Hot Wax Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com *************************************** Part 5 Regency Hotel March 17, 2000 6 A.M. He woke up to the sounds of someone trying to be quiet in the room. The rolling of the room service cart was hard to muffle. He sat up in bed and stared in amazement at the sun streaming through the window. There was no possible way he could have fallen asleep at approximately 10 P.M. the night before and woken up to see. . .sunlight. He never slept through the night unless he was in a coma. "Hey!" he called to Scully who was fully bathed, dressed and seated at the small table in front of the window. She seemed to take a great interest in looking out at the view of Central Park. "Good morning to you, too," she responded. "I've been out all this time?" "Yup. So have I. . .almost as long as you have. I just got up about a half hour ago. I ordered a huge breakfast to make up for the lack of dinner last night." He got up, stretched and sauntered over to the food she had transferred from the cart. He lifted a cover and saw bacon, eggs, and pancakes. He closed the lid quickly. "Okay. Obviously I am a victim of lost time here. And you should tell whoever your creator is that to be a true Scully-clone you must despise cholesterol with all your soul." "Very amusing, Mulder. This is actually a peace offering." He looked sheepish. "No peace offering is necessary. Except from me. I'm really sorry. I was going to apologize when I got out of the shower but apparently the concept was so unfamiliar to me, my entire system shut down in defense. You were the one who was sick. That should have been your entire focus and my entire focus when I found out about it. My ego could have taken a little vacation." "No. I should have shared it with you. You're right. We are. . .friends. Partners." She watched him give a small, mischievous smile. "You had a right to know and you would have been a comfort." He sat down across from her looking right into her eyes. The strong winter sun brightened her face. "Chances are, I would have left you without a word, gone to my apartment, crawled into a fetal position and approached you the next day as if you had said nothing to me at all. Old habits die a very slow death." She gave a small chuckle. "God, the sun is strong." She got up and drew the curtains a bit. As she approached Mulder, she leaned over and put her arms around his shoulders from behind. "We are a mess, you know. We are so incredibly good in some areas and so incredibly bad in others," she regretted the words and waited for the usual suggestive remark from him. None was forthcoming, which touched her somehow. "But, dysfunction has always been greatly underrated," she added, turning her head and intending to kiss him quickly on the cheek but suddenly leaning down a bit further and planting a kiss on the right side of his neck. She heard the quick intake of breath and immediately let him go. She spent the entire breakfast pretending to ignore the fact that Fox Mulder appeared to be in the middle of his first hot flash. Port Authority Bus Terminal 8 A.M. Ryan walked over to the lockers lining one wall of the bus terminal. He pulled out a key from his back pocket and inserted it into locker #927. This would be the first of a few trips throughout the city. But he had to pace himself. One a day would be just fine. There was still plenty of time. He didn't think anyone was watching. That detective last year wasn't very aggressive. It wouldn't really even matter if he was. He pulled out the duffel bag from inside the locker, closed the door and walked swiftly to the nearest exit. Invigoria Day Spa 12 Noon Mulder, aka William Fox, was just about through with his treatment. It had been decided that he and Scully would come at different times to further encourage personal chatter between each of them and their suspect. He might not be willing to be quite as chatty knowing that a spouse was in the other room. Besides, Scully was currently in the capable hands of a world class hair- extension person. He smiled to himself. Scully would probably know the proper name for such a job. He was still trying to figure out exactly what an esthetician did when Scully gave him a complete run down of not only the services they provide, but the educational requirements needed for licensing. Some bright spark thought the longer hair, upswept, would be a good idea for this Katherine persona she was about to undertake. He just thought she' d look cute. Like she did the day she bounced into his office for the first time. At first, they wanted to put her surveillance equipment in a barrette but it was decided that both could easily slip a tiny device into the hems of the robes they were allowed to wear by the time they hit Ryan's part of the spa. Invigoria. Was that a word in any language, he wondered? The spa was designed as a cross between a trendy feng shui salon and a sterile clinic. Lots of water fountains among pristine white furnishings and linens. The only things that stood out from this were the clothes of the various and sundry beauty professionals. They wore dark blue uniforms. . .kind of a navy version of the outfit he used to see the doctors wearing on old Ben Casey and Dr. Kildaire reruns. He supposed there was some yuppie appeal to plunking down $150 for a lunch time massage and "youth releasing" treatment. They could casually drop the name of the salon and the treatment of the day to their friends. Ryan would be in charge of the inner child thing. The massage was deep tissue and done by a woman named Helka. Strapping amazon. He looked at the 6 foot Nordic woman and thought of the two career paths she had in life. She could either strap on the breast plates and horned hat and sing at the Met, or knead