Blood Oranges
by syntax6
syn_tax6@yahoo.com
disclaimer, etc. in Chapter One

missing parts? they can be found here:
http://sites.netscape.net/syntax6usa/homepage

or here:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Portal/2944/index.html

XxXxX

Chapter Eleven

XxXxX

Scully awoke to throbbing pain, her injured arm laying across her
stomach.  Every nerve seemed to scream in agony.  She blinked slowly as
the events of the previous evening came cascading back, then twisted her
head on the pillow to look for Mulder.  He was gone.  The sheets were
empty and rumpled, and she squinted at the window, trying to determine
what time it was.  Shafts of bright light slanted in at all angles from
behind the closed curtains.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"  Mulder's voice floated from across the
room, and she lifted her head to find him.  He sat slouched with one
shin propped against the table edge as he typed a final few words into
her laptop.

"I'm okay," she managed, though her mouth felt filled with cotton.
"What are you doing?

"In a minute."  He rose from the chair and walked over to peer down at
her.  "How's your arm?"

She shifted it in response, struggling to sit up, only to sink back down
again when the white-hot pain lanced through her arm.  "It hurts," she
whispered, eyes closed against the dizzying sensations.  She heard his
footfalls move away from the bed, and a moment later there was the sound
of water running in the bathroom.  He returned to sit on his side of the
bed, scooting toward her with a glass in one hand and two capsules in
the other.

"Here, this should help," he said, handing her the pills.  She accepted
them gratefully and downed them with several sips of cool water.  Mulder
stretched out next to her on the bed, breathing quietly in the semi-
darkness with her as she waited for the pain to recede.  Eventually he
reached out and traced a line down her arm, close to the row of neat
stitches.  Her hypersensitive skin tingled in near pain.

"That was a really dangerous thing you did," he murmured at last, his
hand falling away.  She shifted to look at him, but he was not meeting
her eyes.

"I know.  It didn't go as I'd planned," she admitted softly.  "Probably
I should have found another way, but I'd been thinking all along that it
wasn't him.  Then all of a sudden he's asking to show me the knives...I
just had to know the truth."

"I thought the same thing," Mulder said quietly.  "That maybe we'd been
wrong, that it was King after all.  Then you left the bar, and by the
time I got around back, you had disappeared."

There was a hint of accusation in his words, and a lingering note of
fear that made her flush with guilt.  Too many times she had been the
one left behind, and she felt no satisfaction at having returned the
favor.  "I'm sorry, Mulder."  She reached across with her good hand and
tangled their fingers together.  "I wasn't thinking."

His hair rustled on the pillow as he turned to look at her.  "Yes, you
were.  You were thinking something, Scully--I just wish you'd tell me
what it was."  She dropped her eyes to their joined hands, not
answering.  Gingerly, she moved her right arm to close her fingers
around his wrist, turning his palm up and loosening her left hand so she
could trace the spot where his wedding band would have been.  He held
his breath.

"Do you still have it?" she asked finally, her eyes gaze never leaving
his fingers.

"Yeah, it's buried in my stuff somewhere."  He paused.  "I don't really
like to look at it."

She folded his fingers down and covered them with her own, considering
his words.  "It must be hard," she whispered after a moment, "never to
let yourself remember.  You lose so much more that way."

"It's more complicated than you think," he answered, pulling his hand
away, and her skin cooled at his withdrawal.  She shifted from him,
laying back to stare at the stucco ceiling.  He sighed.  "I'm doing the
best I can here, Scully, it's just...
"Just what?"  She sneaked a sideways glance.

"I don't think there's even a name for what happened with me and
Elizabeth.  It all happened so fast--first it was good, then it was bad,
then it was over--I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to be
feeling.  It wasn't like a divorce because we still loved each other,
and it wasn't like she had died and I could mourn her properly.   And
then on paper our marriage didn't even exist anymore."  He propped
himself up on one elbow so he could look down at her, his eyes troubled
and sad.  "I finally went numb inside, and it took me a long time to
make the emptiness go away," he finished quietly.  "I guess I've just
been afraid of falling in again."

She held his gaze for a few silent moments.  "When did it go away?" she
asked softly.

He smiled a bit and gently brushed a lock of hair off her forehead.  "I
think you know,"  he whispered.  She smiled, too, and pulled him down so
that his face was pressed against her neck.  His arm wrapped around her
carefully, and they held each other in silence for several long minutes.
Then she kissed his head.

"Mulder."

"Mmmm?"  He hummed into her neck.

"You won't fall in again.  I won't let you."

He raised himself up to look down at her, and this time amusement marked
his features.  "I'd put you up against my subconscious anytime, Scully."

She gave him a tired smile.  "Better yours than mine," she answered with
a sigh, and his eyes darkened, kaleidoscope-like, to reflect his
concern.  He squeezed her hand briefly.

"Maybe it's time you tell me what's going on."

She dropped her chin to her chest, trying to come up with the words.
"If I knew, I'd tell you," she replied finally.

He scooted closer.  "You asked if I ever heard the killer's voice in my
head.  Why did you want to know about that?"

His earlier words echoed through her mind: *I think you know.*  But she
did not say them aloud.  Instead, she twisted so they lay eye to eye.
"Ever since we got here, I've had this feeling about him--like he's very
close."

"Close?"

She nodded.  "Almost like...almost like he's inside me."

"You can pick up on what he's thinking?" Mulder asked carefully, and she
felt great relief that he had not come out and used the word "mind-
reading".

"I can't answer that," she replied.  "I don't know for sure if what I'm
thinking is right."

"What are you thinking?"

