ELS Chapter 10 By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, as well as the copyrighted property of 1013 productions and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox. No infringement is intended. Posting Date : November 29, 1997 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 10/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : R (Violence) Story Rating : NC-17 (Violence, Sexual Situations) Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Summary : Mulder and Scully are still having problems. Meanwhile, the Portland case draws to a close as suspects are confronted and evidence is uncovered pointing to an unlikely killer. Spoilers : Jersey Devil, Excelsus Dei, Shadows (See endnote) Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" : Robert Beltran, "Detective Chavez" : Steve Buscemi, "Walter Chavez" +=+=+=+=+=+=+=== Portland, Maine Dumbstruck, Mulder stared at the door. Before he could change his mind, he reached for the handle, pulled the door open and went into Scully's room. She'd almost made it to the bathroom before the sound of the opening door alerted her to Mulder's entrance. When she turned to face him there was fire in her eyes. "Get out," she said slowly, her tone making it clear that she was very, very angry. Mulder ignored her. He moved into her personal space, lowering his head to get right into her face. "What is it that bothers you, Scully?" "I said, get out," she repeated through gritted teeth. "Why is it always the woman that gets to set the rules, Scully? Why is it always you? When I don't want to talk to you about something, you keep insisting until I talk. Well, now it's my turn, partner. It's my turn. We will finish this discussion." "Fine," she said, pushing him away. "But you don't have to be in my damn face." He moved back towards her, his hands grasping her upper arms. "Why, Scully? Does it bother you when I'm in your face? Does it bother you when I'm close to you?" Mulder realized he was sneering at her, and he fought to regain control of his emotions. He lifted his head but didn't release her arms, taking a deep, calming breath. "Scully... I didn't have to tell you-" "I wish you hadn't," she said. "I really do." "Be that as it may," Mulder said slowly, carefully, "I did, and we have to find a way to get through this. Together or apart, we have to find a way to deal with this, to put it behind us." Scully shrugged. "I don't know if I can, Mulder." He dropped his hands. "You've always known that I... enjoy that kind of...distraction, Scully. Why is it such a problem?" "Because it's personal!" she yelled. "I never thought you were looking at those disgusting movies and thinking about me!" He held up his hands. "But you thought...you suspected, that I did think about you in that way, right?" "Of course, Mulder," she sighed. "We're both attractive, single people. You're my best friend-" "Even now?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "Of course. Nothing could ever change that, Mulder. But...we're not talking about being best friends right now. We're talking about you sitting on a couch, masturbating and watching those damn movies while thinking about me! In my mind, I can't get over the fact that it reduces me to an object to you! I'm no better or no worse than one of those porno actresses. You, whether you realize it or not, have lumped me in your mind with those women! Don't you see why I'm upset?" He shook his head and then nodded. "I can see why you would be upset if that were true, Scully. But I don't think that about you." She crossed her arms, drumming her fingers against her biceps. "Mulder, I know you don't think you do-" "I don't!" he screamed. "Goddamit, Scully, I know myself a hell of a lot better than you do!" "Is that so?" She snorted. "I doubt it, Mulder." She stared at him defiantly for a long moment and then her face softened, and then crumpled. "Aw, dammit," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I promised myself I wasn't going to cry." She moved to the bed and sat, her head in her hands. Mulder knelt before her, his hands on her knees. Scully flinched and then relaxed. She raised her head. "Why did you have to watch the movies and think of me?" she asked, sobbing. Mulder had no answer, so he said nothing. Scully sniffed twice and sighed, composing herself. "Don't you get it, Mulder? This changes everything. I can't get involved with someone so...your emotions are so close to the surface, Mulder. More so than anyone else I've ever met. That makes you such a great agent, and such a great cop, a great profiler, but it just...a relationship with someone like that is hard enough. Any kind of relationship! Being your partner is...hard. Demanding. Draining. "But to fall in love with someone who embraces something I find disgusting, repugnant...it's asking too much, Mulder. Too much." "Scully...where did you get the idea that I objectify you?" "You don't Mulder. Not consciously. But I'll always wonder, Mulder. I'll always wonder if when you look at me, when you touch me, when you hold me, if you're holding someone else, touching another woman, fantasizing about some porno actress instead of me." She paused. "And I don't want to live that way, Mulder. I don't want to take that risk. I can't. I won't." "Do you want me to get rid of them?" he asked. She shook her head, smiling at him through teary eyes. "Mulder, the gesture is appreciated, but you're still not getting it. The fact that they exist doesn't bother me. Not as much as the fact that you brought me into that entire dynamic without asking me. You involved me in something so incredibly personal..." she trailed off, unable to find the exact words. "The funny part," she finally said, "is that I'm actually glad you told me." "Why?" "Because it saved me from making a huge mistake, Mulder." Mulder felt his tethers on reality slowly loosening and slipping. His eyes suddenly felt heavy and tight, and there