men into submission on a white vinyl table. He was thrilled she chose the latter. He would be sore for at least a week. He had to warn Scully about this one. She bruised more easily than he did. After Helka finished, he was ushered into Ryan's room. Mood music. Some new-agey thing with lots of harp- plucking. The room was empty and he was instructed by the hostess to just lie back on the table. Lie back. Easier said than done , he was convinced, until he actually did it. It wasn't bad at all. Maybe Helka didn't cause permanent damage. "Mr. Fox. Hi. Welcome. I'm Ryan and I'm here to make you look ten years younger." Mulder opened his eyes to look at the suspect. His hair was shoulder length ashy brown mixed with liberal streaks of gray. It was pulled back into a neat pony tail and ended about two inches below his shoulder. Gel straightened the hair at the top of his head but the hair beneath the elastic band curled gently into soft waves. His eyes were a vivid blue-green and he was a rather standard height and standard weight for a man rapidly approaching fifty. He had a good smile and appeared to use it liberally. "Well, maybe only five years younger," he continued. "Don't worry. . .just a trade joke. So, what can I do for you, Mr. Fox?" "Please, call me Bill." No visible reaction from Ryan. His father's name was Bill but if he associated him with the man before him, he gave no clue. Mulder had more of a reaction to having to use his own late father's name as well as the name of Scully's charming brother. "Ok, Bill. This is your first time here, so. . .you call the shots. Afterwards, I can guide you through a customized course of treatment. Based on what your preferences are in conjunction with your skin type." "Well, I'm giving you permission now. I've been to a spa before but not for quite some time. I've been too busy with work. But, I really don't remember the names of any specific treatments. Do with me what you will. I just want to look a little healthier and try to get the mid- winter death pallor out of my skin." "Okay. I can do that. Lean back, please." Mulder assumed a prone position again as Ryan set up a few bottles of various shapes and sizes on a small table. He put a hot towel around Mulder's face. "So. . .do you live in town or are you just visiting?" "I live in D.C. My wife and I are in the middle of setting up a franchise in New York. Old family business that has really taken off since we took over. Should take us a month or so of some serious negotiating. So we are staying in town. She'll be around later. Poor thing is dead on her feet, too." "I'll be sure to take special care of her." "Um. . .listen. If you have any of that. . .what is it. . .that acid that removes lines. . .try to put a little around her eyes. For some strange reason, I've been noticing the crow's feet getting deeper and deeper lately. She just doesn't pay enough attention to what's going on and what she can do to prevent it. I swear, other women seem to put tons of stuff on their face and Katherine is the type that forgets to remove her makeup before bed half the time." "I'll see what I can do," Ryan said. "Great. Can't have her looking older than me. Not good for business," Mulder chuckled. Ryan pulled the towel off his face and replaced it with a hotter one. This one almost hurt. Mulder felt as if he scored a little victory even as he winced at the slight discomfort. Starbucks W. 64th Street, New York City 1 P.M. Scully had two options after her hair extensions were complete. She could have lunch or listen to Mulder's first visit with Ryan. She chose lunch. She wanted to have her own initial impression of him untainted by anything Mulder might lead the suspect into saying. Besides, she was supposed to have her own appointment after lunch and she was hungry anyway. The vitamins were working slowly and she was feeling a bit more energized, but "living" with Mulder did tend to be exhausting. She smiled over her hideously expensive ham, cheese and sundried tomato sandwich. Living with her was no picnic either, apparently. She hadn't known exactly what possessed her the other evening when she decided to leave the bathroom without anything underneath her robe. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but she was also tired and wanted to push the envelope. Mulder pushed back, no doubt about it. It's not that she expected any less but still. . .men will jump when the opportunity presents itself, she thought. Had she really not presented the opportunity before? She was sure she had. But other things always took precedence. Other people. All gone now. Scully remained. She was good and true and loyal and earned her reward. She frowned at her own thoughts. Mulder had made a comment about his body shutting down because it couldn't handle things and maybe that's what hers did, too, on an unconscious level. Maybe it didn't have all that much to do with the anemia and everything to do with mixed feelings. She knew she wanted Mulder all right, but she didn't want to be his consolation prize. She polished off the rest of her coffee and decided to walk off a bit of her food. The spa was only seven blocks away and she'd do a bit of window shopping on the way. She'd save any real shopping for when Mulder could carry the packages, she thought wickedly. Invigoria Day Spa 3 P.M. "Mrs. Fox. How lovely to meet you. I'm Ryan. Spent some time with your husband this afternoon. Nice guy." Blue-green eyes, very friendly, nice smile--Scully catalogued quickly in her mind. No hint of great menace yet. "Thank you. Call me Katherine, please. Mrs. Fox is just something that reminds me way too much of my mother in law." He gave a short bark of laughter. "Can't have that happen, Katherine. Okay," he sat on a small stool which brought his face