By Pamela
polumoya@tracy.umd.edu
 

Date: Sat, 28 Sep 1996

This summer, it was my intention to get into the heads of some characters
other than Scully and Mulder. This story was fun to write because I got to
think like Krycek and Cancer Man, so now a story with the Lone Gunmen is
my one remaining challenge, having thought like all the others in various
earlier ones. Hide and Seek is my longest one to date, posted in 12 parts
totaling about 74K. I hope the many twists and turns hold your interest.
All feedback is welcome.

Thank you very much Eleanore and Cheryl for your input.
 

Summary:  Krycek returns. His life intersects with a serial murder
investigation that belongs to Mulder and Scully.

Rated R for implied violence and language.  Classification: SA

Disclaimer:  These are Chris Carter's characters on loan to me.
I don't have permission to use them, but I'm just having fun, no profit
and certainly no harm is intended.
 

~~~

Hide and Seek
by Pamela Olumoya
 

Chapter 1

His life was empty. He was as miserable as anyone who didn't have a gun
pointed at his own head could be.  He felt like he was being punished,
like he was the poster boy for "why crime didn't pay". Getting drunk was
an option, but that took more effort than he wanted to expend, so he sat
in his black Mazda and waited for Mulder to come.

He hadn't felt this bad when that alien entity had discharged itself from
his body cavities, returning to where ever the hell it came from.  After
it had separated itself from him, he had lain on the floor in that cold,
dark silo, for how long he couldn't be sure. The next thing he knew, the
face with the cigarette attached to it had appeared in the window of the
door. He looked disgustedly at the cigarette he himself was holding, and
flicked it out of the window. He put his face in his hands and rubbed his
eyes briefly, and slowly pulled his fingers down his cheeks, distorting
his face in the process.

That's when the tears started. He hadn't cried since his fifteenth
birthday when he broke his arm in two places playing street hockey. He
had an additional ten years of emotion pent up.  In that time he'd known
a  lot of pain, a lot of fear and anguish, but nothing like the loss of
his son, his step children and Terri.

At first, after making his way back to civilization, he hadn't bothered
with a job at all, but looking for something to do everyday got to be old
pretty quickly. He was good with his hands, as long as he didn't have to
get them dirty, and he loved to problem solve. He managed to get a job
repairing computers. The twenty thousand a year before taxes did nothing
to maintain the lifestyle he preferred. Being a double agent, and then a
free lance seller of government secrets had paid well.  He told everyone
he was in management to explain the clothes, the car, and the lavish
spending. That's how he'd met Terri, she'd sold him his car.

While he had walked around the car lot checking things out, she walked
out of the showroom, checking him out. Her full head of curly,  black
hair suggested she could do shampoo commercials, and her brown eyes and
thick lashes implored a man to make a fool of himself in an attempt to
win her attention and hope for her affection.  When she smiled at him,
all his troubles were forgotten.  She made him glad all over again that
that one soldier had managed to escape the radiation exposure and let him
out of that living hell.  When Terri said she'd go out with him, he
finally could look forward to getting up in the mornings, something he
hadn't done in years.

She was divorced.  What kind of idiot would let her walk out of his life
he wondered? She was simply amazing in his eyes; beautiful, smart and
funny.  She was a wonderful mother to her two kids, Camille, nine and
Daniel, five.  And, the best thing about her was that she thought he
walked on water. Her unconditional love brought out the best in him.

He was present at Gavin's birth.  Terri was a natural--after only thirty
minutes of hard labor, he cradled his son in his arms.  They'd planned to
have at least two more.  Sometime before then, he was going to tell her
the truth, but the problem was every day he waited, the harder it became.
Building your life on a lie, was like building a house on sinking sand he
discovered - when the basic foundation was missing, things were subject
to crumble and break very easily.  He worried. He started smoking because
he worried.  Trust and integrity were the keystones of Terri's character,
despite her chosen profession. He was afraid if he told her who he had
been, she might not believe who he had become.  She might leave him on
general principle. Then, where would he be?

His worst fears had been realized, she had left him in a mercilessly
cruel way.

He'd come home for lunch, not planning to go back to work that
afternoon.  He worked in the field fixing computers and had quickly
learned how to make that flexibility work for him.  He'd thought maybe,
with the kids outside playing and the baby napping, they would talk
before she went into work at 4:00.  He smelled the carnage as soon as he
walked in the door. His mind wouldn't let it register consciously, but
unconsciously he reached for the gun he no longer carried.

He called to her once. Then moved to the landing and called to her again,
directing his voice upstairs.  Nothing. That's when the partially opened
piano bench caught his eye.  He tried to see Terri helping Camille
practice in her beginner level Thomas book as he walked closer to the
bench.  His heart was pounding and he couldn't understand why.  They
probably had all gone to the pool or maybe they were outside taking care
of the garden, but somehow he knew they weren't. He opened the bench and
saw his Terri's arm,  severed just above the elbow.

He let the bench lid drop, because he just couldn't be seeing this.  He
opened it again, desperately hoping it had been a Halloween prop replete
with fake blood--it had to be. But no, there was the sapphire and diamond
wedding ring Terri had selected.  He heard something that sounded like a
scream, saw his befuddled image in a mirror and realized the sound had
come from him. He backed into a table praying to wake up from this
nightmare. Where were the children? Where was the baby?  Where was the
rest of his wife? In his turmoil, that last question seemed perfectly
logical. Unfortunately, upstairs he saw more segments of insanity in ten
minutes than he'd seen in his whole godforsaken life.
 
~~~

Hide and Seek-part 2

Friday, August 16, 1996
7:15 a.m
 

He picked his neighborhoods carefully.  He liked them filled with
health-conscious suburban commuters who had taken to the streets in
search of physical fitness and a cleaner environment.  These kind of
people liked their morning power walks and their after-dinner strolls.
They didn't mind the walk to and from the bus stop or to and from Block
Buster Video.  He could move safely among  them.  No one would know from
looking at him that he was an anti-social psychopath.

He'd parked the sixteen year old Monte Carlo in the neighborhood grocery
store lot and get out and walk.  That was the initial part of his job,
the first step, literally.

Generally, it didn't take long for him to spot his victims. He
established his routine in order to know theirs.  This time he was a one
of them, getting his morning exercise on a regular basis.  His black
bangs became plastered to his forehead as he worked up a sweat. His
glasses constantly slid down his nose as perspiration sprouted all over
his overweight frame.

Today, Teresa Booker would become another statistic. She was a pretty
brunette who had a dimpled smile and a noticeably good figure into her
mid-to-late thirties.  Her husband left their town house every work day
between 7:30 and 7:40.  Before driving away in his black Mazda, he always
eagerly lit a cigarette, as if smoking was forbidden inside his own
house.  He knew these things because he watched carefully, he observed
everything.

They had three children who appeared to be about ten, five and a young
baby.  That would make it more tricky, but more exciting.  He knew this
because, while he watched and waited, he remembered pulling it off
successfully the five other times.
 

Friday, August 16th
11:23a.m.

He was satiated, for now.  That was a good one he thought as he sat on a
park bench watching teenagers play basketball.  He smiled and gently
stroked his mustache, feeling the up-turned corners of his mouth as a
prideful smile emerged.

It never took as long as he planned.  He probably became anxious and sped
things along unconsciously, plus he hadn't counted on all three kids being
asleep.  That eliminated a half hour right there.  Too bad, he thought.
If only she had remembered to lock that sliding glass door. That's how he
always got in, through a door left unlocked. People were so careless he
thought, especially in the "safer" neighborhoods.

