is sometimes
                  closer than you think.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:   This is my first 200k plus story.
                  And to say that I'm freaking out about
                  posting this would be the understatement
                  of the year. This story is complete. I will
                  post 2 chapters every other day so as not to
                  totally clog your mailbox. I should have the
                  entire story up at my webpage in a couple of
                  days.
FEEDBACK:         dlynn1550@my-deja.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Specific acknowledgements can be found
                  after the epilogue along with additional author
                  notes.
DISCLAIMERS:      We all know Mulder, Scully and company
                  are not mine. However, the original characters
                  interacting with them are. But, hey, I borrow his;
                  CC, can borrow mine...he just can't make any money
                  off of them...

My other stories can be found at http://home.mpinet.net/laster

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

THE FACE OF EVIL by dlynn

"The evil that is here has always been. It has gone by
different names through history - Cain, Lucifer,
Hitler. It does not care if it kills one boy or a
million men.It is over, for now. But you must be
careful {Agent Mulder}. It knows you."
 
~ The Calusari
 

"The strange case of Charlie Holvey and the deaths
that occurred during his possession by a dark and
malevolent force are unsolved.The boy, who will
celebrate his tenth birthday next month, remains under
the watchful care of his mother. And though I believe
him innocent of the crimes, I am disturbed by the
warnings of the Calusari that neither innocence nor
vigilance may be protection against the howling heart
of evil. "
 
~ Special Agent Fox Mulder
 

PROLOGUE:

Manny Fielding stood at the door of the warehouse,
still puzzling as to why he'd be called down here at
this godforsaken time of the night. It's not like life
would end if this meeting were held in the morning.
Nothing crucial would be decided tonight, anyway.

But, Manny was a good little worker bee. He followed
directions, didn't question orders or authority. If
someone said, "Jump!", Manny asked, "How high?" Manny
had a perfect grasp of priorities. Of what was
important in life, or at the very least, what was
important to him. And at the top of his list, was
money. Lots and lots of money. Whoever said, "Money
couldn't buy happiness," was obviously someone who
didn't have any. 'Cause as far as Manny was concerned,
having money was pure joy and it was amazing the
happiness he could buy with a lot of jingle in his
pockets.

Manny Fielding was a good showman; he talked a good
talk, all about neighborhood revitalization and
enterprise zones and putting the spit and polish back
on the old neighborhood. In fact, he was so good with
his delivery that he got himself elected to the city
council under the auspices of "local businessman
fights for his own." The underdog heralded in as the
rising star of the political arena. He was a man with
a lot of moxie, who appeared fearless when taking on
the political big wigs. Too bad the general public
wasn't privy to the machinations that really put Manny
in office.

The average person on the street didn't know about
Manny's true strong armed connections, didn't know
that their local boy, gone bigtime, was just an errand
boy, just a tool used by powerful men, trying to make
powerful deals. Strategically placing Manny on the
zoning commission was just the ticket for their
calculated schemes.

Manny, for his part, couldn't see the conflict of
working for the neighborhood and working for himself.
After all, what was good for Manny, could be sold as a
'bill of goods' to the sheep that followed him. The
neighborhood needed jobs, couldn't grow without jobs.
Too bad block after city block of small mom and pop
stores, the backbone of the neighborhood, would have
to go, making room for progress. The kind of progress
his friends had in mind would benefit no one but
themselves. And of course, Manny, if he kept to his
P's and Q's.

Chuckling to himself, Manny eased his way into the
warehouse. Having seen no other cars nearby, he
figured he must be the first to arrive. He still
didn't understand why they couldn't have had this
meeting at Cenare's like they'd had all the rest. A
little pasta for the soul, while they conducted the
business of the wallet. Now that was just his ticket.

Scowling, he flicked the switch for the overhead
lighting. Manny reached into his pocket for the little
flashlight attached to his key chain. This was
ridiculous. How were you expected to conduct business
in a drafty old warehouse, in the darkness of night,
without a single bit of light? As he shined the small
penlight an entire four or five feet distance out from his
body, he began to feel a coldness in the air.

It was like someone had just opened a door or window,
bringing in with them a gust of frigid air. Tugging
the collar of his camel hair overcoat more securely
around his neck, Manny yelled into the darkness.

"Minelli, that you?"

"Thomason, Ferrante.. You guys out there?"

Receiving no answer from the darkness, not even the
whisper of scurrying rats or the natural creaking
inherent to any old building, gave an unnatural
eeriness to the surroundings. Manny was acutely aware
he was in the middle of a bad section of town, in the
wee hours of a night, in an empty building that, quite
frankly, was beginning to scare the shit out of him.

"Ok Manny, old man, you were here, they're not. Time
to blow this popsicle stand," he murmured, reaching
behind him to open the door and head back to his car.
Grasping the door latch, he gave it a quick tug
downward. Prepared to slide the metal door sideways,
he was surprised when the latch didn't move; the door
didn't open. Swinging the light forward to illuminate
the large metal door and frame, Manny cursed under his
breath.

"Son of a bitch door. What's the matter with you?"

Putting his penlight between his teeth, he grabbed the
door handle with both hands and gave it a mighty yank.
Feeling hard resistance to even his most forceful
yanking, Manny began to lose his cool. Even though the
room was enormous, he was claustrophobic by nature and
he was already begin to feel terror closing in on him.

Sweat poured down his forehead and the back of his
neck, sweeping into the collar of his $50.00, neatly
pressed, dress shirt. Suddenly, there was a cloying,
ominous aspect to the room. This was more than feeling
"the creeps." He felt a malevolent presence drawing
close.

Swinging his head around, Manny swore he heard
breathing. Great gulping gasps of breath coming from
only a few short yards behind him. Coming closer  with
each breath, coming closer like every childhood night
terror imaginable finally laying claim to the waking
hours.

Shadows, large and luminous, tread around him. Each
one parried and thrust, skirted and lunged, tasting
his flesh with groaning sighs. It was though the
specters were a congregation of witnesses, gathered
around awaiting retribution.

"Shit!", he screamed, kicking at the door with a
mixture of panic and frustration.

"Thomason, if that's you, man, trying to play out one
of your freakin ideas of practical joke, this is not
funny. If I getta hold of you, I swear.."

Large hands grasped the back of Manny's shoulders,
pulling him into a solid chest. The same arms, quickly
wrapped themselves around Manny's 5'8'' frame,
encircling him like a vice, squeezing just enough to
let Manny know who was in control.

Gasping for breath, as he felt his chest compressed,
Manny stuttered, "What...what...do you want? You
want...money...I got money..."

Hot, humid breath stroked his ear, laying claim on his
heart, on his soul. Manny knew this wasn't a simple
mugging. He felt the presence of death... It might have
been disguised in human form, but death was there.

Then he heard its voice, raspy and low, quoting
scripture.

"...I will accept you as fragrant incense, when I bring
you from the nations and gather you from the countries
where you have scattered, and I will show myself holy
among you..There you will remember your conduct and
all the actions by which you have defiled yourselves,
and you will loathe yourselves for all the evil you
have done."

Cold fingers grabbed the side of his head, painfully
turning Manny to face the terror behind him. Manny's
eyes focused on a face, contorted with anger and
anguish.

"You..." Manny whispered.

With that last word came a final inhuman breath,
excruciatingly hot, hissing into Manny's ear.  He felt
Hades' all consuming heat and knew he'd seen the face
of evil.
 

Manny Fielding, a 48-year-old small time hoodlum from
DC, burst into flames.

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER ONE:
 

TUESDAY MORNING

"Meg, slow down, damn it!"

"Look, Les...lie, if you can't keep up, you need to work
on your conditioning.  No holding me back, handsome.
I've got places to go, people to see..." Meg trailed
off, spinning around a large parked van.

"Places to go, people to see... I'll give you places
to go...in fact, I can think of a few places, I'd like
to send you...you ungrateful--"

"Tsk, tsk, darling," Meg said, accosting Les as he
swung around the same van. "Is that the way you speak
to the love of your life?"

Planting a fast, hard kiss on his startled lips, she
took off running again. Shouting over her shoulder,
she exclaimed,  "Stay with me Hon and we'll have that
Emmy, this year!"

"Darn it, woman, it doesn't matter how quickly you get
there. I got all the camera equipment!" Les yelled,
buried beneath two different video cams, cables and
camera bags.  Hiking the largest bag up, as it slid
down his shoulder for only the hundredth time this
last 100 yards, Leslie Franklyn sprinted behind the
red-headed blur of his wife.

"You married her, you idiot... Accepted her
proposal...whatever possessed you...brains God gave a
goose...little bitty city girl ran you over like
Sherman, burning through Atlanta." Mumbled Les,
catching up with his wife, who was stopped short at
the yellow line of police tape.

He chuckled as he watched her; arms gesturing wildly,
face impassioned and nose to nose with the poor
officer who had been tasked with keeping the
spectators back from the crime scene. He didn't know
it yet, the young cop, but he had met his match in Meg
Michaels, investigative reporter extraordinare and a
holy terror to any poor shmuck who got in her way. If
tenacity described the personality of a bulldog, than
Meg was a Bulldog, with a capital B or a major pain in
the Ass, with a capital A.

Depended on your perspective.

"Look you don't seem to understand, Officer...Mason. We
got a tip that something was going down at this
warehouse. I have camera back-up and I plan on doing a
live remote from this location, " Meg ranted.

"No, you don't understand... Ms. Michaels. I've got my
orders and one of them is to keep all spectators,
including press outside the police barricade. Now, if
you want, you can set up over there," Officer Mason
said, pointing in the general direction from where
they had just come. "But, that is as close as you're
coming."

Turning her back disgustedly, Meg headed back towards
Les.  Impatiently shoving several curly strands of hair away
from her face, Meg glared at her husband. "If they
think they're gonna keep us out of there, they don't
know me very well."

"Look, Meg, I told you we were never gonna get in
through the front door. What did you expect? An
engraved invitation... a welcomin' party?... Y'all come in
for a spell, take a load off, snap a few pictures,"
Les whispered, turning Meg so their conversation
remained as private as possible.

"I  got an idea, Meg, I want you to go back and 'talk' to
the nice Officer Mason."

"Les, that's not going to help. That kid's gonna hold
his post if Saddam Hussein, himself, storms the gates.
He's not gonna let me sweet talk him."

"No, sweet talkin's not exactly what I was aimin' for
here, Miss Pain in the Butt. I was hopin' for more
vinegar, than sugar... A little pee and vinegar... what
you do so well..."

"You want a distraction?"

"Now... you're with me, Sugar. You keep sweet cheeks
occupied and I'll do the rest. I think I see a way in.
at least I'll get us some film.  We can edit you in
after I grab the pictures."

Grabbing Les by his ears and yanking his head down to
hers,  Meg proceeded, in front of God and country, to
give him a tonsillectomy. Just when he was getting
into the swing of things, she pushed him away.

"As much as I'm enjoying your sweet cheeks, dahlin',
let's get this show on the road," she retorted,
heading back to butt heads with Officer 'You can't
come past the yellow tape.' If Les needed a
distraction, she could do distraction. Look out Mr.
Officer Man, here she comes.

Watching Meg stalk off to do battle with the lion
sentinel, Les chuckled, almost wishing he could remain
and watch the upcoming show. But, he knew time was
precious and it was time to move his Southern ass into
position. Dropping most of his equipment into the back
of the van, Les placed a small camcorder beneath his
jacket. He sauntered over to a large clump of bushes,
pulled out a pack of cigarettes, extracting one and
lighting up. Exhaling deeply, he tried to appear
nonchalant to the increasing volume of Meg's tirade as
she went into full attack mode.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lovely
spitfire, purposefully drop her very large briefcase
on the poor cop's foot. As the cop bent down to
examine the damage, Meg dropped down on her haunches
beside him, effectively blocking Officer Mason's view
of her husband. With a quick thumb to finger OK signal
behind her back, she proceeded to let the 'Shugah'
flow. Shoveling it thick, she was all apologetic to
poor Officer Mason about her clumsiness and churlish
attitude.

Taking advantage of her tour de force performance, Les
dropped his cigarette and ducked into the bushes. He'd
spotted a section of broken window just behind this clump of
bushes. The cover of the foliage should give him just
enough protection from prying eyes. Scooting his
camcorder over his head, he held it against the
opening. Fear of being noticed demanded he keep his
head ducked beneath the foliage. Slowly, he blindly
panned the camera around the room--back and forth, back
and forth.
 
He hoped the murder scene was in this main area of the
warehouse. He could hear voices but not the
discussion. Maybe he'd get lucky, 'cause if it took
place somewhere else, he'd be up a creek without a
paddle.

This was his sole shot.

Fearing he might be pressing his luck, Les placed the
camcorder back underneath his jacket. Peering through
the bushes, he could see a crowd had now gathered
around his wife and Officer Mason. Taking advantage of
the natural wall they provided, he slipped out of the
bushes, ambling back to their van.

Catching Meg's eye, he signaled her over. He wanted to
get them and the video out of there before anyone
became the wiser.

