Residence of Dorothy Bahnsen
178 Arroyo Blvd.
Pasadena, CA 6:03 pm

***

From Mulder's description, the last thing Scully expected from Dorothy Bahnsen
was a firm handshake and a brusque, "I wish you people would stop trampling my
rose bushes and wasting my time."

"Ma'am?" Scully took in the attractive woman before her, in her soft wool suit
of winter white, a double strand of pearls resting just above the collar, and
resisted the urge to brush at the wrinkles in her own skirt and smooth down her
hair.

"I've already told Detective Culp everything he needs to know, and-- What in the
world are they doing out there?" Mrs. Bahnsen launched herself from her armchair
and strode rapidly to the open front door. "Detective Culp," she called
imperiously. "A moment, please."

Scully watched in bemusement as a tall, well-dressed detective detached himself
from the small group of uniformed officers milling about on the front porch and
came to stand before the elderly lady. Mrs. Bahnsen's brisk movements and strong
voice not only belied her age, but also the ordeal she had just undergone.
Scully spared a glance for Mulder, trapped just beyond the glow of the porch
light by one of Mrs. Bahnsen's neighbors, who was eagerly recounting the recent
excitement. She turned back to listen as Mrs. Bahnsen made her measured comments
to the detective.

"Detective Culp, during the past forty-five minutes I've allowed you and your
officers to march throughout my home. I've given you a precise description of
that hooligan who assaulted me, and I've assured you that when my security
service checks in I will be perfectly safe and well looked after. Isn't it about
time your officers stopped tracking mud all over creation and made themselves
useful? With the evidence you've gathered, I'm sure you'll have no trouble
apprehending that horrible man."

The detective gave a curt nod, then shot a weary look over Mrs. Bahnsen's head.
"Are you another neighbor?" he asked Scully. "Can you see that Mrs. Bahnsen is
taken care of this evening?"

Deciding the time had come to take charge of a situation that was rapidly
spinning out of her control, Scully held up the ID she hadn't had a chance to
show Mrs. Bahnsen. "Sir, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. I've not actually met
Mrs. Bahnsen formally, but--"

"Agent Scully!" Mrs. Bahnsen turned from the detective, her face transformed by
a welcoming smile. "I'm very sorry, I thought you were just one more member of
this stampeding horde." She turned back to the detective. "I believe we're
through, Detective?"

Culp stood his ground. "Does the Bureau have an interest here?" he asked Scully,
with evident curiosity.

"We--" Scully began, then glanced sideways in surprise as her response was
muffled by a vehement, "Of course not," from Mrs. Bahnsen.

"Agent Scully and her partner are my dinner guests," Mrs. Bahnsen informed the
detective before Scully could continue. "And we'd like to proceed with our
evening, detective. You may call me tomorrow to let me know if you've made any
progress in locating the man who attacked me."

The detective gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and sent Scully a frustrated
look. "I'm going to send a patrol car by here every hour or so this evening in
case this guy comes back," he said. "But you still might want to think about
staying here with her, or getting her to a hotel." He turned for the door,
brushing by Mulder with only a brief glance at the I.D. Mulder was attempting to
display. "I'll leave this to you, agents," Culp called over his shoulder. "Good
luck, and I'll be in touch."

Scully nodded, then became aware of how still Mrs. Bahnsen was beside her. She
glanced over and watched the woman's bright, blue-eyed gaze snap with impatience
as she watched the retreating detective. It was clear she didn't appreciate
being ignored. As Mulder approached, the warm smile she had given Scully lit her
face once again.

"Agent Mulder," she said, "I'm so glad you and your partner are here. Perhaps
now we can get on with our evening and forget this unpleasantness. Let me just
take care of something." She walked to the open door and called to the neighbor,
who was still chattering at one of the officers, "Susan! Let the poor man go and
do his job. I'm sure he's heard quite enough from you for one evening." At the
woman's unintelligible reply, Mrs. Bahnsen responded, "Yes, I told you, I'm
fine." She turned back to the two agents, "Now, Mulder--"

"Mrs. Bahnsen," Mulder interrupted, "are you sure--"

"Dorothy, please." Dorothy turned to include Scully. "Please, call me Dorothy.
And you are...?"