He'd go home now to his room in the group home.  He needed a shower and
he needed to brush his teeth.  His lips and tongue had been in savory
places earlier and that pungent aftertaste had interfered with the
enjoyment of his super-sized McDonald's meal and the six Dunkin Donuts
he'd had for dessert.

He waited at one of those three minute traffic lights that normally left
people drumming impatient fingers on the steering wheel. Because he was a
patient man he merely examined his for blood that didn't wash out the
first ten times he'd washed his hands after the deed was done.  He laughed
out loud as he reached into the glove compartment for a fingernail clip.
He knew it was dangerous to discard the latex gloves right before the
cutting began, but they interfered with the sensations he got as he
delicately handled each body section.
 
 

Friday, August 16th
8:53 p.m.
 

The ambulances pulled away-sirens turned off.  The paramedics would have
gossip fodder for months because this had to be one of the worst crime
scenes ever witnessed in this county's history.

Four people viciously murdered and their body parts hidden in various
places throughout their home.  That precious little baby...even Mulder
had to step outside for air after finding it's left foot in the fireplace.

Scully appeared at his side, her pinched face indicating her distress.
"What do we have to do to stop this bastard?" Then, noticing his
expression she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." he answered, but she knew he really wasn't, and that happened so
rarely, it caused the furrow in her brow to deepen another eighth of an inch.

"We understand him by understanding his motivation.  Even someone this
insane has a method to his madness," he said, recovering and launching
into standard rhetoric because he could allow himself only a moment of
public weakness, even when his friend and partner of almost four years
would be the only one to know. "Let's go."

"Go where?" She asked, falling into step beside him.

"We need to talk to Detective Dennison.  See what she has pieced together
so far and take it from there."

"What about the husband?"

"What about him?"

"Don't you think it's a little curious that he hasn't been home and that
no one can tell us anything substantive about him?"

"You mean no one at his job..."

"The neighbor who reported it thought he had a managerial position in a
computer firm, but she has no details to offer.  The victim's mother said
essentially the same thing and named the firm-Computer Expansions. The
only Allen Booker working for them works in their hardware repair
division. The last time he checked in was about 11:00 this morning. Could
there be a connection with this elusive husband and the murders?"

"Unless this turns out to be a copy cat murder, I don't think so. But, we
definitely have to know more about him. It's just a little after 9:00.
He'll probably show up before morning. What do you say we talk to
Dennison now, and follow up with the missing spouse first thing tomorrow."

"Let's go."

~~~

Hide and Seek-part 3

Friday, August 16th
9:30 p.m.

Detective Dennison's long braided hair blocked Mulder's view of the map
so he moved to one side. She was as tall as he was but, fortunately
curved in all the right places.  He looked at the pin-pointed locations
around the metropolitan Washington area.  All that could be deduced was
the kind of place that attracted him. The kind of neighborhoods he liked
were a dime a dozen in the area circling the nation's capitol. No pattern
could be determined to predict where he'd strike next.

Dennison had a formidable presense.   When she talked everyone listened:

"We know it's a male based on the physical strength associated with
strangulation of all 13 victims.  His entry is unforced, and he appears
to be in and out in less than two hours.  His victims have been male,
female and in one other case he killed a four year old boy.  All victims
have been white and at home during morning or early evening hours. We
know he likes suburbia, but we haven't connected with what specifically
triggers his victim selection process.  This hiding the body parts thing
has everybody and his uncle coming up with theories.  Maybe no one would
let him join in and play hide n seek as a kid.  Maybe he was forced to
hide to be safe when he was a child and somehow in his disturbed psyche
he is playing the game from a different vantage point.
What's your take on it Agent Mulder?"

"I just got this case three hours ago and spent the first two turning
over furniture lookings for parts of people, Detective Dennison. I'll
need at least one more minute to figure this out."

"I spoke with Assistant Director Skinner and everything you need is
waiting for you in interview room C," she said, smiling ever so slightly
at his acerbic wit.  "I hope you and Agent Scully are coffee drinkers
because there's 24 cups of it waiting for you."

They watched her leave the room. There could not possibly be any
questions for her to brook - everything was organized and under control,
she'd made sure of it. Just as Scully had come up with one, Dennison
looked back and said, "Oh, we should have the lab results in an hour or
so and officer Quick is tracking down the 411 on the husband.  I think
that's it for now.  Enjoy."

Scully looked at her watch and sighed.

"Scully, you don't have to stay.  I just need a couple of hours here.
I'll copy what can be copied and meet you at the crime scene tomorrow.
All right?"

"No thanks, I'd only be out partying all night anyway."

"Yeah right,  and I'm usually up playing chess with Pamela Anderson until
the wee hours of the morning."

"Excuse me, did you say chess or chest?"

The joking helped shore up good humor that would be in short supply soon
enough.
 

Saturday, August 17th
12:01 a.m.
 

Mulder had remembered his glasses this time.  He sat at a plain metal
desk, the paperwork stacked around him. The atrocities that were the
crime scenes were tacked to the wall behind him.

He was impressed; Dennison had headed up a very tight investigation. A
lot of man power had gone into the thorough reports he had read.  He
could see that everything reasonable had been checked to establish a
connection between victims - what it was about them that cinched it for
the killer.  Everything from the numbers in their addresses to who cut
their grass to what college they graduated from and all points along the
way had been compared.  There was nothing so far.  The only things
consistent was race and income level.  He hoped there was something in
the lab report that had just been dropped off.  "Anything Scully?"

"Are you sitting down, Mulder?" She asked, never taking her eyes off of
the report.

"I think I am but my butt is numb so I don't know any more. What?"

She looked up, eyes wide.  "Sperm and saliva samples were recovered.
You'll never guess in a million years who the sperm is matched with."

"I give up."

"Alex Krycek."

"Krycek?"  He repeated frowning, hoping he had misunderstood.

"I know!" She said acknowledging his disbelief. He was reading over her
shoulder now, because this he needed to see with his own eyes. "I thought
we'd seen the last of him. He's like one of those trick birthday candles
that just stay lit no matter how hard you blow. Not only that, his
fingerprints are all over the place. Well, his and five other people's we
have to try and match."

"You said saliva too.  It *doesn't* belong to Krycek?"

"No, no there was no match for the saliva.  Several good prints were
found on the body pieces and they match the ones found at the earlier
crimes.  We just don't know who those belong to. I think we do know why
"Mr. Booker" hasn't shown up, however.  The DNA tests show Krycek was the
baby's father.

~~~

Hide and Seek, part 4
 

Saturday
August 17th
2:04 a.m.

Mulder slammed the trunk closed after placing the paperwork that would
travel with him in it.  Once settled behind the wheel he said, "It could
be he wanted a new start and figured going underground with a ready-made
family, plus an addition of his own to help secure his place, was his
ticket to anonymity."

"If he wanted a new start, why did he continue to lie?"

"A leopard never loses its spots.  Krycek is still Krycek."

Scully's tilt of her head and raised eyebrows suggested Mulder was
possibly right. She noticed that the route he picked would have her home
in twenty minutes. "You're not taking me home, are you?"

Mulder nodded and waited for her to explain the question.

"There's no way I'm going to sleep after four cups of that extra strong
police house brew.  Why don't we just go to the office and try to plot
our next move?"

