Description: Scully/other casefile
Summary: Scully finds strange parallels to her own life in a murder victim.
Disclaimer: Scully, and The X-Files are property of Chris Carter and Fox - no copyright infringement intended.
All feedback is greatly appreciated at: Isis_Bastet@excite.com

Prologue
~~~~~~~

Darkness, an irrepressible void of blackness filtering along a stream of thought she herself could not interpret. Muffled and swirling, it left her intoxicated with its drunken haze of unconsciousness. Straight lines turned into curves; jagged twisted curves, unknown hands grasping at more darkness.

Visions and more thoughts shone through with muddled expectancy.

Life.

Fate.

Betrayal.

Unflinching coldness, and a soul so murky she did not dare peer into its depths. Fear told her not to - instincts kept her restrained. Fear; not that she would be gazing into an abyss so alien as to not appear alive; but fear that she would find her reflection within.

Death.

But before death... panic. And then the terror set fire to the emotions, the heart's last strokes used to frantically pump drops of adrenaline. Hurriedly beating, the heart mimics a fly's wings, rapidly swishing before the spider claims it's life. However, a spider doesn't just claim a fly's life; it devours it with a hunger so full of vibrancy that is only to be scavenged from the living.

Part 1
~~~

It had been almost a year ago now. Almost a year since Scully had had another escape. Another distant glimmer for the future. She had been blind at the time; blinded by another man's passions and beliefs, which had intermingled with her own. Her passion was still there, but not for the work, for the man. The first couple of years had been wondrous. Each day had brought another challenge, another scientific anomaly. Then the flood of pain had been unleashed. One striking her as the next waited its turn. Her abduction. Cancer. Emily. Another abduction. Then, finally the last, which had formerly kept her intact: Mulder.

He had seen the events take their toll on her, had watched with a detached eye. Unwilling to believe she was crumbling inside because of them - suffocating under a blanket of despair. He forced the blame on himself, attempted to add more guilt to his already burdened conscience. He had forgotten her in the process and had run screaming from her needs and desires with ever-quickening speed. But through all his faults she still loved him; and hated herself for it.

She thought back to his haunted expression upon delivering the news, 6 months ago. His forced happiness for her over his personal sorrow had been painfully apparent. Scully thought back to *that* night. The night that had changed both of their lives forever, in a way nothing else could.

It had been late, near midnight in her dim apartment when she had heard the swift knock on the door. Mulder rarely knocked, but when he did she immediately knew its owner.

"Come in."

The door had creaked open, groaning in protest. Without looking up he had moved awkwardly over to her couch and sat down, tears streaming down his tired face. Dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, with running shoes on his feet, his disheveled, thrown-together appearance revealed his state of mind. Leaning forward he had placed both elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands, rubbing his cheeks distractedly.

"Mulder..."

The word had snapped at his attention, bringing his red-rimmed eyes up to meet hers. The shock in seeing his devastated expression had caught her off guard, and without thinking she had gone to him, sitting down gently on the cushion next to his. She felt guilt inside her for doing this to him, and then immediately replaced it with anger for feeling it.

To her surprise he moved toward her, using a damp fingertip to trace the contours of her jaw and staring intently into her eyes. In a glimpse, she had seen the nightmares of a lonely man repeated in tired pupils, caught a glimpse of the desperation that was slowly eating at his soul. A jolt of shock had traveled from her receiving eyes all the way down to her feet, as the extent of his sorrow registered in her body.

He whispered her name softly, the tenderness a caress on her damaged soul. His mouth formed a sad smile as his eyes traveled across her face, watching the emotions flicker across there.

She wanted so very badly to believe... The glimmer of hope in her that had been crushed more than a year ago in a dirty hallway started to regain its lost strength. Then, with a burst of courage it surfaced and ordered her to act impulsively. Scully had obeyed and slowly brushed her nose against his, tilting her head so that her lips would make contact with his. The thoughts coursing through her head at the moment were untamed, and she relished in them. A spark of long extinguished fire ignited inside her, as she slowly moved her mouth against his until his lips parted. He had whispered her name with a sigh, giving in to the torrent of desire. Their kiss had been fierce and desperate, the depth of their feelings surfacing in a tide of passion. Breaking for air, they held steady eye contact.

He watched her carefully, reading her face like a book. Then his expression changed somehow - becoming lost, and depressed. "We can't do this."

Scully's veins had turned to ice as she heard the four words that crushed her. Embarrassment and anger flushed her face, and she furiously sunk her teeth into her lip in a moment of panic, drawing blood.

/He doesn't want me. After all these years, he's never wanted me/

Her thoughts, which had moments before regained their wonder, now turned viscous.

Mulder's expression stayed unchanged, and it was almost as if he had anticipated her reaction. Opening his mouth cautiously, he stopped midway and closed it with a furrowed brow. "Scully..." Urgency mixed with need in his deep voice, as a foreign timid honesty seethed forth. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry. After all this, we just can't..."

Her glare singed his soul, piercing the depths until they splintered. The rough tan fabric of the couch was entwined in her grip, giving foundation in a torrid of emotional weakness. The betrayal felt inside her was like a knife, piercing and tearing into her flesh. She looked briefly up at his face and found it tear-stained.

/Damn him - damn him for doing this. How could I have let him get this control over me? You should have known better, Dana. You should have known better/

A fierce snarl seemed to emanate from her, as she rose from the couch. Her slim form paced the room, circling the couch in a predatory action. "Leave." The word was spat from her mouth, small droplets of blood from her torn lip spraying into the air.

"Scully..." Mulder realized the consequences of her tone, and saw that the situation was much worse than he had at first thought. The pleading, almost begging tone in his voice deeply embarrassed him.

His response was met with an even deeper frown. "Did you hear what I said?" The bitterness engraved in her startled him. Hurt, he vacated the couch and tried to approach her.

"Dammit, Mulder! Leave!"

"Shit, Scully. Don't do this!"

Scully's loud growl thwarted his approach to reach her, and instead he raised his voice in frustration.

"They're splitting us up, Scully."

"What?" Her sharp intake of a breath gave way to the surprise within.

"We're both being reassigned. I'm on background detail again, and you're being put on normal cases... with a new partner." The last words were strained, almost painful for him to pronounce.

He hadn't known what to expect of her reaction - a light shedding of tears, maybe. But in every imagined scenario he had never once predicted her reaction. A vast look of lonely emptiness passed over her, and then started to dissipate. The embers of sorrow were extinguished, and she seemed to almost see a revelation of sorts. A new fire sparked in the distance; far in front of the present damaged field of burnt stumps. The anger was still there, however. Flaring every so slightly with a betrayed unspoken bond.

When the news of reassignment had filtered into her brain for the second time, she had been oddly relieved. At the same time it felt as if she had won the battle, but lost the war. By escaping from his world, was she only running from the unavoidable?

