Part I

Tuesday, 9:30PM

Special Agent Fox Mulder's Apartment

Fox Mulder lay on his couch, still half-way in the clutches of his

nightmare. Files which had been lying on his chest when he had

fallen asleep were now spilled onto the floor from his thrashing

around.

He sat bolt upright all of a sudden, fully awake at last. He put

his bare feet onto the floor and his head into his hands. Wearing

sweatpants and nothing else, he still felt overheated in the air

conditioned apartment.

"God!" he said fervently as he ran a trembling hand across his

stubbly and perspiring face. This was one of the worst ones he had

ever suffered, and there had been plenty with which he could

compare.

He had fallen asleep after coming home from work, while reviewing

some files from the FBI's Violent Crimes Section archives. His

partner, Dana Scully, had taken the autopsy results of these cases

home with her, so they could both get some background on these

related crimes. Their flight was leaving in the morning for

Portland, Oregon, and they had to be up to speed when they reached

the local police and FBI task force meeting.

He looked at his wrist watch and was surprised to see that it was

only 9:35 PM. It felt much later.

Taking a deep breath did not seem to clear the cobwebs and horrors

one bit from his head. He had been dreaming about a small girl, no

more than five years old, who was running and climbing as fast as

her short legs would go, up a very long flight of marble steps.

She could hear - almost feel - her pursuer right on her heels,

gaining on her. She knew with a child's understanding that he

would hurt her if he ever caught up with her. So she kept going,

crying for her Mommy and Daddy in between gasps for breath. She

lost her grasp on her doll at one point when she stumbled.

Reaching out to break her fall, her knees and the palms of her

hands painfully scraped against the rough marble, and the doll had

gone rolling down the steps, away from her reaching arms.

Mulder could feel the panic and indecision that Kate felt (*that*

was her name! Kate!) but, to his deeper horror, he could also feel

the pursuer's consuming hate, lust and raging blood-thirst. He

could feel the rapid beating of his heart and hear the low growl in

his throat as he pounded up the steps, gaining rapidly on the

child, reveling in her fear, anticipating the moment he could close

his hands over her body and pull her into his powerful arms. She

would be like a helpless kitten when he...

"Nooo!!" Mulder screamed. He held his hands over his ears,

squeezing his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the awful

memories of the nightmare. He moaned in distress, wondering how he

could even dream such repellent things. He must be slipping off

the deep end at long last.

After a few minutes his heartbeat slowed and he felt himself

calming down, at least enough to get up and go into the kitchen for

some water. Drinking as though he were dying of thirst, he

finished a full glass before feeling that his mouth wasn't coated

with dust.

After all the tests and analyses and "educated guesses" related to

the drug injected into his system, no one had come up with a

definitive answer. It boiled down to the fact that he'd had some

god-awful unknown drug forced into his body that made him homicidal

for a period of 20 hours, give or take. Then the effects had

diminished when the drug had degraded in his system. During the

past three weeks he had returned to what was, for him, normal.

Until tonight. That dream and the accompanying feelings definitely

were not your average nightmare. He was still trembling from the

after-effects of it. He seriously debated with himself whether to

call Scully or not. She would still be up and probably packing for

the trip.

Finally, he reached for his cel phone since it was closest to hand.

The need to talk with Scully was overwhelming. He hit the familiar

numbers and listened to the ringing.

"Scully," she answered, sounding preoccupied.

Without warning, Mulder had a sudden overwhelming nausea wash over

him, and managed to choke out, "Hold on!" to Scully. He barely

made it to the bathroom in time before the nausea escalated into

vomiting. After the final retching stopped and he was rinsing his

mouth with water, he realized that he had taken the phone with him,

and it was lying on the rim of the bathtub.

He picked it up and asked hesitantly, "Scully? You still there?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Is this your strange idea of entertainment,

to get me on the phone, then puke your guts out, Mulder? That was

truly disgusting. Why don't I see what repulsive bodily function

sounds *I* can come up with?."

Mulder smiled. "Uh, that won't be necessary, Scully. I've

probably heard them all before. Those motel rooms we stay in have

paper-thin walls, you know." He hoped she realized that he was

only kidding.

There was a brief pause and he could almost feel the heat of her

blush through the phone. Damn, she thought he was serious.

"Scully, I was only joking."

"I knew that," came the swift reply. Her tone turned serious,

then. "Mulder, you sounded pretty sick a few minutes ago. What's

wrong?"

"Don't know. I feel a lot better now, though. Guess I got rid of

whatever was bothering me."

"Good. Let me know if I can do something for you if you get worse

again. And you *don't* have to go to Oregon tomorrow if you've got

the flu or something. I can always go and hold down the fort until

you can get up there."

"Thanks for offering, Scully, but I'm OK. And we really need to

talk. How about taking a couple of days leave when we're done with

the case and try to see where we're going with our personal lives."

"You mean see who jumps who first, don't you, Mulder?"

This time it was his turn to blush in surprise, and he replied,

"That, too," with a laugh.

He thought briefly about how they had physically and emotionally

connected after the drug had worn off, when they were in the police

car on the way to the hospital. They had not explored that

connection yet; they had mutually agreed to set aside some time all

for themselves soon in order to give it the attention it deserved.

So far, with all the testing, reports to Skinner, reports to the

local police chief, the time-consuming but fruitless investigation

of the case, and their regular workload, they had not had a minute

in private to really talk. He had thought that taking the extra days for

themselves in Oregon after they were through with their

case would give them that much-anticipated time with each other.

"Well, I had better get a few things packed, although most of it

never gets unpacked from the previous trips," he said, reluctant to

break the connection with Scully.

She snickered. "I know. Last trip I noticed you still had a

cheesy souvenir desk calendar from some motel dated 1994 with all

the other garbage...uh, stuff in your bag."

"I'll have you know, Scully, that calendar has all the significant

dates notated as to sightings and close encounters around the

country for that year. The importance of the data can't be

trivialized..." he stopped talking when he heard the huge

ostentatious yawn from his partner.

Smiling and feeling much better about everything, he said, "Say

goodnight, Scully."

There was a companionable silence, then she whispered, "Good

night," and hung up.

The easier feeling didn't last long, however; Mulder was just too

restless to relax, and he knew that part of the problem - OK, maybe

*all* of it - was the fear that his nightmare would return once he

fell asleep.

With a manic spurt of nervous energy he cleaned his kitchen and

bathroom, finished packing, and even straightened up the rest of

the apartment, including dusting. Finally he ran out of things to

do around 1:00AM and collapsed onto his couch, exhausted.

At last getting drowsy, he drifted into a contented sleep.

