Four Final Words By Keleka Email: keleka@compaq.net Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary, etc. Rating: R, for language and for themes concerning child abuse and death. Spoiler Warning: Seventh season up to Orison. Content Statement: M/S UST; MSR Classification: SRA Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Archive: Sure! It'd be nice if you told me so I could visit and have my ego stroked. Category: S, MSR Summary: Mulder and Scully search for Scully's missing nephew, and maybe for something else as well. Threequel to my Orison Post Ep, "Four Words," and "Four Final Words." If you missed them, you can find them at gossamer Timeline: New Year's Eve coming over a month early in the XF world didn't help things. This takes place three weeks after Orison, and before any of the postOrison episodes take place. Let's make it very early in February. All three of these stories take place in a period of five days. Disclaimer: Get real! If I owned this cash cow, do you really think I'd be living in Mississippi? Have you ever BEEN to Mississippi? Feedback: I swear I didn't intend for "Four Words" to start a trilogy, but the characters had other ideas. I think all the positive feedback just went to their heads. I'm sure they (and I) would love more. Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27 who continues to encourage me, God help her; to brat and brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond God's help; to zephathah, for some good advice; and especially to Shoshana, who goes above and beyond the call of duty every day. My Newport, Rhode Island has virtually nothing in common with the real one. Yes, there is a naval station there, and yes the Naval War College is there, along with the Surface Warfare Officer's School, the Naval Justice School, and several other navy career schools. Other than that, my Newport is entirely a figment of my imagination. The Newport Police Department very kindly answered some questions, and several people offered to feed me info about the real Newport, but I finally just decided to heck with it. That doesn't diminish the charity and kindness of their offers, just my patience and willingness to let real life interfere with my fantasy. ------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't believe this. It's not enough that Scully was abducted, given cancer, and made barren, or that her sister and daughter were killed, or that Donnie Pfaster beat the crap out of her. No, that's not enough. Now some psychopath in Rhode Island abducts her beloved nephew. I can truly understand why Scully has lost her faith. If I'd had any to begin with, I'd have lost mine by now too. If there IS a God, he's one sadistic bastard. Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're all just playthings of some powerful being who abuses us for his own amusement. Wasn't there a Star Trek episode about that? Greetings and felicitations, earthlings. Standing here on the curb outside my apartment building, I watch cars go by and wonder what these peoples' lives are like. Just how out-of-the-mainstream are we? I'm not sure I would recognize a normal life if one walked up and introduced itself. I can imagine telling a doctor my life story some day and finding myself committed to an insane asylum on the spot. Hell, maybe I AM insane and my so-called life is just one big hallucination as I huddle in the back of a padded cell wearing a straitjacket and rubber head protector. Scully doesn't say anything when she picks me up at the curb one hour after I left her apartment. I'm glad we had time to catch up before Bill called, else I'd have come home and packed for a trip to sunny San Diego instead of frigid Rhode Island. Bill, it seems, is now teaching at the Surface Warfare Officer's School at the Newport Naval Station. Big Bad Bill a teacher. Go figure. I shift in my seat to look at my partner. I can see the worry in her face and the tight grip she has on the steering wheel and on her emotions. From the moment she hung up the phone, there was no question I would be going with her. She didn't ask. I didn't offer. We both just knew. When she called the airline she ordered two tickets on the late flight to Providence and I left to pack. She turns to look at me and offers a tense smile before prying one white-knuckled hand off the steering wheel and reaching over to tangle her fingers in mine. We ride this way for awhile, each offering strength to the other. I close my eyes and hope I have enough strength for the two of us in case she falters. This is too damned soon after a major crisis in our relationship, a crisis of faith which has left us both weakened. Ready or not, I'm in the middle of another Scully-family crisis. Sometimes I think this family is jinxed, and not just by its relationship with me For once, I'm not the cause of the crisis, and it's not Dana Scully's hospital bed we're assembling around. I have doubts about how Bill will react to my presence, but maybe with his son's life at stake he'll tolerate me. We arrive at the airport, make short business of getting checked in, and just make it to the gate in time to board. I don't think we've exchanged three words since Scully picked me up. She's too tense for small talk. At first she tries looking through a magazine, but finally she puts back her seat and tries to sleep. I don't bother trying. It takes an IV drip full of friendly drugs to put me into a sound sleep anymore. It's a short hop to Providence. I offer to drive the rental car but Scully knows the way better. She spent a few years here as a child. At the front gate to the naval station we identify ourselves as FBI agents and are given directions to Commander Scully's residence. When we pull into the officers' residential area, it's easy to tell which of the modest townhouses is Bill Scully's. It's the one with the squad car parked in front. The Newport Police Department K9 unit is here. Maybe that's good news. Maybe Matthew is safe and sound and we can go home in the morning. Scully parks the car in a nearby parking lot. When she comes around to my side of the car, I take her hand for the walk to the house, and I'm surprised that she doesn't resist my offer of affection. Maybe things are finally starting to change between us. But now is not the time to think about that. For now our attentions are focused on little Matthew Scully. * * * It seems as though I've been here for hours pouring over these files. I lean back in the straight-backed wooden chair and teeter on its back legs, perilously close to to falling flat on my ass. Pretty much a metaphor for my life in general. I look at my watch and see that it's been only an hour-and-a-half since I left the naval base with the K9 officer and came to the Newport Police Department headquarters. Matthew, as it turned out, is far from safe. When we learned that Matthew was the fourth child abducted from school yards in the Newport area since the school year began, our concern ratcheted up several degrees. I left immediately with the officer to come to headquarters and start reviewing the case files. Scully will be along as soon as she's dealt with the family thing. As if on cue, Scully walks in and sits wearily in the chair next to me. I can tell she's been crying, but she tries to cover it with her doctor's face, the one that takes over whenever she has to autopsy a child. "Find anything?" she asks flatly. "Not much," I say. "One witness who might have seen a suspicious character in the shadows at your nephew's school. No witnesses at all from the other abductions." She nods. "How do three children disappear from their school yards without anyone seeing anything?" she asks rhetorically. "How are Bill and Tara holding up?" "I had to sedate Tara," she says, so softly I can barely hear her. "She's distraught. Bill is being strong for her." She pushes back her chair and reaches for my hand. "We need some sleep, Mulder. There's nothing else we can do tonight." I agree and return the files to the desk sergeant. Tomorrow I'll visit the school yards where the children were abducted and try to come up with some leads that might help profile the suspect. On the way to the car Scully tells me she already called the Hampton Inn and reserved us a room. My ears perk up at that, but I say nothing. She says she just wasn't up for Matthew's bed at Bill's house and me on the sofa bed. That's one invitation I'm glad she turned down. After we register and get our bags from the car, we head for our room. When the door opens my jaw drops a foot when I see there is only one bed. One king-sized bed. Jesus. What's she got on her mind here? Scully heads for the bathroom and wastes no time doing her nightly hygienic routine. She emerges in less than three minutes wearing a pair of red USMC jogging shorts and a too-large gray FBI tee shirt. She's never looked sexier. I, meanwhile, haven't budged from my spot inside the door, still trying to comprehend the meaning of the king-sized bed. She sits on one side of the bed and looks at me wearily. "Come on, Mulder," she says. "Let's get some sleep." "Scully," I say, a question in the inflection of my voice. She crawls under the covers and yawns. "I don't want to be alone, Mulder. You don't mind, do you?" Me? Mind? Hell no. I race through brushing my teeth, strip to my skivvies, and in just a few minutes climb in on the other side of this monster of a bed. I lie facing her, knowing that a few hours sound sleep is going to be mine tonight. Sharing a bed with Scully is better than any IV drip. In a few minutes I feel myself drifting off when I hear her whisper. "Mulder?" "Hmmmm," I manage to get out. "Thanks. For coming with me." "Anytime, Scully." There's silence for about a minute before she speaks again. "Mulder?" "Hmmmm?" I feel the bed bounce slightly and open my eyes to see Scully moving over next to me. "Hold me." I put my arm around