Hot Wax Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com ************************************** Part 6 Downstate Prison March 18, 2000 Mulder was seated in front of John Stephens. He was small in stature and seemed to be one of your more downtrodden prisoners, as opposed to those who had become hard and callused through years of prison life or what they had brought with them beforehand. He, too, was a murderer. He murdered his ex-lover in cold blood nearly thirty years ago. He killed an inmate, as well. It was reputed to be a matter of self-defense, but apparently the judge was not in a good mood the day sentencing was handed out for that particular crime. "So. Tell me about Ryan," Mulder began. "I'm not sure why you want to know. Is what I say. . .going to hurt him?" "Sir, if I don't get the information first hand from you, I will get it second hand from someone else. I'm just trying to get as accurate a picture of Ryan's life in prison as I can." "All right, then. I will help you." "I must ask, Mr. Stephens, that this remain between the two of us. You could be tried for obstruction of justice if you contacted Mr. Wilkins about this matter." Mulder barely kept the sarcastic smile to himself. The man before him was already serving a life sentence. He was sure he wasn't shivering in his shorts over the prospect of another term added to the one that would only end in his demise. "Now. Tell me about your relationship. . .briefly. Was it consensual?" "Absolutely. I know what you hear about prisons and believe me, most of it is true. With the two of us, it was consensual. Completely. We understood each other. I really loved him. He liked me. I don't think he ever fully loved anyone but he liked me and we had a physical relationship as well as a friendship." "Were there any other relationships that you know of?" "Mr. Mulder, is it? There are always some relationships. . .as you so delicately put it. Three quarters of these guys would kill anyone on the outside for even suggesting that they might be "queer" but after being in here for a surprisingly short time, they are ready to stick their dicks anywhere they can find. And, not only that, they can be fucking nasty and violent about it. Ryan saw his share of that, but he never fought them. And, man. . .sometimes I would just see these tough guys come away with this weird. . .I don't know. . .sense of mercy? Sense of something. I can't explain it. I think they just knew that Ryan wasn't trying to get them and they somehow got touched by that. And, you know, it was something that was uniquely Ryan's. I tried the same thing. . .thinking it was just some kind of technique that Ryan was studying. . .and all that happened to me was a week in the infirmary for severe anal tearing." Mulder visibly winced. "So. . .Ryan definitely seemed to connect with people. All kinds of people?" "He has a gift." "What kind of gift?" "Well, the kind that helps him communicate well with people. But it's more than that. You see, Ryan had this theory. He loved talking about it. Well, to me, anyway. You want to hear it?" "I'm all ears." "Okay. We are all born with a body and a soul, right? Most people consider them somewhat separate. Ryan, at a pretty young age, felt their connection. . .their inseparable connection. Only when a body dies, is that connection broken--and even then, not completely. Anyway, he felt most people spend their lives concentrating on the body. . .its strength, its power, its appearance. This is an incomplete and shallow picture. It's really only by embracing both that you truly understand other people and see their real beauty. . .or lack of beauty." "I see. And you said he felt that when the connection is severed. . .when someone dies. . .the separation is not really complete?" "Right. Because the soul imbues everything it comes in contact with, with its essence. So--every part of your body holds a minuscule part of your soul, every breath you expel, you expel a tiny bit of your soul. Most people ignore that--and ignored, it remains useless. When you recognize it and harness its strength. . .well, then you have real power." "And he learned this through books? I hear he used the prison library a lot." "He did but while he read a lot. . .about everything. . .he sort of came to his own conclusions about this. And he never really wavered from it." "And he felt this toward everyone?" "Almost everyone." "I would imagine his father would have been an exception?" "His father and men like him, yes. Ryan told me he always felt a wall come up when he was with his father. He was getting some pretty weird vibrations from him, and really good ones from his mother and some of the other women in his young life. . .so, why hang out and try to find out more about someone so negative? He's come to bond as closely with men as he does with women but he once told me that men with the types