By Katvictory
dev1025@uswest.net

Date: 22 May 1999 10:57:48 -0700
RATING: A big, BIG fat NC-17...all kinds of stuff, not for
young minds
DISCLAIMERS: Mr. Carter owns these people. He owns the
universe where they live. I expect no money.
The lyrics quoted in the Chapter headings, the story title
and by Mulder are from "Hotel California" by Eagles Frye and
Henley. The lyrics Mulder sings to Scully are from "Only the
Good Die Young" by Billy Joel. I offer these artist the same
assurance I do Mr. Carter. I make no claims of ownership and
expect no money for their use.
SPOILERS: Clear up thru this season, at least to the
UNNATURAL
CATAGORY: Story, Angst, X-File
SUMMARY: Set in the "Into the Mystic" universe. Mulder and
Scully's manhunt for a body swapping serial killer leads
them to El Cajon, California
AUTHORS NOTES: So many thank you's...to Roda93, Idigomuse &
Liz  who rolled up their sleeves and got their hand dirty
doing the hard part, making me a little less ignorant. And
again to ,Amy,Indi, Liz, Pat, Rae, Laurie - special people
who encourage, badger, read, edit, burp me, change me and
are my friends. Thank you.

This story is dedicated to Wong and Morgan, ECVHS Class of
1979. Guys, if you do perchance read this, I hope you enjoy
the joke. That's what hooked me on X-Files. Mr. Roberts
doing Superstar. The El Cajon, CA portrayed in this story is
pure fantasy, memories of a misspent youth. No relation to
any town, living or dead.
Katvictory ECVHS Class of 1975
Go Braves!!!

THIS COULD BE HEAVEN OR THIS COULD BE HELL
(Into The Mystic II)
PROLOGUE

Art Letourneau had killed 34 people by the time his spree
ended. He felt he was immortal. He had harvested the energy
of his 34 victims and believed that power made him
invincible. He was wrong. The person he planned to kill that
night, the patient who was to be his 35th victim, had been
in a coma for almost five years. Art looked at the man's
wasted form and knew he was doing him a favor, freeing
him from these mortal chains. He had no idea how big a favor
it was.

Art had done his cleansing ritual of bathing the patient's
twisted, emaciated body and injected the potassium directly
into the comatose man's carotid. His work done, Art cleared
his mind, laid his hands upon the victim's head and waited
for the moment of death so he could receive the wonderful
empowering jolt of life force he had come to crave. What
passed through his hands at number thirty-five's moment of
death was like nothing he'd ever experienced. At the last
moment of cognitive thought poor Art ever had, he realized
that he never had gotten anything from the other 34 people
he'd killed. The rush he'd felt at their deaths must have
just been a rush of adrenalin, a warped pleasure his sick
mind got from taking a human life. Nothing metaphysical
about it. The classic serial killer's demented high.

Number 35 looked down at his own body and smiled. The fact
he had been rescued from the comatose limbo he'd existed in
for half a decade by a fellow serial killer was perfect.
More than that, it was hilarious. Karl Nix stood over his
own body and laughed for a good half hour. Life was good.

"WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA"

Walter Skinner was not surprised Fox Mulder knew serial
killer Karl Nix was dead. The assistant director had
expected his agent would stay current with news pertaining
to past cases even while he was on medical leave. It was
Mulder's way -- conscientious, efficient. Those were two
personality traits he admired in the younger man and
practically the only two he felt he himself shared with Mulder. No,
dedication was probably a third. He had come to Mulder's
apartment, that muggy August morning to ask the man's help.
Skinner wasn't sure if the agent was recovered enough to
take
on a case of this nature, but the AD planned on assigning
Mulder's partner to it and figured he could send the young
man with her on a consulting basis. If, a big if, he felt
Fox was up to it.

Skinner was pleasantly surprised to see his friend and
employee looked wonderful. Other than a slight limp, Mulder
looked the picture of health. Tanned, rested, hell he looked
better than he had the six months prior to his injuries. The
man had amazing recuperative abilities. Only a little more
than six months before, the agent had been at death's door,
in a coma after being shot four times, including once in the
head. It was a miracle.

After handshakes and pleasantries, Skinner, as was his
nature, got straight to the point.

"There's a case I thought you might be interested in" he
said settling down on Mulder's well-used couch. " Scully's
been assigned to it and I thought you'd want to go with her
on a consulting basis -- to get your feet wet. If you're up
to
it."

Mulder raised a questioning brow and tried to suppress a
smile. Walter Skinner was not used to asking people for
anything. He was used to telling.

The assistant director continued, " There have been seven
bodies found in and around San Diego. All the victims were
residents of a suburb, El Cajon."

"I've heard of it."

"It's the only tie we have between the seven," Skinner, "and
it is a good one, is they all attend the same church."

Mulder listened attentively, but he felt there was something
Skinner was holding back, or maybe, not quite ready to tell
him about this case. He assumed his superior needed him for
his profiling skills, because from what he had told him so
far, this was not a X-file.

"What makes it strange," Skinner continued, and the agent
perked up at the word, strange, "is that the killer's
signature is identical to one that you dealt with before.
But the perp in question is dead now."

Alarms went off in Mulder's skull immediately and he spoke
without thinking, "Karl Nix?"

Skinner seemed momentarily taken aback by his agent's
knowledge. Mulder quickly explained. "I' d read he died last
month"

The AD paused for a moment, not quite sure what was missing
from the younger man's explanation, then shrugged. He'd
worked with Mulder for more than six years and was almost
used to his odd, but usually right-on-the-money, leaps of insight
into a case. Sometimes it didn't pay to fathom how the man got
the answers, but to just be thankful he did.

"Ah, yes, so you see we probably have a copycat, most
likely a Nix groupie. And that's why we need you. Are you up
to it?"

Mulder thought for a moment, his mind swimming with
memories. He noticed Skinner was staring at him in
anticipation of his answer so he quickly tried to compose
himself. "Yeah, when do we leave" His mouth was dry.

The older man studied his friend reaction, trying to read
him. "Are you ready for this?"

Mulder had to give himself credit, for he covered
beautifully, flashing a wonderfully game smile, " Yeah,
guess I was kinda hoping my first case back would be a
little easier. You know, a vampire, something like that.
Serial killers are a bitch.  But, yeah, I'm ready."

Skinner allowed himself a slight smile and stood, offering
his hand, "Good to have you back, Mulder," he said
earnestly, as Fox lead him to the door, "Scully will be over later this
evening with your travel plans and itinerary. She has it all
arranged."

"I'm sure she does," Mulder said with a rueful chuckle. She
always did.

**************
 

Fox Mulder's smile vanished the moment he shut the door
behind A.D. Walter Skinner and he slumped wearily against
the wall, taking a few moments to collect himself. He hated
feeling so weak. He knew his body was coming back, healing.
But his mind, his emotions ... well, Fox was not sure if
he'd ever feel 'normal' again. It wasn't that he'd lost anything
in his brush with death, not anything physical at least.
He'd lost nothing unless you counted innocence. Pushing away from the
wall and limping to the couch, Mulder laughed at the thought
of losing one's innocence at 38 years old.

He shuddered. He knew too much. That was the plain and
simple truth. He had crossed to the other side, gone to the
gates of the hereafter, and came back remembering
everything. A person wasn't supposed to do that -- not and
keep their sanity. His long-dead Uncle Angus, who he'd met
up with while he was "there" had told him the only other
person who'd come to Earth with that knowledge had been
crucified. Well, Fox Mulder was one Jew who didn't plan on
taking that same path. He knew how to keep a secret.

It would probably have been easier though, if he didn't keep
having the dreams. Now, nightmares had always been a
problem for Fox. That's why he'd been plagued with insomnia
for most of his life -- no sleep, no dreams. But during his
extended recovery, with the medication he was taking, he
slept -- a lot. And thankfully, most of the time it was a
zonked-out dreamless sleep. It was wonderful. However, on
two occasions, he'd had what could only be described as, well,
visions. The first had been short, and sweet. Fox Mulder
dreamed of Amanda, a little girl he had befriended on the
other side, who appeared to tell him that she was happy. That had
been a good dream.

The other, however, was more disturbing. Uncle Angus had
been in that one. The ex-marine had told him of Karl Nix's
death, which should have been a good thing. But, no. His
uncle then proceeded to warn him that Nix, evil SOB that he
was, had not gone into the light. He had not gone before the
Master Programmer to be judged. Angus wasn't exactly clear
where the ex-serial killer had gone. (Spirits like Angus
were maddeningly vague, Fox had discovered) but wherever
it was, he was going to be up to no good. Of that, Uncle
Angus was certain. Now, Fox had an idea where Nix had
gone  --  El Cajon, California.

***************

EL CAJON, CALIFORNIA

Dana Scully busied herself by unpacking. She was worried
about her partner, which in itself was actually quite
normal. After seven years of working with the man, she felt
fretting over Fox was part of her job description. She
wasn't even sure why she was worried. The flight had been
uneventful and he'd slept most of the way -- both good
things.

He'd seemed rested on the rental car drive to the valley, so
nothing wrong there. They had stopped by the El Cajon police
station and he'd seemed his old, intense self as they went
over the reports with the local law enforcement. He'd seemed
fine on the trip to the motel. He unpacked quickly and
offered to grab a bite to eat for them at market across the
street. Normal Mulder behavior, he always unpacked faster
than she, messier too, and he had an appetite. That was a
good thing.

Scully sat on the bed to ponder just what it was that was
bothering her. It finally hit her. It was what had been
bothering off and on her since Mulder had been released from
the hospital. She knew he was keeping something from her --
something big, something important. Little secrets in a
partnership were OK, sometimes even necessary. But this was
wrong, and she needed to find a way to fix it -- soon,
before it ruined the most important relationship in her life.

***************

Mulder held the bag of tea, soda, chips and sandwiches to
his chest as he crossed Second Street, hurrying back to the
motel. He knew he had Scully worried. He'd spent the better
part of a decade under her watchful, blue gaze and reading
her had become second nature to him. Oh sure, sometimes he
was totally mystified by the woman. He still couldn't figure
out what had happened during his pilgrimage to Graceland and
the matter with the desk. But for the most part, he knew his
partner. He knew that she knew that he was keeping something
from her. And he knew it bothered her. But he didn't know
what to do about it.