"Any other time I'd love to take you up on an offer like that, but my
head is killing me." He rubbed his forehead and blinked his eyes a few
times. "I think I need a new prescription."

"Your glasses?"

"Yeah. Want to hang out at my place for a few hours?"

"I--yeah. You don't mind?"

"No, why would I mind?"
 
 

Saturday
8:14 a.m.

"There you are Mr. Chilton.  You are usually up at the crack of dawn. I'm
afraid all that's left for breakfast is Cheerios.  Do you feel all
right?"  Mrs. Napper was one of the assistant's who worked at the group
home.  She was calm but firm with all the residents, especially those
like Mr. Chilton who liked to bend the rules whenever possible.

"I don't like milk, Mrs. Napper and I won't eat dry cereal." He didn't
address her question because he knew she didn't really care how he felt.
And, he could never tell her anyway.

"Then you have to eat when everyone else does.  Breakfast is served at
7:00 sharp.Mr. Greenwood ate your portion when it was clear you would not be joining us."

He challenged Mrs. Napper through thick lenses with a look that made
everyone uncomfortable, except her. She stared right back at him.
"Fine," he finally sighed.  May I just have coffee then?"

"Yes you may, Mr. Chilton.  Help yourself.  I believe you have yard duty
today.  You're going to want to get started before it gets much hotter
outside.  It's supposed to be a scorcher."

He let her final comments go unanswered as he poured himself a huge mug
of coffee and added two tablespoons of sugar to it.  He watched her over
the brim of his cup.  He liked watching her.  She kept herself in good
shape for an old broad.  That blond pony tail she still pulled her hair
into didn't fool anybody.  She had to be sixty if she was a day.  Twenty
years ago she could have been a young Teresa Booker. Or, maybe a young
Millicent Mumphrey or Janette Isaacs.  He could remember them all if he
tried. But, thinking about them caused an embarrassing bulge in his
pants, so he turned to look out of the kitchen window to focus on the
work that needed doing.
 
 

Saturday, August 17th
8:31 a.m.
 

"You...you're fucking with me again!  You lousy son of a bitch!  You
didn't have to kill them!  What did they ever do to you!"

"Who is this?"

"Who is this?  Who is this!...Who...oh, you are going die a slow painful
death, you fucking bastard!  If it's the last thing I do so help me God."

"Alex?" But the phone was dead.

This was an unexpected wrinkle to say the least. Alex Krycek.  He had
underestimated him a second time.  Clearly he was one of the luckiest men
ever to grace this planet, or any other planet for that matter. How the
hell did he get out of that silo? Cancer Man squashed the life out of his
cigarette and immediately reached for another one. He glanced down at the
morning Post and wondered if just maybe the headline story was what Alex
had been ranting about.  That was the problem with being this powerful,
people tended to think you had a hand in everything.  He read the story a
second time with renewed interest, then sat back in his chair to figure
out what to do about Mr. Krycek.  The third time had to be the charm. He
picked up his phone to get things underway.
 

Saturday, August 17th
9:42 a.m.

Mulder woke up, instantly alert.  He knew the sounds coming from the
kitchen were non-threating.  They were just the opposite actually, rather
soothing. "Scully, is that you?"  He asked, already knowing the answer.

"It's me, Mulder.  Hey, we're getting good.  We can do that without
phones in our hands," she said, putting his dish towel down and walking
into the living room.

He rolled over on his side to look at her.  "Don't tell me you've gone
domestic on me."

"Not really. I just needed something to do."  She ungracefully flopped
down in the chair across from him.

"Guess I better get up, huh?  Did you sleep at all?"

"Yeah, a couple of hours. I like your bed, why don't you ever use it?"

"I don't sleep there because" - the phone rang cutting him off. He sat
up, answered it and made listening noises. Then he said, "Yes, we'll be
there in an hour.  That was Kimberly.  Says I got a message to meet a Mr.
Booker. I'd better get dressed.  Are you okay?  Want to borrow something
of mine?

"Hmm?"

"Do you need anything.   A change of clothes..."

"No, I'll be okay.  But, thanks. And thanks for letting me stay here.
You know it wasn't just the coffee." She offered a weak smile of
confession. "I couldn't face an empty apartment after what we went
through yesterday.  I'll never be able to straighten my couch cushions
with the same innocence again."

"I know."  He had known last night as well. "It's okay." He reached for
her hand and held it,   projecting a message of understanding and
support.  "Whatever you need that I can give, Scully..it's yours.  You
know that." Mulder was tempted to pull her into his arms and simply hold
her. He definitely saw longing in her eyes, he just wasn't sure if it was
to be closer to him or farther away from the demands of the job, or
both.  "I'm just going to take care of this morning breath and be right
out. You remember how to get to the arboretum?"

"Yeah," she said, but it was clear her thoughts were somewhere else.

"There's something else bothering you?"

"No, not something else, this is still bothering me.  It's as bad on the
inside as it was in Minnesota with Phaster, Mulder  I don't think it's
showing as much on the outside, but...those children.  That poor woman.
And, now Krycek and his child...his baby murdered." She shook her head as
if to loosen those horrific images.

He held out his hand and this time she came and sat next to him on the
couch.  He put his arm around her, having decoded her clues to his
satisfaction. "This is a rough one."

"To be honest Mulder, on top of everything else, I'm wondering if you
should take yourself off this case because of Krycek."

"I don't think he's a suspect, Scully."

"So you promise not to try and kill him even though you think he killed
your father?"

A pained expression crossed his face - she couldn't see it because her
head still rested against his chest. "That alone would be reason enough,
but don't forget he took the tape that proved the government is guilty of
everything I've ever said they were."

"Mulder, I need you to promise me."

"You don't play fair, do you?"

She pulled back far enough to see his face. "I play the way that keeps me
from having to fill out discharged fire arms reports." She held his gaze
to make sure he understood her thinly veiled threat; she'd shoot him
again if she thought it was in his best interest.

He stood up without responding, and walked toward his bedroom. He thought
of reminding Scully that Krycek was probably involved in her sister's
murder.  But, of course, she knew that already, so to mention it would
accomplish nothing.

"Wait Mulder."

He turned to see what she wanted to add.

