"Cardinal Sins"

RATING: PG-13

CONTENT: Angst, case file, nothing much in terms of paranormal

SPOILERS: "The Blessing Way"/"Paperclip", early third season story

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 1 of 7

October 16, 1995

2:03 a.m.

Matthew clutched the thin sheet of faded newsprint in his hand with

white-knuckle intensity. Fingers blackened from ink, face dirtied from wiping

away too many tears, he repeated his mantra, over and over.

"This is for you, Petey. This is for you."

Lifting the pistol, he aimed through tear-filled eyes, though his hand

was steady and strong. One small squeeze, one little tug on the trigger, and it

would end. He convinced himself of this, all those long sleepless nights and

god forsaken days of torture and torment.

An eye for an eye. That's what he remembered from his days of youth

spent on the back porch of his grandfather's house. A tooth for a tooth. Do not

turn the other cheek. Distorted, apocalyptic passages that were used to send the

fear of God into his and his brother's hearts rang true in his mind, like a never-

ending metronome, over and over again.

The distinctive <click> of a cocked pistol filled the shadowy room.

His prey whimpered around the gag in IT's mouth. IT did not deserve the

distinction of a name, only a designation of a creature to be eliminated, like so

much garbage. Matthew did know his prey's name, only too well. Blazoned

across the top of the clipping he carried, the creature's name was well known in

the county of Fairfax, Virginia. They all said he did not do it, lack of evidence,

and other such nonsense. What more evidence did those bastard lawyers need?

But IT would pay now.

With fire and brimstone.

For he was the Angel of Death, the Redeemer, the one to choose who

would live on in the Kingdom, and who would lie tormented in hell's fires.

IT quaked, begged, pleaded, whimpered, cried and choked. Hands and

feet were bound to the chair so tightly that purplish welts surrounded the twine

and duct tape that held IT in place.

"This is for you, Petey."

Matthew pulled the trigger, watched with dull satisfaction as the

plume of blood and brain matter erupted from the back of IT's head. Next, he

shot IT dead center in the chest, followed by first the left shoulder, then the

right.

From his chest pocket, he procured a small crystal vial. Removing the

glass stopper, he studied the red tinted liquid inside, slowly swirling it in small

lazy circles. The neck of the crystal vial was no larger than his index finger,

the opening smaller than a ball point pen. He stepped up to IT, splashing the

contents in a crude sign of the cross down IT's chest and across IT's shoulders.

"In nominae patre..."

.......

Gaelns Plastic

Manassas, Virginia

August 23, 1983

11:35 p.m.

Transmission blown, shocks in dire need of repair, the pick-up rattled

along the dirt road slowly. The bright blue letters and company logo of Gaelns

Plastic was slightly illumined in the moonlight. There were no lamp lights this

far into the back-forty. Bud Forrester had the cab light on, using his innate

knowledge of the back roads to lead him more than his eyes in the little light

provided. Jonas Allen, portly and proud of it, tilted the paper closer towards

the cab light, squinting to read the newsprint.

"Found that kid they was searchin' fer," Jonas commented, licking the

chubby end of his index finger to get a better grip on the page he wanted to

turn. "Over near the river. Addy must be in a state." He didn't know Addy

well, not even his real name; Addy worked for the guys that did security for the

plant.

"Uh huh." The road had a nasty ditch coming up; Bud knew the road

better than anyone, had been out here when Old Mr. Gaelns first bought the

property nearly forty years previous. With all the rain they had had in the past

month, it was bound to be washed out somewhere along its extent.

"Orioles won again." Jonas was not daunted by the sudden change of

momentum as Bud swerved to avoid the wash-out. "Could go the whole way."

"In yer dreams," was Bud's only reply. "Phillies all the way."

"Care to wager on that?"

"It's two months until the series."

"Put your money where your mouth is, buster. Fifty bucks says

Baltimore takes the pennant, and the series."

"You're on. Baltimore Vs Phillies in the World Series. Phillies will

take the first four games."

"It's your money." Jonas looked up from his paper, stared out into the

night. Moonlight glinted off the metallic roofing slates of the storage shed two

hundred feet ahead of them. A lone light bulb shone in the corner of the shack,

providing precious little light compared to the glare coming from the wetlands

just behind it.

Bud pulled up next to the utility shed, left his headlights on to help

light the way to the pond. "Let's get this over with."

Piling out of the cab, Jonas grabbed the drum cart from beside the shed

and wheeled it to the back of the pick-up. Bud climbed into the bed and rolled

an unlabeled 50-gallon drum towards the edge of the truck. Between the two of

them, they were able to man-handle the heavy drum down to the ground and

safely onto the drum cart.

A wooden dock led out into the drainage pond. Jonas wheeled the cart

to the very edge and let gravity take the drum into the row boat. An old gas

motor was attached to the back of the boat. Lumbering in, water spilled into

the boat before he could center himself. A quick pull on the draw cord and the

little 15 horse power engine propelled him slowly to the center of the pond.

It did not take much effort to pitch the drum over the side. The boat

rocked and weaved as it was alleviated of some of its burden. A muffled thud

of metal on metal erupted from beneath the surface of the murky green water.

Jonas didn't hang around to see that it hit bottom. At this point, he really didn't

care. The job was done; he could get back to sleep.

Bud waited for him at the dock. After helping Jonas dock the boat, he

leant him a hand as Jonas stepped onto the dock.

"That's the last run for a while," Bud said with a grunt, hoisting the

boat on shore by its tow rope. "Mr. Granger doesn't want to risk EPA

involvement."

"I thought Granger had them in his back pocket?" Jonas said, wiping

his hands on his shirt tails.

"He does, as far as I know. But there's this new guy on staff. May not

take kindly to the widows and orphans fund."

"More for us, I say."

Bud climbed back into the cab of the pick-up, slammed the door. The

AC had not worked right since '82, so he rolled down the window as far as it

would go. Jonas did the same after he climbed in to the cab. Hauling drums

from the plant to the back pond was hard work.

"Do I want to know what was in those drums?" Jonas asked, tucking

his newspaper under the seat. "That ain't the stuff we normally carry out here."

Bud shrugged his shoulders. "Some new project the boss signed off on

about six months ago. Haven't heard anything else about it since the new

offices were put in. Some synthetic shit. Supposed to revolutionize the

industry."

Jonas let out a loud chuckle. "Which one?"

Bud joined in the laughter as he cut the lights as they approached the

main parking lots. "Buy you a beer at Barney's?"

.......

Washington DC

October 17, 1995

10:17 p.m.

"Surveillance sucks."

Dana Scully looked over at her partner and watched him, bemused.

Fox Mulder was pouting, actually pouting, playing with the cellophane

wrapping around the deli sandwich as if the contents should be quarantined

with the bubonic plague. He stared, bored, out the car window.

"At least the weather has gotten better. No more thunderstorms

headed this way for a while," she said, popping open the soda in her lap.

"Some tradeoff." He threw his sandwich on the dashboard.

"Don't you like tunafish, Mulder? I thought you ate everything," she

mused, sipping her root beer.

It had started out as a joke, after the Tooms case; deli sandwiches and

root beer during car surveillance. Then it was more ritual than anything else.

But what she really wanted was caffeine, and lots of it. Root beer just didn't cut

it, and she did not want to fall asleep, not that she could if she tried.

Restlessness had reared its ugly head, despite the bags under her eyes that told

her mind she needed to sleep.

"What?" he asked, distracted.

"Don't you like tunafish?" she replied behind a yawn.

"Not since I was old enough to know better." Attention drawn to the

offending sandwich, Mulder tossed it in the back seat.

"Is this part of some animal rights, dolphins-trapped-in-nets protest?

You don't seem the type."

Mulder drummed his hands on the steering wheel. Fingers strayed

close to the bag of opened sunflower seeds on the dash. "Last time I had

tunafish-- must have been the fourth grade- I found a roach in the sandwich."

Scully looked down at her own sandwich, appetite lost. "Thanks,

Mulder."

Banging his leg on the brake release, Mulder muttered a few colorful

phrases under his breath. He managed to say a little louder, "Ford Escorts

suck."

"Are we done with our mood swing?" Scully asked, cringing in

sympathy for his bruised shins. If the car was cramped for her, it must be

doubly so for him.

"Are we speaking royally, or have you decided to join in the moan-

groan-whine-bitch fest?" Mulder replied, rearranging his legs again in the

small space. "Surveillance sucks," he said again.

"How did you survive this when you were on wire-tap detail?" Scully

reached behind her for the small cooler. She wrapped the rest of her sandwich,

and laid it and Mulder's to rest in the cooler.

Mulder grimaced as he explored the extent of injury to his shin.

"Creatively. I managed to do some consulting on the side. I'd borrow a case

from the guys in Violent Crimes, jot down my two cents, and hand it back over

at the end of the shift. Unofficially, of course."

"It would have to be."

Mulder looked out the window again. "He's not coming out tonight."

He growled low in his throat, and Scully thought she heard Skinner's name pop

up in a string of physically impossible acts.

A key witness in a Federal investigation in international drug

trafficking had the bad habit of leaving his protective custody detail behind to

do a bit of baby-sitter-free frolicking. Mulder theorized their temporary move

to general assignment was part of some petty punishment scheme devised by

Skinner. Scully had to agree, though her rationalizations about the assignment

did not contain graphic depictions of Skinner tied to the bumper of the Ford

Escort they were given.

At least now they had a conversation piece; not much had been said

that night, both too tired to initiate conversation beyond social etiquette. This

would at least pass the time.

"So, did you find anything interesting in the casefiles you pilfered?"

"Not much. A few kidnappings, a few murders," he replied,

nonchalantly. "Though one in particular ... we managed to trace his psychosis

back to a terror of turnips, if you can believe that."

"Right, c'mon," Scully started, unsure if he was pulling her leg or not.

It was hard to tell at times with Fox Mulder.

"No, really. The man apparently had some sort of phobia centered

around turnips. He was killing farmers."

"You're serious."

"Absolutely. His mother force-fed them to him as a child."

Scully shook her head. Ever the disbeliever. "That's very, very weird,

Mulder."

"C'mon, Scully, weren't there foods you wouldn't eat as a child? And

if your parents force-fed them to you, wouldn't you come to hate them more?"

Scully sat thoughtfully for a moment, using the distraction to check the

front door once again. "I hate mashed potatoes."

"Scully, you're Irish. How can you hate mashed potatoes?"

Smiling at the memory, she relayed, "Whenever I was sick with a sore

throat, my mother fed me mashed potatoes. I figured out later that's where she

hid the medicine. That didn't bother me so much as eating them for a week

straight when I had my tonsils out. I haven't been able to eat them since I was

six."

"What, no ice cream? I thought ice cream was a prerequisite for

tonsillectomies."

"Missy's - was- allergic. Mom didn't buy it on a regular basis." She

tucked her jacket closer around her body, frowning; she was thankful a cold nip

of air seeped through the inadequate doorframe of the Escort. Leave it to the

Bureau to set up a safehouse where a nice Saturn would seem highly out of

place, but it covered the trail of unhappy thoughts well enough to keep away the

platitudes she did not want to hear. "How about you? Any other food

phobias?"

"Hmm." He shifted position again, managing to miss the brake release

this time. "My mother used to make peach preserves every year. I hated the

taste, but ate them anyway."

"The peaches, or the preserves?"

"Either. Both."

"How--" She stopped mid-reply when a yawn caught her off guard.

Mulder looked at his watch, stared comically at her. "It's only 10:30.

You can't be tired yet."

"Sorry."

Stretching as much as possible in the limited space, Mulder opened his

window to let in a bit more fresh air. "Didn't get much sleep, eh?" he asked,

taking a deep cleansing breath. He stared at her through half lidded eyes and

noticed the dark circles under her own. "Bad night?"

Scully only nodded, but he suspected there was more to the story. He

didn't push, though. He had learned on numerous occasions that she was as

tight-lipped about her personal demons as he was about his own. Workload

was the most likely suspect, he decided. On more than one occasion, he had

caught her staring off blankly, on the verge of falling asleep. Scully had been

asked to fill-in for the agent that taught forensic science at the Academy, on top

of a packed case-load. It did not pay to put off paperwork.

"Why don't you catch a snooze in the back seat. It doesn't take two to

watch Waldo here."

"No, I'm too wired. Besides, it's your turn to choose the game.

Twenty questions or Where's the Felon?"

Mulder didn't get a chance to answer as a man in a tan trenchcoat

passed by their car and shoved a piece of paper through the open window.

Mulder reached to the floorboards where the slip of paper landed. He read it

quickly, then handed it to Scully as he started the car, minus the headlights.

Scully watched in the rearview mirror as another car pulled up behind

them. "Shift change is a little early, isn't it," she commented as she opened the

note.

"New case, Scully. Priority rating." He waited until he reached the

end of the block before turning on his headlights. "Must be important if

Skinner's the one to direct us there."

"Feeling a little guilty about telling him to stick this assignment where

the sun don't shine, Mulder?"

"I never said that to his face."

"No, but you were thinking it."

"Completely different concept. Guess this means we miss Jackie's

dedication." Mulder made another turn, and they were headed to the highway.

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 2 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Fairfax, Virginia

October 17, 1995

11:13 p.m.

"And Skinner gave you no reason, no explanation?" Scully asked as

she thumbed through the file. The note left by the relief agent told Mulder to

stop by the front desk in the Hoover building to pick up relevant case

information, the three inch file that Mulder had unceremoniously dumped in

her lap when he returned to the car. Skinner himself was there to deliver the

information.

Mulder crunched on another seed as he slowed for the exit ramp. "Just

that we were requested by the SAC on site. Our reputation has preceded us."

The crime scene was a twenty minute drive from the Hoover building,

most of which was spent searching through the file for what was so important

to pull them off surveillance detail.

"Well, it says here," Scully continued, picking up a police report, "that

this is the third incident of death by unusual circumstances following a violent

altercation with the assailant. Assailants in the other cases were declared dead

at the scene of cerebral hemorrhage. In Gainsville, Virginia, eyewitnesses said

that a Mr. Alan Jenkins was walking down the street when he suddenly

attacked an older couple with a piece of lead pipe. Jenkins immediately went

into convulsions and died on the spot."

"What about the other victim?" Mulder asked, turning into the

residential neighborhood where the crime took place.

Scully skipped through about half of the stack of papers sitting in her

lap to find the police report. "Uh, Thomas Jones, vagrant. Baltimore police

say that they approached the man after he accosted several young people in the

park. After ranting and screaming for several minutes with police near the

playground, he shook violently and took a header off the monkey bars. Ten

minutes later he was pronounced dead, cause of death later determined to be a

cerebral hemorrhage."

"Any connection between the two?"

"None that the investigators have been able to make," she replied. "No

pattern to the incidents, either. Alan Jenkins died nearly three months ago.

Thomas Jones died two weeks after that. No other unsolved murders fit the

MO. Whoever put this casefile together is thorough, though. There may have

been no other murders or mysterious deaths, but there is a higher percentage of

aggravated assault charges in the tri-state area. There's a list of complaints and

statements made by both victims and assailants in here."

"Maybe someone's unhappy with the way the baseball season ended,"

Mulder mused. "Any sign of toxin or poison?"

"Toxicology indicated nothing stronger than over the counter

antihistamines in one case, and severe alcohol abuse in the other."

"I've seen you after an allergy attack; I wouldn't be surprised to find

you'd gone on a psychotic streak if you couldn't find your Benadryl." His eyes

twinkled with amusement. Scully was so easy to pick on, and she let him do it.

Not that she hadn't thrown a few zingers his way, though not lately. <She must

really be tired.>

The normally quiet residential area was wide awake at the unearthly

hour. Police lights rotated red and blue beacons across the flat front faces of

two story suburbanian houses in a strange, hypnotic dance. Mulder carefully

maneuvered around gawking neighbors and busy bodies. He flashed his badge

at the officer on traffic duty and was allowed to drive past the barricade.

The only free place to park was a space about the size of a dumpster.

To beat that, it was next to a low slung tree, the top of the car barely clearing

the lower-most branch. Mulder expertly wedged the car in to the tight space,

leaving the keys in the ignition. He pointed at the tree truck near the right

front wheel well. "Watch yourself."

Scully stared at him with barely restrained condescension, when the

grin left her face. The light from the flashing sirens cast an unearthly glow on

her face. Mulder's hand stayed at the door handle, worry marring his features.

"Scully?"

** ... the lights went dim, a night-cutting beam of a neon flashlight

bounced off a metal wall... **

She shook her head after a moment, noticing his concern. "What?"