Scully had stared intently at Mulder, seeking something of unknown origin in his eyes. /Love/ She could see it there, starting to fade beneath the crest-fallen expression, but love nonetheless. The shadows crept upon him, and his selfish betrayal at her reaction was slowly drowning them both.

Brooding, she thought. /Always brooding/ She knew the routine - he would sulk, then bury the guilt to prevent further access.

Mulder took the uncomfortable silence as an invitation to leave - striding to the door with a silent defiance. He stopped once more - wordlessly gazing back in her direction, opening the doors of his soul once more for her to see. Intensity crackled as they had studied each other, the human instincts of pride and anger driving them farther apart. Finally, he had turned and left, shutting the door behind him with a soft 'thump' that had echoed deeply inside her.

Scully had stormed across the room to the couch where they had sat moments before, and flopped down hard upon it. She had sat there for hours, pondering everything. Life, fate, death, and the inevitable... Mulder. The shadow of anger had slightly cooled as his earlier realization sunk in. She had felt the truth, and realized why what they would have done was wrong. Terribly, terribly... wrong. They could have consummated their relationship, but that chance had passed. Cowardice had held them back until it was too late. Their partnership was over, and their chance at a real personal relationship had ended.

Running, she thought to herself. /You're always going to be running. From him; from your destiny/

Part 2
~~~

Snow-covered branches creaked above, when Scully pushed open the heavy door and entered the spacious house. A lock of Auburn hair fell across her eye as she surveyed the sight in front of her - assorted pieces of furniture were in disarray, the carpet soiled, and the windows dusty. Had they all been cleaned and aligned the home could have been straight out of the pages of an Ikea catalogue, with the wooden chairs, tan carpet and wide, open windows. The occupants must also of had a fondness for plants, as evidenced by the various ferns and other greenery dotting the room.

Stepping carefully through the mess, she noted the cleared spot in a corner that had been in the crime scene photos. The afternoon sunlight fell across the bloodstained rug, causing the crimson color to lighten. The FBI agent kneeled before the spot, slipping on latex gloves, which she had pulled from her pocket. Something had caught her eye in the area - a small glint of silver. Leaning closer, the strong scent of aging blood hit her nostrils, assaulting her stomach. After separating the carpet fibers Scully saw the source of the glint; it was the backing of a pin, broken in a small piece. She froze, debating the dilemma in front of her. Should she bother to bag this, or pass it off as insignificant? The meticulous scientist in her made her choose the latter.

Reaching into her trench coat pocket, Scully pulled out one of the several Ziplock bags she had brought with her. The sun-heated metallic surface burned her gloved hands; the jagged edges, evidence of its destruction. Slipping the damaged metal fragment into the bag, she closed the top and placed it safely in her pocket.

/If only I had brought the crime scene photos. Then I could tell the exact spot where the prone corpse had been found/

Each new case was important to the agent, a blessing in disguise. After receiving news of re assignment, Scully had held her breath in dreaded anticipation of yet another background check filled year. Instead, to her surprise they had brought her back out to the field on normal cases, but with a new partner.

Never dull, Darren Edward Calten is the antithesis of Fox Mulder in some ways, and the twin in others. Born and raised in New Jersey, he joined the FBI three years ago with hopes and dreams of working for the Violent Crimes division. His mother was brutally murdered when Darren was in his teens, and his vengeance for justice led him to the Bureau. The loss had left an empty vault inside him, but through his work he is able to fill it slowly with each murderer put behind bars. Even though both Mulder and Calten lost family members at an early age, Calten has yet to draw self-pity to himself. Instead he acts out, drawing attention to himself through outstanding achievement. Honest, hard working, and dependable, he bears all the traits of a devoted federal agent.

That is not to say Calten is without his quirks. Special Agent Darren Calten introduced himself to Scully with an attempted handshake, but caught her off guard with a cup in her hand. Nodding, he had said, "Nice meeting you, Agent Scully. I have a feeling just by looking at you, that you must be a damn good agent."

Throwing a pointed glance at her hot chocolate filled mug, he had smiled widely, revealing an odd passion for the hot liquid. She'd then had to break his heart by saying coffee was really her drink of choice, but that the bagel shop around the block had had a discount on hot chocolate instead. Sure he'd gotten over it in time, but he has yet to give up his crusade.

Now, Agent Calten was at police headquarters, searching through records of possible suspects. In the meantime, Scully had decided to take advantage of the free car and visit the scene of the murder. FBI profilers visit crime scenes to develop a portrait of the killer - Scully visits to build a canvas for her work. By seeing the area as it was, she could search for missed forensic evidence all the while gaining insight into the exact layout of the evidence, as well as the crime.

Tomorrow, she would drive to the county coroner's office to perform an autopsy on Roberta Greet, a 55 year-old widow murdered in her suburban home. The body had been found two days ago, by a neighbor who had taken notice of her absence. The four bodies that had accumulated across several counties in a two-month period with similar MO's had brought the agents there, with a suspected serial killer at large.

Tiredness took hold of her senses as Scully stood, stretching languidly. During the three-hour plane ride to Dolton County, Missouri, she had been too restless to sleep. The night before the sudden call for the case had awoken her; the order was to be on a Delta plane in two hours and in Dolton by morning. Luckily, she was used to getting midnight calls and had her sturdy suitcase resting on the bottom of her closet, waiting to be filled with neatly folded clothes. Dressing sharply in a Navy blue pantsuit and heels and donning her black trench coat for warmth, Scully had carried the suitcase to the car.

The plane ride had been brutal. They had spent two hours on the runway, waiting for a number of reasons. Impatiently stirring, Scully had glanced over to see Calten hunched over a newspaper. Studying it closer she had realized that he was not just reading the newspaper, but was reading the Obituaries.

Noticing her curious eyes, Calten had explained another odd quirk. "Ever since I was 12 years old, I used to always go right for the Obituaries in the paper." His tone lowered, becoming softer and more personal. "I like reading the attempted brief summaries of people's lives. Their stories; their struggles; and accomplishments. Wondering about their deaths, and pondering their ages. It fascinates me."

Stunned by his honest confession, she solemnly nodded, unable to say anything in response. The rest of the plane ride was silent; Calten had slept and Scully had stared listlessly out into the unknown land below them.

Several hours later, the two agents had struggled off the plane into the cold 6am air, him guiding her with an uncertain arm.

It was now 6pm, and her grumbling stomach alerted her of the skipped lunch and need for an early dinner.

Padding across the tan carpet, Scully wished that the early morning briefing had not been so... brief. With little to go on, and a small police force unaccustomed to the rigors of a serial murder investigation, this case was sure to test her skills to the extreme.

It seemed ironic to Scully, that after six years of chasing mutants and aliens, and six months of chasing humans she was already savoring the latter. Here, she felt she was making a difference. She could use her forensic skills, her FBI training, and her intelligence to affect other people's lives. These same three reasons were why she had stayed with the X-Files. It had taken her six years to emerge from the waking dream of horrors she had endured; and to see the real truth of the matter. Society did not need her in the basement office investigating things of the unexplained; it needed her help catching the monster in us all.

Shaking herself back to reality, Scully found herself standing once more in the desolation of the crime scene. A wave of depression floated around her head, as dizziness engulfed her. Nausea made her stomach swim, and she had to fight to keep from sitting down. A woman's face flashed in her mind - piercing brown eyes amid a worn face, sorrowful and desolate. Swiveling around in place, she sucked in a breath of stale air as she was confronted with the window before her. Fingerprint dust dirtied the sill and coated a light green fern, evidence of the horrors that had occurred in the light-filled room. The dark aura in the room continued its fight to penetrate her - striving to bring forth the haunting qualities within.

She suddenly wanted to leave - now. The desperation she felt forced her out of the house, closing the door with a solid 'thump' behind her.

Chapter 3
~~~

"Afternoon, agent." Calten smiled at her, his brown eyes offering warmth against the chilly room.