was an unfamiliar ache, a heaviness, in his chest. This, he thought, is what it feels like when your heart breaks. "We...we can still be friends, partners?" he asked, accepting her decision. She nodded. "It may take a while to get back to where we were, but...yes, Mulder. We're still friends, and we'll always be partners." She sniffed. "If I have anything to say about it." "How...how can you manage that?" he asked. "I mean, if you're totally ruling out a relationship...?" Her face a melting mask of pain and regret, Scully nodded. "...how can we still be partners? Knowing that I want you, that I want to touch you and hold you and kiss you and make love to you? How can you...expect to deal with it?" "I've dealt with it for four years, Mulder. No worse for the wear." Bullshit, he thought. "How am I supposed to deal with it?" he asked. "How can you expect me to look at you and know that you think I'm disgusting?" She smiled. "Mulder, you're not disgusting." "That's what you just said!" he objected. "No, Mulder. You still don't get it. You know how I feel about porno. How I think that it degrades women. And you made me a part of that world in your mind, in your heart. There are sexual memories inside your brain that you will always associate with me and those goddamn movies. That's what I can't tolerate, Mulder!" He stood. "I'll leave you alone," he said softly. "I'm going to..." He made a motion with his hand towards his room. "I'm going to take the...stuff...back to where I got it." She just nodded, staring at the floor. "I'll see you in the morning," he said. Again, Scully just nodded. Mulder let himself out, shutting the door behind him. Scully stood and quickly removed her clothes, moving towards the shower. She had a rule of sorts. She tried to do all her crying in the shower. And she wanted very badly to cry. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Mulder moved on automatic pilot, ejecting the tape and disconnecting the VCR and then repacking it. His mind was a blank. The only thing he could think of was the image of Scully's face, eyes full of tears, her lower lip trembling as she looked at him with disgust. He kept replaying that image over and over again, letting it sink in, adding it to the mental catalog of images that would come and torture him in the night. He took the VCR and tape to the car. Pulling out of the lot, he tried to forget the image of Scully's head nodding as she ruled out any possible relationship. They had to get out of Portland, he thought. The case be damned, they needed time away. It was the case, he decided, the case that was screwing with Scully's mind. He knew he had never objectified her in his life. Scully wasn't even a woman in his mind...she was better than a woman. She was Scully. Just the sound of her name could make Mulder feel better. The sound of her voice on the other end of his cellphone, with her usual greeting of "Mulder, it's me," was the most beautiful thing Mulder could ever remember hearing. She was beauty personified. Classy, elegant, sexy, intelligent, sensual...all the best things about womankind were embodied in Dana Scully. She was, to Mulder's mind, simply the most perfect woman that had ever lived. Barring her tendency to second-guess him, he amended. And the fact that she wasn't exactly open to extreme possibilities. But that was part of her charm, part of what attracted him. So how to get out of the case? They could put a tail on Chavez. Sure, they didn't have much to go on, and the conjecture that it was a cop was just that: plain, flat-out conjecture. There was no solid evidence other than history and the fact that the victims were all seen getting into a car that vaguely matched the description of a detective's unmarked car. It was thin. Hell, it was anorexic. But it was all they had. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The Next Morning Mulder stood at the window, hands on his hips, staring at the early morning sky. He'd briefly considered lying down on the bed in the off chance that sleep would claim him. He'd dismissed that idea quickly as vanity. Mulder was having a waking nightmare. That's what he called them. They were hard to explain. He'd never told anyone about them, not the various therapists in his life, not his parents. Not even Scully knew about these. He called them waking nightmares. They were worse than the sleeping kind, he thought. With those, you could wake up. With the eerie logic and bizarre dichotomy of a nightmare, Mulder's mind toggled between two mental images, one a memory, the other a tenuous construct of his mind. The memory was of Scully flinching when he'd touched her face the previous morning. He played the moment over and over again his mind, alternating with the... What? Fantasy? Hardly, Mulder thought. It wasn't a fantasy; fantasies were supposed to be of something good, something you wanted, something you desired. Only a madman would want this. Only a loser would fantasize about this. He had done this for as long as he could remember. The characters and themes and plots rotated with his emotions and with the circumstances, but the basic outline never changed. In his mind, Mulder would witness a conversation that had never, to his knowledge, ever taken place. The subject of the conversation was always him, or about something he had done. He would imagine the people in his life talking about him, putting words into their mouths. This particular construct was different, though. There were two people in it. Scully and her mother. Normally, Mulder would have been able to hear them both. This time, he couldn't hear Scully's mother. He could only hear Scully. Or rather, only Scully's response. In the construct, Scully was answering a question from her mother that Mulder couldn't hear. He saw it over and over. Mrs. Scully would ask the question, and Scully would get this...look on her face, as if she'd just tasted something bad. Then she would