Mulder thought he imagined it; maybe he did. "You know,

daydreaming on company time is strictly forbidden. It's in the bylaws

somewhere." Maybe joking about it, making light of the situation, would let

her open up to him. All she had to do was say the word and he'd pull as many

strings to get her out of Quantico duty. Despite how much she loved teaching,

the strain was showing and she was not having a good time.

"If you've been reading the bylaws, then you have less of a life than I

thought," she said, smiling wanly as she pushed open her door.

Mulder eyed her warily as he opened his own. She quickly dismissed

whatever had just happened, and was walking up to the officer in charge.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hustled to catch up to her, unconsciously

moving his pocketed right hand to the small of her back.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, " Mulder introduced as they walked.

"What have you got?" Mulder had to bellow over the noise to be heard. He

extracted a hand to lift the yellow police tape high enough so that Scully easily

walked under it, while he still had to duck. The agent in charge was standing

on the front lawn amidst two plastic-covered bodies.

The agent shook their hands respectively. "Michael O'Donnell,

Baltimore Violent Crimes. Hope I didn't pull you two from something

important." His sarcastic tone was not lost on Mulder or Scully.

"Do you have an ID yet?" Mulder asked, pointing at the array of stiffs.

O'Donnell walked to the body farthest from them, pointed down at the

arms that were not quite covered by the plastic sheet.

"James Cooper, of Gainsville, Virginia. Found a wallet in his jacket,

no money, no cards. Driver's license expired three months ago."

"Gainsville? The first murder occurred there," Mulder replied.

"What's he doing so far from home?"

Apparently, O'Donnell had made that connected already. He nodded

tiredly. "You've read the case file?" he asked.

"Only took a glance at it. Why don't you fill us in on the details?"

Mulder said, placating to the man's experience on the case. Since meeting the

man, he knew someone stepped on some pretty sore toes, and had O'Donnell

call them in for assistance. Mulder himself didn't like it when another agent

was assigned to assist him and Scully without their consent.

O'Donnell seemed to deflate a bit as he walked the crime scene.

"Victim number one, Victoria Tessel, homemaker. According to witnesses, she

was walking home from the corner store with her two children when a man,

Cooper, jumped from behind a tree and started to harass her. The children ran

to a neighbor's house, one Mr. Patrick D'Nadio, victim number two. Cooper

had a straight razor, attacked Mrs. Tessel. Mr. D'Nadio confronted Cooper,

managed to get the straight razor away from him. Then Cooper found this."

O'Donnell held up a tree branch. Blood stained the end of it.

"Can we see the bodies?" Scully asked.

O'Donnell nodded. "ME has already done his bit. We're just waiting

for the wagon. Ours broke down on the way here. We've called in another

ambulance to transport the bodies to the County Morgue." He walked them

over towards the side of the house where the bodies were.

"There are only two bodies here," Mulder said, letting Scully have the

honor of viewing the bodies. "Someone survived?"

O'Donnell nodded. "Barely. Mrs. Tessel was taken to County General

along with her children. Broken arm, skull fracture, cuts to her forearms and

chest. Not a pretty picture."

The consummate professional, Scully did not lose face when she

peaked under the linen and plastic sheets. Mulder had to turn away, turning a

queasy shade of green. He chose to watch the ME drink coffee with the

homicide detectives near one of the patrol cars. O'Donnell continued his

narrative of the crime scene.

"Mr. D'Nadio was declared dead at the scene by the ME. Multiple

head wounds, possible broken spinal cord."

The body was lying face up, neck bent at a not-normal angle. There

were slashes across the arms as expected when defending from a knife attack.

One slash across the left cheek was oozy with blood. The right side of the

head was caved in from multiple blows. Pieces of bark were caught in the

victim's hair.

"He bled to death before anyone could get to him," Scully said,

standing up to walk to the other body.

"It seems you have everything under control here, Agent O'Donnell."

Mulder plunged his hands deep into his coat pockets. "Why call us in?"

"Because rumor has it that you two are good, and like it or not, I need

help here. I'm not a proud man, I admit it when I need help. But I haven't got

a clue on this case." He and Mulder followed Scully to the body of the

assailant.

"I've been working this case for almost three months now. Not much

to go on, but I have this gut feeling that these three cases are related."

"And we've been known to go out on a limb or two, right?" Mulder

added. "You want another opinion to back up your own."

Scully pulled back the sheet from the second body; Mulder refrained

from looking at all. He could deal with pictures with clinical detachment;

actual crime scenes left him nauseated. It started to drizzle; Mulder groaned.

Rain was the last thing he wanted.

This time the body was lying face down, arms braced over head.

Blood covered the entire left side of the face; brain matter, and a lot of it, was

not far behind. There was no other sign of trauma to the body.

"It looks like he's lost a couple of pints of blood. Only an autopsy will

tell, but I have a hard time believing this man died of just an aneurysm," Scully

said, wiping her hands together. "This amount of blood loss and brain matter--

I don't know. An aneurysm seems too easy an explanation."

"Which is exactly why I asked you two to come." He started to walk

away from the center of the scene, away from the police radios and general

buzz of bystanders. O'Donnell stopped under the spotlight of a street lamp.

The light drizzle haloed around his head. "Walter Skinner speaks highly of

you two."

Mulder stepped back in feigned astonishment. "Skinner? Spoke

highly of us?"

Scully elbowed him in the side without losing a stride. "Why us,

though? There must be over half a dozen other agents in VCS that can do this

job."

"Not with your credentials. Walter and I go way back to our Academy

days. I told him about the case after the second incident. You've both done

work out of the Baltimore field office, with that Tooms case and all. You did

good work. I know you'll find whatever we're missing. Walter agreed."

Mulder hunkered down inside his trenchcoat, pulling and tugging at

the collar in order to keep out the rain. "You're the agent of record. What do

you think has happened?"

O'Donnell hesitated, turned his face up into the falling mist. "I have

no proof," he said slowly, "but I think they were poisoned. By whom or by

what, I don't know. But it's the only explanation I can think of, the only logical

choice."

"What about the other autopsy reports?" Scully asked, drawing her

coat tighter. "Was there any sign of poisoning, as you suspect?"

"No, but I don't trust these country yokels out here. These are good

old boys that report the obvious. If they have to dig, they send the bodies

elsewhere. All the signs of cerebral hemorrhage were there, and that's what

was gathered in the report. I know you're a forensic pathologist, Agent Scully.

I was wondering if you could run the autopsy on this one."

"If you can arrange to have the body sent to Quantico tonight, I can

have a report ready by tomorrow afternoon."

O'Donnell nodded. "Just what I wanted to hear. Agent Mulder, you

have a copy of my reports concerning the other victims." It was a statement

rather than a question. Mulder nodded. "I have a friend in the DC office who

says you're the best at these things. Anything you can find will be a godsend."

"We'll do what we can, Agent O'Donnell." He watched as the Prince

William County Coroner's truck drove up to the curb nearest the body. The ME

talked shop with his colleague as they found a few helpers in the police crowd

to help with the bodies.

"I've asked Gainsville Census Bureau to fax me what they know about

him. Whatever they find, I will send to you."

Mulder reached into his pocket and extracted a business card. "Here's

my number. We'll keep you updated on whatever we find."

"Thanks, I appreciate this." O'Donnell shook his hand.

Someone across the lawn called, "Agent O'Donnell."

O'Donnell turned towards the voice, then smiled at Mulder and Scully.

"If you will excuse me..."

Mulder nodded. O'Donnell trotted across the lawn to the person who

called him. A moment of silence passed before he leaned down and asked

Scully quietly, "So, what do you think?"

"I don't know. Yet. Let me stress that-- I don't know anything yet. I

want to do the autopsy before I say anything to the validity of Agent

O'Donnell's poisoning theory."

"Sounds plausible to me."

"Mulder, anything with an ounce of truth sounds plausible to you.

Look, I'll reserve an autopsy bay for 7 a.m. tomorrow. Think you can manage

in the office without me?"

"Who? Me?" Mulder directed her towards their car. "I'll drop you off

at home, and then get rid of this tin can. I'll see what else I can dig up on the

other victims."

Scully opened her car door as she said, "Sounds like a plan."

.......

Nashville, Tennessee

11:46 a.m.

Matthew fingered the small wooden cross that was strung around his

neck. The rawhide strap that held it in place was worn and knotted, greasy

from repeated handling. His grandfather told him the wood came from the

cross Christ carried to Golgotha himself. He carried the necklace with him

always. Three small carpenter's nails were embedded in the soft wood, one

each at the ends of the cross beam and the base of the pillar. A small hole was

drilled at the top; his grandfather said it was to signify the hole in the universe

when Christ left the world.

Pontius Pilate washed his hands of the case, just as the judge had in

the trial. The judge had to be punished. The arbiter of so-called justice would

be judged in the court of the Lord. The Other decreed it.

An eye for an eye.

He watched as the young man walked along the darkened street. Most

of the lamps along the sidewalk had not been working for well over a month, in

an effort to save county dollars. All the more useful.

He was tall, lean. Dark brown hair hung as long bangs across

forehead, curling tightly near the base of his neck. He brushed the offending

bangs off of his forehead as he walked. It was a brisk walk, long strides,

quickened pace. A backpack was slung carelessly over one shoulder, its weight

slightly tugging at the shoulder of the windbreaker he wore.

Matthew knew the routine. He had watched the young man for

months prior to the great event, as prophesied to him in his dreams. Always on

schedule. Straight home from work at the Science Library of Vanderbilt

University. Basketball or sometimes volleyball on Wednesday night, but

always the same schedule regardless.

The bottle of chloroform was heavy in his pocket. Should keep him

out for two hours, he reasoned. Just enough time. Slowly he withdrew it, along

with the cotton cloth he brought with him. Liberally dampening the cloth, he

waited for his quarry to come closer.

.......

Washington, DC

October 18, 1995

3:42 a.m.

No matter how much she tried, Dana Scully could not fall asleep. Too

many thoughts were careening through her head at warp speed to give her mind

any peace. Too much to do, not enough time to do it in, the usual run of

excuses she used when insomnia struck. She thought of Mulder, and wondered

how he could live as a virtual insomniac and still function like a normal person.

Well, maybe normal wasn't the right word. She felt like death warmed over

every morning, and would have had coffee administered intravenously if she

could get away with it. Less messy, she convinced herself the other morning

when her mug developed a magnetic attraction to her pant suit.

The usual sleep aides were not working: warm milk left her queasy,

and reading only tired her eyes. When she was younger and unable to sleep,

her father always sang her to sleep. <Well, that's not going to happen tonight,>

she thought, rather bitterly. The music selection on the clock radio only

annoyed her, and there was nothing on television worth her attention.

There was always the Sominex in the medicine cabinet, but she did not

want to go that route again. After Pfaster, it had been bad. <It was bad before

Pfaster. Let's not kid ourselves.> On more than one occasion, she had relied

on over the counter sleep aides to get through the night. It wasn't that bad, yet.

She had even gone so far as to check the soft water inlet to her

building. Just in case. No such luck, her sleeping problems were her own.

"Okay, brain, shut off," she said aloud, bed side lamp on, book in hand

but laying face down on her stomach. She shut her eyes, concentrated on

breathing slowly, trying to con her body into thinking she was sleepy. But

thoughts continued their run-away freight train impersonation.

The flash of light off the car hood, it must have reminded her of their

many times in a darkened room, Mulder turning with that too damn bright

flashlight he loved so much, saying 'watch yourself' in that oh so cocky way of

his.... Simple deja vu, that's all it was. Just like earlier in the parking lot to get

the Ford Escort for that night's detail, and the week before when Mulder came

running into the office with an elfish grin, having just confused the pants off

some green as grass agent in the hallway. Just like before he came back from

New Mexico, that surreal dream where he said he had come back from the dead

to continue their work, how he had warned her of the danger which lay ahead.

If only she had realized it then, maybe Melissa would still be alive.

"No! Do _not_ go down that road again."

She sat up. There had to be something that would hold her attention

for at least a little while, long enough to distract her from the video play back of

memories that threatened to start up once again. She had worked herself hard

for the past six months; work was the best remedy, always had been.

The last six months had been very stressful, a large portion of it self-

imposed. It all started with that damn tape, its whereabouts still unknown. She

had almost killed Skinner over that tape. She hadn't liked herself much then,

and she certainly not now thinking about it. There wasn't a day that went by

when she didn't think of that time, if only a second of it. Work helped those

moments pass quickly; the guilt, the sadness, the anger that still boiled deep

inside.

"You've been hanging around Mulder too long," she told herself,

getting out of bed to head for the living room.

The rationalization still did not deter the creepy feeling she had; not

about her father, not about Melissa, not even about her own disappearance. She

had accepted those things, maybe not willingly, but she did not deny that they

had happened, and that maybe she could have prevented some of it if she had

read the signs right, if she had even tried to in the first place.

The remote control was no where to be found. Checking the coffee

table, then the tv, she went to the next most logical place, under the sleeping

form on the couch. The dog, inherited after a recent case, had taken over the

afghan she normally kept over the back of the couch. Now it served as a sort of

nest in the corner, and the Pom had taken to burying the remote within the folds

of the blanket.

"Hey, you, get up." She pulled on the edges of the afghan to wake the

still nameless Pom. "I'm not going to be the only one awake."

She clicked on the power, started to surf until an old black and white

show caught her attention. William Shatner, an airplane, a gremlin at the

window. Mulder would be impressed. The Pom settled on her stomach and

chest, falling back into sleep easily.

"You've got to teach me that trick, pooch."

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 3 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Quantico, Virginia

October 18, 1995

10:25 a.m.

There was a solid knock on the lab door. Scully looked up, and pulled

down the safety glasses she wore for a better look-see at the visitor staring back

at her through the tiny door window. Smiling, she waved him in.

Mulder held up a manila folder, waved it in the air as he walked

towards her desk in the corner. He took a seat and propped his feet on the

corner of the desk. "Guess what I have here?"

Replacing her glasses, Scully turned back towards the autopsy table

and pointed at the microphone dangling above. "Mic's still on, Mulder. Watch

what you say."

She knew he was opening his mouth to say something crude, and

quickly shut him up with a glance. Then she noticed his suit. It had second-

day-wrinkle written all over it. "Didn't you go home last night?" She reached

for the microphone and turned it off. Whatever he had in his hand had to be

good to justify an all-niter.

"Drove by here last night after I dropped you off, and started foraging

through the company computers." He was looking at her curiously, probably

noting the dark circles under her eyes that she was unsuccessful at hiding that

morning. "Another bad night? Look, I can pull some strings--"

She shook her head 'no', but quickly added, "Quit mothering me, will

you? I had too much coffee yesterday afternoon. It happens." She avoided his

eyes, and nodded towards the manila folder in his hands. "So, what did you

find?"

Mulder grimaced at the sudden change in conversation topic, but kept

his comments to himself. For that she was grateful. He held up the folder.

"James Cooper has been a busy little boy. Twenty separate accounts of

aggravated assault, battery, disrupting the peace. He's been in and out of

county jails all across the state for the last six months. Depositions from family

and friends that still acknowledged his existence said his behavior had been

erratic for well over a year."

"Any reason?"

"None that anyone can find. Last steady job he had was as a

construction worker for Fairfax County, tearing down a complex of warehouses

on the old Gaelns Plastic property. Foreman for the company hasn't seen him

in three months."

"Find any connection between Cooper and the others?"

"Glad you asked me that, Scully. Alan Jenkins, formerly of the

Virginia DEC-- his last project was an on-site evaluation of Gaelns Plastic

storage facilities. Apparently there was some sort of underground spill a few

years back. Lawsuits forced the company to file for bankruptcy last year. No

such luck for Thomas Jones."

"So, what does that tell you, Sherlock?"

"That I haven't found what I'm looking for yet. How much more you

have to do here?"

Scully watched as he stood and paced the room. Whenever the subject

on the autopsy table was something of unearthly origins, he had no problem

standing over her shoulder like a hawk. However, whenever the subject was

human, or what once resembled a human, his face took on a distinctly green

pallor. He never once looked at the body on the table. Well, except that one

time with Krycheck, but she assumed he did it to show off.

Covering the corpse with a white sheet, she pulled off her latex gloves

and protective glasses. "I was just going to look at a few blood and tissue

samples."

Mulder almost raced to the lab bench and sat on the stool opposite the

microscope. Scully stared after him suspiciously. "Why are you here? I told

you I would meet you at the office after I was finished."

"I'm hiding from Skinner."

As Scully sat at the binocular microscope, she stopped to adjust the

height of the stool, surprised that it had changed. After so many years at

Quantico, the teaching bay had become as near a second home as their

basement office in the Hoover building. Her desk, from the time when she first

taught at the Academy and then again when the X-files had been disbanded,

still stood in the corner. No one had had the heart to evict the personal touches

she had added to the room; the old coffee maker in the corner, the cushion on

the wooden desk chair. She had been back often enough that it never seemed

necessary.