7:00AM

Still Fox Mulder's apartment

The knocking on his door finally penetrated his slumber and he half

fell off the couch before making it to his feet and to the door.

His eyes were blurry and he was having a hard time waking up.

He unlocked the door and opened it, saying, "Give me a minute and

I'll be ready, OK?" without even looking at the visitor, knowing it

would be Scully and that he had overslept. When he turned back to

head for the shower, he stopped dead and stared. He was aware that

Scully was peering around his left arm at the sight.

"Mulder. I've seen your apartment when it was a little messy, but

this..."

Everything that wasn't permanently attached was upended, strewn

around, or broken. The place was totally trashed. He could only

stand in silent shock, his sleep-fogged brain unable to take in all

the destruction.

Scully suddenly realized that this was all just as much a surprise

to Mulder as it was to her. Things were getting pretty strange.

Finally Mulder stepped forward in a daze, looking around at the

mess, seeing the results of a wild rampage, but not understanding

how it could have happened while he was right there on the couch

all night.

Then it dawned on him: *He* had done this, himself. It had to

have been him, since the apartment was locked from the inside and

he had been there all night without being awakened by the noise

that this kind of vandalism would have caused. He must have been

in some kind of maniacal sleep-walking fit to have done this and

not remember it, though. His gaze traveled down to his right hand;

he and Scully contemplated the fresh scrapes and bruising on the

skin. His jaw muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth.

Scully realized that the condition of the apartment was really

shaking him to the core, and she put her hand on his arm as a

gesture of reassurance. "Mulder, what happened here?" Her voice

was full of concern.

He sat down carefully on the couch as if he might break into little

pieces if he moved too quickly. He rubbed his hand over his face

and looked up at Scully, fear bright in his eyes.

"I'm losing it, Scully," he said in a low, raspy voice. "I must

have done this; no one else has been here. I don't believe the

drug has ever left my system. It's been lurking around with more

nasty surprises until it finally finishes me off."

She sat next to him and took his hand, looking into his eyes.

"Mulder, there was no trace left in your blood of anything unusual

in the last half a dozen tests. How could the drug still be

affecting you?"

"Maybe the stuff metabolized and a new by-product has conformed to

the way my body chemistry works and is hiding somewhere in me,

causing these side-affects." His eyes were a little crazy and he

was talking faster, throwing out ideas as quickly as they occurred

to him. "This drug might be extra-terrestrial in origin, working

in ways our tests and analyses can't understand or track.

Maybe..."

Scully gently placed her hand on his lips, saying, "Sshhh. Calm

down, Mulder. You're finding wild solutions for a simple sleep-

walking incident here."

He grabbed her wrist in a tight grip and pulled it away from his

mouth. "Simple!" He stood up, pulling her with him. "Look at

this. A stack of files knocked over would be simple. This is what

I would call serious shit!" He was thoroughly agitated now, and

his grip on her wrist was beginning to hurt.

"Mulder, you're hurting me." He didn't seem to hear her, but

pulled her with him as he paced into the room, stepping over the

litter on the floor. "Mulder!" She planted her feet and tried to

act as an anchor, but it was as if she were a feather wafting along

in the breeze he left in his wake.

Finally fed up, Scully threw a leg into the back of his knee and

shoved him off-balance. He landed on the floor with a bone-shaking

thump, and she landed on top of him, since he had not released her

wrist when he fell.

He was certainly aware of her now, and was raising her arm and

looking with concern at her reddened wrist.

"Scully, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. God, I'm

sorry." He put her wrist to his cheek and held it there as though

the contact could help it feel better. And amazingly enough, it

did, a little, Scully thought.

"It's OK, Mulder. I'm fine. I'm more worried about your mental

condition than my physical one."

Aware suddenly of his long, lean body lying under her own, Scully

started squirming around to get to her feet. Thinking was becoming

too difficult with the extraordinary sensations she was

experiencing.

Apparently she was not alone in her predicament, feeling the

evident reaction that her moving around against him was having on

his body. She was still attached to Mulder by his hand on her arm,

however, and she looked into his darkening heavy-lidded eyes with

a silent plea. He immediately understood and released her arm,

allowing her to scramble to her feet.

Slightly breathless, she walked over to the sofa and sat down,

watching Mulder get to his feet before saying, "We have a plane to

catch in 48 minutes. It's my medical opinion that you are in no

condition to be working on this case right now, Mulder."

"And your personal opinion?" He spoke so quietly that she barely

heard the words.

"You're scaring me, Mulder, but probably not nearly as much as this

is scaring you. Tell me what you think."

While waiting for his response, her heart gave a skip as she took

in his appearance; he was dejectedly standing in the middle of the

wreckage he had unknowingly made, hands on hips and head bowed,

sweat pants hanging below his navel, bare feet and chest, and hair

spiking around his head like a startled porcupine. She wanted to

go to him and comfort him and love him, but held back, knowing he

was so vulnerable now. It would not be fair to him until he solved

this current problem and was once again in control of his actions

and emotions. But staying on the couch and not going to him was

the hardest thing she had ever done.

Finally he looked up and she could see that he had come to some

decision and looked at peace with it.

His warm hazel eyes met hers and he said, "I'm going to grab a

shower, then we'll both go to Oregon to work this case. I can keep

a grip on this...thing that long, hopefully. I may have to rely on

you to help keep me in line. Then we'll see what the hell is going

on with me, even if I have to get locked away for awhile."

She knew that, under normal circumstances, it took a lot for him to

accept any kind of medical or psychological attention, especially

if he had to be confined during the procedure. Apparently he had

realized that there was no acceptable alternative to some kind of

treatment and analysis any more. And to ask for her help...well,

it was another first.

"That sounds good to me. Better get your shower out of the way,

though; we needed to leave five minutes ago."

While he was getting ready, she found his carry-on luggage under

the overturned table, and it seemed to be intact. She set it by

the door, then started salvaging the unbroken items out of the rest

of the devastation on the floor. When he came out of the bedroom

dressed in a dark blue suit and a gray-on-blue tie, she could

hardly believe this was the same disheveled man from just fifteen

minutes earlier.

"I'm impressed, Mulder. I can't even give you a hard time about

the tie." She gave him the beaming smile that he saw so seldom

lately. He gratefully returned the smile, and began hunting around

for something.

"What are you looking for?"

"My umbrella. It's probably raining in Oregon; it usually does in

April. And all the rest of the months, from what I hear."

With both of them searching, Scully found it in a corner of the

kitchen, of all places. With that item in hand, he grabbed his

raincoat and carry-on, and followed Scully out the door.