She paused, then shook her head.  "Mainly what I've already told you--
that the killer is motivated primarily out of empathy for the victims,
and that he sometimes cuts himself, too."

"You actually hear his voice in your head?"  Mulder was eager in his
questioning.

"Well, that's the strange part."  She stopped, and his eyes searched
hers until she continued.  "It's not someone else's voice that I'm
hearing--it's mine.  That's what makes me think that maybe I could be
imagining the whole thing, maybe confusing some of his feelings with my
own."  She tilted her head to look at him.  "What do you think?"

He ran a hand through his hair and rolled to look at the ceiling.  "I
don't know.  You've displayed some pretty incredible intuition in the
past, Scully.  Maybe something about this case has sharpened it a little
more."

"You mean because of Elizabeth?"

"Could be.  You would know better than I would.  Is there anything about
these murders that seems different to you, or maybe even familiar?
Maybe you're drawing on some previous experience you're not consciously
aware of, and it's somehow integrating with the facts of this case to
give you a heightened perception of the killer's motives."

She gave a faint smile.

"What?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Nothing.  You just sounded a little like me for a minute."

His eyebrows lifted slightly.  "You were maybe expecting me to advance
the possibility of a psychic connection?"

"I guess a little, yes."

"Well, you're not reading anyone else's thoughts, are you?"  She shook
her head.  "And you're not getting visions of the crimes in progress, or
having premonitions of future victims?"

"No, nothing like that.  Nothing visual."

"Then I'd say it's a little early to set you up with your own 900
number," he said.  "You don't display any of the traditional indicators
of psychic ability."

Thank God, she added silently.   But still she was troubled by the
source of the voice.  "I've never been tempted to cut myself, either,"
she told him, moving to sit up against the headboard.  "So I don't think
I'm inventing these words on my own."

"No," he admitted.  "Probably not."  He sat up as well.  "Is there
anything else?  Anything that might give a clue about his identity?"

She shook her head.  "Just that fact that he likes to cut himself.  That
seems pretty unusual."

"Maybe not as much as you'd think," Mulder answered, and he slid off the
bed to go retrieve her laptop.  "After you mentioned it to me, I did a
little digging on the internet and found quite a bit on self-mutilation.
Apparently it's not nearly as uncommon as once thought.  Hundreds of
people do it."

He brought the computer over to the bed and switched on the nearby lamp.
Scully scanned the first bit of notes he had typed, her brow wrinkling
as she read.  "I'm not sure I understand. Is the cutting some sort of
way to get attention?"

"Quite the opposite, actually."  He rejoined her on the bed.  "For most
people it's a great secret, and they take care to place the injuries in
areas that aren't likely to be seen by others."

She read a little farther, to the part where he described the types of
burns and cuts that people inflicted on themselves.  It was gruesome.
"How terrible," she murmured, and he agreed.

"It's just like you said, Scully--they do it to make the pain go away.
It's a way of controlling the internal anxiety by giving them an
external focus. The greater the anxiety, the more injury it takes to
make the feelings subside."

"How do you make them stop?" she asked, scrolling further down the page.

"I had a tougher time with that one," he answered,  "From what I could
find, it seems as though many psychologists have been reluctant to treat
self-mutilators.  They're often afraid of them.  It's a hard disorder to
treat because the patients frequently don't feel they are doing anything
wrong."  He scratched the back of his head.  "But it seems like this
profile fits our killer pretty well.  We're dealing with someone who
uses the knife to satisfy his pain."

Scully drew a sharp breath and jerked her hand away from the keyboard,
blinking rapidly.  "Oh my God."

"What?" he asked, moving closer.  "What is it?"

She peeked at the screen again, where he had listed a bunch of traits
that were best characteristic of people who liked to cut themselves.
"Female" was at the top of the list, followed by "has suffered a large
psychological trauma", "trouble talking about negative feelings", "likes
to feel in control" and "emotionally distant parents".  There were a few
others, but Scully stopped reading.  She turned to face him, shaking
slightly.  "This isn't just the killer," she said in a low voice.
"Mulder, this could be me."

XxXxX

I prepared the basement this morning.  It was a long drive out to the
cabin and back, but it's worth it for my peace of mind.  The table has
been shined, and the restraints are ready.  I hummed a little while I
laid out the knives and congratulated myself on the new plan.  I don't
know why I did not think of it sooner.

As I drove back to town, a voice in my head started worrying about her,
saying that she would not cooperate.  I nearly ran off the road into a
snow bank.

stupidstupidstupid!

How could you ever think anyone else would be sick like you?

My heart was racing, and my hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel.
What if I was wrong about her?

Then I realized it was just Father talking inside my mind, and I
relaxed.  There was no reason to be alarmed.  She might resist at first-
-I remember I hesitated the first time--but once she understood how it
could be, cutting into warm flesh, she would join in immediately.

Rush hour traffic slowed me down at the bridge, but I didn't mind.  The
night would come soon enough.

XxXxX

Mulder was quiet as he watched the stitches disappear under the sleeve
of her lavender cardigan.  Wordlessly, he moved to help her fasten the
buttons.  "I thought you said you would never consider hurting
yourself," he said when he had finished.  She met his eyes briefly, then
looked away.

"I haven't considered it.  That's why this is so odd."  She sank down
slowly on the side of the bed, and after a moment, he joined her.

"Well, they're just risk factors," he said slowly.  "They're not
necessarily predictive of anything."

She nodded, lost in thought.  "It must be like gene penetrance," she
murmured at last.

"Excuse me?"

"Just because you have the gene for something doesn't mean it's
necessarily going to be transcribed," she said, shifting to face him.
"Take the breast cancer gene, for example.  Only eighty percent of the
women who have the gene will actually go on to develop the illness."