"Dana," Scully replied. She quirked an eyebrow at Mulder, a look Dorothy
intercepted.

"Oh, yes, he told me. It's just Mulder." She smiled quizzically at Mulder.
"Let's move out of the hallway, shall we?"

Scully turned to follow Mulder into the sitting room just off the hall. As
Mulder had mentioned, Dorothy had done well for herself, though he hadn't
elaborated on just how well. That was evident in the room they entered, even
though it was in disarray. Two small, carved lacquer tables were up-ended and
figurines of ivory and jade were tumbled across the floor. Several
fragile-looking Japanese prints on the walls were hanging askew.

As she surveyed the room, Scully mused on the owner of this disordered elegance.
Mulder had also neglected to tell her how vibrant and attractive Dorothy was.
Scully turned back to see what had kept her and found her in the process of
shutting the front door. A quiet, pained cry from the older woman stopped Scully
in her tracks. "Dorothy?" she inquired.

"Nothing. It's nothing, really." Dorothy was cradling her left arm. "In all the
excitement I'm afraid I didn't realize--" She gasped again as she flexed her
wrist.

"Dorothy," Scully exclaimed, as she hurried forward. "The man who was here-- did
he attack you?"

Dorothy looked up, perplexed. "No, no. Not attack, exactly. But--" she bit her
lip and looked back down at her arm. "He was so rude," she said, in a puzzled
tone. "He demanded answers to questions I simply could not understand, and he
seemed to be looking for something, some information. When I couldn't give it to
him, whatever it was, he got very angry..." She gestured to the injured arm.

"Why didn't the detective call the EMTs?"

"I guess I didn't realize how bad it was till I tried to turn the lock," Dorothy
replied. "Shock, I suppose."

"I'm a doctor, Mrs. Bahnsen-- sorry, Dorothy. May I take a look?"

Dorothy peered down at Scully. "I though you were an FBI agent."

"I am," Scully replied. "I'm also a pathologist."

"I'm not dead yet." The comment was made with such asperity that Scully had to
look twice to confirm the amusement in Dorothy's eyes.

"It's okay, Dorothy," Mulder chimed in from the doorway of the sitting room.
"She practices on me, and I'm not dead yet either."

Dorothy allowed Scully to escort her into the sitting room and seat her in an
armchair near a bright table lamp. The older woman's wrist was swollen and warm.
As she gently probed for tell-tale signs of misaligned bones, Scully noted that
the skin under her fingers was as supple as it was smooth. Not unlike the skin
of Dorothy's face, she observed as she smiled up at the woman, cognizant of how
few soft lines surrounded her eyes.  "No broken bones, as far as I can tell,"
she assured Dorothy, "but you must have it X-rayed. And you need a cold compress
for now, and a sling for support. Do you have a large scarf?"

"Yes, in the hall closet," Dorothy replied, with a glance toward the doorway.
She gave Scully a rueful smile. "I'm very glad Gloria -- she's my housekeeper --
I'm very glad she prepared everything beforehand. This will make serving dinner
awkward, though not impossible."

Mulder crouched down next to Scully. "Dorothy, is Gloria here now? We know--" he
turned to Scully and bit his lip, then continued, "we know Takashi isn't here,
but is there anyone else here right now?"

"No, it's Gloria's day off. How did you know about Takashi?" She looked from
Mulder to Scully. "He has the evening off, also, but he'll be back tomorrow, and
the security service will check in later. But you needn't worry about me,
Mulder. With you here--" She paused for a short, strained laugh. "What could be
safer than having two FBI agents in the house? And besides, Detective Culp
said--"

"Dorothy," Mulder interrupted, pulling Dorothy's focus back toward him. "I'm
sorry, but I think we need to get you out of here, at least, for tonight. Do you
remember you told me Takashi's grandmother was a friend of yours, that she was a
professor at Cal Tech?"