They were lucky for a change and hit most of the lights in town

green. They made the flight, and settled into their seats with

relief, Scully at the window and Mulder on the aisle. They were

headed for Chicago, and would change planes for Portland there. On

this leg, the plane was pretty full, and two seven- or eight-year

old boys were seated behind Mulder. Ever since the plane had taken

off, they had been having what sounded like a contest to see who

could kick the seat in front of them the hardest and fastest.

Scully was keeping an eye on Mulder, afraid he would choose the

confined spaces of the aircraft to fly off the handle again.

Mulder withstood the irritation for all of three minutes, then

unbuckled his seat belt, got up into the aisle, and leaned over the

kids' seats. He said very calmly, "I'm with the FBI. You kids

could be a big help to me and the Bureau if you have good

eyesight." He flashed his badge, then let them hold it and for a

minute. The kids eyes were as big as frisbees and their heads were

nodding, entranced with this development.

Keeping his voice low and confidential, Mulder told the kids, "Some

reports of people seeing unidentified aircraft in this area have

been received by the FBI." This was true. Mulder had received

such reports, since all such sightings and rumors were eventually

passed down to "Spooky" in the basement.

"I need you guys to keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual out

there," and he pointed to the window. "The sightings were all in

that direction, south." He looked at the elderly lady in the

window seat, who had an amused expression on her face. She was in

her early 60s and was elegantly dressed. She had been quite aware

of Mulder's ulterior motives, and was happy to let the boys have

the seats closer to the window if it would keep them quiet for a

while.

She said, "You boys change seats with me. You can see better that

way."

After manfully shaking hands with the boys, Mulder left them with

this new game to occupy their little minds, and sank gratefully

into his own seat again.

Scully commented dryly, "I have to admire your technique,

especially the part where the kids are now behind me in case they

get bored and decide to start kicking seat backs again."

He flashed a grin at her, saying guiltily, "You noticed that.

Damn, you're quick. Can't get anything by you, can I?"

She just smiled, shaking her head in resignation, and settled back

with her eyes closed. She could never seem to sleep on planes, but

at least she could try to relax a little.

When they boarded the connecting flight to Portland, they found

that it was half empty. Mulder immediately claimed a row of empty

seats, put the middle arm rests up, and lay back with several

pillows and instantly went to sleep. Scully resigned herself to

reviewing more of the files she had brought with her.

Scully woke Mulder up as they neared Portland so he could see the

scenery. Mt. Hood was immediately outside the left-hand windows,

and soon Mt. St. Helens could be seen out of the right windows,

with it's top gone from the 1980 eruption. The Columbia River was

glistening in the early afternoon sunlight, and the green forests

undulated over hills and valleys. They had flown into this airport

before, but it had been at night, with not much to see.

It was Mulder who pointed out that heavy dark clouds were moving in

from the west, and it looked like the pleasant sunny day was going

to be history by the time they got on the ground. Sure enough, it

was pouring rain when they left the airport in their rental.

Scully chose to navigate with the map while Mulder drove, since he

had gotten them lost on the last trip and she couldn't pass up the

opportunity to give him a hard time about it.

"Is that the Columbia River again?" he asked as they drove over a

bridge into downtown Portland.

"No, that's the Willamette River - and I doubt if I'm pronouncing

it correctly." She guided him up to Broadway, into a left turn,

and there was the hotel. "Even you could have found this with no

trouble, Mulder," was her last dig before they pulled up to the

entrance.

(Continued in Part II)

(Same disclaimers as Part I)

RETURN OF THE KILLER

By Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Part II

3:00 PM, Viceroy House

With the time zone difference, it was only 3:00 when they walked

into the lobby of the hotel in downtown Portland. This hotel was

much nicer than what the two agents usually managed to find

affordable in their travels. It was so luxurious that Mulder was

whispering to Scully as they entered the lobby, "Come on; admit it,

you gave me wrong directions. *Our* hotel has to be on the other

side of town, with a blinking neon sign that says, 'Notel Motel,

$5/hr.'" But the City and County were footing the bill and holding

the conference here, so they bravely planned to subject themselves

to the comfortable surroundings.

When Scully reached the front desk, she told the young Asian woman

they were from the FBI for a conference, and the woman handed her

a list of names and room numbers. "Find yourselves on this list,

and I'll be with you in a moment," she said, with a smile.

Mulder looked over Scully's shoulder and they both scanned the

list:

RESERVED: Cascades Conference Room, Main Floor, for

Jeff Clement, Office of the Mayor, City of

Portland; Bill Surtees, FBI, Portland Office;

and Sam Bayliss, Sheriff, Multnomah County.

GUESTS:

Mike Klaasen Boise, ID 604

Frank Williams Sacramento, CA 604

Fox Mulder Washington, D.C. 608

Carla Hill Boise, ID 608

Dan Scully Washington, D.C. 610

Chris Carter Sacramento, CA 610

Angelina Rodriguez Denver, Colorado 612

"They've doubled up on the rooms; I guess to save money," she

commented. "Here's your name. Hmmm, you're rooming with *Carla*

Hill?" She glanced up and back at him, nearly bumping his nose

with hers, as he was leaning in to read the list. "So, how did you

manage *that*, Mulder?"

He reached over her shoulder to point at her name *Dan* Scully and

her roommate Chris Carter. "Well, Dan, it seems that we're both

going coed this trip." She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Scully looked over at the desk clerk and saw that she was trying to

deal with an impatient woman in a severe business suit.

The woman, who was nearly as tall as Mulder and bore a resemblance

to Whitney Houston was saying, "But I don't care to room with some

strange man. There's been a mistake on this list."

Scully looked at Mulder and raised an eyebrow. She stepped up to

the woman and said, "Excuse me, but I think we have the same

problem with the sleeping arrangements." When the woman turned to

her, she introduced themselves and said, "They have me down as

'Dan' and Mulder is getting a female roommate." Mulder nodded

happily.

The woman smiled and said to Scully, "I'm Christine Carter; if

you're 'Dan', then I think we're OK, since we're sharing room 610."

She looked at the list again, and said, "And you're OK, too, Agent

Mulder, since 'Carla' Hill is 'Carl' Hill, with the FBI in Boise.

I've spoken with him several times recently, and if trying to pick

me up over the phone is any indication, he's probably male."

Mulder's disappointed expression amused the women, and Scully just

said, "Get over it, Mulder," before turning to the counter to get

the keys sorted out.