"May I ask why?"

She fastened the first slide to the stage, flipped the light switch,

playing with the focus and aperture of the lenses with practiced ease. A hand

went instinctively to a pad of paper to the right of the microscope and the pen

lying atop of it. She stared through the right binoc with her left eye as she

jotted down notes. She didn't appear to be staring at either the paper or the

through the microscope eyepiece, but at a point between the two.

"How the hell do you do that?"

She looked up, confused as to the nature of the inquiry. "What?"

"Stare through the scope and write at the same time? You have to

teach me that trick the next time I do a search in the microfiche library."

"Left eye strong. Plus legible handwriting. You should try it

sometime." She turned back to her slide, moving it slowly on the stage. "You

didn't answer my question."

"Skinner's looking for the 302 from our last case."

"You did file it, didn't you?" When he didn't answer, she looked up.

He was hiding sheepishly behind his manila folder. "Where did you put it,

Mulder?"

"I swear, it was on my desk." Scully glowered at him. He caved. "I'll

look for it. It has to be there someplace." Eager to latch onto another topic of

conversation, he grabbed the first few pages of her report. "So, what did we

find?"

Without looking up from the microscope, she reached over and

grabbed the sheets from him. "'We' have found that this man did not die of any

normal cerebral hemorrhage."

Mulder rolled his hands in a forward direction. "Which means,

what?"

"It's as if all of the blood vessels in his body lost cohesion and

deteriorated. If I didn't know better, I would say his internal organs exploded."

"Excuse me? His organs exploded? Isn't that a little extreme?"

Scully pointed towards the cadaver under the white sheet. "Care to

examine the evidence yourself?"

Mulder physically paled at the thought. "No thank you."

"Whatever it was, it shouldn't have happened. There was nothing in

Cooper's medical history to suggest such deterioration of the blood vessels in

his body. There was massive internal bleeding within most of the major

organs. If the seizure didn't kill him, the sudden loss of blood would have."

"So, what are you saying? That his body up and decided, 'I think we'll

blow all our arteries today'?"

"I'm saying that it is too early to tell." Scully jotted down a few notes,

changed slides once, twice. She wrote down more scribbles in some shorthand

that Mulder decided would take cryptography years to crack. "I sent tissue

samples out to have analyzed to back-up whatever I find here, have a toxicology

screen done. The extent of damage done to most of the organs precludes a

simple answer, especially if we consider poisoning as a possible cause of

death."

"Is it possible?"

"As of yet, I rule out nothing, but I think Agent O'Donnell's suspicions

are on the money. My guess, it's probably a cyanide derivative, or possibly

heavy metal. Violent convulsions is symptomatic of cyanide poisoning. The

amount of necrosis that had set in prior to death suggests poisoning over a long

period of time. I'll have to run more test to figure out exactly what poison."

Mulder rifled through the files sitting within arms' length of the

microscope. He picked out two medical examiner reports on the previous

victims. "Why wasn't this seen in the previous two autopsies?"

Scully changed slides again. "In the Thomas Jones case, alcohol

induced ulcer and liver damage probably did more harm than any poison. Alan

Jenkins was undergoing treatment for an aneurysm in his left lung before his

incident. He left the hospital the night before a scheduled operation. Probably

no one thought to look any farther than the obvious. Mr. Cooper here is the

healthiest corpse of the three. Makes my job easier."

"So what are you looking at now?"

"Tissue samples: liver, brain, kidneys, pancreas. I found evidence of

anemia in the blood and tissue samples I examined earlier. Again, no current

or family history of such a condition."

Mulder picked up a vial of clear liquid. "Do I want to know what this

is?"

"Depends. How squeamish are you today?" Scully grinned behind the

microscope.

Mulder eyed her appreciatively. "Pathologists have a deplorable sense

of humor."

"You have a deplorable sense of taste. I found your video collection

again, sitting under the light table. Talk about stomach turning."

"So, what is it?" he asked, gearing his stomach for something

disgusting.

"Cerebral fluid." Mulder made a face. "Now this is interesting."

"What?" Mulder continued to stare at the vial, swirling it around, the

frown slowly disappearing.

Scully looked through her assortment of slides again, picking out

another one of the liver tissue samples. "Colloidal iron in the liver and kidney.

It shouldn't be here."

"Aren't iron solutions used to treat anemia?"

"But he hasn't had any such treatments. My first guess would be

hemochromatosis, but there was no cirrhosis of the liver, no sign of diabetes, no

bronzing of the skin typical of such a condition." She looked up from the

microscope. Her gaze was unfocused, drifting.

Mulder held up a hand in front of her face, waved it once, twice with

no reaction. It was the second time that week she had spaced out on him.

"Hey, Scully--"

** ... the flash of light was brighter than the sun, the suddenness of it

frighteningly fast, there was a loud BANG...**

Scully jumped in her seat, stumbling as she regained her balance.

"You okay?"

"Fine, Mulder. Just ... thought I heard something, out in the hall."

Mulder frowned, not at all convinced. "Okay... Anyway, didn't you

say--"

"Heavy metal poisoning is a possibility," she finished with him.

"Jinx," Mulder automatically replied. "And they call me Spooky.

Lack of sleep must have made you psychic."

Scully paled, but only for a second. "No, you're predictable."

"Then I'll just have to change a few habits on you." He went back to

studying the vial of fluid. Then he stood up and lightly pushed on her shoulder.

"Scoot over. I want to check something out."

"What?" She stood up from the stool, and he quickly took her place,

hunching unnaturally over the microscope. He tried to place the vial on the

stage itself, but to no avail. "That's not going to work, Mulder."

"I figured that out," he answered sarcastically. "Do you have a magnet

in here?"

Puzzled, Scully walked over to the small cubic refrigerator under the

desk and pulled a small, cylindrical magnet along with a number of paper notes

from the door. "What is it you think you see?" she asked as she followed him

over to the sink.

Mulder scrounged through drawers and cabinets, removing a ten

milliliter pipette from a sterilized paper bag. "Where are the, ah--" His face

skewered when he couldn't remember the name of the thing he was looking for.

His fingers mimicked a squeezing motion.

Scully picked up what looked like a thick rubber balloon and tossed it

to him. "Thanks," he said, and she watched as he fitted the rubber bulb over

the pipette.

She joined him near the sink, wondering what he was so interested in

inside the vial. "Here, take this." He handed her the pipette assembly, and took

the magnet.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Mulder placed the magnet near the side of the vial, slowly circling the

base of the glassware. A dark swirl followed his motions. The corners of his

mouth turned up in a slight hint of a smile. "What do you make of that?"

He tilted the vial and drew as much of the dark swirl to the base as he

could with the magnet. Taking the pipette, he extracted some of the dark stuff.

He then transferred it to a glass slide, put on a cover slip, and handed it to

Scully. "What do you know about migratory birds?"

Scully looked at the slide dubiously and slowly walked over to the

microscope bench. "Are you trying to tell me Cooper's psychotic episode was

part of some migration pattern?"

"Some scientists believe that humans are just as affected by the earth's

magnetic field as birds and bumble bees."

Slipping the slide on the microscope stage, Scully readjusted the focus

in order to see clearly. "Other than a few awe inspiring light shows up north..."

"What about the dowsing response?" Mulder hovered behind Scully's

shoulder as she began her search of the slide.

"The connection between underground water sources and divining

rods has not been scientifically proven. Besides which, unlike pigeons, no

magnetic substances have been found in human brain tissue."

"But there are documented cases of the dowsing response, as well as a

number of common practices where interior design is based on magnetic

direction. Some people have been known to sleep better when lying in a north-

south direction. I once read about an experiment where twenty blind subjects

were taken out onto a deserted road and told to find their way home as a test

of human sensitivity to the magnetic field."

Scully looked up. "And how many actually made it home?"

Mulder shook his head, argument lost on that point. "Doesn't matter.

So, what's in the slide?"

She pushed away from the microscope to let him have a look. "It does

look like something iron-like. But I'm not a mineralogist, so I can't tell you

what it is. It is not, however, what you would find in the liver and kidneys

from excess colloidal solutions. These grains have a distinctive shape to them.

Hemosiderin does not."

Mulder took a few minutes to look at the slide. "These almost look

hexagonal. I wonder what formed them?"

"Well, I can send it to a friend of mine over in University of

Maryland's Geology department. He may be able to identify these crystals for

us."

"Ever read trade novels, Scully?"

"Not exactly prime reading material there, Mulder."

Mulder pulled up another stool and took a seat. "I read this one book,

_Ice Trap_, by L.A. Graf. In essence, it went into how offworlders were

affected severely when the planet's magnetic field began to rapidly flip back

and forth. I think what tipped off the good guys was a correlation between

psychotic incidents and ion storms."

"Mulder," Scully started, full into lecture mode, "That is science

fiction. The magnetic field takes hundreds, maybe thousands of years to flip."

"Even that is up for debate. I read another article where this one

researcher thinks he has found a lava flow with an entire magnetic reversal in

it, a flow that took at most two weeks to build. But enough of that. You have

to agree that in science fiction, there is an element of fact. Besides, _Ice Trap_

was written by a bunch of geologists. There must be some kernel of truth

there."

"So, what is your theory this time?" Scully prompted. It looked like he

was gearing up for a good explanation this time.

"What if, just what if, there was a considerable amount of magnetic

material in this guy's brain, heavy metal poisoning as you suggest. Remember

the rash of electrical storms we had back in July? They coincide with the

psychotic episodes of Jones and Jenkins. Cooper goes ballistic after this most

recent electrical storm. What of there really is a connection? What if the ionic

disturbances in the atmosphere are having an adverse affect on the population?"

"Other than the doldrums?" Scully cut off Mulder before he could

start in with another tirade. "Mulder, even you have to admit, that's stretching

the definition of extreme possibility."

Mulder contemplated that for a second, then conceded, "Okay, maybe,

but you have to admit, it was original." He waggled his eyebrows comically.

Scully glared at him as he beamed. Sometimes she thought Mulder

could out-talk a used car salesman and win at his own game. But her argument

was cut short by a ringing telephone. She wheeled backwards until she within

arm's reach of the receiver. "Scully... Yes, sir... Yes, he is, sir... Sir, Agent

Mulder is-- ... Yes, sir... Right away, sir."

Mulder cringed with each 'sir' uttered. Only one person elicited that

many 'sir's from Scully, with the possible exception of some of her father's navy

friends that frequently checked in on her.

Scully hung up the phone. "Care to guess who that was?"

Skinner, Mulder didn't say. "How long do I have?"

"Thirty minutes. If you start back now, you might just make it with

this traffic." She propelled herself behind the desk, flipping on the computer

and desk lamp. "I have a report to type up, you have a filleting from Skinner to

suffer. Want to meet for lunch at Brandy's?"

Mulder checked his watch as he stood. "Yeah. I don't imagine he can

yell at me for more than half an hour without bursting a few blood vessels of

his own."

.......

Cumberland Gap Nat'l Hist. Park

Tennessee/Virginia Border

The old sedan lumbered along the road lazily, intermittent

construction causing a forced slow down along the highway for several miles.

The area was not used by many commuters these past few months, or so the

Other told him. No need to worry, the Other told him. The Other told him

when it was safe to go out, when it was safe to redeem, when it was safe to

save. IT had to be taken care of, set aflame in hell's damnation. IT must be

made repentant, IT must be made sorry for IT's actions.

Matthew tied IT's hands, palms together, the bramble of thorns cutting

deeply into the cold, dead flesh. He tied the ankles in the same manner. IT

was ready.

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 4 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Basement of J. Edgar Hoover Building

October 18, 1995

11:52 a.m.

Mulder checked his watch and grabbed his coat from the back of the

chair. Lunch time. And after the razing from Skinner about the 302, he

needed a plate of hot, greasy food to settle the score. He was about to pick up

the phone to call the pathology lab when it started ringing.

<Speak of the devil.> "Mulder," he answered, taking the receiver

away from his ear long enough to get his hand into the sleeve of his jacket.

"Fox?"

"Mrs. Scully?" He sat down. He had expected Scully to call, not her

mother. Mrs. Scully did not just call him on a whim, and it was evident in her

voice that she had battled long and hard with herself before picking up the

phone. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Is my daughter there?"

"I was about to meet her for lunch. Should I call her, is this an

emergency?"

"No, no. Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"About?" Lunch would wait.

Mrs. Scully hesitated on the other side of the line. He pictured Scully,

older, sitting at the kitchen table, pencil in hand so that something kept her

hands busy.

"I had another dream," she finally said.

Mulder leaned back in his chair. The last time Mrs. Scully told him of

a dream, Scully had disappeared for three months. Mrs. Scully had been

through so much in the last year: her husband's death, Scully's disappearance,

Melissa's death. The woman had phenomenal strength of mind. But Scully

had taken both deaths hard, caught in a depressive down-cycle that rivaled

some of his own. Still the muscles in his throat constricted out of habit. He

wanted to pull out his cellular and call Scully just to make sure she was all

right. Dreams could be ominous, even telling at times. Before he could press

her for more, she continued.

"She hasn't returned any of my phone calls. I know you two are very

busy, but she sounded so tired the last time I talked with her..." Her voice

faltered

"How long ago was that?" he asked. Mulder envied their relationship.

His were never that close. He could not remember the last time his mother

called him out of shear interest in knowing what he was up to, what was going

on his life. His parents had divorced after he went off to college; he had neither

visited or spoken with either for years until the incident with the alien clones.

He had called her once after his father's funeral, to make sure she was all right,

but it was the perfunctory conversation, short and curt, no toes treaded, no

feelings shared.

"Saturday. We were supposed to have dinner together, but she called

to cancel."

Saturday. Though she wasn't in the office last Saturday, he knew she

was working out of home. He had logged on to the computer to check his e-

mail around noontime, and out of habit, checked to see who else was on-line.

Scully had logged on at six that morning, and the activity log showed that it

had not been idle. Granted, that didn't mean she had been working on the

computer for six hours, but he also knew that she didn't log on just to sit and

watch the screen savers.

"Was it the same dream, Mrs. Scully?"

He heard a faint laugh over the line. "Oh, no. It's silly. But if I told

her, she would just think I'm being over-protective. Dana does not like to be

coddled."

"I've noticed. Why don't you tell me about the dream."

Mulder wondered if he had gone too far with the request. Dreams

were deeply personal. His were. But she had told him once before. It never

hurt to try.

"We're sitting at a table, talking. I don't remember what we were

talking about. And suddenly she has this look on her face. Blank,

expressionless. No matter how hard I try, I can't wake her."

It certainly matched his own observations of her behavior, but he

decided to keep that to himself. He didn't want to worry Mrs. Scully by

providing a foundation for her fears. He took the spells of inattention as a

normal coping device with stress; his coping media revolved around sunflower

seeds. But if her mother was worried--

There were times when he thought there was much more to his partner

than she let on. She was skeptical of anything that did not have a foundation in

science, yet still wore a religious cross. Scully said it was for sentimental

reasons, but he suspected she still believed, that she was not the lapse Catholic

she claimed to be. She was the Doubting Thomas when it came to psychic

phenomenon, yet both her mother and sister believed in that power in the

universe. It must have been her father's influence, to be so unlike the other

Scully women.

But there were instances where he could have sworn Scully was not

the skeptic she so wholeheartedly proclaimed. After her father's death, he

found the Visions of the Dead folder misfiled. She had even said so much in

the hospital when she rationalized not witnessing Luther Lee Boggs' execution.

There was the Aubrey case; she had not exchanged more than ten words with

B.J. Morrow or Lt. Tillman and knew they were involved in an illicit love

affair. And she was finishing his thoughts, almost word for word, before he

had a chance to voice them.

Everything could be explained, and she had stated as much on

numerous occasions.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Mrs. Scully," he assured her. "But I'll watch out

for her, no need to worry."

"It's a mother's prerogative to worry about her children for no apparent

reason," she replied, a smile in her voice. "I know you will take care of her,

Fox."

"I promise, Mrs. Scully."

.......

Brandy's Bar and Restaurant

Washington, DC

"C'mon, Mulder, science fiction is not real." Scully speared the last

tomato on her plate, waving the fork in front of her like a baton. "There is no

way Skinner will let us justify an investigation based on some plot from a Star

Trek novel that wasn't very good to begin with."

"I never said it was Star Trek. You've read it!" Mulder exclaimed

around a mouthful of cheeseburger, pointing an accusatory finger at her quickly

blushing face. "I knew it. You're a closet trekker."