***************

"Mulder?" Scully answered, hearing a kick at the door. She
jumped from the bed realizing, his hands must be full. Sure
enough, his arms were laden down with dinner. She smiled,
instantly pulled from her worried mood by his cockeyed
grin.

"Welcome to the Hotel California," he said laying the feast
on the bed.

"What a lovely place," she replied with a grin.

Mulder put a hand on her cheek, happy that they were once
more together on a case. It had been a long time. He stared
into her crystal blue eyes and felt his chest tighten with
joy. "What a lovely face."

Dana blushed and laughed, breaking the moment. "What'd you
get us?" she asked, almost shyly.

Mulder was momentarily disappointed the connection had
severed, but he smiled and went on with the program.

"Kaolin's Valley Market specials. I got a ham and Swiss with
everything and roast beef and cheddar with onions."

"Ham," Scully said, plopping down on the bed. Mulder wasn't
kosher but he preferred roast beef.

"Did you call Saint Elizabeth's?" Mulder asked through a
mouthful of sandwich.

"Nope," she mumbled, her mouth also full. "I will after
dinner. How's 10 a.m. sound for an appointment?

Mulder gave a thumbs up, too busy chewing to answer. They
finished their meal in silence, then Scully called the
rectory and set up an interview with the victim's priest,
Father Wolfe, at 11 a.m. the following morning.

"How 'bout we just stay in and go over the reports, maybe
order in a video and a pizza when we get hungry again?"
Mulder asked, picking up the trash from their afternoon
feeding frenzy.

Scully watched him with a puzzled eye. Cleaning up after
himself had never been a Fox Mulder character trait.

"Mulder," she said and stilled his hand from wiping down the
bedside table, "is that really you in there? Are you possessed?"

"What?" Fox stopped short his cleaning, a stunned look on
his face.

She felt a bit embarrassed by his reaction to her
heavy-handed humor. " Mulder," she repeated and held his hand while she
tried to explain, "it's just that you haven't been yourself since
the shooting. I mean Fox Mulder cleaning..."

Mulder studied her worried gaze and offered her a sheepish
grin. He sat down on the bed and pulled her down next to him. Dana
was surprised by his action and his grin broadened. They had
spoken of this, how they would handle returning to work
together after having been intimate.

They had decided that the one time would be the only time
and they would allow their relationship to go back to
normal -- or as normal as it had been the prior six years.
She wasn't sure if physical contact should be in the
picture.

Mulder had other ideas. He threw both arms around her and
hugged her tight. After an initial stiffening, she melted
into his warm hug. It felt wonderful to be wrapped in his
loving embrace. After a long moment of luxuriating in the
tender touch of his hands smoothing her back, she pushed
away to look up at him.

"Thank you," she said almost shyly, a demure smile tilting
the corners of her lovely lips.

"Maybe getting shot in the head was a good thing, huh?" he
whispered softly. "Made me not a slob."

"Don't say that," her eyes grew wide, "not even kidding."

"Sorry. I know you're worried and I don't know what to
tell you." Mulder apologized quickly, putting a warm hand on
her cheek. "Sometimes I feel like myself, but sometimes..."

He moved away from her to sit down on the bed. He didn't
feel comfortable talking about what had happened, didn't
like thinking about it himself. But he felt he owed her some
kind of explanation. If it was not the entire truth, it was
only a little lie of omission. And it would help her not to
worry.

"Scully, I'm sure almost dying changed me, but I'm not
really sure how -- or why." There, he'd said it and he
watched her face, trying to see if she believed his half-truth.
"Everyone keeps telling me I'm different. I don't know what
to do about it. I don't know how to change back." These
words were entirely true and the tears that sprang to his eyes
were honest and heartfelt. "I just don't know who I am
anymore, or what I want."

Scully's eye's misted and she grabbed his face to make him
look at her. "I'm sorry." She knew there had to be scars
from his injuries. It was still hard to believe that he
survived at all. Six months was not long at all, not long
enough to come to terms with what had happened to him. Hell,
she still was recovering from the ordeal. Dana softly kissed
his cheek and made a promise to herself to stop pressing him
so much. He would talk to her about what was on his mind
when he felt able.

***************

Mulder sat on the side of the bed, popping sunflower seeds
and sipping tea, engrossed in the movie Scully had picked
out. He had been disappointed in her choice. It was a drama about
a doctor who had lost his license after accidentally killing
a patient by operating while strung out on drugs. Dana
sheepishly admitted that she had rented it because she found
the man who played the doctor attractive. Initially, Fox had
complained about her choice, but the story began to interest
him and now, Scully was asleep and he was hooked.

The phone rang right as the final credits rolled and he
jumped up to answer it, but was too late as Scully rolled
over and grabbed the receiver first.

"Scully," she mumbled, pushing up on one arm, sleepily
wiping at her face.

Mulder stood over her, watching her expression as she
listened to the caller.

"Okay, thank you. Be there in five minutes," Scully said
rising up to stand. She hung up and turned to her partner,
already reaching for her jacket. "They found two more."

Mulder flipped off the VCR and grabbed his coat on the way
out the door.

They made it to the El Cajon police station in under five
minutes, traffic being light at the late hour. Slipping
inside the modern complex, the agents made their way down to
homicide Detective Laura Kirchman's office. Kirchman, of
course, was already on the scene but the young man
she left to brief them on the new development led them out
to his car, bringing them up to date as they hurried back
out into the stifling hot night.

Scully allowed her partner the shotgun seat as she noticed
him favoring his bad knee, knowing the front seat would allow
him more chance to stretch out his long legs. She hoped it
was not too soon for Mulder to be returning to work. This
kind of case took a lot out of a person and she silently
prayed Fox had healed enough to handle what looked to be
a rough road ahead.

END CHAPTER
 
 

This Could Be Heaven or This Could Be Hell
Part 2 of 6
Author : Katvictory
Feedback: dev1025@uswest.net
"UP AHEAD IN THE DISTANCE, I SAW A SHIMMERING LIGHT"

The car made its way down the twisting highway, its
headlight cutting through the warm, smothering darkness, while
Detective Kirchman's emissary briefed the two agents on what he knew
so far about the newest victims of the "El Cajon Slasher."

"Hiker found the two bodies this afternoon, " the young
detective, Alex Kolb, explained as he pointed the car to
follow the dark twisty road. Kolb looked to be twenty if
he was a day, a fact Mulder knew was impossible.

*You can't get a gold shield at twenty,* Mulder mused to
himself, *not even in California.*

"Took him four hours to get to a phone, so in this heat,
they oughta just be getting ripe." Alex quipped.

*Great, Dudley Doright thinks he's Robin Williams.*

It seemed they had been driving for hours. Fox shifted
in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position for his
aching knee. He heard Scully stir behind him and knew she
was well aware that his leg was paining him tonight, so he
turned and offered her a smile of reassurance that he would
be fine.

"I know Otay is near the border, but is it much further?"
Dana asked, hoping they'd soon make it to the scene so her
partner could stretch out some.

"Almost there," Alex replied peering ahead, "look we can
see the scene now... up ahead in the distance."

"I saw a shimmering light..." Mulder murmured to himself.

"Yeah they do got a lot of candle power there." The
detective nodded indicating the large kelig lights used to
do night investigations.

Mulder sighed and shook his head. God, he felt old.

They pulled off, parking beside the road and Alex lead the
way as they walked over to the site where the victims had
been dumped. A forty square foot area had been cordoned
off and Mulder and Scully looked around, searching for a
familiar face among the thirty or so people mulling busily
about the outskirts of the area.

"Get a lotta bodies dumped here," Detective Kolb informed
the partners. "It's right on the border. Spend a lotta time
up here, don't we John?"

The young man appeared to be talking to a sheriff who was
standing nearby. The older uniformed officer seemed to
consider the overeager detective a pain and continued to
watch the milling crowd, allowing Alex only a disinterested
nod.

Kolb took the brush off with a grain of salt, and continued
to rattle on, " Oh, lord, back in Otay again," he quipped.

'That's Lodi, Junior," Sheriff John Stone said in disgust at

Alex's misquotation of the classic lyric.

"Whatever," the young detective shrugged. "I wasn't even
born yet."

Mulder sighed, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. It
was going to be a long night.

***************

Mulder asked to have the back seat on the long ride north
to El Cajon, in order to be able to stretch out his leg.
Scully agreed and by the time the sun cut through the early morning
fog, she was asleep. Mulder used the time to study his notes
he had taken at the scene. It was clear from the dry,
desiccated look of the bodies, that these were not slasher victims 8
and 9, more like 1 and 2. Several things puzzled Mulder as he had
stood beside Scully and the M.E. and watched them do a cursory
examination of the bodies. The people had been killed by
someone knowing Nix's methods and wanting to broadcast the
fact. They had tentative ID's for the couple that had been
established by the fact the male victim had been left his
wallet. The odd thing was, the wallet had contained six
different names on various forms of picture ID. A quick
check of missing persons in the El Cajon Area had
established that while none of the six names were listed, a person who
one of the names, Art Letourneau, had written as next of kin was
missing. So it appeared, barring dental records ruling them
out, that Ruby Letourneau and her son Art were lying dead
at the scene.

Mulder speculated that Ruby was killed first. Even with
decomposition and near mummification, her body showed clear
signs that she had been tied hand and foot with nylon rope.

The slit on the stomach where Nix made his incision was
still apparent as was the dried-out strand of intestines
that has been brought up around Ruby's neck and tied in a
bow. The woman's ears and ring finger were missing, still
sticking with Nix's habit of removing his victims' jewelry.
Also, the amputated finger was found near the body but not
the ears. All classic Nix mutilations. He kept the ears. He
had a fixation with piercings but only wanted the rings, not
the fingers they had been placed on. Mulder noticed one
oddity that he mentioned to Detective Kirchman at the scene.

Nix, a huge, strong monster of a man always pulled the
fingers out of joint, making amputation easier. Ruby's
fingers had been cut off by sawing through the bone.

Art, at first glance, was defiled in much the same way, but
Mulder knew he had been killed in an entirely different
manner. Art's skull had been cracked open by a blunt object.

That was what looked to be the cause of death. The
mutilations, Mulder speculated, were post mortem. Someone
had deliberately cut up a dead man to make it look like Nix
had done it. It was Mulder's guess that Art had surprised
the killer  in the act of murdering Ruby and had been killed
in a struggle, perhaps trying to stop the madman.