her and pull her close. Within minutes we are both sound asleep. * * * I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the raisin bagel I snatched from the motel's breakfast buffet this morning on my way out. I'm surprised it's not frozen given the temperature in the low teens that grips Newport. I nibble on it while I pace the ground beside the Newport Coastal Elementary School for the ninth or tenth time. The police have already combed this area for clues and found nothing. This is where a teacher's aide says she saw someone lurking yesterday afternoon, shortly before Matthew turned up missing. The chatter of children draws my attention and I walk to the front of the building. The first school buses have arrived and dozens of tiny tots are racing up the sidewalk under the watchful eyes of the school's teachers. I wonder whether they were as watchful yesterday afternoon. I wait till the noisy herd is inside and then make my way to the door. A security guard stops me and asks me my business. I pull out my badge and identify myself. "Were you on duty yesterday?" I ask after he's satisfied that I'm not a child snatcher. "No," he says, moving us out of the flow of traffic near the front door. "They've never had security guards here before. After yesterday's kidnapping the school board hired our agency to have a guard at every elementary school." "And you haven't seen anything suspicious today?" "No, sir." I always find it odd being called 'sir' by someone old enough to be my father. I take a moment to study this man and realize he's really not old enough to be my father. He's old enough to be the father of the young man I still believe myself to be. He's probably about fifty, and as I keep forgetting, I'll be forty in just eight months. Why is it our psyches stop aging at twenty-six? He points me in the direction of the principal's office and I walk down a long hall lined with classrooms. As I pass each room I glance in. In most of them I see young, female teachers, but in one there is a man, about thirty-five, thin and pale, like a junky. I stop to watch him for a moment and notice he has the nervous movements of a junky too. I make a mental note to find out more about him. The principal is a young woman, not even thirty years old yet. How did she rise so rapidly in the educational hierarchy? She's obviously nervous about having an FBI agent in her office, but I try to put her at ease. People get so weird around federal agents sometimes. She lets me wait in her office while she seeks out the teacher's aide who may have seen something shortly before Matthew was snatched yesterday. After a few minutes an older woman arrives She reminds me of my maternal grandmother. When I was little, 'Nanna' gave me cookies and read me stories. I can easily imagine this woman doing the same for the children at this school. According to the file, her name's Edith Jeeves and she's worked at the school since it opened in 1993. Unlike the principal, she doesn't seem nervous. "Thank you for coming, Mrs. Jeeves," I say, standing and offering her a chair. "I understand you saw someone beside the school building yesterday afternoon, shortly before Matthew Scully was missed." "Yes," she says solemnly. "I went behind the building to put some trash in the dumpster. Over by the clump of trees just to the side of the building, I saw someone standing behind a tree. He appeared to be looking at the children who were playing out front while they waited for their buses." "Would you describe him for me?" She looks up as though trying to see the memories inside her head. Funny how people do that. She holds up one hand and begins to tick off items as though she has catalogued them. "Well, he wasn't too tall. Less than six feet. Slender, though the coat he was wearing bulked him up some. He was wearing one of those blue coats the sailors wear... what do they call them?" "Pea coats?" I offer. "Yes, pea coats. That's it. We see a lot of them around town because of the naval station. He was wearing a dark blue pea coat. He had a dark wool cap over his head. I couldn't see his hair so it must have been short, or he had it stuffed up under the hat." "Did he see you?" "No, I don't think so. I saw him look at his watch once. It was on his right wrist, so I'm thinking he's left-handed." "That's very observant, Ms. Jeeves," I comment. She smiles at me, pleased at the compliment. "I really didn't see anything else, Agent Mulder. I just put the trash in the dumpster and went back inside. If only I had told someone, maybe little Matthew would still be with us. I feel very badly about it." I can tell she does, but she's also smart enough not to blame herself. She knows she's not to blame for all the evils of the world. That's my job and I do it very well, thank you. I ask her a few more questions, but she's right. There's really nothing else. I thank her for her time and she leaves. Before I leave I find the principal and ask her for a list of all the school's employees as well as anyone who comes to the school on a regular basis, such as visiting administrators or delivery men. She quickly gets the list together for me. * * * Three hours and three school yards later I'm back at NPD headquarters looking for Scully. She has spent the morning searching their computer, looking for all the known child molesters, pedophiles, and otherwise unsavory characters in Rhode Island. It's such a small state that limiting the search to just Newport would be unwise. She has compiled an impressive list and has been coordinating efforts by the NPD officers assigned to the case to track down and question those who live in the Newport area. I hand her the lists I got from the principals at the four elementary schools. She does a quick scan but doesn't recognize any names. She hands the lists off to a secretary for a closer look and to run background checks on the people on the school lists. "I called Skinner," she says. "He's assigned us to the case officially, at the request of the NPD Chief of Police." "Good." I try to imagine that conversation and wonder whether Skinner even tried to talk her out of it. Probably not. Our boss isn't the type to waste his breath. "I called the field office in Providence and spoke to the Crimes against Children Coordinator. He's going to send us a response team." "NPD hadn't done that yet?" I ask incredulously. She sighs. "No. This was the first he'd heard about another abduction in Newport. He was going to ask BSU to send us someone until I told him you were here." "Yeah? I'm not quite sure how to take that." "He said you were the best in the business and we didn't need anyone else." She smiles softly. "I think you have a fan in Providence." "Did he call me 'Spooky'?" "Nope." "Wow. Then I'm flattered." I feel her fingers reach for mine and for a moment I forget that we're in a police station. We've shared many such moments in our seven years together but this one is special. This time we're communicating trust in each other as clearly as if we said the words out loud. It's times like these that I think my heart will burst if I don't tell her how I feel. I hear her stomach rumble and ask her when she ate last. "Um....breakfast yesterday. In Knoxville." "Jesus, Scully. You're going to make yourself sick. Let's go get something to eat." She picks up her purse and, taking my hand, leads me to the door. "Come with me to Bill's. I'll fix us something to eat there. I need to check on Tara." Oh great. Back to Bill Scully's. It's kind of like having an inlaw who hates me. Guess I can't avoid him forever. * * * When we arrive at the Scully residence my luck is holding. Bill is gone. Tara sits in the living room with her neighbor, a young Navy wife named Jill Franks. I'm surprised Bill had the foresight to have someone come sit with his wife while he was gone. Maybe he's not the insensitive asshole I've always believed him to be. Tara doesn't look well and Scully gets her doctor's bag from the car to check her sister-in-law's vitals. I feel for Tara, knowing from personal experience what it's like to lose a loved one under such circumstances. Jill tells me that Bill went to the airport in Providence to pick up his mother. She's flying in from Fort Myers, Florida where she had been visiting friends to escape the winter weather. I'm glad the matriarch of this family is coming. In my opinion, she's the strongest of the clan, even stronger than Bill, though he'd probably deck me if he heard me say it. When Scully finishes with Tara she goes to the kitchen to scrounge us up some lunch. When I go in, she's slumped over the stove watching a pot of soup come to a slow boil. I walk up behind her and put my arms around her waist. She leans against me and I plant a sympathetic kiss on the top of her head. "It's okay, Scully," I say softly. "We'll find him." She turns to face me and I can see the tears rolling down her cheeks. It breaks my heart to see Scully cry. "Oh, Mulder," she sighs. "You know as well as I do that after the first twenty-four hours the chances of getting a child back alive drop precipitously." What can I say? She knows the statistics as well as I do. I stand there for a moment holding her close, trying to think of something comforting to say. I can't. I can only be there for her, whatever the outcome. "I'll make us some sandwiches," I say at last and turn away. In the refrigerator I find everything I need and a few minutes later we're sitting at the table eating our lunch in silence. It might as well be a bowl of sand and two slaps of cardboard for all I can tell. I don't even notice what we're eating. Just as we're finishing and filling the dishwasher I hear the front door open and the sound of Bill Scully talking to his mother. "Tara?" he calls out. Scully goes to the front hall to shush him and hug her mother. I lurk in the background, as always not quite a member of the family but not