Scully scowled, popped the tomato in her mouth before replying.

"Okay, so I've read a <few>, but that still doesn't justify why we should take

what's written in a science fiction novel as gospel truth."

Mulder wiped his hands on his napkin, then started ticking off points

on his fingers. "One, it was written by three geologists, one of which is a Ph.D.

They have to have at least a basic grasp of what they were talking about. Two,

I've read that book, and it makes perfect sense to an ignorant Oxford graduate.

Three, Frohicke's read it, cross checked references with his vast network of

hacker friends, and found it plausible. Is that enough, or do you want me to

start quoting from the _Essentials of Geology_ textbook?"

"Uh huh. That argument will not get you in good with Skinner. By

the way, how did the meeting go?" She laid her napkin across her plate,

having finished her lunch. Mulder had yet to get halfway through his burger,

having arrived late. She had taken the liberty of ordering for him. They had

discussed her findings in the autopsy as the food arrived, batting back and

forth theories of psychotic behavior in a perfectly normal person when he again

brought up the Star Trek theory. But now that it was over, it was time to get

his side of the story.

"He just wanted to chew me out for the missing 302, which I found, by

the way. It was on <your> desk." Waggled eyebrows only got him a sneer in

return. "He also asked about the Cooper case as well."

A waitress appeared to refill their ice tea glasses. Scully waited until

she was gone before speaking again. "So soon? I still have some work to do on

the report and I'm waiting on a toxicology screen."

"Well, I guess he and Agent O'Donnell are closer than either let on. If

we need to, we have permission to exhume the bodies of other two assailants."

"It's been two months; there's not going to be much to go on."

"Well, I very much doubt those iron minerals are going to decay with

the rest of the body."

"Point taken." She took a sip of tea. "So, why were you late coming

here? Did Skinner make you stand in the corner again?"

"No, had a phone call as I was stepping out. Nothing big." He

munched on a few fries, debating whether or not to bring up his conversation

with her mother. She still looked extremely tired. "Oh, and your mother

called too. Naughty, naughty, you haven't been returning her calls."

Scully looked down at her empty plate. "I've been busy."

"Uh huh." Mulder watched the guilt trip play its way across her face,

and for a second hated himself for bringing it up. "Why don't you take the rest

of the afternoon off? Get some sleep. I'll cover for you."

"This coming from the man who hasn't slept more than 3 hours a night

for as long as I've known him? I'd love to see you take over my forensics class.

I'll have twenty eager beaver trainees looking for signs of alien abduction when

you get through with them. I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I think it could be fun. 'Okay class, today's lesson

concerns the difference between plastic surgery and real evidence that this

calendar girl was weightless in outer space for prolonged periods of time.'" By

the time he was finished with his show of standing at the lectern, Scully was

laughing. He leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. He suspected it was the

first time she was truly relaxed in a very long time. "How much longer do you

have over at Quantico?"

Sighing, she sat forward, forearms braced on the table in front of her.

"My rotation ends next week."

"Good. Maybe then you'll stop falling asleep on the job." He tried to

make a joke of it, she didn't seem offended. Merely laughed and stood up to

leave. He threw his napkin over his unfinished burger and fries. "Well, I have

a date with the microfiche library. Come save me if I don't resurface in four

hours." He threw a ten and a couple of singles on the table and started to head

out.

.......

The waitress stacked the plates in the plastic tub, stashed the ten in her

apron and the tip in her pocket. As she neared the entrance to the kitchen, she

paused to watch the tail end of the lunch time news.

"Hey, Jen, turn that up, will you," one of the regulars bellowed from

end of the bar.

Jen dropped the tub on the bar counter and turned to increase the set's

volume. The scene showed several reporters following a black-robed man

through a courthouse lobby. Many were fighting for a direct quote from the

judge in question.

<...the son of Judge Alan Kadin of the Virginia Superior Court, was

reported missing this morning. Officials at Vanderbilt University have called

in local FBI to investigate. Representatives for Judge Kadin have said that all

possibilities are being investigated, including a number of death threats the

Superior Court Judge has received in recent months. Judge Kadin had no

comment concerning the case.

<In other news....>

.......

Washington, DC

6:38 p.m.

Scully dropped her briefcase and trenchcoat on the floor with little

regard for the mess it would make. She was too tired to care. Sitting down on

the couch, she tipped over tiredly, legs draped over the side. Shoes came off

next, and her hand went automatically to the answering machine on the table

next to the couch.

<beep> "Hi, Dana, it's Mom. It's about 5:30 now, just calling to see

how you've been. Call me tonight. Bye." <beep>

<beep beep beep beep beep>

Scully smiled as she reached for the phone. Her mother never left

long messages, she hated answering machines. And she really did owe her

mother a phone call and probably an apology. She dialed the number, not

bothering to sit up while she talked.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Dana, I'm glad you called. I was just thinking about you."

"Two calls in one day, I'd say so."

"I didn't mean to call you at work, dear. I was just worried. You

sounded so tired the last time we talked."

Scully closed her eyes, wondering if both Mulder and her mother were

conspiring against her. "Quantico asked me to take over a forensic science

class for a few weeks. It's eating a lot of time out of my schedule."

"Can't you take some time off? So much work is unhealthy."

"I can't, Mom. My vacation time was taken up when I was away last

year."

"I didn't know." The conversation lapsed to an uncomfortable

silence. Her mother didn't like to talk about that time any more than she did.

It had almost been a year since her return, she didn't know anything more now

than she did then, and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She needed to change the subject. "Have you heard from Bill?"

Her mother's tone brightened. "He and Kathy are refurnishing the

baby's room now. He said everything is fine with the baby. It's going to be a

girl."

Scully smiled. Her big brother wanted a daughter more than anything.

It was all he could talk about on the Fourth of July when the family had gotten

together, when they announced they were pregnant again. "I bet he's happy.

Are they coming down for Thanksgiving?"

"Yes. I haven't been able to catch your brother, though. He's harder to

find than you are sometimes."

Her briefcase started ringing. It was her cellular. She sat up to listen,

debating whether or not to ignore the phone. "Ah, Mom, can you hold on for

a second? Someone is calling my other line."

She didn't wait for her mother's answer, placing the receiver on the

couch cushion as she stood to fetch the cel - phone. Out of habit, she never

turned that phone off, never kept it far from reach. Not since the Gregors. She

pressed TALK, and put the cel-phone to her ear. "Scully."

"It's me." Mulder.

Slightly annoyed, she turned her back to the couch, then realized that

there was no one there to overhear the conversation. <You really are tired,

Dana.> Leave it to Mulder to call the cel-phone if he found the line busy.

"Mulder, I'm on the phone with my mother."

"I figured as much. I tried your home line first."

"What do you want, Mulder?" She stepped farther away from the

other open line, not wanting her mother, the woman who could hear a cookie

jar being opened from twenty paces, to hear. Her mother had been dropping

subtle hints about Mulder ever since her stay in the hospital. She didn't want to

add fuel to the fire.

"Just calling to tell you I'm going to take a trip to the Baltimore office

tomorrow morning. I want to go over some details with O'Donnell concerning

the case. Plus, I've put in a warrant for Gaelns Plastic records. There was a

chemical spill out there a few years ago. May have something to do with the

case. The files should be messangered to the office tomorrow morning. Just

wanted to warn you of the impending tidal wave."

"And this couldn't wait until I was off the phone."

"Nope." She could just picture him smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

The case wasn't a real ET X-file; Mulder had not gotten worked up into his

usual frenzied pace when hot on the trail of one of his pet theories. He was

absolutely giddy; either that, or very happy not to be on surveillance detail for

the night. "I'll see you tomorrow, Scully. Sweat dreams," he taunted.

"Yeah. Good night, Mulder." He hung up first.

Walking over to the couch, she sat down, picked up the phone. "Mom,

are you still there?"

"Yes, dear, just putting on some tea."

Scully glanced over her shoulder to her kitchen. She had some

decaffeinated tea somewhere in her cupboards. "Tea sounds wonderful. I think

I'll join you."

"Why don't you try steamed milk with a little nutmeg?" her mother

suggested. "It helps with sleeplessness."

"How did you know?" Sometimes her mother's maternal instincts

were a little scary.

"I know my children. So, why aren't you sleeping?"

<Exactly what I'd like to know.> "I don't know. Restless, I guess. I

don't know how you did it, getting up in front of a class every day."

"I was teaching twelve and thirteen year olds. It's a lot easier to teach

to them... But you've taught before. That's not the problem, is it?"

<No, it's not,> Scully thought. <So, what then?>

Mulder had caught her daydreaming again. That bothered her.

Fazing out like that was totally unprofessional, and despite the lack of sleep she

had had over the past few weeks, such lapses in attention were not becoming a

federal agent. Besides, there had been longer spells of non-sleep. Residency

was a non-stop experiment in sleep-deprivation. This was nothing new.

Disturbing dreams were nothing new. But, she couldn't remember having had

any dreams at all in the last few nights, probably longer. She always

remembered her dreams.

She shook her head, groaning to herself. Such thoughts just raked the

coals even more. Just another bout with insomnia, simple as that. Once the

class was over, the stress would be gone, she could go back to her life, what

little of it there was. No more pain, no more strain. No more goofy spells of

deja vu. She was too tired to think straight, her mind was playing tricks on her,

wouldn't be the first time. A good night's sleep and everything would be fine.

She stood, walked to the kitchen. Cradling the phone to her shoulder,

she pulled down a small saucepan. "Mom, how much nutmeg?"

.......

Baltimore Field Office

October 19, 1995

9:58 a.m.

A stack of files a foot thick sat on the corner of the desk Mulder

appropriated. His feet were propped on another corner, one of the many files

perched precariously on his knee, and a coffee mug held inches from his lips.

It had been a long morning going over depositions from court cases regarding

Cooper, other reports of unexplained psychotic episodes. The only discernible

pattern was a predomination in Eastern Virginia, centering around Fairfax and

Prince William counties. Fifty-three cases in all over the past five years, no

connection whatsoever.

To tell the truth, he didn't think the aggravated assault cases had

anything to do with the murders. If the cause was heavy metal poisoning, there

had to some point source, local, or else it would be national news. Things like

that did not just disappear from the public's eye, when every other Tom, Dick,

and Harriet was suing a neighbor for health code violations. And the case did

not have the conspiracy smell to it. It wasn't normal, but it also wasn't

conspiracy.

"You look like I did about two months ago." O'Donnell swept into the

tiny cubicle, displacing some files in order to sit down. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders, neither answering or ignoring the

man's comment. It was a puzzle, one that needed to be solved. All puzzles had

a solution, he would find it, simple as that.

"That was good work, finding the link to Gaelns Plastic," O'Donnell

said. "I can't believe I missed it."

"Have anything more on Thomas Jones?"

O'Donnell pulled a small notebook from the inside pocket of his

jacket, opened it to a page marked with a paper clip. "We were able to trace

him back to Fairfax County. He collected unemployment checks there until

about six months ago. No one has seen or heard of him since."

"Well, it puts him in the right area." Mulder sifted through the piles

of paperwork debris on the desk until he found another fax sheet. "Scully sent

this over about half an hour ago. Toxicology report on Cooper. Heavy metal

poisoning. The company had been illegally dumping barrels of waste in a pond

on the property."

"You think this rash of homicides is a result of this... spill?"

"Not this spill, it was contained. But maybe another one. It's just a

theory. I've asked some friends in the EPA to check in on this some more. All

construction in the area has been halted until further tests can be done."

O'Donnell backed away, absorbing the enormity of the situation. "Do

you know how many people we are talking about that may have been affected?"

Mulder nodded. "All to save a few bucks."

A phone started ringing. Mulder padded his jacket until he found the

pocket where he had stashed his cel-phone.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me." For O'Donnell's benefit, he mouthed SCULLY as

he listened. "Did you give word that you wanted to be notified if anything

having to do with Gaelns Plastic came across the board?"

"Yes." The feet came off the desk.

"There was a body found this morning in one of the warehouses,

murdered. Four bullets to the head and chest."

"No other bodies?"

"None that they have found."

"Any ID on the body yet?"

"Not yet. Prints were sent to the lab when I got the call down here."

"Okay, Scully. Wait for the ID, then meet me at the scene." He hung

up the phone, grabbed his jacket. Walking out of the office with O'Donnell in

tow, he filled in the agent with Scully's half of the conversation.

"Do you think this is the same thing?" O'Donnell asked, taking the

stairs two at a time to keep up with Mulder.

"Won't know till we get there."

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 5 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Gaelns Plastic - Crime Scene

Manassas, Virginia

October 19, 1995

10:45 a.m.

Mulder sat on his haunches, mere inches from the body. The coroner,

having arrived late, had just finished his examination, and was ready to cart the

body away, but Mulder wanted one last look at the scene with the body in place.

Bound to a chair, the victim's ankles were duct-taped to the legs,

hands tied together at the wrist in front in a mimicry of prayer. Thumbs were

crossed over each other, fingers interlaced and steepled, all post mortum. The

chair was tipped over on its side. The pooling of blood in the victim's back

indicated that death took place nearly seventy-two hours ago. The stench had

been nearly unbearable when he first arrived, the crime scene inside a closed

off warehouse on the Gaelns Plastic property. He hardly noticed it now.

The victim was fully clothed, wearing a blue coverall with the name

John embroidered on the left breast pocket. No wallet, no ID. Under the smell

of blood and decay, there was a faint scent of cleanser, chlorine bleach. John

Doe's fingernails were bleached clean, fingers rough from continual immersion

in water and soap. He had been fingerprinted by the ME after his exam so that

an immediate ID could be made.

More distinctive about the body were four bullet wounds, one in the

forehead, one in each shoulder, and one just above the abdomen. Based on the

mushroom affect on impact, the bullets were hollow point. A single bullet was

recovered from the wall behind the victim, bagged and tagged for analysis by

ballistics. The bullets from the victim's body would be recovered later by the

ME at the Coroner's office, where exact time and cause of death would be

determined. There was a gag around the victim's neck, though it had been

removed from around the mouth after to death but before the body was found.

Mulder held a number of polaroids of the crime scene in his hand.

One of the detectives was still snapping photos of the scene with a 35 mm

camera, another one wielded a hand-held camcorder. A number of FBI

specialists were taking measurements of the room, floorplan, dusting for prints

and cataloging every minute detail for later reconstruction. Not that he would

need the reconstruction; the advantage of an eidetic memory.

It was a different MO, if one could be given to the rash of homicides

under investigation. At the other scenes, the body of the assailant was found

nearby. Even the expression of anger by the other assailants,-- a lead pipe, a

tree branch and knife,-- was different. There was no reason to believe that the

weapon could not be a revolver. Despite the differences, he was convinced it

was all part of the same pattern.

"Agent Mulder?"

Mulder looked over his shoulder, placing his free hand on the stone

floor to maintain his balance. It was the coroner.

"We'd like to take the body downtown now."

Standing, Mulder wiped his hands together to rid them of dust and

dirt. "I'm done here. I'd like a copy of the report faxed to me as soon as

possible, please."

"Yes, sir."

He saw O'Donnell trudging across the floor towards his direction, his

small notepad flapping in the air. "Mulder!" he called, waving the notebook

like a flag. "No sign of forced entry. No prints on the door. Homicide did

occur here, though there's no sign of struggle. The lab guys found fibers along

the door frame. I asked the GP rep to give us a list of people with access to the

keys to this place."

"Who found the body?" Mulder asked.

"Security guard. One of the construction workers that was out here

complained of a stench emanating from the building this morning. Security

guard went to check it out. Door was locked when he arrived, he figured a

skunk up and died in here. Didn't expect to find a man."

"He was bound, maybe drugged, before he came in," Mulder said, still

staring at the body as the coroner cut the tape binds. "That's why there's no

sign of struggle, except where the legs of the chair were. See here--" Mulder

knelt down on the ground, pointed with the end of a pencil at several gouges in

the floor. "I think he woke up, tied to the chair legs. He struggled in the chair,

for a while judging from the number of gouges here in the floor. Ligature

marks on the victim's wrists and ankles suggests he tried to break free from his

bonds before the fatal shot." Mulder pantomimed a gun shot to the head.

"Then why release the wrists and not the ankles?" O'Donnell asked,

indicating that he wanted to see the polaroid's.

Mulder handed him the pictures, walked around the perimeter of the

area where the body was found. "He was bound to make the kill easier, but

maybe the mere act of killing didn't satisfy the killer. The way the body was

laid out in such a submissive manner, maybe the killer gained a sense of power

from it, after the fact, maybe reliving the moment of the kill."

"Mulder!"