"Killing him wouldn't help anything, you know. He's lost a son, a wife
and two step children.  Maybe the universal playing field is level
again." She sincerely hoped it was. The body count kept getting higher
and higher and nothing was ever resolved. The way she felt right now, it
was enough already, it really was.
 

~~~

Part 5

July 17
11:24 a.m.

The arboretum was a beautiful sanctuary, tucked ironically away into one
of the worst sections of the city. The trees, flowers, and  herbs were
the perfect backdrop for the quiet lake that seven or eight
intermittently quacking ducks called home.

Driving into the park-like setting, you left violence and crime behind,
or so it seemed.

Scully pulled their car beside the lake, opposite of Krycek's car on the
narrow road.  They were close enough to identify him but far enough away
not to be in shooting range. While she and Mulder waited for Krycek to
make the first move, she tossed Mulder another look meant to refresh his
memory of their earlier conversation.

After some minutes, Krycek got out of his car and approached their
vehicle. The closer he came, the sorrier Scully felt for him.  She'd seen
mentally disturbed street people look more intact; his hair and clothes
were dishelved, bloodstains were everywhere, and his eyes -  his eyes
made her want to be the first person there to draw a gun.  There was a
wildness in them that was absolutely frightening.

As if on cue, the partners got out of their car at the same time, guns
extended.  "You can stop right there, Krycek." Scully said.

"Someone with your reputation must get tons of weird requests asking you
to meet people. I started to think maybe you wouldn't show." Krycek
spoke. Gone was the charming, confident Krycek of the past. This was a
Krycek his own mother wouldn't recognize.

"Why are you trying to suck up to me, Krycek?"  Mulder asked as he put
his gun away and, under Scully's cover, searched him for a weapon.

"Why don't you seem surprised to see me?"  Krycek asked.

Mulder glanced at Scully making sure she had caught that Krycek didn't
know they had the case. "Hey, former partners should stay in touch. I
knew you wouldn't forget me.  Did you remember to bring me something this
time?"

"What?  You mean the tape.  I don't have it."

"But, you know who has it, right? Krycek, I'm gonna have to take you off
my dance card unless you learn some new steps."

"That's not why I wanted to see you.  This isn't about the tape, it's
about Cancer Man." His eyes flitted back and forth between them.  He was
desperate to find an ally.

"What about him?"

"I know what the plan is."

"What plan, Krycek?"

"The colonization plan, but, I want you to help me take him down,
Mulder.  I want the motherfucker six feet down, the sooner the better."

"Sounds like a personal problem to me.  Why would I want to get involved?"

"I'll trade information for resources.  I've been out of the loop, shall
we say.  You get me access to him and I'll tell you about the plan."

"Tell me something I don't already know and I'll see what I can do."

"I-uh. Okay...it's...yeah, okay..." His brain was thick and fuzzy from
shock. He ran a hand through his hair, then rested a hand on his neck.
When he tried to organize his thoughts, all he could think about
was Camille's head in the hamper, and Daniel's hand floating in his aquarium.

"Krycek? Krycek?" Scully's voice relayed concern.  "You should see a
doctor, you don't look well."

"A doctor...that's funny." He chuckled getting the words out.

Mulder and Scully exchanged worried looks.  Krycek was losing it.

"I'm looking for Dr. Alltheking'shorses and Dr. Alltheking'smen. Do you
know them?" He giggled again.  "I looked in the Yellow Pages, but I
couldn't find them.  They put people back together again.  Look, look."
He urged Scully to look at what he held. In his hands were pieces of
photographs torn into bits. "The doctors will need this for the blueprint.
DO YOU SEE WHAT THAT FUCKING LUNATIC DID TO MY FAMILY?" He abruptly yelled, then fell unnaturally silent and still.

"Mulder, we've got to take him somewhere, he needs help. What are you doing?"

"I agree, Scully. I'm just cuffing him."

~~~

Hide and Seek-part 6

Rehoboth Beach, Delaware
Saturday, August 17th
12:04 p.m.

"I see.  Where are you again, the arboretum? Yes, well that's a quiet
*restful* place, if you understand what I mean. Do you understand what I
mean?"

Cancer Man set his cell phone on the table and looked out at the Atlantic
Ocean. His beach front property in Delaware was private and secure, just
in case Krycek had been looking for him. Many people wanted him dead, but
for the most part, these people had something they valued more than his
death, and that was what held them at bay.  However, a man who had
nothing to lose might try to redeem an otherwise meaningless existence by
taking drastic action.

Krycek was such a man, ergo his threat had to be taken seriously.
Although he liked Mulder and Scully, their antics were beginning to
jeopardize his standing in the consortium.  He hadn't come all this way
to watch it slip from his grip now.  If those two happened to get caught
in the cross fire, so be it.

He picked up his salad fork and resumed eating his lunch.
 
 

Group Home
Washington D.C.
12:08

The yard looked spectacular and the house shone on the inside like a new
penny with everything washed, polished and buffed. God, he was starving
but happy; Mrs. Napper had decided to reward her "knights" with a
cookout. Mrs. Napper's Knights.  He laughed to himself.  She was almost
as clever as he was.

His mouth was watering, waiting for those hotdogs to finish on the
grill.  About four of those, a huge helping of Mrs. Napper's homemade
potato salad and a pitcher of Kool-Aid ought to hold him nicely until dinner.

The hot dogs reminded him of his favorite part of the male anatomy.
Whenever he cut those off, he'd always put them somewhere warm, like
under a pillow or cushion.  He knew they liked to be warm and cozy and
didn't mind being in tight places.  He was smart.  Smarter than the
average bear. Ohh! Did he miss Yogi again this morning?  Thanks a lot,
Mrs. Napper.

Well, maybe her potato salad would make up for it.
 
 

Saturday, August 17th
12:10 p.m.
 

"Georgetown Hospital?" Scully wondered out loud where the best place
would be to take Krycek.

"That should work." Mulder said.  He looked at the man in the back seat.
Apparently the killer had taken another life, destroying the mind and not
the body this time.  "We've got to find this maniac, Scully."

Scully, behind the wheel again, made a u-turn to go out the way they'd
come in. Suddenly, a black Blazer traveling at top speed, apparently
aiming to hit them flat out, appeared out of nowhere. They were,
unmistakenly, a target. She knew the impact to Mulder's side would be
unavoidable, but instinct took over and she steered left in a useless
attempt to get out of the way.

The crunching impact caused the car to lurch out of control down a small
embankment and into the lake. Scully thought they would be wet but all
right.  How deep could this small lake be?  She thought wrong, the car
began to sink.  Panicking, she knew they had to get out before the
unequalized air pressure made it impossible for them to open the doors.

"Get out, Mulder! Get the door open and get out now!" she said.

"My door won't open! I'll get out on your side. You go!"

She hesitated.  She didn't want to leave him. "What about Krycek?"

"Go on, Scully!  I'm going to uncuff him, you go now!"  Here was the
perfect opportunity to put that pathetic son of a bitch out of his
misery, but "Spooky Kervorkian" just didn't have that certain ring to
it.

Trying to pull an incoherent Krycek over the front seat was taking a long
time, something they had little of.  To add to the predictament, the car
began listing to the left.  He couldn't see Scully. Was she safely out?
If this lake was too shallow the car would soon be  lying on it's left
side, effectively trapping them inside.

Finally, Krycek was in the front, but Mulder had managed to drop the key
and had to search for it while the car continued to fill with water. He
could see the bottom of the lake now, he estimated they had less than
thirty seconds to make it out. Where was the damn key? With seconds
ticking down to nothing, he found it and unlocked the cuffs. "Can you
swim, Krycek?"

"What?" Came the mumbled reply.

"Can you swim, damnit?"

"Yes. Yes." Evidently the cold water was having a stablizing effect on him.

"Go then!  Get out of the car and swim!" Mulder went right behind him,
staying submerged to search for Scully.   He saw one of her shoes float
pass in the murky darkness of the  algae-filled lake, and he saw several
large orange carp, but he didn't see Scully.

That feeling was starting in the pit of his stomach.  It was somewhat
masked by adrenalin, but he recognized it as the same feeling he had had
when he thought it was her body he would have to identify that time.

He'd soon have to go up for air and just hope no one was waiting there to
shoot at him. Or worse, that he'd go up and find her bullet ravaged body
floating face down. He turned around and there she was. His tumult
blessedly returned to the place where it would wait until circumstances
summoned it again. They touched hands, then swam a short way before
breaking the surface. His lungs were bursting for air.

"Where is he?" She panted.  "Did he get out?"

