Title: Hot Wax
Author: Gina Rain
Category: X, MSR
Rating: R (sex, language)
Spoilers: Nothing major. Story is set post-Closure. 
Small spoilers for Arcadia. Requiem and season 8 do not 
exist in this world.
Feedback: ginarain@aol.com
Archive:  Anywhere, just let me know
Summary: A serial killer is targeting Manhattan couples. 
When Mulder and Scully try to lure him into revealing 
himself, they stumble upon quite a few revelations of 
their own.
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, CC and 1013 invented two 
wonderful characters. They hired actors who added 
immeasurable dimension to the written word. This story 
is merely an attempt to recapture just a bit of the 
magic that occurred when the moon, stars and planets 
were all in perfect alignment.
Missing Parts: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/
Thank you: A million cyber-roses to my super-beta, 
Christina. This was a mammoth project and she approached 
it, as always, with enthusiasm and an eagle eye. I can't 
thank her enough.



March 26, 1975
New York City

Last night, his mother laughed at his fears.

"It's not like I haven't done this before, sweetie. I 
was fine. Just fine. Besides, won't it be nice to have a  
younger, prettier mom? You can tell your friends I 
discovered a time machine. That will impress them."

"I don't have any friends."

"Sure you do, sweetie. Now, give me a kiss and go off to 
bed."

Fourteen-year old Ryan Wilkins did not want to "go off 
to bed." He wanted to talk his mother out of the 
unnecessary surgery she was about to undergo. 

"Your face is just fine the way it is, mom."

He knew that wouldn't be enough. 

"Well, now you know that's just not true. I wish it 
were. I thought the little eye job I had would have 
taken care of things for a little longer but the lines. 
. ." she frowned, lost in her own little world. 

"It's for him, isn't it?" Perhaps if he bluntly stated 
the truth, she would listen to him.

She smiled. There wasn't much humor in the smile.

"Your grandma always told me that you should do anything 
to keep a good man once you've got him. Daddy is a fine 
looking man. I'm not about to let him go on a search for 
a fine-looking woman. I plan on staying as attractive as 
I can, for as long as I can."

"But, mom. . ." He wanted to point out that his father  
had already found "fine-looking" women. Or, more 
accurately, fine-looking girls, but couldn't bring 
himself to be that cruel.

"But mom nothing." She swooped down and planted a kiss 
on his forehead. He was going to be tall someday, she 
thought. Puberty hadn't quite hit full force but he had 
already shot up a few inches over the winter.  She would 
teach him a little differently than her mother-in-law 
had taught Bill. She would teach him to value what was 
on the inside.

"Go to bed, Ryan. I have to go to the hospital early but 
I will be back Thursday morning. Sweet dreams, honey."

Ryan felt he should say more. Where were the magic words 
he needed that would reverse his mother's decision to 
have someone cut into her flesh and stretch her skin 
more tightly around her facial structure? She was a 
stubborn woman and obviously did not look in the same 
mirror as the rest of the world. Everyone saw beauty. 
How could they not? She looked at minuscule lines and 
found craters.

He sighed. She would be all right. She said she would.  
He went to bed but not to sleep. Not for a long time. 
When he finally woke, without recollection of having 
slept, he realized he missed kissing his mother goodbye 
before she went to the hospital. He had so wanted to do 
that. There was an aching deep in the pit of his 
stomach. She had to be all right. 

He was called to the principal's office right after 
lunch.  The greeting was somber. His mother had died of 
unforeseen surgical complications during a routine 
facelift.

March 15, 2000
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Scully walked into the basement office with a rather 
cheery "good morning, Mulder" already escaping her lips. 
Uncharacteristic of her considering the early hour and 
the still cold, dank weather. And certainly 
uncharacteristic considering the fact that she had 
already been up and about, without benefit of caffeine, 
since 6 AM. Sitting just outside of the hospital lab. 
Trying not to chew her perfectly manicured nails. 
Waiting for the results of the tests she had last night 
and those she had just completed this morning.  Tests 
she normally dreaded when they were labeled "routine 
follow-up." But tests she truly feared this time around. 
This time it wasn't just a date circled on a calendar 
that made her visit her oncologist. This time there were 
symptoms. Bouts of extreme fatigue. So extreme she found 
herself practically falling asleep on her feet. 

"Well, Dana, I'm glad to say you absolutely wasted my 
time and robbed us both of some sleep," Doctor Perkins 
announced, as he left the lab where he had just called 
in quite a few favors to get the additional blood work 
done on the spot. 

Anemia. Simple, uncomplicated iron-deficiency anemia, 
probably brought on by all the Tylenol and Advil she had 
to take for the battering she and Mulder received during 
their last few cases. Over the counter medication mixed 
with a badly balanced diet and lack of rest. And, well, 
she really didn't even care what else caused it. She 
knew how to fix it. It was something fixable. The 
diagnosis had put a smile on her face and the immediate 
need to go to work and banter with her partner. Amazing 
what a reaffirmation of life does to one's spirit.

He wasn't in the office. Shit.

She removed her coat and switched on her computer. She 
checked her e-mail and then opened a half-written report 
on a recently completed case.

"Hey, you haven't finished your coffee. Stop that." A 
hand came down and covered the screen. She smiled.

"I have to be tanked up on coffee before I start work?"

"Nope. It helps, though. Makes your typing faster. So, 
it's really counterproductive to begin before you have 
had your fill of java. And we wouldn't want to be 
counterproductive."

"So, what do I do in the meantime, Mr. Efficiency?"

"Talk to me, of course," Mulder said. He reached out his 
index finger and playfully flicked the end of her nose.  
"Good morning, Agent Scully."

She gave him a patented "you must be drunk" look. Did he 
really just flick her nose with his finger? Good Lord. 
She wasn't sure what amazed her more. The silly gesture 
or the fact that she hadn't reached for her gun yet. The 
thought that she really wanted to reach for his lips 
using hers as bait was even more amazing.

"Must be something awfully strange in the air today, 
Mulder," she said, watching him perch his posterior 
against the edge of her desk.

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Oh. By the way. We're having 
lunch in about ten minutes."

"Lunch? It's barely 9 AM." 

"Yes, but since we will be on our way to New York at 12, 
we need to lunch now."

She slammed her paper cup on the desk. She didn't want 
to go anywhere today. And certainly not to a city that 
was at least as bleak as the one she was already in.

"Generally, you make more of an impact when the cup is 
ceramic." Mulder said quietly. She looked down at her 
hand clutching the paper cup. It had been a pathetic 
gesture, she thought, and one she was about to compound 
if she didn't relax her grip on the flimsy material. 
Besides, breaking the cup would get Mulder's designer 
suit all wet and then she'd really be in trouble.

"It's a friend of Skinner's, Scully. He needs help and 
we're it. There's no getting out of it."

"What's it about?"

"Serial killer is all I know. We'll be finding out 
together. Romantic, huh?"

"Lovely."

He unhinged her fingers from the paper cup that was 
about to burst at its seam and lifted it to his mouth. 
He took a sip and met her gaze. A brief twinkle of 
amusement flickered in his eyes.

"Maybe, we'll have time to shop," he said, airily.

"Give me my coffee back, Mulder," she said, instantly 
cheered by an absurd vision of him carrying boxes as she 
shopped floating through her mind. 

As he walked over to his desk, she mentally hummed the 
theme song to Green Acres while visions of Mulder as a 
farmer and herself as a peignoir-decked diva floated 
through her mind. It was a silly song and a silly 
thought but it felt so good to be healthy enough to 
criticize her own frivolity. 



Rino's Diner
Washington, D.C.

They both were drinking coffee from ceramic cups before 
the hour was up. Ed Johnston, Skinner's friend and Chief 
Detective on this case, was off the stuff. Bleeding 
ulcer. The acid made it worse. He sipped water.

"So, a serial killer in New York. Why haven't we heard 
about it?" Mulder asked without preamble.

"It hasn't hit the press."

"It hasn't hit the New York press? The Post hasn't 
gotten wind of it yet? This is an X-file."

"Yeah, well, it's kind of serial killing with a twist."

"Well, naturally," Scully said, the sarcasm escaping 
through gulps of hot coffee.

"What's the twist?" Mulder persisted.

"Okay. There have been four deaths so far. First one 
started in 1996. One each year since then. All of them 
occurred on March 26. Women ranging in age from 35 to 49 
found dead in their beds. Death came from a massive dose 
of morphine. Each woman was laid out on the bed like a 
queen. Husbands called the crimes in. Husbands all 
confessed."

"Doesn't sound all that complicated so far."

"I'm getting there. In each case, the husband's 
fingerprints were found on the hypodermic needle. A note 
was left in the husband's handwriting, suggesting a 
possible motive."

"But. . ." 

"But, the husbands didn't do it. I know who did. It's 
just a matter of figuring out how and stopping him. 
That's where you two come in."

"How?"

"As his next victims."

End of Part 1

Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com

*******************************

Part 2

May 4, 1975
New York City

Ryan had decided to kill his father a few months after 
his mother died. 

He had always been a hard man to deal with on a personal 
level. He had been tough on Ryan. Very tough. Ryan was 
nothing like him. And he was still somewhat of a child. 
Bill Wilkins had wanted a short version of himself who 
would immediately skip over the inconvenience of 
"growing up." Every indication that this was not yet 
fully accomplished was met with harshness. With cruelty. 
And Ryan no longer had his mother as a buffer.

 The deciding moment came on what would have been his 
mother's fortieth birthday. He had spent most of the day 
with his maternal grandmother, reminiscing with the only 
person left who understood. When he returned home, his 
father informed him that they would no longer speak of 
his mother in their house. Tears sprung to Ryan's eyes.

"Stop it. Now," Bill said. He would not abide tears 
coming from a man. 

Ryan felt more moisture collect as he tried to will 
himself not to cry.

"Listen, you mother-fucking little pansy. You will stop 
this right now or I'll. . ." Bill stopped. He looked at 
his son. Dark blond hair, longer than it should be, 
curling at the ends. Patterned shirt. Fucking hippies. 
Turning everyone into little queers. Well, Janice may 
have wanted her son to be one of them, but he'd be 
damned if he'd have a little fairy running around the 
house. The kid needed discipline, and by God, he was 
going to have it. He went to his desk and picked up a 
pair of scissors. Ryan's eyes widened in fear.

"Come here."

Ryan stood back, afraid to move forward.

"Come here. Now. Right now." Ryan walked toward his 
father. As soon as he was close enough, his father  
reached out and grabbed  him by the hair. He snipped off 
a two-inch lock in the front of Ryan's head. Ryan let 
out an exclamation of protest. He had no idea what he 
was even trying to say to his father. He just wanted him 
to stop. 