He knew who he thought was doing this, and he thought he
knew why. Somehow, Nix had found a way to take possession of

another body and was killing again, using the exact same
signature, to lure Fox to him.

*Well, so far it's working,* Mulder thought with a sigh.
*He's here, he's killing and now, I'm here.*

The problem was, Nix knew what Mulder looked like. The agent

reckoned, if Nix had switched bodies, he could be anyone.
The desk clerk at the motel, the cashier at Kaolin's Market,

he could even be Alex Kolb.

Mulder looked at the bowed head of his sleeping partner,

*The only ones I can be sure of is me... and thee...* Fox
mused with a grin and closed his eyes, glad that there was
at least one thing left in life he could be sure of.

***************

Dana Scully met Laura Kirchman at the station and
accompanied the woman to the San Diego coroner's office. She
left her partner the keys to the rental, with the hope he
would return to the motel and try to catch up on some much
needed sleep but she was almost positive she was hoping in
vain. Mulder never slept. At least not when they were on a
case.

The medical examiner, Naham Tate, was a small, dark-haired
man not much taller than Dana, but like her, did not
his size keep him from doing any of the often strenuous
tasks his job required. At times, there was a lot of grunt
work involved with the art of doing an autopsy on a body and
forcing it to give up its clues. While the tether of life
seemed often gossamer thin, the bones and sinew that make up a
human corpse are strong.

Tate struggled with the mummified remains of Art Letourneau,
trying to get the man's legs, which had drawn up in death,
down in order to examine his abdomen.

"The stomach wound was definitely post mortem, no blood
flowed from that baby. I'd say death came almost instantly
with the skull fracture. All the other mutilations were just
window ressing."

Scully kept her questions in check until the examiner,
flicking the verhead microphone back on, made his comments for the
official report. The M.E. confirmed their initial findings they had
come up with at the scene. Scully had developed a paranoia that was
second nature after seven years on the X Files and she felt sure
and was disturbed that someone was mimicking the signature M.O.of a
serial killer that her partner had apprehended. Whoever killed Art
Letourneau and his mother went to quite a bit of trouble to
make sure it looked like Karl Nix had done it. What worried
her was why.

***************

Detective Kirchman dropped Dana off in front of Saint
Elizabeth's a scant five minutes before her 11 a.m.
appointment with the priest. Mulder was already waiting for her,
sitting in the rental which he'd parked in front out on the pepper
tree-lined street. She stood waiting on the sidewalk near the entrance
as her partner unfolded himself from the economy-sized vehicle.

Scully knew he had not even tried to rest and his leg, which
had been shattered by a bullet six months before was troubling
him even more than when she'd seen him last. He strolled up to
her with a lurching limp that resembled the walk of a drunken
sailor.

"Sleep, huh? Sure!" Scully muttered to him as they made
their way out of the bright sun.

"I rested," he lied.

Scully shook her head, but chose not to pursue the matter.
They had other things to do and he was a big boy.
 

Saint Elizabeth's was a typical suburban church, having been
built during the fifties when the denizens of the inner
cities flocked to bedroom communities, because housing
was plentiful, gas was cheap and their was a car in every
garage. The building's design lacked the charm and grace of
older cathedrals, opting instead for modern lines and
serviceable designs.

Making their way through the brightly-lit chapel, the agents
knocked on the door behind and to the right of the altar
that bore a placard with Father Wolfe's name. They entered at
hearing a muffled, "Come in."

Father Melvin Wolfe was a huge bear of a man, at least six
foot five and well over three hundred pounds of squarely
built, hard-packed muscle. Scully watched her hand disappear
into his massive paw as they shook hands in greeting.

Mulder was surprised as the man purposefully met his eye
while they shook hands. He could see that the man's smile
was not genuine and studying the priest, closely he was
stunned into a realization. Karl Nix was inside Father Melvin Wolfe.

Nix had made sure the agent knew this fact.

Scully eased into her chair, puzzled by the silent exchange
that had happened between her partner and the priest.

"Now, what exactly is this supposed to be about?" Wolfe
asked, settling back in his behind a large, oak desk.
"I've talked to everyone from commissioner to meter maid
since this has been happening. There's not much more that I
can tell you. I've given you a list of all our parishioners.
What do you need now?"

Dana was taken aback by the man's hostile attitude and cast
a quick glance at her partner to see if he might see a way
to get a handle on the priest's anger so the questioning
could be more productive. Mulder seemed lost in thought, silently
perusing Wolfe, a frown puckering his forehead.

"Well, Father Wolfe, there's been two more bodies found.
That brings the total up to nine. The local police, as you
know, are getting desperate. That's why we were called in to
help. We were hoping that you might think of something that
could connect all the victims together. Did you know them
very well? The two we found this morning were Ruby
Letourneau and her son, Art."

Wolfe's expression didn't change throughout Scully's plea
for help and good will, although his eyes never left her. He
studied her with such scrutiny, it was beginning to make her
nervous. She was already past irritation from the penetrating
gaze.

"I knew Ruby.  I don't think anybody knew Art was even home.
If I remember right I think he lived back east... in
Virginia."

Scully was relieved when Wolfe finally stopped staring at
her and directed his gaze to Mulder on his last comment.
Mulder did not say a word, nor did he for the rest of the
interview, much to Scully's frustration. At the end of the
hour of non-productive questioning, she felt Father Wolfe
gave them what almost seemed like a bum's rush out the door.

The partners stayed silent until they reached their car and
pulled away from the church.

"Mulder," Scully finally exploded, unable to keep her
thoughts to herself any longer. " That man is the poorest
excuse for a priest I've ever met."

Mulder smiled at her heated remark. "So you don't think he's
really a priest?"

"Huh? No, I just said he isn't a good one. What do you
mean he's not a priest?' Scully asked, confused by his
question.

"Hey, I'm no expert on priests, but I agree with you. He
wasn't very priest-like."

"Well, I am an expert... and there's something wrong with
him. We need to get a hold of the bishop and find more about
about Father Wolfe."

Mulder grinned at his partner indignation, "Yeah, why don't
we do that?"

Scully stopped and blushed, realizing how she might have
overreacted a tad. "Sorry... but it's kind of like when you
find a bad cop. But with a bad priest, it's not only
dangerous and insulting to the whole profession... it's...
well, a sin."

Mulder chuckled at the comparison. "Does the priesthood have
an internal affairs department?"

Scully laughed. "Well, we can start with the bishop. I'll
call and see if we can get an appointment with him."

Mulder nodded and mulled over what he had discovered. He was
not quite ready to announce his theory to Scully. He had to
admit that there was very little hard proof that Father
Wolfe had somehow become possessed by Karl Nix. The agent wasn't even
sure if that was what this was. Was there a guideline that
defined possession? They had investigated a couple of cases that
were similar to this one, earlier when the X Files first started,
but Fox still didn't know whether there were any hard and fast rules
to follow in classifying matters such as this. Nix was evil. but demon
possession didn't really fit. Could they perform an exorcism on Father
Wolfe? Could he even convince anyone that Father Wolfe was
no longer Father Wolfe, but a dead serial killer named Karl
Nix?

Mulder knew he had his work cut out for him.

END CHAPTER

TITLE: This Could Be Heaven Or This Could Be Hell
AUTHOR :Katvictory
RATING: NC-17

"SOME DANCE TO REMEMBER: SOME DANCE TO FORGET"

The soonest Scully could set up an appointment with the
bishop's representative was 9 a.m.the next morning when they
were to meet with a Monsignor Robert Kieran. Oddly enough,
the monsignor requested the meeting be held at their motel
room. She agreed. That bit of business done, the pair set about
finding a spot to grab a bite to eat.

The agents stopped at a small restaurant in a fifties-style
strip mall down Second Street from the motel. The Boll Weevil  was
a little hole in the wall, much closer to Mulder's taste
than Dana's, but both partners were surprised by the food, which was
tasty, and the service, which was friendly but non-intrusive. They
took a table off in a corner and waited for their barbecue
burgers to arrive, sharing a pitcher of iced tea between them. The
topic of discussion was what to do with the rest of the day until
they could walk through the murder scene, Ruby Letourneau's house.

The valley had been under a Santa Ana condition, a heat wave
in which temperatures stayed near 100 degrees for a month,
so short of leaving town and heading for the cooler weather of
the coast, there wasn't much left to do in the sweltering
suburb.

"Hey, we can always go visit Rocky," Mulder suggested,
around his first bite of the monster-sized burger.

"Whmm?" Scully's question was muffled by her mouthful, which
she hastily swallowed down with a sip of tea. "Who?"

"Scully, don't tell me you've forgotten Rocky? The late,
great Jose Chung stated in his last book, that Rocky settled
in El Cajon. I thought you read it?"

"I thought you didn't?" Scully replied with a raised brow.

"Never mind," Mulder groused. "Why don't we just go back to
the motel and we can watch that movie you rented. That guy
whose butt you like isn't too bad an actor."

Scully was too busy eating to do anything but nod.

****************

Ruby Letourneau's house on Wintergardens had been built in
the early thirties. The property had once been on the
outskirts of town but now, one burg in Southern California
ran into another and the dividing lines showed up nowhere
except on maps. El Cajon ran into Lakeside ran into Santee
and so on throughout that part of the state. The house was
ramshackle, but Fox Mulder knew that with the price of land
in California, he was standing at a place that was worth a
quarter of a million dollars. It was hard to believe the
poor widow who lay on the slab at the coroner's office and
had spent her declining years pinching every penny to
survive on her Social Security, had been living on what was
essentially a gold mine.

Dana Scully had preceded the agent up the steps and had
already broken the yellow tape seal to gain entrance to the
house. No one had entered the residence for a month, except
of course law enforcement and others that were needed to
investigate the murders, and the thick fetid smell of the
crime that had been committed in the place was overpowering.

Upon getting a whiff of the sickly sweet, acrid odor Mulder
quickly switched to breathing through his mouth, but it was
too late -- his stomach rebelled and he fled back out to the
porch to lose his lunch.

As he leaned over the side railing, spots appearing in front
of his eyes from the violent retching, he was secretly
grateful that Scully was the only person to see his
weakness. He felt her cool hand on the back of his neck and turned to
see that she was offering him a towelette. With a nod, he
took it and wiped his face. The cool moisture helped and with a
groan he pushed himself up, then sank down to sit on the
railing, fighting another wave of dizziness.

"Just take it slow, Mulder," Scully soothed, using another
towelette to wipe his brow.