Watching her walk through the crowd, acknowledging the
hellos of several who realized there was a celebrity
among them, Les was once again amazed at the adept way
Meg handled herself. She was definitely born to be the
center of attention. Put that with her "nose for news"
and you had a winning combination.

"You got it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Let's get in the van and give it a
gander."

                 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 

Hoover Building, the X-Files basement office
TUESDAY EVENING ~7:00pm
 

Scully remained just inside the door to their office,
poised at the point of entry, quiet in her
contemplation. The light was diffuse, the overhead
fluorescent and track lights, unlit. Because of the
lateness of the hour, the one small window
illuminating their basement cave, was dark. Only thin
slivers of warmth from the street lamps above, seeped
into the darkness. Most likely the glow escaped
peripherally from security lighting surrounding the
Hoover Building, weaving its way gently down into
their small realm.

The only real illumination in the room was situated in
the far-left corner. A small desk lamp provided sharp
contrast to the diluted black encompassing most of the
office.

There, at the desk, huddled over a montage of
pictures, sat her partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder.
The pariah of the bureau, yet also a brilliant analyst
and profiler. Her professional partner for the last
seven years, her private...what, partner...lover..."pain in
the butt", for a mere few months.

A sense of deja vu filled her heart, seeing him like
this. His suitcoat was thrown haphazardly in the
corner, over a stack of papers. White shirt sleeves
rolled up, his eyes were intent on what he was
examining. Except for the glasses, which should be on
his face and not unceremniously shoved aside, this
tableau reminded her of their first formal meeting.

Then, the reading glasses were perched on his face,
giving respite to eyes worn weary from contact lenses.
Today, the glasses mocked him from the desk, a
testament to time's passage. They were no longer a
substitute for contacts, but a ncessity for reading.
It was an inevitablity Mulder stubbornly refused to
embrace.

Seven years ago, his cockiness was sure, his
exuberance "catching". Today, he was still audacious,
but it was tempered with layers of life changing
experiences. Impudence used as a defense mechanism,
walling him off from the taunts of others, did not
define his life as it once had. With age, and life's
journeys, came a maturity and knowledge that the
stakes were so much higher than just being considered
one of the "FBI's most unwanted."

His aggravating arrogance was still there. His
exasperating habit of leapfrogging over people with
his theories and logic still prevailed. The quickness
of his mind, rarely affording time for others to catch
up, expressed itself with unending and unbending
regularity. But, if you looked deeply, if you knew him
well enough to get past his mask of arrogance - like
she and only a handful of others did - then you saw a
sad wisdom clouding his eyes.  He was concerned for
those who weren't privy to all he knew and all he had
seen. And, just past the edges of that compassion,
there was fear... fear that they wouldn't be able to
stem the coming apocalypse.

Watching him, his eyes still glued to one of the
pictures clutched in his hand, she saw his other hand
sweep through the paper litter trying to snag his
glasses. Walking forward a few paces, she reached over
his shoulder, grabbed the glasses by the earpiece and
gently situated them upon his face.

Crooking his arm around her waist, drawing her in for
a momentary hug, Mulder sheepishly acknowledged his
vanity. "Thanks, Scully. Don't lecture, I was putting
them on. I just forgot."

"Uh...huh... until the little print all kind of washed
together, right, Mulder?"

"Actually, if you think about it, Scully, the overall
lighting in here does leave a lot to be desired. I'm
sure my recent far-sidedness could be attributed to
that," he said watching her walk over to the wall by
the door, hanging her coat on the hook.

Stretching high to replace a reference text, Mulder
admired the line of her leg. Ok. This was the office,
those thoughts were strictly verboten, here. but you
can't blame a guy when a skirt is stretched taut and
elevated just enough to reveal shapely calves. He was
her professional partner at work, but he was also a
man. And he sure as hell admired her legs before they
began sleeping together. Why would a little "non-
fraternization at work" rule  negate that continued
pleasure.

After all, he wasn't touching...yet. Just thinking about
it.

Sensing his eyes upon her, Scully voiced over her
shoulder.

"Once it's entered your thoughts, the sin's already
been committed, Mulder," she said, uncannily reading
his desires.

"Scully, I'd accept a few Hail Scully's for this
transgression. You sure you wouldn't like to 'lift'
the hands-off at work policy, just this once?"

"Mulder, I'd say there's probably enough heavy-lifting
going on. I think..."

The ringing of the telephone interrupted Scully's
lecture. Mulder snapped up the receiver, just as she
slid the last reference text on to the shelf.

Coming up behind Mulder, she watched him grab a
notepad from his desk, hurriedly scribbling notes and
occasionally making comments like, "yes, Sir... I
understand, sir. We'll be there, Sir."

Putting the phone back in its cradle, Mulder said,
"Ever watch Channel 9 News, Scully? Or, more
specifically, ever seen anything by the investigative
reporting team of...uh... Michaels and Franklyn?"

"Yeah. They're good. At least in coming up with the
latest and breakingest that D.C. has to offer. I think
they broke that whole... Stedman kickback thing a
couple of months ago."

"Yep, that's them. They want to talk to us."

"What?"

"They say they're doing a piece on male/female
partnerships within various professions. Apparently,
they've heard of us, the X-Files, and they have some
clout to back them up. So Skinner's been told to have
us talk to them. We meet with Skinner first thing
tomorrow morning followed by lunch with the reporters."

"Mulder, what is this? We finally move this
partnership into a more personal realm and now all of
a sudden we're wanted for interviews? This hasn't set
your paranoia radar bleeping faster than the speed of
light?"

Plopping down in her seat in front of his desk, Scully
looked painfully in Mulder's direction. She was still
getting used to the idea of having him as a lover; she
wasn't ready to promote it for general discussion
around the water cooler.

Noting the clouds chasing her eyes, Mulder reached
across the desk, grasping her hand. Stroking her
fingers as he spoke, he said, "Scully, first of all,
just because we've been "discreet" doesn't mean that
no one knows..."

"But, suspecting and having it confirmed in glorious
Technicolor on the 11:00pm news is not the same thing.
We still don't know what the ramifications of this
could be for our professional partnership, for the X-
Files...should this became common knowledge."

"No, we don't. But we are being naive if we don't
think that "they" already know. You and I are
probably under surveillance most of the time, you know
that."

Stilling his touch and grasping his hand firmly,
Scully answered, "Yes, I do. And you know the tough
time I've had getting past the thought of being
someone's personal cinematic feature, Mulder... I ...
just question the timing of this, that's all."

Mulder pulled his hand from Scully's, got up from the
desk and walked around to where she was seated. Taking
her hand once again, he pulled her to her feet.
Placing his arms around her slender form, he pulled
her in close. He rested his head on her auburn hair,
inhaling the sweet floral smell that still lingered,
from the shampoo she'd used earlier that day. The
image of his hands stroking the lotion through her
hair in the shower that morning came unbidden to his
mind's eye.

As he broke from her, grabbing their coats and waiting
for her to catch the lights and lock the door, he
vowed.

Nothing would come between he and Scully, nothing at
all.

continued in chapter 2

             If it weren't for such a wonderful beta
             team, I'd have been lost: Dilbert, Paige Caldwell,
             Frogdoggie, Tara Avery, Exley_61, GS and my
             cheerleaders Sabine, Carol Sue and
             Iona.

Scripture reference:
Ezekial 20:41,43
 
---
dlynn

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 

CHAPTER 2:

X-Files Office
WEDNESDAY MORNING

Mulder tossed his overcoat onto the hook beside the door,
slipped into his desk chair and booted up his computer.
Grabbing a quick and painful gulp of hot coffee, he
downloaded his e-mail and checked his watch. Ok he wasn't
totally behind schedule. Still had ten minutes to make it
to Skinner's office. No problemo. He'd have a whole two
minutes to spare, record time as far as he was concerned.

He should have had more. It was all Scully's fault. If she
hadn't accosted him in the shower this morning, he
wouldn't be scrambling now.  However, as his mind drifted
to their spontaneous slippery slide beneath her Water Pik
shower massager, he figured the extra ass chewing he'd get
from Skinner for his tardiness was a very small price to
pay. On one proverbial hand he had wet, slippery Scully.
On the other, he had Skinner's morning coffee klatch.
Hardly worth the brain cells wasted debating that.

Swigging one more scalding mouthful for the road, Mulder
grabbed his suit jacket, turned off the light and
locked his office door. Striding purposefully for the
elevator, he pondered the upcoming meeting. Apparently
Skinner felt the need to brief them about their afternoon
tete a tete with Michaels and Franklyn. He was still
wondering about the timing. As much as he'd assured Scully
it was purely coincidental, he couldn't help but consider
the uncanny coincidence.

Mulder heard the distinctive ping heralding his arrival at
Skinner's floor. Walking swiftly from the elevator, he
heard a soft cat call whistle from directly behind him.
Not even altering his stride, Mulder ignored his petite
partner. It was good to see Scully running behind as well.
His wouldn't be the only posterior receiving Skinner's
none too gentle attentions.

Kimberly, Skinner's secretary, looked up from her desk
just as Mulder and Scully entered the office.

"He's waiting. Go right in," she said, barely lifting her
head from her dictation. As he passed by her desk, Mulder
leaned in and murmured just low enough for Kimberly's
ears.
 

"Where's the pool standing now?"

"Betting's 60-40 against the deed."

"Really, that's a swing from last week."

"Yeah, but Roberts in transportation, saw the look she
gave you last week," Kim said, glancing up from her
paperwork. Seeing his puzzled expression, she elaborated,
"The one she gave you when you told her she was going to
get a nose bleed wearing those blue, clunky heeled shoes."

"They even knew the color of the shoes?"

"Yep, shoe color and tie design. Anyway, they figure if
you've already done the deed, she's tossed you out."

"And, if we haven't?"

"Care to make a poor working girl rich?" Kim chuckled.

"Agent Mulder...Don't let us disturb you."
Skinner's voice boomed through the open door.

"Ouch!" Mulder shrugged. "Sorry ... I'd better get in
there."

Getting up from the desk, Mulder dropped a "Jackson" on
top Kim's file folders. Searching his face, noting earnest
hazel eyes, she pocketed the money ... She'd better stop at
the ATM on her lunch hour. She needed to increase her bet.
Mama needed a new pair of shoes, maybe blue and clunky.

Mulder entered Skinner's office, passing Scully already
seated in her customary seat. Pulling out his own chair,
he looked up to see Skinner sizing him up and down.

"What?" Mulder asked, resisting the urge to check his fly.

"Do you have an objection to doing this interview, Agent
Mulder?"

"Sir?"

"Do you have an objection to doing this interview? I took
your tardiness in joining Agent Scully and I here just now
as a less than enthusiastic response on your part to
participating with this interview. I'm asking you if I
have misinterpreted your behavior."

"You're serious about our going through with this public
relations ploy?" Mulder retorted, his voice just shy of
sarcasm.

Skinner's jaw clenched tight.

"Yes, I'm serious, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied, drawing
himself up in his chair, into a ramrod straight posture.
"You may feel this is wasted PR but I don't and neither does
Director Freeh. Whether you like it or not, you and Agent
Scully have been deemed perfect subjects for this story. So,
you "will" talk with Michaels and Franklyn and you "will"
behave. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" the AD finished
tersely.

"Yes, sir," Scully answered, glaring daggers at her
partner.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir. I will give this interview my complete
attention. Every ounce of merit, it's due," Mulder replied
dutifully.

Taking a calming breath, Skinner relaxed his shoulders slightly.
When he spoke again his voice was conciliatory.

"Look, Agent Mulder...for what it's worth you and Agent Scully
were picked to give this interview because I volunteered your
names. They were looking for outstanding male/female partnerships
to spotlight. You and Scully stand out...well at least you do as
far as this AD is concerned," Skinner replied, clearing his
throat. "A high solve rate coupled with an efficient and well
tuned working relationship is a hard thing to pass up, Mulder.
Apparently those above us had the same idea for once. So...
take this as a compliment and run with it," Skinner
continued, reaching across his desk for a file. "Don't look
for conspiracies when they aren't there," he finished, looking
down and opening the file in front of him.

"You saying a rose would still smell sweet?"

"By any other name, Mulder. And sometimes a cigar is just
a cigar.."

"Unless your name's Monica Lewinsky, sir," Scully
murmured, getting up from her chair to leave the room.

Skinner's much vaunted reserve was almost breached...almost
broken...but not quite. A small twitch of his lips and a tiny
in drawn breath acknowledged he'd heard Scully's remark as
he called Kimberly into the office.
 

Mulder followed behind Scully, giving his partner an overtly
affectionate glance. He had an expression on his face that
said "I made that." As they reached the door, Skinner's
rumbling voice drew their attention back to him.

"Agent Mulder?" he added, handing a file to Kimberly.

"Yes, sir."

Skinner looked pointedly at both agents.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't watch your backs."

"Never out of my sight, sir," Mulder said, watching Scully
head out the door. "Never out of my sight."
 