"Now. You will march in front of me, Ryan. Straight 
back, eyes forward and they better be clear. Clear as a 
bell. Not one tear in them or I'll cut off more of your 
hair."

Ryan was scared. Terrified. Part of him wanted to run to 
his mother, but she was no longer there. Part of him 
wanted to yell for the housekeeper, but knew she could 
ultimately do nothing if she wanted to keep her job.

He tried walking in straight lines, but his shoulders 
slumped.

Snip.

He bit his lower lip, almost drawing blood, but the 
tears not only made his eyes glisten, they made his 
cheeks wet as they spilled over and onto his shirt. 

Snip.

He would be the laughing stock at school tomorrow. His 
hair all messed up. Some of it long, some short. He 
already had a hard enough time fitting in.

Snip.

He lived through that night. He had prayed he wouldn't. 
Shortly after that evening, his father made the decision 
to send him to military school. Ryan went quietly. 
Almost relieved. But he made a promise to himself. He 
would return after graduation and come back and kill 
this man. His father. The man who killed his mother. The 
man who tried to break his spirit. 

Ryan kept his promise.

Rino's Diner
Washington, D.C.
March 15, 2000

Ed pulled out a thick file from the briefcase on the 
floor. 

He put a crime-scene photo on the table. A pale woman 
with long black hair looked lifelessly at the ceiling. 
She was dressed in a short oriental style orange baby-
doll pajama. Mulder stared at the photo. Something was 
very odd about it.

"I came into this case in 97. Murder of a Manhattan 
woman. By her husband. Cut and dried. A little odd--but, 
hey--we're talking  New York, you know? Elizabeth 
Bentley. 42 years old. Husband a big shot  in real 
estate. Plenty of cash there, I can tell you.  Man 
confesses to the murder as soon as we're stepping 
through the door.  She was laying on the bed, dead of an 
overdose of injected morphine. Hypodermic lying on a 
nearby table. Husband's prints all over it. Something 
didn't quite sit right with me, but all loose ends 
seemed to be tied up, so I just stored it in the back of 
my mind as something I wasn't 100% satisfied with--along 
with about a thousand details on a thousand other cases, 
and moved on."

He pulled out another photo. There was a tall blonde 
woman lying on a bed in a sheer turquoise nightgown that 
barely covered  her genital area. Head to the side, eyes 
half opened. 
 
"Next year--and I mean a year to the day, same thing 
happens. Jessica Rogers. 37.  Husband babbling his 
confession as they're getting ready to bag the body. It 
was the same scenario. Same fucking scenario. So now, I 
did some checking. There was one murder in 96 with the 
same M.O."

"Each woman was killed by a massive injection of 
morphine. Each went fast. They were each bathed and. . 
.shit, how do I even put this. . .primped. . .post 
mortem." 

"Primped?" Scully asked.

"Yeah, you know. Like you ladies do when you go out or 
something. Sorry, if that's being sexist, Dr. Scully. 
But, hey--I never said men didn't do it, too. You know, 
like when we've got a wedding to go to or something.  
They were each dressed in these rather bizarre 
nightgowns and had a full face of makeup on, hair in 
place, perfume on, lotion on their hands and feet. 
Primped."

That was it, thought Mulder. That's what was wrong with 
the photos. The women were made up. Almost as if they 
were waiting for their very last snapshot on this earth 
to be taken.

"That's still not the really odd "coincidence." Each 
husband said they remembered going to bed and suddenly 
waking up knowing they had to kill their wives. They got 
up, did the deed, gussied  up the dead bodies,  wrote a 
note--the same bloody  note in each case--"die young, 
leave a beautiful corpse"--and then went back to sleep 
next to their wives. Each woke up in the morning, after 
a good night's sleep and remembered what they had done. 
Each called the authorities. Tell me all that is 
coincidence." It was a challenge. Apparently, as odd as 
the circumstances were, he had heard those very words on 
more than one occasion.

"What about last year?" Mulder asked.

"That's where the pattern breaks a bit. Another murder 
but this time, even though all the circumstances were 
the same, the husband denies doing it."

Mulder was reading the files as they lay upside down on 
the desk.

"But your report indicates his prints were on the 
hypodermic needle and he wrote the same note."

"Yes, and he has those memories. But, he says he just 
'knows' he didn't do it."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because I know who did it. I don't know how, but I do 
know who. And I know he's going to do it again. Very 
soon, since the day is coming up. I even know who his 
next victims were supposed to be. A couple that 
completely fit the profile of the other victims.  I 
managed to convince them to take an extended vacation to 
Europe. Amazing how people--even workaholics--will agree 
to that type of thing when you tell them they are the 
next possible targets of a serial killer".

"So we're supposed to just step in and take their 
place?" Scully sounded more than skeptical.

"He's got to be desperate. He needs to do this. I'm 
convinced of it.  The people he's been plotting to get 
to help him are gone. So a new couple that also fits the 
bill would be a virtual gift from whatever higher power 
he believes in."

"I don't know." Scully was frowning, looking at the 
picture of the fourth victim. A lovely brunette in a 
psychedelic polyester short pajama.

"What?"

"You've questioned the suspect, right?"

"Yes, once. It was right after the fourth murder and I 
made it seem as if I was just questioning him in order 
to get more information to convict the victim's 
husband."

"Still, don't you think this couple up and leaving and 
our sudden arrival will leave him suspicious? If he's 
smart enough to pull off this crime, in front of 
everyone's noses with no evidence against him--it seems 
he would be smart enough to smell a rat."

"He might.  He doesn't have much of a choice, though. I 
know these killings are not random. Not just anyone will 
do in a pinch. They have to fit a certain profile. He 
believes he's got a mission. I'm certain of it. Look, 
you'll understand all of this as you read the file and 
then--of course, when you meet the suspect." While he 
didn't intend to sound dismissive, he knew everyone 
understood that this was not an optional assignment in 
any way. Until the agents had all the facts he did, 
further discussion would be rather confusing. "I'm 
setting up an ordinary phone number for you to reach me 
if you need to. Day or night."

Detective Johnston looked out of the window and watched 
people passing on the street. 

"I'll leave the number with the front desk of your 
hotel."

"Hotel?"

"You are going to be a married couple in town for six 
weeks on business--William and Katherine Fox. Walt told 
me you hate your first name, Mulder. . . so, we decided 
to rearrange  a bit.  You're both quite well-off, by the 
way, so you can afford to stay in a nice hotel for that 
length of time. Those types usually write it off as a 
business expense anyway."

"But of course," Mulder said, getting a jump start on 
his role.

"Anyway, we'll talk when you get into town. On the 
slimmest chance that he will actually do some background 
checking on the two of you, I want your arrival in New 
York to seem completely true to the scenario--right down 
to your driving into town with your very own DC license 
plates--just the two of you."


3 PM
I-95

Scully leaned back against the headrest. It seemed like 
the longest day of her life. She had been up since 4 AM, 
gone to the hospital, gone to the office, had the 
strange coffee "lunch" at 9:30, hit the road at 12 and 
was driving toward New York and reading files at the 
same time. There was a lot to absorb about this case. A 
lot.  She was so tired, she really just needed a short 
nap. Mulder was switching the stations on the radio. 
Maybe he wouldn't notice if she just slipped off. 

"Scully! Hey, don't fade out on me here. It's the shank 
of the day."

"The what?" She should have told him. He'd leave her 
alone if he knew she really needed the rest.

"You know. . .the shank. . .the juicy part of the day 
when a whole bunch of facts could be passed on from one 
agent to another. An almost mystical transference of 
information from one warm body through the lips of the 
other. Say something Scully. . .I'm turning myself on." 
He gave a mock wiggle as if someone had just slipped an 
ice cube down the back of his coat.

She had to smile in spite of the fact that it only 
encouraged his behavior. 

"Okay. What do you want to go over now?"

"The killer."

"The suspect, Mulder."

"How very p.c. of you, Scully. Okay, the suspect. Tell 
me about him."

"Well, okay. Ed Johnston got suspicious after the third 
murder, which was only the second he was aware of at the 
time. The wording of the notes is what really got to 
him--it was a butchering of a James Dean quote: "live 
fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse." The 
exact misquote is on all the notes.  Another thing that 
bothered him--and this is from the personal notes he 
gave us, not from the official file, was that the 
husband of the first victim he was aware of. . 
.Elizabeth Bentley's husband, Joseph. . .while he had 
confessed to the murder readily, when he talked about it 
in detail during questioning, he used terms such as "I 
saw myself picking up the needle, I saw myself putting 
makeup on Elizabeth." It bothered him and the husband 
seemed completely unaware that he was even doing it."

"Mmmmm. . ."

"What?"

"Well, I can see why a small flag could come up on that 
one but it's not uncommon to distance oneself from one's 
crime by the use of impersonal language."

"Ooh, Mulder the skeptic. Be still my heart," she said 
in a completely flat tone of voice. He took the bait 
anyway.

"Scully the flirt. Is there anywhere we could pull off 
this road for. . .oh, say ten minutes or so?"

She shook her head with a smile. This was what she had 
been aiming for right after the doctor's visit. It was 
silly and obviously meant very little but it made her 
feel good. It made her feel alive. Plus, the little 
tingle of anticipation over extreme possibilities 
possibly becoming reality someday was very, very 
pleasant. 

"Anyway, the second time he saw this same scenario, he 
was convinced there was more to it. A third party who, 
at the very least, was using some form of mind-control 
to compel these men to commit these crimes. At the 
worst, he was killing the women and having the husbands 
believe they did it. And when he found out there had 
been a first victim. . .before the two he knew about, he 
started an all-out  investigation. Now, it should be 
noted, Mulder, that the NYPD is not exactly thrilled 
about this. They weren't really backing him up much at 
all until he managed to get this fifth couple out of 
town. Apparently, they are well connected to government 
officials in New York and praised Detective Johnston for 
the remarkable work he did thus far and encouraged the 
further investigation and capture of the suspect. That's 
the only thing that is allowing this case to go forward. 
But, as you can imagine, if he fails this time, they 
will be more than happy to feed him to the wolves. They 
have three confessed murderers in jail and they aren't 
happy with the prospect of being very, very publicly 
wrong about it all."

"Three? There were four victims."

"Yes, but the husband of the. . ." she shuffled papers 
around a bit trying to find the information ". . . third 
victim committed suicide while out on bail awaiting 
trial."

"Ah, I see."