He turned at the sound of his name, and he watched as Scully

maneuvered around the police barricade at the main door, badge in one hand, a

manila folder in the other. She surveyed the scene as she walked, stepping

carefully to avoid the stretcher and the ME.

"I have an ID for you, and you'll never guess where he once worked."

She slapped the folder into his waiting palm.

"Gaelns Plastic?" Mulder opened the folder to see a mug shot glaring

back up at him, ten years old at least. He wasn't expecting a rap sheet on the

victim.

"John Gillis of Bristow, Virginia, about 5 miles west of here. Arrested

in August, 1983, in connection with the kidnapping and murder of one Peter

Adler, eight years old. Acquitted in April, 1984, lack of evidence. He was let

go on his own recognizance. Numerous plea bargains for child pornography

charges, spent time in a state psychiatric facility, released five years ago."

Mulder quickly committed the preliminary information to memory,

and preceded to flip through the rest of the file to see what was in it. He didn't

expect a lot, seeing that Scully only had about twenty minutes between the

phone call and her arrival here to gather information. For twenty minutes

work, it was surprisingly thorough for government bureaucracy. "He worked

here for nine years prior to his arrest."

Scully nodded. "Since his release from the hospital, he worked as a

night janitor at a YMCA in Fairfax County."

"That's like sending a kid with a match to get the tinder box," Mulder

said, taking note of the length of John Gillis's police record. Nine counts of

possession of child pornography, eighteen counts of loitering around school

yards. Never married, lived in his parents' home, never missed an appointment

with his social worker.

"Well, I made a phone call to the YMCA. He hadn't shown up to

work in three days."

"The body's been here for at least that long. Whoever orchestrated his

murder didn't waste much time."

"So it was premeditated?" Scully held her hand out for the crime scene

polaroid's. After quickly looking through them, she handed them back to

O'Donnell. "I guess so."

"Agent O'Donnell!"

O'Donnell looked over his shoulder and excused himself.

"So," Scully said, burying her hands in the pockets of her trench coat.

"What do you think? Are they connected?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "The other homicides were random

acts of violence. No indication that there was any premeditation. Here,

somebody planned this, and had been planning it for a long time. There was

motive, there was intent. But we can't ignore the connection to Gaelns Plastic."

"What's your theory this time? I hope it doesn't revolve around rapidly

flipping magnetic fields."

"I haven't figured that out yet. But all of these murders revolve around

Gaelns Plastic. There's a connection."

Scully started to walk towards the main door. "But this time, the

victim worked for Gaelns Plastic. In the other cases, the assailant worked for

or with the company. That is not a connection, that is coincidence. There must

be half a dozen warehouses in the Virginia/Tennessee/Kentucky area."

"Maybe." Mulder did not looked convinced by her logic. "Maybe."

"Okay," Scully said, drawing on the second syllable, "if they are

connected, and this is a big if, why isn't the assailant dead, like the others?"

"I'm assuming the deaths of Jones, Jenkins and Cooper were an

eventual consequence of their exposure to the toxin. Our guy here, maybe he

didn't have as high an exposure. Not that he would need much to set off his

behavior. The predisposition for violence was already there."

"That's a pretty shaky hunch there, Mulder."

With another shrug of his shoulders, Mulder guided her out of the

way of the stretcher and coroner's aides. "Okay, the exposure thing is a bit

extreme, but that is a variable that we have no control over. One, we have no

idea what the source of the contamination is. Two, we can't be sure of extent or

length of exposure, or even how they were exposed. And what about those

crystals we found in Cooper's head? Heavy metal poisoning doesn't explain

those crystals, you said so in your report. What if there is something else here,

something we're not seeing. Something to do with those crystals."

"Mulder, we're not even sure what those crystals are, or how they got

there."

"Exactly."

Scully scowled, Mulder conceded. "Okay, so it is a bit far-fetched.

But this is a hell of a lot more interesting than tracking down reasons why

normal people go on a psychotic streak."

"So, if our perp is still alive, where is he?"

"I don't know. This guy knew Gillis. Other than the ligature marks

on Gillis' wrists, there was no other bodily sign of struggle, no bruising, no

lacerations."

"Assuming that this is the same thing, are we even sure that this guy

was exposed?"

"I'd hate to think someone planned this job for five years before

actually committing the murder. It has to be the influence of the toxin. The

other homicides were impulsive. Maybe in this case, it caused our perp to act

on some deeply ingrained impulse, some buried fantasy of seeing John Gillis

dead."

Agent O'Donnell waved them over to the main door. "Agent Mulder,

Agent Scully. We've found something."

Mulder walked behind Scully as they approached the group near the

main door. Two men were sat huddled near the floor. One held a small cloth

bag open, while the other held a pair of tweezers up in the air for all to see. A

small piece of metal was held between the prongs.

"It was caught underneath the door here," O'Donnell provided. "It's a

piece of a key."

"Freshly broken too," one of the forensics guys said. "There are metal

filings inside this lock, and we may have a partial print on the dead bolt. It

looks like our perp broke his key inside the lock, but was able to retrieve most

of it."

"Inside or outside?" Scully asked.

"Inside."

Mulder kneeled down to look at the dark smear of powder on the dead

bolt. Rings and swirls were traced out in the powder, a partial fingerprint of

the perpetrator. "He wanted privacy while he killed Gillis. He didn't want

anyone to walk in on him. Probably had a master key as well. After the first

key broke, he used the master to secure the room, both before and after the

killing."

"Didn't anyone think to collect all the keys when the company went

bankrupt?" Scully straightened as Mulder stood up. "If the bank foreclosed on

the property, why weren't new locks put on the doors?"

"I'll have someone look into that. I was on hold with the Federal Bank

of America until I got fed up and gave my phone to one of the rookies on site.

The Federal Bank of America holds the mortgage to this place. Besides, the

list of people with keys has got to be small anyway." O'Donnell stepped out of

the warehouse. Mulder and Scully followed suit. There was nothing else in the

warehouse that needed their attention. The forensics team took over the

investigation at this point.

There was a brisk autumn breeze in the air, picking up leaves and

debris from the ground. Mulder squinted his eyes, the sun just peaking through

the overcast sky.

"The EPA is coming in for a spot inspection this afternoon," Mulder

said, walking away from the warehouse. The stink of being near the dead body

for so long was on his clothes. "The assailants were traced back to here. If this

is the source, then at least we can warn anyone that has been in this area of any

danger that is posed to them. If our perp is that pathological to lay the body as

it was, to take the time to remove a broken key from the door, we can be

assured that he's going to strike again."

"Right. All government records pertaining to Gaelns Plastic were

delivered this morning. I'll call Judge Reinhold for a warrant for their

employee records as well. The county coroner can handle the autopsy while we

come up with a list of suspects."

O'Donnell flipped open his notebook as he walked to his car. "I called

the plant manager. She's agreed to meet with me in an hour, she'll have the list

of key holders. That should narrow your list further. I'll call you when I have

the list."

Mulder searched the area for Scully's car. He had ridden to the crime

scene with O'Donnell. He carpooled to the Baltimore field office with a

basketball buddy. "Scully, where did you park?"

"Over there," she pointed beyond the yellow "Caution" tape.

"Good, give me the keys. I need to think, and I think best when I'm

driving."

Not wanting to question that logic, Scully fished for her keys. She

tossed him the keys, and headed for the passenger side. "If you're going to be

busy thinking, then you won't mind if I listen to my radio station."

"No promises."

"You really think these cases are related." She opened the car door,

but did not get inside.

"Yes." Mulder leaned against the top of the car, jingling the keys

between his fingers, his eyes unfocused and wandering.

After a minute or so, Scully slapped the hood of the car. "Hey, no

fazing. That's my job this week." She smiled as she climbed into the car.

Mulder followed suit, making sure to let the seat back before endangering his

knees with much discomfort.

"You're in a chipper mood. Must have slept last night." He turned on

the car, and pulled out onto the highway. His phone started ringing. He

pulled it out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Scully while he maneuvered

on the highway.

"Scully... He can't come to the phone right now, he's busy thinking ...

Yeah ... When was the body found?... Where is the body now?... Can they ship

it to Quantico on the next flight out? ... Thanks, Danny." She folded the phone

and placed it on the seat between them.

Mulder looked at the phone, then turned his eyes back on the road.

"What was that all about?"

"Another body was found outside Cumberland Gap National Historical

Park this morning. Matches the MO of the body we just found."

"This is getting better and better."

.......

Somewhere in Eastern Virginia

Carefully crafted, the bundle of bramble sat in neatly woven circle, two

inches deep. Not a drop of blood on the crown. That was important.

IT was dead now almost twenty-four hours. Matthew Adler kept the

body in the trunk of his car until he was ready. There was a time and place to

present the body before the Judge Eternal. That's what the Other told him. The

Other knew best. The Other permitted him to seek justice. The Other

appointed him the Redeemer. This was right, this was good.

Not like the judge. He knew nothing about justice. But he would

know what it was like to lose a child. The Other deemed it right. The Other

deemed it good. The Other deemed it just. And the bastard lawyer that

represented the evil one, he would know as well. They would all know.

Insufficient evidence. That was what they said. No one could place

the evil one at the school yard that day, but Matthew Adler knew he was there.

He had done it before. Petey told him so. No one saw the evil one take Petey,

no one heard Petey's cries for help that Petey must have uttered. Petey knew

not to go near strangers. Petey knew better. The evil one must have taken him

against his will.

He kept Petey for days. Matthew Adler knew IT kept him in a dark

place. Petey was afraid of the dark, it scared him more than anything. Petey

was frightened, Petey cried, he just knew it. He imagined Petey's cries of pain

and fear, how he pleaded to go home.

Petey didn't have his bear. He never went anywhere without his bear.

They tried to say Petey ran away, but he knew better. Petey loved the bear more

than life itself. He wouldn't leave it behind.

No body had been found. Defense said that without a body, the

prosecution had no case. The judge agreed. There was no proof that a crime

had been committed, only hearsay and circumstantial evidence. They said that

Petey had a history of running away. Petey never ran away, he went on

adventures. He took his bear and went on adventures. It was only a day or so.

He always came back.

The only thing the prosecution had was a number of pictures.

Children playing in a school yard. Children laughing, children talking,

children being children. Petey was in the pictures. Someone had found them

in a locker.

There was no proof. No proof.

.......

Quantico, Virginia

3:16 p.m.

The body was covered with a thin white sheet now. The navy coroner,

the only one around when the body arrived, was cleaning up the room when

Mulder and Scully entered the autopsy bay. The coroner smiled cordially, and

without being asked, handed over the autopsy report.

"I think we're becoming predictable," Mulder said, taking the folder

from the woman.

"Speak for yourself." Scully turned to the coroner, noticed the rank

pin on the woman's jacket on the clothes tree. "When was the time of death,

Lieutenant?"

"About thirty six hours ago."

"Scully, do you know who this is?" Mulder was flipping through the

file, hopelessly looking for next of kin information. It wouldn't be in the

autopsy report.

Scully turned and said, "No. You grabbed the file before I could see

it."

"Virginia Superior Court Judge Kadin's son. He was reported missing

yesterday morning. It's been all over the news."

"Sorry, haven't seen the news lately."

"I'm surprised. You seem the type to have CNN on during insomniac

episodes."

Scully took the report from him and opened it to the first page.

"Sorry. Twilight Zone marathon on this week."

"Ooh, first a closet trekker, now she watches Twilight Zone. I have a

whole new respect for you, Scully."

Voice dripping with sarcasm, she replied, "I'm so glad my taste in

television pleases you." Turning back to the Lieutenant, she pointed to the

body and asked, "Can I take a look?"

"Of course, Agent Scully." The lieutenant pulled back the sheet to

mid-torso. The lowest bullet wound was just visible.

Mulder was still staring at the arrangement of wounds on the body,

waiting for any sort of confirmation from Scully. She was holding the sheet

away from the side of the body, still, not moving, unfocused, unfazed.

"Scully?"

**The room was dark, twilightish, faintly illumined from fixtures high

above in a vaulted ceiling. The scent of bleach and cleanser was heavy in the

stale air. A shadow moved along the opposite wall, almost imperceptible in the

large room. There was a form, a body, lying on the floor ...

A muzzle flash... return fire?... someone yelling... a cry for help... too

fast... too fast...**

Mulder took her shoulders and gave them a sturdy shake. "Scully!"

A sharp intake of breath later, Scully's eyes focused on his. Mulder

watched her carefully, not letting go of her shoulders even for a second. Her

face slowly regained its color from a ghostly pale. He could feel her shoulders

lose their tenseness, and he let her brush his hands away.

Without thinking, he led her to one of the lab stools nearby and forced

her to sit. "Scully, what's going on?"

"I don't know," she replied, looking around the room as if unsure of

her surroundings. A flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks when she

noticed the concerned look of the coroner behind Mulder's shoulder. The

Lieutenant extended a glass of water to Mulder, who took it and wrapped

Scully's fingers around it when they would not close themselves.

Scully took a hesitant sip of the water, hands shaking involuntarily.

The chemical, chlorinated taste bothered her more than it should have, and she

pushed the glass away, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. "I need some

air," she said, bolting from the chair and practically running for the exit.

Mulder dropped the glass on the nearest flat surface and chased after

her. It wasn't until he followed her outside the building that she stopped her

forward pace. He found her pacing along the base of the steps, and did not

have a chance to say anything, ask any questions, before she started talking. He

had a feeling that she would have started talking even if he hadn't followed, just

to hear herself think.

"This is ridiculous! This -- this is--" Her arms were swinging by her

sides wildly, fists curling and uncurling with the motion.

Mulder slowly walked down the stairs, careful to let her have her

space. "What did you see?" he asked quietly.

Scully stopped cold in her tracks. "How did you know?"

"I took a wild guess. Looks like I hit pay dirt." He gently took her

arm, led her down the walkway, away from passersby. "Talk to me."

Scully started to resist, walking slower, dragging behind. "I don't

want to. It's nothing."

"No, it's a hallucination," Mulder said, stopping when he realized she

wasn't going to continue walking with him. "And by my count, you've had at

least 4 in the past two days. Now, talk to me. Auditory or visual?"

"Both," she replied without thinking. If she had stopped to think, she

wouldn't have admitted anything, Mulder knew.

"Have you been dreaming at night? Do you remember any of them?"

"No." Another automatic response. No further elaboration, Scully

was like that when she was trying to sort out whatever was happening around

her. She stopped pacing.

Scenarios, situations, schemes went flying through his brain. There

was even a flash of protective anger for a brief second. There had to be a

simple answer; she would want to hear a simple answer. Not an insane theory

about latent psychic ability and precognition. He believed in psychic ability,

she didn't. He wasn't sure if she wanted an answer.

"Lack of REM sleep due to stress. That's why you're so tired, and

irritable, these last few days," he replied, hoping to allay any fears, especially his

own. He smiled tentatively. "Hallucinations are not uncommon. You've worked

yourself hard these last six months. It's stress, that's all."

Scully still looked skeptical. He had given her a scientific, fact based

reason behind whatever she was experiencing, and was not spouting out with

some alien/abduction/psychic babble. "You don't believe that," she said.

"Believe what you want, Scully, but that's my assessment. Is it the case?

Talk to me, Scully. Please. What's going on?"

"I don't know, Mulder." She had started to pace again, agitation

growing. "It's not the case, god no. This is probably one of the most normal

cases we've had in I don't know how long."

"Then what is it? I've seen you sleep through turbulence that made

me want to toss my cookies. And you don't drink all that much coffee, not

enough to keep you awake all night. Now, unless that dog is the culprit, I'm at

a loss to explain it."

Scully closed her eyes. "I just don't know, Mulder. Okay? It's not the

case. I'm over-tired, that's all."

"I have the perfect remedy for that."

"If you tell me to take a nap, I may have to shoot you."

"Been there, done that, have the scar to prove it. But that is my

prescription. Get a good night's sleep, dream of anything but mutant fluke

men, and you'll be back to your old self."

"That's too easy."

He tugged on her elbow, leading them back towards the autopsy bay.

"I saw it on Star Trek last night. Seems perfectly logical to me." Scully wasn't

buying it. "Look, you've been working hard, your brain is on overdrive, and it's

time for some R and R. Once we finish this case, you are asking for some time

off. Call in sick, whatever. I'm not looking for extreme possibilities, not when

you're concerned. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Now, let's go

back in before the Lieutenant thinks we've gone AWOL."

.......

"This one is different." Mulder walked around the autopsy table to get

a better perspective, not a tinge of green in his face. The Lieutenant stood off

to the side, a bit put off by their earlier display, but none the worse for wear.

