Hot Wax Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com *************************************** Part 4 Ryan Wilkins' apartment New York City March 16, 2000 7 A.M. Ten days. He had ten days. Not enough time. So very, very much to do. God, he didn't want to do this. Not really. He knew he had to. Absolutely knew it. But he didn't want to. Preparation was the key to everything. The ritual would see him through. He took down his mother's urn from the fireplace and sat down on the floor. He held it in his lap and remembered her smile. Extinguished in a moment. Over some man who never appreciated what he had in either his wife or his son. Some people deserved to die. Some people didn't but death occurred anyway. They were probably better off. It was as simple as that and if he stayed focused, he would see this through. Downstate Correctional Facility Fishkill, New York 1 PM Scully was sitting in a tiny visiting room with Joseph Bentley, the second victim's husband. A guard was at the door during questioning. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Bentley. Some new information has come to light in your wife's case. I just need to ask you a few questions." "What for? You want me to stay in here for longer than the life sentence I already have?" "No, sir. I'm not at liberty to speak of the case, but it would be helpful if you could be as honest as you can with me. This in no way affects your prison term." "Fine. I have nothing to hide." "Tell me about the day of your wife's death." "That day? Hell, that day was just a day. Like any other. Worked, ate, watched a game on tv. We went to sleep and I remember being up sometime during the night." "Waking up?" "No. I didn't say that. I don't remember waking up at all. I remember just "being" up. I remember going to sleep and then I can see myself walking around the apartment. I went into the living room and opened my briefcase. I pulled out a filled syringe. . .went back to the bedroom and pushed the needle into my wife's arm. I waited--just looked out the window at the street below. Then, I came back to the bed, pulled her into my arms and changed her nightgown." "Why?" "I don't know. I just know that nightgown was in my briefcase, with my files and a filled syringe." "It wasn't hers?" "No. I don't know where I got it from. She'd never wear that type of a gown. I put it on her and then went over to her make-up. I remember seeing her with the makeup on and the funny little nightgown and thinking she looked so pretty. I wrote this note. . .something about leaving a good looking corpse. I don't know where that thought came from and then. . .nothing. Not until I woke up and found her dead. I started panicking until I remembered that I was the one who did it. From that moment till now, I just have this huge weight on my chest. It never leaves me for a moment. I called the police, told them what I did and the rest---is history, as they say." Scully asked her questions quickly and efficiently. Joseph Bentley answered just as directly. "You remember killing her? Clearly?" "Well, yes. I can see myself doing it even now." "Did you ever have thoughts of killing her before?" "No. Not conscious ones, anyway." "Where did you get the hypodermic and the morphine?" "I don't know." "Did you ever help her put on makeup before? While she was living?" "Of course not. Why would I?" "Did you pay particular attention to the way she did it?" "No. I mean, I saw her put on lots of stuff. She was a make-up junkie, as far as I was concerned. The woman owned a ton and was always falling for any crap they were selling but. . .other than maybe seeing her put on her lipstick, I dont think I ever paid that much attention to her." "Yet you applied her makeup perfectly." "Yes. I guess I did." "Did you love you wife?" "What kind of a question is that? Of course I did." "Were you in love with her at the time of her death?" A look passed over his face. "No." "Was there someone else?" "No one serious." "Was this second party older? Younger?" "There was more than one "second party" as you say. And they were younger. Much younger." "Your wife was planning on having cosmetic surgery. Did you approve of this?" "I approved of anything that made her feel better about herself. She had low self-esteem issues. If it made her feel better, then it was fine with me." "So you didn't try talking her out of it?" "No. Why should I?" "Did you lead her to believe that your relationship would improve in any way after she had the surgery?" "No. There was nothing wrong with our relationship. It was a good, solid marriage. Okay--the fizzle went out but you can't have everything. We were good friends. . .well, I thought we were. Maybe we should have talked more, but it's no less that a whole lot of people have in their lives." "Why did you kill her?" "I have no idea." "None? Did you want to perhaps marry any of the 'second parties'?" "No. No. Not at all." "Okay. Do you remember a man named Ryan Wilkins?" "I don't think so." "He works in a day spa on 57th Street. Invigoria." "Oh, yes. That Ryan. Okay. Yeah, I do. My wife and I both went to him." "Is there anything unusual you can tell me about him or your relationship with him?" "Relationship? He was not one of the second parties, if that's what you mean. I don't swing that way." "No, sir. I meant, your working relationship." "Nothing. He gave us facials, paraffin treatments, that kind of stuff." "Both of you?" "Yes. It's very important, in my business. . .it was very important. . .to look as young as possible. To show the world you still take care of yourself. I went. He was good. Nice guy." "Did you ever talk about your relationship with your wife with him?" "Sure. I guess." "About the other parties?" "Yes, I guess I did. You know, bartenders, hairdressers, priests. . .they're all people that are good for that stuff. They never reveal your