They all headed for their rooms to freshen up, planning to meet in

the Cascade Room for the meeting in 50 minutes. On the elevator

Chris briefly filled them in about her background; she was already

aware of who Mulder and Scully were. She and Frank Williams were

here from the FBI office in Sacramento because two of the murders

had taken place in that area. They both had been working in the

violent crimes section for the past four years, after two agents

had died in a plane crash and replacements were needed. She and

Frank had worked well as partners, and she was curious how Scully

got along with Mulder, given his reputation in the Bureau. She

didn't come right out and call Mulder by his derogatory nickname

"Spooky," but he knew she must be aware of it.

"So, once again my reputation has preceded me," he thought, as he

left the elevator and headed for room 608. "Great."

Scully and Chris found 610 and disappeared inside. Their luggage

arrived five minutes later, and by some miracle, everyone got their

own bags, and nothing was routed to the wrong room.

Mulder had found his room to be empty of people, but not of

possessions. There were items scattered on every surface,

including in the bathroom, and on both beds. A shirt was draped

over one chair back, while another was graced with a tie. The tv

was covered with sections of newspaper, and two six-packs of Dr

Pepper sat on the table. A suitcase was open on the bed near the

windows, and half the contents were lying on the other bed. Mulder

just moved the suitcase onto the floor and threw his own things onto the

now-vacated bed. He removed his suit jacket and hung it

in the closet, primarily because there was no where else to put it.

He turned at the sound of the door opening, and saw a blond 16-

year-old kid walk in. At least he looked 16, but Mulder's eye

caught the giveaway bulge of a weapon at his waist when he turned

to shut the door. This had to be Carl.

"Howdy, I'm Carl Hill," the kid said, and moved enthusiastically

toward Mulder with his hand outstretched. "You must be Fox Mulder.

I'm proud to meet you, sir."

Mulder shook hands, rather at a loss for words. He was not usually

met with such enthusiasm, nor goodwill. The normal reaction of

other FBI agents was suspicion and/or scorn, based upon his

reputation for unorthodox handling of even more unorthodox cases.

"Uh, likewise," was his brilliant response. The kid was so full of

energy it made Mulder tired. Was he ever that young?

"I'm from San Antonio, Texas, but the Bureau sent me to Boise,

Idaho for my first posting. The other two agents are out sick with

the flu, so I got to come here to take notes and see how I can

assist you, sir."

"Please stop calling me 'sir,' and what do you mean, 'assist me?'"

"You are the lead on this task force, is what I understood,

sir...uh, Agent Mulder. They're hoping you'll do a profile, pull

all the murders together into a complete picture, and solve it

before any more women are killed."

"Oh, is that all? Piece of cake," Mulder saracastically commented.

"Have you ever worked on violent, serial-type murders before, Agent

Hill?"

"It's just Carl, and no, s...uh, Agent Mulder, I've never worked a

murder case of any kind. Got to be a first time, though, right?"

His engaging grin made Mulder irritable for some reason. He

excused himself to wash up and disappeared gratefully into the

bathroom, leaving Carl to his own devices.

After throwing cold water on his face and drying thoroughly, he

noticed a crinkling in his pants pocket. He withdrew the paper and

saw that it was the list of hotel room assignments. He started to

toss it aside, then paused and looked at it carefully, with a very

thoughtful expression on his face.

He startled Carl when he burst out of the bathroom, walked quickly

to the door, and left the room. Carl could hear him banging on the

door to the next room and his raised voice.

"Scully! Open up; it's me."

When she opened the door, he asked, "Could I borrow your laptop for

a minute?"

She said, "Sure, let me get it for you. Chris is changing, so stay

there."

He impatiently thrummed his fingers on the door frame until Scully

returned with the computer. She expected some kind of explanation,

but Mulder just grabbed it from her hands and threw a "thank you"

over his shoulder as he returned to his room.

Scully closed the door, shrugged her shoulders, and returned to her

conversation with Chris. They had been getting acquainted, and

were having a much better time of it than the two agents next door.

They had compared jobs, with Chris fascinated and in awe of

Scully's pathologist duties. Chris was a psychologist, it turned

out, and Scully commented that Chris and Mulder should get along,

since they had the same profession in common.

By the time Carl knocked on their door to tell them that he and

Mulder were going down to the Cascade Room, they were well on their

way to being friends.

When Scully, Mulder, Hill and Carter walked into the conference

room, they found everyone else already sitting around a large

table. There were smaller tables arranged against the wall which

held coffee, tea and water, and a variety of donuts.

Mulder muttered something about donuts and a cop convention, and

Chris grabbed some hot water and a tea bag, before finding places

to sit. She sat next to Carl. Scully wound up sitting at the far

side of the table, between a slender, older man with glasses and a

balding head, and a black man in a very expensive gray suit who

looked to be her own age. Mulder wound up on the other side of

Carl and next to an exotic-looking Hispanic woman, with curves that

made him dizzy. For some reason, the old joke about the guy at the

bar asking the woman sitting next to him "How many drinks does it

take to make you dizzy?" and the woman's response, "Three, and stop

calling me Dizzy," ran through his head. He caught Scully looking

at him with a peculiar expression on her face, and he actually

found himself blushing, sure that she had been reading his mind.

Jeff Clement, a slender, dark-haired man nearing forty rapped his

knuckles against the table to get everyone's attention.

"I'm Jeff Clement, the Mayor's special assistant, and I would like

to get this moving for obvious reasons, so I would like to begin by

welcoming you all to Oregon. There are some handouts over on that

table which give you all the phone numbers you may need, including

mine and the Mayor's. Also in the material will be maps, recaps of

the murders, autopsy reports, and everything else we could think of

that would be useful."

He paused to take a breath, and continued, "We are all acquainted

with the fact that someone has been murdering young women in four

states over the past year; five in Oregon, three in the Denver

area, three in Boise, and two in Sacramento. That's thirteen, and

there may be some we haven't found yet. All murders were committed

on a Friday or Saturday night, indicating that we are probably

dealing with someone who holds down a job. No notes or messages

are ever left by the murderer. The women have been disemboweled

and various body parts removed. Their body cavities have been re-

filled with some of those body parts, but mostly with junk found

nearby. They were disemboweled while still alive. All were

between the ages of 20 and 30. Those are the only common

characteristics we have been able to uncover to date."

Looking directly at Mulder, he continued, "The FBI agreed to send

their best serial killer profiler to assist us in solving this

horrible string of murders. Special Agent Fox Mulder, along with

his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, who is a forensic

pathologist, will lead this task force."

Scully glanced at Mulder's drawn expression, and felt a keen anger

that Skinner would drop him in the middle of such a psychologically

draining situation right after he had gone through such a mental

onslaught from the drug in his system. He didn't need this right

now. She hoped that her presence could help ease some of the

mental anguish this would cause him, but felt little confidence in

that particular scenario. Mulder always fought these internal

stresses totally alone, with God knew what damage to his stability.