laugh, a dismissive, incredulous laugh. "Mulder?" she would say to her mother, shaking her head. "No, Mom. Never." Over and over again. Like a mantra. Mulder knew he was paranoid. Professionally, it paid to be so. It had saved his life, and Scully's life, on more than one occasion. And it wasn't like he hadn't been given enough examples of why he had good cause to be that way. But his paranoia didn't stop at the professional level. It extended into every single facet of his existence. For as long as he could remember, he'd always had the feeling that people were talking about him behind his back, and that they weren't saying good things. He'd always suspected that the huge majority of the people in his life were merely humoring him. He thought he knew what question Scully's mother was asking. Mulder looked down at his hands. He was rubbing his right palm with his left thumb again, the skin raw and tender. He disgusted her. He closed his eyes, wanting to call back her words from yesterday. But all he could see was the mind-movie of her flinching from his touch alternating with the discussion between Scully and her mother. They had to get away from this case, from this town. Moving to the phone, Mulder lifted it and dialed quickly. "Danny, Mulder," he said when the voice answered. "Did you get the run back on maroon four-door sedans? Good. Do me a favor. Run a cross-check on all the names against membership in the Portland Police PBA. From that list, run a cross-check against all registrations of four-wheel drive vehicles that fit the profile I faxed you. When you're done with that, fax the list to the number I'm about to give you." Mulder read Danny the number from memory. "Oh, Danny...one more thing. Use the encrypted fax. No...just being my usual paranoid self." Mulder disconnected the call and dialed again. "Lone Gunmen." Byers. It was six-fifteen in the morning. Didn't the man ever sleep? "It's Mulder. In a few hours a list of names is going to appear on your encrypted fax machine. I want Frohicke to run that against all deeds in the Portland, Maine area, and the six surrounding counties for any lots ...say, four acres or larger. Any hits, and I mean any hits, Byers, and I want a call." "Mulder-" "Just do it, Byers. I'll explain later." Mulder hung up before the man had a chance to answer. He turned and sat on the bed. And once again, it started. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Scully reached for sleep, wanting it so badly, needing it so much, and fell completely short. Her eyes were closed but they felt gritty, dry. She could feel herself scowling with annoyance. She ran a hand over her face, sighing into the pillow. She tried to find something soothing to think about, something besides what was on her mind. Mulder. She cupped her face with both hands, her fingers massaging her scalp. Give it up, Dana. You've been spending the last six hours trying to think about anything but your partner, and we see how well _that's_ working. Sighing, Scully rolled over, facing the window. Ok, she thought, exactly what about this is bothering me so much? She could count with both hands the number of times she'd caught Mulder with a girlie magazine at the office or stopped by his apartment only to find him guiltily rewinding a tape in the VCR. She'd made comments about it. So had he. And deep in the back of her mind, Scully knew that from time to time, Mulder would have thought of her as he touched himself. It was human nature. With a gun pointed at her own head, Scully would have been forced to admit that not only had she thought of Mulder from time to time as she touched herself, but also of Skinner and, on one rather startling occasion, the mailroom clerk. What was her name again? So, Scully mused, the fact that Mulder masturbated and thought about her was not the problem. And the porno itself wasn't the problem. So it had to be the combination of the both of them, right? The fact that he thought about her as he watched some video slut going through the motions. So...what about that bothered her so much? She glanced at the travel alarm on the bedstand. It was almost time to get up. Almost time to get dressed and face her partner. Mulder. As she lay there thinking about her partner and friend, a sneaking suspicion began to dawn on Dana Scully. She was beginning to understand why Mulder's confession bothered her so much. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Wait, she cautioned herself. You've had less than no sleep, and you're desperately trying to find a way to repair the relationship, to regain the closeness we had yesterday. Don't grasp at straws, Dana. Make sure this is the reason before you say anything to him, before you do any more damage. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= New York City Mark Dupree paced his small basement office, feeling every fiber in his being vibrating like a tuning fork. If he concentrated, Dupree was sure that he could sense the resonating bounce of each individual molecule. The hunger was back. Sooner than he would have thought, but it was back. With a vengeance. And the fact that he was being totally ignored by the police was eating at him, an emotional fungus that threatened to devour him whole. He had to figure out some way to make the populace notice him, some way to force the police department's hand. What was the purpose of a reign of terror if no one was terrified? Dupree laughed, a short, hard little snort that sounded alien to his own ears. How childish, he thought. Wanting to make sure that everyone knows that it's me doing this, that I'm the one. Obviously, they were stumped by his clues. Which meant that they were stupid, as he'd expected. Surely, by now they'd managed to figure out the connection between Leon King and John Nelson. If not, he'd make sure they did. His next victim had already been selected. Thomas Ignatio Montoya. Also known as Tommy Two Chins by those