"Yes," Dorothy brightened. "Romi Hiyama. In fact, Takashi went to see her...
What is it?" she asked in alarm, catching the look that passed between Mulder
and Scully.

"Dorothy," Scully said gently, "Professor Hiyama was killed in a fire tonight.
The same sort of fire that killed the women at the warehouse, we think. I'm so
sorry."

Dorothy collapsed back into the armchair. "Oh, my," she whispered. "Oh, my-- No,
no." She held her uninjured hand up to cover her eyes and became very still.
Mulder gave Scully an uncomfortable look as she placed a hand on his shoulder
and rose to her feet.

"Do you have any idea why someone would go after Professor Hiyama?" Scully
asked, curiosity evident in her tone.

The shielding hand dropped to Dorothy's lap and she opened pained blue eyes.
"Why would I…? No, no, I have no idea. Go… after? Why would anyone want to kill
Romi?" She looked back down at Mulder. "If it was a fire it must have been an
accident. It's not an old building, where her office is, but there are so many
strange chemicals that--"

"How did you know the fire was in her office?" Scully inquired, raising her chin
to fend off the sharp look Mulder threw her over his shoulder.

"She was at work today," Dorothy answered, in a bewildered tone. "That's where
Takashi was meeting her, I'm sure that's what he said. Was it-- was the fire in
her office?"

Scully nodded. "Yes, there was quite a lot of damage, I'm afraid."

"All her work," Dorothy whispered. "I'm afraid I never understood any of it, but
I did know that her work was her life, and now this… Oh this is terrible. A
fire…"

Mulder leaned forward. "And the fire in Professor Hiyama's office seems to have
the same characteristics as the sweatshop fire I told you about yesterday.
You'll have to forgive us, Dorothy, but Arthur Dales--" His voice dropped, and
he seemed to be searching for just the right words. "Dales seemed to think you
might know something about these fires. I think it's important that we postpone
dinner and take you somewhere else for tonight. Just till we know what's going
on. We still don't know why you were attacked, and we have no way of knowing if
someone will come after you again."

"Do you think Detective Hernandez really will come back?" Dorothy asked, now
sounding quite frail and fearful.

"Detective... Detective Hernandez did this to you?" Mulder looked up at Scully
in shock.

"Well that's what he said his name was, though I've never met a more
disagreeable police officer in my life. He claimed I should know why he was
here, and that it was time for me to tell him everything I knew about that awful
warehouse fire downtown. He showed up just out of the blue. Just like you,
Mulder." Dorothy had been speaking while frowning down at her clasped hands, but
with her last statement sent a troubled look up at Mulder. "Do you suppose
Arthur has been talking to Detective Hernandez, too?"

"No," Mulder replied in surprise. "No, I don't think-- I don't know why
Detective Hernandez would have come to you for information, or why he would have
treated you so roughly. I've met him and I... He doesn't impress me much, but I
didn't think he would do something like this. Did you tell the Pasadena police
that this man was an LAPD detective?"

"Of course," Dorothy replied. "They were as surprised as you are. Not that they
know him, but you know how police officers stick together. Still, Detective Culp
said they would find him and talk to him."

Scully rested her hand briefly on Mulder's shoulder, then walked back toward the
kitchen. She could hear their murmuring voices while she wrapped ice in a towel
for a makeshift compress.

As she walked to the sink, something crunched beneath her shoe. She looked down
to find a small pile of tiny, gritty porcelain fragments next to the baseboard.
On a hunch, she peered into the trash compactor beside the sink and found more
smashed china. She realized they hadn't given Dorothy much of a chance to tell
them what had happened earlier, but obviously much more had occurred than a
rough interrogation.

She walked into the sitting room, noticing that most of the disarray had been
set right. Mulder was helping Dorothy up from her chair.