He looked interested.  "So what's the difference?  What makes one woman
get cancer and the other not?"

"That's the million dollar question, Mulder.  Most likely it's
environmental factors that govern the gene transcription, but what those
specific factors are has yet to be determined.  Chances are there's a
whole host of contributing causes."

"So you think that self-mutilation has a genetic basis?"

She shook her head.   "That's probably too strong an assertion, but
there is almost certainly a genetic component.  Complex behaviors such
as this one are likely to be controlled by multiple genes and therefore
more flexible in responding to environmental changes."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Scully glanced once more
at the glowing screen that listed the personality types prone to self-
mutilation.  Gene penetrance.  Diathesis-stress.  All just fancy ways of
saying that if X and been Y or right had been left, she might have
turned to hurting herself as a way to manage her pain.  She shivered.
Some dark roads were best not taken.

"You okay, Scully?"

She drew her legs up on the bed and nodded slightly.  "Yeah, I'm all
right."  She dropped her eyes, toying absently with the edge of the
blanket.  "Why, do you think?"

"Why did you turn out okay?" he asked.  Nodding, she met his eyes.  He
looked uncomfortable.  "I don't know, Scully...I don't know if we'll
ever know."

I have to, she thought desperately, squeezing her eyes shut.  I have to
know whether I should look at that list and think "not me" or "not yet".

A warm hand closed over her knee, and she opened her eyes again.  "I
think you're okay," he said softly.  "Look here, see?"  He leaned over
and scrolled down to the bottom of the risk factors.  "Most people start
when they're really young--teens and twenties."

She read over the words once, then twice more before she looked up at
him again.  Sudden tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away.  "No
more complaining about turning thirty-five," she whispered with a near
smile, and he smiled and wrapped an arm around her, hugging her close.
After a few moments, she pulled away.  "He's still out there, Mulder.
It's just a matter of time until he kills again."

"Probably sooner rather than later," he agreed.  "There were two victims
this week alone."

"I was thinking," she began slowly.  "If we're right about the killer
cutting himself, he might be doing it at the crime scene."

"Could be.  The profile suggests he'd be likely to cut more during times
of extreme stress.  I'd certainly put a murder scene in that category."

"Well, then some of the blood traces on the victims might be his."

Mulder looked confused.  "Wouldn't you and Dr. Atkins have spotted
something like that before?"

"We didn't assay every single stain--there were so many of them and we
believed the blood all came from the victim.  But Marianne Maubry's
results should be in by now.  We were pretty thorough with her, so
perhaps there is something in her screens we haven't seen before."

"Okay.  Why don't I run over to the morgue and pick up a copy?"  He was
already on his feet, reaching for his coat.

"Mulder, I can--"  His ringing cell phone cut short her protest.

"Hello?" he said, still struggling into his jacket.  "Hey, how'd it go?
Uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, she's doing fine." He paused and mouthed,
"Bertelli".

"Did they charge King?" Scully asked, rising from the bed.  He nodded.

"In an hour?" he asked, and checked his watch.  "I don't know if I can
make it--I'm heading to the morgue right now to grab Marianne Maubry's
lab results.  Scully thinks there's a possibility that the killer left
his blood behind."  There was a longer pause as he listened to
Bertelli's response.  "Yeah, well...if the blood is a match, then we'll
have King for sure, won't we?  And if it isn't..."

Scully turned away.  Blood or no blood, King wasn't the killer.  Why
couldn't they see that?

Moments later, Mulder snapped his phone shut.  "Bertelli is less than
pleased, and judging from the swearing in the background, Jacobsen
shares her opinion.  They've already handed King over to the D.A."

"Without the murder weapon?"  Scully was incredulous.

"Yeah, well they're still searching King's apartment and his buddy
Dave's house.  In the meantime, Englehart's crowing to the media that
the case is closed."

"At least until the next victim shows up," she sighed.

"Speaking of, I'm going to head out now and pick up the reports.  If I
have time, I'll catch King's arraignment at one."  He began walking
toward the door, and she followed him.

"I'll meet you there.  I'd like to talk to Bertelli and Jacobsen
myself."

He paused in the doorway, peering down at her.  "Are you sure it's a
good idea to go?  The press is going to be crawling all over the place."

"They're about to charge a man with seven murders he didn't commit,
Mulder.  I can't just sit in my hotel room and let that happen."

He glanced at the arm she held protectively against her side.  "As far
as I'm concerned," he muttered, "they can bury Joe King so deep he'll be
pumping in daylight."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to be advocating his release," she answered
darkly, and he nodded.

"See you in an hour or so."

"Mulder, wait."  He stopped and turned around.

"What?"

"Just...be careful, okay?"

He stepped back across the threshold and placed a kiss on the top of her
head.  "An hour, Scully.  I'll see you then."

"Yes, see you."  She watched him until he had disappeared down the hall
and out of sight.

XxXxX

Mulder walked along the hall of the basement morgue until he reached the
swinging doors.  Inside he found Dr. Atkins standing, forceps in hand,
over a dead man about sixty years of age.  She looked up when he
entered.

"Agent Mulder," she said with some surprise and set aside her safety
goggles.

He held up his hands.  "No food this time--am I clear to come in?"

"Sure, sure."  She snapped off her gloves.  "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm here for Scully.  She was wondering if the lab results
for Marianne Maubry have come back."

"Oh, I heard about what happened last night!  Is she okay?"

"Other than a cut on her arm, she's doing fine," he reported.