 

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 

Flagherty's Pub
1:00Pm

Flagherty's wasn't "Cheers." Norm didn't sit at the bar
nursing suds, Cliff didn't regale the patrons with stupid,
nonsense trivia, and Sam Malone, ladies man without equal,
was not tending bar.

But Bud Flagherty probably knew your name. If you had been
to Flagherty's once and made the smallest attempt at
conversation with the barkeep, Bud knew your name. Doesn't
mean he'd call you by it. Far from it, Bud was always
messin' with the patrons' names. You called yourself
"Ray." Bud called you Raymond, just to irk you.

Bud Flagherty was a gentle giant, 6'6', and 275 lbs. He
had a head full of unruly curls, and two oversized dimples
that refused to stay hidden. Every time he smiled, they
made an appearance. And Bud smiled a lot. He dressed more
like a lumberjack than a barkeep. A lumberjack with
Little Orphan Annie locks.

As Bud slid his rag across the counter, clearing empties
and mopping spills, he kept his eyes peeled on the booth
in the corner. The couple in that booth was engrossed in
hushed conversation. Their posture strained and tense,
their faces pinched with worry.

If he hadn't known them each so well, he might have
worried a lover's quarrel was beginning. But he knew Meg
and Les, and he knew they were two people more in love
than any other couple he'd ever met. Something had them
on edge, and it wasn't marriage troubles. He'd bet his
bar on that.

"Meg, quit fidgeting with your straw."

"Les, I'm not 'fidgeting', Meg answered, looking up into
her husband's concerned eyes. "Ok, I'm 'fidgetin'," she
acknowledged.

"It's just I can't get past that video from the crime
scene. That poor..." Meg paused, groping for the right
descriptor.

"Man, Meggy, I think it was a man."

"Yeah, man... You know that's...number four, Les."

"Meggy, I know."

Les reached his leg under the table, wrapping it around
his wife's. Across the seat he grabbed her hand,
squeezing gently, stilling the restless fingers determined
to turn her straw into plastic sculpture.

"Why us, Les? Who's feeding us these tips? I thought the
last two were bad, but this one...Les, it was just pure
evil." Meg said, training her green eyes on her husband.
"That hideously macabre clown mask."

"I know, there was something about that video that was
just...

"...spooky," she said, finishing his sentence.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Mulder!"

Meg and Les looked up from their discussion just in time
to see a petite redhead elbow her companion in the ribs.
Smiling sheepishly, Mulder extended his hand, "Hello, I'm
Agent Mulder. The woman chastising my boorish behavior is
my partner Agent Scully."

"Ah...Spooky Mulder, I get it." Standing, Les firmly
grasped Mulder's hand, giving it the obligatory
introductory clasp.

Mulder, for his part, filed the "spooky" comment away for
future reference. Obviously this man knew more than just
name, rank and serial number.

"Ma'am," Les said, tipping his head Scully's direction.

Giving Les a quick perusal, Scully realized he couldn't be
any older than she. Hardly seemed to warrant a "ma'am." She
wasn't that old.

Meg laughed, seeing the quick calculations in Scully's
eyes. "Don't mind him, Agent Scully. Les is Old South, if
the person has mammary glands, Les "ma'ams" 'em to death,
doesn't matter the age. It's not like up North, where you
have to be old and dottering to achieve that instantaneous
respect. Chivalrous is Les' middle name."

"I see. Well then, Mr. Franklyn, it's nice to meet you."

"Call me Les, ma... mmm...Agent Scully."

"Please, call me Dana."

"Dana."

Reaching her hand out to Mulder, Meg introduced herself.
"I'm Meg and you must be Fox."

"Only on a bad hair day. Actually I prefer Mulder."

"Fine, Mulder it is."

Meg and Les scooted farther into the booth, allowing
Scully and Mulder to join them. Meg and Les sat on one
side facing Scully and Mulder, only a table's width
between any of them but it might as well have been the
Grand Canyon.

At least that's the way it seemed to Bud, sauntering up to
the table to take over for Terry, his waitress, while she
was on break.

"Les, Meg, introduce me to your friends," Bud said,
reaching over, picking up their glasses and refilling
them. Looking disgustedly at Meg's mangled straw, Bud
whipped a pristine replacement from his pocket and slid it
across the table to her.

"Bud, these are Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Agents...FBI or some other variation on the alphabet?" he
inquired, obviously intrigued by this revelation.

"FBI," Scully answered, giving him her drink order.

"I'll have an iced tea," Mulder said, steering the
conversation back to more mundane things like his ordering
lunch. "And a reuben, on rye, lots of thousand isle."

"Gotcha, and you Agent...Scully?"

"I'll have a club sandwich, hold the mayo. Oh, and we'll
share an order of fries."

"Back in a flash, anything else for you and Meg, Les?"

Looking at his wife's plate and the food she had barely
touched, Les said, "No, that ought to do it for now, Bud.
Thanks."

"Sure thing."

Sizing each other up across the table, Les said, "So, Fox,
how long you been sleeping with your partner?"

Without skipping a beat, although he felt Scully's heel
lightly kicking his shin, Mulder replied, "About as long,
Leslie, as you and Meg have been married."

Scully and Meg simultaneously linked eyes with their
respective partners. So much for tiptoeing around issues.

Mulder and Les smiled, each raising his glass to the other
in salute. This was no simple interview and they both knew
it. Might as well say so up front.

"What the hell was that all about, Les?" Meg griped,
gripping her husband's forearm.

"Just...Mul...der and I establishing the ground rules."

"And those would be?" she continued.

"Les and I were just reaching a mutual understanding. We
each have things we'd appreciate not becoming common
knowledge, food for the gossip mongers, as you will."

"Knowledge of our marriage, would not affect our working
relationship, Agent Mulder," Meg explained.

"And knowledge of our relationship, would not affect ours,
Meg," chimed in Scully, tired of being left on the
sidelines. "There's nothing formal in regulations prohibiting a
consensual sexual relationship between partners."

"Although, it would create...complications," Meg said,
sizing up her counterpart. "For your work, for you
personally, in a male dominated field."

"As would revealing your union, Meg. To your career, to
your ratings, to the political climate you work in."

"Circumspection has its benefits," Meg ruefully agreed.

Bud returned to the table with Mulder and Scully's food.
Judging the climate to be a bit close in the booth, he
made a hasty retreat back to his bar.

Grabbing the plate of food Mulder passed to her, Scully
continued, "Now that we've established we know each
other's vital statistics, would someone please explain
what's going on?"

"We're not here to enlighten the good reporters about
male/female partnerships within the bureau, Scully."

"No kidding, Mulder."

Gesturing to Meg's picked over plate, Mulder said, "I
suspect that little gender issue was just a ploy to meet
us. They need us for something else, Scully. They need our
particular...spooky expertise."

Snatching a french fry from their shared plate and
glopping it in catsup, Mulder looked insufferably too
smug.

"Care to enlighten us, Les? What's got your wife so upset
she can't eat?"

"Fine, Mulder. Cards on the table. You ever heard of the
Pagliacci murders?"

"As in the clown in the opera?" Scully asked.

"Yes, some wacko in this town is two bricks shy of a load.
He's been murdering people and then painting their faces
up like clowns when he's done."

Mulder and Scully looked at each other. Les noted the
silent communication passing between them. Yeah, they've
got the gift he thought, looking at his wife who was also
catching their non-verbal exchange.

"Before I answer, may I ask why you want to know?" Mulder
queried, after silently confirming his suspicions with
Scully. These two knew something. The MO of those murders
had been kept under strict "need to know basis." Only
reason he knew anything, is that violent crimes had passed
the file onto him just that morning, telling him as soon
as he could wiggle out of his PR stint, Skinner had agreed
to his loan to their unit for the duration.

Local PD and the bureau were working in tandem on this
one. Serial killings in the nation's capitol were not good
for the tourist trade, especially leading into Cherry
Blossom season. Can't have Washington being bumped from
the tour bus itinerary.

Les looked at Meg, who was now fiddling with her napkin.
This had really bothered her. She was normally such a
"take the bull by the horns" kind of gal. But, ever since
they saw that video yesterday, she'd been moody,
withdrawn, not her normal "in your face" self.

Still looking at her napkin, Meg began talking. "A couple
of weeks ago I got a call at the studio. Someone saying
I should get a camera and get over to the youth center on
J Street. There was a big story going down, and I was
being given first crack."

"Meg, is it normal for you to get anonymous tips?" Scully
asked, leaning forward to claim the woman's eyes with her
own.

"Yes, all the time. In our line of work, informant's come
with the territory."

"Something we have in common," Mulder smirked.

"Yeah, well this informant knew his stuff. We hopped in
the van and hit the streets. The cops were already there;
the street was already blocked off. We couldn't really see
anything but... we got close enough and talked with enough
people to figure some guy had just got whacked," Les
continued, taking over for his wife.

Mulder asked, "When was this?"

"Feb. 14, I remember...well because of the obvious reasons,"
Les admitted.

"That would have been Mitch Mansfield, the one they
found..." Mulder paused, not wanting to reveal vital
information.

"...tied with a millstone around his neck, Agent Mulder,
submerged in the neighborhood pool."

"How did you come by this information? It wasn't released
to the press."

"No it wasn't, we picked some of it up... and...don't give me
that look, Mulder. I don't care how buttoned up you think
your guys have this case, there's always someone willing
to talk."

"Les, I'm not able to confirm or deny your suspicions."

"Walk the party line, Mulder. Fine, you go with that. I'm
not asking for confirmation. I just want you to listen."

"We received a note," Meg murmured, looking up from the
table, meeting Scully's eyes once again.

"A note," Scully prodded, gently.

"Yeah, that same day, after we got back to the station, I
found a note in the morning mail at work. It was
addressed to me and it had a Bible verse."

"A Bible verse?" Scully asked. "Do you have the note, or
remember which verse?"

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a plastic bag
holding a parchment paper note. She handed it to Scully.
"I'm sorry, I'm sure my finger prints are all over it. I
didn't realize what I had at first, but as soon as I did,
I put it in the bag."

Scully peered through the plastic, reading the verses out
loud for Mulder to hear.
 
 

"...Things that cause people to sin are bound to come, but
woe to that person through whom they come. It would be
better for him to be thrown into the sea with a millstone
tied around his neck than for him to cause one of these
little ones to sin. So watch yourselves."
 
 

Seeing the agents questioning eyes, Les said, "You're
wondering why we didn't give these to the police?"

"Actually, we are. How could you sit on evidence like this
in a capital murder case, especially when you know this
guy's killed again."

"That's it, Agent Mulder. We didn't really know anything
until a couple of days ago. Until that time we thought it
was just some religious crank. We didn't have enough info
on the Mansfield killing to connect it with the note."

"What made the connection for you, Meg?" Scully asked,
prodding the woman to continue her story.

"Another note, 4 days ago, right after the Lisa Burton
murder."

She handed a second note to Mulder. "I was more careful
with this one, I felt something was just not right with
these. That they were not just some religious zealot
playing head games with me. We still hadn't seen the
correlation yet, but we were beginning to suspect."

Mulder read the second Bible verse aloud.
 
 

"If a man happens to meet in a town a virgin pledged to be
married and he sleeps with her, you shall take both of
them to the gate of that town and stone them to death-the
girl because she was in a town and did not scream for
help, and the man because he violated another man's wife.
You must purge the evil from among you."
 
 

"We know a man was killed with Lisa Burton, we know about
their faces painted up like grotesque characatures of
circus clowns, and we know they were both stoned to death,
weren't they?"

Mulder and Scully still remained silent, letting Meg
continue.

"But the worst came yesterday. We got another tip."

Agent Scully noticed the look passing between Meg and Les.
They were trying to decide how to handle this next part.
How like she and Mulder. A glance, eyes read, a
confirmation, a decision made.

Mulder said, "Les, if you were beginning to suspect these
notes were coming from a murderer, weren't you concerned
about Meg? After all, she's been receiving the notes."

Meg smiled, reaching across the table to grasp her
husband's hand, "As my southern gentleman is always
saying, Agent Mulder, 'If you can't run with the big dogs,
you'd better stay on the porch.' Enjoying Mulder's
expression, Meg elaborated, "As you've most likely
assumed, Agents, I don't like sitting on the porch."

"You folks need refills," Bud said, coming up to their
table. It was getting way to intense for his liking over
here. Meg was just not looking herself, kind of pekid. The
kid needed some sun; he'd have to talk to Les about taking
her on that honeymoon they'd missed. Meg needed out of DC
for awhile.

"Thanks, Bud, we're fine," Meg said, searching his
concerned eyes. "I'm fine. Don't worry; just a little
tired lately. Must be comin' down with something."

"If you're sure, I'll be back at the bar. Just let me know
if anything changes."

Waiting for Bud to reach the bar again, Mulder leaned
forward resting his arms on the table. "Ok so why call us?
Why this whole PR ploy? Why not just go to the cops with
your notes and what you know?"

