FADE TO MIDNIGHT by TexxasRose (a.k.a. Laura Castellano) laurita_castellano@yahoo.com November 20, 1999 Classification: Mulder/Scully married, EXTREME Muldertorture in this one, folks, so if you don't care for that, bail out now--I don't want to hear later that you thought it was too violent. Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder I'd keep him much too busy to solve cases. If I owned Dana Scully she'd be my shopping buddy. I don't own Skinner either, obviously. They all belong to Chris Carter, and 1013, and Fox Broadcasting, and all those other lucky entities. Jess, Dulexy and Sylvia are all mine. Spoilers: No major ones that I can think of, a minor one for Pine Bluff Variant. MAJOR thanks to my long-suffering beta-reader, Julie, who makes the stories intelligible. Rating: R for language and graphic violence. Author's note: This is a sequel to my novel Ahead of Twilight, and while it isn't absolutely necessary that you read it to know what's going on in this story, it will make more sense to you if you do. ******************************************************* FADE TO MIDNIGHT TexxasRose ------------------------- TUESDAY 2:47 a.m. ------------------------- Mulder jumped as the heavy door slammed shut behind him. He'd known it would turn out this way, had tried to warn them but they had refused to listen to him, stupidly insisting that the police would never arrest him for Zachary Morrow's murder after Mulder had shot the man. Shot him in cold blood, his mind insisted, but Mulder refused to allow his conscience to go that far; the man had been about to rape his wife, after all, and then probably dispense with them both. On the other hand, if they'd been able to hold Zach off for a few more minutes, Walter would have arrived and there was a possibility nobody would have had to die. Just a possibility. They'd continued to insist, all the way to the police station, that Mulder wouldn't be taken into custody, but Mulder had known the truth. He knew how justice worked, having already been falsely convicted of the murder of one man. This was different. This time there actually was a dead man in Mulder's bedroom with Mulder's bullet in him. They would ask Scully for her statement, and what could she do but tell the truth? He had shot her ex-husband in the head. It didn't look good. No matter the circumstances, it just didn't look good. Mulder turned and saw Scully's sorrowful eyes watching him before he was led, handcuffed, down a long corridor filled with individual cells. He got one last glimpse of her before they rounded a corner, and knew he had seen that look on her lovely face before--on the day, all those years ago, when he had received his first guilty verdict. Oh yeah--he'd been here before, all right. Now he was being escorted, hands cuffed behind his back, farther and farther away from his very soul. A man would have to be crazy to willingly abandon his soul, and whatever else he may be, Mulder was most assuredly still in his right mind. With a sudden wrenching motion, yanking free of the guard who had been firmly grasping his upper arm, Mulder turned to race back toward her, toward the face, the comfort, the life that had sustained him for as long as he could remember. He simply could not be parted from her again. He saw her waiting for him, holding out her arms with a welcoming smile, and felt his feet begin to move faster as he approached her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he was set upon by more guards--five? six? seven?--he couldn't count them. They dragged him to the floor and flipped him over onto his back. Mulder yelled and fought against them, but was unable to elude their hands grasping him, holding him, pinning him down. He ceased his struggles abruptly when he looked up into a pair of sadistic eyes, and realized with a jolt that it was the guard who had beaten him nearly to death when he'd been in prison. Cold shock invaded him and all the fight left his body at once. Even as he opened his mouth and began screaming, some small part of him felt relief, for at that moment he knew it was only a dream. "Mulder!" His eyes flew open and he stared at her face, bathed in the moonlight that streamed in through the open curtains. "Huh?" he managed, feeling the trembling in his body and realizing he was breathing heavily. "What? Oh, shit." He remembered all in a rush, swiping his hands over his face as if to banish the last remnants of the nightmare. "You okay?" she asked, brushing hair away from his sweaty brow. "You were thrashing around in the bed and mumbling something in your sleep." "I'm fine, Scully," he answered, sitting on the side of the bed and reaching for his boxers, which had quickly been ripped from his body and discarded on the floor soon after they'd gone to bed the night before. "Just the standard bad dreams. Nothing to worry about." "I'd have thought after the workout you had earlier, you'd have slept like a baby," she teased as she watched him pull them on. He grinned. The 'workout' had consisted of relieving too many days worth of pent-up frustration. Emmie had had several of her girlfriends over to spend the last long weekend before school started, and after dealing with four fifteen-year-old girls for three days, Scully had been exhausted. Mulder, on the other hand, had been working just as hard to get his office and his notes ready for the first day of school, and between the two of them they'd only had energy to look hungrily at one another for over a week. The scene that had ensued in their bedroom once they'd finally retired there had been quick, savage and immensely satisfying for them both. "I think I'll get a glass of water," he told her. "I seem to have lost a lot of fluids somehow and I'm just going to replenish. You go on back to sleep." Instead, she snickered at his remark and followed him to the kitchen, pulling her robe on as she made her way down the darkened hall. She watched Mulder put ice in a glass with hands that still trembled, and shook her head ruefully. It had been ten years. Would he be tormented forever? Scully waited while he filled the glass and took a seat beside her at the kitchen table, then reached out to grasp his fingers tightly. "This one was bad," she commented, and he said nothing, draining half the glass in one swallow. "Want to talk about it?" "Not likely," he muttered, then gave her a small smile to erase the sting from his words. "It was nothing, Scully. Just one of my old standards. It was about...that day." Scully sighed. Even after all these years, Mulder still found it hard to trust anyone in uniform, and his fear of law