"Just, it's been a while" he apologized, taking deep
breaths, trying to calm his quaking belly and ease the
shakes that made his hands tremble like he was infirm.

"And it's so hot," Scully agreed, offering her own reasons
for his weakness. "We can come back tonight, when it's
cooler."

"Nah, let's try, what have I got to lose? Got nothing left
to puke," Mulder said, pushing up to stand.

"You are so gross," Scully said leading the way back into
the stifling house.

"Wow, Scully, you're talking like a native, now, huh?
Bitchin.'" Mulder teased.

Dana ignored the barb and her partner, but she was glad
that he felt better. He must, if he was able to tease her
about her Southern California upbringing. She peered about
in the dimly lit room. Every surface had been dusted. The
marks on the floor pointed to where each bit of evidence had
lain. The carpet had been removed in patches, even one
section of the hard wood floor had been cut away. Flipping
through the report, using her penlight to read by, Scully
walked the path that the murderer and the investigators
before her had stepped.

When she looked up from her examination, she noticed Mulder
had left, and hearing his movements on the porch, she
figured the stench had gotten to him once again. This time, she let him
get sick in peace. Like he had told her, there was little
left in his stomach to vomit and she believed he really
didn't wish her hovering about him.

Walking into what must have been a formal dining room in the
large house's glory days, the agent spotted a large area
where the carpet had been removed in one wide 4 X 4 patch.
The report placed this as the spot where the murderer had
gutted Ruby. The odor of death was strongest here and Scully
remembered her partner. A check of her watch showed twenty
minutes had passed since she'd last seen him on the porch so
she left her walk through to search him out and make sure he
was not sicker than she'd thought.

She ambled out into the hot, still afternoon and was
relieved to spot her partner, sitting half in the rental,
elbows resting on his knees, studying something. As she neared
she saw it was an identification badge of some kind.

"What have you got?" she questioned gently. He still looked
a bit pale. She knew he'd had no sleep since the nap on the plane
the day before and between the heat and the nausea, he had
to have been drained dry.

"Some dance to remember, some dance to forget." He
laughed, holding the laminated card out to her.

It was an ID badge, with the name and picture of Art
Letourneau on the front. It announced the murder victim as
having been an employee of Valley View Nursing Home in
Arlington, Virginia.  The name of the nursing facility rang
a bell.

"Where Nix was?" Scully asked in surprise.

Mulder nodded.

"Where'd you find it?" She quizzed, almost afraid to ask.

"Remember Nix's number -- 23?"

Scully remembered it well. It was in 1994, the end of their
first year as being partners. Mulder and the entire Violent
Crimes Unit had been tracking Nix for two years. The man was
lunatic, he was a genius, and he had a way about him that
made a young, brilliant agent named Fox Mulder feel like he
was being toyed with. Nix had enjoyed their dance during
Mulder's time in the VCU and was offended when he'd left. He
had left his driver's license behind the mailbox at victim
number 23's house along with a note that asked in so many
words for Fox to come out and play. Scully was just
beginning to realize her partner's manic intensity and had
been angry that he had complied with the madman's request.
It all ended up with Mulder almost envicerated and Nix in a
coma, a bullet in his head.

"It was behind the mail box," Scully stated.

Mulder nodded once again. "No note requesting another whirl
on the dance floor, but I get the connection."

"So Art Letourneau has brought the "El Cajon Slasher" home
with him." Scully announced, everything coming together in
her mind.

Mulder paused to see if she was ready for his theory and
decided he was too tired for a debate.

"That's one way of putting it," he said dryly, a smile
playing about the corners of his mouth. "Let's close up and
head back to the motel."

Scully nodded, knowing this was the closest she would ever
get Mulder to admitting he was tired. They returned to the
house, resealed the place and left to make an early night of
it.

***************

It was 10 p.m. and Fox Mulder had yet to go to sleep. He
knew what part of the problem was. He had begun to wean
himself from even the light pain medication that had been
prescribed for his injuries so he assumed this wakefulness
was a bit of a rebound effect from the drugs that had made
him so sleepy. Most of the problem was that he was back at
work, on a case, and he had always had problems sleeping
when his mind was fully occupied.

He placated himself with the knowledge that at least he was
resting and off his feet. The throbbing of his knee was now
down to a dull ache. He was spread out, his long, lanky form
stretched across the queen sized bed, his laptop resting
upon his chest, glasses perched on the end of his nose in
order to read the tiny screen.

His thoughts and ideas were racing as he surfed from site to
site. There were thousands of places on the web that touched
on possession. Some were for people interested in satanic
cults. These he skipped or quickly skimmed for he tended to
fine them naively mystical and utterly laced with hyperbole.

Others were too dry and scholarly, treating the subject with
disdainful disbelief.

What he searched for was a happy medium, where he could find
information not laced with myths or hidden by narrow minds.
His main problem was he felt possession was too broad a
subject to be searching. He wasn't sure what had happened to

Nix. Was it possession, transmigration of the soul, body
swapping? Should he search for an Anne Rice web page?

He chuckled to himself, wishing it was that easy, and
secretly wondered where the writer did her research.

"In her imagination," he laughed to himself and realized he
was too tired to make any headway. Sleep was what he needed.

Mulder reached over and set his laptop beside the bed,
then switched off the light, hitting the TV to give him the
necessary white noise he needed to sleep.  The agent tossed
and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the too
firm mattress, wishing to himself he could bring his
comfortable form-fitted couch with him when he traveled.

"Crawling in next to Scully would put me to sleep," he
thought, then quickly changed his mind. Even imagining the
feel of her warm, soft silky skin against his flesh had the
opposite effect and he banished the troublesome thoughts from his
mind. What he needed, he finally decided, was to clear his
thoughts. To push away all the troubles, all the worries,
the hassles, the puzzles. To get rid of every thing out of
his head, to make his mind a blank, and relax.

He was standing on a baseball diamond that was very
familiar. It was the one where he had given Scully her
birthday gift earlier that year -- the gift that had led to
their first night together. He had taught her how to hit a
ball. Hips, then hands, he told her -- hips, then hands.

"You gonna teach me how to play?" A small voice asked from
behind him.

Mulder whirled and was surprised to see Amanda, the child he
had befriended when he had been stuck on the other side. She
strode up to him, dressed in a miniature uniform. It was
just like the one he was wearing. The Grays logo announced their
team. Mulder grinned broadly at the child and bent to give
her a hug. She gazed up at him, eyes twinkling in the
moonlight. She looked happy.

"Hi, 'Manda," he smiled, surprised to realize how warm and
real she felt.

"I'm real, Mulder," she explained knowingly, "but this is
the only way I'll come to you -- in a dream. Believe it or not,
you really don't want to see me when you're awake."

Fox thought about her statement and decided it was a fact.
His adventures in the netherworld during his coma was in
fact the closest he ever wanted to get to the other side, at
least in this lifetime. What he remembered from his visit
was already too much for him to face.

"Ahh, you worry too much, Mulder," Amanda told him. "Mr.
Dales was right. You need to loosen up and enjoy life.
That's why HE let you remember everything when you went
back. HE wanted you to know that life is short, you need to
enjoy it while you can."

Mulder wondered where this vision was leading, if the child
was there to warn him of his impending doom.

"Holy cow, it doesn't matter where this is leading. Don't
you see? All that's happening is you needed to see me.
Seeing me makes you feel better, right?"

Mulder nodded.

"That's all there is to it. HE wants you to be happy. I want
you to be happy. You need to quit fighting being happy. You
deserve it. You're a good man, Mulder. You deserve to be
happy. Really. I'm an excellent judge of people, so I know."

Fox laughed at the precocious child's words. He loved her so
much. He wanted to believe her. She had meant so much to him
during the time they'd spent together. She had been his
lifeline and had kept him sane until he had returned to the
real world.

"Listen to me NOW, Fox Mulder!" Amanda chided, wrapping her
arms around him and looking up at him to grin. "You helped
me. You helped my mama. When you went back, you watched over
her. You're a nice man. I love you. You deserve a little love,
don't ya think?"

Mulder felt his eyes fill as he accepted her word. He
nodded, wiping at his face. Amanda tilted her head to study him
and laughed when she saw he'd finally accepted her words as truth.

"Now, you can teach me to hit, okay?" she laughed and held
up a round piece of cowhide and a stick.

Mulder saw a movement out the corner of his eye and realized
there was a figure standing there on the pitcher's mound. A
tall, gangly black man. The man grinned broadly at the agent
and gave him a sly wink.

"You ready?" Amanda smiled, pleased that Mulder liked her
gift.

"Play ball," Mulder laughed.

The game lasted all night.
 

This Could Be Heaven Or This Could Be Hell
Part 4 of 6
By Katvictory
Feedback: dev1025@uswest.net
"WE ARE ALL JUST PRISONERS HERE, OF OUR OWN DEVICE"

Mulder overslept. Scully had to wake him, the monsignor was
due to arrive in 20 minutes. Through the open, connecting
doorway between their rooms, she could hear him singing in the
shower. He was singing, oddly enough, "Only the Good Die Young."
Dana remembered that song. She hated it.

"They say there's a heaven for those who will wait.
Some say it's better but I say it ain't.
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints,
Sinners are much more fun,
And only the good die young."

Clad only in a a towel, he was standing at the door, a
devilish gleam in his eye. Water dripped from his wet hair.

"Don't give up your day job," Scully said, keeping her face
impassive and trying to ignore the way the droplets clung to his skin,
making it glisten. "You need to get dressed, the monsignor will be
here any minute. This doesn't exactly look professional."

Mulder offered her his largest grin. " Okay, Virginia," he
laughed and closed the door behind him singing loud enough
for her to hear, "Come on Virginia show me a sign.
Send up a signal, I'll throw you a line.
The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind
never lets in the sun.
And only the  good die young."

Her muffled laugh was the sign he'd been looking for and he
dressed with a satisfied smile.

**************
The monsignor arrived promptly at 9. Scully answered and
her smile of greeting was returned by the tall, gray-haired
man. Monsignor Robert Kieran was a tanned, fit 65-year-old,
a transplanted Bostonian, who had embraced California's
warmth with his entire being.

"Fox Mulder!" Kieran exclaimed, pumping the agent's arm with
exuberance, "I can't believe I finally get to meet you! I've
followed your work for years!"

Mulder cast an embarrassed eye at his partner and thought he
heard a soft under the breath, "Your work?" muttered, but
couldn't be sure.