Grabbing Meg's arm, Scully asked, "You got another
note?"

"Yeah, this morning, but we also got something else. We
got video. I snuck past the police barricade yesterday and
videotaped the crime scene. Remember, until this point we
hadn't really seen anything. Only heard, through the
streets, suspicions and theories, but no hard facts."

"Til yesterday." Scully reiterated.

"Yeah, I managed to film the crime scene. Look, agents,
I'm no snot nosed, wet behind the ears, cub reporter. I've
paid my dues. I've seen some pretty horrific stuff but
this...well, this is just pure evil and frankly, after
seeing this video, Meg and I realized we were way out of
our league."

"So, why think of us?" Mulder interrogated. "Why,
specifically, Scully and I?"

"Actually, Mulder, that was purely fortune's fate. In all
seriousness, we had been asked to do a piece on
male/female partnerships. You had been suggested to us.
We researched you and Scully, your unique division, your lengthy
partnership, just before this Pagliacci stuff began. Let's face it,
in the media and law enforcement circles of this town, you guys
are a bit of an enigmatic riddle. But, you've got a
phenomenal solve rate and you have a penchant for tackling
cases that most sane people would run from. You're not
exactly mainstream."

"Hell, Les, mainstream? Compared to these two your Uncle
George who wears a dress and answers the door with an Uzi
looks positively sane."

Looking at Scully, Mulder smiled, "See, Scully, and here
we thought we were just your ordinary ghost busting,
mutant chasing, alien nabbing, regular folk."

Reaching across the table, Meg pulled out the last note
and a camcorder. "Mulder, have you ever looked at the face
of evil? Have you ever felt that it was looking at you,
that it knew your name?"

"More times than I'd care to recount, Meg."

"Well I've seen it, in this video. I've been touched by
it, with these notes. And frankly, Agent Mulder, I'm
scared to death. For some reason, some tickle in the back
of my brain, I think I know who is doing this."

Les scooted over closer to his wife, placing his arm
around her shoulder he drew her in and held on tight.
They sat there, wrapped in each other, watching Mulder and
Scully view the images through the camcorder.

They watched as the agents viewed what was left of Manny
Fielding, charred beyond recognition, but with the surreal
mask of death painted on his scorched face. A face that

was frozen in agony and painted in garish greasepaint,
made up to look like a smiling clown.

Scully looked at the Bible verse, visible through its
plastic covering. She read.
 
 

"They have become filled with every kind of wickedness,
evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder,
strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers,
God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent
ways of doing evil.Although they know God's decree that
those who do such things deserve death, they not only
continue to do these very things but also approve of those
who practice them."
 
 

Noting that Mulder's hand was casually resting over
Scully's shoulder as she read, Les felt their connection.
It was like watching he and Meg. Something bound these two
forcefully together. He hoped it was strong because in his
gut he knew evil had entered all their lives in a very
powerful way.

continued in chapter 3.....

             If it weren't for such a wonderful beta
             team, I'd have been lost: Dilbert, Paige Caldwell,
             Frogdoggie, Tara Avery, Exley_61, GS and my
             cheerleaders Sabine, Carol Sue and
             Iona.

Scripture references:
Luke 17:1-3
Deuteronomy 22:23-24
Romans 1:29-33
---
dlynn

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER 3:

APARTMENT OF LES FRANKLYN
AND MEG MICHAELS
WEDNESDAY EVENING

Meg sat curled up on her sofa, an afghan wrapped around her
shoulders, a cup of Earl Grey clutched in her hand. She heard
Les approaching but it was as though she heard it from a very
long distance away. Her body may be firmly planted on a
black, leather couch, listening to Nina Simone  singing about
life and love but her mind was somewhere else. With every
fiber of her being, she was positive she knew this killer.

Removing the cup of tea and placing it on the coffee table,
Les unfolded the crocheted afghan from Meg's shoulder.
Sitting next to her on the couch, he grabbed her hands within
his own. God, they were so cold. Caressing her hands between
his own large ones, he massaged warmth gently back into her
frozen digits. His ministrations were providing the
desired effect; Meg was coming back into herself. Wherever
she had been a few moments ago, no longer held her captive.

"Hey there, Meggy, welcome back."

"Les, it's sooo close. I can almost touch it. You know...
like a song title or a name that you know with all your heart
but you just can't quite reach it?"

Placing tender kisses on her palm, Les nodded. "You'll think
of it, honey. I have faith in you. But you can't keep doing
this to yourself. The stress is not good for you or...our...
baby."

Shock spilled over Meg's face. Looking at her husband's
tender expression, she felt like the biggest heel for having
not told him. "How did you know?"

"The mood swings, the fatigue, your appetite being off."

"Les, if that's all that clued you in, I've been pregnant
since we met."

"Well, there was also the little matter of a home pregnancy
test box that fell behind the trash can under the kitchen
sink. I found it a few minutes ago, when I was emptying the
garbage," Less said, looking into her beautiful green eyes.
"When were you going to tell me, love?"

Placing her hands protectively over her abdomen, Meg replied,
"Oh, Les. I just did the test yesterday morning, before we
went out to the scene of the Fielding murder. It's been so
crazy since then... and I just wanted to do more than blurt
it out over crime scene photos."

"My  pitbull's a romantic," Les said, laying his head on top
of her stomach, where she began stroking his blond, wavy
hair.

"Yeah, romantic.I'm sitting here with the most gorgeous hunk
of man ever to be born south of the Mason Dixon, the musical
renderings of God's gift to the blues and what am I doing?
Contemplating the thought that someone I've met in the last
few years is a homicidal psychopath."

"Well we can fix that. Dance with me."

Looking down at her terry cloth robe and Les dressed in his
khakis with long sleeve denim shirt, Meg felt like chuck
steak to his filet mignon. Not exactly the image she wanted
for her first dance with her baby's father. Shrugging out of
her robe, she stood dressed in a long, royal blue, silk
negligee.  One of Les' Christmas presents. And one of his
favorite "Meg" outfits.

"Yum, Meg."

Tracing his finger down her cheek, he pressed her body close
to his, wrapping Meg securely in his presence. She felt Les
begin to sway in time with the soulful beat, to glide ever so
gently around the room. In fact, if truth be told, they were
barely moving in terms of covering distance, but their bodies
were sliding together in such ways Meg felt as though she and
Les had traveled to hot and exotic locales. The heat was
delicious, a reverent exploration of their new bond.

Meg felt Les' hands slip between their bodies. His fingers
splayed  out warmly over her abdomen, delicately stroking
that special place where their child grew. His nose and lips
nudged the spaghetti strap off her shoulder. First the left,
then not to be neglected, the right. Following behind each
trace of frabric were his lips, branding her skin with the
silky warmth of his breaths.

Bringing his mouth up to her bodice, he nuzzled the small
ribbon bow nestled between her breasts. Taking one end of the
ribbon strand between his teeth, he seductively pulled, ever
so gently, ever so slowly.

Hearing her giggle at his obvious attempt at seduction, Les
admonished Meg quietly," Shhh... I'm busy seducing the mother
of my child."

Once the bow was reduced to a tangled bit of lacy ribbon, Les
moved on to the four buttons lying beneath it.  Since his
mouth was doing so well, why mess with perfection? With his
lips and teeth he tweaked each button from its mooring,
opening her nightgown, inch by tantalizing inch.

Opened up, like the sweetest of Christmas presents, Meg's
skin received her husband's erotic caresses. His lips tasted
and teased, lingered and excited. And when they had nibbled
their way from her breasts, up her neck to the delicate,
ticklish spot just below her ear lobe, she heard humming. Her
senses were assailed with a delicious combination of his
tactile caresses and his soothing song.

First it was just little bits of melody, then she realized he
was singing lyrics with his beautiful, velvet baritone.
Feathered kisses of breath as he exhaled each word, tickled
her ear. She listened to Les and Simone sing the blues.

"You've been acting different...I've been told.
Soothe me. I want some sugar in my bowl...hmm...mm.
I want some...steam...on my clothes."

Les pulled back just enough so that he could look deeply into
her eyes. He sang to her inner self, that place only he knew.

"Maybe I can fix things up so they'll go..."

Pressing even more tightly against his body, Meg stilled his
hands. Eyes twinkling she placed her finger over his lips,
quieting his voice. Then she added her own rich alto to
Simone.

"What's the matter... daddy.
Come on save my soul.
I want some...sugar in my bowl."

Removing his hands from Meg's, Les slid them upward. Linking
his fingers over the opened edges of her bodice, which was
held up by only a whisper and a prayer, he slipped it
seductively from her breasts. It gave up the ghost from
there, falling quietly, into a vibrant heap, pooling like
ocean waves at her feet.

Rubbing herself sinuously against her fully clothed husband,
Meg reached up and bit his earlobe. "Come on love of my life.
Let's take this lovin' feeling to the bedroom."

Chuckling, Les followed obediently behind his wife's
magnificent bare bottom.

"Yes, Ma'am!" he said, in his most respectful voice.

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

APARTMENT OF AGENT DANA SCULLY
SAME EVENING

Mulder sat at Scully's kitchen table. Strewn out in front of
him were copies of Meg's notes, their video and the killer's
messages. There were files, photos and balled up pieces of
paper, his first painfully poor profiling drafts of this
killer. He'd been tossing the crumbled balls into a trash can
he'd pulled to the end of the table. Wadding up another piece
of paper, just because he was at an impasse, Mulder let it
rip, tossing it up with a high arch. Instead of the familiar
"thump" sound he'd been hearing every time the paper hit the
can, he heard nothing. Scully had snagged his perfectly aimed
shot. He'd been robbed.

Flinging the wad back in his direction, she came around the
table.

"Hey, that was a good one. A three pointer," he griped.

"Just call me Muggsy Bogues, Mulder. Nothing's ever a given
when there's a small player in the game."

"Yeah, well if I'd know I was going up against, 'Muggsy
Scully', I would have been more on the offensive. Sure we
can't call this half time and practice a little one on one?"

"Later, Kareem, later and you know better than to let your
guard down," Scully said, taping three by five file cards to
a white board she'd set up in her kitchen. She arranged the
little cards neatly in rows. Each card had the name of one of
the victims, the time, place and mode of death and other
various striking characteristics. There were additional file
cards, one for each Bible verse.

She walked over to Mulder, placing her hands on his
shoulders, gently massaging his tired muscles. After dropping
off Meg and her evidence with the bureau, giving Skinner a
call to update him on the new developments of their
"supposed" PR interview, and grabbing some necessary file
copies, Mulder and Scully had retreated to her apartment to
begin sifting through the evidence.

It was late, well after midnight; Mulder was working on his
profile, she was researching the victim's files, examining
each for possible connections to the others. Thus the file
cards. Planting a kiss on top Mulder's head, she leaned
forward, sliding her hands down his shoulders, down his arms,
and forearms to reach for a file laying beneath a stack of
spent sunflower seed shells.

Shaking the file off as she lifted it, she walked over to the
kitchen counter where she picked up the coffee carafe.

"Refill?" she said, pouring  more of the hot stimulant into
her empty mug.

"Nah, I'm good, but thanks."

Setting the carafe back down on the stove, she pulled out a
chair, sitting down next to Mulder. Sipping her coffee, she
stared at the little colored rectangles on the board.

"You're gonna stare a hole in that board, if you keep that
up, Scully."

"Hmmmm..."

"I said..."

"Yeah, I heard you. Mulder, there's something there,
something I can't quite put my finger on. Can we hash this
out again?"

"Then, 'Muggsy', do I get my one on one?" he asked, supplying
his patented leer. Just looking at him made her heart beat
faster. No one had ever affected her the way he did. His
passion, their years of friendship, loyalty and trust, their
shared life experiences, all woven together like threads in a
complex tapestry.

"I promise, Mulder. I won't even call three second violations
or charging as long as you promise to keep the un-sportsman-
like conduct down to a minimum."

"Get dooowwwwn! Gotta love a woman who talks sex using
basketball analogies. Wanna remind me again why we waited
so long?"

"To have sex or to talk basketball?"

"Both."

"Not if you want to have time for the game, Mulder," Scully
said, digging the papers out of the file she'd picked up
earlier. "Mulder, other than the obvious crime scene
similarities, i.e. the clown faces and the Bible verses, what
ties these people together?"

"Well, they've all been killed in particularly gruesome
fashion, in accordance with some biblical passage."

Getting up from his chair, Mulder moved her cards around,
scribbled on another card and taped it up on the board with
hers. He had each victim set up with the method of execution
and correlating bible passage.

"Ok, Scully you're the biblical scholar of this partnership.
What do you see when you look at these passages in
relationship with these people?"

"I see some pretty judgmental passages taken out of context,"
she said, placing her elbows on the table and leaning closer
to the board.

"We can see he's judging sin, Mulder. Wait a minute. Here's
what I noticed earlier."