Scully glanced quizzically at him, before responding.

"Shouldn't that be night?"

"Night? Is it that late already?"

"See for yourself." Extending her arm, she pointed to the glowing numbers revealing it to be 7:00pm.

"And here I thought it was only 4."

"That's what a windowless police station will do to you, alright."

Calten smiled again, this time allowing the tiredness to shine through. At 5'7, he stood at a comfortable height next to her, the small measure of budding trust between them obvious from their stance. His small nose jutted out a bit at the end, the only prominent flaw in his features. Deep brown eyes stood pronounced against tanned skin, well set in the middle of his square face. Clean-shaven, but with wisps of unruly dark chestnut hair poking out at odd angles, he appeared a cross between the Brawny man and J. Edgar Hoover's ideal portrait of an FBI agent.

"In that case, ready for dinner?"

Scully nodded her approval and they exited the station, climbing into the plush rental car. She in the driver's seat, he beside her with map in hand.

This was had become a routine now. The dinners at the end of the day served two purposes - eating, and going over what the other had gathered during the times they worked solo. Mulder had made going out to a diner or restaurant a rare occurrence. Instead, they would both retire to their motel rooms fatigued and starving. Once in a while she would hear his familiar knock on the door and they would eat together, finishing up on case details of the day. On her first case with Calten, when a knock had sounded from the door she had frozen for an instant and was hit with a pang of loneliness. Every cell in her body was pleading for it to be Mulder, and then she had become furious with herself for it. The happiness in her eyes at seeing Calten, two mugs of hot chocolate in hand had been genuine, and the aforementioned occurrence had never happened again.

Using more force than necessary she jerked the key, causing the engine to roar to life.

Shuffling the files by his feet, Calten tried unsuccessfully to keep them from opening. "Do you want to go the same place we tried for breakfast? Their waffles were half way decent, anyway."

"That's fine with me."

Ten minutes later they were seated at a small table with a brightly colored jukebox. Smells of burnt hamburgers and french fries wafted through the air, along with other foods she couldn't identify. The two looked oddly out of place in the mid-western diner, being the only people in the room with trench coats resting beside them. The dinner crowd was slowly inching out, and only a few elderly couples remained.

Eyeing the menu, Scully darted her arm out to retrieve it, eagerly glancing over its contents.

"Hungry?"

"Famished, actually."

After ordering they settled down to the details of the day.

"So we have four bodies, all found in their homes, prone, and fully dressed. Large sums of money have been missing from each house, the exact amounts unknown. Three died of a gunshot wound to the heart, and the cause of death on the fourth victim will hopefully be determined tomorrow."

Scully's brow jumped up sharply at 'hopefully', but then after seeing the twinkle in his eye cooled her retort.

"Let's look at connections between the victims."

"Well, for starters all are in Missouri, spreading across several counties. Then, I believe all were above the age of 40, which is rare for a suspected serial killer..."

Nodding thoughtfully, she reached for the files in front of him. Her fingers brushed across each picture carefully, carrying away a print of personality with each swipe against the cool gloss of the photos. The smiling women looking up at her varied in appearance. The first victim, Gloria Derum had carefully crafted features engrained in a heart-shaped face. Soft hazel eyes smiled shyly at the camera, framed by locks of reddish-brown. Her age appeared to be somewhere in the mid-forties, and the file confirmed it as 43.

Next came Sophia Fraley, a 50 something divorced mother of four with cropped brown hair and small, mouse-like eyes. The third photo revealed Angela Yates a 54 year-old married freelance computer-repair woman. Sapphire eyes peered mischievously at the camera; a pronounced nose formed her thin face; and mid-length, dark blonde hair hung loosely at her shoulders.

The last picture was the owner of the house Scully had visited earlier, 55 year old Roberta Greet. She felt a pang of familiarity inside her as she viewed the photo: with intense brown eyes and a softly creased face, the woman resembled a model for a middle aged Vitamin advertisement. And directly resembled the woman she had seen earlier in her mind.

/Insane, this is insane/

According to her file, the woman's husband had died a year ago, leaving her with no children. An autopsy had never been performed, at her protest, and his death had been ruled as accidental. She had owned a vacuum cleaning service, a successful business that allowed her a comfortable income.

Calten's mellow voice floated in and out of her thoughts as Scully concentrated intently on the women.

"Could I see the files of the main suspects?" She had interrupted him, but he did not seem to mind. The worn folder passed between them, as she gripped the contents carefully. Spreading back the cover open she felt her breath catch in her throat at the name on the first file- Horace Scully.

"Name seem familiar?"

Meeting his smirk with an icy glare, she glanced back down to scan the file with lighting quick intensity. Softly muttering to herself, she began to read the facts aloud.

"It says here he worked for the last victim, Roberta Greet nine months ago..."

Easily breaking in, Calten supplied more information. "Yeah, he quit suddenly without reason, apparently. He lives with his mother, who is 78 years old. Last year she suffered a heart attack, for which she received triple bi-pass surgery. Complications of the surgery left her in the hospital for three weeks, along with a mountain of hospital bills."

"Which, I assume is why her son went back into the work force field..."

"You would assume correct." Widely grinning at her, a dimple stood pronounced on the side of one cheek.

"Well, you sure did your investigating today." Returning the smile, her eyes than dropped to hungrily rest on the dish in front of her; the smell of salmon traveling straight to the portion of her brain that demanded to be fed.

"Where is he now?"

"Who, Horace?"

Scully nodded quickly, too busy chewing to give him a verbal answer.

"He's in Freemont, which is about a half hour drive. I figured we would question him sometime tomorrow, but just wanted to check with you about the time first."

"Any other main suspects?"

"So far, no." Calten frowned, deep in thought. "The victims are all linked by cause of death; and background checks have been performed on them all for any other possible main suspects."

"What about the husband of that one victim..." Wiping a greasy finger on a napkin, Scully then reached for the Yates' file. "Angela Yates."

"Ah yes, Randolph Yates. His file is second in there, underneath Horace's."