of personalities his father had are still people he really doesn't care to know much about. When those defenses kick in, he never bothers to fight them." "Were you still. . .involved. . .when he was paroled?" "Less and less. . .all the time. I don't think Ryan liked me loving him too much. It made him nervous. Still, if I really needed him. . . he was there. " "Are you still in contact with him?" "No. I don't accept calls from him. I told him I wouldn't when he was paroled. He has a new life. It's fresh out there. . .clean. It's dirty and filthy in here. I don't want any contamination for him, you know. I love him that much." Mulder nodded and smiled briefly. "Were you surprised when you found out Ryan was a murderer?" "Well, why else would he have been here?" Mulder shook his head. That was a stupid question but he was confident that John would get what he was really after. "Mr. Mulder. I'm surprised I'm a murderer. One night of having way too much to drink and being overloaded with emotions I couldn't control, and I was a murderer. I came here, somehow feeling a bit superior to people who I thought were the "lowlife" murderers. Those who did it for fun, or for drugs or for. . . whatever. I had the temporary insanity defense--in my own mind at least, and somehow I thought that made me better than anyone else. Ryan killed a man who had really done some numbers on his kid's head. He deserved to die if anyone can be said to deserve death. But, in the end, we all took something that wasn't ours to take, right? And you know something, most of us know that. Most of us know just how wrong we were no matter how justified we may have felt at the time. And most of us never forget. . .or forgive that about ourselves. So, no--I guess I wasn't all that surprised. Because if I could do it, other "nice guys" could do it. But the fact remains, that there are loads of people out there who have shit happen every day of their lives and they don't kill people. So. . ." "So. . ." There was no ending to that statement and both men knew it. John shook his head slowly. "Ryan will be coming back, won't he? Here?" Mulder just looked at him. It was enough of an answer. West Side Highway New York City 2 P.M. On his way back from the prison, his cell phone rang. "Mulder." "It's me. I solved the morphine problem," Scully said. "Good. I wasn't aware we had one." "Ah, but we did. Where the hell did the morphine come from? The first victim was married to a cosmetic surgeon. . .so the morphine was available then. As a matter of fact, I traced a prescription he wrote out for quite a large amount of the stuff only two days before the murder. . .but, Mulder. . .there was another one of his prescriptions filled. . .two years after he was incarcerated." "What?" "Yup. Through some internet company. Apparently, the prescription and DEA # itself was all the validation they needed and they never bothered to find out if the doctor was currently practicing as opposed to. . .oh, serving time in the big house. Anyway, it was sent to his old office, which was still inhabited by his former partners and the theory is. . .the package was intercepted." "Okay. So, he gets enough morphine to last a couple of years. What is the shelf life on it, Scully?" "If it's a fresh batch to begin with. . .approximately 24 months." "So he should be using a new batch this time, no?" "Probably. Or he will need to use a much larger dose to kill." "I see." He paused as he maneuvered his way carefully into the tunnel. "We have to let Johnston know. He can watch for any more prescriptions floating around. So, I thought you were supposed to relax a bit." "I did. It was very relaxing just being with the computer tracking all these things down." "Didn't miss me at all, did you?" "I never said that. I am very anxious to hear what you discovered." "Meet me in the coffee shop about 4 o'clock. I should be there by then. We'll trade notes." "Can't wait." He heard the soft sound of the phone disconnecting. For some reason, the thought of seeing her again excited him, even though their separation had been brief. Ryan Wilkins' apartment March 20, 2000 Ryan was ready for the second and third victims' wax blocks. Might as well do them together. They both had similar stories. Cheating husbands. Pretty wives. The first one cheated with many women, the second with just one. Young, witless things with big boobs and dyed blonde hair. Designed to make an aging man feel young and virile. Until the moment the aging man could no longer get it up, and then he'd feel his age ten times over. His wife would understand and support. The pretty young things usually found it highly amusing. Or worse, repulsive. Neither one of the men had reached that point yet. Too bad. The wives could do what they wanted. The husbands simply did not care anymore. They were there. . .like the furniture. While the women were seething