Scrounging through her notes, she pulled up two files. "Look,
this is a background check into Mitch Mansfield, the first
victim. The police had him under surveillance for drug
running. They suspected he was using the youth from the
center where he counseled, as mules and dealers, providing him a
pretty lucrative little business out of the community center.
They just didn't have the evidence yet to bring him in."

"Ok. So that ties with the millstone around the neck
reference for anyone who draws one of God's children into
sin."

"Hmmm...mmm... and here's Manny Fielding's file. He was being
looked at by the organized crime unit. His file indicates
they suspected he was running with a pretty tough crowd who
basically bought him an election. Needed a man inside the
political venue to help with their deals."

Moving another card next to Manny, Mulder looked at the
scripture associated with him. "Ok. That tracks, in an
oblique kind of way. Manny runs with the evildoers, condoning
their deeds even though he knows that goes against God's
precepts."

"Do you have a file like that on Lisa Burton, too, Scully?
Something else up your sleeve? I'd be willing to look,"
Mulder smirked, reaching over to grab a quick kiss.

"No, Lisa and the man killed with her are both legally clean
as far as we can tell. At least nothing the local PD has on
file."

"Well if we stick with the pattern, Scully, the scripture and
the details of their murder would predicate some sort of an
adulterous relationship between the two of them."

Peering through another file, Scully yelled, "Bingo, Mulder.
Lisa Burton was engaged. What you want to bet that she and
Mr. Hammond either were having or have had an affair."

"Those are the kind of odds I'd play in Vegas. We'll check it
out. In the meantime, if we assume they were having an
affair--"

"...then this is another inacted judgement for a perceived sin."

"Exactly. Someone's playing judge and jury, taking on the
role of God, in some warped kind of biblical retribution,"
Mulder said, peering intently at their neat little rows.

"Hey, Scully, do the victims go to church?"

"Hmmm..let me see, uhh...here it is. Mansfield went to St.
Vincent's Parish, mmmm... Lisa Burton, went to...St. Vincent's."
 

"Want to double your previous bet? Fielding went to St.
Vincent's too," Mulder stated, straddling the chair beside
hers.

Yanking his dossier from their mess, Scully smiled. "As they
say, never bet against the house. Fielding was a member of
St. Vincent's."

"We've got our tie-in, Scully. Somehow the murderer is linked
to St. Vincent's."

Jumping up from his seat, Mulder grabbed her cordless phone.
Checking the card in his pocket, he dialed. As he waited for
Meg or Les to pick up, he bounced on the balls of his feet,
shifting from one foot to the other. He reminded Scully of a
boxer before a big match or a runner, with nervous energy
before a major race.

"Yes," came Les' sleepy voice through the receiver.

"Les, it's Mulder. I've got a question for your wife."

"'us a minute," Les slurred as he attempted to rouse his
slumbering wife.

Mulder covered the receiver with his hand. "I woke 'em up,
Scully."

"Yeah, some people actually get to sleep at 2:00am in the
morning. What a novel idea."

She stopped talking as she heard Mulder begin. Only being
able to hear his end of the conversation, she still was able
to understand the gist of what was said.

"Umm... yes, Ms. Michaels? Ok. This is Mulder. I have a couple of
questions for you. You said you felt as though you should
know the killer...mmm...uh..h...uum. I understand. Memories can be
tricky things. I have an idea. Have you ever been to St.
Vincent's...right, Catholic Church. You have?"

Mulder motioned Scully over, so that she could hear the
conversation as well. Placing their heads together, they
shared the receiver.

"Meg, this is Dana. How do you know about St. Vincent's?"

"I'm a member, Dana. St. Vincents is my parish church."

A cold chill ran up Scully's back. She felt the icy fingers
of the proverbial walk across her grave. Mulder felt the
shiver running through her small frame, he tightened his hold
around her shoulders, stilling her with his nearness.

"Meg, all four victims were members there as well."

"The church is the link. My church... It's someone from my
church."

"Not necessarily," Scully started, but Meg began talking over
the top of her.

"That's it, Dana. I know it. I remember talking to someone..."
Meg paused, a tremulous hitch in her voice.

"Mulder, this is Les. Yeah, I'll have Meg come to your office
in the morning. She needs to get her sleep, she's worn out."

Mulder and Scully could hear muffled sounds coming through
the receiver. It was obvious they were not privy to the
entire conversation. After a moment's pause, Les came back on
the line. "Mulder, she didn't want me to tell you, at least
not like this, but my wife can be muleheaded and I feel
you need to know this. Meg's pregnant. We just found out. I
can't let this stress harm her or the baby. We'll see you in
the morning. Goodnight."

Placing the phone in its cradle, Scully walked back into the
kitchen and flipped off the overhead lights. "I think we
should turn in too, Mulder. At least get a few hours sleep.
There's not a whole lot more we can do tonight."

Walking over to where Scully stood gazing at the white board
full of notes, Mulder turned her gently into his arms.
Tipping her chin up, he placed a delicate, nibbling kiss
just to the side of her jaw. He followed it quickly with
more whisper soft brushes of his lips against her chin,
her nose, the corner of her mouth.

Reaching behind her Mulder slid his hands up the back of her
pajama top where they delighted in the feel of her soft skin.
Pulling her closer into him, he felt the flutter
in her throat as his lips suckled warmly over the tiny
pulse.

Not content with remaining passive, Scully tugged Mulder's grey
t-shirt out of his waistband. Duplicating his caresses, she
slid her hands up his back, yanking him in as closely as she
could. Mulder's hands traversed down to the edge of her pajama
bottoms, smoothing restlessly at the fabric, then dipping
beneath the elastic's edge. His hands squirmed beneath the
warm, cottony flannel, seductively cupping her buttocks.

All the while, the assault with his mouth continued. Tiny,
barely there, kisses rained over her face like the barest
droplets of dew on a glorious spring morning. Butterfly kisses,
each more erotic, more exquisite than the last. But torturous
in their brevity. In their fleeting whimsy.

Scully groaned; she'd had enough. Reaching her hands high,
she grasped tightly at Mulder's neck. She cursed the
difference in their heights that made such maneuvers more
difficult. But Mulder was more than accommodating, bringing
his questing mouth back to hers. Pausing once more, his lips
hovered over hers, just barely touching, no more than a
murmur apart.

Feeling the exhale of her breath against his lips, Mulder
heard Scully whisper.

"Mulder, I promise not to call three second violation if you
should happen to remain in one spot for awhile."

He stopped, opened his eyes and looked deeply into the
impassioned face of his lover.

"You won't give me a technical for unsportsmanlike conduct,
if my hands should intimately wander..." He said, sliding his
hands farther into her pajama bottoms, bringing them around
front to linger at her warm, moist center.

"Just Do It!" Scully said, in her best Nike impersonation.

Sliding her pajama bottoms down her legs, as she loosened the
belt at his waist, Mulder crushed her lips forcefully against
his, ending the overtures, and beginning the exquisite mating
of their souls.
 

continued in chapter 4.....

             If it weren't for such a wonderful beta
             team, I'd have been lost: Dilbert, Paige Caldwell,
             Frogdoggie, Tara Avery, Exley_61, GS and my
             cheerleaders Sabine, Carol Sue and
             Iona.

---
dlynn

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER 4:

Hoover Building 11:00am
THURSDAY MORNING

Still seething, Scully stormed out of the bureau's parking
garage elevator. Reaching for her keys, she felt her hand
grabbed. "Uh...uh... not when you're still fuming. I don't want
to have to deal with DC's finest today 'cause your foot's a
little heavy on the gas."

"Mulder, I'm fine. Give me the keys. I want to drive."

"Nope, no can do. But, I'll wrestle you for 'em. Two out of
three, best pin wins," he grinned, steering her towards the
passenger side.

"Fine, drive the car, 'Mr. Can't possibly function without a
steering wheel between my hands.'"

"Oh, I function just fine with other things between my hands.
Want to see?" Mulder asked, playfully leaning into her space.

Realizing the ridiculousness of this entire conversation,
Scully burst into laughter. Opening the passenger door, she
scooted into the seat, buckling her seatbelt.

"You're right, Mulder. I've been a bear this morning. I'm
just so frustrated that I let Meg get to me. We must have
been quite the scene."

"Actually, I thought you were two strong willed women making
sure you each had your say. Nothing 'unprofessional' in the
least."

"Nice save, partner. Want to hit the Fielding scene first?
Since it's most recent?"

"Yep," Mulder said, looking over his shoulder as he backed
the car out. "My thoughts exactly."
 

Hinkley Youth Center
11:00am

"So, Meg. You want to explain to me again what we're doing
here?"

Slamming the gearshift into park and turning off their
vehicle, Les pulled the keys from the ignition. He glanced
over at his wife, whose tired countenance belied the angry
glare she was giving her husband. Her normal curly mop of
red hair was even more disheveled this morning; the circles
under her eyes were barely concealed with that goop she put
on her face. And her attitude, well he didn't even want to
go there. If he had thought her a bulldog before, he'd
amended that to rabid, snarling bulldog this morning.

After a restless, sleepless night of tossing and turning
and trying to make the other believe each was sleeping,
neither Meg nor Les were at their finest. The meeting with
Mulder and Scully hadn't confirmed much more than last
night's phone call. The FBI agents agreed the evidence
supported some sort of connection with St. Vincent's. Meg
acknowledged that she still felt as though she had met this
person but that she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

But, that's where the "agreements" had ended. Mulder and
Scully were hesitant to discuss which avenues they or the
team would be exploring other than to say they'd personally
be checking out each of the crime scenes.  Basically, he
and Meg were told to go do their normal thing, and stay out
of the investigation's way.  Well, Les thought he'd seen
all the various Meg varieties. He'd been wrong.

Rabid, yeah. The more he thought about it, that was the
best descriptor for her demeanor. She was madder than a wet
hornet.

However, she may have met her match. Mulder's diminutive
partner was no slouch either.  Watching the two of them go
nose to nose was something. They might be small, like
bandy roosters, but God help the person that riled 'em up.
Mulder and he had enjoyed a rare moment of shared religion
watching the two of them "discuss" opinions. If he hadn't
thought he'd be pummeled, he probably would have started a
rousing rendition of "We are the champions."

See, Les needed to worry about his baby's father. And since that
happened to be him, he felt keeping his mouth shut was the
better part of valor. He figured Meg wouldn't hesitate in
making herself a widow and Dana probably would have no
trouble requesting a new partner if Mulder slipped up.
Rumor had it she actually had shot him once. He wasn't sure
that was one he wanted to confirm or not.

So, the "debate" continued and the end result was Meg
agreeing to keep her nose out of the investigation and go
to work. She was immediately to turn over all
correspondence she might receive from the killer and she
was to behave. For her trouble, Meg had succeeded in
establishing a compromise on the subject of police
protection.

She had refused it.

So much for compromise. Instead she had agreed she would
allow Les to stay glued to her like a tick on a dog and she
would venture nowhere alone. Therefore, when Meg decided to
break the first part of this morning's peace treaty, he was
along for the proverbial ride. Because so help him God, she
would not be breaking part two.

With her head hanging forward, her chin resting on her
chest, Meg looked every bit as tired as he was sure she was
feeling. He resisted the urge to comfortingly stroke her
exposed neck. She was hanging on to her emotions by a
thread, and his solicitous gesture would not help her right
now.

As if reaching a decision, she unclasped her seatbelt and
opened the passenger door. Stepping out into the youth
center parking lot, she peered back into the car.

"You coming or what?"

Yanking his own seatbelt from its anchor, he slammed the
driver's seat door open, smacking the unfortunate car
that happened to be parked next to his. Noting her barely
concealed smile, he grinned. Ok, what was one little paint
ding if it lightened the mood?

"Right behind you, McDuff. Lead on," he said, joining Meg
at the youth center's entrance.

"As it should be, love of my life. As it should be."

Walking into the Hinkley youth center was educational from
the get go. Plastered across the walls were poster after
poster of public service announcements. "Be cool. Stay in
school." "Just say 'No'!" "Be the life of the party, be a
designated driver."

A large glass window greeted them to their right. It was
set up like a doctor's office, one of those sliding
windows where the office staff always huddled. The only
thing missing was the sign up list, the one asking for
health insurance info, time arrival, etc. Les knocked on
the window, trying to get the attention of the woman
hunched over her computer screen. Without removing her eyes
from the blinking cursor she reached to her side, grabbed
a clipboard and shoved it up through the window.

Ah...There it was. The sign in sheet. The analogy was now
complete.

Les began to skim the list of options available to him:
reservations for hoop time, racquetball courts, equipment
rental, locker rental.. permission slips needed
for...counseling appointments.

Meg stepped around her immersed husband and wrapped
pointedly on the window again. Either her knock was more
authoritative or Ms. Gatekeeper had finished her computing
task. Either way, Meg actually got a response.

"Oh, can I help you? I thought you were one of the kids."

"Shouldn't they be in school?"

"Mmmmm...oh yeah, some should. But, we try to keep the doors
of communication open, at least. We do have some that come
in for counseling with one of our social workers or one of
the priests. Hey, don't I know you?"