"He got out.  I uncuffed him...but I haven't seen him,"  he sputtered
between breaths.
 

~~~

Part 7
 

August 17th
1:45 p.m.

The ruggedly attractive, middle-aged man walked barefooted along his
private section of beach.  The trade winds carelessly whisked away the
cloud of smoke that was his one constant companion. "Well?" he said into
the phone.

"His body was not found in the lake and we haven't been able to track him."

"There's a very obsessed and very wet man on foot and you haven't been
able to track him?  Find him, goddamnit. Find him or somebody will find
you."  This was becoming absolutely ridiculous.

He exhaled and the smoke that came from his nose and mouth reminded one
of a fire breathing dragon.  He felt as angry as one, until he calmed
himself.  If he had to, there was one man he could always count on to get
the job done.  Mulder fondly referred to this paragon of performance as
"X". If need be, he could be put on this assignment. Then, this nonsense
would stop. Too bad he was unavailable at the moment, but Cancer Man
found it comforting to know he would not always be surrounded by
incompetence.
 

August 17th
3:27 p.m.
 

"Sorry, Mulder.  I felt totally slimed.  It took me an hour just to get
that green smell out of my hair."  Scully stood near his desk in their
office.

"Not a problem."  He looked up from what he had been reading. "In the
future, just remind me that you driving, plus water, equals disaster." He
was referring to a rental boat incident in Georgia not too long ago.

"Oh, talk about not playing fair, you know someone was after Krycek.  I
suppose you would have mentioned it if he'd been found?"

"Nope, no word yet."

"Well, at least he wasn't at the bottom of the lake." She waited for
Mulder to comment.  When he didn't, she moved on, "Have you been able to
come up with anything?"

"Yeah. Pull up a chair." He leaned forward, eager to share his ideas.
"Our murderer is white, between twenty and forty.  He either has a
flexible work schedule, or is unemployed or works nights.  I'd say he
drives but walks to the murder scene because no unfamiliar vehicles have
ever been reported in the vicinity. He may be uniformed because someone
has to have seen him but dismissed him as a non-threat. Did you notice
where most of the saliva was recovered? Around the mouths and sex organs
- he's making love to his victims in his own perverted way. To say he's
not having regular sex, or any sex involving a partner, is a safe bet.
He is also very organized and meticulous, hence the clean crime scenes."

"Why is he hiding the body parts, though?"

"I hate to disappoint everyone, but I think that's just part of the game
for him.  He's making it interesting.  There's no correlation with the
severed body parts and the location they were hidden except for one: in
the first case a penis was found under a teddy bear. In the second case
one was found under a pillow and in this case..."

"Yes, I remember, thank you," Scully interrupted.

"Yeah, stuck between the couch cushions. He's putting them someplace soft
and comforting. Unfortunately, that doesn't add anything to what we
already know about him."

"So what are we doing?"

"I got Dennison to post officers to interview the morning joggers for the
next three days. Her office is also checking the companies that make
deliveries in all six areas where the crimes have occurred.  Someone has
seen him.  It's not like he comes empty handed either, he's bringing his
own cutting tools.
 

Saturday, August 17th
Group Home
3:30 p.m.

"Mr. Chilton.  Mr. Chilton, please step out here a minute."

When he didn't answer her knock, he had hoped she'd go away.  Now she was
standing outside his door calling his name. He always enjoyed an
afternoon nap about this time and she damn well knew it.  "What is it,
Mrs. Napper?" he said in a whiny sort of way.

"Mr. Chilton, I need to speak with you."

"Just a minute."  He farted. After he waited for the stink to subside and
not follow him to the door, he opened it to an angry Mrs. Napper. "Yes?"

"Mr. Chilton, this magazine was found in the car."  She held the folded
Penthouse in her right hand and she actually had the nerve to have her
left hand on her hip. "I have reminded you repeatedly that our rules
prohibit pornographic literature of any variety in this house."

"It wasn't in the house, it was in the car."

"This kind of material is not permitted in the car, in the house,  or
even up a tree as long as that tree is part of this property. Is that
understood?  I hope it is, because you may consider this your final warning."

Go ahead.  Kick me out, you dried out old bat.  Maybe I'll just come and
live at your house for a while.  I got something that will get your blood
flowing again.  He smiled inwardly at his own wit.  "What do you have
against sex, Mrs. Napper?"

"Mr. Chilton -" never mind, she thought.  The other residents had begun
to notice their "discussion" and Mr. Chilton loved an audience.  She
wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
She turned and nearly ran down the stairs. She had had more than enough
of Mr. Chilton for one day and very possibly enough of him for one lifetime.
 

August 17th
6:23 p.m.
 

Her place definitely smelled like her... some people's homes just had
that quality. This was a clean, citrus sort of smell.  Her pillow had
smelled like it three hours ago when he had crashed on her bed, but that
smell hit him while he was sitting at the kitchen table as well.

He was hungry, but he didn't realize how hungry until all of the tuna
salad in the refrigerator was gone. He couldn't be blamed for using up
all the shampoo, however.  It was all gone before he stepped in the
shower.  He noticed the odd red hair here and there as he stood under the
hot water.  If it was hot enough, maybe he wouldn't remember yesterday
morning-could only a day have passed? Just yesterday morning Terri had
joined him in the shower.  Their lovemaking only got better and better
with time, something he had never experienced before, and probably never
would again, now that she was dead.

He'd use ivory soap on his hair since nothing else was available, and he
felt like a creature of the swamp.  He needed to pull himself together.
He needed to think clearly and evaluate his options at this point.
Scully might be willing to help him. Or, she might be forced to help
unwillingly, whatever.

He'd searched her place and found two guns.  One was in her night stand
and the other one was in an empty oatmeal box on a top kitchen shelf.  He
would need them, whichever direction his life was headed, he was sure he
would need them.

~~~

Part 8
 

July 17th
7:45 p.m.
 

The house was quiet. Mrs. Napper was content; her home was her castle.
When she wasn't at work, she was busy stenciling or laying a brick patio
or putting up shelves.  She figured that when she retired in a few years,
she'd get a part-time job at the nearest hardware store helping people
learn how much fun home ownership could be.

In a minute, she'd get up and go through her bills and check over some
paperwork she'd brought home, but in the meantime, she would sit and sip
her tea. That's when she thought she heard the front door open.

"Hello?"  She called.

Silence.

"Hello?" She called again, searching her mind to see if she had
remembered to lock the door.  She had, hadn't she?  Her eyes focused on
the telephone. She had read enough crime novels to know this was the time
for the protagonist to get off her butt and call for help before it was
too late.

She gingerly placed her cup into its saucer, slowly rose from the satiny
comfort of her love seat and began to creep toward the phone only a few
feet away on her desk. Creeeek!  Uh-oh. Was she going to be sorry she'd
ripped out the carpet a couple of years ago to enjoy the hardwood floors
underneath?

"Mom, I'm home."

Pe-ter! Why didn't you answer me? You almost scared me to death!" She
fussed at her first born, all six feet four inches and two hundred twenty
pounds of him.

"Sorry, I tried the bell before I let myself in.  Maybe you better make
replacing that buzzer your next project." He leaned down to kiss his
mother's forehead and she touched his cheek and marveled that she had
help create this Adonis with blond hair and deep violet eyes.

"Really?  I'll look into it tomorrow," she said, delighted to have
projects lined up and waiting. "Where's Paul tonight?"

"I'm not really sure.  We kinda broke-up, actually.  What's up with the
Penthouse? This is what distracted me. I thought you stopped leaving
these around the house for my benefit when I was 17?" He teased her about
her initial reaction to his sexual preference after he'd told her about
it, seven years ago.