in a false sense of guilt over having done something wrong to extinguish the fire in their relationships, the men were out stoking the furnace elsewhere. So sad. So sad. One of the husbands actually killed himself. Too bad it wasn't for the guilt he felt over what he had done to his wife. It was simply the fear of spending his life in a prison. There were no shapely young blonde girls in prison. Invigoria Spa March 21, 2000 9:30 AM "You are definitely the early bird today, Bill. Busy later?" Ryan amiably chatted as Mulder plunged his feet in wax. What a weird feeling that was, he thought. Not unpleasant, just strange. "Yeah, I have some merger meetings today. Katherine will be by tomorrow, probably. I don't think she can make it in this afternoon. She'll be doing lunch with some of the wives." "I see. Well, good luck. How did the facial feel, Bill?" "It was great. Made shaving a bit easier the next day." A young woman in the same type of outfit Ryan wore came in and dropped off some fresh towels on a corner table. Mulder made sure his eyes followed her derriere from the moment she walked in until the moment she left. "Whoo. She is something. Those real?" Mulder asked Ryan in as slimy a fashion as he could. "I haven't had the inclination to investigate, Bill." "Don't suppose you'd put in a good word for me, huh?" "Why would you want me to do that? Your wife is so lovely. . .inside and out." "Yes, she is. But we've been married for such a long time. A guy gets tired of having chicken day in and day out when there is so much steak out there." Mulder pictured Scully's face when he said that line. It scared him to the very core of his being. Ryan walked around the table and looked at Mulder. Mulder had been looking down at his foot as it emerged and dipped back into the wax. . .watching the thin layers forming a protective shield on his skin. As he looked up, his eyes locked on Ryan's. Ryan stared openly for a moment, then took a step back as if he had been hit. "Ryan? What's wrong?" Ryan had gone a deathly shade of pale. Mulder was ready to call in the paramedics when he made an almost instantaneous recovery. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. I just have to lay off the breakfasts at McDonalds, I think. My Egg McMuffin just hit me like a ton of bricks. I will be right back, just keep your feet there and I'll be back in five minutes." Ryan quickly left the room leaving Mulder completely perplexed. In the men's room Ryan stood with his back against the door. This man was not being honest. He loved his wife. That was a certainty. Another certainty was that he held almost as much guilt in his heart as Ryan had in his own. He had never received quite the blast of feeling he did as when he looked into Bill's eyes. Poor deluded man. He probably thought cheating on his wife was the thing to do when you were approaching forty. He might not be as lost a cause as he originally thought. Lincoln Diner March 21, 2000 2:10 P.M. Mulder was seated in the diner, waiting for Scully. They found this place yesterday. Right across from Central Park. Food was nothing terribly special. . .standard diner fare, but the view was nice and the strong winter sun shone brightly in the window, which was somehow quite healing in this cold, dank city. His treatment that morning was almost a relief. It had been four days. Four exhausting days since their initial contact with the suspect. Four days of plugging away at what they already had, interviewing anyone they could think to interview. They still were no closer to finding definitive proof that the man committed the murders in the past and would attempt to do it again in the near future. If they were lucky, they would have an attempt made on their lives, giving them the evidence they needed and hopefully, the answers they sought. If they weren't, he could honestly not predict what the suspect's next move might be. Personally, there had been four days of friendly banter and avoidance of all issues--spoken and unspoken-- that had crept up during the first few days of their stay in New York. They were on a case--a case involving a man who was deeply sensitive to the feelings and emotions of others. This was not a time to address their feelings. They hadn't done anything for years, they could wait another week. But, Mulder thought, only a week. In the meantime, they alternated nights on the Love Boat, the huge bed in their hotel room. While one would sleep there, the other would curl up on the couch. It was strange, he suddenly thought. There was a couch and television in the other room of the suite but neither one of them used that room even though it would afford them privacy. The thought made him slightly more optimistic than he had been a few moments before. "So, how did it go?" Scully asked as she rushed in the diner and sat across from him quickly. "Don't you like listening