Scully had resumed her examination of the body the moment they stepped back

into the room, back in the saddle again, after a quick apology to the coroner.

"There are lacerations on the ankles and wrists, and across the

forehead. Gillis didn't have this, or the punctures in the hands." Mulder

pointed out the differences with his right hand.

"Stigmata."

Mulder stared at his partner quizzically. "What?"

Scully shook her head quickly. Speaking without thinking was not

what she meant to do. "Not a stigmata really, in that the piercing of the hands,

feet and side here was deliberately done. A person suffering from a stigmata

appears to bleed from surficial wounds on the forehead, palms, feet and side,

usually accompanied by pain. It's supposed to signify the nailing to the cross.

There is an Italian monk who claims to have stigmata. Padro Pio, I believe his

name is. And look at the position of the bullet wounds. Sign of the cross."

"You mean--" Mulder quickly pantomimed a blessing with his right

hand. Scully nodded, distracted as she pulled the sheet away from the feet.

There were punctures on the feet as well.

The Lieutenant brought over a clipboard with her findings on it.

"That is consistent with the timing of the bullet wounds. Forehead, just below

the breast bone, right shoulder, left shoulder. And I found traces of plant

material inside several of the lacerations across the forehead. It could be from a

"crown of thorns", though no crown was found at the crime scene, according to

the Medical Examiner's office. However, both the wrists and ankles were

wrapped in brambles. But what's the significance of the pattern of these

wounds?" She seemed generally interested to hear their theories on the matter.

It wasn't everyday a navy coroner did the autopsy of a serial killer's victim.

"Re-enacting Jesus' death," Scully remarked in such a way to offer

comment, but was preoccupied with what she was examining. She had moved

from the feet to a larger puncture in the side.

"I think it's more fundamental than that, Scully." When Mulder had

stopped pacing, he was at the foot of the table, facing the corpse. "Not just

Jesus. The Son of God. God's first born. Andrew Kadin was the eldest of four

boys and two girls."

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 6 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Basement of J. Edgar Hoover Building

5:53 p.m.

"... And you're sure about this?... Yeah, Danny, thanks, I owe you

one."

Mulder hung up the phone, slowly digesting the information Danny

had found for him. The pieces were falling into place, probably too late for

Andrea Hyatt, daughter of Fairfax County Public Defender Jason Hyatt, if the

perpetrator kept to his schedule. It was only a matter of time before the body

was found.

It was that type of thinking he couldn't afford, the guilt of finding too

little too late. There was still work to do. He had worked through a list of

suspects, which was not long at all. But he was one step closer, one step more

towards the finish line.

Judge Alan Kadin and Jason Hyatt worked on the same district court

circuit during the early 1980's. That narrowed the search a bit. Both Andrew

Kadin and Andrea Hyatt were the oldest in their respective families. John

Gillis, however, was not the oldest in his family; that did not fit the pattern.

Mulder swiveled his chair so that he faced his computer screen, logged onto the

F.B.I database. With a few keystrokes, he was into the judicial library of

Georgetown University; maybe a search of those files would shed some light on

the matter.

At the prompt, he requested a boolean search, and entered the search

parameters: Alan Kadin, Jason Hyatt, John Gillis, Fairfax County, 1974-1983.

Just as hit the return key, the office door opened, and Scully walked in, closing

the door behind her.

"No criminal records for anyone on the list O'Donnell faxed us," she

said, sitting down behind her desk. "All keys accounted for, no new keys made

recently."

"Then it's someone outside Gaelns Plastic. I'll call Danny and find out

what company did the security for the place." He picked up the phone and

started dialing, noticing the piece of paper in her hand. "What's that?... Yeah,

Danny, it's me again, ... yeah, I'll hold."

Scully sat down opposite him, placed the paper on the desk blotter.

"Report from Tennessee sheriff department. They searched the Gaelns

warehouse closest to the park where Kadin was found. Traces of blood and

another bullet were collected from the scene. Blood type matches Kadin.

Ballistics is examining the bullet now."

Mulder held up a finger when he heard Danny come back on line.

"Yeah, Danny, I'm still here. Look, find out who arranged the security for

Gaelns Plastic. I need a list of people who still have access to keys to the

warehouses... call me here... Thanks, Danny."

"Find anything else?" Scully asked, turning the computer screen to see

why a line of periods were scrolling across the screen.

"Another young woman is missing. Andrea Hyatt. Her father, Jason

Hyatt, and Judge Kadin both worked in the Fairfax County court systems in the

early 1980's. I'm cross referencing their names with John Gillis for the time

that he was working for Gaeln's Plastic. There is a real possibility that this guy

was either in Kadin's court or defended by Hyatt during that time period, with

so many convictions on his record."

"Was she the oldest child in the family?" Scully asked, almost hesitant.

Mulder nodded. "You got the prints from the lab?" he asked.

"Yeah. No match with the crime network. Perp's not on file with the

Bureau."

"If he's a security man, shouldn't his prints be on file somewhere?

Maybe with the company--"

The phone rang. Mulder slapped at the receiver, speaking before it

was even near his head. "Mulder... yeah, Danny, I'm listening... Hawk

Security.. yes, I'm writing this down... Are you sure about that? .. yeah, thanks,

Danny."

"Well?" Scully asked.

"The company that did the security for Gaelns Plastic went belly-up

just over a year ago, lock, stock and barrel. All keys were returned to their

respective agencies."

"Hawk Security? Never heard of it," Scully commented, placing the

fingerprint file on Mulder's desk.

Mulder tapped his pencil on his knee. "Small, local business, I guess.

Danny is looking into the owners, who handled accounts, that sort of thing."

The phone started ringing again. He picked it up and placed it near

his ear in one fluid motion. "Mulder... Just a second." He held the phone out

for Scully. "It's a Jerry Resman from University of Maryland."

Scully reached over to grab the phone. "Jerry? .... Thanks for doing

me this favor. What did you find?"

Mulder turned his attention towards the computer screen, willing the

database to work faster, get him the answer before it was too late for the son or

daughter of another family. The word 'processing' was blinking in the lower

left corner of the screen, in time with the appearance of each new dot on the

screen. The blinking was almost hypnotic. New thoughts popped into his

brain with each pulsating echo.

Two murders, possibly a third, same MO.

Two murders occurred on Gaelns Plastic Property.

Three men associated with Gaelns Plastic were involved in violent

altercations which eventually led to their deaths.

The murderer in this latest string had access to Gaelns Plastic.

All keys, all employees with keys accounted for during the time period

assumed for the murders.

Said murderer did not work for Gaelns Plastic directly, possible

outside security detail.

Heavy metal poisoning the cause of death and apparent dementia for at

least one of the assailants, possibly all three.

Spontaneous aggravated assault.

History of lack-luster environmental policies concerning the dumping

of harmful, possibly toxic waste on the Gaelns' Plastic property in Fairfax

County.

Heavy metal poisoning.

Strange crystals of some magnetic material in the tissue fluid of one of

the assailants.

Gaelns Plastic.

Murder victims all first born, with the exception of John Gillis, who

was an only child.

Murder victims all associated with Fairfax County Court system.

Child pornography.

Pedafilia?

John Gillis.

First born child.

First born child.

There was a trial.

An acquittal, lack of evidence.

Peter Adler, eight years old.

Kidnap and murder, acquitted, lack of evidence.

He pressed escape to stop the search of the database. Playing a hunch,

he typed in a new search pattern, one that looked for a specific case. He

remembered the dates of the trial, they were written in the report Scully had

brought to the crime scene.

He didn't hear Scully hang up the phone.

"Mulder?" Scully stood up, walked around the corner of the desk to

get a better look at the computer screen. "What have you got?"

"Peter Adler," Mulder replied, right hand partially covering his mouth

that muffled his response. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully,

waiting for the random firings of ideas to settle down to a reasonable pace.

"I'm willing to bet that he was a first born son."

The computer was taking too long for Mulder's patience. Grabbing his

coat from the back of the chair, he leaped out of the chair, not bothering to

power down the computer. "I need to find the transcript of that case. I'm

headed for the Fairfax County clerk's office."

"What are you talking about Mulder?" Scully asked, still staring at the

computer screen.

"Peter Adler. I need you to find the police reports on this kid. That's

the key, Scully. We find out what happened to this kid, and we will have our

murderer."

Scully stared after her partner, a confused look on her face. "How the

hell did you come up with that?"

"Call it a hunch," he called back, shutting the door behind him.

"Mulder, sometimes your hunches are scary," Scully said to the closing

door.

.......

Nearly two hours later, just as she was about to call her partner, the

phone started to ring.

"Come down here, Scully." It wasn't a order, it wasn't a request; he

wanted her by his side. He was close to an answer, he needed her as a sounding

board. No matter how mundane the decision, no matter how outrageous the

theory, he asked for her advice. They had developed a sort of unspoken

language; it wasn't something she could ever describe. When they were

separated during a case, for any reason at all, it just didn't feel right to discuss

their theories unless it was face to face.

And what she had to tell him, she had to say to his face. She turned

off the computer and grabbed her trenchcoat from the tree in the corner of the

office.

She was grateful for the few hours alone, out from under his protective

eye. It had given her time to think, to reflect on what had gone on over the

last few weeks, her edginess of late, the queasy feeling that had settled in her

stomach each and every time she thought about what Mulder had so fleetingly

called 'hallucinations'. She had never learned to effectively deal with stress;

trudging through all of life's hassles diligently until they were over, crashing,

and crashing hard, when time permitted. And time had not been permitting,

whether through personal choice or cosmic coincidence.

She trudged on, as always. Her mother always spotted the tell-tale

signs before she did, having witnessed similar behavior in her husband of

nearly thirty-seven years. And she had set off all of her mother's radar sensors,

and that just made her feel more guilty. With Mulder on her case, the feeling

only intensified. The scene in the coroner's office was uncalled for,

embarrassing above all else. If she asked, Skinner might pull some strings for

her, get some leave time. Maybe in a few weeks, when and if their case load

slowed to a mere crawl.

The miles flew by, and it took little time to get to the Fairfax County

Clerk's office, Friday rush hour traffic long since over and no one wanting to

venture out in the rainy weather. Mulder was waiting on the front stair, no

jacket or umbrella. A large stone was propping the door open. Most of the

lights in the building were off, its tenants gone for the weekend.

Mulder ran out to the car door to meet her. Rain ran in his eyes, over

his bangs, through his shirt. If he didn't catch pneumonia, it would be a

miracle.

"Mulder, are you crazy? Why are you waiting in the rain?" She

followed him quickly up the marble stairs to the front door of the government

building.

He held the door open for her, displacing the stone as we walked

across the threshhold. "Door's locked, you wouldn't be able to get in otherwise.

Besides, the air is off in the building, and it's stifling in that cubby hole they

gave me."

"Any more stifling than your office?"

"No, but slightly more so than Skinner's."

He led her down a series of small corridors to a small, box filled,

closet-sized room in the back. O'Donnell was sitting at the worn wooden table,

sleeves rolled up past his elbows, ink smudges on his face and hands. He was

punching in commands to a laptop, a modem cable snaking along the table and

floor and out the door to nearest phone outlet.

"So? What did you find?" she asked, staring at the piles of folders

lying on every available flat surface.

"Judge Alan Kadin was sitting on the bench when John Gillis' trial

was on the docket. Gillis had an upstart young public defender for a lawyer

who threw every possible objection and motion into play in order to delay trial

as long as possible. That lawyer was Jason Hyatt."

"I figured as much," Scully replied. "Your database search said so

about ten minutes after you left. Oh, and--" Scully reached into her pocket and

unfolded a slip of paper. "Danny called about the security company that did the

job for Gaelns Plastic. Want to take a guess as to who runs Hawk Security?"

"Is it bigger than a silver Sierra?"

The comment caught her off guard, and she caught herself before s

full-fledged grin split her face. "Ah, yeah, a lot bigger. Hawk Security

technically does not exist. It was a cover. Up until 1983, Gaelns Plastic used

their own security personnel. But then, all of the sudden, everything was

upgraded, state of the art. Motion detectors rather than armed patrols, that sort

of thing."

"So, what is this, _B.C._ meets _Star Trek_?"

"Not quite. Security was beefed up after Gaelns Plastic added a few

new partners in their development department. Outside contractors that rented

the space, so to speak."

Mulder's eyes darkened. "Let me guess. Uncle Sam."

"Give the man a cupie doll."

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave..."

Scully was beginning to understand why Mulder was standing outside

in the rain; the room was humid and warm. Even with the small stock window

open and door propped, the cross ventilation was poor. She shrugged out of her

jacket and placed it across Mulder's jacket.

"Find anything else of interest?"

O'Donnell handed Scully his notebook, open to a page where he had

scribbled a number of names. "We've been compiling a list of possible suspects

from everyone associated with the trial. Who would want to see Gillis, Kadin

and Hyatt dead."

She noticed that nearly all of the names had been crossed out. One of

those names was familiar. "David Adler?"

"Peter Adler's father," Mulder provided. "Ran the family hardware

store until eight years ago, when a cancerous growth on his spine forced him

into a wheelchair. He died six years ago. Unless his ghost has decided to seek

revenge, I think we can cross him off our suspect list."

"No poltergeists this time, Mulder?" Scully read through the rest of

the names, none of them familiar. "Any other family members that might be on

this list?"

"None in the Gillis court case." Mulder shifted through the pile of

manila folders on the table. "Wife died in a car accident in 1981. We're

looking for police records, what happened after the trial. Peter Adler's body

wasn't found until nearly a month after the acquittal. Double jeopardy kept

Gillis out of the courts. Maybe someone complained." He handed Scully the

transcript from the case.

Scully thumbed through the opening arguments and closing statements

as Mulder and O'Donnell searched through the county clerk's computer files.

"You said David Adler ran a hardware store," Scully commented.

"Yes," Mulder and O'Donnell replied simultaneously.

"What's your point?" Mulder added.

Scully shrugged her shoulders as she continued to read. "Small,

family owned hardware store. I wouldn't be surprised if he did a little side

work as well, say as a locksmith."

"Bingo." Mulder stood up quickly, running his hands through his hair

quickly as the pieces clicked into place. "And you say my hunches are scary."

Scully ignored the comment. He continued. "He must have tax forms on file

with the IRS. Let's see if Danny can pull a few strings for us, pull some records

regarding David Adler's employees and their job descriptions." Mulder pulled

out his cellular phone.

"We may not have to, Mulder." O'Donnell beckoned them behind his

shoulder. "I think I have something here." He pointed to a file on the screen,

and activated it. Text scrolled down the screen. "David Adler did not identify

his son's body. David's brother, Matthew, did."

"What do we know about this brother?" Mulder asked. "His name isn't

in any of the court records."

"Searching now..." O'Donnell keyed in a few commands, and

obediently information started scrolling on the screen. "He tried to file suit

against the county for wrongful procedure and mishandling of the Gillis case.

Then he disappeared into the woodwork."

Another file came on the screen. O'Donnell whistled under his breath.

"And it appears he has a registered gun. Nine millimeter beretta."

"That fits the ballistics reports," Scully said, watching as Mulder

opened folder after folder at a furious pace. "What are you doing, Mulder?"

Consumed with his search. Mulder didn't stop to answer until he

found what he was looking for. He scanned the document, a slight turn of the

lip betraying his thoughts. "Matthew Adler was Peter's god-father." He

pointed to the 'relation to the deceased' on the ME's report. The word 'god-

father' was scribbled next to 'paternal uncle'. "It fits the profile." He sat back

against the table, crossing his arms across his chest.

Scully leaned against the table top, unconsciously mimicking Mulder's

stance. "So we have motive. In the happenstance that David Adler would no

longer be able to function as a parent, the responsibility of legal guardianship

would fall on the closest relative, his brother Matthew. Misplaced anger over

the death of his nephew manifests itself years later, and he seeks revenge for

the death."

"We have opportunity," Mulder followed. "The connection is a bit

shaky, but Matthew Adler probably had the know-how to get in and out of the

Gaelns Plastic warehouses."

"But why kill there?" O'Donnell asked.

"Traces of acrylonitrite were found on Peter Adler's clothing and body.

Acrylonitrite is a common material used in the preparation of plastics. It was

theorized that John Gillis, who worked at Gaelns Plastic at the time of the

abduction, took Peter there , molested and then killed him."

"So, where will he strike next?" O'Donnell leaned back heavily in his

chair, the old wood creaking under the weight.

The small room fell silent for a few minutes until Mulder started

searching through files again.

"What are you thinking, Mulder?" Scully asked, stepping away from

the table to give him more room to work.