"Thank you, Dana," Dorothy said, accepting the ice-filled towel and placing it
gingerly on her wrist. "Agent Mulder has definitely convinced me to leave with
the two of you. Excuse me while I pack a few things, won't you?" She left them
to head upstairs. Her gait could hardly be called shuffling, but the confident
stride Scully had noted earlier was gone.

"Mulder, I'm not sure what's going on, but I just found--"

"Scully, listen." Mulder shot a glance at the staircase, then pulled Scully down
into the armchair Dorothy had vacated. He sat next to her, leaned close, and
said in a quiet undertone, "That neighbor of Dorothy's who stopped me outside?
She's the one who called the police, not Dorothy."

Surprised, Scully said, "Then why...?"

Mulder gave an impatient shake of his head. "The neighbor, Mrs. Buckley, saw a
man cruising up and down the street past Dorothy's house earlier this afternoon.
She can't see the front of Dorothy's house because of the walls." Mulder
gestured to the high brick and wrought iron barriers covered with climbing roses
that surrounded the front of Dorothy's property, barricading it from street
access except through the driveway gate. "So she doesn't know if the driver ever
stopped here. But get this, Scully. The guy wasn't driving a silver BMW. She
said the car was dark green, a Mercedes 450 SL. Apparently, like any good
citizen of Los Angeles, Mrs. Buckley knows her sports convertibles."

"Why was she suspicious?"

"This isn't the type of neighborhood where someone can conduct surveillance and
get away with it, not with Mrs. Buckley on the job. The man cruised by several
times, she said. He stayed slouched low in the seat, and never turned his head
while he was passing by Mrs. Buckley's, but she said he was white with short
hair, about thirty, and, according to her, 'very good-looking.'" Mulder
grimaced. "She noticed he had on a leather jacket, which isn't unusual around
here. But the black gloves he was wearing are. It's usually too mild here for
gloves, even in the winter, so Mrs. Buckley thought that was pretty curious."

"So you think it was Krycek? And Mrs. Buckley called the cops on him?" Scully
would have found the thought amusing if the situation weren't so serious.

"She didn't, not right away. She took a long phone call at the back of her
house, out by the pool. There's a lot of separation between properties here, I
guess you noticed, but she said while she was on the phone, she could hear a
ruckus in Dorothy's kitchen -- loud voices and what she thought was a window
breaking."

"It was some smashed teacups and a saucer," Scully interrupted. "I saw the
pieces back there." She gestured over her shoulder. "So Mrs. Buckley called the
police when she heard the noise?"

With a hasty look at the stairs, Mulder continued. "She said she knew Dorothy
had security, but she was worried that it was the lurker breaking in to
Dorothy's house, and he might be making his way through the neighborhood. So she
called 911. Then she went to look out her front window, but she never saw
Krycek's car again."

"Did she see Hernandez's car?"

Mulder shook his head.

"Maybe... Could Hernandez have shown up after Mrs. Buckley moved to the back of
her house?" Scully rubbed her temples. She glanced around the sitting room,
noting that with the beautiful objects back in place, the austere serenity of
the room was restored. Unlike the kitchen, nothing in this room appeared broken.
"Maybe he did, and maybe he scared Krycek off."

"Yeah, I'm sure Krycek would have high-tailed it if he saw what Hernandez was
capable of doing to little old ladies," Mulder answered. "I didn't see that
coming, did you? If she'd said it was Krycek who twisted her arm…"

Scully shook her head. "Mulder, whatever his methods, Hernandez seems to have
made a connection between Dorothy and the warehouse fire, even without Dales'
help, do you realize that? And now Krycek is hanging around her, too." She sat
back in her chair, mind racing. "So what is going on here? We've got two
mysterious fires and no obvious link between the victims. On the other hand, we
have Arthur Dales, telling us that the key is something that happened in the
past, but he never told us what that was." She gave Mulder a frustrated look,
which he returned with a blank stare. "I think it's time we talked to him again,
Mulder. And then there's Dorothy herself… I can't figure out her part in this at
all, other than that she knows something. Do you remember what Takashi said?"