"So, what have you discovered that makes you think it's
Melvin Wolfe that's killing these people?" the monsignor
asked bluntly. Dana motioned for him to sit, surprised at
the man's penchant for getting right to the point.

"We don't really consider him a suspect," she began to
explain.

"But something about him bothers you?" Kieran's blue gaze
cut intensely into her and she could only nod.

"Monsignor, Father Wolfe's response to questioning, his
demeanor, is what drew our concern" Mulder replied quickly.
Scully nodded, agreeing with his answer.

Kieran studied the partners, silently sizing up the
situation. When he spoke again his eyes had softened, " I'll
take your word for it. You believe something isn't right
with Melvin? "

The two agents nodded in unison.

"Father Wolfe would be the last person I'd think capable of
a crime like this. St. Elizabeth's was my parish. I knew him
for five years before I left. Melvin is what you might call
"a gentle giant" He's one of the most soft-hearted people I've
ever met."

Again the partners exchanged glances, remembering the surly,
belligerent man they'd encountered.

"I take it that wasn't the impression he left you with," The
monsignor smiled, reading the partners' expressions.

"Sir, his eyes never left my chest," Scully exclaimed
quickly, shocking both the priest and her partner. She
seemed somewhat embarrassed by her hastily-uttered
statement and she cast her eyes to the floor, angry that
her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

"Agent Scully, something is wrong then," Kieran agreed
with a faint smile. "The Father Wolfe I know never had a
problem resisting the sins of the flesh."

"He seemed very agitated, distracted during our talk," Dana
offered.

"Again, that's not Melvin," the priest chuckled. "Maybe I
should go see what I think."

"Monsignor, what are your views on possession?" Mulder
interrupted.

The room grew quiet. At first, both pairs of eyes focused
on Fox. He returned their gaze with a calm, if somewhat
curious, stare. Kieran glanced to Dana and she found
herself looking at the floor, wishing that suddenly a hole
would appear and she would be swallowed up. She could not
believe he had asked that of a priest. The rite of exorcism,
especially after the handling of the film industry, had
become an embarrassment for the Church.

The priest's shock turned to amusement. "Okay, what else
would I expect from Agent Fox Mulder of the X Files? I
can't believe I'm sitting right here talking to you. I can't
wait to get on the Internet tonight. No one's gonna believe
this."

It was Mulder's turn to blush and look for a safe crevice to
crawl into. Before he was able to find one, however ,the
monsignor continued, "You believe that Melvin Wolfe is
possessed?"

Her partner's answer interested Scully greatly, though she
now knew what it was going to be. She silently prayed he
would save her this shame and lie to Monsignor Kieran. That,
of course, was not going to happen.

"I don't know if this even would be classified as
possession, Sir," Mulder admitted, totally oblivious to his
partner's chagrin, "I just know that the priest we met
yesterday might look like Father Wolfe, but there is
somebody else inside."

Scully felt like running, hiding at Mulder's absurd
pronouncement. She thought about covering for him, of
telling the monsignor that he had been shot in the head and
had not been himself. She did neither.

"How can you know this?" Kieran asked, a faint smile tugging
the corners of his mouth. "You don't know Father Wolfe."

"I know Karl Nix," Mulder replied bluntly.

If  Scully could have covered her head, without calling
attention to herself she would have. Instead, she sat in
stony silence, cursing the bureau for pushing her friend
back into the field too soon after his injuries. Mulder had
always had these strange leaps of logic. It was part of
charm and success, but usually he had the sense to keep his
theories to himself, or at least he had learned to do that
out of self-defense.

"The serial killer?" the monsignor was saying, as Dana
struggled guiltily with her thoughts. "I know he died last
month. You think he took over Father Wolfe? Is that
possible?"

Mulder chuckled, "I was hoping you could tell me."

The monsignor laughed heartily, " Believe it or not, the
Church does not supply priests with a book titled
'Exorcism for Dummies.' Why do you think Karl Nix
took over Father Wolfe?"

Scully was interested in his answer, too. She had watched in
awe at the monsignor's gracious acceptance of Mulder's
claim.

"You know about Karl Nix. You know I've seen inside him. Do
you really doubt I wouldn't know him if I saw him again?"

Her partner suprised her because the question was asked only
of her. Mulder was right, he would know Nix. There was no
reason, no other evidence for his beliefs but that one
fact. The truth was chilling. She shivered.

"Oh, my God. Father Wolfe! That poor man," Scully said,
horrified. "Is he alive? Does he know what's happening?"

"We need to go see him." Mulder responded bluntly.

"Then what?" Monsignor Kieran asked. He had followed the
exchange between the partners, silently wondering where it
would finally lead them.  "You go over, bring in Father
Wolfe. I'm sure there's evidence that'll lead back to him
committing the murders. Sooner or later, somebody would 've
found it. But, if what you say is true, Melvin didn't do
this. But who else is going to pay?"

"I don't know what we can do for Father Wolfe. All I know is
as long as Karl Nix is free, people are going to die. If we
brought him to you, could you do an exorcism? I mean, do you
know how?"

Before Dana could object, Kieran answered, "I've studied
it." Blushing a bit, the monsignor admitted, "I'm a bit of
a loose cannon. I have always been interested in the
metaphysical, but I'm afraid I've only seen the rite done.
I know the church requires a certain established criteria be
performed in order to assure this is a true possession, but
I'm not sure we  have the time. We may have to go ahead without
the church's blessing, but for now, why don't you two sit
tight, let me do  a little research, and I'll get back to you?
Maybe I can figure out if there's precedence for what we're dealing with
here. Then, maybe we can all go over and see if we can help Father
Wolfe."

"This evening?" Mulder suggested as the older man rose and
offered his hand.

"I promise," The monsignor smiled as he shut the door behind
himself.

***************

Fox Mulder hated waiting. Patience was not one of his
virtues. He paused in his pacing to watch Scully with
wonder. His diminutive partner sat at the table by the
window, quietly playing cards. How could she be so calm? She
had said no more than five sentences in the five hours since
the monsignor had left, one of which had been to place her
lunch order when he'd asked her if she was hungry. Since
he'd gotten back from the market/deli with their meal and
they'd consumed it, she hadn't spoken at all. She'd simply
sat in that chair and silently played solitaire for three
hours.

"Red queen on black king," Mulder instructed, standing over
her.

Dana cut him a sour glance and made the suggested move.

"Mulder, why don't you watch ESPN or something," she pleaded
as he reached over and checked the cards that were face down
in her last pile.

"Ow," he cried when she slapped his hand.

"Cheater," she hissed, her eyes hard and glittering.

Mulder shrugged off her curse with a slight smile and threw
himself across the bed, flipping on the TV with a bored
sigh.

"Hey, Scully," he called, checking out the preview channel,
"wanna watch the 'Exorcist?'"

Scully raised an eyebrow, continuing with her game. "No.
Are they showing that one with Denzel Washington, 'Falling,
Fallen?"

"Fallen," Mulder replied, a grin tugging the corners of his
mouth.

"How about 'All of Me?'" Scully teased, getting into the
flow of the conversation. It was silly but at least it kept
him somewhat occupied.

"That doesn't count, that was transmigration of the soul,"
Mulder countered.

"Well, we don't know that's not what we're dealing with, do
we?" she replied saltily. She stopped playing for a moment.
Her brow was puckered and a slight smile flickered across
her face. "Mulder, sometimes it hits me. I wonder what I
would have said if someone would have told me 10
years ago I would be sitting in a motel room, waiting on a
priest to call to tell me I was going to an exorcism and
discussing transmigration of the soul."

"I know, it don't get no better than this, huh?" he quipped.

She laughed, shaking her head, "I missed it Mulder," she
confessed.

Mulder stopped his channel surfing and eyed her, searching
her face at the sudden seriousness of her tone. She stopped
dealing out her cards and turned to him.

"Mulder, are we getting in over our heads, here? Do you
really think this is possession? How could Karl Nix get from a
nursing home in Virginia to a priest in Southern
California?"

Mulder rose from his seat on the bed and walked behind
her. He wrapped his arms around her and bending over, rested
his chin on her shoulder. "Hey, we got it all under control,
we even got the cavalry coming in." He reached a hand out
and placed the ace of spades in its spot on her tableau.
"We've got heavy duty players for backup on this one,
Scully." She stayed silent as she felt his lips brush her
cheek. He straightened and limped over to the other chair,
across the small table from her.

"The leg hurting again?" she asked, restarting her game,
trying to keep her concern in check.

He rubbed his knee and offered a crooked grin, "Just tweaked
it a little getting off the bed. I'm getting old, Scully."
There was a moment's silence between the friends. "Hey," he
complained, leaning across the table, catching her gaze,
"that's where you're supposed to say -- 'No, you're not,
Mulder."

"No, you're not, Mulder," she said obligingly, and chuckled
softly.

"Better. We all have to play our parts here," he mumbled,
leaning back in his chair," We're all just prisoners here
of our own device," he whispered silently to himself.

"What's my part, Mulder -- faithful companion?" she asked.

"No, Wonder Woman, you always save my ass," he replied, his
eyes twinkling.

"Not that last time, not soon enough," she said bitterly,
keeping her eyes on the cards.

"Scully, it was me, you know how I am," Mulder stated
venemently."We didn't know he'd flanked us."

She nodded, to quiet him. Nothing he could ever say would
convince her that she hadn't failed him. It would NOT happen
again. That was a promise she planned on keeping.

***************

It was 6 p.m. when Fox Mulder's patience wore
completely out. He had finally thrown himself across the bed
the hour before and flipped on the Classic Sports network.
She thought he'd fallen asleep, having already watched John
Elway's Greatest Comebacks countless times on tape. It had
been her birthday gift to him last year.

She jumped in surprise when he sprang from the bed and
grabbed the phone. Apparently, the monsignor did not have
his answering machine on, because her partner hung up with a
sharp curse.

"Let's go," he muttered, nodding to the door.

"You've got to be kidding," she said, frowning in disbelief.

"No way."

"Scully," he said, opening the door, " Just a little recon,
no confrontation. We'll wait for the cavalry. I just can't
sit here any more. I can't take it."

She nodded to the TV and asked, "Not even for highlights of
Superbowl XXXII?" Scully knew the battle was lost. He'd won.

He smiled at her, whether it was because of her quip or his
victory, she didn't know. She followed him out the door.