"Did she lose much blood?"  Mulder jumped as a tall, thin man
materialized behind him.  Jesus, had the doors even opened?  He looked
up at the man's pale, solemn face.

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

Dr. Atkins stepped forward.  "Agent Mulder, this is my technician,
Howard Everby.  He's been helping me and Dana with this case."

"I heard he cut her pretty badly," Howard said, his dark eyes fixed on
Mulder.  Mulder stared right back.  The man's tone was entirely flat,
but his dilated pupils suggested excitement.

"She's going to be fine.  The cut wasn't that bad," he said carefully,
watching Howard for his reaction.  The other man nodded slowly.

"Very good," he answered softly.  Then he turned to leave.

"Howard, wait.  Did the labs come back on Marianne Maubry yet?  Agent
Mulder would like to see them."

Howard turned from the door to look at Mulder again.  "Why?"

Dr. Atkins faced him, as well.  "Yes, why?  I thought the bartender from
Dempsey's was being charged with the murders.  Englehart sent a memo
this morning."

"It's not King," Mulder informed them.  "He's dangerous, but he's not
responsible for these murders."

Both Dr. Atkins and Howard went completely still.  After several beats
of silence, she spoke softly.  "Howard, get the labs, will you?"
Without a word, Howard disappeared through the swinging doors, and she
returned her attention to Mulder.  "Dana agrees with you about this?"

"She feels as strongly as I do--maybe more so.  She's off at the
courthouse trying to intercept Bertelli and Jacobsen right now."

"And if she is not successful?"

He shrugged.  "We'll keep searching.  The real killer is making more
mistakes, now.  We're bound to catch a break soon."

At that point, Howard returned with a folder.  "These are the results,"
he said to Dr. Atkins.  She nodded in Mulder's direction, and Howard
paused, glancing down at the folder before finally handing it over.
Then he moved to stand behind Dr. Atkins.

"Thanks," Mulder said, hardly looking at them as he headed for the door.
"We'll keep you posted."

He began leafing through the reports as he made his way out of the
basement, pausing on the staircase to hold a graph up to the light.
"Should have paid more attention in chemistry," he muttered, continuing
on his way.  Outside the bracing wind forced him to cut short his
perusal.  He held the folder close against his chest as he walked around
the back parking lot.

In the car, he rubbed his hands together to warm them, the folder
resting on the steering wheel.  He opened it again and turned to the
section detailing the hematological analysis.  Squinting, he attempted
to decipher which tests had been run.  The final page revealed the big
payoff.

"Holy shit," he murmured, pulling the sheet free from the rest.  "Am I
reading this right?"  He reached for the phone to call Scully, but then
there was a tap on his window.

XxXxX

Of course he must die.  I should have seen it sooner.  Elizabeth.  Dana.
He hurt them both so much--who's to say how many others he's wounded
along the way?

Well, no more.

"Hey," he says somewhat warily, rolling down his window.  I can tell
he's surprised to see me.  In my pocket, I uncap the syringe.

"Find anything interesting in the reports?" I inquire, and he nods,
fumbling with the folder on his lap.

"Yeah, the blood typing showed--"  He breaks off suddenly, tilting his
head to one side.  I can guess very well what it showed.  Just as I am
preparing to withdraw the syringe, he looks up at me--looks almost right
through me--and I know the puzzle pieces have fallen into place.

"It's you," he whispers, horrified.  "The blood, the marks on the
bodies..."

"Yes," I admit calmly.  I'm almost pleased he's figured it out.  "It's
me."

And the needle slides into his neck with no problem at all.

XxXxX

End Chapter Eleven

XxXxX
Chapter Twelve
XxXxX

In the bathroom, I open my arm with a two inch cut.  The blood runs
warmly over my skin, but it does little to calm my shaking.  I try again
with the other arm.  Soon I am awash in red.

Jesus, it wasn't supposed to happen this way.  How long has he known?
Who else could he have told?  If he said anything to Dana...if he even *
hinted* his suspicions, I could be in serious trouble.

Stupidstupidstupid

You didn't think you would really get away with it, did you?

My head snaps up.  Not caught yet, I think.  I was careless but not
irrevocably so.  There is still time to fix this problem before I bring
Dana to the cabin.  So what if this wasn't the way I planned?

I take several deep breaths and realize the voice has gone away again.
Pressing paper towels to my wounds, I hold the arm with the larger cut
above my head until all the bleeding has stopped.  Any remaining
evidence disappears down the sink in a red swirl.

The knife is cool and sharp in my hand, and I smile with relief.  I
wonder if he will bleed any differently from the women--faster perhaps?
More salty?

It is time to find out.

XxXxX

Scully had no choice but to enter the Cambridge courthouse through the
front doors, where a mob of reports were waiting to swoop down on her
the instant she got out of the taxi.  They cackled questions at her as a
beefy uniformed police sergeant elbowed a path through the crowd.

"Agent Scully, is it true King broke your cover in under five minutes?"

"How does it feel to have caught Cambridge's only serial killer?"

"Can you confirm the rumor that King had sexual relations with the
victims after their deaths?"

"No comment," Scully snapped as a particularly pushy woman shoved a
microphone at her, jostling her injured arm within the sling.  She
ignored their shouts, but still they hollered out questions.  Pushing en
masse up the stone steps like the incoming tide, they propelled her into
the building on a wave of noise.  The marble foyer was blissfully quiet.

"Can I see some ID?" asked the solemn, dark-skinned guard by the metal
detector.  Scully showed him her badge, and his eyes widened a bit.
"Nice work last night," he said softly, straightening to his full
height.  Scully gave him a short nod.

"Thank you.  Has the arraignment started yet?"