"'She knows,'" Mulder repeated the distraught young man's words at the scene of
his grandmother's death. "But was he talking about Dorothy?"

"Yes," Scully said decisively. "Who else would it be? He called us 'friends of
hers,' remember? So she knows something. And she either can't say what that is…
or she won't. But why?" As if her puzzlement had taken on a physical
manifestation, the cut on her scalp began to throb. She winced and touched her
fingers to the back of her head.

Mulder was slouched in his own armchair, hands thrust into his overcoat pockets.
He looked over at her, then lurched to his feet and walked back toward the
kitchen. Scully could hear his restless pacing as she debated going upstairs to
hurry Dorothy along.

"Take some more Tylenol, Scully." Mulder walked back toward her and handed her a
glass of water. She gave him a grateful look, and he replied, with a small,
almost defensive, shrug, "Browning told me to take care of you."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Look," he said abruptly. "You're hurt and Dorothy's just had a shock. If
Krycek's still hanging around, or even Hernandez, I want to be in a place where
we know we've got support. Let's hold off the questions until we get back to
Santa Monica and get some rest. We can hash this out at dinner. Or breakfast
tomorrow." He trailed off, as if unsure how his Mulder-in-charge tone would be
received. "Okay?" he added.

She quirked a small smile up at him. "You'd better hope Dorothy is as easy to
push around as I am, Mulder."

He nodded slowly, clearly amused and relieved. Scully reached into her purse for
the medication, then tracked Mulder as he wandered around the room, finally
ending up in front of the glass case holding the colorful origami creatures. It
hadn't been disturbed during the interrogation -- if that's what it had been.

"Romi made those." Dorothy's sad voice just behind her made Scully jump. Dorothy
moved forward to stand next to Mulder, and ran a finger along the beveled edge
of the glass case. "She made so many beautiful things. She had a keen mind and
such very clever hands." Her voice broke on a small muffled sob. "Oh," she said,
"I am going to miss her so."

Mulder shot an embarrassed look at Scully over Dorothy's head.

"Dorothy," Scully moved toward the pair. "We may have been a little presumptuous
here. Is there anyone else you'd like to call, someone you'd be more comfortable
staying with tonight?"

The older woman shook her head. "No. I'd just as soon go with you, if you don't
mind. Gloria has tomorrow off also, and I don't expect poor Takashi will be back
tonight. And Susan Buckley would chatter me to death. No... There's no one."

"Are you ready to go then?" Scully asked softly.

"Of course." The firm voice from earlier was back, and Dorothy's eyes were
brighter also, filled with the contained energy Scully had noticed earlier.
"Mulder," Dorothy continued, "if you wouldn't mind, I left my overnight bag at
the top of the stairs."

Mulder nodded and headed out of the room.

Scully gestured to the small, maroon leather case Dorothy carried in her right
hand. "Can I hold that for you?"

"Oh, this? No, this is quite light, unlike the other case. My advice to you,
Dana, is to try to avoid getting old for as long as possible. It makes for far
too much baggage." Dorothy's expression as she held Scully's gaze was
unreadable.

"I'll-- I'll try to remember that," Scully replied. "Mrs.-- Dorothy, sorry. We
were going to make you a sling..."

"Ah, yes. The scarf is in the closet with my coat." Dorothy gestured to the
hallway and she and Scully moved forward as Mulder carried a small suitcase down
the stairs. Scully reached toward the hanger Dorothy indicated and pulled out a
large Hermes scarf. "If one is going to be cursed with wearing a sling," Dorothy
commented, "it might as well be fashionable, correct?"

Scully agreed with a small smile and set about creating a sling from the
colorful piece of silk.

"You're very lucky, you know."

Scully looked up from adjusting the scarf around Dorothy's wrist.