***************

The air was a hot, heavy blanket over the valley. It would
cool a bit when the sun finally gave up it's hold on the
day, but Scully knew, during a Santa Anna, the normally cool
desert nights didn't come. Mulder fidgeted beside her, but
up to this point, he'd kept his promise, they would not
confront Father Wolfe/Karl Nix until they heard from
Monsignor Kieran.

"Fuckin' car is for midgets," Mulder hissed, trying to find
a comfortable place for his long legs.

Scully sighed. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Mulder, let's go get some dinner. The church'll be here
when we get back."

He shook his head, his mood growing as gloomy as the fading
light. Scully checked the battery on her cell phone and
stared at the machine, willing it to ring. Where was Kieran? She knew
she couldn't reign in her restless partner much longer.

Sure enough, as the last oranges and pinks faded into the
darkening sky, Mulder unfolded himself from the compact and
trudged across the street. He was going to walk through the
front door and confront the beast.

With a heavy sigh and a silent prayer, Dana Scully followed.

End

This Could Be Heaven Or This Could Be Hell Part 5 of 6
Katvictory
Diclaimers, everything is in the first part. If I didn't
write that before, on the other parts, don't sue me.
Feedback:dev1025@uswest.com
 
 
 

"MIRRORS ON THE CEILING, PINK CHAMPANGE ON ICE"

Fox Mulder tried the front door. It was locked. Even the
churches were locked these days. He hurried, as quickly as
his throbbing knee would allow, around to the back entrance and
was surprised to find it open. It was a portal that led to
the choir room. Pulling his flashlight out, he debated
going back out to his partner. Wolfe was probably not even
at the church. It was after 8 and the door had been locked.
Flipping the switch, the high powered beam cut through the
darkness, settling his nerves a bit.

As he made his way across the wide linoleum floor, he tried
to keep calm. Spotting a set of stairs, the agent limped
over to them. His guess was they led up to the choir loft.
Memories of his last case, of a similar trek up another
set of stairs and the feel of four bullets shattering his
body made Fox Mulder reach instinctively for his weapon.

He was struck from the side. Memories of attempting to play
football in high school danced across his mind at the feel
of 300 pounds slamming into him. Football  had not been his
sport. Bright flashes of light teased his vision as his head
made contact with the floor. Flashlight and weapon flew from
numbed fingers, skittering noisily across the room. In the
splintered glow, Mulder saw a hulking shape looming above
him. It was Father Wolfe, but the eyes, the eyes seem to
glitter in the near darkness. They were Karl Nix's eyes.

"Stop!"

The shout was clear and loud, the room was acoustically
perfect, Mulder thought wryly. Both he and the huge
man/beast that hovered over him turned.

"Drop your weapon!"

*Too late,* Mulder thought numbly, *I already dropped it.*

"I said Halt!! I'll Shoot!"

Mulder wanted to call out, "Shoot him!" as he tried to make
it to his feet. Tendrils of darkness  plagued the corners of
his sight  and the agent tumbled back down to the floor, his
aching knee cracking hard against the tile covered concrete. As he
clutched at his leg in agony, he heard the first shot. Then,
there was a muffled swear and another blast. He heard a third shot
and the sound of something crashing to the ground -- then
nothing.

"Scully!" Fox called, trying once more to stand. As he
slumped against the painted brick wall, struggling against a wave of
sudden nausea, he spotted his flashlight, its bright beacon still
shining into the corner. With a weary heave, the agent lurched over to
retrieve it. "Scully!"

She was sitting on the floor, not ten feet away from Father
Wolfe. Blood and brain matter oozed from the priest's
shattered skull. Mulder lumbered to her side. He hurriedly
searched her person, looking for signs of injury.

"He's dead," she whispered, looking at her blood-covered
hands.

"Are you hit?" Mulder asked, his voice a croak. He slid a
hand under her chin, making her meet his eyes. His stomach
sank at seeing two pools of hurt. They sparkled like
sapphires, shiny with tears as she finally recognized him.

"Help me." Her voice was a small cry in the dim church. He
held her. His tears fell, unabated. It was a long time
before hers would come.

***************

Fox Mulder suffered through the ministrations of the EMTs
at the scene, but refused to go with them to the hospital.
He made sure they examined his partner and it appeared there
was nothing physically wrong with her. The agent was relieved to
hear Dana angrily refuse their offer of further assistance.
At least her ire gave a little color to her face.

He met again with the medics before they left and was
assured that Scully checked out fine. He glanced over to
her, sitting listlessly in a folding chair, her head down,
hair hanging limply about her face. He hated that word --
fine.

It was almost 3 a.m. before they were allowed to leave.
Mulder knew Detective Laura Kirchman was cutting them a
break even then. The detective and everyone else would be on
the scene throughout the day. Piecing together the capture
and death of the "El Cajon Slasher" -- Father Melvin Wolfe.

Monsignor Robert Kieran had come and gone, leaving a number
where he could be reached if they needed him. He seemed
almost as concerned as Mulder at Scully's grief, but he
reminded the agent of her words when she realized who was
destined to be the slasher's final victim. Father Wolfe.
Scully knew that dead or alive, the priest's life had been
over the moment Karl Nix had taken control of his body. Kieran
explained he'd be in town until after Father Wolfe's funeral
if they still needed him.

Mulder placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up
to him, but refused to meet his eye.

"Let's go, okay?" he whispered softly helping her to her
feet. She rose and wordlessly allowed him to usher her to
the car.

"I'll drive," he announced. She simply walked around to the
passenger side and climbed in. With a sigh, Mulder
compressed himself behind the wheel, stifling a groan as he
bent his leg. They drove in silence through the still, hot
night.

"Mulder," Scully spoke, not more than a block from the
motel.

Fox could see her eyes glittering with excitement,
reflecting the morning light. "Take me to Ruby Letourneau's place."

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"I know where he kept the ears," she exclaimed. "They're not
at the church, take me to the house."

Mulder paused for a moment, cutting his eyes to her in
concern as he drove through the sparse pre-dawn traffic. At
the last minute, he passed their motel and continued down
Second, heading toward Wintergardens and Ruby Letourneau's
home.

***************

Mulder lagged behind, willing his aching leg to move,
watching his partner race ahead up the steps. All of her
lethargy had disappeared. She seemed to almost be panting
with anticipation as she impatiently waited for him to catch
up. Using her key, she opened the door and entered, ripping
the yellow crime scene tape as she passed. Mulder followed,
trailing behind 'til she stopped before a door at the very
back of the house.

"Here," she smiled shyly, ducking her head. "Go see."

Mulder brow wrinkled in a dark worried frown. What was
happening to her? He paused a moment as she backed away,
allowing him the privilege of entering first.

"Go on," she whispered, standing behind him. He felt as
though she were pushing him, though her hands never touched
him. With a shrug, he grasped the glass knob, only to let go
at seeing a swift movement out the corner of his eye.
Instinctively, he brought his arm up. The harsh crack of his bones splintering
reverberated in his ears a split second before the baseball
bat continued its arc and connected with his jaw. Fox Mulder
crumpled in a heap on the hardwood floor. Dana Scully smiled
and let the bat drop.

***************

As he first awoke, Fox Mulder thought he was at home, in his
own apartment. He could see himself, reflected there in the
marbled glass.

"Not my bed," he murmured, not recognizing the black silk
comforter. His jaw ached. He was afraid to move it, to see
if it was broken. Hearing the sickening crack of his wrist
breaking had been enough grisly sound effects for one day.
He realized his wrist, both wrists were handcuffed to the
bed frame. Trying to move his legs, he found his ankles were
likewise bound.

"Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice," he
murmured, trying to force the grogginess from his brain.

"Why do you keep quoting that fucking song, Mulder?"

It was Scully. She moved over him so he could see her. As
his eyes focused, he believed she had nothing on but her
bra. He scanned down and witnessed with relief, she
was still clad in her skirt. In her hand was her weapon. Her
wide pupils seemed to glitter in the candlelight.

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?" she grinned.

Fox Mulder watched in amazement as his partner brought a
hand smoothly up to slowly caress her own breast.

"Nix?"

She smiled down at him. It was not Scully's smile.

"You know, if I'd been born a woman, I'd never get anything
done. I'd spend to much time playing with these," he
grinned, rhythmically stroking Scully's flesh. "Aren't they
nice. So sweet and perky. I'm a firm believer more than a
handful's a waste."

Mulder struggled against the bile that threatened to spew
from behind his clenched teeth. It didn't help his jaw. The
sight of Scully, her face a mask of eerie pleasure as she
gently swayed, touching herself, the flickering candles
casting macabre shadows, it all seemed some kind of
hedonistic nightmare.

"Nix." He had to call him that. That was who stood before
him, raping his partner. "How did you do it?"

It hurt to talk. The side of his face, the top of his head,
felt like they were exploding. But maybe, if Nix was
talking, he wouldn't be touching her. Mulder couldn't stand
the fact Nix was touching her.

"How are you switching bodies?" Fox asked, trying to get the

man's attention. Flashing blue eyes focused on his face
*That's it Mulder, keep him talking,* he thought.

"Do what?" The voice was a purr, her free hand slipped
downward, fumbling at the zipper to her modest, dark skirt.

"How the fuck did you manage to escape from there, where we
were, and wind up in a priest's body, for God's sake?"
Mulder felt his control slipping. He knew he was babbling.
He knew he could not take watching, witnessing any more --
not without it driving him insane. He tugged again at the cuffs
on his arm. The pain made him gasp. Hot fire ripped from fingertip
to shoulder as broken bones ground together. But it was better
than the agony of  seeing what Nix was doing to Scully. Was she
still there? Did she know what was happening to her? He remembered
her plaintive, pitiful call for help at the church. Looking
into those soulful, hurting blue eyes. It had been her -- then.

"Scully," he choked, searching the face he no longer knew
for some sign.

"Oh, she's here." Nix chuckled.

It wasn't even her voice anymore.

"She's pissed, Mulder. What a little spitfire. I bet she's
great in the sack." He paused and his face grew pensive,
like he was searching for something. "You have fucked her,
haven't you? Isn't that against regulations?"

Mulder realized the killer could search her memories, that
he had access to her mind. The thought chilled him, sickened him
even more. Nix could rape Scully's mind as well as her body. The
agent groaned.

"That arm's gotta hurt. If you'd quit wiggling, it might
help." Nix laughed, watching Fox squirm.