entirely an outsider. Mrs. Scully smiles at me. Bill eyes me warily. I decide it's time for me to go back to work. * * * When I return to NPD the secretary hands me a legal pad with the results of her background checks. I scan the information and find two items of interest. First, Stanley Montel, the male teacher I noticed at Newport Coastal. Discharged from the Navy in 1994 after just one year, he went to college and graduated in 1999. He started teaching at Newport Coastal at the beginning of this school year. I ask the secretary to find out why he was discharged before completing his enlistment. The second item of interest involves Garrett Rhodes, a part-time delivery man for Shoreside Dairy. Mr. Rhodes's name is on all four school lists. According to the dairy, he delivers to the public school cafeterias in Newport. He served in the Navy from 1994 until 1998, when he was honorably discharged. All of this isn't very interesting, but what catches my eye is his rap sheet. Arrested in 1994 at the age of 19, he was charged with the statutory rape of a 13 year old girl. According to the secretary's notes, the prosecutor agreed to drop the charges if Rhodes enlisted in the Navy. Apparently it was the Judge's idea. I realize it's a long shot. But it's difficult to overlook a sex offender who had access to all of the crime scenes. I think I will have to pay Mr. Rhodes a visit. Just as I'm finishing my records review, Scully arrives. Maggie Scully will stay with Tara now. Bill has to go back to work. Meanwhile, the Abduction Response Team has arrived and is organizing volunteers to go out and beat the bushes. I show Scully the results of the background checks and we agree to go visit Garrett Rhodes together. She lets me drive this time, occasionally giving me quiet directions. I can tell that the pressure is starting to wear her down. Investigating a child abduction is hard enough on an agent without the added burden of being a member of the aggrieved family. When we arrive at Rhodes's house on Devon Drive, we're surprised to find ourselves in the high rent district. The house is at least 3000 square feet and the lawn is spacious and well-manicured. Two expensive cars are parked in the driveway. "Maybe I ought to get a job as a delivery man," I say. "Looks like the money's pretty good." Scully indulges my joke and presses the doorbell. After a moment, a young woman comes to the door. She has blonde hair and blue eyes and teeth like Jimmy Carter. I'm not sure why, but I take an instant dislike to her, and that's unusual for me. We both show our badges and identify ourselves. She scrutinizes them as though she actually knows what an FBI ID should look like. Finally she decides we're legitimate. Scully asks whether Garrett Rhodes is in. We're admitted and she directs us to a formal living room to wait. "Nice digs," I say, admiring the distinctive furniture and tastefully appointed room. Scully agrees and moves about the room to examine the art work. I ask after her mother and she tells me we're expected to dinner tonight, at her mother's insistence. Leave it to Maggie Scully to try to impose some semblance of domestic tranquility. Under the circumstances it's probably just what Bill and Tara need. A young man approaches us. He's about five foot, nine inches tall, slender, with blonde hair and more teeth than any one person should have. Now I AM looking at Jimmy Carter. I suspect he and the young woman are brother and sister. "I'm Garrett Rhodes," he says. "You're FBI agents? You wanted to see me?" "Yes, Mr. Rhodes," I begin. "I'm Agent Mulder. This is Agent Scully. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind." He motions us to the sofa and takes a seat opposite us in a wing-backed chair. The young woman continues standing in the archway and I look at her questioningly. Finally she introduces herself as Betty Rhodes. I'm right, she's his sister. She leans against the wall and gives me a blank look. Apparently she thinks this is her business. "Mr. Rhodes," Scully begins. "We understand that you make deliveries to the Newport public schools for Shoreside Dairy." He nods but says nothing. "What time do you finish your route?" "Usually by noon." "And then what do you do?" "I go to college in the afternoons on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays," he says. "What about last semester?" she asks. "The same." "What do you do the other days?" Scully asks. He shrugs. "Nothing in particular. Study. Work out. Whatever. What's this all about?" "Mr. Rhodes," I say, deciding it's time for me to speak up. "We're investigating the disappearance of a five year old child from the Newport Coastal Elementary School yesterday." His back stiffens when I say that. "As well as the disappearance of three other children in Newport in recent months." His eyes betray his growing comprehension. He knows we know and I can see his breath catch. He recovers quickly. I notice him look at his watch. On his left wrist. "What's that got to do with me?" he asks. Peripherally, I see his sister rolling her eyes. 'Been there, done that' is the message she conveys. "Your route includes every school where a child has been taken, Mr. Rhodes," Scully says flatly, not an ounce of accusation in her voice. "And, we can't overlook your arrest for a sexual offense against a minor five years ago." Rhodes puts his hands to his head and rubs his forehead as though suddenly afflicted with a fierce headache. "You make it sound so sordid," he says finally. He looks at me and in his eyes I can see the resentment of a man who believes himself falsely accused. This man clearly has been scarred by what happened to him five years ago. "She was my girlfriend. I was nineteen. She told me she was seventeen. She LOOKED seventeen. She ACTED seventeen. I didn't know she was only thirteen until her father had me arrested!" "You like little girls do you, Mr. Rhodes?" I ask, deliberately trying to provoke him. His eyes widen and his fists clench. I see a flash of anger, but he controls it quickly. He's resentful, but he's not stupid. "I am not a pedophile," he says softly. There's an uncomfortable silence and I steal a glance at his sister. She is watching her brother squirm, and she looks amused. "Nobody said you were, Mr. Rhodes," Scully says finally. "Where were you yesterday after you finished your route?" I ask abruptly to see how he reacts. Is he defiant? Submissive? Does he have anything to hide? He shifts in his seat and looks for all the world like a man with a secret. "I was here," he finally says. "Alone?" He doesn't answer. "What time did you get here, Mr. Rhodes?" Scully asks. "How long were you here?" I watch him nervously pick at the seam in the arm of the chair. "About two.... until after five," he says, raising his eyes to meet hers. "Were you here alone?" I ask again. He doesn't answer me, so I turn to his sister. "Were you here?" She says she was but doesn't offer to verify his story. This is getting frustrating. I'm about to press the issue when our suspect speaks up. "I want you to leave," he says. "I won't talk to you anymore without a lawyer." I look at Scully. She motions me toward the door. We don't have much choice. We don't often have to worry about things like lawyers and Miranda rights given the paranormal nature of most of our investigations, and it always seems odd when we do. I hand him one of my cards and ask him to have his lawyer call me right away. Walking back to the car, I ask Scully what she thinks of our prime suspect. She shrugs. "He's hiding something," she says. "That's an understatement," I mumble, thinking about the odd vibrations I picked up from the sister. Something about her is bothering me, but I can't quite put my finger on it. When we get back to the car I don't move to start the ignition. Scully looks at me, puzzled. "Lets go, Mulder." "Go where? I'm at a dead end." She looks at me for a long moment and then picks up the files lying on the seat between us. She looks through them for a moment and then at one in particular. "What about this guy? Stanley Montel. Why do you have a file on him?" I shrug. "A teacher at Matthew's school. He looked like a junky to me. I had the secretary run a background check on him." She looks through the file for a minute. "Not much here." "Nope. I asked the secretary to find out why he was discharged without finishing his enlistment." She shuffles through the papers and mumbles, "I can tell you that, Mulder." After a moment she looks up at me. "Homosexuality. He was discharged for being gay." I'm stupified. "How can you tell?" I ask. She points to some numbers on one of the Navy records in the file. "It's this code." "You never cease to amaze me, Scully." She smiles at that. "I'm a Navy brat, Mulder. It's not a magic trick." I start the car and back us out of the driveway. When we get to the street I stop again. I still don't have anywhere to go. "Lets go talk to him, Mulder." "Who? Montel? Why?" "All the victims are boys. He's gay. It's not much, but it's something." "Pedophilia has little to do with sexual orientation, Scully." "Come on, Mulder. Humor me. You suspected him enough to order a background check even before you knew he was gay. Don't you trust your own intuition anymore?" I roll my eyes at her. All of a sudden she trusts my screwy intuition. But I guess I can understand. We have no leads. NPD has no leads. We might as well go talk to the guy. At least it will give Scully the feeling that we're accomplishing something. At the school the security guard remembers me and doesn't stop us. We find the principal and tell her we'd like to speak to Montel. She hesitates but after a moment she leaves to find our man. Scully moves to stand by the window, looking out at the school yard in front, the yard her nephew was taken from. I wonder what is going on in her head. I'm trying so hard to read Scully's mind that I don't