that had counted him as a friend before he'd gone into WITSEC. He was mobbed up to his neck, a former hit man for one of the California families. Sixteen murders, by the feds' count. All of them unsolved, filed under "gangland slayings." The LAPD had desperately wanted to close all those cases and file them away forever, but the US Attorney responsible for entering Montoya into WITSEC had insisted they stay open. The Federal Grand Jury had agreed, and the cases had been sealed for all time. Except from Mark Dupree's eagle eye. He'd found the cases, traced the murders back, seen the classified RTA code, and linked them all to Tommy Two Chins, who was now living in Queens in a nice little two-story frame house out by La Guardia. Amazing no one at all, Tommy had put away some of the pin money that the California families had given him for removing their problems. He had an IRA and a 401(k) from a dry cleaning business he'd used as a front. So Tommy Two Chins actually had a little money stashed away, and he was living quite comfortably on it. The note that Dupree planned on leaving at the scene was already prepared. There was one little thing left to do. While researching the case, Dupree had noted that Tommy Two Chins had been arrested once by the NYPD, almost thirty years ago, on a bogus weapons charge. Well, it had been a 'bogus' charge once the arresting officer had been given a fat little brown envelope filled with twenty dollar bills. On the stand, the officer had perjured himself, stammering over his testimony before 'collapsing' before the onslaught of the high-priced defense attorney, and admitting to the court that he had framed Montoya. The officer had been relegated to patrolling the South Bronx for the last eighteen months of his career, and once a month since, an untraceable check for $500 had appeared in his mailbox. That fact was going to help make sure that the NYPD realized who they were dealing with. In addition to the code, Mark Dupree was going to leave two more surprises on Montoya's body. Two very nasty little puzzles that the NYPD would have to figure out all on their own. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Portland, Maine Mulder's cell phone rang. "Mulder." "Hey." It was Danny. "Whattya got?" "Six names. Got a pencil?" "Is any of them Anthony Chavez?" "No, but I got a Walter Chavez." "PBA?" "Yeah, but his status shows as retired." "Father?" "Probably. Maroon four-door Chevy Caprice Classic. Maine DMV shows no tickets, no wants, no warrants, nada. But the address of record is a six-acre parcel of land an hour north of Portland." "Ok, get on the horn to the Portland Field Office. Get an agent to go up there and check it out. Send two, as a matter of fact. If they find anything, and I mean any single fucking thing, Danny, I want them to sit on it. They can call an ambulance for any victims they find, but they are to cordon off the area. No one in or out until they hear from me. Clear?" "Sure, but why?" "Safety. Give me the other five names." Danny read them off and Mulder listened, not bothering to write any of them down. "Thanks," Mulder said. "I owe you one." "I'll add it to your bill," Danny joked. "Take care, Mulder." Mulder hung up the phone. It was Chavez. He could feel it in his bones. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Portland Police Headquarters The ride over had been spent in a distant, icy silence. Scully had obviously gotten about as much sleep as Mulder had, and by mutual unspoken agreement, they decided to let insomniac dogs alone. "I've got a lead," Mulder said in the elevator on the way up. "I'm going to take the case files into the interrogation room. Two hours from now, bring Chavez into see me. I'll need you to hang around for about ten minutes after that." Scully nodded. The doors slid open, and Mulder hesitated. "It will probably get ugly in that room, Scully." He stared at his shoes, unable to meet her face. "Why?" "Because I don't think any of the other victims are alive. And I'm not sure what I'll do if that's true." Images of the Roche interrogation tape flew through Scully's mind. She saw Mulder's hand flashing up and around, and then Roche's head rocketing back, tendons audibly popping. "Whatever you need, Mulder." He smiled at the floor, nodding. "Right. We're still partners." "Yes," she said softly, touching his arm lightly with just the tips of her fingers. "We are. And friends, I hope." He nodded, still unable to look her in the face. "Sure," he said softly. "Always." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Two Hours Later The entire case was spread over the eight-foot conference table. Autopsy photos and reports were scattered everywhere. Mulder had completely filled two legal pads with notes. Scully knocked softly and entered, trailed by Chavez. The hulking Portland cop was all smiles. "How goes it, Mulder? Learn anything at the prison?" Mulder grunted in response, waving towards the empty seat. "Scully, I need you to hang around for a second," Mulder said. Scully nodded and closed the door, leaning back against it, her arms crossed. "Detective, the most recent victim...do we have anything else on her yet?" "Waiting for dental records, as far as I know." "Did you read the report?" Mulder asked mildly. "Nope, been working on the canvas results." Mulder nodded. Ok, fact one. "I want your impression on something," Mulder said slowly, digging through the piles of paper, looking for his notes. "About this killer...this UNSUB." He laughed, looking at Scully. "UNSUB. What a wonderfully dry, technical term for a fucking scumbag. Motherfucker takes...how many? Nine? Ten? Eleven women? Tortures 'em, kills 'em, dumps their bodies." Scully raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She wasn't sure how much of this was an act. "What kind of sick fucker would do that?" Mulder asked. "A monster," Chavez agreed. "But that's why we called you, Mulder. Chief Monster