about level with hers as she lay there in front of him, "what can I do for you today?" "Well, my husband and I have just come off of very busy season, business wise, and we haven't had time for pampering at all. Plus, with the tough winter and everything. . .we just figured, since your spa has come so highly recommended, we'd try and drop by a couple of times a week and indulge for a bit before going back to DC and real life. Once you get back into your regular routine at home. . .there never seems to be time for the extras, no matter how badly they may be needed." " Okay. Well, we can do this. We normally don't see our clients that often but we offer so many different treatments that you could easily come in twice a week if you want." "Yes, I do. Plus, I think I really might need it." "Do you? A lot of stress?" "Yes, there is that. But, well, even my husband has been making some remarks lately. . ." "Husbands do, I've heard." "Yes, I guess they do. But, mine didn't. Not until fairly recently anyway. So, I tend to believe him. He looks so good that I really. . ." she looked down toward the floor and made a small show of seeming to compose herself, "I really should look as good as I can, too." "Fair enough. " Shit, Scully thought. She felt she had given a fairly convincing performance but it didn't seem to garner a response. "Sit up for a moment," he said and gripped her hand to help pull her up. With one hand he held hers, with the other, he slipped a pillow under her upper back. He turned her wrist so he was looking at her palm. "You're anemic, you know." "Yes, I know. But, how did you? Do you read palms?" "Well, only physical symptoms in palms. Yours are very pale. It's a sign of anemia. You should get that checked." He adjusted the pillow behind her. "I want you to be up a bit higher for the mask I'm going to use." His hand touched her shoulder. "Still tight? Even after your massage?" "I'm not. . ." "Oh, yes you are. The body doesn't lie." He looked her squarely in the eye. "You have problems with intimacy?" "I beg your pardon?" He smiled and the hostility she felt rising immediately dissipated. "I'm sorry. It's a question that is designed to shock. Frankly, those who do have intimacy problems usually either own up to it right away or they have their feet pointed squarely in the direction of my family jewels. You passed." She smiled a little. "Why do you ask it then?" "Because I'm supposed to plug our couples classes in the art of intimate massage and because the tension in your shoulders released the minute you smiled at me. It's a great little ice-breaker." He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. He carefully opened a few bottles. He put a warm towel over her face for a few moments, then lifted it up and put a dark gray mask on. It, too, was warmed. "So. . ." Scully asked, trying to keep the conversation going after he explained all the technical benefits this sea-based mud would have on her skin, "what is this couples massage thing? Do you do it?" "No. I really haven't even seen it. I think it's a matter of learning how to massage your partner without causing grievous bodily injury." "Oh." "People touch so rarely these days. Oh, there is the sex act itself, but in our busy lives it tends to be of the wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am variety. Touching for the sake of touching. . .well, some people have forgotten how. You'd be surprised." "Mmmmm. . ." "Or, maybe you wouldn't," he said quietly. "What's that supposed to mean? Another ice-breaker?" She tried to allow just the right hint of annoyance to seep into her tone. "No. I'm just being. . .presumptuous. Ignore me. I have no boundaries." "Well, for the record, there are no intimacy problems of any kind in my relationship with my husband. I mean, he's busy and I've been tired--and maybe we're not as young as we once were. . ." "You can be." "Well, I'm trying." "By coming here?" "Yes, And well. . .I've been looking at options." "Options?" "You know. . .to sort of nip nature in the bud. Get rid of some lines and bags I've been noticing around my eyes. Add a little fullness Bill has always seemed to admire in other women. Spice things up a bit." "It's not needed," Ryan said firmly. "Well, thank you but. . ." "You're a lovely woman, Katherine. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise." Scully looked into his eyes and saw them change a bit. They became darker. . .little flecks of gold seemed to appear among the blue and the green and the shades of gray that were already mixed in. It was amazing to watch. When Ryan became aware of her intense scrutiny, he seemed to mentally close up shop and get the wax ready for the paraffin treatment of her feet. Gintelli's Bronx, New York 8: 43 PM "You did so well today, Scully. I think you actually got to him. I don't think I made much of a splash at all except that he did seem to want to scald my face at one point." "That's a good sign, Mulder. Remember, he's not supposed to like you at all." She speared a wayward caper from Mulder's plate. "How did you find out about this place again?" "I told you. . .it's a state secret." "There aren't supposed to be any secrets between married couples, Mulder." "And I have a nice bridge you might be interested in. . .only one previous owner. " They were sitting in the middle of a quiet restaurant in the "little Italy" section of the Bronx, having as much of a feast as Scully would ever allow herself. They had finished the antipasto and the manicotti appetizer and were currently working their way through a massive quantity of chicken picatta. "Johnston told me about this place. He said it's his favorite Italian restaurant in the entire city of New York so. . .I figured we'd take a little trip. Plus, where else would I be takin' a