She laughed. "That belongs to Mr. Chilton.  I brought it home to throw it
away.  I'd wager next month's salary he's going through the garbage
looking for this. Listen, I'll make us some more tea and we'll talk about
Paul, if you like.
 

July 17th
7:55 p.m.
 

"He'd put on a pair of latex gloves.  He had an ample supply; they
stocked them by the truck load here.  The residents had all sorts of
medical histories and the group home staff couldn't be too careful.

Half eaten, mustard smeared hot dogs from lunch and globs of hardened
cream of wheat from breakfast mushed between his fingers.  That, along
with snot rags from the human snot machine that lived in the room next to
his, plus bits of hair and used Q-tips that belonged to God knows who,
was enough to turn an ordinary man's stomach.  It would have been worth
it if he had found the magazine.  He had to remember to stay vigilant-
leaving the magazine in the car was a stupid oversight.  Not that it
really mattered, but still.

He searched through a second bag. Agh! Why do I put up with this?  I can
too keep a job. I don't need to learn nobody's fucking social skills, no
matter what they say.  I've got some money, too.  I got two hundred
sixty-one dollars and change in my  bank account.  I don't have to stay
here an put up with Mrs. Napper and the stupid rules they make. Why can't
they just leave me the fuck alone?

There was no magazine in the second bag either.

The basement door was off the kitchen. Needing something to cheer him up,
he made a side trip to check on his "equipment". In the dank dreariness,
he saw that they were safely wrapped in plastic inside his old backpack
hidden behind an antique stereo. He felt compelled to spend a few minutes
admiring their shiny sharpness.

He'd found the knives last year when Mrs. Napper's Knights were involved
in another one of her "clean sweeps". They must have gotten rid of a ton
of stuff from the basement that day.  He often wondered what the previous
owners used the knives for.  Not that it was important. He was sure he
had found the perfect use for them now.
 
He hurried to put them away because he knew the night duty person would
probably be checking everybody's whereabouts soon.  In fact, while that
newly hired dumb-dumb was going from room to room, he could probably get
into the office and get the key to the Monte Carlo.  Yeah, he was a
twenty-six year old man after all, not a boy who needed to be told when
and how he could eat, sleep and get off.
 

~~~

Part 9
 

July 17th
8:00 p.m.
NorthWest D.C.
 

In four hours, they'd contacted over a hundred businesses between them,
checking for those who made deliveries to areas under investigation.
They'd ordered gyros for dinner, and soon after that, decided to call it
a night.

"Scully, wake up, you're home."  He nudged his sleeping partner. It had
felt really good taking her home with him last night and he almost did it
again without asking, but he thought better of it.

"Oh.  Sorry."  She woke up, discreetly checking her mouth for tell-tale
evidence of drool. "Didn't sleep much last night. What time is it?" She
yawned. As she did that, she noticed the brilliantness of the day and was
saddened that another summer evening had been squandered.

"It's 8:13 by my watch.  Come on, I'll walk you up."

"Okay." Here they were, three hours from the beach, two hours from the
mountains and she really didn't want to sit at home doing nothing.  She
wanted to be with him, but...

At her door he asked, "Do you want me to come in a minute?  Do your
cushions need straightening per chance?"

She groaned, "Mulder, how can you joke about it?"

"I think you know. It's either that or a padded cell.  The human mind has
to find a way to accept the insanity in this world...either that or
succumb to it. Take Krycek, for example."

"No, I'd rather *not* take Krycek, if it's all the same to you. It makes
me nervous that he just disappeared like that.  Did you see the look in
his eyes?  Anyway,  no, I don't need my cushions straightened, but you'll
be the first to know when I do."

"I'll be waiting.  'Nite, Scully."

"'Nite, Mulder."

He was just about to pull away from the curb when he heard her call him.
If she asks me to come back, I'm going to do everything I can to arrange
another sleep over, he thought.

"Mulder, Dennison just called."  Scully yelled, leaning out of her
window.  "You asked her to feed you any suspects matching the profile.
We've got a live one.  Be right down."

She hadn't had time to notice the dirty dishes in the sink or the rumpled
bed or, for that matter, the man hiding behind the bedroom door with a
gun in his hand.
 

Group Home
8:48 p.m.

"Mrs. Napper? I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. We are with the
FBI investigating the Booker murders.  I believe you spoke with Detective
Dennison about some information?"

"Yes. But, I'm afraid I was too late.  He's gone."

"Who's gone?" Mulder asked.

"Rufus Chilton isn't here and he should be.  He took the car, but I
already gave that information to Officer Quick.  I just can't believe it!
Part of me hopes I've made a dreadful mistake, but I don't think I did.
I'm just mortified...I mean, I sat down and had *lunch* with this man
this afternoon, and God knows how many times before that."

"What makes you think Chilton is involved?"

"The magazine."

"Which magazine is that?" Mulder continued the questioning.

"The Penthouse."

"This month's or last's?

Scully gave Mulder one of her infamous looks that translated into,
'Mulder, sometimes I just don't know about you.'

"What about the magazine?  Can you just tell us from the beginning?"
Scully asked, searching for the point.

"Come in, come in please." Mrs. Napper admitted them.

The agents let the screen door close behind them.  The old brick house
had large rooms with high ceilings. Mrs. Napper ushered them into a
brightly lit living room that smelled of Lemon Pledge. Polished mahagony
furniture reflected the seldom seen overhead light, they were part of a
different era. The old fashioned red divan was big enough to seat the
three of them with space to spare, and the expensive, if well-worn
oriental rug covering the oak floor enhanced the comfortable, homey feel
the room generated.

"I found this magazine in the car, this Penthouse." Mrs. Napper
explained.  'Mr. Chilton was the last person to drive it.  I confronted
him about it, pornography isn't permitted here, and he smarted off, so I
just ended up taking it home to dispose of it.

Well, my son happened to stop by tonight and he was looking at the cover
of the magazine when he noticed the address on it.  Fortunately, he'd
been following the story in the news, because frankly, I find the news so
depressing I tend to skip the details. Anyway, he  knew that this
murdered family had lived in Wheaton and had the same last name as the
magazine was addressed to. We put two and two together. I even checked my
transportation records and saw that Mr. Chilton had made a delivery to
Wheaton yesterday morning."

"What did he deliver, Mrs. Napper?"

"Mr. Chilton delivered cleaning for one of our community business
sponsors, Agent Mulder.  He is or was the only resident really capable of
doing a job like that and we always encourage everyone to work to his
potential.
 

~~~

Part 10

July 17th
10:50 p.m.
 

There was an all points bulletin out for Chilton.  It was late, and there
was nothing else she or her partner could do tonight. Satisfied they had
worked to *their* potential, they'd parted, hoping to get some rest and
tackle any leads in the search at first light.

Exhausted, she didn't bother turning on the lights in her apartment.
Drawn to her bed as if by an unseen beacon, the darkness didn't perturb
her at all.  Then suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind.  A male hand
was over her mouth and pulling her backwards, and much worse than that, a
gun was pointed at her right temple.

How to survive a situation like this replayed itself in her head
immediately. It involved staying calm, waiting for the right moment and
reacting in a way that would ensure her survival.  For now she didn't
fight, she didn't attempt to scream, she merely waited to see what was
going to happen next. The next move was his.

He removed her gun for its holster. "Move!"