secrets." "In your wife's day planner, there was an appointment listed with Mr. Wilkins for a "special" treatment. Do you recall keeping that appointment?" "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I remember him promising the world with that stuff but it was no big deal. It was kind of a full-body paraffin treatment. Nice enough. . .a bit messy to get off but no big deal." "Nothing unusual happened during that session?" "No. Not that I remember. Hey, is Ryan in trouble for something?" "No, sir. We just have a few unanswered questions." Ryan Wilkins' Apartment 2: 30 P.M. It was time for the wax. To get it ready. It would take so long to melt. It always took a very, very long time to melt. But, once it did, it would keep till the 26th. Without a doubt. Time to start slowly. He plugged in the specially built glass chamber. It was seven feet long and three feet wide. Two layers of glass. The wires that heated the structure were artfully covered by a thick, golden trim. It cost a huge chunk of Grandma Wilkins' inheritance to get it custom-made. But, money was not an issue. He even got his father's cash, through his grandmother's death. Another in a series of life's ironic moments. He went over to his closet. He would haul out three cartons for now. Let all of that melt first before adding some more. The heat of the already melted wax would aid the new wax in melting. Ryan ran his finger across the golden trim of the glass coffin. His mother had crystal like this once. He wondered what happened to it after. . .everything. He carefully arranged the first bricks of wax. Downstate Correctional Facility 2:30 P.M. Mulder was already waiting when Scully came into the next visitor's room. "Any luck?" she asked him as she sat down next to him. While she was interviewing the second victim's husband, Mulder had been attempting to interview the first. "No. He refuses to talk beyond his simple confession. The face to face meeting didn't help. He just sat and stared at me for an hour." "Do you want me to try?" "No. I don't think we'll get much out of him. He's convinced of his guilt and doesn't want to talk about anything. I asked him about Ryan but got no response. Not so much as a flicker of his eyelashes." "Great." The door opened and a shackled prisoner was ushered in the room. The last victim's husband. They chained his feet to the chair before releasing the cuffs on his hands. He rubbed his wrists and then carefully placed his hands before him. "I didn't do it," he stated simply. "Okay. Good to get that out of your system, huh?" Mulder said. "Yeah. Well, if you want me to say anything else, I just wanted to let you know that I won't. Because I didn't do it." "What do you remember about the day of your wife's death, Mr. Adler," Scully asked. "It was a pretty normal day. I've gone over it and over it in my mind. We both went to work, went for a treatment, had dinner, went home. Went to bed. Nothing unusual." "Treatment?" "Yes, a special paraffin wax treatment from a worker at a day spa we frequented. He did them from his home and this was the first. . .and only time we got one. We used to go to the spa about once a week for massages, mostly. We both carry a lot of tensions from our jobs. We carried. . .a lot of tension. Shit, we didn't know what tension was." "This worker was Ryan Wilkins?" Mulder asked. "Yes. How did you know?" "Sir. Tell us what you remember telling Ryan about yourself or your wife." "What? I'm not sure I can. I mean, I told him lots of things." "Did you discuss her plans for plastic surgery?" "Um. . .no. I don't think so. Well, maybe. I think maybe I just made fun of her a bit. I didn't mean it, but it seemed like she was paying a whole bunch of attention to these stupid little lines she was getting on her face. She had lost a lot of weight in the last year. . .so, she had some excess skin under her chin that she just hated. You could barely notice it, but she was going nuts. So, I think maybe I just made fun of her a bit. You know, between guys." "Did he join in?" "Well, no. But, I wouldn't expect him to. She was his client, too, and he just allowed me to talk without comment. " "Was there any. . .outside involvements. . .in your marriage?" Scully asked, hoping to pick up another common bond between the victims. "Another woman? No. Definitely not." "Were you in love with your wife?" "Yes." Simple. Direct. Truthful. Scully and Mulder both believed his affirmation. "What did the treatment consist of? The one he did outside of the spa?" "A full body paraffin treatment." "How does that work?" "Well, there is this body stocking type of thing that covers your torso. . .so you don't have to worry about wax removal in more. . .sensitive areas. Anyway, he has this glass contraption. . .looks like a coffin, actually. I remember thinking it was very sci-fi. It was fairly deep and had a raised portion that acted as a pillow so your head was raised and your face wasn't submerged in the wax. He had you wearing a bathing cap anyway. . .but, still. Anyway, you lay in it for a few minutes. . .then get out, he peels off the wax and puts some freshening lotion on. . .and boom. Done. It was great." "Did he make promises about the treatment?" "Promises? What--like ten years off your age or something? No. None that I recall. He said there was something different about this wax than the one in the salon and I guess there was. There were tiny black flecks floating around in it. . .but, I dont know what they were. It felt the same otherwise, just better because you had your whole body done." "Anything else you can remember about him? Anything he might have said or done that seemed strange to you?" "No. Ryan seemed like a nice guy. Period. Interested in what he was doing. Likeable. That was about it." "How do you know you didn't kill your wife?" Scully almost whipped her head around. Mulder