hear the office door open. Scully does, though, and when she turns to look, I turn with her. It's Montel. The principal shuts the door behind him. I motion Montel to a chair. He is a tall, painfully thin man with short blond hair and eyes that are too close together. He wrings his hands and seems to have a nervous twitch. He still looks like a junky to me. "Mr. Montel," Scully begins, still standing by the window, "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. We'd like to ask you a few questions." He looks nervously from her to me and then back to her. "What about?" he says, and I swear his voice breaks. "Could you tell us where you were yesterday afternoon?" He looks puzzled. "I was here until shortly after 4:00," he says. Matthew was snatched sometime between 3:00 and 3:15. "After that, I went home." "Why were you here that late, Mr. Montel?" Scully asks. "I direct the school chorus. We have practice twice a week from 3:00 till 4:00." That's that, assuming we can verify it, of course, and I don't imagine that will be too difficult. I look at Scully and I can see she has reached the same conclusion. "Thank you, Mr. Montel," I say and open the door for him to leave. When he's gone, I turn back to Scully. "Well, Mulder. When you're right, you're right." I smile at that. I don't get to hear Scully tell me I'm right too often. I hand her the keys and suggest she wait for me in the car while I verify Montel's story with the principal. When I get to the car she is looking through Garrett Rhodes's file. My cell phone chirps. It's a lawyer named Jane Elliot and she claims to represent Garrett Rhodes. I cover the mouthpiece with my hand while I tell Scully. "Thanks for calling, Ms. Elliot. We'd like to talk to Garrett Rhodes" "I think you already have talked to him, Agent Mulder, without informing him of his right not to talk to you." Oh, she's going to play hardball, is she? "He obviously already knew his rights, Ms. Elliot, and not only that, he wasn't in custody at the time and it was hardly a coercive atmosphere." Damn, I hate lawyers sometimes. "Nevertheless, I expect you not to speak to him again unless I'm present." "Agreed. We'd like to talk to him about his whereabouts during the recent child abductions in Newport." "You're shooting in the dark, Agent. I understand your suspicion is based entirely on the fact that he happens to deliver dairy products to the schools where the abductions took place." "That and his evasiveness when we questioned him, AND his arrest five years ago for a sexual offense involving a minor." Take that! "He explained that to you." Now she's affecting the standard lawyer's 'you're too dumb to live' tone of voice. "When you have probable cause to believe my client may have committed the crimes you're investigating, then I'll consider your request to talk to him. Until then, back off, Agent Mulder." Damn. She hung up on me. "Let me guess," Scully says. "We can't talk to Rhodes again unless we come up with something significant to connect him to the crime." "Bingo," I say. Again I'm at a loss for what to do next. Finally I suggest to Scully that I drop her off at NPD headquarters to work with the Abduction Response Team for awhile, while I go pay another visit to the schools where the children were abducted. Maybe the second time will be the charm. She agrees. By the time I get back to the station it's after six. Neither the ART nor the other detectives have anything new to report, nor do I for that matter. Just a few suspicions with nothing substantial to back them up. I see Scully sitting at a desk at the other side of the room, using the telephone. She looks as worn out as I feel. I collapse into a wooden swivel chair. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but right now I'm just glad to be off my feet. I don't know why I'm so tired. I certainly slept well last night. I guess it's the emotional baggage we brought with us, and what we've picked up since we got here. We need some time to ourselves, away from work, family, and anything even vaguely paranormal. When this is over, I'll suggest it to Scully. A vacation together. We've never had one and I think that now would be a good time in our relationship to plan one. After a moment, Scully drags over to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes softly a few times. Ahhhh, a Scully massage. How does she always know just what I need? "Come on, Mulder," she says. "My mother is holding dinner on us." I don't mean to, but I let an agonized moan escape my lips. Oh, shit. Looks like I finally have to make nice with Bill Scully. I guess I can't blame him for hating me. His sister's devotion to me has caused the Scully family so much pain. "Come on, Mulder," she says, pulling on my arm. "It won't be so bad. Mom said she made your favorite." I look up. "Macaroni and cheese?" She nods. Damn. Maggie Scully knows EXACTLY how to pull my strings. I let Scully pull me to my feet and I follow her to the car. I can feel her looking at me, and I know she's wondering what's going on inside my head. It's not easy talking to her about this case. Ordinarily I would tell her how helpless I feel. I would pour out my frustrations and bang my head against the wall that is Scully. I've nothing to work with. How can I get inside the head of the killer when I know absolutely nothing about him? And how can I tell Scully how helpless I feel, when it will only increase her own despair? I can feel her eyes studying me and I give her a small smile even though she can easily see its insincerity. What's one more deception among friends? When we get to Bill's house I am once again overwhelmed by how thoroughly Maggie Scully has accepted me into her family. She hugs me, calls me 'Fox,' and fusses over me in a way my mother never does. The whole time I can see Bill lurking in the background, probably trying to find some way to blame me for his son's disappearance. I swear that if it turns out that that smoking bastard had ANYTHING to do with this, I will kill him with my bare hands, even if he is, as he claims, my biological father. After the hustle and bustle of our arrival, Maggie and Tara return to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner. I follow Scully into the living room and stand next to her by the picture window. Bill follows us in carrying a beer. He stands a few feet away, glaring at me. I try to ignore him and listen instead to Scully tell me a story from her childhood in Newport. Evidently Bill can't stand being ignored and I hear him clear his throat. "What I want to know, Mulder, is what the hell you're doing here." Scully and I turn in unison to look at him. He can't be drunk. At least, not THAT drunk. "I'm trying to find your son, Bill," I say with more equanimity than I had thought I could ever muster with Bill Scully. He continues to glare and after a moment Scully continues her story in a soft voice meant just for me. "I hope to hell you aren't going to try to tell us he was abducted by little green men," Bill blares out, evidently spoiling for a fight. Man, he knows JUST how to piss me off. I start to take a step in his direction, but I stop when Scully lays a gentle hand on my arm and whispers to let it go. Maggie calls us to dinner. I look at Bill. He looks at me. He knows better than start something just as his mother is about to serve up dinner. He walks over to his chair at the head of the table and I hear Scully let out a low sigh of relief. We switch roles for a moment as she puts her hand on the small of my back and gently guides me toward a seat next to her and as far away from Bill as possible. Just as I'm about to take my seat, my cell phone chirps. Bill shoots me a look of disgust as though he thinks I dialed myself somehow just to interrupt dinner time at the Scully house. I don't rise to the bait. Instead, I leave the room to take the call in the hallway. I look back and see Scully watching me with concern. She knows if there's a break in the case they're more likely to call me than her. She's too close. She shouldn't even be working this case, but I'm not about to tell her that. I don't need to tell her. She knows it already. I listen intently to the voice on the phone and make a few noncommittal grunting sounds. I can tell from the deafening silence in the dining room that the whole family is hanging on my every word. I return to the dinner table and try to give Maggie and Tara a reassuring look. "We need to go, Scully. I mean Dana." Damn, it's confusing having a room full of people named Scully. "NPD needs our help with something." Scully looks at me and we communicate in that magical way we have. I help her into her coat and thank Maggie when she promises to save me some macaroni and cheese. I glance at Bill and for the first time I see raw fear in his face. He knows I wouldn't whisk us away from this table if it weren't something big. Our eyes meet and I swear there's some kind of communication between us too. With one look he both apologizes and pleads with me to find his son....alive. Jesus. I've got to get out of here. When we get outside I tell Scully to drive. We need to go someplace called 'Planter's Hill' outside the city. She says she knows where it is. "What's waiting for us at Planter's Hill?" she asks me over the roof of the car. I take a deep breath and meet her eyes. "A body." She looks at me. She knows I would tell her if I knew more. It's a body. It might be her nephew. It might not be. We're frozen for a moment, the car between us keeping me from reaching out to her and promising everything will be all right. It's just as well. I shouldn't make promises I might not be able to keep. We ride in silence to Planter's Hill. * * * on to part 2! ______________ Keleka My small but growing collection of fanfiction and my X-Files fanfiction recommendations can be found at: http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/ ICQ: 3341000 From: Keleka From: Keleka Four Final Words, pt. 2/2 By Keleka Email: keleka@compaq.net Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary, etc. Rating: R, for language and for themes concerning child abuse and death. Spoiler Warning: Seventh season up to Orison. Content Statement: M/S UST; MSR Classification: SRA Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Archive: Sure! It'd be nice if you told me so I could visit and have my ego stroked. Category: S, MSR Summary: Mulder and Scully search for Scully's missing nephew, and maybe for something else as well. Threequel to my Orison Post Ep, "Four Words," and "Four Final Words." If you missed them, you can find them at my website at http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/ Timeline: New Year's Eve coming over a month early in the XF world didn't help things. This takes place three weeks after Orison, and before any of the postOrison episodes take place. Let's make it very early in February. All three of these stories take place in a period of five days. Disclaimer: Get real! If I owned this cash cow, do you really think I'd be living in Mississippi? Have you ever BEEN to Mississippi? Feedback: I swear I didn't intend for "Four Words" to start a trilogy, but the characters had other ideas. I think all the positive feedback just went to their heads. I'm sure they (and I) would love more. Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27 who continues to encourage me, God help her; to brat and brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond God's help; to zephathah, for some good advice; and especially to Shoshana, who goes above and beyond the call of duty every day. My Newport, Rhode Island has virtually nothing in common with the real one. Yes, there is a naval station there, and yes the Naval War College is there, along with the Surface Warfare Officer's School, the Naval Justice School, and several other navy career schools. Other than that, my Newport is entirely a figment of my imagination. The Newport Police Department very kindly answered some questions, and several people offered to feed me info about the real Newport, but I finally just decided to heck with it. That doesn't diminish the charity and kindness of their offers, just my patience and willingness to let real life interfere with my fantasy. Four Final Words, part 2/2 by Keleka Two hours later we're just about finished at Planter's Hill. The coroner's office has packed up the body and is preparing to transport it to the morgue for Scully to autopsy. I'm thankful it wasn't her nephew. It was bad enough as it was. A little Asian boy. It's probably the first victim and it's obvious he'd been dead for awhile. I'm standing just a few feet from where he was found, staring at the spot, visualizing the horrific sight that met us when we arrived. A search team had found the boy's body under a pile of leaves with his feet sticking out. The body had been placed there recently, maybe only a matter of days. His mouth was covered with a wide swatch of duct tape that was wrapped around his head several times. His arms, hands, and feet were also duct taped tightly. I'm sure he could barely move. I watched as Scully examined the scene while we waited for the technicians to begin excavating the body. The look of relief on her face when she saw that it wasn't Matthew was immediately replaced with a look of horror at the sight of the dead boy, and then, just as quickly, by the dispassionate face of Special Agent Dana Scully. She gave the technicians some special instructions and then moved aside to stand with me to survey the scene. "What kind of person can do this?" she says. I want to reach for her to comfort her, but I know she won't permit it. Not here. Not in front of half the Newport police force. It's too important to her to be the stoic Agent Scully in the presence of her male colleagues in the field. She has let that facade slip only a few times in the seven years I've known her. "A sociopath," I say after a moment. "Someone with no regard for any life other than his own." She nods. It's one thing to intellectualize the bastard's motive, but quite another thing to know that a real person committed this crime. Someone whose friends probably think is a great guy. Hell, Ted Bundy snookered some mighty sophisticated people into thinking he was the boy next door. Before we leave I ask the crime scene photographer to make an extra set of prints for me and get them to me as soon as possible. Finally I have something to work with and I don't want to waste any time getting started. Neither does Scully, it seems, as she tells me she wants to do the autopsy tonight. I offer to go with her to the morgue but she says it's not necessary. She drops me off at NPD Headquarters and I watch with trepidation as she drives off. There are some things Scully just has to do alone and autopsying this poor child is one of them. The last thing she wants is me hovering about picking at the cracks in her emotional armor. At NPD I commandeer a desk in the detective's room and resume pouring over the records of each case, looking for anything they might have in common. Something has been in the back of mind since our conversation with Garrett Rhodes this afternoon and I find a calendar so I can pursue it. I check the dates and discover that all four abductions were on either a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, between the hours of two o'clock and five o'clock, precisely the days and times Rhodes would not account for. As I had requested, the secretary has opened a file on Garrett Rhodes. There's not much in it yet, just his service record and a few odds and ends. I scan his Navy record for anything interesting. His rating was "molder," whatever that is, and he made it to Petty Officer Third Class by the end of his enlistment. He spent one year at sea on an aircraft carrier, and had nothing but "above average" evaluations from his superiors. Looks like he kept his nose squeaky clean the whole four years. One of the odds and ends is a photocopy of an obituary from the local paper. It's his father, a John Jacob Rhodes, and from the looks of it, he was an important man in this state. That explains the house. The obit is dated just a few weeks after Garrett Rhodes was arrested. It says that J.J. Rhodes was survived by his wife, Hester, his son, and a daughter. I look through the rest of the file and see nothing about Garrett's mother or sister. I make a note and ask the secretary to follow up on it in the morning. I go off in search of some coffee and find the crime scene photographer who hands me an envelope full of prints. This guy's a Speedy Gonzalez in the darkroom, but then, I don't guess he has a huge backlog of work in a little burg like Newport. Back in the detective's room I'm struck by how quiet it is. Another perk of small town life. A big city detective's room would be hopping at this time of night. There's even an empty sofa by the radiator where I can hoard some heat while I look over the gruesome pictures and drink my coffee. The picture on top of the pile shows the undisturbed scene as the searchers found it. A small pile of leaves. It could easily have been overlooked had the boy's red tennis shoes not been prominently exposed. My impression is that this was not an attempt to hide the body. He wanted us to find it. The next pictures show the body with the leaves removed. The child is practically mummified with duct tape. It's wrapped around him tightly and appears to be one piece around his arms and chest, another around his legs, and a third around his mouth. His eyes are wide open and blank with the cold, dark stare of death. The tape shows signs of stress, as though the child had struggled against it. There's no obvious cause of death. Scully already asked the question. What kind of person could do this? That's the question I hope to answer sufficiently to help us narrow down the search. Certainly male. Probably mid 20s to early 30s. But that describes the probable perpetrator of seventy-five percent of crime in America. I need more if I'm to get inside this guy's head. I hear someone whispering my name and realize with a start that I've fallen asleep. The warmth of the radiator beside me and comfort of the plush sofa put me out like a light. I look at my watch. It's just before one o'clock. I've been asleep for an hour. "Mulder?" It's Scully. She has reached for my shoulder and shaken me gently. I must have really been out. I can tell by the drawn look on her face that she is exhausted, physically and emotionally. She sees the pictures spilled out on the sofa beside me and closes her eyes tightly, backing away from the sofa. I quickly pull them together and return them to the envelope. I stand and lean into her space. "Scully?" She raises her eyes and looks at me, then quickly looks away. I'm afraid that with that one look I've pried open her emotional armor and now we need to get out of here. Quickly. Toward that end, I pull together my files and guide her out through the police station to the parking lot. She stops at the car door and looks over the hood at me. We seem to be having half our conversations over the top of the car lately. "Mulder, I don't want to go back to Bill's tonight." Hallelujah. "Do you mind if we just order a pizza back at the motel?" "Suits me," I say, realizing suddenly just how hungry I am. She keeps her head turned toward the side window as we drive the few miles to the Hampton Inn. She's quiet and tense and it worries me when she's like this. Something about the autopsy is weighing on her. And I mean something other than the youth and innocence of the victim. She'll tell me when she's ready. While we're stopped at a light I reach over and take her hand. I give her hand a gentle squeeze and she turns to look at me, her eyes filled with unshed tears. I know that