She knew from his voice it was Krycek.  Her anxiety level dropped a
couple of notches because now she knew who she was dealing with.  He was
a man devastated by grief. He was a known murderer devastated by grief.
Realizing that she had no reason to be any less concerned, her anxiety
index returned to its original level. What had Mulder said about Krycek
still being Krycek?  She was scared, but she knew she didn't dare show it.

He pushed her forward through the open bedroom door.  She fell face first
onto her bed.  It was wet and for a minute that was confusing, then she
figured out he must have come here from the lake.  She attempted to right
herself into a sitting position. He wouldn't let her.  Forcing her to
stay on her stomach, he searched her for any additional weapons with the
hand that didn't hold the gun. "Krycek, can we turn on some lights?"

"No, I do some of my best work in the dark. His free hand explored every
conceivable place on her body a weapon could be hidden, and even some
that were very unlikely. "You know what I need you to do for me?"

She was almost afraid to answer.  "I think I do. You want me to help
persuade Mulder to help you contact Cancer Man. Am I right?"

"You got it.  Get him on the phone."

"Okay."  Anxiously, she reached toward the phone.  His hand intercepted
hers, startling her.  She withdrew her hand quickly, as if bitten by a snake.

"Am I scaring you, Scully?  I don't mean to, but, I should warn you, I'm
not myself these days. One minute I'm a proud father and a loving
husband, the next, I'm a man dispossessed. Totally dispossessed."

He was so close she knew he had eaten tuna sometime in the not too
distant past. His hand was on her forehead, then his fingers were
stroking her hair.

"I liked having a family.  Did you know that?  I liked having someone to
love, I liked being loved.  It's a good feeling.  You need someone to
love you, Scully.  I can tell.  I can look at you and see that.  What the
hell is wrong with Mulder that he can't see it?"

If it was possible for this entire event to take a turn for the worse,
that moment was now. Seeking to redirect his attention Scully said, "Let
me talk to Mulder.  He has a contact that puts him in touch with Cancer
Man."  If Krycek didn't back off, she could aim for the groin, or stab at
his eyes, but it was dark and if she missed she would have made things
worse.  She could encourage him to get closer, then she'd know where the
gun was and be surer of her target. But, she really, really, didn't want
to play that game.

"No, not from here.  We can't stay here. You'll call him from someplace
else."

Leaving with him was something she wanted to avoid.  Hoping to convince
him that wouldn't be necessary she said, "Cancer Man isn't involved,
Krycek. He didn't kill your family, we found out who did.  Someone called
Rufus Chilton did it."

"Nice try, Scully. You get points for creativity.  I have a feeling that
might come in handy later.  Let's go."

She could sense the motion of the gun, directing her out of the bedroom.
"No, really.  I mean I know you think Cancer Man is out to get you, but
what happened to your family and to other families as well, was the work
of a mad man-well, a different kind of mad man.  I was there, Krycek.  I
saw the dismembered body parts.  I saw the arm in the piano bench."

"You saw it?  Good.  For a minute there I thought I had imagined the
whole awful thing.  If I'm losing it, at least I have a legitimate
reason."  He sighed.  You can help me find Rufus Chilton then."

I'll tell you what we learned about him. But, other than that, I'm not an
asset to you.  In fact..."

"I know what I'm doing, Scully.  We're out of here."

In the hallway outside of her door,  Scully spoke to her neighbor while
Krycek averted his face. "Megan, hi.  Did you enjoy doing the tourist
guide bit?  Relatives are a lot of fun, but how many times do you really
want to go up in the Washington Monument?"

Megan smiled an understanding smile.  "It can be a bitch, but that comes
with living in DC."

Good.  Scully felt better.  Megan had just moved in last week and they
had done little more than exchange names.  She did know she was
forty-two, single and a pharmacist, but Scully had no idea if her
relatives were visiting or not. Megan had gotten her message for help or
else she was just humoring her new neighbor's weird behavior.  Scully
prayed it was the former.

"Dana, aren't you going to introduce us? Hi Megan, I'm Allen."  He had
great eye contact and Scully could see the charm and confidence that had
carried him for most of his life begin to reestablish itself. Shit.

In her car he warned her, "You're going to end up getting someone killed
if you're not careful." Later, she'd dream about those very words.
 
 

July 17th
11:41 p.m.

Mulder was sitting in an all night diner, thinking about going home
because he was tired, it had been a long day.  The eggs, toast and honey
that curbed his appetite a few minutes before would steel him for another
lonely night, if need be.

The waitress had an interesting face; high cheek bones, short hair and
multiply pierced ears. He wondered what time she got off and if there was
anyone in particular waiting for her, because there should be and if
there wasn't he would be more than willing to fill that bill, at least
for tonight.  He watched her and she knew she was being watched and
didn't seem to mind, or was she just oblivious to customers watching her
because they did it all the time.

"Excuse me."  he called to her.  "Janine?"

"Yes, just a second." She looked at him and smiled.  Walking over with a
water picture in her hand, anticipating what he might ask for, she
refilled his glass.  "Did you need anything else?"

Her eyes were a very light blue.  The sun streaked blond hair and nimble
tanned body suggested Janine enjoyed some kind outside activity, maybe
swimming, she had swimmer's shoulders.

"I wanted to know if you'd be at all interested in me taking you home
when your shift is over?"

She looked at him for a long minute, then nodded. "Well, it's not too
busy in here now." She looked around at the other patrons; a young
couple, a mother with two teenage boys and a very dark and very thin cab
driver.  "Why don't you hang out a bit, and then we'll see. "  She smiled
for the first time and it attractively softened an otherwise serious
expression, probably implemented to ward off unwelcome interaction from
her customers. "What's your name?"

"Fox Mulder." He shook her extended hand.

"I'm Janine Warren."  "I haven't seen you here before, Fox.  Then again,
I've just been working here for about a month now.  My friend, Cal, was
here before me but he got a much better offer and so here I am.  I go to
Gallaudet University. I'm in an interpreter program.  Sign language, you
know.  What about you?"

"No, I don't come here much. Just dropped a friend of mine off not to
long ago and ended up here.  I work for the government, like what, 30
percent of the people who live in this area?"  He joked and hoped she
wouldn't ask for  specifics.  Sometimes people waited for later for
details and that was fine with him.

"I would have guessed you were a policeman.  You just have that quiet,
introspective quality I like to associate with really good carriers of
justice."

He laughed. "Is that what I've got?  I was waiting for someone to give it
a name. I do work for the FBI as a matter of fact."  He *liked* Janine
Warren. This was going far better than he had imagined it would.

"Oh, you do? My favorite uncle's a cop. Great!  We have something in
common other than this heavy physical attraction that's making it hard
for me to breath."

No doubt about it, he *really* liked her honesty.  When he thought about
that, he thought about his partner, and her honest persistence in seeking
the truth.  For a moment, he felt unfaithful to her.  He pushed that
feeling aside and said, "So, you like the quiet, introspective type and
honesty turns me on.   How did I get so lucky?"

"You haven't gotten lucky yet, Fox.  You will though, in time, unless you
do something to screw it up."

"Well, let me see your checklist and we'll get this love affair underway."

This time she laughed. "If assertiveness in a woman bothers you, then I'm
not who you are looking for. I know what I like, and what I am and am not
willing to settle for.  What about you?  I suppose you must have a list of
some sort, even if it only contains waist size and a recent aids test."

He was formulating a snappy reply when his phone rang. He excused himself
with a raised index finger and talked to Skinner:

"Mulder, listen.  There's a Megan Benson living next door to Agent
Scully.  She contacted the general office and reported a possible
kidnaping--seems some fitting Krycek's description escorted Scully from
her apartment about thirty minutes ago.