Catcher for the FBI." "Yeah," Mulder nodded. "That's me. Do you know how many monstrous minds I've had to climb inside in my years with the FBI, Chavez?" The detective shrugged. "Too goddamned many," Mulder answered for him. "We... Scully and I, that is...had just gotten back from a case in Florida when we got the call for this one. We were on vacation, as a matter of fact. That particular piece of shit kidnapped and murdered little boys for fun. Liked to pour quick-dry cement into their rectums. After raping them, of course. Then he would...well, you can probably figure that part out." Chavez nodded. "Killing little kids. Fucking freak." "And our guy isn't?" Mulder asked suddenly. "I mean, the Florida guy kidnapped, raped, tortured and murdered little boys, but at least he did it quick. He didn't make it last weeks and weeks, Chavez." Chavez nodded but didn't say anything. Scully noticed that fine sheen of sweat had broken out across Chavez's brow. And it was chilly in the interrogation room. "I mean our guy really has to hate women, Chavez. I mean, a deep, pathological, psychotic hatred for women." Mulder glanced at his partner. "Look at my partner, Chavez. Special Agent Dana Scully. Smart, beautiful, sexy, right?" Scully straightened, opening her mouth to speak. Mulder's head snapped around, his eyes locking on hers. The message was clear. Scully bit back the words she was about to speak. "Sure, I guess," Chavez said, his eyes flicking between the two agents. "She's got a good body, huh?" Mulder asked. Chavez swallowed. "Mulder..." he said, holding up a hand. "I have no idea where you're going-" "Did you know her middle name was Jennifer?" Mulder asked. Chavez flinched. Gotcha, Mulder thought. "But she's got a good body, yeah," Mulder sighed. "Times, I can't even keep my hands to myself. Of course, Scully'd shoot me fucking dead, I ever laid a hand on her. Or anything else. She's a strong one, my Scully. Strong as steel, and as mean as a rattlesnake, you cross her." Mulder leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "But that's not the kind of woman you go for, is it, Chavez?" "What?" "Strong, independent women. Not quite your style, Chavez. Am I right?" He shrugged. "I dunno. Hypothetically, I guess I like..." He glanced at Scully. "No offense," he started. Scully shrugged. Makes no difference, her expression said. "I like more...traditional women, I guess." "Yeah," Mulder snorted. "Hey, here's a fact, Chavez. Six of the victims...single mothers. Working hard to make ends meet. Women that would love to meet a sugar daddy. A man with a stable job, a job with a future, you know what I mean? A pension, promotion opportunities, like that." Chavez rubbed a hand across his forehead. "No, I didn't know that." "Yeah, but the killer did. Scully, what's your mother's name?" Scully was about to answer, but thought better of it. "Jane, right?" "Right," she answered, just as Chavez flinched again. "Jane, Jennifer. Scully, you had a daughter. What did you name her?" "Julie," Scully said, picking up on Mulder's ruse. "Yeah, that's right. Julie. Jane, Jennifer and Julie. Funny how that works, Chavez, right? You...know anyone like that?" "Like what?" Chavez gasped. "Families that use cute names like that. Like naming twin boys Ryan and Brian and then dressing them alike. You know anyone like that?" Chavez shook his head. "No," he said, swallowing loudly. "I don't." Mulder withdrew a piece of paper from the pile. "Too bad. Back to the case. Fucker bit the nipple right off. Probably ate it, too," Mulder said. Chavez sighed deeply, closing his eyes. "Sick fucker," Mulder repeated. "I mean, look at what he did to this broad," he said. "Cigarette burns on the legs, cut her all up between the legs, bit her left nipple clean off, removed her fucking face!" Scully was about to correct her partner. She caught something out of the corner of her eye, a dark, shadowy motion beneath the table. She saw Mulder's hand on his knee, making a side-to-side motion. She held her tongue. "Right," Chavez mumbled. "What?" "Right nipple," he said. "Bit off the right nipple." Mulder sat back, smiling. "Get the tape recorder, Scully." Scully moved to the edge of the table, digging in Mulder's briefcase. She found his microcasette recorder and withdrew it, setting it on the table between Mulder and Chavez. "What the fuck?" Chavez asked. "Playtime," Mulder said slowly, "is over." "What are you-" Mulder held up a finger. "Listen to me," he said slowly, softly. Scully thought she'd never heard her partner sound so dangerous. "You get once chance. I know...everything. I figured it out last night. I have the records. I have the car. I have the six-acre spread. I have agents going there right now looking for the victims. Your only chance to escape the death penalty is to talk to me, to tell me everything, to answer every single question I ask completely and honestly. But you don't know what I know. I'm going to ask you a lot of questions, Chavez. You lie once...once...and you go down for all of it. And I will make sure that you get the needle." "I-" Mulder held up a finger again. "Quiet," he hissed. "Mulder-" Chavez said again, his eyes wide. "Quiet," Mulder said. "I ask, you answer. One false answer, you go down." Chavez looked at Scully. She saw his leg muscles tense. Holy shit, she thought. He's gonna go for it. Her hand was moving before she was aware of it, reaching towards the small of her back to where her SIG was holstered. "Easy, Scully," Mulder said. "Detective Chavez isn't going anywhere. Are you?" Chavez looked back at Mulder, visibly deflating. "No." "She'll shoot you where you sit, Chavez. Take it from me." Scully smiled ruefully. She would have, too. Without a second thought. Mulder's cell rang. "Mulder." "This is Special Agent Goen," a voice said. "Talk to me." "We found them. Three are still alive, but they're in bad shape." "Call ambulances. Get the Federal Mobile Crime