"I'm Meg Michaels and this is my partner, Les Franklyn."

"Right... channel 9 news. I thought you looked familiar. I'm
Tara... Tara Summers."

Reaching through the window into the office, Meg clasped
the hand Tara extended out to her. Tara was a middle-aged
woman, with black, wavy hair. She pulled it back in a
ponytail with one of those scrungy things looped up in a
haphazard style. Her eyes were warm and welcome and she was
obviously beside herself with curiosity.

"You're here about the murder, right?" she said, keeping
her voice conspiratorially low.

"Actually, I'd like to see Father Jansen, if he's in the
office today," Meg answered.

Les turned her slightly so he could question her in
private. "Father Jansen, isn't he your old friend from the
parish? What would he be doing here?"

"I know. I'm not sure he is here, but the parish office
thought he would be. He was supposed to visit today.
He's listed as the man who ultimately oversees the center.
He's not the director, but the dioceses liason.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Meg continued, "I remember when he
left St. Vincent's, he mentioned he would be working directly
with the dioceses in overseeing a variety of the community
projects... youth centers, nursing homes...day care centers.
Since we are, or at least were, friends, I was hoping he'd
talk to us."

Turning back to Ms. Summers, who was trying to appear
nonchalant about having celebrities in her waiting room,
Meg asked again, "Is Father Jansen here today?"

"Actually he is," came a well-modulated voice from the
hallway directly behind them.

Meg paused, turned and bolted across the room.

Picking his jaw off the ground, Les watched his newlywed
wife throw herself into the arms of anther man. At the moment,
the fact that he was a priest was somehow small consolation.

From the squeeze she received in return, it was apparent
this was no ordinary friendship. His wife and Father Jansen
were, obviously, very close friends.

Pulling away, Meg grasped the priest's hand, pulling him over
to meet her husband. Collar or not, and by
the way where was his collar?, Les sized the priest up the
way he would any man his wife knew this comfortably.

Father Jansen was an imposing figure. He stood 6'2'' at
least, was broad shouldered, lean and physically fit. His
hair was brown, with just a touch of receding hairline. Ok,
that's good. The man was not perfect. He was dressed
casually, jeans and a Nike t-shirt. At least his attire fit
in with the establishment.

Dropping the good Father's hand, Meg reached over and grabbed
Les. She brought the two within an uncomfortable spittin'
distance of the other. At least as far as Les was concerned,
it was uncomfortable. Father Jansen seemed oblivious to any
strain.

"You must be Les. I'm Bobby. Bobby Jansen," Father Jansen
said, extending his hand to Les.

"Father."

"Please, call him, Bobby, Les," Meg said, giving her husband
a gentle squeeze around his waist. "Bobby's an old friend."

"That's right," Father Jansen said, good naturedly ruffling
Meg's hair, "Meg and I go a long way back. We used to work
together when I was a priest at St. Vincent's."

"The Shepherd Project. Remember, Les, I told you about it?"

"Right, the after school programs for at-risk kids. Yeah, I
do remember you mentioning that. So, Bobby, you're the good
priest that ran that up?"

"Yep, one of my responsibilities while I was at St. Vincent's.
I think that was why the dioceses looked at me when they
needed someone to run their community programs."

"So, when did you leave the parish?" Les asked, attempting to
make pleasant small talk. Before Father Jansen could respond
to his question, Les' beeper went off. Reaching down, he
pulled the small screen towards him, glancing at the number.
It was work.

"Meggy, it's the desk. I'm gonna look for a phone. You ok
with Father Jansen?"

As his back was already turned so he could talk with Ms.
Summers, Les didn't see the tender look his wife gave Father
Jansen. "Sure, I'll be fine. You go see what they want. I
won't go anywhere."

Reaching over to Father Jansen, Meg grabbed his hand once
again. Looking into his eyes, she remembered the easy
familiarity that had once been between them. The long hours
and impassioned commitment for the youth had once been a
strong bond between the young priest and the fresh faced
reporter.

Father Bobby had been her best friend; first, as her
confessor, then, as another person deeply troubled by what
was going on with the teens in the neighborhood. Their common
goal had innocently led to greater time spent together.

Until the night Meg slipped on a patch of ice while walking
up to her apartment building. Father Jansen had walked her
home after a particularly tedious budget meeting where they
had fought for greater funding for the at-risk youths.

Their emotions were already pushed, when they found themselves
in the minority, having to defend their ideas to a bunch of
shortsighted bean counters who couldn't look at the long
term. A small investment today for a larger return tomorrow,
wasn't in their realm of thinking.

Meg had been venting her anger and frustration and hadn't
been watching where she was going. If Bobby hadn't caught her
she would have hit hard. As it were, it would have probably
been better that she had. The kiss that she and Bobby had
shared had caused her more pain in the long run than any
bruised butt ever could.

After coming up for air, Bobby gave her such a look of
disgust, like he had just sullied himself with a prostitute.
Pushing her away, he had stalked off into the night, leaving
her bewildered and confused. She knew she had just lost her
best friend.

Father Jansen had been gone from the parish within two weeks.
He had announced to the congregation that the dioceses had
offered him the position of overseeing church development
projects within the city. He told them he'd miss each and
every one of them, but he felt that this was God's will for
his life, a better utilization of his talents.

Meg hadn't spoken with Father Jansen since the night of their
kiss. He made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her,
not even a final farewell. She acquiesced to his request,
wished him well and threw herself more fully into her work.

Looking down into her green eyes, Father Jansen whispered.
"You're remembering, aren't you, Meg?"

"How could I not, Bobby? You were my best friend and the way
you left tore me apart."

"Meg, I'm a priest. My calling is to God. You were way too
much temptation. I had to get out."

"I understand that. But we could have dealt with it, talked
it over, set new boundaries. You didn't have to sever all
ties."

"Yes, I did."

Les picked that particular moment to fall back into the
conversation. Having heard the last bit of discussion, he had
an uncomfortable feeling. He shouldn't have left her alone
with the good Father Jansen. What a watchdog he was turning
out to be.

"Meg, that was the office. We're needed back at the barn."

"Right. I guess we'll have to pursue this later, Father
Jansen," Meg said, purposefully using his formal title.

Nodding his head in acknowledgement of her abrupt coolness,
Father Jansen said, "I'm assuming you wanted to see me about
the murder of Mr. Mansfield?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Well I'm sure I can save you the trouble of a return trip,
Meg. I really don't know anything. I know the cops were
suspicious of his dealings here at the center, but we hadn't
gotten wind of that yet. He appeared to be a great guy.
Someone the youth really connected with. It's a shame he let
sin become such a part of his life that he corrupted those
kids."

Les, noting the good Father's judgmental attitude said, "I
thought he was only under suspicion, Father. I didn't think
the police had yet determined if he was guilty of any
wrong doing. Aren't you condemning the man without all the
facts?"

Looking pointedly at Meg as he spoke, Father Jansen answered,
"Temptation is always there, Les. It's the choices we make
that determine our judgement. Mitch Mansfield made some poor
choices."
 

Father Jansen turned to go. "Meg, it was good seeing you
again. Take care. And, Les, you're a lucky man."

Realizing they had just been dismissed, Les turned toward the
door. Looking back over his shoulder when he realized his
wife was not next to him, he saw Father Jansen give her the
most bizarre look, like the good Father felt he was looking
at pure temptation himself. Meg appeared oblivious, but Les
felt his skin crawl.

As Meg arrived at the double doors, Les held them open for her.
Stepping out into the warm sunshine, neither noticed the host of
shadows playing off the hallway walls inside the youth center. It
was as though the shadows were alive, mimicking and mocking with
their intent. Father Jansen was oblivious, never acknowledging
their existence.
 

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHANNEL 9 NEWS

"Damn it, Meg. I don't know why you can't see it!"

"I don't know why you persist in seeing things that aren't
there!"

"He gave me the creeps, Meg. That man looked at you as though
you were filet mignon and he hadn't eaten in weeks."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Ridiculous and jealous."

"Of a priest?"

"Of someone I obviously have a close friendship with."

"Yeah, and what's with that anyway? And what's with his
judgemental attitude? What ever happened to a little bit of
God's grace."

"He's a priest, Les. Of course he's got a certain take on
moral absolutes."

"Moral absolutes? He sounded as though he thought Mansfield
only got what he deserved. He'd already convicted the poor
son of a bitch based on hearsay and assumption. Meg, I don't
see why you persist in being so mule-headed about this.

"Les, don't go there. You know I hate it when you use that
analogy."

"Well if the bray fits!"

"I think it would be a good idea if you remove your jealous
ass as far away from me as you can right now."

"Meg, no. I don't care if we are fighting. I am not going to
leave you alone," Les said, mellowing his tone, realizing
this whole thing was inconsequential compared to the
protection of his wife.

"Les, I'm in the middle of a busy newsroom," Meg said,
looking around and trying to avoid noticing the audience that
was doing their level best to appear busy. "No one is going
to bother me here."

Acknowledging her logic, Les picked up a file and headed to
the elevator. "You don't move from this spot until I get
back. Got it?"

Crossing her heart, Meg smiled, "Got it. Now get going.
Samuels needed those changes yesterday. I promise, I'll
behave."

Pulling Meg into the little alcove which housed the coffee
machine and microwave, Les took advantage of the momentary
privacy. Pressing his lips tenderly to hers, he nuzzled them
apart until Meg granted him entrance. Reveling in her exquisite
taste, Les reluctantly pulled back.

"I'm just worried about you, Meg," he said, placing his hand
lightly over her abdomen. "I just want to keep you both
safe."

"And you do, and we are," she said, acknowledging his need to
protect her. "I'll behave."

"Ok. Now we're cookin' with gas. I'll be back shortly, love
of my life."

"I'll be here."

continued in chapter 5....

             If it weren't for such a wonderful beta
             team, I'd have been lost: Dilbert, Paige Caldwell,
             Frogdoggie, Tara Avery, Exley_61, GS and my
             cheerleaders Sabine, Carol Sue and
             Iona.

---
dlynn

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER 5:

THURSDAY, LATER THAT AFTERNOON

"Scully."

"Agent Scully, this is Les Franklyn. Have you heard from
Meg?"

Holding her cell phone in one hand, and turning the steering
wheel with the other, Scully answered, "No, Les. We haven't
talked with Meg since we left you this morning. I thought the
deal was you were to stay glued to her."

Mulder looked up from the passenger seat where he'd been
perusing a file. He gave Scully a questioning glance. She
shrugged her shoulders in answer. After all, she still wasn't
sure what was up.

Holding his cell phone to his ear as he paced back and forth
like a caged tiger, Les said,"Look, Agent Scully. Fifteen
minutes ago I left Meg at her desk in the middle of a newsroom
full of people. She swore she wouldn't move from that spot. And,
well I shouldn't have listened. She's gone off on her own."

"What? Is she crazy!?"

That got Mulder's attention. Without even bothering to mute
her end of the conversation, Scully turned to Mulder and
said, "Meg's disappeared."

"Shit!"

"Yeah, Mulder, that about sums it up."

"Les, do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

"Agent Scully... Wait a minute."

Les turned to look at the intern who had just approached him.
The guy appeared to be a little nervous. "Look, John, I don't
have time-"

"Mr. Franklyn. I have a note from Ms. Michaels. She said I
was to give it to you the minute you got back to the
newsroom. -"

"What? Where's the note!?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Franklyn, I walked down the hall for a soda
and got waylaid. I didn't realize you'd be back so soon."

"Fine, fine, whatever. Where's the damn note!?"

Thrusting the pink piece of message paper into Les' hands,
John high tailed it out of there. Something was going down
and it looked like he should get far away from it.

"Oh, my God!"

"Les, what is it? What's wrong?" Scully asked worriedly.

"She's gone to meet Bobby."

"Bobby. Bobby who?"

"This morning we went over to the Hinkley Youth Center-"

"Yeah, we know. We'll have a talk about that later. Who's
Bobby?"

"Bobby's ...uh... Father Robert Jansen. Apparently he used to
be one of the St. Vincent's parish priests until he left a few
years ago to supervise some of the dioceses community
projects."

"He was at St. Vincent's... When?"

Pulling another file folder from the stack on the floor,
Mulder asked, "Parishioner or staff?"

"Staff," she said. "Father Robert Jansen."

Running his finger down the list, he found Jansen's name. It
said he had left under perfectly normal circumstances five
years ago to head up the dioceses community projects.
He had an exemplary record. Nothing in the police
investigation to give anyone pause.

Les crumpled the note in his hand and started running toward
the stairs. The elevators in this building were always too
damn slow. Taking the stairs two at a time, he exited into
the parking garage below. Realizing he still held a couple of
those bubble gum cigars he had picked up earlier this
morning in the building gift store, he shoved them in the
pocket of his polo shirt.

Jumping into his car, he gunned the engine and sped out of
the parking garage. When he got his hands on his wife he was
going to throttle her within an inch of her life. Didn't she
realize they had a deal? No ditching.