in? I listen to all of your sessions." He felt a twinge of something he couldn't even name. She had something better to do that listen to her partner while he was alone in a room with a potential serial killer? "No. I like to get your impressions of things. I'd rather not make up stories in my own mind based on what I'm hearing. Besides, I'll read the transcript later. Did you order my chicken sandwich?" He nodded. "And coffee." He supposed her reasoning behind not listening in the van was sound. But, he couldn't help but really want her to do just that. He gave her his account of the morning. "Well, I made it quite obvious to him that I was not averse to seeking outside feminine companionship. I kept oggling all the women in the salon and asking if they were single and if their boobs were real or not." "Poor man. It must have been hell." "It was, it was." "Personally, I think Helka would be ideal for you." "Scully, I can honestly say that she is probably the only women in the entire world that scares the living shit out of me. She'd kill me. Assuming she even. . .does things. . .in the conventional sort of way." He gave a mock-shiver at the thought. Scully smiled at him. "Do you think Ryan is buying this?" She asked him. "I think he bought what you had to say the other day. I'm not sure I am totally selling him on the idea of a philandering husband who isn't all that interested in the missus. He said something to that effect after his attack." "He attacked you?" Oh, good. She looked worried, he thought. "No, he just had some indigestion or something. For a minute there, I thought he was having some kind of a heart attack or seizure. I was about to call the paramedics but then he seemed fine, made a mad dash to the men's room and came back. So, I guess it really was just a case of needing to use the facilities badly." "Then what did you say he told you?" "He told me something like, "I don't think you're being honest, Bill," and I have to say, Scully, that I was a bit worried there. I mean, the guy did shoot his father and he could make an exception and do me in that way, too. I was unarmed, after all." "And. . ." she wanted him to finish this story even though the proof that he was fine and lived through the episode sat right before her. "Oh, well. . .he didn't pull out a gun or anything. He just said he thought I wasn't being honest with myself. He said he thought I cared about my wife a lot more than I even knew and that I'm only looking at other women because I think it's what all the guys my age should be doing and not because I have a real interest in them. He says he can tell all of that just by looking in my eyes." "He said that, really?" "You can read it in the transcript." "So. . .now what?" "Well, I tried to talk a lot about how no one really knows the needs of a working man and how women who have been married a really long time don't always take those considerations into account because in our society, they are just as busy, yada, yada. And he basically told me to fish or cut bait." "What?" "He said if that's the way I feel, the kindest thing would be to let you go. . .not to play with your feelings. Then I said that I needed you too much as a business associate, as well as a companion, to divorce you over something as trivial as my need for more sex. That if I could just get said sex elsewhere, and help you discover your own inner need to make yourself look like a 20 year old, we would be just fine." "Good save?" Scully was almost afraid to ask. "It might have worked. I just don't know." They sat in silence for a bit. "You know, that guy has strange eyes," Mulder said. "I've noticed." "First off, the damned things seem to change color every other minute. . ." "I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but yours do, too." "Well, I don't have to look into mine. Anyway, one minute you think you're sort of having a normal conversation about nothing and the next, you kind of want to tell him all your troubles. It's a good thing I'm a rock about stuff like that." Scully ignored the macho posing and asked a direct question. "Do you think hypnosis is involved?" "It's a possible component. Maybe he's just harnessing the 'power of his soul'." "Well, what about these alleged "special treatments" he does at home? Do you think he does something during that time?" "Possibly." "So. . .we still have nothing," Scully summed up. "I guess." Scully looked out of the window at the park. Such a lonely place if you didn't have anyone. "Mulder. . .you found out about his life. . .his sex life, in prison. But what about now?" "He doesnt have anyone. According to Johnston, there is absolutely no one. He never goes out. He never really makes many phone calls. No one." "Funny. If you think about stereotypes you wouldn't necessarily peg him as a loner, would you?" "You wouldn't peg him as a serial killer, either. But