"So, Detective Johnston looked for common bonds. All 
were couples married ten years or longer. Not highly 
unusual. All currently living in New York, but that 
seemed incidental since some were native New Yorkers and 
some were not. No children. Common bond. Ages. . .well 
there is a good age range but no one over 50. After a 
great deal of investigation, he found one common link 
between all of them. They all --husbands and wives--had 
gone for massages and facials to the same esthetician. 
One Ryan Wilkins. "

"Ooh. . .kay."

"Colorful past, Mulder." Scully said, rifling through 
more pages. She had already read through some of it but 
the prospect of rehashing it for Mulder's sake did not 
appeal to her at the moment. She was feeling more than a 
little lightheaded.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'm waiting."  He threw her a quick side-long glance.

"Mulder? I'm. . .can we stop for a bit. I need to 
freshen up."

Nice euphemism. Well, maybe not. He stared at her a bit. 
She looked very pale, very tired. And here he was making 
her read during the long, bumpy car ride after running 
around all morning. 

They had another thirty-six hours before they were 
scheduled to meet the suspect. There was plenty of time 
for a rundown on his past later. 

He stopped at the nearest rest stop. It was time to get 
out of the car.

End of part 2



 
Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ ginarain@aol.com

***********************************
Part 3

Mulder took their soft drinks over to an outdoor patio. 
Ingenious idea for a roadside diner. The smell of diesel 
fuel was always appealing. He watched Scully as she 
emerged into the sunlight. She looked a bit better. She 
seemed to be wearing less makeup; probably having 
splashed water on her face had removed what she had on. 
She stretched her arms above her head giving him a 
lovely view of her chest straining against the dark blue 
turtleneck sweater she was wearing under her opened 
coat.

More and more, he found himself wanting to be alone with 
her without work being an issue.  They had waited long 
enough.  It was just a matter of one of them jumping in 
and starting this new phase and both seemed to have 
forgotten how to use the spring in their step. 

"All freshened up?"

"Well, as much as a little sink will allow. Mulder, why 
are we sitting outside when it's only 40 degrees?"

"Because, I need the cold to make me more alert than I 
was. It will probably help you, too."

She closed her coat and burrowed down into it. She 
lifted the cup.  Iced Coke. She had been hoping for 
coffee.

"Screwed up again, did I?" He said, off her expression.

"No. How could you? I didn't tell you what I wanted. 
When you asked, I said, "anything."

"It annoys me that I didn't know what 'anything' meant," 
he stated simply.

It did annoy him. Seven years and he couldn't even 
predict what she'd like to drink on a road trip. He 
should know everything about her by now. And have her 
know that through it all, in spite of it all, he was 
paying attention. 

"Don't worry about it, Mulder. I like Coke."

He breathed in the cold air. It probably wasn't a smart 
idea to sit out here. Maybe it made sense in the summer. 
It was damned cold now and somehow the hollow sound of 
the wind blowing through the bare trees added a very sad 
and lonely note to the afternoon. Even the camaraderie 
of the afternoon seemed empty and false out here. It 
made him inexplicably uneasy.

"Come on, Scully.  Go back to the car. Sit there and 
warm up and I'll get us some coffee."

"No, Mulder. It's fine."

"No, it's not. We can save these for later if you like. 
What else can I get you?"

She was about to protest when a thought occurred to her.

"French fries."

"Really?" He was stunned.

"Yeah. Really. I'd like them. And, get a double order so 
you can snitch an appropriate amount from me."

He smiled at her. 

She attacked the issue of Ryan Wilkins with new vigor 
after eating a third of the french fries Mulder brought. 
They were making their steady way to the Big Apple. Once 
back in the car, the playful easiness returned.

"Okay. Ryan Wilkins seems to be employed by a very posh 
little day spa in Manhattan. Every single one of the 
victims went in for treatments from him. Facials, 
paraffin wax treatments, that kind of thing. Ryan has a 
criminal record. At age 18, he came home from military 
school graduation, walked into his home and killed his 
father. Shot him at point blank range, called the cops, 
turned himself in and proceeded to be a model prisoner 
for the next 17 years before he was paroled. Psychiatric 
records indicate that he never really showed remorse for 
what he did but his psych tests were too strong in every 
other way and there didn't appear to be any sociopathic 
tendencies noted anywhere in his past. He was released, 
almost immediately signed up for 600 hours of training 
to become an esthetician, got a license, a job, and is 
now a model employee."

"All right. Now, other than the fact that he is a common 
link between all the couples, what makes him the chief 
suspect?"

"His mother died of respiratory failure during a 
facelift in 1975. Specifically, March 26, 1975. She was 
just 39 years old.  This is the same date that all the 
murders have been committed.  One per year since he's 
been out on parole.  There seems to be some indication 
from prison interviews and talks with family members 
that Ryan suffered some form of child abuse at the hands 
of his father. There is also an indication that the 
father was emotionally abusive toward his wife--a great 
deal of put-downs and comparisons to other women. A lot 
of infidelity--beginning almost ten years prior to her 
death.  All the murder victims were married to strong-
willed men--some faithful, some not. There seemed to be 
a lot of codependency in the marriages and all the women 
were scheduled to have some sort of cosmetic surgical 
procedure at a fairly young age."

"So he kills them first?"

"Well, that is the theory. Wilkins used a gun to kill 
his father. He used morphine to kill these victims."

"Allegedly," Mulder couldn't resist.

"You're right. Allegedly. Morphine is known as a pain 
killer and used to be used in. . .well, very early forms 
of what we would now consider 'mercy killings.' Maybe 
that's what he thinks he's doing.  Easing them from the 
life of pain he thought they were destined to live. 
Leaving the husbands to suffer with extreme guilt and 
the torture of prison life.  Maybe he felt he let his 
father off too easily by shooting him."

Mulder was quiet.

"Mulder?"

"No. It's fine. It's a good theory and we just have to 
figure out if he is actually doing the killings or how 
he controls the victims' minds. I'm actually just not 
used to having all the psych work done for me. It's 
quite detailed."

"Ah, you feel cheated."

"Yes, Dr. Freud. I suppose I do."

"Well, just concentrate on your role-playing then. You 
can put in an Academy Award winning performance being my 
hubby."

"Well, if I have to be a dissatisfied husband, I'd have 
to, wouldn't I?"

She looked at him as he stared straight ahead at the 
road. He said the oddest things sometimes.

Regency Hotel
New York City
9 PM

Mulder lay back on the huge California-king-size bed. 
California-king. Translation: Big as a fucking boat.  

She was taking her sweet time in that bathroom. He had 
heard the water running for quite a while and he knew 
she was in the bathtub. Taking one of her precious 
bubble baths, no doubt. He didn't quite understand the 
fascination of fizzy lavender scented water but then 
again, he was very practical when it came to bathing. 
Five-minute showers and he was ready to attack the day. 
Or night. He was glad she had let him use the room 
first, or he might have been annoyed by now. 

He picked up the remote and channel surfed a bit.  Not 
much on. Or not much that she would be interested in 
watching with him. He wasn't sure why he was concerned 
about that because he was sure he'd be relegated to the 
couch in the other room of the suite shortly after she 
emerged from her soak. There was no way she was going to 
let him share the boat-sized bed. He was expecting a 
repeat of the marital bliss they shared at the Falls of 
Arcadia complete with green goo coating her face. He 
frowned and rubbed lightly against his tee shirt-covered 
abdominal muscles. She knew he was in love with her. She 
had to. There were days he felt the same emotions coming 
from her but there was something missing. A kind of 
silent "permission granted" signal that he kept waiting 
for but never quite received. Without it, he couldn't 
bring himself to make a move. Their bond of trust was 
too strong for such base actions. That was it, he 
thought with a frown.  Their relationship had sublimated 
into something that went beyond the physical and into a 
completely different dimension.  That was nice, he 
thought with a wry smile. Maybe someday someone could 
write a fucking book. Turn it into another movie. People 
would cry at the tragedy and beauty of it all. In the 
meantime, he could cry every time he had to look 
longingly at his hand instead of the real object of his 
desire. Well, someone could write a movie about that, 
too. In fact, he was pretty sure someone had and he 
could find it among his personal collection of movies in 
the shade of blue. He chuckled softly to himself, not 
really finding it all that amusing.

"What's so funny?" Scully asked as she finally emerged 
from the bathroom, steam flowing behind her.

"Nothing. . .I just thought. . ." he looked in her 
direction. No green goo. She was wearing the fluffy 
white bathrobe provided by the hotel and if he wasn't 
mistaken, and he was pretty sure he wasn't. . .she 
didn't really have anything else underneath. Her hair 
was still wet and curling around her neck in tiny loose 
swirls. He sat up immediately. It wouldn't do to be 
lying back in the rather flimsy protection of 
sweatpants. It gave way too much away.

"Sorry I took so long, Mulder. That tub is just so huge 
and I almost drifted off in there."

"That's fine. I was just going over the file. But, 
frankly. . .that's kind of useless since I practically 
know every word in there by now. We can't really do a 
thing till tomorrow, so we might as well relax. More 
room service, Scully?"

"No." She slid on the bed and lay back against the 
pillows. He was seated cross-legged facing her. She 
hadn't thrown him out yet. "I'm not really hungry. Just 
tired."

"Well, you should get some rest then." Okay. He didn't 
want to actually leave unless she requested it. She 
didn't seem in a big hurry to do that. 

"Mmmmmm. . ." Her eyes were half closed, half staring at 
him. He cautiously lay down next to her and waited for 
her to throw him out. She didn't.  She half turned to 
face him more fully. A glimpse of significant cleavage 
made its appearance at that point.

"Um, Scully. . .I enjoy the view but for my own sanity, 
I think maybe it would be better if you kept that robe 
closed a bit more." He reached out and touched the very 
edge of the material where the top half of her left 
breast presented itself to his vision in all its creamy 
glory. His fingertips lightly ran across the skin. "Are 
you wearing anything under here, Scully?"

"I don't know Mulder. You are supposed to be a rather 
competent investigator. Why don't you tell me?" She 
said, suppressing a yawn at the same time.

He gulped visibly. Signals? This seemed like a signal. A 
not so subtle, written in neon lights "permission 
granted" signal. He wondered if there had been any booze 
in the bathroom that he didn't know about.

He lightly drew the side of his index finger over the 
top of her breast, over and over. Never seeking to touch 
further. Simply reveling in what he had already been 
allowed to explore. 

"You are so soft, Scully. And even softer here."

She smiled lazily. "That feels nice, Mulder."

Nice? Not a favorite word of his when he was trying to 
be moderately sexy. Still, he supposed it was better 
than "get your ass out of my bed, you horny mother 
fucker."