"Look, Agent Scully. I don't know where you are but I'm going
over to the construction site for the new soup kitchen
on...uh... Oak St. That's where she said she'd be meeting him."

"What does the note say, Les? Verbatim."

Grabbing the note from where he'd thrown it on the passenger
seat, Les read,

"Les,

I got a call from Bobby. He said he might have something
relating to the case. I'm going to meet him at the new soup
kitchen they're building over on Oak St. Don't worry. I'll be
with Bobby. Everything will be fine, love of my life.

Meg."

"Damn it. I told her to stay away from that guy! He gave me
the creeps."

"Mulder, Oak St. Which way?"

"Take a left on Melbourne and right on Freeman. I think it
crosses Freeman right past... umm... Lockwood."

Punching the accelerator, Scully passed the phone to Mulder.
At the speed she was driving now, she would need both hands
on the wheel.

"Look, Les, have you called this in?" Mulder asked.

"I thought that was what I was doing now!" he exclaimed,
pulling onto Elm. "Look, I'm there now. You call it in. I'm
gonna get to Meg. Like I said, Father Jansen didn't sit right
with me. He was so judgmental, so proud in the way he was
talking earlier today and I don't like the way he looked at
her."

"Les... Les!"

Mulder punched in a string of buttons. "He turned
off his cell. Yeah, who is this? Harger...mm.. Ok...Officer
Harger, this is Agent Mulder. I want back up at the new soup
kitchen building project on Oak.. No, I don't have an address.
But, Oak's not that long a street. We may have something with
your Pagliacci killer...Yeah, Scully and I are almost there.
Hey, Harger, tell your men there will be two armed federal
agents on the premises, two unarmed civilians and one
potential suspect. His name is Father Robert Jansen. Yeah,
you heard me right... Father."
 

NEW SAMARITAN SOUP KITCHEN
CONSTRUCTION SITE

Noting Meg's Honda Accord in the parking lot next to a black,
dusty Buick, Les slammed on his brakes. Barely taking
the time to stop the car, he rushed towards the building. For
the most part, there didn't seem to be a lot left to do as far
as construction was concerned. Sure, it needed some
landscaping. But the structure appeared to be finished.
Running up to the entrance he noted a sign heralding the grand
opening to be one week from yesterday.
 

Where was everybody? Shouldn't there be people working?
Granted it was late afternoon, but well before normal
quitting time.

He reached the glass double doors at the
front, giving them a yank. Meeting locked resistance, he
began banging on the doors. Getting nowhere fast, he took off
scrambling around back, stooping beneath windows as he went,
stopping every once in awhile to peer in. Nothing. Absolutely
nothing!

Seeing one window slightly raised, Les pulled a stack of
lumber over to the side of the building. Standing up on the
boards, he was able to get his arms up under the window
enough to raise it. No doubt it would be a tight fit, but he
was getting into that building if he had to squeeze in like a
snake.

Using his upper arms to lift himself off the ground, Les
vowed to pull the weights back out from his bedroom closet.
His upper arm strength just wasn't what it used to be. Maybe
he and Meg would have a boy. Then he'd have someone to take
to the gym.  Wiggling his way into the window, Les thought
"man, you talk sexist crap like that, she's gonna whip your
butt." He could hear her now, "Les, who said only little boys
need to be physically fit? There's no reason you can't take a
daughter to the gym."

Dropping quietly down on the floor of the storage room, Les
heard voices. One of them was Meg's, he assumed the other was
Father Jansen. Lord, he was sure gonna look the fool if all
they were doing was discussing publicity for the center.

That's all right. He'd play the fool.

Cautiously opening the door, Les began to feel a chill in the
air, a cold, clammy grip closing tightly around his heart. He
might not be a church goin' man, but he knew the presence of
evil when he felt it.

Stepping into the hallway, he headed toward the voices. Meg's
was escalating, becoming more clearly agitated.

Les' blood ran cold; she was terrified.

As quietly as possible, Les crept down the hall. He could see
straight ahead what appeared to be an immense dining area.
Just beyond that was the kitchen with one of those large open
serving windows where people could walk by, picking up trays
of food. Meg was standing inside the smaller room, facing Les's
direction. Father Jansen's back was to him. The priest stood
before her, effectively blocking Meg's route from the kitchen.

In the good 'Father's' hand, gleaming silver bright, was a
large carving knifeShe was facing his direction. Father Jansen's
back was to him but he was blocking her way from the kitchen.
In his hand, gleaming silver bright, was a large carving knife.

Meg's eyes were solely on the knife. Her breathing was
labored like she'd been running, her voice was trying to
retain a soothing quality, but it was tremulous and fearful.
It was obvious; she was not talking with a friend. Father
Jansen was no friend. He was a raving maniac.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery'."

"Bobby, ... Father Jansen. We did not commit adultery. We
avoided temptation. You left, Bobby, you left."

Hearing a growl, inhuman in nature, Les crept more forward
into the room. He realized he was going to have to cover open
space. There was no real place to hide except behind some paint
scaffolding about half way out. Hopefully, he could get that
far without being detected. He was afraid Meg's life would
depend on it.

Glancing anxiously around, he wondered where
Mulder and Scully were. Just where in the hell was the
cavalry?

Father Jansen continued his recitation, his voice even,
piercing with fierceness and dark malevolence. This was not
the voice of a man; but of something much more.

His wife stood in that kitchen before the face of evil,
itself.
 

"But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully
has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your
right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.
It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for
your whole body to be thrown into hell..."
 

Father Jansen brandished the knife in front of him. The large
blade appeared even larger when viewed through Meg's
horrified eyes. She tried backing farther away but there was
really no place for her to go. She was already backed up
against the large oven. Father Jansen was only a few feet in
front of her.

Les made a decision.

Stepping out directly into the middle of the cafeteria, he
heard Meg's indrawn breath as she saw him. Before Les could
speak, Father Jansen said, " Welcome home Uriah. Your wife,
Bathsheba awaits you."

"Father Jansen, She is not Bathsheba. I am not Uriah and you
are definitely not David. He was a man after God's own
heart."

Without turning around, or altering his stance in the least,
Father Jansen said, "NO, LES. YOU ARE CORRECT. I AM NOT DAVID."

The wind screamed outside the windows hurtling through the
trees with a furor, lashing the branches with abandoned glee.
There was a depraved suffocating atmosphere enveloping them
in a smothering darkness. The overhead fluorescent lights
flickered off, one by one, until only one light remained, the
one illuminating Meg and Father Jansen like surreal actors on
a stage.

The afternoon sun slid quickly behind thunderous storm clouds.
The light, streaming through the windows, fell away into
dancing macabre shadows. It was as though the room had filled
with murky, hazy spectators lingering in the corners and
behind the doors, just out of range of the one light
remaining. Les felt each shadow moved enticingly closer to the
spectacle playing out before him.

They waltzed at the periphery of his vision, taunting him with
small hissing noises and unearthly touches of wicked delight.

An audience of doom waiting for the final curtain call.

Les felt beads of sweat gather on his brow, cold and clammy
moisture testifying to his fear's escalation. He saw Meg's
body tremble as she tried to remain calm. He heard the
growling voice from the man who was not fully man, who was no
longer priest.
 

"AND IF YOUR RIGHT HAND CAUSES YOU TO SIN, CUT IT OFF AND THROW
IT AWAY..."

Tilting his head in contemplation, the being residing in
Father Jansen asked, "SHALL I CUT OFF HER RIGHT OR HER LEFT
ARM, LES? YOU SEE, IT REALLY MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO ME."

You bastard! Stay away from her!" Les said, walking closer
to the kitchen as he saw the knife's blade being stroked
with undisguised ecstacy. At the edge of his focus, Les thought
he heard squealing tires but it was obvious to him, Meg had run
out of time.

The cavalry was arriving too late.

The midnight shadows teased and tormented, gleeful with
anticipation as they awaited the finale to this scene. Their
lust would be satiated because no matter the outcome,
they would have a satisfying resolution.

Les felt this certainty deep within his soul. It was as though
that "thing" knew the options he was weighing and was giving him
full opportunity to respond.

Making a final decision, because there really was no other,
Les looked longingly at his wife. With all the love he could
muster, he uttered, "Meg, honey. You are the love of my life."

Les, NOOOOO!"  she cried, watching her husband vault his body
over the serving counter.

Time paused.

The moment lingered with cruel clarity as Les came crashing
into the figure of Father Jansen, who with rapture's intent
poised the carving blade directly into Les' path.

Les landed with a sick thud, the carving knife piercing
his heart.

In only the instant required to take a breath, Les Franklyn
ceased to exist.

There were no lingering looks, no last words, no chance
to share a final moment between husband and wife. There was
Les' sharp, startled intake of breath, Meg's wrenching scream,
and the cackle of misery's fortune mingling with the final
gasp of a good man's life.

"NOOOoooooo!" Meg sobbed rushing to her husband's fallen
body. Beneath her feet squished the remnants of pink bubble
gum cigars which had flown from his pocket as he hit the
floor. He'd never had the chance to give them to her--to make
some stupid joke.

She looked up into the smirking face of Father Jansen. He
held in his hand the knife, dripping red with Les'
blood.

"SO, URIAH HAS TO DIE AGAIN. TOO BAD, BATHSHEBA. I HAD SO
HOPED IT MIGHT END DIFFERENTLY THIS TIME. BUT THAT'S ALL
RIGHT. I'LL MINGLE YOUR BLOOD, SACRIFICED TOGETHER FOR ALL
ETERNITY. JUDGEMENT WILL BE MINE. AND I'LL PAINT YOUR FACES,
THE FOOL AND THE HARLOT."

Father Jansen edged forward with the bloodied knife, moving
purposefully in her direction. Meg was too stunned to move,
too bewildered to do more than hold the lifeless body of her
husband, stroking the soft, blond hair back from his brow.She
crooned softly, her voice etched with tears, "...what's the
matter, daddy. Come on soothe my soul. I want some...sugar...
in my bowl."

She looked up at Jansen's twisted features, fully expecting to
die.

"Federal Agent! Stop where you are. I will shoot!"
Scully shouted.

Father Jansen continued to advance, resolute with intent.
Agent Scully's admonishment no more than an annoying mosquito
buzzing at his ear.

A shot exploded with deafening resound.

For the second time in as many minutes, another body fell to
the floor. Father Jansen collapsed in a bloody heap. His
chest torn open, blood spurting, but life still there.

The shadows inched back into the corners, huddling together in
trepidatious expectation. They were still, watching the act
unfold before them on this bloody stage.

Meg looked up to see Scully, gun in hand, advancing
into the kitchen, her partner right beside her.

Scully kicked the knife out of reach with her foot, then bent
next to Meg and Les. It was obvious there was nothing she
could do for him. Les was dead. Her concern must now be for
the living. As she reached for Meg, she focused her attention
upon the stunned woman, assessing her injuries midst the
volumes of blood, trying to determine if the blood were hers
or Les'.

There was no way for Scully to see Mulder behind her, touching
the priest, trying to staunch the blood with a rag he'd picked
up from the floor. She couldn't know of the hideous look on
the priest's face, or the shadows inching forward in gleeful
anticipation.

What she didn't see, the key element that she missed, the one
thing she should have noticed, was the face of evil looking deeply
into the soul of Fox Mulder, recognizing the man it dealt with
once before.

What escaped her eyes was the malignancy leaving behind the
dying body of a priest and silently laying claim to the love
of her life.

But Meg saw.

Meg saw it all and she shuddered, meeting Mulder's piercing
eyes with her own just before she fainted.

"Mulder, I think she's only fainted. I can help you now,"
Scully said, laying Meg gently upon the tile floor.

"No need, Scully. He's not going anywhere. He can't hurt
anyone ever again."

Without meeting Scully's gaze, Mulder stood, looking out into
the darkened cafeteria. With a gleam in his eye, he smiled
watching the shadows slither out the windows.

No. Father Jansen would do no more harm.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 6......
 

             If it weren't for such a wonderful beta
             team, I'd have been lost: Dilbert, Paige Caldwell,
             Frogdoggie, Tara Avery, Exley_61, GS and my
             cheerleaders Sabine, Carol Sue and
             Iona.

scripture references:
Matthew 5:28-29
Matthew 5:30

---
dlynn

                xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER 6:

New Samaritan soup kitchen
Early Thursday evening
 

Meg sat on a cold, metal folding chair in the middle of the
cafeteria, a scratchy blanket thrown over her shoulders. It was
supposed to keep her warm. One of the paramedics had placed it
there, something about shock, about taking care of herself and
the baby.

She didn't realize it, but she had been unconsciously
rubbing her abdomen with small circular strokes, gently trying
to soothe a life that was but the barest hint of existence. At
this point no more than cells, it was already an undeniably
poignant testimony to the love she and Les had shared.

People were coming and going, hurrying and scurrying. There
were police, FBI, paramedics, clergy and, of course, the ever
present media circus. How apropos, considering that this was the
Pagliacci case. The media hounds were being kept outside the
soup kitchen but it did nothing to lesson the impact of their
presence. Not only was there a hot story inside, but it involved
two of their own. No way were they going to leave quietly.