"Not for another few minutes, I don't think.  It's down the hall and the
second door on your left."  He gestured through the frame of the metal
detector, and Scully dutifully emptied her pockets.  "You carrying?" he
asked as he pushed the basket of keys and change to the other side of
the table.  She shook her head.  "Okay, then.  You're clear to go on
in."

Collecting her things, then glanced up at the guard again.  "Has another
agent come through here recently, do you know?"  It was now a few
minutes to one, and Mulder had said he would try to make it if he could.
She was surprised she had not heard from him yet.

"No, Ma'am, no one else from the FBI.  Plenty of the CPD blues, though."

"Thanks."  Scully punched up Mulder's number on her phone as she walked
down the corridor toward the courtroom.  Pausing outside the door, she
waited for him to answer but instead reached the automated messaging
service.  "Mulder, it's me.  I'm at the courthouse for the arraignment.
If you got the reports on Marianne Maubry, bring them over here.  I'd
like to take a look at them."

It was crowded inside the courtroom, which smelled of stale heat and wet
winter clothing.  Judge Anna Yin sat at the bench with a weary frown as
the accused were paraded before her, one by one.  Scanning the room,
Scully spotted Bertelli and Jacobsen standing in the corner and watching
the proceedings with intense interest.  Jacobsen looked like he had not
slept in two days, but Bertelli was dressed in a neat burgundy pants
suit that nicely complemented her Italian coloring.

Perfect for the press conferences, Scully thought, repressing a tired
sigh.  She threaded her way through the on-lookers until she reached the
detectives.

"Well if it isn't the woman of the hour," said Jacobsen.  "If you
weren't so indisposed, I'd give you the old high-five." Scully ignored
him.

"Dana, how are you?"  Bertelli greeted her with concern.

"I'll be fine," she answered, eager to move past her injury and on to
the point of her visit.  "King hasn't been arraigned yet?"

"He's up next," Jacobsen said, and just at that moment the side doors
opened and the bailiff escorted Joe King into the room.  Gone was the
cocky, angry man Scully remembered from the night before.  King now
appeared pale, terrified and defeated.  A complete hush fell over the
courtroom as he joined his attorney by the defense table, and moments
later the clerk read off the charges.

"The Commonwealth versus Joseph Anthony King, docket number 218356.
Charges are concealing a deadly weapon, one count of kidnapping in the
first degree, one count of attempted homicide in the first degree, and
seven counts of first degree homicide."

Scully leaned over to Bertelli.  "You've got the wrong man," she
whispered urgently.  "King did not kill those women."

"Oh?"  Bertelli arched an eyebrow.  "And who did, may I ask?"

"I don't know that yet, but I'm sure it wasn't King."

Jacobsen looked annoyed.  "I didn't realize they had started issuing
crystal balls at the FBI."

Scully colored slightly at the remark but pressed forward with her
argument anyway.  "There's no need to summon any psychic powers here.
We don't have one piece of solid evidence linking King to any of the
crime scenes--no witnesses, no DNA, not even a footprint.  You're
telling me that a man who didn't graduate high school had the ability to
pull off such a clean crime scene?"

Jacobsen shrugged.  "So he watches a lot of 'Law and Order'.  Or maybe
he just got lucky there for awhile."

"And the murder weapon?" Scully persisted.  "That hasn't turned up in
any of the searches, has it?"

"Yet."  Bertelli was frowning.  "Look, Dana...I'm not sure why you're
suddenly convinced of King's innocence, but the fact remains that he had
access to the victims, the means to kill them, and a violent temper that
goes a long way toward motive.  The rest will fall into place soon, I'm
sure."

"What about the barbiturates?"

"What?"  Bertelli looked confused.

"The drugs that the killer used to sedate the women.  Did you find any
barbiturates among King's possessions?"  The two detectives exchanged a
look, then fell silent.  Scully sighed.  "I expected as much.  You're
not likely to find them, either.  Not until we find the real killer."

Just as the words left her mouth, the Judge remanded Joe King into the
state's custody pending trial.  Scully shook her head.  "I've got to see
those lab reports."

"What reports?" Jacobsen wanted to know.

"The lab work up on the last victim, Marianne Maubry.  Mulder was
supposed to pick up a copy from the morgue and bring it over here."  She
checked her watch and found it was quarter past one.  "I can't imagine
what could be taking so long."

As Joe King was led away, much of the crowd stood up to leave.  Scully
and the detectives found themselves pushed tighter into the corner.
"Maybe he just couldn't fight his way in," Jacobsen suggested.  "Give
him a call."

Scully nodded and tried phoning Mulder once more, but again there was no
answer.  As she was deciding what to do next, the ADA approached.
"Agent Scully," he nodded at her.  "Walter Litton with District
Attorney's office.  I recognize you from the news.  Thanks for your help
in nailing Joe King--that was an incredible risk you took, following him
back to the house.  I hope you can rest easy now that we'll take it from
here."

"But--"

He continued over her protest.  "Rob, as the arresting officer, you need
to answer a couple more questions for me.  Do you have a minute?"

Jacobsen looked from Scully to Bertelli.  "We done here for the moment?"
he asked.  Bertelli waved him away.

"Yeah, go on.  I'll catch you back at the station."  As the men walked
out of the room, Scully turned to Bertelli.

"I'm going to head out, too.  I want to go over to the morgue to see if
Mulder is still there.  If not, I can at least get a copy of the lab
report."

"I'll go with you," Bertelli suggested.  "That way you don't have to
catch a cab."

Scully gave her an appraising look.  "You're willing to consider that
King might not be guilty?"