He moved his finger and traced the dip between her 
breasts. When he did, he felt the plumpness of her right 
breast brush more fully against his hand. He 
automatically licked his lips. He was going to kiss her. 
Right there. If she wanted to throw him out, now was a 
good time. If not, he wanted to know. . .now. He 
muttered a soft "Scully," and moved closer when he 
noticed a certain rhythm in the way her chest was rising 
and falling.

"Scully?"

She was sound asleep. Now, he was gulping visibly for a 
different reason. It wasn't a moment of anger, or even 
severe disappointment. It was a moment of realization. 
Cold realization. They really had gone too far past it 
all. Or she had. They had reached a point where they 
could be in the same bed, in various stages of dress or 
undress, with his hand on what should be one of her 
erogenous zones and she could simply drift off to sleep. 

He gingerly climbed off the deck of the love boat and 
went into the second room. He put on his boots and a 
jacket and left the suite.

Regency Hotel
March 16, 2000
7 AM

Scully woke up in the morning and slid her hand up and 
down the sheet next to her. No Mulder. She opened her 
eyes. Why did she expect him to be there? Oh, yeah. She 
smiled. His beautiful fingers running across the top of 
her breast so tenderly. She stopped smiling. Shit. Oh, 
shit. She fell asleep. 

She jumped out of bed and into the adjoining room.

"Mulder. . .I'm sorry. . ." He wasn't there. 

"Mulder?" she called out.

No answer.

Where the hell did he go?

Probably something to do with the case. She'd explain 
when he got back.  She went into the bedroom and quickly 
dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. Suitably 
city-chic.

She heard the keycard sliding through the door slot and 
Mulder entered the room, head slightly down, cheeks and 
hands flaming red.

"Mulder? Where have you been?"

"Out."

"Did Skinner call? Did Johnston?"

"No. I just had difficulty sleeping. I went for a walk 
in the park."

"When?"

"Around 11."

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"And you were there all night?"

"No. Not all night. I had coffee at a diner. I walked 
down to Grand Central station for a while. Watched the 
people there. Took a walk back up here. New York is 
fairly interesting at night."

"It's also fairly dangerous."

He shrugged. "I'm armed."

She walked over to him and grabbed one of his hands. He 
jerked it back. She reached out and grabbed it again, 
holding it firmly so it would take nothing short of an 
act of violence on his part to pull it away.

"You're cold. You could get frostbite out there all 
night."

He looked in her eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Scully? I'm a grown man who 
went for a walk. Do I need permission? Do I need to 
apologize?"

"No. Of course not." She steadily rubbed his fingers 
softly. He winced as the circulation began to return 
more fully.

She stopped rubbing his hands and started unbuttoning 
his jacket. 

"C'mon. Take this off and relax. I'll order some 
coffee."

He quickly complied and grabbed the remote control, 
turning on a morning talk show. The sound of the raucous 
audience rudely permeated the air. He lay back and 
stared blindly at the screen.

She looked at him. He seemed so tired. 

She had ordered the coffee and sat next to him.  She 
curled her legs up on the couch and ran her fingers 
through his hair. 

"Just rest, Mulder." 

He turned his head slightly and looked in her eyes. 
There was a definite sheen of slight moisture in them. 
He could blame it on the cold wind blowing into them all 
night, but she knew better. She had wanted their 
relationship to shift in the proper direction as much as 
he did. Probably more. She felt the bitter irony of 
having her body betray her at absolutely the worst 
possible moment.

"Why didn't you wake me up last night, Mulder?"

"For what?"

Ah, so that's the way he wanted to play it.  Wounded 
male ego pretending nothing hurts.

"To talk to me about what bothered you enough to drive 
you out into the cold night instead of curling up next 
to me and getting a good night's sleep."

"Scully, from which planet did you just land?" 

Well, that was rude. But she understood what he meant. 
They had never shared a bed before on any case.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep Mulder. I've been very, very 
tired and just couldn't help it."

"I know. It's fine."

"I don't think it's fine at all. I didn't want to fall 
asleep."

"You may think that's true."

"Mulder--it is true. I didn't want to tell you because 
you're such a worry wart, but I haven't been feeling 
well. I called in a whole bunch of favors and was up for 
hours before I actually made it to the office. And, I 
had a PET scan run the night before. Everything turned 
out all right.  I'm just anemic. I was sent home with 
vitamins and a diet of kale and spinach. And orders for 
loads of bed rest. Guess which one of those instructions 
will be the hardest to follow?"

Anemia. Not cancer. Good. 
Feeling sick. Not telling him until the tests were run 
and the verdict came in. Bad. 
Selfish? Maybe. But he couldn't help the way he felt. 
Still, he squashed down his feelings and managed a small 
smile.

"I'm glad you got the rest then. You needed it. We'll 
have to see that you get plenty of it during our down-
time on this case."

"Well, I think you'll need it as well after traipsing 
all over the city last night."

"No, I'm used to it. Besides, I had to work out a few 
things in my mind--over the case and all."

Scully swallowed hard. She felt she had to say 
something.

"Do you issue rain checks?"

He looked into her eyes. He knew he should feel relief 
on many levels but he felt unease. Something was wrong. 
Something beyond her falling asleep while he was making 
his move and beyond his hurt feelings over her usual 
self-protective behavior. As with most things in their 
lives, they would have to postpone addressing the issue 
until after he dissected it in his own mind and after 
they did their work today. 

Still, he slowly nodded his head. She wasn't convinced 
but she gave him a weak smile anyway.

End of Part 3

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 don�t 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 don�t 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

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

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 doesn�t 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

Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com

******************************************** 
Part 7

Regency Hotel
7:31 PM

She slid the keycard in the door and opened it. The 
suite was dark. Good. She beat Mulder to the hotel. 
Maybe he hadn't even been listening to the surveillance. 
She closed the door behind her and leaned her head 
against it briefly. She wasn't concentrating enough. She 
let Ryan get to her. She sighed heavily and reached her 
hand out to flick the light switch on. A warm hand 
covered hers.

"Don't."

She jumped a bit at the touch of his hand but 
immediately calmed at the sound of his voice.

"Mulder. Shit. You scared me. What' s wrong? Why don't 
you want the light on?"

She felt him move directly behind her and put one hand 
on either side of her, effectively trapping her with her 
face to the door. 

"It's difficult enough in the dark, without you looking 
at me."

"What is?" She was beginning to get nervous. What the 
hell was he up to?

"I'm making an attempt to fish."

"What?" Her voice rose a half-octave.

His breath was warm against her hair. He wasn't touching 
her but the heat he generated mixing with the nerves and 
the heavy winter coat she was wearing was not making 
this a comfortable moment.

"No one said this trip had to be a journey of true 
confessions, Mulder."

"Ah, but circumstances. . ." the teasing tone went out 
of his voice replaced by one that was a mixture of hurt 
and bafflement.

"How could you believe that, Scully?" Scully tensed up. 
He had heard the surveillance.
"How could you possibly believe that I want you because 
you're . . .there? Or because it's 'easy'--which it 
isn't, in case you haven't noticed. "

"Mulder. . .please. Back up a bit and let me get out of 
this coat and we'll talk, okay? I have no idea why I 
said what I said but it doesn't have to mean anything."

"It means everything. Let me just finish and I'll let 
you go, all right?" He took a deep, cleansing type of 
breath. "There were a thousand reasons not to get 
involved. At the beginning, it was because it wasn't 
smart to get involved with a co-worker. That turned into 
it's not smart getting involved with a friend. And then. 
. .with my search for Samantha and everything that went 
with it. . .there was danger and a thousand more 
reasons. And they all were valid. But the main reason 
was that as long as other things mattered to the point 
where they had to be seen through to completion. . .as 
long as there was some sense of unfinished business. . 
.I felt I would be cheating you by not giving you 
everything you deserved. But, you know what? I still 
cheated you. And I cheated myself. It's not like I 
encouraged you to seek any of this outside of our 
relationship. In fact, I damned well discouraged you.  
So we both ended up with nothing. But, at the very, very 
least Scully. . .I thought you understood all of  this 
and somehow agreed. That when it was over, we'd be 
together.  I've been waiting for some idiotic sign that 
you were completely ready to start a new phase of our 
relationship while you've been wondering if I really am 
in love with you or I've just sort of come to want you 
by default."

He took a breath. For someone who could be so closed 
off, he sure could spell things out when he wanted to, 
she thought.  She felt his fingers come around to the 
front of her coat.

"This thing unbuttoned?" he asked. She nodded her head 
and he found the edges of the two sides of her coat, and 
dug a bit further and found the two edges of her opened 
blazer. In a moment, he had pulled them both back and 
tossed them to the couch in the sitting room. Scully did 
not move from the door. He put his hands back and bent 
forward a bit to be on the same level as her ear. 

"I am. . .and have been. . .completely in love with you 
for a very long time."

She leaned against the door again to cool her face and 
give herself a moment. She believed him. God help her, 
she believed him.

She opened her eyes and looked at Mulder's arms trapping 
her. They were bare. He had been generating a remarkable 
amount of body heat. 

"Mulder. Are you wearing anything?" She asked, curiosity 
getting the better of her.

"I left my boxers on. I figured, you being a scientist 
and all, if you doubted my words or the level of passion 
I feel for you. . .you only need  turn around and there 
would be your tangible proof."

She couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Love-talk, 
Mulder style.  

"Turn around, Scully," he whispered softly.

He moved away a bit and she turned. She couldn't look 
down. Not just yet. She touched his chest and ran her 
fingers down between his breastbone. She moved forward 
and kissed him there. Lightly. Her hands reached out and 
gripped each of his upper arms as she leaned in and 
equally lightly touched her tongue to the flesh she had 
just kissed. 

She had just always wanted to do that. 

Salty. Mulder tasted salty. He ran his hands down her 
lower back and gently pushed back the waist band of her 
dress pants, running his fingers across the skin 
underneath.

"Mulder?" she said softly. "I want to collect my rain 
check from the other day."

"I've already started processing that request." He found 
enough give in the elastic back to slip his hand inside 
the back of her pants and run his hand underneath the 
silkiness of her underwear, across her buttocks. A 
rather large jolt of feeling shot across her and took 
her breath away.

"Stop. I mean, not here."

"The love boat?" he murmured against her hair.

"What?"

"The huge bed in there. . ."

"Yes, the bed."

He grabbed her hand in an almost painful grip and walked 
with her into the bedroom. She changed her mind and  
pulled him over to the chair near the window. She could 
finally see him better. New York was a very bright city, 
even at night.

"Sit."

"Why?" He looked crushed. Like a child about to go to a 
baseball game being told he has to go to his great-aunt 
Ida's house instead.

"Sit."