The narrow green eyes and broad face beneath Scully's fingers were set into a grim smile, its forced nature apparent. Strands of gray protruded from among his dark mane; and his age of 52 years was easily apparent. The large, well-muscled jowls reflected athleticism and the file confirmed it. An ex-football player, he retired long ago and had lived off his wife's fledgling business. Scully fought to keep the prejudices of a violent athlete at bay - instead letting the skilled investigator in her rear it's professional head. "Has he been questioned?"

"Yes. According the officer's on scene he showed a subdued amount of emotion, but also appeared to be shy which would explain the former."

Scully chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, absorbing the information. Mumbling softly to herself, she said, "And where's the motive?"

"Ah, the inevitable question. A happy marriage, successful business, and lack of million dollar life insurance policy. In other words, there is none."

"As well as the possible motives behind the other killings--"

"And robberies, which, we have already established seem to be connected."

They each eat in silence for the moment, savoring their dinners. Scully then broke it, by asking, "No other lead suspects?"

"None. They did have a few local felons under watch... nothing big under their belts, just small robberies, but all had alibis that were confirmed."

The female agent mused over the next day's events quickly, before deciding on what time they would go out to question Horace. She had already scheduled Roberta Greet's autopsy for the morning, leaving the entire afternoon open. They finally reached an agreement - he would come to the medical examiner's office around lunchtime, and they would drive from there up to Horace's residency.

Problem solved, they finished eating in contemplative silence before leaving for the motel.

Three hours later they both settled into their separate rooms - each exhausted and anxious for rest. She sat atop the bed, taking in the motel's blandness. Her body ached for a shower, and it wasn't long before she obeyed. Her silk pajamas were neatly folded, ready for use in the corner in no time, and she carefully discarded her clothes in a pile on a nearby chair. Roughly pulling the handle on the shower up, she adjusted the temperature. Scully's hands grabbed a folded ivory towel off the small rack above and straightened it out, splaying it ready for use on the notch behind the closed door.

She climbed in, gripping her own shampoo and conditioner bottles. Letting the warm water cascade across her skin, Scully inhaled deeply. She let it wash away her thoughts; replacing only calmness. As a forensic pathologist, others might be surprised to see how deeply autopsies affect Scully. Pre-autopsy mornings, as well as nights are usually a dreaded occasion; anxiety forms tightly in her muscles, and her nerves usually jangle on the ride to the morgue. The autopsy itself is not the problem - naturally closed-off to emotions, distancing herself from the victim is usually a fairly easy task for Scully. Usually. It's mainly the nervous anticipation of it, along with a mixed sorrow. It has to be said, though, that she does get immense satisfaction out of performing it right. Seeing a victim's tortured body is not exactly massage for the soul, but determining the cause of death and letting the victim's soul rest is.

She slathered the soap across her body, letting its warm foam caress her. It had been a long, tiresome day, as would be tomorrow, most likely. For now, though, she tried to force the cases out of her mind - at least for a moment of solitude, as she finished her long-awaited shower.