Bertelli paused at the doorway, considering the question.  "Let's just
say I'll be interested to know what the lab report reveals."

XxXxX

In the parking lot behind the morgue, Scully paused at the sight of a
familiar red Taurus.  "What is it?" Bertelli asked, coming to stand
beside her.

"This is our car.  Mulder must be inside."  So why wasn't he answering
the phone, she wondered to herself.

The building was quiet when they entered and even more silent as they
reached the basement level.  There was no sign of Dr. Atkins or Howard
anywhere.  "Mulder?" Scully called as they walked toward Dr. Atkins'
office, but there was no answer.  She pushed open the door to the
office.  "Hello?"

The room was empty, but the desk lamp was on and papers were strewn
across the desk.  Scully leaned down to scrutinize them.  "Is that the
report you wanted?" Bertelli asked from behind her.  Scully scanned a

few more lines, then straightened up.

"No, this isn't it.  Maybe it's in Howard's office."  She glanced over
at Bertelli.  "I'll check there if you look down the hall for Mulder.
He must be here someplace."

Bertelli hesitated only a second.  "Okay, sure."  She left and Scully
walked around the corner to Howard's office.  In contrast to Haley
Atkins' room, his was immaculately clean.  Even the paperclips were
neatly aligned in their shallow dish.  Scully shivered, glancing over
her shoulder to make sure he was not creeping up on her.

"C'mon, c'mon...where are you?" she muttered, flipping through the stack
on the corner of his desk with her good hand.  None of the files bore
Marianne Maubry's name.  "Great," Scully grumbled.  "Now what?"

She turned and saw the tall, gray filing cabinet sitting in the corner.
Anal as he seemed, perhaps Howard had already filed the report away, she
reasoned.  She tugged sharply on the top drawer, but it opened only
halfway.  "What the hell?"

She pulled on the handle a few more times, then noticed a catch on the
side.  Releasing the hook, she slid the drawer fully open.  "Oh my God."

Inside was a miniature shrine to Dr. Atkins, complete with a half dozen
candid photos, a pair of latex gloves and what looked to be a lock of
her hair.  There was also a container of pens, one of which Scully
recognized as belonging to her and suppressed a shudder.  She pulled out
a pair of gloves from the box on Howard's desk and lifted out the jar of
pens, bringing them closer to the window to see them clearly.

Her heart stopped.

"No," she whispered, even as the hairs on her neck rose to attention.
The maroon lettering stood out in stark relief against the creamy
background:  "Charleston Hotel".

Marianne Maubry's hotel.  Her hotel.

Scully coughed suddenly as her throat seized up.  Her eyes were
watering.

"Scully!"  Bertelli's cry echoed from down the hall--surprised and
horrified.

He's back, Scully thought immediately, then realized she was unarmed.
In the hall she found a steel pole, part of a disassembled gurney, and
she picked it up before cautiously entering the autopsy bay.  Bertelli
stood motionless in the corner.

"What is it?" Scully asked, not moving from the door.  She clenched her
left hand around the pole.

"He's dead," whispered Bertelli.  "His throat's been slit."

Scully walked into the room and finally caught sight of Howard lying on
the floor, a large red smile gaping across his neck.  She knelt next to
the body and felt his cheek with the back of her hand.  "He's still very
warm.  Did you see anything?"

Bertelli shook her head.  "Not a thing.  He was like this when I came
in."

Scully stood up and looked around.  "No sign of much struggle," she
noted.

Mulder, she thought.  Where the hell was Mulder?  A chill chased down
her spine.

"I guess I had better call this in," said Bertelli.  "You're okay here
with him?"  Scully glanced down at the dead man and nodded.

"I'll be all right."

"Okay, back in five, I promise."  Bertelli jogged toward the doors,
which swung closed behind her with a loud "smack".  Then all was silent.

Scully took a deep breath and then knelt to study the body once more.
"Probably a similar knife," she mused softly, noting the clean edge on
the cut.  "But no slow bleeding out this time--he caught both carotids
in one slice."   As she stood up, she noticed a folder sitting on the
nearby countertop.  She picked it up and found Marianne Maubry's labs at
the front.  Toward the back was a page from Anne Hingham's file--blood
analysis she had never seen before.

"So there were two blood types...we could have known this months ago."
She flipped to Marianne's report and discovered something more.
Marianne and the killer both had blood type O positive, so the lab had
run some more thorough tests, including a chromosomal readout.  "My
God," breathed Scully, staring at the results.  "It's a woman."

"Hello, Dana."

Scully spun around to find Haley Atkins standing five feet away.  In her
hands was a gun; it looked suspiciously like Bertelli's.

"Haley," she said cautiously, her eyes trained on the weapon.  "What's
going on here?"

Dr. Atkins took a step closer.  "I think you know by now.  I think maybe
you've always known."

"You killed those women," Scully said, amazed by how calm her voice
sounded.  "And Howard, too."

Dr. Atkins cast a dispassionate glance at the man on the floor.  "I had
no choice with him.  He found out about the cabin, about the women."
She blinked guilelessly at Scully.  "I couldn't let him ruin everything
for us."

"For us?" Scully licked her lips.

Dr. Atkins shook her head faintly, as if in wonder.  "I never thought
there would be another person like me."  She smiled.  "Then you came.
It's fate, don't you think?"

Scully had barely moved since the woman had entered the room.  Now she
took a small step forward.  "I don't understand.  Why don't you put the
gun down and we'll talk about it?"

"No!"  She tightened her grip on the weapon.  "Don't make me do it,
Dana," she whispered.  "I don't want to have to kill him by myself."

Scully froze.  "Kill who?"