He sat on the chair and watched as she quickly removed 
her blouse and pants and sat down on his lap.

"Better?"

"Um. Yeah. I'm still not sure why we're not on the bed 
but whatever you want. . ."

"We're not on the bed because I want to see you.  I 
don't want to turn on the light. Not right now. I can 
see you here." She ran her hand up and down his chest.  
He pulled her closer and used the proximity to quickly 
unhook her brassiere. He pushed the straps down off her 
shoulders and threw the garment somewhere on the floor. 

"I can see you, too." He smiled. She grabbed on to his 
shoulders and lifted herself up a bit. He took her cue 
and kissed her between her breasts as he had wanted to 
do the other evening. He pulled back. She wasn't asleep 
yet. Always a good sign. Another good sign was when she 
pulled his head forward and to the right, so he could 
grasp onto and suckle one breast. He didn't need much 
direction. He pulled and nipped as she moaned her 
encouragement.  She felt his breath grow shallow and 
heated as he pulled away from her and went over to her 
other nipple. She was torn between pushing his head even 
closer to her and wanting to throw her own head back in 
pure delight. She chose neither. After a few moments of 
exquisite torture, she slipped off his lap and watched 
as her breast sloppily slid out of his mouth as he tried 
to follow it. She smiled a brief apology and shimmied 
out of her panties and motioned for him to do the same 
with his boxers. He stood there watching her for a 
moment. His Scully. . .naked in the glow of the 
moonlight coming through the window.

"Mulder. . .please."

He pulled them down carefully over his painful erection 
and off his hips.

"Bed?" he asked again.

Her eyes twinkled a bit as she reached out and lightly 
ran her fingers over his penis. He gasped a bit at the 
touch.

"No. Right here. In the chair."

"The chair?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" 

"No problems." He sat back down and she straddled his 
lap, sitting just far away enough so that his erection 
wasn't touching her at all. He had a small frown on his 
face but was obviously very intrigued. She reached out 
and touched him again, warmly wrapping her fingers 
around him and sliding her hand up and down his length. 
She closed her eyes for a moment. This was real. He was 
going to be in her soon. All of him. She felt her own 
moisture as it seeped onto his lap. She scooted forward 
so his erection pressed against her belly.

"I think. . .I need to kiss you now," she said.

He was desperate to say something to break the tension 
but knew it wouldn't be the right thing to do. Instead, 
he just nodded his head as she touched her lips to his. 
It was a whisper soft touch and was over in a moment. 
She pulled back and before he could process the first 
kiss, she crushed her mouth to his for the second. There 
was nothing soft or gentle about it and both of them 
opened their mouths wider as their tongues began 
touching and tasting as much as possible before their 
imminent joining. She reached behind him and started 
running her nails across his back as he grabbed her ass 
and squeezed in a rhythmic motion. Finally, Scully 
pulled herself up and gripped his erection again. She 
positioned herself and slowly let him in. She stopped 
mid-way and took a breath before continuing her descent. 
Once he was completely inside her, she grabbed onto his 
shoulders and moved her mouth to his ear.

"God, oh, God. Don't move, Mulder. Not for a second. 
Just wait."

He worried he was  hurting her but she just found 
herself overwhelmed by sensation. She didn't want to 
give in just yet. She wanted to build things up more. 
Hopefully, to the point where gaining control  wouldn't 
even be an option. She breathed heavily into his 
shoulder, running her tongue on whatever flesh she 
encountered as she slowly moved her head. When she felt 
somewhat in control, she rocked forward a bit. Mulder 
rocked back. He was so deep and she felt so tight. It 
was almost painfully wonderful. Soon, she was 
comfortable enough to move herself up and back down 
again in a fairly even motion. He continued to push up 
into her--his thrusting equaling the strength of her 
motions, careful not to be too gentle, or too rough. 
Scully knew he was letting her set the pace and she 
hooked her toes on the bottom rung of the chair and 
started slamming down harder. He responded in kind and 
it seemed he was going deeper with each upward motion 
until suddenly, any control she thought she had 
disappeared. A warm tingling spread throughout her 
entire body as she violently  spasmed around him. The 
contractions gripped him as he continued pumping and her 
constant low moaning  soon sent him over the edge. He 
came, calling her name and  the name of a deity he 
denied belief in.

His arms went loose around her body as she clung  to him 
tightly, with her head buried in his neck. She rocked 
forward a bit more as he slowly softened within her. 
Another low moan escaped her throat.

"Scully?" he panted.

"Mmmmm. . ."

"I think I might just love sex in chairs."

She smiled against his skin. 

"I think I might just love sex with you." He added.

"Why Mulder," she sleepily said. "how very p.c. of you."

He laughed and ran his hands through her hair. It took 
slightly longer to slip through his fingers.

"Hey. I forgot about this. Your hair. . .it's pretty 
this way." 

She didn't say anything. He leaned down and crooked his 
head to see if she was awake. She was.

"You want to go to sleep now, Scully?"

He felt her contract her muscles against him. 

"We can go to bed, Mulder. But, I'm not sleeping for 
quite some time. If I'm tired, I will drive red hot 
nails in my side to make sure I'm up."

"A violent streak, too?"

"No. I just. . .it is true confession time, isn't it 
Mulder?"

"Yes. It seems to be."

"I just want to touch and taste every square inch of 
you. If that meets with your approval, that is."

"Scully?" His eyes were wide and dark.

"I think. . .I really need to kiss you now."

She lifted her head off  his shoulder and smiled. She 
captured his face between her hands and looked deeply 
into his eyes. There were so many things she wished she 
could feel comfortable saying. So many feelings she 
wished mere words would convey. She also knew they were 
not necessary.

"You mean. . .everything. . .to me," her voice had a 
slight crack to it. That was the truth. As honest and as 
plain as could be. 

He lifted his hand to her hair and pushed it slowly back 
from her face. He moved one finger and lightly traced 
her lips. She finally, slowly leaned forward to grant 
his request. 

End of Part 7


Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com

******************************************* 
Part 8

Ryan Wilkins' Apartment
March 23, 2000
7 A.M.

Ryan woke with a headache. He got up from the couch and 
took some Tylenol, then went into his bedroom and closed 
the drapes against the morning sun. He almost never 
slept in his bedroom. He wasn't used to a large bed.

He threw a hand over his eyes. God, he didn't want to do 
this. He hadn't wanted a lot of things in his life.

What was he thinking? Well, that was the trouble. He 
wasn't thinking. He was feeling. He was always, always 
feeling. If he had to do it all over again, he would  
not have worked to cultivate the gift he knew he was 
born with. He would have squashed it down into the 
deepest recesses of his mind and heart. He would have 
listened more to his father. Become hard. Had lots of 
lovers and toss them out the minute they became older. 

Yeah, right.

He should have hated his mother. He knew that a part of 
her was selfish for taking a risk that would not only 
cost her child the loss of a parent, but the loss of 
childhood, innocence, a "life" of his own. But he knew 
that wasn't the whole story. He knew before it happened 
that the pain she experienced, simply in living a life 
with a man who no longer loved her, blinded her to 
anything else. He knew she would not knowingly cause him 
pain, but simply wanted her own pain to stop. 

He thought for a moment of his mother and women like 
her. Living lies, searching for comfort in a 
relationship that only flourished in their own minds. 
Never seeking or accepting options. Did they only see 
themselves through the eyes of men? Did that reflection 
taint their own views of who they were, both physically 
and spiritually?

He prepared for a profession when he knew that parole 
was a likelihood. By choosing a "beauty" career, he 
really thought he could make a difference in the way 
some women saw themselves, not through artificial 
reconstruction but by building up what nature herself 
provided.  And for some, he did. But women like his 
mother would never be convinced by a man like him. They 
would only be convinced by men who never possessed the 
generosity of spirit needed to give them the reassurance 
they desired. That was when the seed was planted. That 
was when he had the idea of salvation for the women, and 
damnation for their men.

His mother didn't make him do what he did. He couldn't 
even attribute his actions to his father. It was all 
one. The spirit given to you at birth, the circumstances 
of your family and upbringing, your friends, your 
relatives, your experiences, your feelings. His 
feelings. . .were they his feelings alone or those of 
everyone connected to him? Was he completely responsible 
for his actions or was everyone around him partially to 
"blame?"

He turned over, willing the thoughts to stop.

They came anyway. 

Bill and Katherine Fox. They weren't like the others at 
all. There was much, much more going on with them. At 
first, Ryan had done what he always did. He only felt 
Katherine's pain. He had a natural inclination to side 
with women. He knew it stemmed from his love of his 
mother. It remained forever frozen in his mind as the 
ideal relationship because adult conflict never entered 
into the equation. He had read that much in his 
psychology books. But yesterday, what he felt from Bill 
was amazing. It was a complete understanding. 

Bill had known pain and guilt and Bill had been lying to 
him. 

That much he knew.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. 
Today would be a difficult day. He only had three days 
to prepare. To do things perfectly. 

To make things right.


Regency Hotel
7:30 AM

"Scully. You have to get some sleep."

"I did."

"For only an hour after you. . .passed out, for lack of 
a better term?"

She looked up from her position at Mulder's midsection. 
She was lying in her robe with her head on Mulder's 
stomach, absentmindedly running her fingers up and down 
his pelvis.

"That's a good term. I think I actually did pass out."

Mulder shook his head in amusement.

"Scully? You having fun with your new toy?"

She lifted herself up and lay down on the pillow next to 
his.

"You're embarrassing me, Mulder."

"No, I'm not," he ran his finger down her cheek. "You 
get all pink right here. . .when you're embarrassed. 
Besides, nothing you do in here should ever embarrass 
you."

"Well, except for falling asleep while you are in the 
middle of things."

"I believe you had a doctor's excuse for that. So it 
doesn't count anymore."

"Good. You know I hate having anything on my permanent 
record." She touched his lower lip and leaned forward 
and kissed him softly. She put her hands in his hair and 
brought him a bit closer. "Ryan said people don't know 
how to touch anymore."

"Um, Scully? Perhaps it's best if we leave serial 
killers' quotes outside of our bed."

"Perhaps. But I just brought up the concept because I 
think we do a pretty good job of touching."

He kissed her nose. 

"We have two options here, Scully. We can either take 
the next hour and get some rest, or I can try to make 
you pass out again." 

"Let's try for both. I'm an overachiever."

Mulder smiled at her before parting her robe and 
traveling in a more southern direction, where everything 
was much warmer.

Ryan Wilkins' apartment
11 A.M.

Ryan called in sick. He never did that before but felt 
justified today.

He had to do this. This was the hardest thing.

The last two bricks of wax had to go in. 