Clement said, "Before I turn this over to Agent Mulder, I would

like each of you to introduce yourselves and contribute any brief

items of information which you might find helpful to this case.

Gut feelings, speculation, and even guesses are welcome at this

point."

To some chuckling and laughter, he nodded at the large, sandy-

haired, man to his left, who looked like a lumberjack with a khaki

shirt and badge.

The large man spoke. "I'm Sam Bayliss, Sheriff of this county. I

handled three of the cases in my jurisdiction, and damned if I can

come up with anything beyond what's in the files. No trace

evidence, nothing to help identify this joker was ever turned up."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I do have one very strong

feeling about this case; I believe that it is a male who is or has

been employed in the law enforcement field who is committing these

crimes."

That got several interested murmers from the group. Mulder softly

asked, "Can you tell us why you would think that?"

The Sheriff looked down at the table top for a minute, then met

everyone's eyes, saying, "It's just an overall feeling about the

crime scenes; I can't really explain it. Part of it has to do, I

guess, with the fact that no clues whatsoever are left for us to

find. Nothing, not even a partial print. I just threw this into

the 'for what it's worth' category." Then he gladly relinquished

the floor by nodding to the man with the startling blue eyes seated

across from him.

Mulder's eyes traveled over to Scully to see what impact this next

speaker had on her, since he was outright handsome, tall, muscular

(but not obviously so), and had a confident bearing. Mulder was

pleased to see that she wasn't giving him any more attention than

any of the other people at the table. "Insecure, are we?" he

thought wryly.

"I'm Bill Surtees with the FBI office in Portland. I've been to

all the murder sites in all the states and can honestly say that

I'm stumped. I'm putting a lot of hope in what the famous Agent

Mulder can come up with on this." His brilliant blue eyes pinned

Mulder to the wall, or at least that's what it felt like to Mulder.

He tore his gaze from Surtees' finally when he turned his head to

hear what the balding guy next to Scully had to say.

"I'm Mike Klaasen, the Chief of Police in Boise, Idaho. We've had

three of the serial murders in and around Boise, and we're anxious

to find who's responsible. We have a very high solve rate for

violent crimes, and want to put a stop to this spree right now.

That's all." He had a very no-nonsense air about him.

Scully spoke next, then the man next to her introduced himself as

Frank Williams, and said, "The two murders in Sacaramento were the

first of the serial crimes. Agent Carter and myself have devoted

most of our time over the past year to solving this thing, with no

luck. So far, we don't even have a suspect. Sheriff Bayliss'

theory about someone familiar with law enforcement being involved

intrigues me, and I would like to do some following up on that."

After introducing herself, Chris agreed with her partner's

statement, and deferred to Carl. He settled with just introducing

himself, and passed the ball to Mulder.

"I would like to hear from this lady, then I'll give you my

thoughts on the case." He gestured to the voluptuous woman to his

right, and sat back in his chair again.

The woman smiled, lighting up the room, and said, "I'm Special

Agent Angelina Rodriguez from the Denver office of the FBI. I am

on the Denver team investigating the three murders which took place

in our jurisdiction, and we are hoping for some leads and/or ideas

from this meeting, since we have come to a dead stop on the case."

She turned her thousand-watt smile on Mulder, who couldn't help but

smile back.

"Thank you, Agent Rodriguez. And thank you all," he said as he

looked around the table. "I'm going to be very brief. There are

two things that you need to know; I feel that Sheriff Bayliss is

right on the mark with his theory, and secondly, I have a name to

go with the serial killer."

Incredulity and surprise were the common reactions by the members

of the task force. It was Agent Rodriguez who cut through the

noise and asked Mulder, "Please continue, Agent Mulder. I think

you have our attention."

"My preliminary profile is strongly leaning toward the hypothesis

of a law enforcement official doing the killings. And I happened

upon some information that pointed to a possible suspect just this

afternoon, so I am not at liberty to divulge the name at this early

stage in my investigation. I should be receiving some information

later today which will confirm some of my suspicions, and then I

can tell you more on the subject. I will say that the person in

mind will be under surveillance until I am sure one way or the

other, so you don't have to worry about further murders."

Surtees clapped his hands together, and said, "Wonderful. Now I

can go home and tackle the backlog. Everything is safe in Agent

Mulder's hands. You didn't even need me."

He saw Williams look at Carter as if to say, "So 'Spooky' Mulder

does it again, eh? Some space alien was the culprit all along,

disguised as a motorcycle cop."

Mulder could feel Scully's penetrating gaze on him without even

looking her way. 'Mulder, you have some 'splainin' to do,' he

thought.

He saw that Bayliss was looking at Surtees across the table with a

thoughtful expression on his face. When he turned back to his left,

Hill appeared to be gazing at him in awe.

"It's late enough to close this for the day," he continued to the

group, "so why don't we meet back here in the morning at 10:00.

That will give me time to obtain further information, and then I'll

fill you in on all the details."

He pushed his chair back and stood, then turned and strode out of

the conference room. He felt Scully's presence at the elevators

before he saw her. She put a hand on his arm, and he prepared

himself for the explosion. When he looked down into her face,

however, he saw only concern for him, mixed with a healthy dose of

hurt feelings.

They stepped into the elevator and she quietly asked, "When were

you going to tell me about all this, Mulder?"

He sighed, then said, "There wasn't time before the meeting; I just

found out, then had to make some arrangements."

She was silent until they reached his room. When he unlocked and

opened the door, he could hear the exasperation in her voice when

she demanded, "Mulder! Tell me what is going on!" She followed

him into the room and shut the door behind her.

She turned to face him and, with a suddenness that stunned her,

Mulder was no longer Mulder. The kind hazel eyes were darker and

what looked out of them chilled her to the bone. Even the way he

carried his body now had a lethal grace and reminded her of a

predatory animal. "The drug," she thought. "Oh, God, not again.

I knew we should have done something about it this morning and to

hell with this trip."

He removed his jacket, dropped it to the floor and began moving toward her.

His whispered, "Scully," made her tremble.

Scully's instincts screamed at her to get away from him as fast as

she could. Don't give him the opportunity to do something that

would be the final straw to the fragility of his rational mind.

So she listened to her instincts and shoved a chair with all the

force she could manage against Mulder's legs and then ran for the

door. As she touched the door knob, she felt his hands on her,

tightening around her shoulder and waist. Then she was flying,

landing face down on a bed with an impact that pushed the breath

out of her body.