Chapter 4
~~~

Organs seemed to scream out in various places of the small room, its floor covered with blood. The coroner's office turned out to be a small house 3 blocks away from the police station. Its location was desolate, with only the occasion roar of a car motor heard in the distance.

Scully was just finishing up on Roberta Greet's autopsy, and as evidenced by her aching back muscles it had been a long one. Even though she knew better than to assume the obvious cause of death, her shock at viewing the body for the first time proved that she had not expected strangulation as the cause. Dark bruises formed a gruesome necklace around the slender neck, the anger in the killing reflected in the disfigurement of the flesh. Before being strangled she had been beaten severely - which accounted for the amount of blood at the scene.

The pungent smell of stomach contents hung in the air, complete with the thick smell of death. As Scully went to clean herself, she pulled the latex gloves off and discarded them into a nearby trashcan. In the bathroom she scrubbed her hands furiously, anxious to get the smell of the gloves from her skin.

"Dr. Scully?"

Spinning around, she faced the middle aged black man dressed in blue scrubs who had spoken her name. "Yes?"

"Agent Calten is waiting, he says that you are expecting him..."

/Damn, it's lunchtime already?/

"Thank you. Tell him I'll be with him in a second, I just have to finish up here."

"Will do."

She made do with the storage room next door as a changing room, and about five minutes later emerged at the front entrance.

"Well, it's about time!" Sighing, Calten scrambled to his feet with mock annoyance on his features. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting out here? And would you believe they have coffee, but no hot chocolate?"

Shaking her head teasingly, Scully grinned, saying, "Outrageous."

He waited until they were both seated in the car and hurtling toward their destination before asking about the autopsy. Scully proceeded to give him a rundown of the findings, and got a measure of enjoyment out of his surprised expression at hearing the cause of death. Apparently, she hadn't been the only one making an assumption.

"You know what else I found, though?"

"Go on..."

"Fragments of metal embedded in her arm."

"Metal?"

"Yes, I thought that was odd. Yesterday, I found this at the crime scene..." Her hand dug into the warmth of her trench coat pocket, seeking the plastic bag, as she steered the car one-handed.

"Wait, I think we have to turn here," Calten interjected.

"What? Here?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

Whipping into a narrow street, Scully pulled her hand out of her pocket and back onto the steering wheel, breaking the seal of the bag in the process. Their conversation continued, with neither of them aware of the small metal fragment resting by Scully's feet.

Ten minutes later, a blanketed barren wasteland greeted the pair of agents as they exited the car. A small bungalow sat in the middle of the area in front of them, encircled by barbed wire fence. A rickety wooden gate stood as an ominous entrance to the yard, the twisted teeth of the surrounding barbed wire screaming a warning.

Scully knocked rapidly on the front door, not knowing what to expect on the other side.

The sight that greeted them looked far from evil - an elderly woman no more than five feet tall stood hunched at the doorway, shaking from the cold. Wisps of long white hair were held back by a metal clip, and eyeglasses hung from a cord around her neck.

"Ms. Edna Scully?"

Gray eyes squinted and shot an accusing glance her way, making the excessive amount of wrinkles around her mouth grow deeper in a frown. "Yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is Agent Darren Calten with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Your son, Horace Scully is a suspect in an ongoing murder investigation and we would like, with your permission, to question you about him."

The faded summer dress that clung to her frail frame seemed oddly out of place against the harshness of the howling wind, and judging by the thick winter jacket that she struggled to enclose herself with, the season was not lost on her. Her eyes appeared as if they had been drenched and then parched of tears, locked in a permanent state of wariness.

"Can we come in, ma'am?"

"Yeah, sure, c'mon." Edna turned slowly and made a pathway back toward the tan couch sitting underneath a window on the far wall of the room. The bare wooden floor was dirty and unkempt, and the threadbare throw rug in the middle was permanently stained. In the center of it sat a short stocky table, upon which were various magazines and framed pictures. A TV sat facing the couch on a small stool, and several padded chairs made a semi-circle around the rug. A doorway to the left of the entrance lead to a tiny kitchen, filled with only an oven and refrigerator. Another open doorway on the opposite side apparently led to a bedroom, but a tattered sheet draped across the entrance blocked it from view.

Calten and Scully seated themselves on the couch, as Edna carefully sat down on one of the chairs.

"You said your name's Scully? No relation to us, is it?"

"Not that I know of, ma'am... My family's only lived on both ends of the coasts." Scully glanced downward, and her gaze caught one of the framed photos. The grinning face staring back at her was shockingly familiar, and one she had seen just that morning - Roberta Greet. A man about her age with a pudgy face and prominent nose smiled along side her, his arm draped comfortably and protectively around her broad shoulders. Horace Scully. A prominent receding hairline rudely proclaimed his age, but his posture shouted the opposite. He appeared the type of man who could joke easily with friends about sports games, and then go into the next room and have a meaningful conversation about philosophy. The expressions on their faces appeared happy, but with a faraway, strangely familiar sadness she could not identify. The familiarity of a distant relative, with whom she had had brief acquaintances with, but would later have the chance to become close friends with. She tilted her head to the side, trying to catch Calten's eye, and after succeeding turned back to her questioning.

"Where is your son now, Ms. Scully?"

"Oh, Horace is... in town somewhere; at least I think he is. He left 'bout two hours ago, I told him to go pick up some groceries. It's Thursday," she said by way of explanation, "he always gets groceries on Thursdays." The chuckle that followed the sentence seemed more a desperate attempt to soothe her nerves than at the absurdness of the situation. It wasn't clear whether her nervously clenched hands, were the product of the mere presence of the agents, of hidden influence, or of a worried mother.

"When will he be back?" Even though Scully felt ashamed for having felt it, pity tugged at her emotions. The unkempt woman in front of her appeared an innocent of sorts - hurt by her son's choices; chained by the guilt associated with them.

"Around dinner time, probably. He used to visit his lady-friend, but..." she stopped, almost as if suddenly realizing exactly who she was speaking to. "Say, what do you really want to know about Horace, anyway?" Edna's voice creaked in defense anger; it's pitch lowering.

"We'd just like to ask you some general questions, ma'am."

Calten's smooth, assuring voice seemed to ease her a bit, and she settled against the back of the chair.

"This has been hard on him, ya know." The gray eyes that had been fiery a moment before suddenly turned dark with a mother's concern. "He worries too much. I tell him that, of course, but he never listens. He blames himself for how poor we've gotten, for letting his business slip."

"And what business was that?" Scully leaned forward, unconsciously reacting to her anticipation.

"The vacuum business."

"Oh?"

"He'd buy and sell them. Made a pretty good amount of money out of it, too."

"Was that how he meet Roberta Greet?"

"Eventually, yes, but she only moved out here three years ago. The last year of his business he met her, but that was still when her husband was alive."

Gnarled hands reached out to work the creases out of her dress, the gesture of nervousness painfully obvious. "You know, I always suspected something was going on between those two, before her husband's death, I mean, but he always told me I was wrong. He said that she was a loyal woman, who stood by her husband until his death."

She let out a loud sigh, suddenly relieved to be able to tell someone about it. "In the past year Horace has just changed. My operation, it just... soured him on people."

"How do you mean?" Scully asked, quizzically wrinkling her brow.

Calten sat completely still next to her, quietly waiting to absorb the older woman's words.

"Something went wrong during my surgery, which I could barely pay for in the first place. Because of that I ended up having to stay in the hospital for weeks. Year's worth of savings disappeared in days, all because of one doctor's mistake. If they hadn't messed up my surgery, none of this would have ever happened." Gesturing vaguely around the room, the devastation shown on her face. "My insurance company refused to pay for any of the doctor's bills, and the money we had in the bank just couldn't pay for it all. So, Horace had to go find a job."

"With Roberta Greet."

"Yes. He'd never considered ever having to work again, and had sold off all his supplies. Instead he and Roberta started up a door to door repair business, even managed to drum up some new business by calling people out of the phone book."

Calten's eyes widened in surprise as he heard this new information. "They started a door to door vacuum repair business? Why not just continue Roberta's?"

"Roberta had given hers up as well. She had made a profit from her years of work enough to support herself, which was all she ever looked out for." A hollow cough of bitterness emerged from her throat, causing her to gasp for breath afterwards.

Scully quickly made sure she was okay, before asking, "Is there any way we could get a list of their customers?"

"Oh god, I don't know. I'd have to ask Horace, he might have one in his room somewhere." A wisp of hair escaped its captor and fell loose around her cheek, the startling effect making her seem much older. Seeming to take note of the time, she followed by asking, "would you like something to eat?"

"Oh no, ma'am, that's okay. We have to be going now, anyway." Calten stood up straightly, reaching his hand out toward her and taking it in his grasp. "Thank you very much for speaking with us today." The sincerity in his tone mixed with professionalism, and Edna seemed charmed by his demeanor.

Scully rummaged in her pocket before finding her business card, and moved it toward Edna. "When Horace comes in, we would appreciate it if you could give him this card and tell him we were here looking for him. My cell phone number's on the top, he can reach me there."

"Sure." She took the card before firmly shaking Scully's outstretched hand.

"Thank you for your time."

The two agents made their way out to their car, as the door shut firmly behind them. Once inside they began to immediately discuss the important findings they had made.

"So, we now know they had a list of customers for which they provided door to door service. I would say that's a start, wouldn't you?" Calten buckled the light blue seat belt as he said this, his voice almost stating it as a fact. Getting no response, Calten rephrased his question. "Any theories?"

"Plenty of 'em."

"Any that I can hear?"

"I thought that was just supposed to be diner talk."

Scully's dry joke caught him off-guard, and he had to quickly swallow a snort of laughter, grinning instead.

"No, the diner's just for when I'm too hungry to listen to you."

Throwing him a death glare, Scully fought to keep the corners of her mouth from curling upward... and ultimately lost.

Chapter 5
~~~

That night, as Scully lay on her back on the motel room bed, she began to thoroughly ponder the case. The taste of dinner still hung in her mouth, taunting her to brush her teeth. Her heels lay at the foot of her bed, the only thing she had taken off before flopping down onto it. A nagging voice in her head cautioned her about wrinkling the black pantsuit, but exhaustion hurriedly shushed it. There seemed to be something she was forgetting about, but yet she could not put her finger on what it was.

She had agreed with all of Calten's ideas about the place - Roberta and Horace were most likely romantically involved at the time of, or before her death. Also, they now had proof of a past relationship between the two. Aside from that, they knew they had been working together, and also knew they had a list of clients from which they were visiting. Now, if they could only find that sheet...

Another fact that added to the Horace Scully's suspected guilt was the motive for the stolen money. If his mother's hospital bills had urged him to start committing the murders, this would at the very least explain some of them.