"The judge, the public defender, the prosecuting attorney, the head

juror," Mulder rambled. "Matthew Adler is going after the figure heads in the

trial." He flipped through page after page until he found a list of principles in

the trial. "Diane Bennett, Fairfax County District Attorney. Michael

Ironhorse, voted head juror."

.......

O'Donnell breezed into the small office less than half an hour later.

Mulder covered the mouth piece of his cel-phone to hear what he had to say,

while Scully turned her back on them to block the noise while she continued

her own conversation.

"Michael Ironhorse has no children. He's living in Colorado and has

for the past eight years."

Mulder was not at all relieved to hear the news; his was not as good.

"Diane Bennett has a daughter, freshman in college at University of Maryland.

We haven't been able to locate her." He looked back at Scully.

".... when was the last time you saw Terry? ... Are you sure about the

time? ... If she does show up, call the police immediately. This is important.

Okay? ... Thanks." Scully slowly and deliberately closed the connection on the

cel-phone.

"No luck?" Mulder asked, still on hold.

Scully smiled tiredly. "Luck, just not good. Terry Bennett was last

seen in the library. She left to meet friends for dinner. Never showed up. That

was four hours ago. I know that campus. There are a lot of places to hide

between the library and the main dining halls."

"Well, I'm still on hold with the police department. They have me

patched through to a unit enroute to Matthew Adler's house." Mulder handed

O'Donnell a sheet of paper with hand scribbled notes. "Matthew Adler and his

wife were named legal guardians of Peter's children when he could no longer

take care of them because of his illness. Matthew and his wife divorced a year

ago; she got custody of the children. It appears he went a little ballistic at the

thought of losing the children, but the judge settled in favor of the wife. Want

to hear another amazing coincidence?"

"Judge Kadin was on the bench?"

"Ah, no. By that time, he was serving on Virginia Circuit Court. But,

Judge Kadin did receive a number of threatening letters from a man who

claimed he gave no justice to children. These notes increased after Matthew

Adler lost the custody battle."

Scully's phone started ringing. Conversation came to a halt as she

answered. "Scully... How long ago?... And what about the murder site? Did

you check the nearest warehouse?... Ah, yes, thank you."

"Andrea Hyatt?" Mulder asked.

Scully nodded. "They just got a positive ID on the body. Police are

searching the nearest Gaelns Plastic warehouse to the crime scene as we

speak."

Mulder held up a hand as information was relayed to him over the

phone. He grunted several affirmatives as he jotted down notes on a scrap of

paper in front of him. He closed down his phone. "No surprise, Matthew

Adler has not been home in well over a week. Neighbors haven't seen him,

though they did describe his behavior as being quite erratic for the past few

months. One neighbor went so far as to say that Adler hadn't been acting

himself since he lost a rather lucrative business dealing with Federal Bank of

America."

"The same bank that held the mortgage on Gaelns Plastic," O'Donnell

said, leaning against the doorframe. Mulder nodded this time.

"Was there a time of death for Andrea Hyatt?" Mulder asked Scully.

"Best guess, eighteen, twenty hours at most. Places time of death at

somewhere around 2 a.m."

Again, Mulder nodded. "That's consistent with the other deaths. I bet

if we go back through the police records, we'll find that 2 a.m. has some sort of

significance for Matthew Adler. Which gives us roughly-- " he checked his

watch, "four hours. We have to find out where he took Terry Bennett before it's

too late."

"We are playing on a lot of hunches here, Mulder," Scully warned.

"Back-up will not be easy to get."

"Getting manpower shouldn't be a problem," O'Donnell said. "My

section is at your disposal."

"We've had three victims in as many days. Each victim died the day

he or she was found missing by family, friends or co-workers. Three deaths

occurred at Gaelns Plastic warehouses closest to the abduction sites. So, which

warehouse is closest to the University of Maryland campus?" Mulder asked.

Scully found a map under a pile of papers. It was a road map of the

Washington DC area and outlying districts. "There are three within an hour's

drive from the campus: the one here in Manassas, Westminister and

Hagerstown. We already have a watch on the Manassas plant. We need to get

units to each of these as soon as possible."

"I'll call for reinforcements," O'Donnell said. "I can have agents at

both sites in less than half an hour."

"We'll take the Hagerstown plant, you take Westminister. No one goes

in until either one of us gets on site," Mulder said, standing. He tugged on his

suit jacket and handed Scully her trenchcoat. "We can coordinate enroute."

"Got it." O'Donnell packed up the massive pile of folders with

practiced ease. "I've got your number in the car. Shouldn't take more than

forty, maybe forty-five minutes to get to Hagerstown from here. My people will

be ready when you get there."

Mulder was half way out the door as he replied, "Tell them to scout the

area. If Matthew Adler is headed to either site, we don't want to alert him to

our presence. He may decide to kill Terry Bennett on the spot if we spook

him."

"Understood." O'Donnell shut the door behind him "And after this is

done, I'm taking the both of you to dinner."

"Just so long as it isn't chicken," Mulder said. With an amused glance

from Scully, he added, "Or ribs."

.......

CARDINAL SINS -- Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)

Part 7 of 7

All disclaimers still apply. Write me, tell me what you think.

Rt. 40N, near Hagerstown, Maryland

10:43 p.m.

Mulder stared intensely at the rain slicked road ahead of him,

concentrating as the speedometer edged past sixty. The last road sign said

"Hagerstown 10 miles", and he could feel the blood starting to pump faster in

his veins. With his luck, he would get all juiced up, only to find that Matthew

Adler had gone to the Westminister site instead. It wouldn't be the first time; it

certainly would not be the last.

He looked over at his partner, who had not said a word since they got

in the car.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Startled from her daze, Scully rubbed her eyes for a moment. "I was

just thinking."

"About?" he prompted.

"What would drive Matthew Adler to killing."

Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "Exposure to the heavy metal

poisoning, probably compliments of Uncle Sam."

"No, it's more fundamental than that. You said so yourself, there had

to be a predisposition for murder, revenge, whatever." Scully leaned against

the car door, her hand massaging her jaw. Her head was downcast, her eyes

looking out over the horizon. Mulder recognized the look; she was

uncomfortable with whatever was running through her mind.

Her words were muffled with her hand over her mouth, but Mulder

said nothing.

"I was just thinking... Matthew Adler is only looking for justice," she

said quietly. "Where is the line drawn between vigilantism and outright

murder?"

"Why?" he asked, slowing down so that he could pay more attention to

her without worrying excessively about the road.

"Why what?"

"Why are you thinking about this now?"

"I don't know." Scully shook her head, pensive. "I've been thinking

about that night in your apartment. I didn't even think twice, I just pulled my

gun on Skinner. And I was ready to pull the trigger. I almost did. I would have

pulled the trigger. I thought he was the one. I had been told that someone

would come after me, either two men from the organization, or someone close

to me. If you hadn't walked in, I might have done it."

Mulder stared at the road, quiet as he absorbed all she had said. She

was looking out the side window, eyes turned up to watch the rain fall on the

car. He could see none of the quiet anxiousness he heard in her voice, but he

knew better.

"Scully, you didn't pull the trigger. That's the difference."

"No," she answered under her breath. "No, that's not it. We go

outside Bureau standards to search for the truth. Matthew Adler went outside

the law to find justice. Where is the difference?"

"There is a lot of difference, Scully. You know that."

"Logically, yes, but ..."

Mulder turned off the highway, glancing quickly at the list of

directions he had sketched out while still in Fairfax. At the intersection's red

light, he took the time to look at her full in the face.

"You've been thinking about your sister again?"

Scully half nodded, still straining to see the night-time sky through all

the clouds. She was tired, she was vulnerable, and old skeletons had come to

haunt her.

"Mulder, do you believe in guardian angels?"

The out-of-the-blue question caught him off guard. A witty remark

was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, deciding she didn't want or need

to hear a smart-ass reply. "Never gave it much thought."

"My father used to tell us that guardian angels lived with the stars.

Missy would point to one of the stars in the Big Dipper and say that was her

guardian angel, and that he or she would tell her the future."

"Is this leading to something?" Mulder asked. "Are you going to say

that you've been receiving signals from your guardian angel?" He tried to make

his tone light, provoke a little laughter if possible. The laughter was not

forthcoming.

"I don't believe in fate, Mulder. I have never sat on my heels and

waited for something to happen. I can't believe that some power, be it

God or whatever, would let things like this happen. There has to be a reason.

And if this isn't justice, and it isn't fate, then what is it?"

"It's human nature," he replied, pulling into the parking lot. He

checked his watch, quarter past eleven. He noted the other four cars along the

periphery of the parking lot, deciding that they must be the reinforcements from

O'Donnell's unit.

"Nothing about this is human, Mulder, not in the least."

"I can't explain it, Scully. I'm sorry, but I can't. Someone has the

puppet strings, and we're caught in between the wires."

Scully shut her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if what we do really makes

a difference. If we're just looking at the world through rose colored glasses."

She sat there silently, then smiled, not opening her eyes. "Am I in a mood, or

what? I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Scully. I know it's been a hard couple of

months for the both of us. We're entitled to wax poetic every once in a while.

Besides, it's past your bed time." He brought up his left wrist and tapped the

watch face animatedly.

"We catch this one, and it'll be one for the good guys," he said, rolling

down his window a bit to get a better look at their surroundings.

"Yeah, one for the good guys," Scully repeated, not completely free of

her funk. But her professional face took over as another agent approached the

car on Mulder's side. She leaned down to get a better look at the man through

Mulder's window.

Mulder rolled down his car window, smiled at the older gentleman.

"Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully. You from the Baltimore office?"

Mulder asked.

"Yeah. Agent Hamilton. We have police reinforcements five minutes

away. Have you got walkie talkies with you?"

Scully searched under her seat for the pair of walkie talkies that the

Bureau furnished for all field agents. She held them up, then handed one to

Mulder.

Hamilton nodded. "Good. We're on channel 8. Agent O'Donnell

asked me to inform you that he has already arrived on scene in Westminister.

No sign of the assailant as of ten minutes ago."

"Any peculiar activity around here in the past hour?" Mulder asked as

he turned on his radio.

"None, Agent Mulder, but I only arrived on scene half an hour ago."

"Is there a back entrance to this place?"

Hamilton pointed to a dirt road along the west side of the plant. "Over

there. We have a unit back there, as well as a unit along the main road and in

the back woods."

Mulder nodded, then started his car again. "We'll join the unit in

back. I want reports from all checkpoints every fifteen minutes."

"Understood."

"Watch yourself," Mulder replied as Hamilton jogged back to his car.

Scully suppressed a sudden chill, one that Mulder missed this time. She

shook her head to clear the eerie feeling, the same one that had plagued her --

was it only two days ago?-- at the first murder scene, even if it wasn't really

connected to Matthew Adler at all.

She wasn't paying attention when Mulder brought the car to a

complete stop. It wasn't until he started waving his hand in front of her eyes

that she realized she was fazing again. "Sorry. Just thinking again."

"Thinking can be dangerous for your sanity. Stop now, before it's too

late." Mulder pulled the keys out of the ignition, handed them over to her for

safe keeping. He had a habit of losing them during a case. "Are you sure

you're up to this?"

"Yes, Mulder," Scully replied testily. "I'm fine. Besides, with our

luck, nothing will happen here, and O'Donnell will call us in half an hour,

saying they've caught Matthew Adler and all is right with the world."

They sat for almost two hours before there was a cackle of life from the

walkie talkie. Mulder extended the antennae. "Unit 1 here."

"Unit 3 here. Blue sedan just turned into the access drive. Driver

matches description of the assailant. No sign of the hostage."

"We copy. All units, get ready to move in."

Scully checked her weapon and extra clips. Mulder did the same.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be." Scully picked up her cellular and dialed

O'Donnell's number.

"Assailant has parked just outside the building," Hamilton stated over

the walkie talkie. "He's shouldering a large satchel; could be a body."

"She's still alive," Mulder assured the rest of the team. "Our perp kills

at approximately 2 a.m. each time. The safety of the hostage is our first

priority. The perp should be considered armed and dangerous. He has at least

a nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol, and probably has an innate knowledge

of the complex itself. Everyone stay with your partner. Hamilton, call in your

back-up. We're going to need it."

Scully closed down the cellular. "O'Donnell's on his way. ETA

twenty minutes."

Another agent began reporting over the walkie talkie. "Perp has

entered the building."

"Wait five minutes, then all units move in. Over."

"We copy, Unit 1. Five minutes and counting."

Mulder checked his weapon once again, then reached under his seat

for the flashlights. He handed one to Scully. "Let's go."

They eased out of the car slowly, sticking to the shadows of the

parking lot. A single lamp illuminated the back doorway. There were no

windows on that side of the building. Mulder stood to the right of the door,

Scully to the left.

When there was thirty seconds left on the time, he motioned to Scully

to open the door. Managing the dead bolt with the lock pick, Scully eased the

door open slowly, careful not to let unoiled hinges give away their presence.

Mulder went in first, flash light in left hand, gun hand braced over his

left wrist. Scully followed close behind.

The interior of the warehouse was barely lit. The high, vaulted ceiling

was hidden in shadow, making the room seem more expansive. Large

ironwork girders marked aisles that ran the length of the rectangular floor plan,

like an irregularly shaped checkerboard. Cleanser was heavy in the air. There

was a small halo of light near the far corner of the warehouse. Mulder

motioned with his gun that they should head that way.

Scully spotted another pair of agents approaching them from the other

side of the warehouse. She nodded to them, indicating that they should move

down two rows to their right, approach the halo of light from two different

angles. There was at least another pair of agents in the warehouse with them;

Hamilton and his partner came in through the front door.

Walking to the far wall, Mulder leaned into the shadows, pausing to

listen carefully to the sounds around him. Scully hid behind a wooden crate,

out of sight from the corridor. The center of illumination seemed to come from

down that aisle. Sometime during their partnership, -- Mulder wasn't sure

when it happened, -- they had developed a sense of silent communication. A

shrug of the shoulder, a tilt of the head, even a simple stare, they all told

volumes without a spoken word.

He took the lead, careful to stick the darkened side of the corridor.

Scully went down the next aisle over, five meters behind and to the side. At the

first juncture, Mulder covered Scully as she crossed the fifteen or so meters to

the next length of aisle. She did the same for him at the next juncture.

Ten meters away from the next juncture, Mulder stopped. Through

the spaces in the iron gridwork, Scully noticed his hesitation and stopped

short. Then she heard what had stopped him. Hard, labored breathing, a

moaning from ahead in the next open space. Mulder climbed the gridwork to

get a bird's eye view of the situation. Scully kept one eye on him, and the other

on the corridor ahead.

Less than a minute later, Mulder shimmied down the iron gridwork

and scurried out into the open corridor, gun still ready. He waved Scully ahead

of him. "Terry Bennett," he whispered as she passed him.

Seated in a wooden chair, ankles duct taped to the legs of the chair,

wrists behind her back, the young woman rolled her head towards them. Her

drugged eyes opened as wide as they could, agitation evident in her grunts

around the gag in her mouth.

Scully holstered her gun as she kneeled to examine the young woman.

Mulder stood above them both, eyes never leaving the horizon of the room. He

pulled the walkie talkie from his coat.

"This is Agent Mulder. We'll need an ambulance here as soon as

possible. Over."

"We copy, Mulder. Ambulance is on its way now."

Scully removed the gag carefully, shushing the young woman all the

while and trying to comfort her. "You're safe now, Terry. Everything is going

to be okay?" Scully said quietly, using a pocket knife to cut through the duct

tape around her ankles and wrists.

Mulder leaned down so that he was at eye level to the young woman.

"Terry, do you know where he went?"

Terry shook her head, tears silently pouring down her cheek with

relief. The other pair of agents Scully had spotted rounded the corner.

"Make sure she gets outside and clear of the building," Mulder told

them. Each agent took one of Terry's arms and led her out as quickly and

quietly as possible.

"Where do you think he went?" Scully stage whispered.

Mulder checked his watch. "He couldn't have gone far. It's been less

than twenty minutes since we entered." He scanned the area carefully, every

inch, every shadow.

The lights went down with a sudden thunderous crack. Mulder dove

for cover on one side of the corridor, Scully on the other. Moonlight streamed

into the room from large windows near the ceiling, marking lighted rectangles

on the floor of the warehouse. An eerie glow surrounded the once occupied

chair.

"Where is he?" Scully asked.

Mulder nodded towards the entrance that they had used to come into

the warehouse. "I saw a fuse box back there. He knows we're here." He turned

back where they had come from, and indicated that she should start up another

corridor a few aisles down.

"Watch yourself," she called after him, careful to keep her voice low.

He smiled and headed up the aisle.