fine Irish lass on St. Paddy's day?" "I almost forgot all about it." "Yeah, right. That parade down Fifth Avenue didn't even give you a clue, did it?" "I'm not much of a parade person, Mulder." "Well, I know that. No parade, no pub--just a nice quiet restaurant where we can be all alone--just me and my missus. . .talking about a nice old murder case." He leaned forward conspiratorially. " I hear tell, we wouldn't be the first people to do so either but we might be the first who actually are trying to prevent a crime." "Mulder! Shhh. . ." she admonished as a waiter passed their table a little too close for her comfort. "Lighten up, Scully. This place is actually owned by a cop. Not the mob. I was just being an ass, as usual. " "So. . .anything else I missed while I was being tortured with the hair extensions?" "Yes and no. I hear Ryan picked up a duffle bag out of a locker in the bus terminal but there was no way of knowing what was in the bag without a warrant. So, that's kind of a dead end. But I looked into his prison records a bit more." "And. . ." she managed to prompt between bites of spaghetti. "Well, a few interesting things seemed to come to attention. He used the library a lot. Many, many books on magic, personification, enchantment. The few visitors he had. . .brought him these types of books as well as some on human communication." "That's strange." "Not really. From what his early records show, he somehow felt quite responsible for not being able to convince his mother to pass on the plastic surgery. Perhaps he felt if he just had the right formula of being able to really reach someone through words. . .she'd still be here. Tomorrow, I'm going to take a trip up to the prison and talk to one of his ex-lovers." "Oh, you are, are you?" "Well, you can come with me, if you want, but I thought you might want to just kick back and have the day to yourself." She leaned back in her chair and stared at him. "Oh, shit. I've done it again, haven't I?" He asked, leaning back and preparing himself for the "don't you dare make my decisions for me" speech. She just stared at him. Suddenly, she leaned forward a bit. "Would you like tiramisu for dessert? We could share it? Half the guilt." He narrowed his eyes as he searched her face. "I do have some reports to do and I also would like to do a bit of research in the library. So, even though I don't like you planning things for me. . .I magnanimously have decided to forgive you. Because, after all, I am on a total carbohydrate high at the moment. . .so, just go with it, Mulder." "Waiter! Tiramisu, por favor." Ryan Wilkins' apartment 10 PM Ryan sat on the floor of his living room, in front of the glass chamber. The first hundred and fifty pounds of wax had been placed into the chamber and was in various stages of melting. If he dipped his finger in what had already become liquid, it would be warm, not hot, and not likely to evaporate any time soon. Besides, he had enough wax in the house for any contingency. He pulled out the first two special blocks of wax. Dr. and Mrs. Abraham Shapiro. The first murder. He had been such a prick. Right from the start. He sailed in with his perfect face. Perfected only by the work of his fellow surgeons. Hair long and full. . .also the work of surgeons. Shit, without them, he'd be a balding guy with a crooked nose and bad teeth. He'd seen the picture on the driver's license. One would have thought he would at least conveniently "lose" the ID so a more recent picture would be used as his major form of identification. His wife, Libby, was the oldest one he had ever released from her suffering. She was two months away from her fiftieth birthday. She hadn't complained much. Mostly, she had just cried. She cried in his salon. They had known each other for over ten months. She trusted him as well as anyone. . .maybe more. She told him how she helped old Abe through all his schooling and while he didn't leave her, he was now making big noises about possibly doing so. How did it look for a cosmetic surgeon having a wife that looked as old as she did? Apparently, this talk had worn her down. She loved him. Unconditionally. And, finally, she was going to do it. Liposuction. Breast enlargement. Face lift. The works. He knew she had agreed to old Doc's stupidity the minute she walked in with her newly streaked hair. He was turning her beauty into a mockery of itself. Prick. She was the first one in the wax. It embraced her. . .understood her. Loved her. It would take care of her and he knew that his mother was waiting on the other side. She'd take Libby's hand and bring her to the place where they would all live. And they'd be treated the way they should be. Loved and respected. No more humiliation. No more pain. No more evil men. When she left the bath, he removed the wax "glove" that clung to all the exposed areas of her body. He put them in a clean bucket and brought them into the kitchen. Her dead skin cells were in it. Some of her thoughts, her feelings, her emotions sloughed away with the refuse. Later, when they went home, he re-melted it and put it in a small form. He took the block and marked it with her name. She'd help give the others courage when they needed it. Abe's bath was probably just as soothing but it was a traitor's bath. It would trick him. Believe in the loving warmth, traitor, and when you turn, I will stab you in the back. You will believe it is you doing this. You will believe. The block of wax made from Abe's residue would add to the guilt of the men in future years. They would pay through the dead cells of their peers. Peers. Pricks. He placed Libby's block of wax in the bath lovingly and twisted his hand in distaste as he let Abe's into the mix. End of Part 5
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