"Nix, I know you're going to wind up killing me, but you
have to let me know how this happened," Mulder asked once more.

Nix studied his prisoner, trying to read him, attempting to
gauge if his plea was a trick of some kind.

"That's right. That's what you do now. You're some kinda
ghostbuster now." He laughed at this sudden insight. "Wow,
this case was right up your alley. then. I'll have Little
Red write it up for your files. Okay, I'll tell you everything.
Guess how I got out of the hell that you put me in, Mulder?"

Fox breathed a sigh of relief that Nix had finally stopped
focusing on his new body. The killer had stopped touching
her. A sharp prod of a gun barrel against his ribs brought
the agent out of his thoughts.

"I told you! Guess!"

"Sorry, I thought it was a rhetorical question." Mulder
muttered.

Nix grabbed his prisoner's right arm and yanked it hard
against the biting cuffs, laughing at the scream that
escaped from Mulder's lips. "You don't impress me with your
fifty dollar words, Oxford. Do you wanna hear what happened
or not?"

Fox groaned and nodded, fighting to stay conscious, not
wanting to leave his partner alone with the madman. "Tell
me. Please."

"Art Letourneau killed me. Can you believe it? The little
wimp had killed 34 people, all over the country. He was a
serial killer. How's that for perfect?"

The laugh was hers but yet, it wasn't. Mulder shuddered.

"Ironic," he murmured.

"No shit," Nix chuckled, "He was a real wacko. He thought he
got some kinda 'force' from his victims -- thought it made
him immortal. He didn't know what hit him. He put his hands on
me and I just slid into him. I didn't even know what had
happened. This light came and next thing I know I'm looking
down at myself. He was still there, in me. But the little
wimp just kinda went off the deep end. Didn't even fight me.
Just let me control him. Not like Red, here. She's scared,
upset. But she's a fighter. She wants you. She wants you to help
her."

Mulder watched in horror as Scully's face seemed to shift in
the flickering light. The eyes softened. They filled with
sudden, frightened tears.

"Mulder?" she whispered.

Instantly, she disappeared. Nix looked at Mulder, a puzzled
frown etching his face.

"She's strong, Mulder." He shook his head to clear it. He
seemed dazed.

"How did you get into Wolfe?" Mulder choked, straining to
keep his emotions in check. .

*Keep him talking Mulder, that's it.*

"He caught me killing Mom," Nix replied. He paused a moment,
struggling to regain his train of thought. The memory of
killing Ruby LeTourneau helped him find himself. "I'd gone home to
El Cajon. Figured if I started doin' my number again, sooner
or later you'd show up. Mom was a bitch, so I figured she'd be
my first. She was like a bag lady, kinda nutty -- like her
son. The priest showed up 'cause she was a shut-in. Caught me
right when I was gettin' her ears. Old Father Wolfe was a big
mother, wasn't he?"

Mulder numbly nodded, both fascinated and repulsed by the
story.

"He killed me. Came in, caught me doin' Mom  and killed me
with that bat. Mom kept it by the front door to beat up
prowlers, I guess. I was so pissed. I mean I thought, shit,
here I go again. Back to that fucking limbo, brain-dead
place. That poor priest started giving me the last rites. He
was bawling like a baby. That's when I saw the light. I
reached up, grabbed the priest's hand and presto, I'm
looking down at old Art. God, it worked out perfect. I don't think I
coulda done my thing, not in that little runt's body."

"That's why Ruby's fingers were sawed. Art couldn't
dislocate them." Mulder muttered.

"You got it. I didn't think it'd take a month, though, for
them to find their bodies. Jesus. Otay was a little far out.
But it all worked out. You found me." Nix chuckled, sitting
down on the bed. "And when Red, here, killed the priest I
thought it was over again. Then she checked to see if he was
dead. I knew what to do. And now..."

Mulder's stomach sank at the word. Now?

"What?" Nix muttered. He seemed confused, dazed.

Mulder watched with horror as Scully/Nix stood up suddenly
and with a grin, removed the black skirt.

"Now, we have some fun."

***********************
 
 

TITLE:This Could Be Heaven Or This Could Be Hell
AUTHOR:Katvictory
Disclaimers and stuff all on Part 1
"THEY STAB IT WITH THEIR STEELY KNIVES, BUT THEY JUST CAN'T
KILL THE BEAST"
 

"Are you ready for this, Fox?"  Karl Nix asked,  warmly
smoothing Dana Scully's skin. The hand strayed down to the
wine colored lace panties,and gently cupped the soft springy
triangle of hair that lay beneath the silk. "She wants to
call you Fox. Now, why don't you let her?'

"No," Mulder cried. He felt his control slipping further.
*Stall! Think! DO SOMETHING!*

"No-o-o?" Nix peeled the silky briefs down, moving to flash
the auburn curls close to her partners face. "You know you
want this."

"I only want to touch it," Mulder replied, straining against
the cuffs. "Just free the hands. That's all. Just one hand."
His voice had become a tortured plea that made Nix smile.

"Only one." The voice that answered was low and husky and
Mulder wet his lips with anticipation. Nix grabbed the keys
to the handcuffs and quickly released the agent's uninjured
side, clipping the the now-empty ring back to the brass frame.

Nix stood, peeled the lacy silk underthings down and moved
to the bed, lithely sliding up and slinging a leg over to
straddle the prone man. A greedy smiled played across full sensual lips
only to stop when Mulder's fist connected against the sculpted
jaw.

Scully's body tumbled off the bed as if axed, to land in a
crumpled heap on the floor. Mulder gasped in pain as he half
slid along with his partner off the bed. Stretching, he
grabbed the handcuff keys and quickly freed himself. His wrist
throbbed with a steady ache and fingertips tingled as blood flowed
back into them. Panting, the agent hoisted himself up to free his
bound ankles, then slumped down to sit beside the still form of
his partner. He felt he was wasting precious moments resting, but knew if
he attempted to move  before he got his bearings he most likely
would wind up on the floor beside Dana, unconscious.

Mulder spotted Scully's suit jacket tossed casually by the
foot of the bed, and cautiously reaching over his fallen
friend, he grabbed it, breaking into a slight grin at
finding her cell phone. With a bit of maneuvering, he hitched around
to pluck the phone number Monsignor Kieran had given him
from his pants pocket and he quickly requested the priest's
company. With a sigh, he let the machine clatter to the
floor, then spread the jacket across Dana's naked flesh.
With a protective hand resting on her hip, he propped up
against the side of the bed to wait for the cavalry.

***************

"MULDER!"

The voice, was Monsignor Kieran's. Mulder struggled to his
feet and lurched to the door.

"In here," he yelled, not wanting to take his eyes or the
gun off his partner.

Kieran burst into the room. A few seconds passed as he took
in the scene -- the flickering candles, Scully's still, half
nude form, and Mulder. The priest let a low whistle pass
between his teeth.

"I thought you looked rough at the church. She did all this
to you?"

Mulder's smile died before it reached his eyes. His jaw
throbbed in time to his heart.

"I taught her to swing a bat," he murmured through clenched
teeth.

"You did a damn fine job of it, too," Kieran said wryly,
wincing at the younger man's swollen, discolored face.
A low moan from the floor spurred the two into action.

"You get the cuffs, I wanna dress her, okay?" Mulder
croaked, picking up the woman's strewn clothing.
 

The monsignor nodded and followed the younger man's request,
dropping the silver metal 'jewelry' atop his worn, red and
blue ECVHS Braves duffle bag once he had complied.

"Where should we do it?" Kieran asked leaning against the
wallpapered hallway wall, keeping his eyes adverted in order
to afford the couple a bit of privacy.

"Don't you guys normally do them in a bedroom?" Mulder
asked, finishing his chore, then bending to gather up his
partner.

The priest slipped over to him and quickly hefted Scully's
limp body up into his strong arms, knowing Fox would be
unable to carry her with his injuries. He was given a tight
smile of thanks.

"Not with those, we don't" Kieran nodded toward the
reflective surface of the ceiling, "It's supposed to be a
place familiar to the possessed. Looks like we're out
of luck, there. I want her restrained, how about if we
'cuff her to the kitchen table? I remember Ruby had one."

Mulder shook his head, "I don't think the kitchen ... Ever
see 'Carrie?""

Another moan issued from the possessed and the monsignor cut
a pleading eye to his assistant.

"Okay, let's use the dining room table," Mulder quickly
suggested.

The exorcists moved on to the large ornate dining area, and
using the handcuffs, Mulder secured the woman's hands while
the monsignor readied his supplies and blessing, then placed
each item on the buffet server -- the crucifix, a candle on
each side, a vial of holy water and a prayer book.

The agent returned from the kitchen with a knife, and
removing his tie, fashioned bonds to secure her ankles. It
pained him to see her -- it was her, now -- half asleep like
she was, trussed spreadeagle to the huge mahogany table. She
was so small, so defenseless. Mulder moved to smooth her
damp hair from her face, but jumped away when he was met by
two, hard glittering orbs, full of dark malevolence.

"They stab it with their steely knives but they just can't
kill the beast."

Nix struggled angrily against the restraints, "I'm gonna get

that knife and cut your fucking tongue out, you mother
fucker, if you don't  STOP with that FUCKING SONG!"

"Yeah, and your mother sews socks that smell," Mulder
muttered, leaving the prisoner to find Monsignor Kieran. He
discovered the priest kneeling  in the carpeted hallway, now
fully attired in his vestments. He stayed silent until the
man beckoned him to his side.

"Give me a hand here, Mulder," Kieran chuckled. Fox complied
and aided him in getting to his feet. "That's why we pray so
much when we get old. We get down, but we can't get up. Got
a bad case of genuflector's knee."

Mulder shot him a quick glance and colored at seeing his leg
was being pulled.

"Okay," the exorcist murmured, flipping through a small
spiral notebook. He looked up to spot the incredulous
expression on his assistant's face and sheepishly explained,
"Made up a few cheat sheets."

Mulder blanched in surprise, "Say what?"

"Mulder, I told you. I've never done one of these."

"I know but..." The younger man's voice grew thin with fear,

"God help us."

Kieran smiled, "Let's hope so."

***************

Mulder peered through the open door at his partner's
thrashing form, the sweet flavor of wine still lingering in
his mouth. He had just made his first confession, his only
confession in 38 years.  The monsignor had wisely insisted
that he keep it general and to only hit the 'highlights' in
a matter of speaking. The agent was amazed to find he did
feel different after partaking of the communion and the
absolvement. It was not his faith, but he felt a certain
peace. Like someone had looked into his heart and knew --
he wanted, no, he had to believe.