/Except for Roberta Greet's.../

This had to be kept quiet, without any possible suspicions being let out. A murderous pair goes on the rampage to pay the hospital bills of his ailing mother, which ends in the girlfriend's death. It had Hollywood movie written all over it in capitol letters, and the media would have a field day with it. The question is; how did she end up dead? Strangled, but by whom? Horace is the obvious suspect, but where's the motive?

/Dammit, dammit. This is impossible/

It was almost a twisted, older version of Bonnie and Clyde - with a very different and not at all tragically romantic ending.

Another question is why would she follow him? How lonely was this woman that she would rather help him commit murders than lose his companionship? The last question was one that Scully was afraid to answer herself, because it cut more personal than she was ready to admit. How did her following him result in her death?

She would have to go back to the Greet crime scene to look for the sheet - this was for certain. Calten was, as usual going to return to the police station for further information on the other suspects. Why, however, did the thought of returning to the crime scene give her a violent feeling of dread? This deeply bothered her, for she could not put aside these feelings of unrest. Any mental problems she herself was having, which she assured herself she was not, would at the very least be kept aside from her cases.

Letting out a sigh, Scully let her head fall back against the overly starched pillow, and her eyes closed in a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Sunlight streamed through the motel curtains in cheerful tones of yellow. The briskness of the morning air was a refreshing wake-up call to the dozing red head. As she rose, she began to plan a mental note for the events of the day. First on her list was to revisit the Greet crime scene. Showering and dressing hurriedly, she mused on whether or not to wake Calten before leaving, but then decided against it. The door opened and an impeccable FBI Agent stepped into the bright Missouri air.

Ten minutes later, tires rolled to a stop in front of the modern day mansion, snow melting away in slush across the lawn. As Scully climbed out of the car she noticed yesterday's tire tracks a couple feet in front of her. The mud had seeped back into the crevices of the deep ruts, like healing antibodies, filling a wound.

As she pushed open the door, musty air hit her with oppressive force. Dried blood still hung in the air, its sickening sweetness turning her stomach yet again. She walked toward a large table situated in the middle of the spacious living room, trying hard to avoid looking at that spot in the corner. Several newspapers, coasters, and CDs were all that was to be found there. She moved on to a smaller table sitting off to the side of a rocking chair, finding only a TV page beneath the box of tissues. A single piece of paper fluttered to the ground when the TV page was disturbed, and Scully knelt to retrieve it. A carefully written sentence in fine, black ink stared back at her. "An artist looks at another's work and sees perfection - a loved one looks at another loved one's work and sees brilliance. We see the brilliance, Roberta." Intrigued she set it back down, feeling strangely intrusive.

She turned slightly, keeping her eyes locked forward, shielding the corner on her right from view. There - she spotted it. The small, beige phone sitting on a wicker table with a phone book underneath. The carpet swished beneath her feet as she dodged piles of dirt from carelessly knocked over plants by crime scene members. She reached the table in no time, and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear she grabbed the phonebook. Scully flipped through the yellow pages quickly, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Then... payday, a brightly circled and highlighted name. Leaning closer, she read the last name: 'Derum.' Scully mouthed the name, the memory of Calten's low voice saying it filling her ears.

She flipped to the F's, and sure enough found a circle around a 'Fraley.' Then to the Y's, finding a circle around 'Yates.' She felt a rush of adrenaline with the discovery, and the professional inside her flushed with pride.

Hurriedly grabbing the handle of the table she pulled it roughly outward, and found a huge heap of papers inside. The brochure on the front had the name "Miller Life Insurance - Trust no one Else to Care for You in Your Golden Years." Scully gasped as she caught site of the woman's picture on the cover - Roberta Greet.

/Door to door vacuums, indeed. Scam midlife insurance is more like it. Now this would at least explain the age restrictions.../

A wave of dizziness suddenly unsettled Scully, as she stumbled back against a nearby chair. Sitting down, she was hit with a strong sense of uneasiness. The uneasiness mixed with a strong urgency, but she felt held to the spot - forced to bear witness to whatever feelings she was fighting.

/Roberta Greet/

Panic suddenly engulfed her, taking her hostage with a flight of desperation. It reeked in her soul, wrecking havoc inside her. Betrayal then flooded through her, it's momentarily fiery anger replaced by a deep sadness only brought on by death. Scully gasped for air, her right hand tightly gripping her cross as the tide of emotion abated. She quickly stood, grabbing frantically at the papers and phonebook before leaving the house behind her.