Scene Unit rolling now." "What about Portland PD?" "No." "Can I ask why?" "Later, Goen. Do what I tell you." "Got it. I'll call you in a few hours." Mulder hung up, sighing. "Three left alive," he said softly. Scully winced. "Three...what?" Chavez asked. He honestly seems surprised, Mulder thought. He had a sudden sinking feeling. "Chavez...I know. I know everything. But I want to hear it from your mouth. Who...who is Walter?" "Wally?" Mulder shrugged. "Sure. Wally. Tell me, Chavez. Who is Wally?" "My...brother?" Scully's eyes found Mulder's at the same instant his found hers. "Where is Wally now?" she asked. "At work, I guess." "What does he do?" "He's a......oh my God," Chavez said. "He's a butcher." "WHERE?" Mulder asked. "The Grand Union," Chavez said. "On Sixth and Pine." Mulder arched a shoulder at Scully. She was out of the conference room a second later, running back towards the squadroom. "I need a SWAT Team!" she screamed. She pointed at two pairs of detectives. "You and you...follow me." She turned and lead them towards the stairs. "Shotguns, body armor...let's go!" The detectives glanced around, shrugged, and moved to comply with Scully's orders. Back in the interrogation room, Mulder circled his quarry. "Tell me about the J's," he said softly. "Tell me." "What do you..." Chavez gulped. "You're in this...don't fucking lie to me, Chavez. You knew that I had the wrong nipple. Talk to me, man. Don't let your brother go down alone. You were in this. Talk to me. Be a man. Stand up on this, Chavez. Stand up on it." "Our...stepmother," Chavez gasped. "Juanita." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Grand Union Supermarket Pine Avenue and Sixth Street Portland, Maine Scully was wearing modified body armor underneath a undercover windbreaker. A large, four-inch high panel on her back, and another, smaller panel on the front of the jacket could be ripped from its Velcro moorings to reveal the letters FBI in bold, gold letters. But she wasn't going to do that until she absolutely had to. She was paired with a Portland PD detective whose name she didn't know. They strolled through the supermarket, casing the place. A small combination speaker/microphone was nestled in Scully's left ear. She could hear the quiet murmurs of the SWAT team as they moved into position, waiting for her go order. "Two exits out the back," Scully said softly, stopping to examine a can of soup. "One out the front. Team One, back. Team two, off the side, wait for our signal." "Excuse me?" Scully turned and saw a man wearing a store uniform. He was smiling quizzically at her. Probably thinks I'm nuts, Scully mused. She glanced at his nametag. "Sidney," it said, and beneath that, "Store Manager." God smiles on fools and drunks, Scully thought, and the X-Files Team. "Oh!" Scully said brightly. "Are you the manager?" "Why...yes," he said, smiling. "Yes, I am." "I wanted to ask you something..." Scully said, turning slightly away, using her body language to draw him closer. "Yes?" Sidney asked, taking a step closer to her. Scully had her ID handy. She held it flat, using her body to shield it. "Special Agent Scully, FBI," she said softly. "Don't turn around." Sidney looked down at Scully's hand, saw the gold shield and laminated credentials and gasped. "What is it? Are we being robbed?" Scully quickly folded her ID and put it away. "Sir..? Sir, relax. You're not being robbed. I just need to ask you a couple of questions." "Yes...yes, of course." "Do you have a Walter Chavez working here?" "Yes...he works in...he's a butcher." "Is he here today?" "I believe so." "Where is he?" "Back in the...the workroom," Sidney said. "Is there anyone else there with him?" "The other butchers..." "How many of them?" "Two. Bill and Juanita." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Portland Police Headquarters Interrogation Room "C" "Tell me about Juanita," Mulder said softly. "Nothing to tell, really," Chavez said. "Our mother died when we were young. I was six. Walter was four. My father met her... she was a waitress...a barmaid. She wanted a husband...but wasn't too keen on the kids." "What do you mean?" "Well, she didn't want to work. She wanted to stay home and have our father take care of her. But she didn't want us around. She drank a lot, and the old man started drinking with her, you know, to keep her company and stuff. And when my old man got drunk, he got mean." Chavez paused, sighed, and continued. "It got worse from there. About six, seven years later, the drinking...it took my father's manhood, so to speak. He couldn't get it up anymore, you know what I mean?" Mulder nodded, not wanting to interrupt him. "So, Juanita started to bring men home when Dad was at work. He was a cop, you know. Like me. Like Walter wanted to be." "Why isn't Walter a cop?" Chavez shrugged. "Busted the psych screening." "Any idea why?" "Getting to that," Chavez said. "My Dad found out about Juanita's fucking around him. By that time, he was hitting the sauce pretty goddamned hard. He was drunk on the job a lot, and was in danger of getting thrown off the force. He really tore into her, Mulder. Beat the shit out of her." Chavez paused again. "The fact of the matter, Agent Mulder, is that my stepmother was a nympho slut. When she couldn't bring men home anymore, she turned inward, as it were." "Inward?" Mulder asked. "She seduced my brother, Agent Mulder. She took him into her bed and made him service her for four years, Mulder." "Where were you during all this?" "Living in the same house. But she didn't want me. I was sixteen. I was too old for her. She liked my brother, liked the fact that I knew what she was doing and I couldn't...wouldn't do anything about it. She liked how nasty it was. How dirty. That's what she got off on, the control of my brother and outright nastiness of the situation." "How do you know this?" Mulder asked. "I mean, about how she felt?" "I read her diary," Chavez said. "I know." Mulder sighed. It was a typical story. At least, in the world I live in, he thought. "Getting back to your brother...what's your involvement, Chavez?" "I knew he was doing it. Or...I felt it, I guess. I wasn't sure." "The car?" Chavez shrugged. "Lots of four-door maroon sedans in Portland and the surrounding counties. It's a very popular color." "But you knew your bother owned one-" "Yes." "And...?" "I haven't been up to the farm...that's what we call it, the farm. My father bought it a bunch of years ago as a summer place, a retirement place. But the booze got to him before his pension could. Walter and I inherited it." Mulder spread his arms. "How did you know about the nipple? You didn't read the report, by your own admission." "I heard your partner on the phone," Chavez said. Mulder gaped. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Grand Union Supermarket Scully followed the manager into the butcher's shop. Just outside the double doors that separated the refrigerated work area from the rest of the store, Scully touched the manager on the arm, stopping him. She drew her weapon and reached for the tab on the front of her jacket, tugging it free. Her partner tugged at the one on her back. They switched positions and repeated the process. "Ready?" Scully asked. He nodded. "Let's do it. SWAT teams, stand by." Scully entered the workroom, her pistol held alongside her leg, out of sight. Three butchers were hard at work. The woman, Juanita, stood at the band saw, moving a huge chunk of meat through the revolving blade slowly. The two men were working on the cutting block. They both held massive cleavers in one hand. Christ, Scully thought. This was almost as bad as some of the nightmare takedown scenarios that the bastards at Quantico Tactical came up with. "Walter Chavez?" she asked loudly. One of the men's arm froze in the middle of a downstroke. The other turned around stupidly. Bill, she thought, zeroing her attention on the other man. He moved more quickly than she would have thought possible, dropping the cleaver and grabbing a thin, sharp boning knife. With two steps, he was behind Juanita, his arm snaking around her neck, pulling her away from the band saw. Ah, shit, Scully thought. She felt the Portland detective moving to her right, widening the field of fire, setting up an effective crossfire. The other butcher, Bill, stood with his arms in the air, trembling. "Get out," Scully ordered, not taking her eyes off Walter. Bill scurried away. "Puta!" Walter screamed, his eyes wide, crazy. "Calm down, Walter," Scully said. "We just want to talk." "Lying BITCH!" he screamed. "Team one moving in," Scully heard in her ear. Hurry up, guys, she thought. "Walter, put the knife down," Scully said, starting the script at the top. "No fucking way, bitch!" he screamed. "I'm taking this BITCH and walking out of here!" Walter jerked Juanita against him, hard, the tip of the knife digging into the soft flesh under her chin. Juanita whimpered. "Walter, I'm not going to let you leave here with her," Scully said. Walter took a deep breath, calming himself. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you to, FBI Bitch, or this pretty little slut is going to fucking die. I don't care anymore. My life is over." He paused. "So...you can kill me, but I'll take her with me. I promise you that." Scully hesitated. "That's right, cunt. Think about it." "No, Walter, you think about it. You can call me all the names you want, and that isn't going to change the fact that you and I can walk out of here together, or I can walk out of here alone. Your choice." Walter glanced at the Portland cop and then back at Scully. He pointed at Scully with the knife. "I should have killed them all," he rasped. "But at least I can take one more with me-" The knife started to move back towards Juanita. Scully saw the speed with which it was moving and knew he was going to plunge it into her chest. Her mind kicked into automatic. Scully had already staged the trigger of her SIG. Less than two pounds of pressure was all that it took. The pistol bucked in her hand, the slide moving back, ejecting the spent casing and then sliding forward, lifting another cartridge off the top of the magazine and sliding it up the feed ramp and into the breech. The pistol came back into battery in less than a quarter of a second, the front sight blade settling down on target just as Scully pulled the trigger again. Scully's elbows had taken most of the force of the shot, letting the kinetic energy of the pistol recoil down her arms and across her back. The first shot took Walter in the meat of the knife-hand shoulder. The second shot took him in the cheek, traversing laterally at over twelve-hundred feet per second. Scully's height disadvantage translated into a killing arc as the bullet traveled at a slight upward angle, crashing through the soft palette and into the cerebellum, shredding bone and tissue as it went. Walter collapsed, dead. The knife buried itself in Juanita's chest, leaving about three inches showing. The woman looked down at the blade, jerking with every beat of her pulse and screamed. Unknown to Juanita, the blade had neatly pierced her ascending aorta. The sudden force of the penetration had all but sealed the wound around the blade. The sudden rise in blood pressure caused by the scream widened the wound just enough. Juanita began hemorrhaging into her thoracic cavity. Scully saw Juanita scream, saw the sudden drain of blood from her face, and then the first two spurts of bright red arterial blood from the chest wound. In a half second, Scully realized what was happening. "GO!" she screamed at the detective. "Find me something to clamp with!" "What?" he asked. "Vice grips! Chicken Tongs! Anything!" He nodded and turned to leave. Stopping, he turned back only to see Scully as she reached for another boning knife. Kneeling over Juanita's body, Scully took a deep breath