did like to throw curve balls into his questioning. Louis Adler considered the question. He stared at his hands for a moment. "Okay. Well. . .I used to have these dreams. Nightmares. They were so ordinary and so believable. . .but, there was such a sense of evil to them. Kind of like someone waiting in the corner to get you and you know they are there and there is no escape. They were so damned real that I was sure I was living through them. And then, somewhere in the dream, some little detail would be off. Like. . .I'd dream of walking into the bathroom. . .and pulling back the shower curtain and suddenly, I would remember that in real life, I had shower doors--not a curtain, and I'd instantly wake up. It was always such a relief. But, even when I was up, I still had that feeling. . .how could the dream be so real in the first place? Well. . .this is the same type of situation in reverse. It all seemed like a very real dream and I'm still waiting for the glitch in the system that will wake me up. I loved her. I would not have done what I can still see myself doing. Period." Regency Hotel 9:30 PM "Take a nap, Scully. I'll order some room service." Scully had just kicked off her shoes as they entered the suite. "No, I'm fine," she called over her shoulder as she removed her jacket as well. "Well, of course you are. How stupid of me." She couldn't read exactly how he meant that. While said with a smile, there was a definite inflection of--something-- in his voice. "Do you want to go out for dinner?" he asked. "No. We can eat in. We can work on our cover story a bit more." They had already worked on their cover, in great detail, on the car on the way back from the prison. The long ride and the extreme bumper to bumper city traffic didn't help matters. He didn't really see much point in rehashing the same information but decided not to argue. He really didn't want to approach the other issue that was fresh in his mind, either, because that would also lead to discord. "Why didn't you tell me about your feeling sick?" So much for good intentions, he thought, after his mouth blurted out what his mind had told him to keep to himself. "What? I told you. . .I didn't want to worry you." She saw it again. This time, he didn't even attempt to hide it. He was annoyed. He took a deep breath. "You know, people who have attained a certain level of intimacy. . .share things like that with each other. Even if the other person worries. Even if the worry proves fruitless. It's part and parcel of a healthy relationship. I've indicated to you. . .on more than one occasion, that this is what I want. You continue to live as if you are in a vacuum. Only accountable to yourself. Well, I have news for you. . .you do not live alone on an island somewhere. You are accountable in some way, if only by virtue of shared affection, to whoever has been touched by your life. If you think, by keeping yourself to yourself, you are going to soften any blows. . .you're wrong. If there was something wrong, and you did get sick. . .you think I'd tear my heart out any less if I didn't know about it until I was standing by your deathbed?" She stared at him, not even daring to blink. "Where did this come from, Mulder?" "What? The thoughts? They have been there from early on. . .and you know that. The words? I have no idea. I just got tired of holding them in. If you feel I've been too vague, well. . .there they are. . .all spelled out-- clearly and distinctly." Theirs was not a relationship of "spelling things out." Not on any level. It made Scully supremely uncomfortable while exciting her in some indefinable way. "It's not only you I do this with, Mulder." "Is that supposed to make me feel any better? I don't understand it. I really don't. Did you shut your entire family out all your life? I doubt it. Is it working with me all these years that has trained you to constantly have to prove your strength? You've seen me in dozens of situations where I've shown my "weakness" to you and I have no idea whatsoever what would make you feel you can't share some of the harder times with me. Tell me why you do this. Tell me even if you feel the answer will hurt me." "You've been through a lot recently. That's the only reason I didn't tell you this time. I don't know why I hold back in other situations but I would have told you this time. Really. If it weren't for--all the stress you've had with your. . .mom. . .and Samantha." He sat down by the table in the corner and looked out of the window at the darkened city. He had been fine all day. Perhaps the memory of the last evening just seeped in and overwhelmed his common sense. He had a feeling that something was brewing under the surface of things and he had to channel his uneasy feelings somewhere. He chose the one issue that never failed to irk him. He had so wanted to move forward and not only had they stayed in the same place, they actually took a few steps back on the ever shifting intimacy scale of their relationship. She would never change. Neither would he. Both felt a need to protect each other, even if they had to withhold chunks of their lives and hearts in the process. They had to accept each other as is. He knew that. It still hurt and there was so little to soften the blows when they came. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He was overtired and stressed. "I'll order food in a few minutes, Scully. Just decide what you'd like. I'm going to take a shower and wash the prison smell off me." She didn't stop him. She didn't know how. There were no reassurances that she wouldn't do the exact same thing in the future and she knew he knew it. She allowed herself to lay back on the couch and relax. When he came out of the shower, she was fast asleep. He crawled into bed and quickly nodded off himself. End of Part 4
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