Chapter 6
~~~

The darkness blinded her; making her lost beneath its mask of the unknown. She stumbled forward, hands scraping at the air until they made contact with a hard surface.

/It must be a wall. Oh god please let there be a door/

The sweat dripped along the back of her neck, causing her hair to cling to it in clumps. Her arms frantically gripped the wall, following it until it began to lighten. She saw a figure in front of her - short, with a hunched over stance. The urge to scream for help overpowered her mind, but she could not.

A cackling laughter ricocheted around her the sound echoing in distant crevices.

A female voice spoke to her its pitch different than that of the laughter. "A fortune can get awful lonely, with no one to share it with." The voice was mournful and pitiful, let down by an unknown assailant.

/God, help me. I can't die in here, I just can't. Not after my trust has been lost... taken from me/

"Dana?"

/It can't be. No, it can't be, it's just not possible. That voice, I know that voice. It's.../

Scully awoke from the vivid dream with a start, gasping for breath. The gripping fear inside her fought to lock itself away, and won. The last thing she needed was to recap a strange nightmare. It's not like it was an unusual occurrence; quite the contrary.

Suddenly realizing that she was not in a bed, but in her car, Scully looked quickly around in embarrassment. Luckily, no one was around. To her disappointment she could not remember what had made her fall asleep in the car - the door was locked, and her thick trench coat was pulled snugly around her like a blanket. Then, it became clear to her. The draining exhaustion she had felt after leaving the house; the desperate need to sleep.

She craned her neck to look at her watch: 1:45.

/Shit/

Scully scrambled to start the engine, furious for having slept that long. The mid-day sun shone through the windshield, creating a harsh glare. Averting her eyes she caught sight of a metallic glint on the floor of the car. Leaning over she recognized it as the pin backing, which she had found earlier. She quickly pulled out a bag from her pocket to place it in, deciding to be safe than sorry.

~*~

Calten stretched impatiently, letting his legs fall carelessly across the sidewalk in front of him. The hard wooden bench was beginning to dig into his back - they had a tendency to do that if you sat in them for over an hour. An hour, that's exactly how long he had been waiting. During that time he had repeatedly run over what Scully had told him earlier that morning: "I just want to go over to Roberta Greet's house again, so that I can just check things out a little more. I won't be more than an hour, and I can swing back to the police station to pick you up 1." By now, Calten was as sure as anything that she had definitely said one... It was now 2:05, with no sight of Scully or their light blue Taurus. Tired of the uncomfortable stares he was receiving inside the station, he had decided to wait outside instead. Well, at least his digging had definitely paid off. He had discovered that Roberta Greet may have known one of the victims: Angela Yates. Apparently they had attended the same middle and high schools, and community college.

To Calten's delight, a familiar light blue Taurus whipped around the corner, pulling easily into the spot in front of him.

"Jeez, it's about time, partner." Calten sprung up from the seat, anxiously climbing into the car.

"Sorry." Her mumbled apology hinted at the flustered embarrassment beneath the surface.

As he turned to face her, he had a distant glean in his eye. It was a confident gleam, or more fitting, victorious.

Sighing, she realized she would have to ask first before learning his discovery. "Alright, what did you find? Anything?"

"Just that Roberta Greet may have known one of the victims..."

"Who?"

"Angela Yates."

"We have to go-"

"Already taken care of, I have the directions right here in my hand." His self-satisfied smile almost made her smile, as she wheeled the car in the right direction.

"What about the husband?"

"He's staying with family, out of state."

"When did he leave?"

"Two days ago."

Her wide-eyed stare increased his grin.

Ten minutes later, the address that was scrawled in his handwriting matched the brightly painted sign on the house facing them. Scully walked easily up to the screen door, prying it open.

"Here's the key."

She took his offered house key and opened the front door, entering her second crime scene of the day.

Angela Yates appeared to have been a tidy woman, as evidenced by the neatly spaced wooden furniture. The smallness of the living room did not make it feel cluttered - instead it felt cozy. Plush tan wall-to-wall carpeting sunk beneath their feet, as they walked around the stylish chairs and tables.

Scully's eyes moved immediately to the adjacent corner in the room, but found it clean. Scanning slowly across it, she stopped upon finding the bloodied spot in front of a beige sofa. Calten spotted it at the same time and headed for it, not being able to resist the impulse. Instead Scully headed into the bedroom, curiously searching for any clues. The neatness of the living room was the opposite for the bedroom - draws hung ajar, and clothes were scattered on the bed. She moved over to the bureau, looking at the assortment of rings and other jewelry there. Suddenly her eyes stopped, coming to rest on a small pin. Scully took it in her hand and read the small lettering - "BFF - RA + AT." Her hands sought out the broken backing in her pocket, bringing it forth to compare. They were roughly the same size, and appeared to be of about the same age judging by the worn exterior. As she looked closer she read the small print of the manufacturer on the back, as well as a year - 1956.

"Hey Calten, come take a look at this."

His shoes clunked against the wooden floor of the bedroom, evidence of his arrival. "What?"

"I found this earlier, at the other crime scene. It looks like an identical pin to this one..."

Calten's mouth creased in concentration as he squinted at the tiny inscription. "RA and AT - Robert Altman and Angela Taylor..."

"I'm assuming those were their maiden names?"

"You would assume correct, part-nah. Now, what do you suppose BFF is? I know I've heard that somewhere before."

Scully's softly whispered answer caused his deep brown eyes to widen in response. "Best friends forever."

Silence filled the air between them, waiting patiently for the shock to settle.

"Well, I guess this gets the husband off the hook." Then, speaking in a hushed tone of urgency, Calten stated, "We have to find Horace Scully. I don't know who else could have done this."

"The mother's the key to finding him."

"Dear old Edna?"

She smiled at his mocked stricken expression, amused by the truth in it.

"We have to go back there."

Solemnly nodding his head, Calten agreed to return to the Scully residence.

Chapter 7
~~~

The car lurched into the heavy mud in front of the house, announcing their arrival with a loud slurp. The front door hung slightly ajar in a crooked smile, inviting them to venture forward. With Scully in the lead they approached it, wary after noticing a rundown station wagon sitting alongside it.

She knocked once the outside of the door; calling to who ever was inside and alerting them to who it was. A TV could be heard blaring in the background, but the volume was turned down after hearing the female agent's voice. Calling once more Scully threatened entry, and after hearing no response, did.

"Get your federal asses oughtta here!" A man's high strung voice came from the curtained area to their left, causing them both to immediately raise their guns, bracing for an assault.

Quickly rounding the corner they came face to face with Horace Scully. Standing at five feet seven inches tall, he was not at all a formidable man, but the expression in his eyes screamed the opposite. He glared rudely at Scully, his lips curled in an angry snarl.

"Sir, we just want to question you. If you would please-"

"Did you hear what I just said? I want you off our property, now! I don't care who the hell you are!"

"Sir, if you're not going to be cooperative we're going to have to take you into custody."

"Horace! Stop that screamin' now, hon!" Edna hobbled with surprising speed toward the man, the reprimanding force of her voice trimmed with a fearful undertone. "You gotta listen to them, they just want to ask you some things."

"Stay out of this, mother!"

The words were a slap in the face to Edna, who recoiled in pain. Calten took this opportunity to move to the side of Scully, who still faced Horace head on. Scully's muscles were tight with anticipation, and the dark brown pantsuit suddenly felt constricting. Calten's feet were planted firmly beside her, and as she caught sight of his scowl of concentration she fully realized the formidable duo that suspects saw.

Edna still looked at him through the compassionate eyes of a mother, pushing the pain back down inside her. "Don't make this any worse than it already is, Horace. You know I can't take this sort of thing, with my heart and all."

The mention of her condition brought bitterness into Horace and his words were filled with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Mom you never realized what I did for you... you never appreciated it. You only saw perfection, mom. Nothing else."

"Stop this nonsense, Horace. You're not making any sense."

"I never meant to, mom. I never meant to." Remorse spread across his molded features for a fleeting second, hiding it beneath the turmoil. Without warning the deranged man leapt forwards, plunging into Calten and knocking him to the floor. Scully's reaction was instantaneous as she whipped to the side, keeping her aim expertly on the suspect.

"Freeze!" The pitch in her voice was dangerous now revealing how close her index finger was from pulling the trigger. Her trench coat swirled in a blur of black around her, giving it a cape-like effect as her eyes bore into the suspect.

Horace barreled faster through the doorway of the cluttered living room, oblivious to the threat behind him. Calten fell hard against a table, leaving him bewildered. The female agent stopped briefly to check on her partner, before following in hot pursuit of Horace. Then, letting out a startled yelp, Scully was pulled from behind by a firm withered hand on her coat. She tried to hurriedly shake it off, but the hand did not budge. Whipping around, she faced it, and looked into the desperate, heartsick eyes of Edna Scully. "Don't hurt him. Please, don't hurt him. He's all I have."

Paralyzed, she stood, her entire body frozen like a deer in front of headlights. Distantly she heard the whirl of a car engine, which broke the spell. She flew to action, but as she reached the outside of the house she was greeted with a trail of dust, belched from the aging station wagon. A cackling laughter emanated from the house, raising the pitch of the taunting cries. It was then, with a pit of deep remorse building inside her, that the professional pride in her crumpled. Special Agent Dana Scully had been defeated.