Regaining consciousness just as EMT's were loading her on a
gurney, Meg had forcefully rebuffed the notion of a ride to the
hospital.  She stubbornly refused to leave Les behind. It was
bad enough he was laying on a cold linoleum floor, in a pool of
blood, while she was "encouraged" to sit out here. But she'd be
damned if she were going to put extra miles between them.

Meg felt as though her soul remained in a nightmare's horrific
clutches. Seeing the commotion around her she felt as though she
was shirking her duty by not grabbing a microphone and reporting
on the immediate tragedy. She and Les should be in the throng out
front, desperately maneuvering to gain access.

Sitting here swaddled like a baby in a warming blanket was all
wrong. But not nearly as depraved as seeing her husband zipped
into a black vinyl body bag.

A flash bulb seared her eyes. Jerking her head, Meg saw
the intense gaze of one of her fierce competitors as his ass
was hauled down from the outside window where he'd been spying.

"Meg."

"Agent Scully," Meg answered, acknowledging her words if not
her presence as she continued viewing the escalating argument
outside the window. Meg was peripherally aware of shouted
obscenities and the words "first amendment" and "rights of
the people to know." It was too unfathomable to comprehend
that this turmoil existed solely because...she and...Les...
were news.

"Meg."

This time Meg turned her head, focusing her attention on Scully,
who was seated on a chair next to hers. Was it actually just
three days ago they had first met? She shivered.

A three day descent into hell.

"I really think you should go to the hospital. You're in shock.
There's nothing more you can do for Les, but take care of his
baby."

"That's dirty pool, Agent Scully."

"Whatever works, Meg," Scully murmured softly.

"What happened here, Agent Scully? What...One minute I'm talking
with an old friend, the next, he's a psychotic killer and Les...Les
is..." Meg, turned her eyes downward, loathe to fall apart again.

"He's never shown symptoms of mental illness before?"

"Mental illness, no... but he was always judgmental, always very
self righteous. It was a weakness of his, but this...this was
different."

Her eyes, rimmed red from crying, looked pointedly at Scully. "He
was insane. It was as though all his judgmental attitude had been
magnified-into this perversion," she said, watching an officer
place the stage greasepaint in plastic bags.

"Yes, well psychotic behavior can be insidious...not always acute
in nature."

"I don't think that's it at all. I don't think Bobby was mentally
ill; I think he was possessed," Meg said, her voice trailing off.

Trying to bring Meg's attention away from the forensics clean-up,
Scully said, "You're overwhelmed. You've just witnessed Les's
death."

"No.I have no doubt, Agent Scully. I saw his face-It was evil,
personified. And...Agent Scully," Meg said, her eyes tracking Agent
Mulder as he spoke with an imposing man who had just arrived, "I
don't think the evil has left us."

Scully followed the direction Meg's eyes took, landing on Mulder
and AD Skinner. Before she could process Meg's cryptic words,
Skinner spoke.

"Ms. Michaels, I'm Assistant Director Skinner."

Meg pulled her hand out from the warm blanket, extending it to
Skinner. She was registering the appropriate words of good
manners, Skinner's condolences and Scully's cautious
ministrations, but Meg knew she was watching Agent Mulder with
undue fascination. She was filled with a disquieting unease. Ever
since she regained consciousness, the hair on the back of her
arms stood up whenever he came near her. It was a creepy
feeling and troublesome in that she felt there was something she
was supposed to remember but was just out of reach.

Mulder's eyes were far away; he made no attempt to remain in the
conversation. He kept shaking his head from side to side like he
was lost in a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. Twice, Scully
had to call his name.

"Agent Mulder, do you have something to add to what's been
said?" Skinner asked, his voice gruff with authority.

Pulling himself up and back into the conversation, Mulder replied.

"No, sir. I believe our report will reflect that this is an
open and shut case. Father Jansen was the classic example of
a typical sociopath personality. In laymen's terms...a
vicious, raving maniac who handed out his brand of judgment
based on his warped perceptions of his victim's sins.
Unfortunately, we didn't arrive in sufficient time to stop this
tragedy," he answered, dipping his head in the kitchen's direction.

"Although, Scully quite succinctly-"

"Mulder!" Scully admonished.

"-put an end to his reign of terror."

Skinner's eyebrows shot up, his jaw locked, compressing
his lips into a thin line.

Not looking the least bit contrite, Mulder said, "I'm sorry,
Scully. I just find it hard to grieve for a monster like Father
Jansen, especially knowing the high price paid today for his
downfall."

Scully exchanged a look with Skinner. It was plain to her
that the AD was unhappy with Mulder's sanctimonious comments. But
before their superior could speak his mind, incredibly...Mulder
turned heal, walking away from the foursome.

With a mumbled "excuse me," Skinner stepped after him in pursuit.
Scully took the three steps needed to catch her superior, gently
touching his arm.

Stopping, Skinner turned to stare at her.

"Sir...please. I think...I think maybe Agent Mulder is more
tired than he's letting on. Let me...let me talk to him later.
I know his remarks were un-called for..." she let her voice trail
off for a moment.

Seeing Skinner's expectant expression, she began again. "Give
him some time, sir. And...I will talk to him," she finished,
taking her hand from his sleeve.

Skinner looked away for a second, watching Meg where she
sat, dazed, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. Then
he turned his attention back to Scully, his jaw still tense
but the expression in his eyes, softer.

"All right. But Scully...you'd better talk to him...or I
will. Mulder's not some rookie field agent. He knows better than
to speak that way in front of a victim," he commanded. Scully nodded
and Skinner turned back towards Meg, approaching her and laying a
large hand on her shoulder.

"Ms. Michaels. If there's anything the bureau can do, you'll
let us know," Skinner directed quietly.

"Uh...yes, sir. I just don't know. I'm not sure."

"Ms. Michaels. That's all right. I just wanted you to know
that we're here to help," Skinner stated, removing his hand. Then
not quite knowing what more to say, he added, "Your husband gave
his life valiantly."

Reaching in past his trench coat lapel, into his inner suit coat
pocket, Skinner pulled out a card, handing it to Meg. "I'd like
to give you one of my cards. If you need anything...don't
hesitate to call."

Meg took it from his outstretched fingers, letting it drop into
her lap. Skinner straightened and stepped back. Meg nodded at
him, her face still showing bewildered pain.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

Skinner nodded curtly, clearing his throat.

"Agent Scully, a word with you," Skinner intoned, directing
Scully over to the kitchen.

"Yes sir."

Looking at the woman still staring out the window,
Scully said, "I'll be back in a moment."

Lost in thought, Meg didn't heard Mulder's return until he'd
spoken.

"How are you doing, Meg?"

She was taken aback by his familiarity. He'd always referred to
her as Ms. Michaels. Somehow it seemed almost too casual
considering the recent events.

"Agent Mulder---"

"Call me, Fox," Mulder instructed, leaning in to pick up her
trembling, cold hand.

"Fox?" she puzzled, pulling her hand away from his icy grip.

"After all we've been through it seems awkward to stand on such
formality," he articulated, raising his eyes to hers.

"Right...I..."

"How's the baby, Meg? Everything ok?" Mulder continued, capturing
her eyes with his intense stare. He laid his hand possessively
across her abdomen.

Meg jerked violently back, almost toppling the chair in the
process. An icy chill triangulated in her womb, spreading through
her body like the burn of dry ice.

Looking around the room, as if noticing eyes upon them, Mulder
sat back.

"Excuse me, Ms. Michael's, that was out of line,"
Mulder said, confusion passing briefly over his features.

"Yes, Agent Mulder...It was."

As Agent Mulder walked to the kitchen to join Scully and their
boss, Meg placed her hands protectively over her stomach.

She felt again as though she had just looked into the face
of evil.
 
 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 

LATER THURSDAY EVENING

Slamming the car door, Mulder waited for Scully as she exited
the passenger side. Turning, they headed toward the main door
of her apartment building.

"I don't agree, Scully. I think Father Jansen was just
a man suffering from your garden variety psychotic delusions
of godhood. Nothing more, nothing less. He took his calling
and perverted it, sitting in judgement like he thought he was
the right hand of God."

"Mulder, you were there. Didn't you feel it? Didn't you see his
face before I shot him? Feel the cloying, menacing presence
in the cafeteria?"

"Are you trying to tell me, you, Ms. Skeptic, think Father
Jansen was possessed?" Mulder said sarcastically while reaching
out to touch Scully's forehead with his hand.

"What are you doing, Mulder?" she asked, slapping his cold
fingers away. "Your hands are like ice."

"Just checking for fever. It's the only thing I can
attribute this sudden...dare I say it...turn towards 'spooky
logic'. Or are you just delusional?"

"I'm not sick, Mulder...or...delusional. And...I'm not sure
what I believe. I just know evil does exist, it's an
antithesis to good. And you, more than others, know we've run
up against this kind of possession before. Remember Charlie
Holvey, the Calusari? It's not unheard of; historically, clergy
as a whole are susceptible to possession, especially a priest as
proud and arrogant as Jansen. Evil would find fertile ground
in one so far removed from the spirit."

Looking at his condescending sneer, Scully continued, "In fact,
Mulder, why is it that any case we have with the remotest
tie to religion is automatically cast aside in your book? You'll
scream to the heavens your mantra "I want to believe" until
someone mentions God and then it's just a bunch of psychotic,
delusional kooks. Mr. 'I want to believe' when it suits his take
on the universe."

"And you, St. Scully, the first time someone waves a rosary or
invokes the name of God, you want to talk about God's will or
spiritual possession."

Wondering how this whole discussion had gotten so harsh, so
fast, Scully tried not to take exception to Mulder's attitude.
But it was hard when he was being such an ass.

"Special Agent Dana Scully is attributing a raving maniac's
homicidal tendencies to supernatural possession... You've come a
long way, baby! Finally, after seven years you're starting to
come round to my way of thinking. Our doing the horizontal mambo
must have some...intangible benefits," he retorted, his voice a
near sneer.

"Mulder...cut me some slack here will you...it's been a long
day and I just killed a Priest!" Scully shot back, fuming.
What in heaven's name was wrong with him, she thought, feeling
her face heat up again.

Stepping through the brownstone's front door, Scully walked the
hallway towards her apartment. She didn't see Mulder clench and
unclench his fists, keeping them still at his side, trying to
keep control on the darkness within him, the darkness that wanted
to wring her pretty neck. Agent Scully was worried about an
ambiguous "what if" with regards to evil, not ever realizing
she had just brought it intimately home with her.

Scully unlocked her apartment door. Pushing it open, she
entered. She dropped her briefcase on the floor, hung
her coat on the coat tree, and toed her pumps off in one
simultaneous motion. She walked further into the apartment,
setting her mail on the endtable. Unbuttoning her blouse as
she headed down the hall towards her bathroom, Scully spoke.

"I'm going to take a hot bath, relax a little. I'm not really
hungry. Want to order a pizza for later?"

Noting Mulder's absence behind her, Scully turned. He was
still standing outside her doorway, not moving an inch further.
He was leaning lazily against the door jam, eyeing her with a
feral smirk.

Frankly, it gave her the creeps.

"Mulder, what's with you? Come in and shut the door. I have no
intention of flashing the world."

"More's the pity, Scully," Mulder said, ambling up behind her
and helping her strip the blouse down her shoulders. Smoothing
the silk down the length of her arms, he tightened his hold on
the sleeves, pulling them tightly behind her. In effect,
trapping her arms behind her back.

"Stop it, Mulder. That's not funny. I don't like having my arms
held behind me. You know that."

"Scully, I'm just playing. Having a little fun. What's the big
deal? You trust me," he said, pulling the shirt tighter,
ensnaring her arms even more. He suggestively slid his hand across
her breast teasing at her bra clasp, ignoring Scully's struggles
against him.

Trust is not the issue. I...said...LET GO!" Scully forcefully
kicked her leg back, kicking him in the shin, pushing him backward
in the process. Gathering her blouse back up her arms and holding
the edges together at her chest, she angrily turned around to face
him.

"Scully, I'm sorry...I don't know what's come over me... I
just..."

Flicking the light switch in the kitchen, he illuminated the room.
Stepping to the sink, Mulder poured himself a glass
of water, trying to slake his thirst.

It didn't work.

Still seething, Scully watched him gulp the water as though he
were parched. "Look...Mulder, I think it would be better if you
didn't stay here tonight. I don't know what's gotten into you,
but frankly...I'm not up to figuring it out.

"You want me to leave?"

"At least for awhile. Didn't you say the guys asked you to play
poker tonight? I...think you should go."

"You want me to go hang out with the three stooges?"

"Whatever, Mulder. I just think it would be better if we spent
the evening apart. I'm not up to dealing with your eccentricities
right now.

Noting the mounting anger in his eyes, Scully didn't want the
evening to end on a bad note. She remembered the haunted
look on Meg's face, just after h