He padded over to his immaculate kitchen and poured 
himself another glass of water to go with the additional 
Tylenol tablets.

He sat on the floor and unwrapped the wax.

Laura Adler. "Call me Laurie." She was sweet. Very 
sweet. But, like most of the women he had come to know, 
she was not happy with herself. She had lost sixty five 
pounds in the past year and her face was not as firm as 
she had wanted it to be. She wanted overnight results. 
She came right out and said it. She finally had the body 
for her husband, now she wanted the face to match.

He had known them for only two months. No one else that 
year had even come close. He heard Laurie's story and 
immediately imagined what her husband must be like. He 
suggested that she bring him along for treatments and 
she listened.

He was funny. Always cracking jokes. He found his wife's 
desire for cosmetic surgery funny. He found life 
amusing.

Ryan hated that. 

And so it was decided.

He booked them for the special treatment.

He had carefully prepared the wax baths and they came 
in. Laurie first, as the woman was always first. He 
watched her while she lay back in the wax. He did what 
he always did. He prayed that the goddesses his mother 
was with would bring her a good night's sleep and awaken 
her in a land that was beyond human comprehension. 

When it was Louis' turn, he stood in the doorway and 
damned him to a living hell. Laura was cleaning up in 
the bathroom. This part never took long. He walked into 
the room and sat next to the chamber.

"Comfortable, Louis?"

"Yes, this is great."

"Open your eyes, Louis."

Louis opened his eyes and looked straight into Ryan's. 
He seemed uncomfortable and wanted to look away but 
couldn't. Ryan knew when the moment happened. When the 
subject was ready. When the window to the soul was 
opened.

"There is a side door to your apartment building, Louis. 
Where the janitors bring out the trash. There is a 
pretty simple lock there. Make an excuse while getting 
your mail and unlock that door, all right?"

"Yes."

"Don't lock your front door. Make it seem as if you do, 
but keep it opened. Okay?"

"Fine."

"When you see me, Louis, I won't be me anymore. I will 
be the face you see in the mirror every morning. I will 
be you. I know everything about you, Louis. Everything. 
I am you and you are me. You will watch yourself quietly 
tonight Louis. You will think about the things you see 
for the rest of your life."

"Yes."

"Close your eyes, Louis. I am myself now. For a little 
while. Until tonight--after you wake up."

Louis closed his eyes and seemed to drift off for a 
moment. When he came to, the room was empty and Ryan was 
just walking in from the kitchen.

"Time to peel away all that dead skin, Lou."

Ryan now touched the wax formed from remnants of Louis' 
bath. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, forcing himself 
to remember. Remember the murder. 

He had slipped into their apartment silently, as he 
always did. Surgical gloves on. He went into their 
bedroom and went straight to Laura. He injected her with 
the morphine left from last year's prescription. Soon, 
she would be dead. He would wake up Louis and hand him 
the hypodermic. He would mimic Ryan's previous actions 
with the empty syringe. There was a ritual to the 
actions. Louis would wake up and watch "himself" while 
in reality, Ryan was the one who made up the face of the 
dead woman, perfumed her body and slipped one of his 
mother's old nightgowns over her head. So many, many 
nightgowns. So pretty. He had always admired them. These 
ladies deserved to wear something very pretty and his 
mother would recognize them as special when she greeted 
them.

Then, Louis would go to sleep, waking up remembering 
seeing himself doing all of these things. He would pay. 

Tears silently made their way from Ryan's tightly shut 
eyelids.

It didn't work that way.

It all went wrong.

He woke up Louis after he gave Laura the injection. 

"Here, Louis. Take this. You know you want to. She's 
just holding you back. Holding you back from someone 
younger--prettier. Take it."

Louis took the empty hypodermic and went through the 
motions of holding it in his hand next to Laura's skin. 
Louis was in a trance-like state but Ryan jumped when 
Laura started to wheeze. Death had always occurred 
quietly with the others. Quickly and quietly. Laura was 
wheezing. . .her eyes open. . .gasping for breath.

Ryan had to keep his composure. He needed to stop her 
suffering. He took the hypodermic from Ryan's fingers 
and pulled the small bottle from his jacket pocket. 
There were a few cc's of medication left. He quickly 
filled the syringe and plunged it into Laura's arm, as 
close to the site of the first injection as possible.

She stilled after a moment. 

Ryan's head had been reeling. He needed to step back and 
do this right. Louis must be punished and no doubt must 
be shed on his crime. He had him hold the syringe again, 
to make sure the prints were fresh and not blurred from 
his reuse of the needle. Then, he prepared Laura. 

Something else had been wrong. As he was preparing to 
leave, he looked back. Louis had crawled back into bed 
and curled his body around that of his wife's. 

"I love you baby," he murmured to her lifeless form.

Ryan listened. For the first time, he listened to the 
husband. 

He had loved her.

Ryan had made a mistake.

An irreversible mistake.

End of Part 8

Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com

********************************** 
Part 9

Regency Hotel
March 23, 2000
12 Noon

Scully put down the telephone.

"Mulder. He called in sick today."

"Really? That's interesting."

"So your appointment tomorrow is being pushed back an 
hour to make room for someone he missed today. That's 
why they called."

There was a knock on their hotel room door. Scully got 
up, looked through the peep hole and saw Detective 
Johnston. She opened the door and let him in.

"Hi, Ed," she said to him as he handed Mulder a huge 
packet of files.

"This is everything I could find. I'm sorry for the 
delay but I needed to track down the Bakers in France 
and that was not easy, let me tell you. They must have 
thought Ryan would be running after them because they 
went deep into hiding. I needed their permission before 
I could access certain files."

"Well, as long as I can look at them before the actual 
murder attempt occurs on our lives, I'm a happy camper." 
Mulder smiled.

"You think there's anything in there?"

"Probably not, but leave no stone unturned and all 
that."

Scully watched the two men from an armchair she was 
resting against.

"This is a very odd case," she observed.

"Tell me about it," Ed said.

"No. I mean, sitting around and waiting for something to 
happen when you have absolutely no guarantee that it 
will. What happens if he doesn't do anything? Do we wait 
another year?"

"He has to do something. I mean, I absolutely think it's 
a pattern he cannot break at this point. I just don't 
see any other choice."

"He still might not choose us, though."

"There is no one else in his clientele that even 
remotely fits the bill. Frankly, it's you or no one and 
I think he sees that, too."

"That reminds me, we need to discuss a slight change of 
the scenario."

Ed looked a bit flustered that she was consulting with 
him. Obviously, Mulder had told her about his being 
upset over her change of "script" the previous evening.

Mulder took over the story. "Yes, we do. Originally, I 
thought that it was not a bad idea to come in close to 
the anniversary date and announce to Ryan that I slept 
with another woman. But, you heard him. He doesn't 
believe that I really have an issue in that department. 
So, I think we have to come up with some other slightly 
shocking scenario."

"Like what? We do have to push this guy in the direction 
he's already heading in, hopefully. He has to not like 
you and want to murder you, just as much as he wants to 
save Scully. I think Scully earned some brownie points 
in that direction. . .in a slightly different way than 
we had planned," he smiled at her. "What can you do, 
other than announce an infidelity, that would repulse 
him that much?"

"A child," Scully said.

"What?" Mulder looked at her.

"I think you should tell him that you want to have a 
child. There have been no children in any of these 
couples' lives. I don't think that's an accident. While 
he's "saving" the women, he's making sure there are no 
children left behind. If you tell him you are seriously 
thinking about having an heir to the business throne, 
without much love or desire for an actual baby, it might 
spark something from his own youth and push him into 
making the decision he is hopefully already leaning 
toward." 

Mulder cast a tentative look at her. She gave him a 
strong, steady one in response. Her infertility was not 
an issue at all. It was a case. This was a good move. He 
received the message and moved on.

"So, Ed--not a bad idea?"

"I could see it. He might not completely believe that 
you'd be ready to cheat--but the thought that one minute 
you could be considering it and the next, you're 
haphazardly reaching what should be the most carefully 
thought out decision of your life. . .that might not sit 
well. I think he'd be the type of person to take 
fatherhood very seriously. You being as flippant about 
it as you were with your marriage vows, yeah, that could 
seal the deal."
 
"Great. We'll do it then."

"Oh. . .Mulder. There is something else. I mean, it's 
nothing concrete but I got a phone call from the prison 
this morning. Had a long conversation with Louis Adler. 
He said he's been having some dreams about the night of 
the murder. Absolutely nothing new but he wanted to let 
you know that this is the first time he's been dreaming 
about it since it happened and he's trying to write 
things down in case he finds there is a small detail 
that he forgot to tell you about or that wasn't in the 
court records."

"Great. Do you think you could have them fax me those 
pages? "

"Don't see why not."

"Okay, then. I guess today we are pretty much stuck just 
going over some more paperwork."

"Not me. I've got the ultimate in exciting challenges. 
Sitting outside Ryan's apartment building waiting to see 
if he leaves at any time. Which he won't. Which means, I 
basically watch a door for hours. Hopefully, I'll get to 
see an occasional dog peeing on a doorman--or something 
to break the monotony."


Ryan Wilkins' apartment
March 24, 2000
Midnight

Ryan looked over at the chamber. All the wax was melted. 
It looked a little polluted. Not the clear wax that he 
used on the customers in the spa. But this held a 
multitude of sins and should be murky, he thought.

His eyes hurt. The throbbing in his head had subsided 
but he was a little dazed from the day's over use of 
medication. And, he was tired. So very, very  tired.

Two more days. 

He still had a few arrangements to make. 

Two more days.

And it would be over.

Regency Hotel
1 AM

Mulder was in the shower.  They had worked hard all day 
and took turns napping for an hour or two while the 
other stayed awake. It was more or less a mutual 
decision to go to bed for a few hours.

To bed, or to sleep?

He had no idea.

He knew how tired Scully was and there were signs that 
she was feeling a bit sore from their activities the 
previous night. It had been a really long day. He didn't 
know if he should approach the subject of sleeping 
together this evening. . .thus being somewhat 
presumptuous, or if he should go in the other room and 
let her sleep--risking her feeling unwanted again. He 
smiled. They were totally fucked up.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and walked out of the 
bathroom. Scully was leaning on her side, patting the 
mattress to the left of her.

"You coming, Mulder? After all. . .we are married now." 
She said with a raised eyebrow and great amusement in 
her eyes.