"Mulder, of course."

"You...you have Mulder?"

"Yes."  She smiled broadly and nodded toward the door.  "Come with me,
Dana...then we can have him together."

Scully went.

XxXxX

End Chapter Twelve

XxXxX

Chapter Thirteen

XxXxX

The road seemed to lead directly into winter, as the banks of snow rose
higher around them and bleak clouds appeared like wisps of smoke on the
horizon.  Scully guessed it had been ten minutes since she had seen any
sign of civilization.  She glanced again at the gun resting in Haley
Atkins' lap, wondering if she could be quick enough to grab it.  Her
fingers inched a little closer.

As if sensing the motion, Dr. Atkins tightened her grip on the gun.
"We're nearly there.  It won't be long now."

Scully looked out at the passing trees.  "Where exactly are we going?"

Dr. Atkins gave a strange, twitching smile.  "The scene of the crime,"
she whispered, and Scully shivered in her seat.  The cold caused her
injured arm to ache all the way to the bone.

"What about..."  She stopped and swallowed hard, as visions of Howard's
separated throat flashed through her mind.  "What about Mulder?  Will he
be there?"

"Oh, yes," Dr. Atkins murmured.  "Of course he will be there.  It's his
destiny."

Scully kept her eyes focused on the gun.  "I believe we choose our own
destiny."

"Is that so?"  Dr. Atkins gave her an appraising glance.   "Let's hope
you choose the right one, then."

The car hit a sharp bump as they turned off onto a snow covered back
road, where tall pine trees nearly blocked out the gray afternoon light.
They jostled along with the dashboard rattling until Scully heard a
thump from the trunk of the car.  She twisted in her seat.  "Mulder?
Mulder, is that you?"

"Nearly there," muttered Dr. Atkins as if she had not spoken.  Scully
turned back to face her.

"Is he all right?" she demanded.  "What did you do to him?"

Dr. Atkins frowned at her, knuckles turning white as she clenched the
wheel with her free hand.  "Don't worry, Dana, he's perfectly untouched.
Did you think I wouldn't wait for you?"

The car bumped and rolled around another corner, and Scully saw a large
wooden cabin looming up ahead in the clearing.  There did not seem to be
another living soul around.  "Please," she said, a note of panic
beginning to creep into her voice.  "Haley, this is not what I want.
What I want is for all of us to be safe.  It's not too late to stop
this.  If you'll just turn around and go back--"

"No!  No, I can't!  I can't stop."  She turned wild eyes to Scully.
"Don't you see?  I can't ever stop.  And once you see how it can be, you
won't want to stop, either."  She brought the car to a halt outside the
cabin, causing Mulder to hit the side of the trunk with a sharp jolt.
Scully winced at the sound.

"Please," she whispered again.  "Don't do this."

Dr. Atkins raised the gun, her eyes gone cold.  "Get out," she ordered
flatly.  Scully got out of the car, and Dr. Atkins met her with the gun
barrel on the other side.  "I'm sorry you're having so much trouble with
this, Dana, but you'll see in a minute that it's for your own good."

Scully felt her eyes sting with tears.  Whether it was from sorrow or
the bitter wind she did not know.  "How?" she asked achingly.  "How can
you think that good will come from hurting people?"

"I...I thought you knew."  Dr. Atkins looked surprised.  "I saw you
cutting the bodies.  You had such care, such a gentle touch...I was sure
you did it, too."

"Did what?" whispered Scully, already afraid of the answer.

But instead of replying aloud, Dr. Atkins pulled open her long wool coat
and tugged up her blouse.  Scully gasped.  Angry brown scabs
crisscrossed over the woman's midsection, marring the white surface with
scars and barely-healed wounds.  Some were so deep they had clearly
required stitches.  "Let me see your arm," breathed Dr. Atkins, licking
her lips.  "Let me see where he cut you."

"My God."  Scully was still staring at the terrible cuts on Dr. Atkins'
stomach.  Nothing Mulder had said could have prepared her for this.
"You really did this to yourself?"

"For a long time now.  It was the only way I found to stop the
screaming.  But then..." She lowered her blouse again and shrugged a
little.  "Then one day it just wasn't enough anymore."

"You need help," Scully said softly, taking a step toward the other
woman.  "Please...let me help you.  There are people we can talk to,
people who understand the kind of pain you're in."

"You mean the talking heads?" Dr. Atkins laughed bitterly.  "Those
idiots who come on the nightly news and try to dissect me for the
viewers at home?  What a bunch of crap that is!  They don't understand a
thing about us, Dana, not a thing! They all think I'm a man, for
chrissake!"

"We can find someone," Scully implored, but Atkins cut her off.

"No.  You know who understood?  The women from Dempsey's--they all knew
about pain."  Her eyes narrowed.  "Like Elizabeth, for instance.  She
knew.  She even put herself under the knife to try to make it stop,
that's how much he hurt her."

"Mulder tried to help her, not hurt her," Scully protested through
chattering teeth.  Her thin sweater was no protection from the swirling
snowflakes that had began to fall.

"He didn't help her!" sneered Dr. Atkins.  "*I'm* the one who ended
Elizabeth's misery, not him!  She told me she wished she had never
married him!  What kind of love is that?"

"You've got it all wrong," Scully insisted urgently.  "Mulder is not
like that."

"Oh, no?  You're saying he never hurt you?  Don't bother to lie about it
because I could see it all over your face--and his.  Guilt is always so
easy to read."

Scully hugged herself with her good arm.  "Not everything is that easy,"
she murmured finally.  "But the hurt doesn't have to go on forever."
She dropped her eyes to the other woman's hidden scars.   "Not if you
don't want it to."