Nix was screaming blue curses for any and all to hear,
writhing against the bonds that held him.  The two men stood
at the wide portal, dreading the coming controntation.

"Listen close, Mulder, okay" Kieran announced, scanning his
notes. "This is really important. There are three cardinal
rules:
1) Do everything I tell you to do, no questions -- okay?
Even if you think it's wrong, DO IT! OKAY?!"

Mulder nodded, his face solemn, his hazel eyes wide.

"2) Don't take take the initiative. Do only what I tell you.

"And 3) Don't speak to the possessed, don't get caught up in
his mind games, Fox. He has her mind, he knows you. He'll
use it." The monsignor flipped the pages frantically, searching
for anything else that could help them. "We're supposed to
have at least three people here. You should be a priest. I'm
supposed to go through proper channels and have the church's
blessing."

Mulder swallowed hard and met Monsignor Robert Kieran's
troubled blue gaze. " Monsignor ..." His voice broke and he
attempted to get enough moisture in order to speak, but his
mouth stayed dry. "Sir, how many of these not sanctioned by
the Church have worked?"

Kieran grabbed his helper's elbow and led him from the open
doorway to whisper in his ear,"None. But Nix doesn't know
that. Let's keep it our secret, okay?"

Mulder mutely nodded and followed the exorcist into the
battle.

***************

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy
kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us. And lead us
not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

"Amen."

Nix stirred on the table, casting icy blue heat at the
monsignor as he repeated the prayer in Latin.

"Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spirtui Sanctos..."

"Mulder...Mulder..." It was Scully. He knew it was Scully.

"Amen, Mulder. Just say 'Amen,'" the monsignor prodded.

"Amen."

"Mulder, you know it's me.Your mother's name is Teena. Look
at me, Mulder. Look at me. You cock sucker, look at me!"

* Don't listen,* Mulder thought, as Nix babbled on.
The  monsignor began the Ave Maria.

*There she stood in the doorway,I heard the mission bell,
and I was thinking to myself, this could be heaven or this
could be hell.* The lyrics ran over and over in his head,
drowning out Nix's voice.

"Amen."

" I COMMAND YOU! SHOW YOURSELF! SAY YOUR NAME!!"

" Here's a blast from the past Mulder -- 'you know my name,
look up my number'. No, how 'bout,  'Pleased to meet you,
hope you guessed my name."

"SAY YOUR NAME!"

"What is this, exorcism by the numbers. Kieran? You know my
name, turn the page!"

"YOUR NAME!"

" Dana Katherine Scully...I live at..."

"YOUR NAME!"

"Melvin Wolfe. Hey, Bob! I'm in hell. She put me here. Fuck
her, Bob!"

"YOUR NAME!"

"ART LETOURNEAU...YOU HAPPY?! NO! NO-O-o-o, I'm Karl Nix..."
the possessed writhed, the face a contorted mask in the dim,
flickering candlelight.

"KARL NIX, LEAVE! IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, I COMMAND YOU
TO LEAVE!"

"Gloria Patri, et Filio," Mulder softly whispered, not
knowing from where the words came, only that they brought him comfort.

The monsignor grabbed the handcuff keys off the buffet and
released Nix's arms. He pulled Scully's body upright, shaking it till her head
lolled.  "IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, LEAVE!"

Scully screamed, grabbing at her hair. Kieran stumbled back,
crashing to the floor. The young woman saw her partner standing beside her, his
face colorless in shock and held out her arms to him.

"Mulder?"

The small cry spurred him over and the partners fell into
each other's arms. Mulder rocked her, whispering soft words of comfort, smoothing her hair. She clung to him, her sobs, painful gasps.

"It's okay, you're okay," he cooed.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw a swift movement. Turning,
Mulder spotted Monsignor Robert Kieran, standing by the door, Scully's weapon under his chin. The man did not hesitate. He pulled the trigger then crumpled to the hardwood floor with a thud.

Fox Mulder closed his eyes and prayed.

***************

TWO DAYS LATER -- EL CAJON VALLEY HOSPITAL

Fox breathed a weary sigh as the doctor left the room. She
could leave this afternoon. Her blood pressure was fine, all
the tests showed her body's chemistry had returned  to normal
and she was no longer almost comatose and unresponsive. She
was just sleeping so much. Mulder gingerly pushed himself up
from his own bed and ambled over to her side. Her  face was
so calm and peaceful now. He should let her sleep. Being
possessed did tend to be rough on one's body.

Having one's partner possessed was rough on one's body too.
He'd had a slight concussion. How many more he could take he
didn't know, but this one didn't hurt too bad -- today. He
knew he had set his knee back months -- it might even need more
surgery. Mulder shoved the thought away. Time enough to
worry about that when they went home to D.C. The entire side
of his face was black,blue and purple. His jaw was swollen
to half again it's normal size. Lucky, it hadn't been
broken, just dinged a little like an old baseball. He strained to smile,
then remembered, he wouldn't be eating anything that couldn't fit
through a straw for a month. His arm had been set and put in
a cast. It  had been broken in two places. Added to all
those injuries were countless bumps, bruises and muscle strains.
It seemed every cell in his body hurt. But there was only one
place he could be, that was here, with her. They'd put them
together, he'd given them no choice. Just like today, when
he'd given the young physician notice that HE was leaving along
with Scully this afternoon. The doctor didn't like it but Mulder
felt he could heal and be bored at the motel just as easily as the
hospital. Scully could sleep and recover at the motel. Alone together,
they could both get over what had happened to them.

Mulder sat beside his partner's bed. She was sleeping the
sleep of the drugged. It was good. She remembered little to
nothing of what happened. That, too, was very good. For
maybe the second time in their long partnership, he was grateful
that she had missed all the fun. She'd blocked out her abduction
and apparently blocked out her latest experience, as well.
He had, after his own journey to the netherworld, decided
perhaps it was best she didn't remember. Hopefully, this
memory would be a hazy dream -- one that she might be
haunted by from time to time, one that might pop up now and
then, one she would worry like a painful tooth. But with
luck, it was one that would stay safe, locked in that
special place, where it might not hurt her. He hoped, no, he prayed,
that was how it was going to be.

Mulder glanced up at her and smiled ruefully at noticing the
brownish- yellow bruise on her chin, where he'd hit her.
That, she'd remembered. Her first lucid words had been,
"Why did you slug me?"

Questions. There had been a million of them. The agent was
truly surprised there wasn't someone in the room right that
moment, grilling him over the mysterious happenings at the
house on Wintergardens. Just when he'd thought they'd
stopped, Laura Kirchman would be calling on him, wanting him
to explain this or that. At least she gave him the chance to
explain.

His story was thin -- too thin. He knew they didn't really
believe him. But once they'd cleared the two agents of any
wrongdoing, law enforcement stepped back, content to let him
explain how a monsignor, dressed in full vestments had
overpowered two trained FBI agents and used one of their
guns to shoot himself. He did come up with a story of sorts
about a monsignor tormented by the deaths in his flock, his
priest friend gone astray. He told them about the attempted
cleansing of a evil house and that the priest was too
overcome by grief to go on living. Tabloid fodder, it was indeed.

Mulder replayed the events of that night in his mind.
He had sat holding Scully for at least an hour, or so it
seemed. He didn't want to let her go -- ever. Nor did he
wish to touch the monsignor's body. Not after hearing from Nix
how easily he'd leapt from person to person. He finally
disengaged Scully's arms from around his neck and was
surprised to see she'd fallen asleep. Cutting Kieran's form
a wide swath, he began the cleanup. His investigative
experience served him well. He knew what to do to at least
make the scene look somewhat like the story he planned to
tell -- somewhat.

He was shocked to find, though, after his mad dash through
the house, when he finally had gathered enough courage to
approach him, that the priest was not dead. The discovery
chilled him and the rest of his coverup plans were put
aside as he used Scully's cell to phone 911.

Monsignor Robert Kieran lay in the ICU unit of this very
hospital -- in a coma. Mulder shivered at the thought, then
with a shuffling limp, moved to his bedside tray for some
water. Where was Karl Nix? He knew that had to have been the
reason for the priest's attempted suicide. Karl Nix had
entered him. But was he still there? Was the good Father now
trapped in the limbo netherworld of coma patients with Nix?
The thought brought tears to Mulder's eyes. He sat beside
his partner and rested his forehead on her hand, loving the
warmth and strength the touch gave him. She calmed him. She
always had.

Mulder opened his eyes to see a baseball diamond. Knowing
this dream he quickly scanned the setting, wondering who was
waiting for him this time. He laughed at seeing Monsignor
Robert Kieran striding up. The priest was dressed in a San
Diego Padre's uniform.

"Hey, your dream, my choice. Go, Pads!" the man laughed, his
blue eyes twinkling with delight.

"How are you here? I didn't think the coma people could be
seen, only the souls." Mulder asked puzzled

"Hey, that should give you a clue. I went into the light.
Pays to have connections in high places, you know?" Kieran
confided with a grin.

"Then you're okay? You're happy?"  the agent asked
hopefully.

The priest nodded.

"And Nix is trapped in your body?"

Another nod. They both smiled at the thought.

END CHAPTER

EPILOGUE
LATER THAT WEEK
ICU -- EL CAJON VALLEY HOSPITAL

Scully hated seeing the monsignor this way. It seemed there
were no winners in this case -- none.

They were due to return home today. She couldn't wait. She
planned on using the entire two remaining weeks of her leave
sleeping -- with Mulder, by her side. They'd decided that
the complications of an interoffice relationship didn't seem
quite that hard to deal with. Not after dealing with a body
swapping serial killer. She shivered.

Mulder placed a comforting hand on his partner's back. She's
just had a chill. Probably because the still form of
Kieran's body brought back too many images of when he was injured.

"I'll make it quick," he reassured.

The agent strode over to the bed, and bent to whisper into
Karl Nix's ear, softly so no one else could hear, "Nix --
You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave."

With a grin, he rejoined Scully and with his casted arm
ushered her out the door.

"What was that about?" she asked, responding to his broad,
triumphant smile, "Private joke?"

"No," he laughed as they headed out into the bright Southern
California sunlight, "Just singing him a song he liked."

THE END