The walkie talkie in his hand crackled. "Mulder, where are you?"

Hamilton.

"West side, farthest aisle, heading south. Adler's in the back

somewhere. Where are you?"

"East side, doing the same thing. My partner is three aisles over from

me. Looks like we have this side covered. Watch your back." Mulder

pocketed the walkie talkie.

Hamilton and his partner reached the end of the aisles at the same

time. Hamilton crossed farther into the open area, eyes scanning and

searching. His partner followed suit.

A shadow moved along the far wall. Like lightning, something or

someone dashed out of the shadows and tackled Hamilton's partner, effectively

taking him out of the equation with a quick blow to the head. No one was near

enough to do anything about it.

"Over there!" Hamilton called, following the shadow into the

darkness.

Scully turned the corner next, and froze--

**The room was dark, twilightish, faintly illumined from fixtures high

above in a vaulted ceiling. The scent of bleach and cleanser was heavy in the

stale air. A shadow moved along the opposite wall, almost imperceptible in the

large room. There was a form, a body, lying on the floor ...

A muzzle flash from the shadows beyond the body on the floor...

shattered wood nearby... too fast... return fire... someone yelling... too fast... too

fast... another flash... **

A bullet whizzed by to her right.

"Scully!"

Mulder rushed into the open. Hamilton was screaming for a medic.

Scully turned on her heel. "Get down!"

Diving towards her partner, Scully managed to get Mulder down on

the ground as a shower of splinters from a wooden crate covered them.

Pushing him ahead of her, they took cover behind the wooden crate that had

taken the brunt of the bullet's damage.

"Where is he?" Mulder asked, daring to peak around the corner.

Another bullet whizzed past his head.

"There's a small stock room or something at the end of this junction.

He's probably in there," Scully replied.

Mulder could see that Hamilton was trapped behind the iron gridwork,

close to his partner's prone form. Each time Hamilton stuck his head out in the

open, Adler took another shot.

The walkie talkie buzzed in Mulder's pocket. "Mulder! Mulder,

what's going on?"

He grabbed the walkie talkie and depressed the TALK button. "Adler

is cornered in a small utility room of some sort, east side of the building, about

20 meters from the south entrance. We're pinned down in here."

"We have snipers along the adjacent roof. Looking for an entry point.

Hold on."

Mulder handed Scully the walkie talkie. "I'm going to try and talk to

him," he informed her.

"Don't do anything stupid, Mulder," she warned him.

Mulder stood, head barely clearing the top of the wooden crate. As

loudly as he could, he called out, "Matthew Adler! FBI! Come out with your

hands up, and we will not harm you!"

He waited for a reply, but received none.

"Matthew! I know what happened. I know what you're going through."

This time he got an answer; a warning shot above his head. Mulder

ducked back down, crouching near Scully. "I guess he doesn't want to talk."

"We can't get a clear shot," a voice over the walkie talkie said. "We

can't see inside."

A loud bang vibrated in the enclosed space, followed by a thud of dead

weight. It came from the stock room.

"Hamilton?" Scully called, still crouched behind the wooden crate.

"Wasn't me," Hamilton replied.

Mulder keyed the walkie talkie. "You might not have to see in now."

He stood up, gun at the ready still as he maneuvered around the wooden crate.

Scully followed, as did Hamilton. As they walked slowly towards the

stock room door, the back entrance was swarmed with agents and police.

O'Donnell was at the head of the pack.

Mulder leaned into the stock room entrance, shining his flashlight

along the floor. In the center of the room, sprawled with arms extended to each

side, Matthew Adler lay, a self inflicted bullet wound under his chin. Upon

closer inspection, there were wounds in each hand, as well as his side, also self

inflicted. A knife lay discarded to his side.

He picked up the gun that had fallen on the floor, checking the clip.

"No more bullets."

"He saved the last for himself." Scully stood next to him in the

doorway, and stared at the peaceful expression on his face, despite the brutal

way he died.

"It looks like he found what he was looking for," she said, stepping

outside the room.

Mulder hung his head over her shoulder. "And what would that be?"

Scully turned away from the scene, holstering her weapon as she walked.

"Salvation," she answered dejectedly.

Mulder watched as she walked away, forestalling the urge to follow,

knowing that she wanted to be alone. They did not deal with many suicides in

their line of work, and Clyde Bruckman's had hit her hard. He found it a strange

dichotomy that she studied death to find clues, but did not take the death of any-

one, friend or foe, well. He was definitely going to find some leave time for her.

He didn't care if she pulled off his head as a result.

1:08 am

After O'Donnell arrived, Mulder gave his report to him, detailing their

search pattern and eventual stand-off with Matthew Adler. No FBI issue weapons

had been fired, all bullets recovered were from Adler's 9-mm beretta. The county

coroner was called in to collect the body, officially proclaim Matthew Adler dead.

Statements were all given, in triplicate it seemed. Stories were corroborated.

Adler's death was no fault of their own. An ambulance had been called for

Terry Bennett and Hamilton's partner; Mulder never did catch his name.

Other than a few bruises for her and a bump on the head for him, they were fine.

The person he was more concerned about was nowhere to be seen. An

hour had passed since he had last seen her, walking away from the scene.

He found Scully sitting on the bumper of their car, the slight drizzle that

had started had not been enough to force her to seek refuge inside the car. She

was staring off into space, not completely unexpected considering the past few

days, but the look in her eye was not dazed or glassy as it had been before.

He sat down next to her, handing her a styrofoam cup.

"Hot chocolate. EMT's always come prepared."

She accepted gratefully, with a hint of a smile. "Thanks."

"Whatcha doing?" he asked innocently.

"Thinking." She took a sip of the drink, he watched as the heat from the

liquid warmed her cheeks both inside and out.

"I told you, thinking is dangerous in your condition. Perhaps things

will be clearer after a nice long nap."

"Mulder, I already have my mother on my case. Don't you start."

Mulder held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "How's Terry

and Agent Larken?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders, hiding his amazement that his partner

managed to remember the names of everyone they worked with, even if it was

only for a few hours. "Terry's fine. She's going to be groggy for a while.

Apparently, Adler pumped her full of some sedative. Agent Larken just has

a nasty bump on his head. Nothing a few aspirin and a nap won't solve."

She gave him The Look, the not-quite-roll-the-eyes-to-the-back-of-

the-head-but-has-the-same-effect look that could sear holes through steel if that

was at all possible. He grinned maniacally, defusing the situation if only to get

her to smile. Her gaze went back to the sky above, and he followed suit.

"So what were you thinking about?"

Scully shrugged her shoulders, leaning forward so that her forearms

were propped against her knees. "There aren't any stars out tonight."

"Is this a good or a bad thing?" He didn't ask if she was changing the

subject. That went unsaid, a silent plea of 'back off'. And he did. He remembered

their conversation about guardian angels, whether or not that was the intention

she meant by bringing up the subject of the lack of stars in the night time sky.

"I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know."

"Your buddy Reinhart at Quantico came in with the coroner. He's

offered to do the autopsy on Adler." He expected a fight over that offer, but

received none. Maybe it was for the better; a self-admittance that she

couldn't handle, or even want to, another addition to her to-do list.

"He's worse with the paperwork than you are, Mulder. He'll do a good

job, but we won't see a report for at least a week."

"Fine by me, it means I can procrastinate for a week."

"Does this mean you're offering to do the paperwork on this job?"

"You could say that. Since it was my theory about flipping magnetic

fields..."

"That's never stopped you before from shoving the paper work on

me."

"But you do it so well."

"Not from lack of practice."

"Practice makes perfect."

"Good. Perfect your own skills. I want to go home."

Scully reached into her coat pocket. Jingling of keys followed her hand

out. She held them out above his hand. "Here you go. I'm camping out in the

back seat on the way back."

"And no prompting from me or your mother. Must be a first."

"One more crack and I'll force you to drive under 40."

"If you're asleep, how will you know how fast I'm driving?" Mulder

offered her his hand and helped her off the bumper of the car. Walking her to

passenger side, he opened and held open the back door.

"Home, Jeeves." A tired, silly smile crossed her lips as she sat down,

wrapping her trenchcoat around her legs and torso and tipping over on the seat.

Mulder closed the door behind her, climbing into the driver's seat

seconds later. He found an oldies station on the radio dial, turned down the

volume so it was just over the thrum of the engine. Before putting the car in

gear, he chanced a look at his partner through the rear view mirror.

"Scully, you'd tell me if something was bothering you, wouldn't

you?" There were times when that question would go unasked. But even in

times of extreme emotional distress, he realized that they both clamped up

tighter than a vise, burying the pain so far down that it would take a nuclear

explosion for it to see the light of day.

Sometimes he just had to ask, just to make sure.

"Scully, you would tell me, right?"

Her answer was masked with a yawn. "Yes, Mulder." Nothing more,

no further elaboration. He had to take her at her word. By the time he hit

the Beltway, she was fast asleep, Bobby Daren's "Beyond the Sea" playing

in the background. As he looked up into the sky, the dismal evening clouds

had parted. The moon was still hidden behind some clouds, faint flickers of

star light peeking through.

Well, if that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

.......

Basement of J. Edgar Hoover Building

One week later, 5:45 p.m.

Mulder grabbed the last sheet of the report from the laser printer,

stacked everything in order, clipped the relevant papers together, neatly laid the

stack of papers in the manila folder. With a contented sigh, he closed the

folder and leaned back in his chair.

It was at that moment when Scully walked in the door. His suspicious

grin, the cockeyed expression, the unnecessarily neat and tidy desk sent alarm

bells ringing in her head. "What did you do this time?"

Mulder leaned forward in his chair, the springs snapping back with an

audible click. "I," he stated, holding the folder in his hand like a trophy,

"finished the paper work on the Adler case, early. I think this should cause a

coronary or two for Skinner. What do you think?"

"I think I'm going home," she replied, dumping the pile of books in

her hands on her desktop. "Good night."

"Last day at Quantico?" Mulder asked, grabbing his jacket from the

back of his chair.

Scully shrugged. "For now, at least. Grades were handed in this

morning. I'm going home, and I'm going to sleep, and if you dare call me

at all this weekend, I will tell you where to put that phone, in not so many

words."

"Ooh, is that a threat, Agent Scully?"

"It's a promise, Agent Mulder. You may be able to survive on three

hours of sleep a night, but normal people need more."

"And you're normal?" He narrowly missed an elbow jab to the ribs.

"Watch it, Mulder. I have a scalpel and I know how to use it." She

reached inside her briefcase for her keys, and instead pulled out a file folder.

"Oh, yeah, here. Autopsy report on Matthew Adler. His internal organs were

in a state of massive degeneration, like the other bodies. It was only a matter

of time before he died like those other men. And those magnetic grains

you found in Cooper's cerebral fluid were also in Adler's head. My friend at

Maryland has never seen anything like it before. He thinks it might be

synthetic."

Mulder took the report and read through it quickly as they entered the

elevator car. "Does he have any idea what it used for?"

"Nope. But your EPA friends found the same stuff in their search of

the Fairfax County warehouse grounds. Contaminated water samples were sent

to Maryland for analysis as well. Jerry came across it, and told me about last

night."

The elevator opened on the main floor, they stepped out. Mulder held

the fire exit door that led to the parking garage open for her. "I've been trying

to search through Gaelns Plastic's employee records. Nothing about the

projects that were done. I've asked for a supeona to open up classified records,

but it will be a cold day in hell before we get a chance to look at them."

"Well, it's supposed to be cold this weekend. Maybe you'll get lucky."

Scully smirked as she headed towards her car.

"Ha ha. Very funny. Going to see your mother this weekend?" Mulder

asked, following her despite the fact that he had already passed his car.

Scully nodded, taking a glance back at his car, then at him. He

shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk beside her. "Sunday afternoon.

Should I send your regards?" she asked playfully.

"Always," he replied. "Hey, Scully. How come you didn't take Skinner

up on his offer of a few days off?"

She shrugged her shoulders this time. "I wouldn't know what to do

with myself. Besides, I don't think I want to know what my dog does when

I'm gone for the day."

"You deserve the time off, Scully. You should take it."

"Later, Mulder. Later."

They had reached her car. Mulder offered to hold her briefcase as she

fished her pockets for her keys. Having found them, she opened the car door,

retrieved her briefcase and threw it on the passenger side seat.

"Then I'll see you Monday, then." He held the car door open until

she reached for the handle.

"Monday."

"Get some rest this weekend, okay?"

"The sooner you let me close the door, the sooner my weekend will

start," she said, smiling. He backed away from the door, and closed it for her

with a satisfying thud that echoed in the near empty parking lot.

* * *

Scully was on the parkway when she found Mulder's car tailing her.

He had let her have her space, for which she was grateful. Skinner had

offered her a few days off after she finished her rotation at Quantico, but she

had turned it down. Sleep had not been so elusive the past week, fewer nights

were spent on the couch with the television on, and she had even slept through

to her alarm. And no stupid spells of deja vu.

All she had planned for the weekend was much needed down time,

with a book she had been wanting to read for a couple of months and her

favorite pillow, maybe a movie on A&E. No work, no stress, and no

Mulder.

Not that Mulder was the source of the stress in her life, but a lot of

it did center around him. And not that she blamed him. Working as a

field agent was a gruesome task at best, especially for them as they traveled

all over the country to chase down EBE's, UFO's and the government's

little secrets. She wouldn't trade it for anything. She needed one weekend

to recharge. That was it.

She was tempted to call Mulder on his cellular to inform him that

his cover was blown. So he was being overprotective, but at least he was

trying to be coy about it now. As long as he didn't park outside her apart-

ment all weekend. That would be going too far.

Dialing the numbers with one hand, she held the handset to her ear.

Mulder picked up on the first ring, but she cut him off before he could say

anything.

"I see you back there. You have to work on your tailing techniques."

"You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man now, wouldya, copper?"

"Don't tempt me. Go home, Mulder."

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't follow her off the parkway, and the rest of the ride was

fairly routine. Pulling alongside the curb outside her apartment complex,

she locked up her car, walked up the front steps and was welcomed by the

familiar scratching of her newest addition at the front door, waiting for his

evening walk.

It was rather comforting to come home to something other than an

empty apartment, even if the Pom had already destroyed two pairs of shoes

and managed to confiscate good throw pillows as his own. Stepping through

the door, she bent down to scoop up the dog before he could scoot out the

door, dropping briefcase and keys on the couch as she passed.

"All right, pooch, these are the ground rules for this weekend. I am

not leaving my bedroom, so unless it's some dire emergency, like the place

is on fire, you are not allowed to bug me. Got it? Good. We understand

one another." She set him on the floor as she entered the bedroom to

change.

"Speak now, or forever hold your peace." The dog yipped in

response. "Well, since you put it that way, I suppose you do deserve a walk

before the exile begins, huh?"

Changing into jeans, heavy sweatshirt and sneakers, she grabbed

her house keys, dog leash and the Pom and walked into the brisk night

air. The Pom found his regular interest in the side bushes, sniffing around

for the golden retriever that lived one floor up. He could be at it for hours

if she let him.

"Why are all the men in my life obsessive, huh pooch?" He

continued his examination of the shrubbery. "Why am I asking you?"

She sat on the front stoop while the Pom laid his mark on the

bushes, and stared up at the sky. It was clear, for once, and even the

streetlamps could not drown out the twinkling stars above. A light

streaked across the sky.

The first thing that popped into her mind was that the light was

just an airplane, running a pattern above before landing at Dulles. Not

uncommon, her apartment within the landing pattern of the airport.

But, some nagging itch in the back of her brain told her not to go with her

instinct, and maybe it was a shooting star. She would never go so far as

to say that it was a UFO, she thought with a smile.

A shooting star. The tales her father told of guardian angels

sprang to mind, and the smile on her face grew. For some reason, the

thought of Mulder mumbling something about signs from above and

the melody to "Beyond the Sea" came unbidden as well.

She wasn't sure how long she was staring at the sky, but the

Pom's anxious tugs on the leash told her day-dreaming time was over

for now. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint."

Walking down the street, she managed to find the constellations

through the fall foliage and baring branches. Her cell phone, stashed in

her pocket, had started to ring. It would only be one person.

"Hi, Mulder."

"I'm that predictable?"

"Yes."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Walking my dog."

"Did you see the shooting star?"

Deja vu all over again. Only this time, it was not accompanied

by a feeling of foreboding, and a tremendous weight was lifted from her

shoulders. "Yes, I did."

"And you're not going to argue that it's an airplane or something

else mundane like that?"

"Not tonight."

"There may be hope for you yet."

"Don't count on it. Good-bye Mulder."

"Night, Scully."

She could always be a skeptic later.