"Your generation really does seem able to have it all." Dorothy was looking down
at the large diamond ring flashing on Scully's finger. "You're not
underestimated like we were. Marriage, children, an exciting career, respect
from your peers." She smiled at Mulder, who was standing behind Scully. "Equal
partnerships between men and women. In my day that would have seemed like
science fiction."

A wave of tiredness washed over Scully, and she decided she was too weary to
correct any but the first of Dorothy's assumptions. "Actually, I'm not--"

"Not a science fiction fan, unfortunately." Mulder squeezed Scully's shoulder,
then moved past her to retrieve Dorothy's coat from the closet. "Haven't gotten
her see the light yet. Been fun trying though." He placed Dorothy's coat, a
sleek black fur, across her shoulders.

Scully gave the diamond a cross twist with her thumb so it was nestled against
her palm, then stepped back to study her handiwork. She noted how the scarf
complimented Dorothy's outfit, the glossy coat over the white wool. The effect
was understated, elegant, and very, very expensive.

To her surprise, Scully felt a small stab of resentment toward the older woman.
For someone who'd had contact with the X-Files, Dorothy seemed to have come away
from the experience in better shape than most. Then the realization that Dorothy
had just lost a close friend, possibly due to something she knew about the
files, shamed Scully and roused her sympathy once again.

While Mulder hefted the overnight case and moved for the door, Scully spared a
thought for Arthur Dales in his grimy trailer, surrounded by cracked plywood
walls, creaking furniture, and cheap bottles of whiskey. What had happened to
these two? she mused, as she and Mulder watched Dorothy set an electronic alarm
from the keypad in the hallway. How had they ended up on such very different
paths? The only thing they appeared to have in common now, she thought, was that
each of them seemed to be utterly alone.

***

Westbound Ventura Freeway
6:45 pm

Afterward, whenever Scully tried to remember the events that unfolded that
night, they came back to her in a series of short clips, like a film shot by a
hyperactive child who'd spit out his Ritalin.

The interior of the humming Mustang was quiet, all the occupants absorbed by
their own thoughts. To Scully's relief, the pounding in her head had modulated
to a dull ache. A wordless exclamation from Mulder pulled her focus from the
glare of neon signs and racing cars flashing around them. "What is it?" Scully
looked over in alarm as her partner flinched and slapped a hand over the
Mustang's rearview mirror.

"The guy behind me just flipped on his brights." Mulder readjusted the mirror.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath, then glanced over his shoulder
to check for a clear space to move into the adjoining lane. "Excuse me,
Dorothy."

From the back seat Dorothy replied, "I've heard much worse in my day, Mulder.
Don't worry about it."

"Is he still there?" Scully turned to look behind them and noticed that Dorothy
was doing the same.

"Yeah, right on our tail. As soon as this lane opens up--" Mulder stepped hard
on the gas and the Mustang rocketed into the speed lane. "Thank you, Mr. Ford,"
he muttered.

***

Southbound Santa Ana Freeway 7:12 pm

"Scully," Mulder said. "Four o'clock."

She turned immediately to her right and looked over her shoulder, then winced as
a set of high-beam headlights caught the passenger-side mirror.

"Can you see him?" Mulder asked.

"No, it's too dark and the headlights are in my eyes." The overhead lights on
this freeway were very dim, she realized. The road was lit mainly by the dozens
of headlights surrounding them.

"I'm boxed in," Mulder complained. "Wait, he's dropping back."

"Oh my God, he's going to get crushed by that truck." Scully watched in horror
as the car that had been pacing them one lane to the right slowed so much that
the truck behind it was forced to brake. The truck's massive trailer fish-tailed
and the cars surrounding them began to slow. This was just what their tail was
looking for. It sped up and slid into the newly opened space behind the Mustang.

"What the hell is going on?" Scully turned back the other way to peer through
the back window. She threw up her hand to shield her eyes as the car flicked its
bright lights on and off. Over and over, the lights flashed in a frantic rhythm
that Mulder seemed determined to ignore.