look. Her struggle not to cry is constricting her throat. "It's okay, Scully," I say, thinking to myself that it damned well isn't okay. "I understand." But I don't really. I don't understand why Scully can't have even a day of peace to recover from one trauma before having another thrust upon her. She offers me a weak smile and turns back to the window. I drive one-handed the rest of the way to the motel. An hour later we are seated side-by-side on the sofa in the motel room, an open pizza box on the coffee table. Scully has nibbled on a single slice until she has eaten almost all of it. I've scarfed down three slices before leaning back and waiting for Scully to tell me about the autopsy. It's a good thing I'm a patient man. "He died of dehydration and starvation," she says finally. "There's no indication of any physical harm or abuse. He was simply restrained and left to die." I'm stunned. I had expected her to tell me that the victim had been strangled or poisoned, and had begun my profiling with that in mind. But this! This was....inexplicable. I look at Scully and I can see that she is watching closely for my reaction. She wants to know whether I find this as repulsive as she does. What kind of person kidnaps a child for no apparent reason other than to starve it to death? This was not just a sociopath. This was something else. I open my mouth to say something but before I can I see Scully's eyes undergo a remarkable transformation. Since we left D.C. she's been playing the part of a victim herself; she's been depressed, distressed, and emotionally drained. She's gone through the motions of the investigation, but it's been obvious she'd already given up any hope of finding her nephew alive. But now that she's seen the surprise and horror in my eyes, hers have shown a flash of anger. It's an anger I am glad is not directed at me. Her body practically bristles with indignation and I can see that she's ready for business now. Her lips purse as she's about to speak. "Bastard!" Again she startles me. I think I can count on the fingers of one hand all the times I've ever heard Scully use strong language. "Yes," I agree softly. "Yes, he is." The information flows freely now. In a strong voice, she tells me her findings. There was little decomposition, which wouldn't be unusual considering the below freezing temperature that has gripped Rhode Island for several weeks. However, the victim was abducted in September and, Scully estimates, has been dead for months. This suggests that the body was preserved somehow, perhaps in a refrigeration unit, and only recently dumped in the woods. In fact, the entomological evidence suggests that the body had been there for only a few hours! I listen intently as Scully continues her litany of horror. She describes the boy's death to me in clinical terms that she has inured herself to but which nauseate me. "There were no prints, not even on the duct tape," she tells me. "Scully, I" "He might still be alive, Mulder. We've got to find him." For the first time since we've been here, I see a glimmer of hope in Scully's eyes. We have something to work with now, and already in the back of my mind I'm calculating the meaning of the new information. Right now, though, I'm too tired to concentrate. As though reading my mind, Scully looks at her watch and yawns. "It's 2:00 a.m., Mulder. Let's get some sleep and get a fresh start in the morning." Her yawning is infectious and I'm overtaken by a weariness I hadn't felt just an hour ago. While she's in the bathroom preparing for bed, I strip to my boxers, hang up my suit, and turn down the bed. When it's my turn in the bathroom, I shut the door to keep the steam in while I shower. Fifteen minutes later, wearing just my boxers, and towel-drying my hair, I leave the bathroom and walk right into a nightmare. Scully is sitting on her side of the bed. Standing just inside the door is her brother, Bill. My eyes widen when I see him, and for at least a moment I'm sure I must resemble a deer caught in the headlights. I'm not sure what to do. If I get in bed, he's sure to go ballistic. I don't even have a bathrobe to cover-up with. About the only thing I can do is get dressed. Before I can do that, however, Bill lets out an exasperated sigh and tells Scully she always did have terrible taste in lovers. I clench my fists but hold my tongue. I'll leave it to Scully to defend her taste in men herself. Then Bill does the unforgivable. He looks me, and says, "You had to flaunt it under my nose that you're fucking my baby sister, didn't you, you son of a bitch?" I don't realize what I've done until I've blown across the room and shoved Bill up against the wall. My forearm is pressed against his throat, cutting off his air. He clutches at my arm and tries to kick my feet out from under me. He quits when I introduce his groin to my knee. Vaguely I hear Scully behind me calling my name, but I ignore her. I've had enough of this arrogant bastard and I'm not going to take it anymore. "How many people have you killed, Bill?" I hiss in a voice so sinister I almost don't recognize it as my own. He doesn't answer me, so I hitch my arm up under his chin. I'm sure I must look out of control, but I know what I'm doing now, and I know I'm not going to back down from this bully. That's what Bill Scully is, after all. A bully. He's bigger than I am, and he thinks he's tougher than I am, but I'm going to prove to him once and for all that he'd better not mess with me. "I asked you how many people you've killed, Bill." He works his lips and after a moment manages to croak out an answer. "None." "Damned right you haven't," I say. "I've killed many times, Bill. I've faced down monsters and I've looked into the eyes of the devil himself. I'm not afraid of you. And if I ever hear you talk about your sister that way again, so help me, I'll make you wish you'd never been born." I let go of him and he lurches toward his sister, gasping for air. Scully looks at him for a moment and then stands and steps to my side, taking my arm and running her hand over mine in a quieting manner. Bill straightens up and looks at her incredulously. He visibly deflates then and without another word leaves our room. My heart is pounding now and I hear Scully whispering soothing sounds to me. She takes me in her arms and hugs me. "I'm sorry, Scully," I say softly. "I'm not. Let's go to bed, Mulder." A few minutes later I find myself falling asleep with my arms full of Scully. *** It's just a few hours later when I wake to the sound of my cell phone chirping. When I reach for it on the nightstand, Scully stirs against me and I feel myself becoming aroused. 'Down, boy,' I think. 'No sense getting all dressed up when you've got no place to go.' I wonder for a moment whether Scully would be horrified or delighted if she knew how my body reacts to having her so close. Finally I get the phone open. Damn. They've found another body, only a mile from the first. I slip out of bed and go to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth. I let Scully grab a few more precious moments of sleep before I wake her. Looking at her peaceful face I wonder whether she finds a few hours of sleep pressed against my side as refreshing as I do. Reluctantly I wake her and tell her the news. While she pulls herself together I run down to the lobby to grab us some bagels and juice from the breakfast buffet. In the seven years we've been partners, I don't think I've ever picked a motel with king-sized beds and a breakfast buffet. Leave it to Scully to do it right. By six o'clock we're back at Planter's Hill. The scene is virtually identical to what we found last night. One fully-dressed, duct-taped little boy, covered with leaves except for his protruding feet. There's no doubt in my mind now. The killer is playing with us. He wants us to find these bodies, and he wants us to find them now. The good news is, it's not Matthew Scully. Scully almost cries out in relief this time. I'm sure I'm the only one who notices. She covers her mouth with one hand and pretends it was a yawn, but I know better. I squeeze her shoulder to reassure her. There's still a chance. Just as the body is loaded into the coroner's wagon and we're about to leave, a call comes over the police radio. The Explorer Scouts working a section of Planter's Hill about a mile west of us have found another body. The members of the investigative team climb into their respective vehicles and head for the new location down the narrow dirt road that runs through these woods. I almost feel like a Keystone Kop, being led by my nose from body to body, and accomplishing very little. The killer is telling me more about himself than he probably realizes though. I'll discuss my thoughts with Scully after we see what this body tells us. When we arrive, I ask Scully to stay in the car until I've checked it out. I've seen pictures of Matthew and I think I would recognize him. But she will have none of it and strides through the woods ahead of me. If only there were a God I could pray to, I'd be praying now for it not to be Matthew Scully. As I approach the scene Scully turns suddenly, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide and distressed. Shit! It must be Matthew. I grasp her arms with my hands. "Scully?" She doesn't raise her head to look at me. "It's not him, Mulder. It's not him." I put my arms around her for a moment, and, surprisingly, she doesn't resist. When I release her we both step back to the scene. It's just like the other two. We watch the technicians as they excavate the body. Same damned M.O. "This isn't a pedophile, Scully," I say as we watch the technicians search the body and the site for trace evidence. "This isn't about sex. There's something else going on here." Scully is quiet, and I know that means she's still feeling too overwhelmed with emotions to respond. I take her arm