He felt sick.  He knew he should have killed the bastard as soon as look
at him.

"What else do we have?"

"Her car is missing.  We are tracking that."

He was silent because he was thinking.

"Mulder?"

"I'm here.  Has there been any progress with the Chilton case?"

"Nothing yet.  You think he's using Agent Scully to help him find Chilton?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it.  I just don't know how Scully would help him
though. There's not that much to go on--there's no telling where Chilton
is headed--unless...

"Unless what Mulder?"

"Sir, get some people over to Allison Napper's house.  Chilton just might
be upset enough with her to pay her a visit before he relocates.  Besides
that, other than studying his history, interviewing someone who knew
Chilton a second or third time would be the place to start."

He'd started out of the door, repocketing his phone before remembering he
had been in the middle of a conversation. He turned to see Janine right
behind him. "I've got to go."

"Yes."  She said and then she kissed him.  It was quick, but it
definitely left him wanting more. "Come back."

"I'll do that."

~~~

Part 11

July 17th
11:46 p.m.

He was enjoying the view from the front seat of the car, his car now.  He
could see Mrs. Napper's red Camry in her driveway.  He could see the
porch light and two lights on up stairs.  He preferred working in
daylight. People were much more likely to leave their doors unlocked,
although he suspected many waited until right before they slept to
lock-up.

He'd have some fun with Mrs. Napper.  He show her the stuff true knights
were made of, then she would show him what she was made from, literally.
She would cry and plead like all the others always did. He loved that
feeling of power, of control, of respect.  Where else was he going to
find that?  When else was he anything but invisible everybody?  No one
paid attention to him unless there was a knife in his hand. No one would
ever had known how smart he was, until he showed them he could murder and
get away with it.

Sheesh!  People were just so stupid and unaware.  He liked making "the
unaware" look for the parts he would hide.  Those big "crumbs" would lead
them into full understanding.  They would come to learn what manner of
man they were dealing with.

Now, if he could just figure out how to get in.  Was Mrs. Napper the type
to keep a key under a mat or in a flower pot or in a fake rock?  He'd
find out.
 
 

July 18th
12:04 a.m.

Her head was pounding.  She tried to visualize herself on a white sandy
beach with a handful of her lover's hair in one hand and a strawberry
daquari in the other.  She sighed because no matter what she tried, her
reality didn't change. She was driving next to an incensed, disturbed
killer who expected her to lead him to the murderer of his family. That
was highly unlikely. "It's after midnight, Krycek.  I think Mrs. Napper
might be a little suspicious of us turning up here, especially after
Mulder and I just talked to her about three hours ago."

"Okay, then.  There some motels a couple of blocks over."

'On second thought, she's  probably a good citizen, willing to do
whatever it takes."

"You think?  Yeah, you're probably right.  Just explain to her that the
master criminologist is on the case now, uh, that would be me." Krycek
was having his fun.

"I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Krycek."

"How could you know?"  He looked at her in that abrupt, unnerving way he had.
He smiled when he said it, and that made it all the more scary.
 
 

12:05 a.m.

Damn!  Everything locked up tight as a drum which was typical for an old
hag like Mrs. Napper. He returned to the car disappointed. He sat and
thought for minute, but his options were severely limited.  That's when
the car pulled up and a man and  woman got out.
 

12:07 a.m.

At first it didn't register, then the brown Monte Carlo lit up neon
lights in her brain.  Krycek held out his hand for the keys.  She gave
them to him and said, "That's Chilton's car.  I'm sure of it."

"Where?"

"The Monte Carlo, right there.  That's his car."

"Are you pulling my chain, Scully?"

"No! Let me check it out."

"Okay.  Okay. We'll do it together. I'm your back up."

"Small problem.  No gun ."

"In that case, you're my back up. I hope for his sake that you're not
trying to play me, Scully."
 

12:08 a.m.

Hey!  Shit!  They'd started up the porch but, stopped and were coming
this way!  He tried to start the car, but in his haste, he turned the key
further than he needed to and all he got was the sound gears grading
against each other.
 

12:09 a.m.

"Are you Rufus Chilton?"

"Well, depends on who's asking?" He thought he'd concealed his fear by
using a calm and reasonable voice.

"Rufus Chilton, this is the FBI!  Step out of your vehicle!  Hands in the
air!"  Krycek shouted, surprised at how good it felt to say words he had
trained so hard to have the right to say.

"Oh, fuck!  Fuck! Fuck! Chilton banged the steering wheel with his hands,
and then with his head, causing the horn to give staccato blasts.

"Get out of the car, dammit!  Do it now or I start shooting!"

Chilton didn't get out.  He stopped banging his head long enough to look
into the eyes of the man who would be his executioner.  The first shot
went through his left cheek and exited through his right one.  He reached
up in pain. The second shot sent his glasses flying.  The last thing he
remembered thinking that the dome light didn't work and he'd never be
able to find them in the dark.

Scully watched because somehow, having sentenced this man to death by
identifying him, she felt she owed it to him to witness it.  Having seen
enough, she backed away slowly, then turned to run, listening to the
third and fourth pointless shots.  She heard sirens approaching and felt
relief because hopefully Krycek would run in the opposite direction.

 
~~~

Part 12
 

July 18th
12:38 a.m.

"You're all right, Scully?  He didn't hurt you, did he?" A concerned
Mulder asked, needing to hear her confirm it.

"I'm okay.  The fact that Krycek has managed to escape again isn't
sitting too well, but..." She sat in his car parked at the end of Mrs.
Napper's block.  Police cars abounded, Skinner was somewhere around, as
was Dennison.  Scully had just swallowed two Advil and was waiting for
them to kick in.

"Looks like you'll have to fill out one of those "discharged weapon" reports
after all." Mulder said.  Krycek had used her gun.

"You're sweet to point that out, Mulder. Why don't you just get it all
out at once. Don't you want to comment on how there's always room for one
more killing or something similarly facetious?"

"Scully..."

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Don't mind me.  It's just been one hell of a day."

"Really? Being shot at, nearly drowned, and kidnaped.  Yeah, that's
certainly one way to describe it I guess." He touched her hair, then
gently massaged her shoulder. When she looked at him he said, "Seriously,
you're okay and it's over.  Chilton is no more and Krycek is long gone by
now."

They shared a look of mutual understanding that only partners could
share. "I know.  You're right. I just gotta get out of here.  Away from
all this.  Can we just.."

"Say no more."  After she'd closed her door, he put the car in reverse
and eased away unnoticed.

As he drove he looked at her often, studied her because, at times like
this, her behavior was unpredictable and he wanted to pick up any clues
her face and body language had to offer. He could tell her tension was
easing.

She watched him watch her. He was there for her and it was a wonderful
feeling to know that. It made everything else tolerable. "You know what,
Mulder?  I need my cushions straightened. Not only that, my bedroom's a
mess.  Are you game?"

Probably she was only asking for company because she didn't want to be
alone after an experience like tonight and she wanted help exorcising
Krycek's presence from her home. But hey, a guy could hope.  "Sure. I'm
game."

With all traces of stress vanished, she smiled and said, "But, before
that, I want to enjoy a seven ounce cup of nonfat vanilla yogurt with
sprinkles and m and m's on top.  There's this all night diner near my
place.  I'll tell you where to turn. Don't look so worried, it'll be my
treat."
 
 

The End