"Mulder, maybe you should pull over. What if it's someone trying to warn us
about something?"

"Scully, I seriously doubt that guy is trying to give us a friendly warning. He
could have killed us a couple times over back there."

"I saw something that might help," Dorothy announced from the back seat. "I
caught a glimpse in the truck headlights when the car pulled behind us. Do
either of you know someone who drives a silver BMW convertible?"

***

Southbound Harbor Freeway
7:33 pm

"Is that a helicopter?" The noise of the freeway humming around Scully was
muffled and then drowned out altogether by a heavy chuffing sound. The three of
them tensed as a bright beam of light illuminated the area around the Mustang.

"Oh, crap." Mulder had flipped up the rearview mirror to avoid being blinded by
the blinking high beams, but now pulled it back down. "Scully, I don't think
we're going to make it to the hotel before we confront Hernandez."

Once again, Scully and Dorothy both turned to peer out the Mustang's back
window. This time, just beyond the BMW's lights, they could make out the distant
red and blue strobes of police cars.

"Mulder, get off at the next exit," Scully said in alarm.

"I'd do as she says, Mulder," Dorothy chimed in. "The Los Angeles police have a
lot of experience with this sort of thing. I wouldn't test them if I were you."

"Glad I didn't pick out the white Bronco at the rental agency," Mulder murmured.
 He steered the Mustang onto an off ramp marked Hill Street, point man for a
parade that included a helicopter, a dozen black-and-whites, and one silver BMW
convertible, snarling behind them like a stalking tiger.

***

Gin Ling Way
Chinatown 7:47 pm

The instant they left the freeway they plunged into a heavy stream of cars.
Sounds of honking and shouting surrounded them, but seemed detached from their
own personal drama. They had landed in the middle of a celebration of some sort.
The sidewalks bordering the narrow street were packed with people, and
pedestrians darted between the vehicles, many carrying packages elaborately
wrapped in red and gold.

Over the din, she heard Mulder cursing as he tried to find a place to pull over,
watched him thump the steering wheel in frustration as the Mustang, the BMW, and
their police escort were swept along the traffic tide. It took an ungodly amount
of time for the police lights and sirens to make an impression, for the cars
around them to move out of their way. "This must be the tail-end of the Chinese
New Year celebration," Dorothy called out over the distant sound of drums that
thudded a counterpoint to the sirens' wail. "It's just turned the Year of the
Rat."

Scully tried not to echo Dorothy's gasp as Mulder pulled into a side street,
ignoring the One Way signs and muscling the Mustang to the curb. They all sat
catching their breath, conscious of the firepower behind them, knowing that
their best chance at getting out of this alive was to wait for instructions from
the police.

The measured voice through the bull horn conveyed deadly intent, and though they
couldn't hear the exact words, she and Mulder and Dorothy moved in concert,
climbing slowly out of the Mustang, hands in the air. They turned together to
face the phalanx of rifles and side arms pointed at them from behind open police
car doors.

Before they could take the next step in the suspects-in-custody drill, the
driver's-side door of the BMW burst open and Hernandez emerged. Victory was
evident in his slow survey of the scene, executed in the harsh spotlight
provided by the hovering police helicopter.

Scully found herself itching to wipe the exuberant grin off his face. Just as
the thought formed, Hernandez took one step forward, and his expression changed.
One confident step -- then exhilaration turned to puzzlement, triumph to terror.

To the shock of the surrounding crowd, police, suspects, and gaping spectators
alike, whatever he'd planned to say as he opened his mouth was transformed into
a hair-raising, guttural scream. The sound made Scully's skin crawl. She watched
in horror as Hernandez's body jerked and began to shake. He sank to his knees,
hands clutching his head, and howled in agony.

Flames shot up into the night, and Hernandez began to burn.

***
End Chapter 13
Chapter 14