and nudge her to come with me. What I want to say, I don't want anyone to overhear. We move a few feet away and I lean down close. "I don't think you should do these autopsies, Scully," I say. "Let the state coroner do them." "Don't be ridiculous, Mulder," she says angrily and starts to pull away from me. I grab her arm and stop her. "Scully, please...." "Mulder, I'm fine." She says it with such resolve that anyone else would have believed her. I pull her to me and wrap my arms around. I put my lips close to her ear and whisper, "You don't have to pretend with me, Scully." I feel her body go rigid for a moment. She pushes away from me and my hands slide down her arms until I'm holding her loosely by the wrists. She raises her face to me and looks into my eyes. "I know I don't, Mulder. But I have to do this." I let her go then, knowing I must, and she slips away. I watch as she oversees the removal of the body to the coroner's van. She stops to tell me she'll catch a ride to the morgue with the coroner and will meet me at NPD headquarters later. A few minutes after the coroner's van pulls away, a patrolman approaches me with a small ziplock baggie. "Look what I found about twenty feet over there, Agent Mulder," he says, pointing west. He hands me the baggie. "It's probably not connected to the crime, but I thought you might want to see it. I hold it up for a good look. It's a ballpoint pen, the kind a company might have made up to give away as advertising. Printed on the barrel were the words, "Shoreside Dairy." A thought comes to me and I jump in the car to go back to NPD headquarters to check it out. When I get there I take the baggie to the desk sergeant and ask him to have his fingerprint technician process it immediately and bring me the results. He gives me a file with some information I had requested yesterday. In the detective's room, I go to the map the detective's have on the wall. There are four red pins in it representing the locations of the schools where the children were taken. One blue pin represents the location at Planter's Hills where the body was found yesterday. Planter's Hill is a large public recreational area west of the city. It's largely wooded, but contains several soccer fields used by the local youth leagues and, near its southern border, a modest-sized pond used for fishing tournaments in the summer and ice skating in the winter. While I stand here staring at the map, trying to make sense of the jumble of thoughts that are scrambling around my brain, a detective arrives who had just been with me at Planter's Hill. I call him over to the map. "Where would you put pins for the two bodies we found today?" I ask. He studies the map for a moment and then picks up two blue pins and sticks them in the map. One is a little west of the first pin and the third is a little west of that. The bodies are being dumped from east to west in pretty much a straight line. I point to the road on the western border of Planter's Hill and ask him what's there. "That's the Shoreside Dairy plant and depot," he says. "Why?" I realize he doesn't know anything about Garrett Rhodes and right now I don't have the time to tell him. "Where would Devon Drive be on this map?" I ask He points to a road running along the southern boundary of Planter's Hill, close to the pond, just a few miles from where we found the first body. Something about this doesn't feel right, but the signs are pointing more and more to Garrett Rhodes. I think about what's nagging at me. It's the timing, for one thing. No clues for months and then as soon as we target Garrett Rhodes as a potential suspect, clues start popping up all over the place. And it's the placement of the bodies, for another thing. They're being positioned in a way that practically POINTS to the dairy where Rhodes works. If it's not Rhodes, someone is going to an awful lot of trouble to make it look like it is. I carry the file the desk sergeant gave me over to the sofa and sit down to read. I scan the information in the file and begin to put together the pieces that have been nagging at me. I open my cell phone and punch in Scully's number. It takes her a minute to answer so she must be elbow deep in the autopsies. Her voice is thin and shaky when she answers. Autopsies on three children in less than twenty-four hours has to be wearing her down. "Scully, it's me. Have you found anything?" I hear her sigh. "I just finished the first boy we found this morning, Mulder. It's victim number two, the Thompson boy. Exactly the same as the first one. No prints, but we did find a hair on the duct tape." "A hair? Human?" "Yes. I sent it to the lab for tests." "We don't have time for tests, Scully. If we're going to find Matthew alive, it's going to have to be today. Scully, I think you should get over here right away." "Mulder," she says, sounding exasperated. "I still have the other autopsy to do." "Forget it, Scully. I've already got the clue we were meant to find from that one." She's silent for a moment. "I'll be right there, Mulder." By the time Scully arrives I've got the results of the fingerprint test on the ball point pen. The technician lifted a partial thumb print from the pen and it matched perfectly with the prints in Garrett Rhodes's military record. Scully tells me the hair she found was human and blonde. That's enough for me, and apparently it's enough for the Magistrate too; he issues me an arrest warrant for Garrett Rhodes and a search warrant for the Rhodes property. I tell the detectives what we're doing and they grab a couple of uniforms and an evidence technician and follow us out to the Rhodes house. Just as we're about to knock on the door to Rhodes's house I call Jane Elliot and tell her what's coming down, figuring the sooner she gets there the sooner we might be able to interrogate Rhodes. She says she'll be right over. When Rhodes opens the door, I step aside to let the detectives execute the arrest warrant and cuff him. I tell him his attorney is on the way. One of the uniforms stays with Rhodes while the rest of us fan out to search the property. I go to the backyard to check out some out buildings I noticed back there when we pulled up. The smaller of the two buildings is a tool shed. I find two unopened rolls of duct tape, but that's not unusual. What home owner doesn't have duct tape? The larger building almost looks like the "doll house" my dad built for Samantha in the back yard. She spent hours out there, having tea parties with her dolls, and playing house. Sometimes I would let her talk me into playing house with her. This building is larger than my sister's doll house, but it's been freshly painted and has shudders and a window box next to the door. I try the doorknob and it's locked. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I try to see through the window. I can't see much, but I do see what looks like a refrigerator in one corner. I go back to the door and shoulder it open. Not much light comes in the building's one window. I feel around on the wall next to the door until I find the light switch. When the overhead light comes on, I see a duct taped bundle lying very still on a twin bed in the far corner of the room. Matthew! I press my fingers against his neck and I can feel a pulse. He's alive. He's also ducttaped like the other three. I carefully pull the tape from his mouth and he moans. He's alive but he's not in great shape. I reach for my phone and quickly dial Scully. "I found Mathew, in the large out building. He's alive. Call 911 and get out here!" I shove my phone back in my pocket and pull out my handkerchief. I move to the nearby sink and soak it in cold water and then return to Matthew, pressing the wet handkerchief against his lips. He's probably not had any water in nearly three days. I hear a noise behind me and assume it's Scully. When I turn I see a blur as a figure wearing a blue peacoat and a blue wool cap rushes up. Then I see a baseball bat swinging at my head. I raise my arm in time to prevent a scullcrushing blow, but it still knocks me down and senseless for a minute. The next thing I see is Scully bending over me, her face filled with worry. "Where is he, Mulder? What happened?" She's checking my head and I see the blood on her fingers when she pulls back her hand. I struggle to stand up with her help. "It's Betty Rhodes," I say. "She's got Matthew." I stumble out the door and around the side of the building. In the distance I can see a blue clad figure carrying a small bundle running toward the pond. "There!" I shout, pointing, and take off after her with Scully fast on my heels. My head is pounding as I race across the frozen ground. She's fifty yards ahead of me but I'm catching up. "Federal Agent!" I yell. "Stop right there!" It does no good and just wastes my breath. I start to feel a cramp in my side, reminding me that I'm not a young man anymore. Between the cramp and the pounding in my head, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to catch her. I've closed the gap to thirty yards when she veers out onto the frozen pond. "No!" screams Scully from about ten yards behind me. We both stop at the side of the pond. It's frozen and there's ice skate marks close to the shore, but we don't know how safe it is that far out. Betty Rhodes is in the center of the pond now and shows no sign of stopping. I take a few gulps of air and take off after her over the frozen pond. I'm probably about thirty feet from her when I hear the ice begin to crack. I stop as quickly as I can on the ice, trying to see where it's cracking. Scully pulls up beside me. We watch in horror as the ice under Betty Rhodes opens and she tumbles in, taking Matthew with her. I hear Scully scream, "Matthew!" and without another thought I race out to the hole in the ice. I can't see anyone. I yell back at Scully to call for help, take my weapon out of its holster, put it in my