(Continued in Part III)

(Same disclaimer as Part I)

RETURN OF THE KILLER

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Part III

His hand pushed against the middle of her back, effectively holding

her down, while he maneuvered between her legs so she couldn't kick

him. She felt him jerk the gun from her waist holster and heard it

hit the carpet on the far side of the bed. She tried crying out,

but the rumpled covers in her face and her position kept it muffled

to an inaudible whimper.

Then what she feared most was happening; he was pulling at her

clothes. Finding renewed energy from the wave of panic that she

felt, she began bucking and fighting with all her strength.

There was a token knock at the door, and Carl came breezing in,

only to freeze in his tracks when he took in the scene before him.

Mulder was breathing harshly and his hands trembled as he turned to

Carl. Scully took that opportunity to scramble across the bed away

from Mulder and roll off the other side. She held her clothes

together with one hand, while searching for her gun with the other,

sobbing all the while.

Carl reacted as an agent, and pulled his weapon. "Move away from

the bed and keep your hands out where I can see them!"

Mulder ignored Carl's instructions, and continued staring at him

with murder in his eyes. He began to move toward Carl, who kept

his gun steadily aimed at Mulder's chest.

Scully could see where this was going to end if she didn't do

something. Her hand touched the cold metal of her gun, and she

grabbed it and stood up at the foot of the bed. Mulder's entire

attention was focused on Carl now, so she swiftly moved up behind

him and placed the cold muzzle of her weapon against the back of

his neck.

He reacted instantly, spinning around with his arm raised, knocking

Scully to the floor, the gun skittering across the room to slap

against the wall.

Carl could not believe what was happening. We're all FBI agents

here, right? Something was going on that he wasn't seeing, but

damned if he could figure out what it was. If he shot Mulder, he

might never find out.

Mulder was coming for him like a freight train, so Carl dropped and

rolled into Mulder's legs, knocking him sprawling. Carl kept

moving and brought his gun up against the side of Mulder's head,

stunning him.

By this time, Scully had gotten to her feet and could see that

Mulder was apparently having difficulty focusing and was not a

threat at the moment. She and Carl managed to get him onto the bed

and Scully looked into his eyes and felt his pulse.

"He'll be all right," she finally decided.

"What about you, Dana? Are you all right?" Carl lifted her chin

with his finger and searched her face with a frown.

She gently removed his hand and nodded, "Yeah. The cavalry arrived

before things got too bad." She weakly smiled at him.

"Great. Now, what the *hell* was going on? Why was I forced to

whack a fellow agent upside the head?"

Scully sighed and said, "OK, you deserve to have the story, but

first, could you watch him for a minute while I go next door to

tell Chris that I'm staying with Mulder for a few hours - maybe all

night?"

He just shrugged and said, "Sure."

Carl sat wearily in a chair near the bed and contemplated Mulder's

still form. He jumped in surprise when Mulder's eyes snapped open.

"Where's Scully?" Mulder demanded as he sat up and winced at the

pain in his head.

"You don't remember?" Carl asked coldly, with a malicious glint in

his eyes. "You killed her after you raped her, you bastard!"

He was pleased to see Mulder go rigid with shock. Then he saw the

stunned agent begin to shake and his eyes go sort of funny..."Hey,

I just said that to scare you. She's in her room and is coming

back in a minute. She's OK."

Mulder was in a very scary place in a little corner of his mind

right now, however, and Carl's words didn't get through.

"Shit!" Carl got up, leaned over the zoned-out agent, grabbed him

by his shoulders and yelled into his face to get his attention,

"She's OK - I was lying. Listen to me, dammit!"

Mulder's eyes gradually moved to Carl's face and took in what he

was saying.

Then Scully walked in. Mulder shoved Carl aside like he was no

more than a feather, and was wrapping Scully in a bear-like embrace

before anyone could react.

He could feel Scully stiffen and push against his chest, and he

died inside a little more. She would never trust him again. Much

less love him. He wanted to hold her close like this forever to

keep her safe, but knew that he was her biggest danger right now.

But he couldn't keep the single tear inside that escaped and fell

onto the back of her blouse. He finally released her.

She knew how torn up he probably was, but had been unable to stop

her reaction when he had grabbed her. The impulse to push him away

came from her survival instincts, triggered by his earlier actions.

Her rational mind told her that the drug had released its hold

temporarily and Mulder was Mulder again, but her body insisted on

keeping a safe distance.

"Mulder, sit down and we'll talk later. I'm perfectly fine; you

didn't hurt me much. We need to fill Carl in with what's going

on."

He didn't say a word, but picked his coat up from the floor where

he had dropped it, and obediently sat down on the bed with his head

lowered.

"Not a good sign," she thought. She pulled a chair over next to

Carl and Mulder, after moving a few things from it, and sat down

with a sigh.

"Carl," she began, "You need to know first of all that Mulder and

I are on somebody's list as agents who know too much for their own

good. We've crossed some line they didn't want crossed, and they

are looking for ways to shut us down, and not just professionally."

His expression reflected fascination as Scully continued. "Their

latest attempt was to inject Agent Mulder with some kind of unknown

drug that attacked the part of his brain that controls the

capability for violence. He exhibited violent tendencies over a

20-hour period, but they seemed to disappear after that.

Subsequent analyses of his blood didn't show any trace of the drug.

After three weeks, we concluded that it had degraded and had worked

itself out of his system, no longer posing a threat."

Carl had remained still and silent during Scully's tale, but

finally he blurted incredulously, "And knowing all this, his

supervisor sent him out on a stressful, violent case like we have

here? Even if the drug were gone, and it appears that it has never

left his system, his mental health would require some recovery

time. Certainly he should never have been sent to handle this kind

of crime so soon."

He realized that Mulder was watching him intently, his eyes dark

and unreadable. Carl's soft brown eyes, on the other hand, were

full of sympathy and concern.

Mulder turned his blank gaze to Scully, and she felt like crying at

the way he was withdrawing into himself. She reached out and

placed her hand onto his, but there was no response at all.

Then he spoke, startling her. "I need to fill you both in on the

case. Obviously I can't be allowed to go berserk while conducting

this investigation; I could get someone killed, or even worse, kill

someone myself."

Carl nodded at him, waiting to hear what he knew about the case.

"I recognized a name on the list the hotel gave us as someone in

the Bureau who is a believer in alien visitations and abductions,

and I remembered that Byers and Frohike mentioned running into this

person at several UFO groupie gatherings. Those alien love-ins

they mentioned were held in Denver and Boise; both were murder

sites." His monotone was unnerving Scully. She wished that she

could bring him out of whatever this was, but knew it would have to

wait.