more than likely, he is." Scully watched a woman walking against the wind. Her coat collar was up and she had her arms wrapped around her own waist for comfort and warmth. Scully quickly turned back from the lonely image before her. It struck too close to home and she focused her slightly glazed eyes at the food the waitress put down before her. Invigoria Spa March 22, 2000 6 PM "Katherine?" "Yes?" "Tell me about your husband. Where did you meet?" "Oh, we met through mutual business acquaintances. Bill had just inherited kind of a dud of a business from his father and we hooked up as partners. We both had the same goals and decided to commit ourselves entirely to the pursuit of them." "And the sparks flew?" "Something like that." Scully smiled to herself. Ryan was applying a thin layer of the special sea mask that 'Katherine' seemed to enjoy the most. She watched as his eyes shifted from more-blue to more-green. Mulder's eyes looked green sometimes. "One of those relationships that took awhile, huh?" Ryan prompted. "Yes. I guess so. Bill. . ." Scully looked into the green of Ryan's eyes. Mulder. What had Mulder told her from the beginning of their partnership? "Bill had a very specific goal in mind when we first became partners. It may sound weird but it was almost a quest. He was very honest about it. He told me right from the beginning that achieving that goal was all that mattered to him. And it didn't bother me at all. It excited me, really. He was more intense than anyone I had ever met. Yet, he was. . .fun and smart and so incredibly respectful. Of me, my opinions. Everything. Soon his goal literally became my goal." "Sounds like a pure business arrangement." "No, of course not. I mean, there was that element. And it was very strong. But, there was more. I felt. . .I felt so much for him. His victories were my victories. His pain was my pain. I missed him terribly the few times we were away from each other. I didn't always know. . .if he felt as strongly." Scully found she could keep their cover names straight but it was almost impossible to keep from saying exactly what she was feeling towards Mulder at the moment. She tried to look away from Ryan's unwavering gaze, but couldn't. "I tend to keep things inside but he is always so passionate about the things that really matter to him and I thought. . .if he wears his heart so openly on his sleeve for everything else and doesn't for. . .us. . .maybe it's because there is no great passion. I mean, he loves me fiercely and has proved it time and time again but. . .when it was time for us to get together. . .to become lovers, I always wondered if we did because. . .I was there. Through it all. That somehow, it was his way of rewarding me for any sacrifices I might have made. . ." Ryan continued to stare into her eyes. She was looking at them and almost through them and then suddenly realized what she had said. She immediately went into full-Katherine/Scully mode. "Oh, I'm just neurotic, I guess." "No. You're not. There is nothing wrong with a woman having doubts. It is the man's job in this world to make sure he reassures his lady." "You're very old-fashioned, Ryan." "Yes. I guess I am. There are things that are either right or wrong and people seem to forget that all the time." Van 56th Street, New York City Ed was having a fit while Mulder's skin appeared to be taking on a deeper hue by the instant. "What. . .the fuck. . .was she doing?" "She pulled it off. I think she got his sympathy and that was what we were after." "She was also supposed to stick to the story. You two were supposed to have had a hot and heavy love affair. It's only now. . .with your mid-life crisis that you're looking at the ladies and not noticing her assets." "I think she probably thought this story was more compelling. You have to admit. . .it was." Ed seemed to have the wind knocked out of his sails. "Well, she didn't contradict anything we've said before and it does sound like she "accidentally" just confided more than she originally planned. . .so, that might be all right. Just tell her to stick to the fucking script next time, okay? We worked on everything for too long to mess it all up with her ad-libs." Mulder smiled. Was this New York or Hollywood? A movie set or an unmarked van? Was this real or Scully making up stories for the sake of the case? He knew the answer. His face felt as if it were flaming now. He knew they approached cases differently. He knew they approached some aspects of life differently. But they always had this unspoken bond that calmed waters when they got too rough; that allowed them to understand each other's feelings. He never, in all the time they knew each other, would have imagined this one extreme and total malfunction in this bizarre connection of theirs. He suddenly felt bitterly ashamed. End of Part 6
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