coat pocket, and throw my coat back in her direction. Then I plunge in. The recent blow to my head probably exaggerates the shock of the frigid water. It almost knocks me out. When I open my eyes I can see Betty Rhodes struggling to find the opening in the ice. Just behind her I see Matthew. I reach for his foot, pull him to me, and then turn up to find the hole in the ice. Jesus. Where is it? I can see Betty Rhodes off to my left pounding her fists on the ice. She won't last much longer. Neither will I if I don't find the opening. Just then I see a hand plunge down into the water, its fingers flexing. It's Scully! I swim for her hand and when I reach it I push Matthew up to her. I push my head up after him and take a great gulp of air. There's a rope lying next to the hole and I can see policemen on the shore have the other end. Scully is moving across the ice as quickly as she dares carrying Matthew. I pull myself up using the rope and then across the ice until I am a safe distance from the thin ice. I struggle to get to my feet and race after Scully. "He's not breathing," she says when I reach her. "His heart's not beating." She's frantically cutting away the tape with a pen knife one of the detectives hands her. I tilt Matthew's head back, clear his air passages, and start blowing soft puffs of air into his mouth. Scully begins administering CPR and we quickly fall into a steady rhythm. I'm vaguely aware that Scully is whispering something beneath her breath, but breathing for two is making me far too lightheaded to be concerned with what she is saying. I'm beginning to think we've lost him when suddenly he coughs up some water and starts breathing. He's not out of the woods but the EMTs have arrived and are racing toward us with a stretcher. I fall back on the ground, exhausted and dizzy. I'm shaking hard from the cold and my head is pounding from the blow I took earlier. A uniformed officer has gone out on the ice to recover my coat and brings it to me. Scully helps me stand and put it on and then throws a blanket around me as well. "Let's go, Mulder. We need to get you to the hospital too. I've called Mom. They'll meet us there." I'm too freaking cold to argue with her and I let her lead me to the car. I pass out on the way and when I come to I'm stripped of my wet clothes and lying naked in a hospital bed with just a blanket between me and an indecent exposure charge. Scully stands beside me holding my hand but talking to one of the NPD detectives. He's telling her that the State Police Rescue Squad have pulled Betty Rhodes's body out of the pond. I struggle to sit up, being careful to keep the blanket wrapped around me. Scully turns to me and smiles. "Welcome back," she says. "How long have I been out?" "About an hour." "That long?! How's Matthew?" Scully's still holding my hand and I can feel her thumb making small circles on my palm. "He's in serious condition, but he's going to make it," she says. "Thanks to you." She reaches for my face with her other hand and lays it gently against my cheek, brushing her thumb over my lower lip. "Mulder, how did you know it was Betty Rhodes and not her brother?" "A crazy leap of logic," I say, smiling against her thumb. "Their father died shortly after Garrett was arrested. The stress made an invalid of their mother. Betty had to drop out of college to come home to take care of their mother while brother Garrett got to see the world courtesy of Uncle Sam. I'm willing to bet she blamed him for disgracing the family, causing their father's death and their mother's illness, and for ruining her own career plans." "So her motive was revenge?" "That and her mother's estimated $3.2 million dollars in assets. With Garrett in prison, Hester Rhodes would be entirely dependent on her daughter. It would be easy for Betty to get her mother to cut Garrett out of the will. Of course, I'm just speculating, and with Betty Rhodes dead, there's no way we can confirm any of it." "One thing I CAN confirm," she says, "is why Garrett refused to reveal his alibi. Apparently he spends Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in bed with his girlfriend." "Let me guess.....an underage girl." She nods. Jesus. He was the perfect patsy for his sister. She just about had him locked in a steel frame. "Scully, there's something I need to ask you," I say hesitantly. She looks at me patiently. "When we were giving Matthew CPR......you were praying." She smiles enigmatically. "Does this mean ... " "It means I'm trying, Mulder. I'm trying." I understand. I really do. Sometimes it's just too hard to believe, no matter how much you want to. The key, I think, is the wanting. Scully will find her way back to her God if it's important enough to her. "Fox!" Maggie Scully enters the room, with Bill close behind her. I can't put on much of a tough guy act in my current predicament so I hope Bill is on his best behavior. Maggie hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. "Fox, Dana told us what you did. How can we ever thank you?" I smile. "I'd love to have some of that homemade macaroni and cheese I missed out on last night." "No leftovers for you, Fox. I'll make a fresh batch just for you as soon as you're out of here." She kisses me on the cheek again and steps away. Bill is looking at me, and for once I don't see contempt in his eyes. He steps forward and for a moment he looks at the floor. "Mulder....." I wait. Sorry, Bill, but I'm not going to make this too easy on you. "Mulder..." he says again. Then he lifts his head and I see everything I need to know in his eyes. Bill Scully is not going to be a problem anymore. "Thank you....for my son's life." He offers me his hand and I take it without hesitation. I wonder what life will be like without the specter of Bill Scully looming over me every time I try to imagine a future with his sister. Out of the corner of my eye I see Scully smiling radiantly. After Bill and Maggie leave, Scully nags me until I lie down again. She wants me to rest. She's going home with her family and will be back in the morning with my suitcase. The doctor said I can leave then if there are no further complications from my near death experiences with Betty Rhodes's baseball bat and the icy depths of Planter's Pond. Before she leaves, Scully gives me a gentle, chaste kiss on my lips, and I spend the next hour pondering its meaning until I fall asleep. * * * I awaken in the morning when a nurse comes in to check on me. She's followed by a food service worker who brings me what turns out to be the BEST hospital food I've ever had. Of course, the fact that I haven't eaten since the bagel and juice I snatched from the Hampton Inn yesterday morning might have something to do with it. Still, when two teenage Candy Stripers come to pick up my tray, I ask them to give the chef my compliments. It sends them off in a blaze of giggles and as they leave I hear one of them whisper, "he's cute!" I may be nearly forty, but I've still got it! The doctor comes in then and spends some time looking into my eyes and checking my vitals. Finally he pronounces me fit to leave but advises me to take it easy for a few days. This is one doctor's advice I plan to take. As soon as he's gone I jump in the shower to wash off the slimy feeling of Planter's Pond. I'm standing at the bathroom mirror combing my hair, a towel wrapped around my waist for modesty, when Scully arrives with my suitcase. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Like a million dollars," I say, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for bringing my things. How's Matthew?" "Much better," she says. "He was awake when we got here and alert enough to recognize Tara and Bill." I smile, knowing those are good signs. Scully steps out into the hall while I get dressed. I opt for casual and pull on jeans, a shirt, and the blue commando sweater Scully gave me for Christmas last year. I open the door and call her back in while I'm putting on socks and shoes. "Mulder," she says pensively, "I was thinking" "So was I, Scully, and I have a proposition for you." "Proposition?" she says, unsuccessfully trying to suppress an evil grin. "I'm not sure how to take that." I stand and put my arms around her, pulling her close. "I'll show you how you should take it," I say, leaning down and moving my lips close to hers. I hesitate knowing that it has to be her choice, and after a moment, she closes the distance between us and presses her lips to mine. My third Scully kiss this year. I'm on a roll. When our lips part she smiles at me just like she did on New Year's Eve, and this time I don't spoil it by saying something stupid. I let my eyes do my talking this time, and her smile stays and deepens. Finally I say what's been on my mind all morning. "Scully, let's go away for a few days. A long weekend. Just us. A vacation. Someplace warm. Someplace....romantic." I'm sure the surprise shows on my face as a blush spreads across her cheeks. My Scully is blushing. She looks away for a moment, then returns her gaze to mine. "I like that idea, Mulder," she says softly. "And while we're gone, we need to talk about the other proposition you made me this week." "Other proposition?" I ask, truly puzzled. "Have you forgotten already, Mulder? You offered to let me come live with you. To make me feel safe." This time it's my turn to smile. "There's just one problem," she says and I brace myself for bad news. "What if I don't want the bedroom all to myself?" For a moment I'm clueless and then suddenly I understand what she means and I can't help breaking into the widest smile of my life. Then, finally, she says the four words I've waited seven years to hear. "I love you, Mulder." *end* ______________ Keleka My small but growing collection of fanfiction and my X-Files fanfiction recommendations can be found at: http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/ ICQ: 3341000