and began cutting, widening the wound. "Oh...GOD!" the detective said, turning and pushing through the door. He found Sidney standing outside along with the other butcher. "Hardware!" he screamed. "I need vice grips!" Sidney blinked twice and then turned to his left, pulling open a drawer. It clattered open, revealing a pile of jumbled, rusting tools. Grabbing two pairs of vice grips, the detective pushed back into the workroom. Scully had widened the wound enough to get a hand inside. She was feeling around, trying to find the ascending aorta. "Got the clamps!" he said. "Tighten them down as far as they will go, and get a fucking ambulance here!" Scully screamed. He nodded as he fumbled with the grips, tightening the jaws as far as they would go. One of the SWAT Team members had heard Scully's shout and radioed for an ambulance on a separate frequency. "Give me one!" Scully said, holding out her free hand. The detective handed it over, noticing that Scully's arms were bloody to the elbow. Tossing her hair out of her face, Scully widened the wound enough to slip the grips inside. Opening them, she moved them as close to the actual tear in the artery as she dared and clamped it. "The other one!" she gasped. He handed it over just as two paramedics burst into the workroom. "Oh my GOD!" one of them yelled. "What are you DOING?" "I'm a doctor!" Scully said. They looked relieved, but only for a second. "What the hell is going on?" the other asked. "I'm cross-clamping an aorta. Tell me you have some thread in there!" The two medics exchanged a blank stare. "Childbirth kit!" Scully said. "Tell me you have a-" The medics nodded, both of them reaching down at the same moment towards the drug kit, knocking heads in the process. The taller one ripped the kit open, located the childbirth set and peeled it open. He found the two Dacron suture packs and held them out towards Scully. "Gloves," she gasped. Get me sterile gloves-" They found a pair and opened them, holding the non-sterile sides out. Scully grabbed one, then the other, snapping them over her blood-slick hands. "Peel the suture open," she said. The taller medic peeled the foil-wrapped packet open, being careful not to contaminate it. "Do either of you have a Kelly clamp?" she asked. The taller one reached to his belt and found the small silver clamp. It wasn't sterile, but it would have to do. He handed it to her. Scully took it, deftly using the clamp to pick up the needle. Reaching into the wound, she found the tear. Removing the knife with her free hand, she tossed it over her shoulder. "I need someone to help retract this so I can see," she called. A gloved hand appeared in her field of vision, holding the wound open. Scully took four quick sutures, baseball style, pulling it tight as she dared. "Releasing the clamp," she said through gritted teeth. She slowly turned the knurled ring on the vise-grips, holding her breath. The suture held. "Gauze," Scully said. "Gimme a trauma dressing." A huge pad of sterile gauze was handed to her and she packed it into the wound, tamping it down tight. "Scoop and go," Scully said. The medics nodded, reaching down and grabbing Juanita by the arms and legs. They physically carried her to the gurney and all but slammed her down on it in their haste to get moving. "What hospital?" Scully called after them. "Saint Mary's!" one called back. Scully stripped off her gloves and reached for her cell phone. It rang in her hand. She pushed SND. "Not now," she said, and disconnected. Dialing information, Scully waited for what seemed forever for an operator to come on the line. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. Connect me with the Saint Mary's ER immediately!" Five seconds later, another voice answered. "ER." "This is Doctor Dana Scully," she said. "I'm also an agent with the FBI. One of your ambulance crews just picked up a patient at the Grand Union on Sixth and Pine. She's been stabbed in the chest. Her aorta was nicked. I cross-clamped and sutured the wound. She's enroute now." Scully could sense the amazement in the listener's voice. "I'll be by in about an hour or two to file my report. But I've got a situation here now...I've got to go." Over the protests of the voice, Scully ended her call. She dialed *69 and waited. "Mulder." "Sorry. I was in the middle of something. What's up?" "Chavez gave his brother up. He's giving his formal statement now. We're done here, Scully." She heard the relief in his voice. She shared it. "I have to get cleaned up, and then I have to go to St. Mary's hospital," she said. "What happened there? Are you all right?" "Mulder, why are you even calling me? I could have been right in the middle of-" "I heard on the radio that the suspect was down, and that there was someone down at the scene. I..." "I'm fine, Mulder. I shot Walter. He took a woman hostage. I...I couldn't get him before he got her." Quickly, Scully brought her partner up to speed. "So I have to go and file my report at the hospital," Scully finished. "I'll be right there," Mulder said. "Mulder..." Scully started to protest. And then, to her amazement, she discovered that she really did want to see him. "I'll be out front waiting," she finished. There was a pause. "We really make a good team, Scully," Mulder said. The line clicked dead in her ear. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 10 End note: The three episodes listed are the only ones that I can remember that have a reference to Mulder's habit of reading or watching adult entertainment materials. For those that care: Jersey Devil - "Scully, she says she was kidnapped by aliens and held in an anti-gravity chamber for three days." (Viewing naked image) "Anti-gravity is right." Excelsus Dei - "That tape wasn't mine, Scully." "I put it in the drawer with all those other tapes that aren't yours, either." Shadows - "I haven't seen you this involved since the last issue of _The Adult Video News_."