Her eyes. Beautiful, clear blue eyes he had looked into 
a million times. He didn't know where they would go from 
here. He did know that if they never talked about it, 
never had a ceremony, never even moved in with each 
other full-time, he could not feel more "married" to her 
than he did now. There was a spiritual connection 
between them that could never be broken. That seemed to 
be enough to define the word for him.  He walked over to 
the bed, never taking his eyes from hers. He climbed in 
next to her and sealed his mouth over hers, still not 
looking away. She closed her eyes and he lifted his 
hands to the side of her face.

"Look at me, Scully. For as long as you can stand it, 
look at me."

They kissed again, this time with her eyes open as well. 
She found it strangely off-putting to be that close to 
someone's eyes, especially Mulder's. His eyes conveyed 
everything his words often held back. Sometimes, it was 
a bit too much.  She pulled away from his kiss and put 
her fingers gently on his upper cheekbones.

"This is what scared me."

"My face?" He smiled warmly, the golden-green of his 
eyes still not changing.

"This intensity. Your intensity. I thought it would 
swallow me whole."

"And has it?"

"No. I'm still here. I'm just surrounded by you."

He looked at her. 

"I always had the feeling you would be this way," she 
told him.

"You still haven't told me if that's a good thing or 
not," he said softly, running his fingers down her back.

"It's an overwhelming thing but yes, it's good. Very 
good." She took one hand and brushed her fingers through 
his hair. "I'm not the best at saying things you might 
need to hear, Mulder. I'm sorry."

His eyes never left hers. 

"You say everything I need to hear. . .I don't need   
words."

He lowered her to the bed. It was all right. They were 
married now.

Invigoria spa
2 P.M.

Mulder was laying back on the table with a deep blue 
mask on his face. Ryan had been a bit on the quiet side 
and didn't look well. Perhaps he had really been sick 
when he took the day off yesterday.

In any case, he would have to be the one to bring the 
subject up.

"I have to thank you, Ryan."

"You're welcome. What did I do?" Ryan smiled. It was a 
genuine, if tired, smile.

"I thought about what you said. . .you know, the fish 
and cut bait stuff. And, you were right. Katherine does 
mean a lot to me. So the fizz is gone a little. I know 
she's been making plans to try and spice up our lives. 
She thinks it's some big secret but I know she's going 
in soon and getting a few nips and tucks. . .and a 
little padding where nature was stingy. So, maybe we'll 
get back some of what we had at the beginning. But, I 
was also thinking about the future. We've both been so 
busy with our business lives that we are forgetting 
something very important."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"An heir."

"An heir." He repeated flatly.

"Yes. We have this massive business that I inherited and 
made, really. I need to leave this to someone 
eventually. So. . .I think I'm going to talk to 
Katherine about a baby. A young man. . .or woman, if 
she's got as good a head for business as her mother--who 
can take this business on for the next half century or 
so."

Mulder watched as Ryan took a small step back and looked 
Mulder right in the eyes. He hated that. He internally 
steeled himself against Ryan's form of "soul searching" 
and faced his gaze head-on.

Ryan's expression did not change.

Finally, he dropped his gaze.

"The birth of an empire. . .right here in the salon. I 
think that's a first."

Mulder smiled at him for lack of a better thing to do or 
say. 

He had no idea what impression he left on Ryan this 
time.


Regency Hotel
9 P.M.

Scully was on the bed, reading the old files while 
Mulder spread out the files Ed had given him from the 
intended fifth victims. They hadn't been focused on 
much, aside from Ed's original profiling, because no 
actual attempt had been made on their lives.  Mulder 
wanted to make sure there wasn't something they should 
be taking note of. He had read the files the day before 
and found nothing but he was re-reading them again 
today. There was nothing more for them to do at this 
point except hope that some tiny piece of evidence would 
leap out at them.

They worked in silence for quite some time.

"Scully?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did you listen to the tapes from my session with Ryan 
today?"

"Yes, I did." 

"Any impressions?"

She looked up from what she was doing. 

"None at all. I think you sold it well, for what it's 
worth. You had that "I've got a brilliant plan I just 
thought of, even if it makes no sense" excitement in 
your voice."

"And you've heard this tone before?

"Dozens of times. Usually before you tell me about some 
mutant we'll have to chase somewhere."

He laughed.

"So, you think I sold it?"

"I'm not sure. You said he looked at you strangely. But 
he gave no indication of disapproval or anger or 
anything?"

"Nope. Not a clue. Not a flicker of an eyelid or 
anything."

She pursed her lips as she thought.

"That's what the most frustrating thing is, Mulder. In 
most of our cases, we've always got someone to chase. . 
.we've always got things to run down. In this one, we're 
stuck just reading files a hundred times over and 
waiting for. . .well, we don't know exactly what we're 
waiting for. We know what we're hoping for, but there is 
no guarantee that it will happen. It's frustrating."

"It is." He looked down at the paper. "You know, I am 
reading something here and while nothing is striking me 
at all. . .I just have this feeling that there is 
something I'm seeing and not seeing at the same time."

"Okay. Let's review it together. The Bakers--how old?"

"She is 35, he's 37."

"Correct age range. Good. Move on to the next thing. How 
long have they been married?"

"Twelve years."

"Also pretty much the same as the others. Although I 
think that's rather coincidental since Ryan has never 
asked either of us how long we've been married."

"No. That's true."

"How long did they know Ryan?"

"Four months."

"And she was planning on having plastic surgery?" 

Mulder rummaged through his papers. 

"Well, according to Ed's notes. . .yes. She had told 
them that she was seriously considering rhinoplasty and 
had told Ryan about this."

"Rhinoplasty? Well, Mulder. . .are there any medical 
records there?"

"No. None. "

"I think we should get them or have someone get in touch 
with Mrs. Baker."

"Why?"

"Because rhinoplasty is not just done for cosmetic 
reasons. There are many reasons for it. Significant 
medical reasons."

"But Ryan might have thought she was just having a nose 
job for cosmetic reasons."

"Let me see her picture again."

They had both looked before but didn't pay all that much 
attention. He handed her the photograph.

"Mulder. . .this woman does not need a nose job in order 
to look better. She's got a beautiful nose."

"Yes, but she might have told Ryan. . ."

"I think we have to know exactly what she told Ryan."

"Why?"

"Because he might never have planned to kill the Bakers 
at all."

End of Part 9

Hot Wax
Gina Rain/ginarain@aol.com

********************************************* 
Part 10

Invigoria Day Spa
March 25, 2000
4 P.M.

One more chance.

Scully knew she had one more chance to get one of Ryan's 
special invitations and while she was swirling her feet 
in the paraffin, she discovered she didn't have to think 
of a way to wrangle an invitation. It was handed to her. 
. .special delivery.

"You like that, don't you, Katherine?"

"The wax? Oh, yeah. It's great. I wish we could do the 
entire legs. That would feel so good after running 
around Manhattan all day."

"We can. I was actually going to ask you and Bill. I 
have this contraption. . .it's at home. I give special 
treatments in my spare time. It's kind of an entire-body 
paraffin treatment and my customers love it. I don't 
offer it to everyone because. . .well, frankly, I think 
the salon may feel I'm cheating them out of business but 
I charge the rate for the hour you would spend doing 
just your feet here and with those I trust. . .I 
consider it a service to my special customers."

"Wow. I'd love it. And, Bill loves any kind of beauty 
treatment you can imagine." She smiled to herself. "He's 
kind of vain that way."

Ryan looked away.

"I don't think your husband is all that vain, Katherine. 
And vanity is not the problem anyway. Conceit is.  There 
is a difference. Everyone looks in the mirror and has 
flashes of self-doubt, or self-love. It makes no 
difference. It's an opinion. Conceit is a judgment. It 
places you in the role of judge and jury. Turn it toward 
another, and it can bring out the ugliness in even the 
most beautiful of physical specimens."

He turned and faced her, "That doesn't really describe 
your husband at all, does it?"

There were those eyes again. Sad this time. Very, very 
sad.

"I hope it doesn't," Scully replied, trying to lighten 
the mood for some strange reason she couldn't put her 
finger on.

"Well, I'm glad we're going to give him a new treatment 
to talk about and enjoy. Tomorrow. . .my apartment. . 
.I'll write down the address and give it to you on the 
way out. Around noon? Do you think you both can make it 
at that time? I like having these sessions together 
because. . .well, you are in my apartment. . .alone and 
while you may trust me here, and I can assure you that 
you can trust me in my apartment as well. . .still, I 
want to make sure you are completely at ease and it 
offers me protection as well, from any kind of 
harassment suit. These days. . .litigation and all of 
that."

"I understand. Yes, 12 would be fine, I think. If 
there's a problem, just leave your phone number as well, 
all right?"

"Certainly." 

It was done. They had a date with destiny.


Regency Hotel 
10 P.M.

Mulder took the washcloth and was absentmindedly running 
it up and down one of Scully's legs, as it half-hung 
over the edge. 

"You liked that, I gathered?" Mulder whispered in her 
ear.

"I liked it a lot. I think it will take its place up 
there with the all time top ten things to do in a 
bathtub."

He ran his hand between her legs and listened happily 
for her moan. She reached behind her lazily and pulled 
his head to her neck, where he quietly grazed for a 
while.

"So. . .Mulder. What do you think we should wear to our 
date with a serial killer in the last phase of his 
operation?"

"I have no idea. Something trendy, I would imagine. . 
.since longevity is not something we're aiming for in 
this case."

She smiled, but didn't feel the humor. Neither did he. 
This whole case was built on sadness and misery and no 
amount of witticism would take away that sting.

"You a little scared?" He asked her.

"A little."

"Well, I have just been assured by our buddy, Ed, that 
they will be right outside his door while we are inside 
having our special treatment. He certainly can't 
hypnotize or mind-control or whatever the hell he does. 
. .both of us, at the same time. And, that's really not 
the MO, so we're pretty safe. And there will be no less 
than four officers. . .including Detective Johnston 
himself, in this very suite, in strategic, though 
hopefully hidden locations when we get back."

"The closet?"

"More than likely. Or the bathroom. I'm leaving the 
details up to them."

"So. . .hopefully, they will intercept him before he 
plunges the morphine into my system."

"Scully. . .the minute he picks up the syringe. . .he's 
as good as locked up."

"I know, it's just difficult not knowing exactly what 
Ryan does." She looked thoughtful. "Don't you think it's 
strange. . .that from the very first, we all referred to 
him as Ryan. Not "the suspect" or Mr. Wilkins." 

"It's probably a little sad on some level."

"It is. He pretty much determines it by never 
introducing himself with his last name at all. And, I 
don't think it's just a dislike of having his father's 
last name. . .I think he doesn't see himself as a 
"mister," at all. He sees himself as a boy without his 
mom. You know what I mean?" she asked.

He was completely serious when he responded.