He continued, "Because this person was intimately involved in the

serial killings' investigation *and* was also in the immediate

vicinity at the time of several of these murders prompted me to ask

the Lone Gunmen to give me dates of known gatherings in Oregon,

Idaho, Colorado, and California during the past year. They sent me

this list over your laptop just as we had to go to our meeting

earlier." He pulled a paper out of his pocket and handed it to

Scully.

"Each one of the gatherings' locations and dates coincide with one

or more serial murders," he said, as Scully glanced over the data.

"None of this is proof that this person is the murderer, Mulder,"

she commented, as she handed the paper to Carl.

"Maybe not, but it makes them a suspect. The Lone Gunmen are

checking to see if this person was registered for all the

gatherings where murders took place. That should make it more of

a probability than just a possibility. And they are running a

thorough background check while they're at it."

He turned once again to Scully and asked, "Would you see if

something has come in yet on the computer? It's over by the door

on the bureau."

The look he gave her seemed to be warning her, but she was unsure

what he was trying to convey. She was mentally running through the

names of the FBI agents on this task force: Angelina Rodriguez,

Frank Williams, Chris Carter, Bill Surtees, and...Carl. Her eyes

widened when she realized what Mulder's warning look had to mean.

Scully glanced back at Carl and sharply drew in a breath. He was

casually holding his weapon in his hand, smiling with apparent

enjoyment.

"I want to say that it's been a pleasure to see you at work, Agent

Mulder. I have a strong feeling, however, that you are going to

kill Agent Scully now with my gun which you took from me in a

struggle while I was trying to protect her, and then turn it on

yourself in despair when you realized what you had done. With your

recent drug adventure, it won't be difficult for the Bureau to

believe in such a scenario. I hadn't wanted to kill you at all,

but you've forced my hand with what you are digging up on me.

After my statements about this unfortunate murder/suicide are made,

I'll go back to Boise to see my boss, except I won't stop at Boise

- Byers, Frohike and Langly will be getting a surprise visit. I'm

afraid that a lot of their files and computer equipment is going to

be lost in a tragic fire; along with the Lone Gunmen, of course."

He raised the gun and Scully knew he was a second away from

shooting her. She stared into the barrel of the gun, unable to

move a muscle. Why did Mulder essentially let Carl know that he

knew that Carl was the murderer? He had to have expected a violent

reaction from a violent man who was feeling trapped.

Her eyes wide, she watched for the tightening of his trigger

finger, which would signal her annihilation. Then it came: She

saw him steady his hand and begin to pull back on the trigger.

Scully closed her eyes and became as still as an ice sculpture.

She clearly heard the clean crack of the gunshot and tensed for the

impact.

Opening her eyes when it did not come, she saw Carl slumped back in

the chair with a bullet hole in his forehead, the back of his head

splashed on the wall behind him. Mulder still held his own gun

fixed in his lap, and the coat which had concealed it was lying

over the arm of his chair.

Mulder's expression was frightening Scully. There was absolutely

no reaction to the horrible sight before him; no emotion for the

life he had just ended, no expression of concern for Scully. It

was breaking her heart to look at that beautiful profile carved in

stone.

She turned to answer the door and to cope with the inevitable

aftermath of a shooting.

2:00 AM

Scully was exhausted. Hours of questioning, both from the Bureau

and local police authorities, had left her an automaton, asleep on

her feet. The last thing she had done was to get another room

reserved down the hall for Mulder, then arranged to keep him under

observation by claiming the spare second bed for herself. She

figured that some sleep would do them both good, and then they

could begin the healing process.

The only words he had spoken after they were alone once again were

"I'm him, Scully." Then she saw it. Mulder had identified with

Carl, then killed him after deliberately setting him up for it.

Mulder was not only feeling that he had murdered Carl, but that it

was inevitable that he himself would die like Carl because he would

deserve it. He was turning into a psychopath from the drug's

effects, which kept returning to embrace him in its dark, seductive

spell.

Sometime during the last few hours they had received the Lone

Gunmen's information. Carl's family was wealthy, which explained

how he could afford to follow the "E.T." groups on weekends. He

had graduated cum laude from Yale law school and had gone against

his family's wishes to enter the FBI. His IQ was impressive and he

had a knack for leaping over logic to find solutions intuitively.

His superiors finally had placed him into the Violent Crimes

Section, certain that he would fit in as a profiler. His first

field assignment had been this case. Frohike had found records

showing that Carl had attended every single gathering held in

locations where the murders had taken place, and some he had

attended where they had not found any victims - yet.

Scully had spoken with Skinner and had reluctantly agreed that

Mulder had to be confined and observed while they ran more tests to

try to get rid of this insidious drug that would eventually kill

him; maybe not physically, but mentally and spiritually. Skinner

mentioned that the word had already spread at the Bureau in D. C.

that "Spooky" Mulder had solved in minutes what had baffled police

and FBI a whole year, but at the cost of his sanity. "His legend is

growing, it seems," Scully had bitterly commented.

She had placed two agents outside in the corridor in case Mulder

went on another rampage, but so far he had only quietly lay on the

bed, awake but silent despite her earlier attempts to draw him out.

Now they waited; she, for daylight and further bureaucratic

headaches and the trauma of getting Mulder committed somewhere in

the D.C. area - he, for God-knew what. Probably for release from

this nightmare.

Scully dozed finally, but awoke abruptly to a soft touch on her

cheek. Her eyes flew open and Mulder's familiar face filled her

vision. His eyes shone with love and kindness, and a good measure

of pain. He sat on the edge of her bed, still dressed, but

shoeless and without a jacket. His tie was askew and his hair was

in spiky disarray.

Without hesitation her arms opened up to him, and he gratefully

moved to lie in her warm embrace. He buried his face into her hair

and she could feel the tremble in his body as they both sought

comfort in the closeness they could give each other. After a time

his trembling stopped, and they both slept.

At 6:30 Scully was awakened by the ringing of the phone on the

night stand. Mulder was oblivious to it, continuing to sleep with

an arm possessively across her stomach, and one leg draped over

hers.

She moved out from under his limbs as gently as possible and

reached for the receiver.

"Scully," she said, softly.

Skinner's voice boomed in her ear, and it seemed to hold an

uncharacteristic suppressed excitement.

"Agent Scully! I've had a 'talk' with our mutual cigarette smoking

friend and we have negotiated a solution to this problem with the

drug."

"You mean that he admitted to being the one behind all this?"" she

asked incredulously.

"Not exactly."

"What is the agreement, sir?" she asked, as she felt the bed

depress behind her when Mulder moved closer.