Chapter 8
~~~

The world seemed to be in a permanent haze as Scully silently drove them to the motel. Not a word was spoken. Calten had been discharged from the hospital with a minor concussion twenty minutes ago, and they were now heading back. She did not know how to interpret his silence - it could be that he was just uncomfortable discussing it, or it could be his shock at seeing Dana Scully unable to come out on top. She opted for the first. Even she had to admit to herself that the latter was untrue. His subtle support for her had been obvious in the hospital, as well as his perverse condolences. The silence was welcome in the small car, though. Heat blasted against her forearms, causing sweat to build on the back of her neck. She welcomed the uncomfortable, hot, cramped confinement with open arms. Scully needed her senses revived, a battle against the threatening numbness.

Two hours she had spent at the police station. Filling out reports, and a mountain of paperwork. The splitting headache she had first received while writing had dissipated in time. Scully had become immune to the pain. The overwhelming tide of guilt held back by sheer will-power had been dangerously close to rising. She couldn't let herself feel it; couldn't let herself acknowledge the possibility of someone else dying because of her. Of course they had assured her with various profiles that he would not be likely to kill again. Hell, she even knew it herself. However, that certainly did not mean he would never kill again. A murderer, on the streets because of her.

In the hospital waiting room, her face had been full of integrity. On the inside she was a mess. Each victim of his had come to chat with her; each face a grisly reminder of his full capacity for violence. They had shown their disappointment, and betrayal. All but one... Roberta Greet. Her face had not shown disappointment or betrayal; instead, it had shown pity. That was the expression of pity that had almost made her laugh with the insanity of it, and cry with the pain of it.

~*~

The next morning she awoke with a start. The manhunt was being kept quiet, to Scully's surprise, since she had not heard of it on the morning news. That afternoon they would be flying back to Washington DC, and would most likely have a matter of days before preparing for their next assignment.

Scully sat tiredly at the small wooden table that was adjacent to the motel bed. Her bag lay on the floor beside her; packed and ready to go. The problem was that she had a good two hours before Calten would be waking up. Wondering what to do with the time, she studied the rough egg-shell white surface of the walls. Suddenly, the laptop computer on the bed snapped at her attention, and she realized her field report had been left unfinished.

Settling comfortably on the bed, she turned it on and began to start the next paragraph.

"The metal fragments found in Robert Greet's arm were sent to the lab and analyzed. The results came back as a confirmed match for the pin that had been found at both the Greet and Yates crime scene. Concluding with an earlier comparison: Roberta and Horace could indeed be compared to a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Their journey began with a passion for vengeance, against the cruel world that had incapacitated his dear mother. This same mother, we believe had an effect on some of the murders. Whether it was purely psychological or something else, so far there has been no solid physical evidence to support this. In the end predator had betrayed predator in a grisly fight to the death. With the metal fragmented evidence taken into consideration, I have surmised that the fight was probably about the killing of Angela Yates. Most likely a last straw for an already hesitant Greet, and after being met with resistance, ended in her death. The pin had been a symbol of long lost friendship, and of their devotion for one another. The irony of these emotions with the identity of her murderer must have been quite traumatic for the victim during the attack. It is with these thoughts in mind, that I firmly suggest the maximum sentencing for the murderer, Mr. Horace A. Scully, after his capture."

A high-pitched chirp sounded from the floor, and she noted with interest that it was her cell phone.

/They found him. Oh thank god, they must have found him/

"Hello?" Her voice sounded too urgent, and desperate for her liking.

"Dana?"

Her hopes crashed with amazing speed, falling in a pool around her bare feet.

A faraway echo sounded in her head - it's distance narrowing with time. Images swirled in her consciousness, a woman's figure, scrawny and humbled... another woman's voice, filled with despair and a hope lost long ago.

/The dream/

"Mulder?" She choked out his name, frantic to avoid making a compete fool out of herself.

"Scully... where are you? I have been trying your apartment phone for the past two days, with no answer. On a case?" The struggle for normalcy was painfully obvious to both of them, and the last word was strained.

"Yes, actually I am." Cackling laughter sounded in her ears, and her eyes darted about in crazed response. It continued, increasing until it felt as if it were fear instead of blood pumping through her veins.

"I have to talk to you about something really important, Scully. Skinner called me two days ago... he wanted to talk with both of us."

"Oh?"

"He wanted to see about putting us both back on the X-Files again."

The madness inside her overflowed with conflicting tides of emotion. The fear won out, and silence was her response.

"He said he could get you off your present cases, Scully."

/My cases... My saviors, more like it/

The familiar, piteous voice in her dream whispered in her ear. What she heard was confirmation of her deepest regrets.

"I can't, Mulder. I can't." With the words spoken aloud the whirring images dissolved in a screaming haze of confusion.

"Oh. May I ask why?"

The laughter threatened to return its dominance hanging on a tipped scale above her. "No, you may not. It's... personal, Mulder." The words seemed hostile to her own ears, and even more so when she heard the truth beneath the cover.

"Well, okay, then, Scully. Have a nice life. Congratulations on being bumped up, by the way." The sarcastic response was laced with confidence, with a hurtful edge.

She chose to ignore the bitterness of his tone, instead replying with a lowered, "Thank you." Then her thumb moved up, pressing the 'End' button.

Scully had made her decision - she would not be taken in by his madness. She had done what Roberta Greet could not; escaped from the imparting doom before it claimed her as a victim. And, she had made it while standing on her own two feet. With, of course, some help from an unfortunate admirer. Her only regret was her failure to uphold her duty and catch the person who had betrayed Roberta. From this, she would never be free.

/Running, running. Always running.../

~*~

2 days later

At Jake's Diner, Darren Calten sat hunched over a forgotten copy of yesterday's Dalton Examiner. His beige trench coat hung loosely around his broad shoulders, and stray hairs pointed in different directions around his face. In the haste of leaving he had forgotten about its purchase, and was now grateful for the reading material. A sturdy mug of hot chocolate rested in one hand, as his other anxiously flipped the pages. The cover of the paper had said the Obituaries were on C2. He passed B1... B3... and then finally arrived at C2. The scattering of names across the page grabbed at his attention, but one name in particular made his breath catch in his throat: Edna Scully.

2,000 miles away, Horace Scully sat alone in a diner. A newspaper was spread out in front of him, a dripping coffee cup beside it. His unshaved face was held in rapt concentration of the paper, carefully turning the pages. Without warning, his body began to shake in silent tears. Several whispered sentences escaped from his lips with a muffled sob.

"I'm so sorry, mom - I only wanted you to see brilliance. I failed, mom, I failed..."

His posture, which had formerly been one of plastic confidence, sagged. A dirty, crumbled card then emerged from his jacket pocket. Glancing briefly at the number, his weary body ambled over to a pay phone. The dark ink on the business card read in sharply printed letters: "Special Agent Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of Investigation."

~~~~
The End

Isis Bastet... Isis_Bastet@excite.com
~~~
"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the
rational mind is a faithful servant.
We have created a society that honors the
servant and has forgotten the gift."
- Albert Einstein
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