"Yes, I guess I do. Childhood must run its course. It's 
very important.  When it's. . .interrupted. . .the 
effects last a lifetime."

She lifted his hand from her leg and held it against her 
chest.

"I wasn't referring to you, just for your information."

"I know, but I'm a conceited bastard. I personalize 
everything."

"Conceit? What was that speech all about Mulder?"

"Some hidden message, no doubt. To me? To you? To 
himself? Who the hell knows? There are things about this 
case, Scully. . .that we might never know. He just might 
not be willing to open up even after we catch him in the 
act."

She was quiet for a while, rubbing the hand she still 
held against her, while his other hand was wrapped 
tightly around her waist.

"We should probably get a few hours of sleep and then 
get up early and prepare. . ."

Yes, that would be a good idea. 6 AM all right with 
you?"

"Fine. Sure."

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"A little life-affirmation before we go to sleep?"

He smiled. Leave it to Scully to come up with a tasteful 
way of putting it. 

"I'm always up for life-affirmation."

She smiled as he playfully pushed his pelvis against her 
backside. Leave it to Mulder to come up with the 
understatement of the year.


Ryan Wilkins' Apartment
11: 50 PM


The hardest part. Pulling out the urn. His father's urn. 
He had never used his ashes before. He felt his father 
was beyond any use to anyone. Ever. But he was wrong. He 
reminded him that there was an arrogance in this world. 
The arrogance born of thinking you were better than 
anyone in this world. He upended the urn and let the 
entire contents float in the wax. 

He went to the mantle and took his mother's urn. She had 
helped a few before her. The urn wasn't quite as full as 
it once was. 

He held the cool metal to his forehead.

"Help me, momma. Please, please help me."

A few tears squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. He 
kissed the urn and opened it. The ashes floated for a 
moment and then gently flowed downwards. He watched 
until his eyes were too blurred to see.


Regency Hotel
March 26
5 A.M.

It was 5 A.M. when they got the call. Scully picked it 
up and talked at length to Genevieve Baker. 
Her rhinoplasty was for a severely deviated septum that 
was interfering with her breathing and giving her bouts 
of dangerous sleep apnea. Ryan knew that. Yes, her 
husband was a bit of a workaholic and could come off as 
a bit of an asshole, but he still was attentive to her 
and did not badmouth her to Ryan. They had many honest 
discussions on that during the last few days. 

Ryan had always been polite and nice and had 
commiserated with her over her one other attempt at 
cosmetic surgery in the past. A breast enlargement that 
had gone wrong when the implant had leaked. Scully put 
down the phone.

"They were not going to be the next victims, Mulder."

"What?" Mulder had been to the bathroom and back and was 
half-dressed by the time she hung up.

"Nope. She was having this nose job for purely medical 
reasons. . .not cosmetic and , unlike the other victims, 
she had had plastic surgery before. A breast job that 
was messed up. She had discussed it with Ryan at one 
point. They both talked about the evils of cosmetic 
surgery done by hacks."

"So. . ."

"So, there is a good chance that Ryan has some other 
couple lined up that Ed might not know about."

"No. That doesn't make any sense, Scully. Ed's been 
watching him for a really long time. No one goes in or 
out of that apartment except the UPS man, and that's 
only for a split second."

She sat back down on the bed. 

"Then, he wasn't planning on killing anyone this year?"

"I can't see that, either."

"So. . .he was waiting for us to make our triumphant 
entry?"

He smirked and picked up a file of faxes from the 
prison. Louis Adler's dreams. He and Scully had read 
them both and they were word for word descriptions of 
the murders as they had already been told. Might as well 
give it another reading. Scully picked up the room 
service menu and looked for something light and fairly 
healthy.

"Wait. Scully. . .look at this."

"What?" She came around to the couch and looked over his 
shoulder.

"Is this an 's'?"

She pulled the file out of his hand and held it closer 
to her face.

"I think. . .I think it might be."

"Shots?  I thought there was only 
one shot."

"Maybe he was writing fast."

Mulder was on the phone to the prison before Scully 
could come up with another possible reason for the 
slight glitch in Adler's handwriting. After about a half 
hour of negotiation with officials, they got the 
prisoner from his cell and put him on the phone.

"What?" Adler's voice was still rough with sleep.

"I was rereading the fax sent to me. About your dream 
Wednesday night. You said. . .I gave her the shots. . 
.more than one shot. Was this just a mistake in writing. 
Think carefully, Louis."

There was silence on the other end for a moment.

"There were two shots. I see myself giving her one, and 
it wasn't enough. I had to give her another. I see 
myself panicking. She had another and everything was 
fine."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"That's all right. . .just. . ." Mulder hung up and 
started dialing another number immediately.

"Ed. . .get in his apartment now. On any pretext 
whatsoever. . .just get in there. We'll be down there in 
ten minutes. If everything is all right we will meet you 
in the stairwell of his floor. . .don't ask. . .just go 
in there."

"Mulder?"

"It makes sense now, Scully. It makes an awful kind of 
sense."


March 26, 2000
6:10 A.M.

They opened the fire door to the fifth floor after 
finding no one at the landing. The sounds of a full-
blown police investigation were already filling the 
quiet hallway. There were six cops, one coroner, and 
several paramedics basically standing around, useless 
for the moment.

Ed met them at the door.

"Case closed, I guess." He moved aside. The glass coffin 
was filled. In it, Ryan lay lifeless. His feet chained 
to a heavy stone block, his wavy hair free from the 
confines of the elastic band, floating around his grey 
face. The blue-green changeable eyes were in one 
position now, with no life reflected in their oceanic 
depths.

Scully and Mulder both closed their eyes briefly. Too 
late. They figured it out too late.

"How did you know?"

"We got a call from the Bakers. They didn't fit the 
profile after all. Not in the right way. And then. . .we 
found out there was a botch up in the last murder. He 
made a mistake and Laura Adler didn't die peacefully. 
Suddenly, his little speech about conceit and paybacks 
and right and wrong all made sense."

They stood in silence as they watched the detectives 
snap random photos of the crime scene and stayed until 
Ryan was lifted out of the wax. It congealed into a mask 
as his cold body hit the air.



The coroner had determined time of death to have 
occurred shortly after midnight. Ryan had injected 
himself with morphine that was probably quite old and 
took longer to work. He had chained himself into the 
coffin-like structure to avoid any possibility of 
changing his mind due to the panic of a slow death. 

He had left behind a video taped confession, carefully 
explaining the mechanics of how he committed the 
murders, essentially freeing the imprisoned men. He went 
to his death believing in the guilt of three of the 
husbands but told the complete story anyway. He also 
gave quite a detailed description of his theories on the 
body and soul of every living creature but that was 
virtually dismissed as the ravings of a madman by almost 
all but Ed Johnston and the visiting DC investigators

Mulder and Scully were left a little memento as well. In 
Ryan's hand, there had been a plastic bag and in the bag 
was a letter addressed to William Fox.

"Dear Bill, 

You are going to probably be hearing a lot of things 
about me in the next few days and essentially, I'm 
writing to let you know that I never had any intention 
of doing any harm to you or to your wife. My purpose in 
life was to alleviate the suffering of a select group of 
women. Women who, like my mother, were prisoners of the 
lives they had chosen. Prisoners of powerful, careless 
men who used them and then treated them as property. 
Property they felt they had every right to tear down.

I had a gift, Bill. From a very young age. It was 
actually a curse. I felt people's feelings so strongly. 
I understood their pain. Especially women's. My mother 
had made the mistake of loving a man that killed her as 
sure as if he wielded a knife and plunged it into her 
heart. I lived with the pain she felt.

I don't know why you lied to me, Bill. . .but you did.  
I knew it almost from the start. I told your wife that 
the body does not lie. You were telling me words that 
your eyes did not convey the truth of. I've tried to 
figure out the whys behind it. Human nature fascinates 
me. But it doesn't matter. You and I, believe it or not, 
share something. I know you had great pain in your life. 
Great guilt. I wasted my life trying to assuage all of 
it. I hope you do not follow in my footsteps.

Love the wife you already love with all your heart. Live 
your life.

--Ryan"

March 28, 2000
9:30 AM

Scully packed the suitcases in the trunk of the car. 
Mulder was still schmoozing with Ed, receiving his 
eternal gratitude and an open invitation to come to New 
York under more amiable conditions.

Scully closed the trunk and joined them.

"And listen. . .while the other two guys are still shell 
shocked and have started some major league therapy to 
get over their feelings of guilt. . .Louis, I think, if 
he ever remarries and has kids will name his first born 
after you two. You can't even imagine the joy he's 
feeling right now. He was released late last night. I 
pulled a few strings."

"Good. Good. I can't help feeling that. . ."

"Mulder. . ." Scully touched his arm and he looked down 
at her and smiled. She knew it hadn't been easy for him 
to discover that he was perhaps the only man Ryan had 
ever made any real connection with.

"I know, Mulder," Ed said. "You want to save the whole 
fucking world. Maybe if he had therapy. . .maybe if he 
had been born to different parents. . .but, you know, 
he's not the first one who had a really, really rough 
childhood. Some people rise above and some people stand 
still and some people. . .go off the deep end. Ryan not 
only went off the deep end, he took people with him. 
Can't save um all, Mulder. If he hadn't botched up last 
year's murder, he would have gone on killing until we 
stopped him. So. . .thank you. You saved lives. That's 
all we can do."

They shook his hand and bid him farewell. Mulder got in 
the driver's seat and Scully strapped herself in with 
her seat belt. Mulder sat there.

"Well? Come on, Mulder. I want to get home as soon as 
possible. We have some more fishing to do."

He smiled but didn't move.

"Mulder?"

He looked out the window and smiled as a bell hop 
brought down the chair they had first made love on.

Scully blushed bright red as it was being put in the 
back seat.

"I paid a pretty penny for that chair, Scully. You know, 
a good fisherman needs good bait."

Scully laughed and reached out her hand to clasp his, as 
it lay on the seat between them.

"The only bait I need is right here, buddy."

"Now she tells me," he tipped the bellboy and pulled the 
car out into the Manhattan traffic.

The End.

Author's Notes:
Once again, thank you, Christina. Reading something for 
enjoyment is one thing. Reading it with a fine-tooth 
comb, is quite another. I can't tell you how much I 
appreciate all your help.
This is my first case file and I think I'd like to 
dedicate this to all the wonderful authors out there who 
have given me so many hours of enjoyment with their own 
case files. Your creativity made me want to try this 
myself. It was a challenge and I thank you for that.
Personally, this one is for Mom. For her endless 
support. . .even if she doesn't quite understand why 
anyone would spend so much time writing something they 
don't get paid for!