The amusement in his voice was evident as he replied, "That he

provide an antidote so that I don't have to kill him. Actually, I

threatened to expose a large part of his 'shadow' government

activities if he didn't immediately return Agent Mulder to his

former health as a functioning FBI agent. You don't need all the

ugly details, because it did get nasty for awhile with the threats

and counter-threats, but the upshot is that someone is going to

deliver the antidote to you this morning. It should have an

immediate effect."

"What if it kills him?" Scully flatly asked, a threat in her voice.

Mulder's hand gripped her shoulder.

"It won't. If it did that, Cancerman knows that he's a dead man.

He is preoccupied with saving his own hide at this point, and will

do nothing to jeopardize it."

"Thank you, sir, for what you're doing. It can't have been easy.

And you know that they will try to get back at you for this."

There was a pause, and Skinner commented wryly, "No one said this

job would be easy, Agent Scully. See you in my office when you get

things tied up there." The line disconnected.

Slowly replacing the receiver, Scully felt the bed dip as Mulder

sat next to her on the edge. She turned to look up at him, seeing

how drawn he appeared, with his unshaven face and haunted eyes.

"Apparently that was Skinner and there was talk that something

might kill somebody; other than that, I'm a little in the dark

here, Scully."

His worried look cut right through her and she hastened to relieve

his fears. "It sounds as though Skinner finally confronted

Cancerman and beat an antidote for your drug out of him."

They looked at each other, not believing this could be a reality.

Mulder whispered, "I'm afraid to hope, Scully."

Her hand covered his, and she chuckled.

He stared at her, startled, and said, "What?"

"I can just imagine Skinner hanging Cancerman out of the window by

his heels to make him agree to this." She sobered, then said,

"He's put himself in a great deal of danger by forcing this from

them. We owe him a lot."

Mulder nodded, looking thoughtful. He turned to Scully again and

said in a voice rough with emotion, "Scully, I'm sorry I put you at

risk when I let Carl know we were on to him." As she opened her

mouth to speak, he held his hand up and continued, "No, you don't

know what was going on in my head. I *wanted* to kill Carl. It

had nothing to do with the fact that he was a vicious murderer. I

*wanted* to put a bullet in his face or even better, rip him apart.

It didn't matter that you were there and in danger. All I could

feel was an overwhelming rage. I saw the worst of myself in him,

and hated him for it. Hated *myself* for it."

He took her hand and looked in her eyes. "In my right mind,

Scully, I would die before I would hurt you. I hope you know that.

The fact that I attacked you and then placed you in danger from

Carl was not me, but I feel that I've lost your trust. That's what

is killing me right now."

Scully put her other hand against Mulder's rough unshaven cheek and

shook her head. "I trust you more than ever, Mulder. I realize

that wasn't you knocking me around." He winced at her choice of

words. "This antidote will get you back to normal, and then you

can get back to verbal abuse instead of physical." He gave her an

indignant look at that.

She sighed then and asked, "What about *us*?"

He matched her sigh with one of his own, and said, "When I'm more

stabilized emotionally, I think we have some 'bonding' to do, but

for now, we had better back off, as difficult as it may be."

"Is that what you call it - 'bonding?' Scully laughed. "Or maybe

you meant 'bondage.'"

He smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever, and said,

"Why, Scully, I'm surprised at you. Can I change my mind about

waiting?"

EPILOGUE

The antidote was delivered as promised that morning, and Scully had

it tested first for recognizable toxins and any other surprises,

then administered the shot to Mulder herself. They had to remain

in Portland two more days while the investigation was completed and

to tie up all the loose ends (meaning paperwork). Mulder was

practically climbing the walls by the time he and Scully were able

to catch a plane back to D.C. They made arrangements to keep in

touch with Chris and her partner, who were fascinated with Mulder

and his quick solution to the case.

Before they left the hotel for the airport, she was offering to

lend Mulder a stick so he could beat off the advances of the

curvaceous Angelina Rodriguez. Agent Rodriguez was not subtle in

her pursuit of Mulder's affections.

"If you would stop drooling and staring at her chest, you might

make more headway in discouraging her, Mulder," Scully commented

with amusement after he whined about the latest close encounter in

the elevator.

"Besides, you don't often find such a combination of beauty and

brains," she added. She missed the frank look of admiration he

gave her as he commented, "Oh, I don't know about that..."

Finally they were back on a plane and on their way home. Mulder

had settled back into a window seat, supplied with sunflower seeds

and sparkling mineral water, contentedly reading the newspaper.

From her aisle seat, Scully looked over at him and was grateful

that he could be at peace for at least a little while. It was too

soon, she supposed, to know whether the antidote had done its job

or not. But there had been no further events since she had given

it to him.

A shadow suddenly fell over her, or at least it seemed that way

when she realized who was standing in the aisle next to their row.

"Agents Mulder and Scully; what a surprise," Agent Rodriguez said.

You're flying through Denver, and that's where I'm headed, too.

Mind if I sit with you?" she said, as she climbed over Scully's

legs to get into the middle seat.

Mulder had just sat speechless up to this point, a sunflower seed

frozen in his hand on the way to his mouth. He was mesmerized by

the plunging see-through blouse which was accented rather than

hidden by Angelina's jacket.

"Um, hello again," he finally managed. "Sunflower seed?" he

offered.

Angelina's laugh was delightful, as she leaned her breasts on

Mulder's arm. He was incapable of thought.

Scully whispered in Angelina's ear, "I wouldn't get too close to

him if I were you. That drug is still in his system, and he can

fly off the handle at any moment."

Angelina turned her dark eyes to look at Scully. "What do you

mean?"

Scully raised her eyebrow and replied, "Didn't you know that he's

still liable to go homicidal at any moment from that drug? He

could bash your head against the window or break your neck with no

warning at all. I took his gun away so he can't shoot anyone,

thank goodness. Why do you think I'm sitting on the aisle? I

don't want to be closer than that, but I need to keep an eye on him

to stop him from hurting anyone else. I just hope we get to D.C.

soon, so we can lock him up until he's over this mania."

Mulder was going crazy trying to hear what was being said, but only

caught, "bash your head."

Angelina suddenly got to her feet and climbed back out into the

aisle. She turned and waved to Mulder with some regret and left

without another word.

He looked suspiciously at Scully and asked, "What did you tell

her?"

"Just swapping fashion and make-up tips," she replied innocently.

"Did you threaten her, Scully?" he wanted to know.

"Me!? Would I do something like that?"

He snorted and went back to his newspaper.

And then the kicking began on the back of his seat.....

The End