Dr. Atkins' lips curved into a smile, and she nodded slowly.  "I knew
you would understand.  Of course there is pain at first, but I know
exactly how to make it go away."  She waved the gun in the direction of
the trunk.  "Come on, then.  It's time to begin."  She tossed Scully the
car keys.

Scully hesitated only a moment before inserting the key and popping the
lid.  Mulder blinked up at her, his mouth taped and his hands bound
behind his back.  Relief and worry swirled in his eyes with equal
measure as he raked his gaze over her once.  She leaned down a bit
closer, searching him for any sign of injury.  "Are you okay, Mulder?"
she asked softly.  He nodded.

"Help him out," ordered Dr. Atkins from behind them.  "And make it
slow."

It was an awkward process with his hands pinned at his back and her arm
still in the sling, but eventually Mulder stood beside her in the snow.
Scully glanced behind him and noticed his fingertips were turning blue.
"We need to untie him," she said, fixing Dr. Atkins with a level gaze.
"His circulation is cut off."

"That problem will be fixed soon enough," returned the other woman
coolly.  She indicated the cabin with a nod.  "Let's go."

Scully met Mulder's eyes and then turned to head for the cabin.  If they
were lucky, there might be a phone she could reach.  The snow crunched
under her feet as she walked, but after a few steps she realized the
only sound behind her was the wind.  She turned around again and saw
Mulder still standing by the car with Dr. Atkins.  "Mulder?"

Dr. Atkins brought her other hand up to the gun, aiming the barrel
directly at Mulder's chest.  "Tell him to get moving!" she yelled out.
Mulder shook his head.

Oh, God, Scully thought frantically.  He doesn't think she'll do it.  He
doesn't think she'll switch her weapon.

Thoughts of Howard and Bertelli flooded her mind again as she walked
back towards the car.  It was already clear how far Atkins was willing
to go to keep her plans on track.  "Mulder, please," she murmured.
"Just come inside."

"Better listen to your partner, Agent Mulder."  Dr. Atkins' eyes
narrowed.

Mulder looked down at the gun and then shook his head again.  Dr. Atkins
gave no second warning; she shot him instantly.

"Mulder!"  Scully screamed as he fell to the ground, curling inward in
pain.  She knelt beside him in the snow.  "Mulder, are you okay?  Where
were you hit?"  His moans were muffled by the tape.

"Get him up," said Dr. Atkins coldly.

"He's been shot," Scully snapped, stating the obvious.  "He can't get
up."

"He can and he will."

Scully ignored her, still searching over Mulder for the point of entry.
Then her hand grazed his pants leg and came away covered in blood.
"Jesus," she murmured, pressing against the wound.  She looked up
through the falling snow at Dr. Atkins.  "We need to get him to a
hospital.  Now."

"We need to get him inside," returned the other woman, "or my next shot
won't be so low."

Mulder began twisting in an effort to get up.  After a moment of
indecision, Scully helped him to his feet, wrapping her good arm solidly
around his shoulders.  At least inside there was still the possibility
of a phone.  "Can you make it?" she whispered, squeezing him tight.  His
eyes slid shut in pain, but he nodded.

Slowly, they made their way to the cabin, with Mulder leaving bright red
splotches of red on the new-fallen snow.  "Not up," said Dr. Atkins when
they reached the stairs.  She nodded toward the bulkhead.  "Down there."

As they paused to open the metal doors, the wind howled across the
frozen lake, and Dr. Atkins turned towards the sound.  "I hear you,
Helen," she murmured.  "I'll be coming soon."

Scully shivered with cold and horror, and Mulder grunted in pain as they
maneuvered down the rickety steps into the basement.  Then Dr. Atkins
flipped a wall switch, and Scully blinked rapidly in surprise.

It was an autopsy bay.

The floor was tiled and equipped with a drain, and a long, silver table
gleamed under the fluorescent light.  The only difference was that this
table had restraints.

"Up you go," ordered Dr. Atkins, waving the gun at Mulder.  Scully felt
her heart lurch into her stomach.

"Haley, stop.  Don't do this."

"You'll understand soon, Dana.  This is the way it has to be.  I'm sorry
about the gun, but I need it until I'm sure you will cooperate."

Scully swallowed with difficulty as Mulder started to sway on his feet.
"I'll...I'll cooperate, I promise.  Just tell me what to do."

Dr. Atkins smiled.  "Excellent.  Put him on the table, will you?  I'll
make sure he's strapped in nice and tight."

Mulder's eyes were fixed on hers, and for the first time, Scully
detected real fear in his gaze.  She squeezed his arm as they moved
toward the table.  Just for a minute, Mulder, she told him silently.
We're going to get out of here, I promise.

Aloud she said, "I need to untie his wrists now."

"Fine," answered Dr. Atkins, and Scully made quick work of the knots.
Mulder flexed his fingers gingerly, and she pressed them briefly in
reassurance.  "Now step away," Dr. Atkins commanded.  "I'll do the
restraints."

Pulse pounding in her ears, Scully watched as Dr. Atkins pinned Mulder
like a butterfly with leather restraints at his ankles and wrists.
Blood from his leg smeared the side of the silver table.  Dr. Atkins
tested each knot with a sharp tug before proclaiming herself satisfied.
"That will do for now," she murmured, and Scully felt her panic ratchet
up another notch.

Maybe Dr. Atkins had been lying when she said she would put the gun
down.

"What...what do I do now?" Scully managed in a tight voice, and Mulder
twisted his head to stare at her with huge, dark eyes.  She turned away.

XxXxX

End Chapter Thirteen