enforcement personnel had become almost a joke among their friends and family. Almost a joke until something like this happened, she thought with a flash of irritation, and then she was the only one around to pick up the pieces. "Mulder, you haven't had one in such a long time. If you're going to start having nightmares again, I really think Jess--" "I don't need Jess, Scully. I know exactly what caused this." Jess Coslow Skinner had been Mulder's therapist after he'd been released from prison, and Scully's too for a while. For the last nine years, she had been Mrs. Walter Skinner, and a close family friend. Mulder knew Jess was always a phone call away, and for that he was eternally grateful, but this particular dream had a definite catalyst, one which Mulder had no trouble identifying. At Scully's quizzical look he went on sheepishly, "I got pulled over for speeding today. I didn't want to tell you, but I guess I can't keep a secret very well." She smiled in exasperation. "Speeding! Mulder, you're fifty-one years old. When will you learn?" "I may be fifty-one, but I still manage to keep you happy," he smirked, and she nearly laughed out loud, stifling the sound to avoid waking Emmie. "Yeah, but I'm getting old too," she pointed out teasingly. "Maybe it takes less to keep me satisfied these days." Scully didn't realize she'd thrown down a challenge until it was accepted. "I'll show you who's getting old," he announced, rising from his chair and pulling her against his warm, bare chest in one swift motion. Before Scully knew what had happened, she was backed against the nearest wall with his large frame almost covering her. Scully stared, eyes wide and luminous, as he threaded his fingers through her hair purposefully and pulled her closer. She knew he was going to kiss her, she wanted him to kiss her, and after one nervous glance toward the hall where the bedrooms lay, she allowed herself to melt against him. He came closer and closer, but instead of claiming her lips with his as she wanted him to, he teased her, planting tiny kiss after tiny kiss on her mouth until she was ready to scream with frustration. She wanted more, and she ground her lower body against his as he maneuvered her more firmly against the wall. She was trapped between the hardness of the cool wall and the hardness of Mulder, long and lean and obviously wanting her as well. She moaned, and tried to capture his bottom lip between her teeth, but Mulder was in a playful mood tonight and evaded her with a chuckle. "Patience, Scully," he teased, beginning to torture her neck now, an activity which experience had taught him would have her whimpering in passion within seconds. "You have...to wait...for the...good stuff." Two could definitely play this game, she decided, and her hands circled his waist slowly, then roamed downward to slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, the only garment he wore. Scully knew just how to get to her husband. She traced a fingernail lightly over the skin at the curve of his behind and he yelped. "Damn it, woman, no fair tickling me!" he insisted in the low, seductive voice that always gave her chills. Swiftly he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head. She struggled lightly against him, almost helpless with silent laughter, but she had never been a match for his size and strength. He slipped his free hand tantalizingly through the folds of her robe and cupped first one breast, then the other while his mouth continued to do illegal things to her throat, lapping here, nipping there, placing first a gentle kiss and then sucking furiously, leaving his mark on her skin. Mulder in what she thought of as his "masterful mode" could always bring her to the verge of total meltdown, and by the time he relented and allowed a real kiss, her laughter had turned to moans of need, and Scully was writhing under his assault, abandoning resistance and straining toward him urgently. His thumb teased her nipple while his tongue explored her mouth, desperately seeking the sweetness he always found there. "Mulder!" she gasped when he drew back to let her to catch her breath. "Yes?" he purred sweetly, grinding her further against the wall until Scully thought she would scream if he didn't take her right then. "You want something from this old man?" "Mulder, we are *not* going to have sex here in the kitchen!" He grinned against her neck. "I think we are, Scully," he contradicted, beginning to nibble again at her collarbone. "Emmie--" "Would sleep through a nuclear blast, and you know it," he finished, quickly unbelting her robe and beginning to slide it down her shoulders. Her only answer was another moan. He carefully lowered them to the floor, hastily spreading out the terrycloth robe. "Mulder," Scully interrupted, regaining some of her senses while he fooled with the robe. "If we're going to do this here, *you* get to lie on the cold floor." She gave him a gentle push backwards, and he caught himself, grinning in good-natured defeat and letting her settle him, with the bathrobe beneath his head and naked back. He winced a little as the coolness seeped through the fabric, and Scully immediately set herself to warming him up. He raised his hips in order to allow her to slip his boxers down his legs, revealing his desire for her in the darkened room. Scully began to explore him with her fingers, reminding herself of every plane and contour of his body while he took up where he'd previously left off, continuing to push her toward the brink of insanity. Her lips teased his flesh, her tongue lapped at his throat and with satisfaction she heard him draw a sharp breath. "Now!" she commanded, and Mulder, having been trained in the art of pleasing his wife for just over ten years, obeyed immediately. He positioned her above himself and soon they forgot time, forgot space, forgot that they had a teenage daughter sleeping down the hall. "Come on with me, Scully, now!" he commanded softly. Scully, with her last bit of sanity, said a brief prayer that they wouldn't be discovered in this compromising position, and then the sanity was gone and he took her over the edge with him. Knowing her habits, Mulder muffled her cry with his mouth as she convulsed against him; he had discovered years ago, to his immense delight, that Scully was quite vocal in the throes of passion. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than wrenching those noises from his usually calm, sedate wife. Now she stared blissfully down at him, satisfied and lethargic. Reluctantly, he nudged her aside, rose and helped her to her feet, shaking the kinks out of his back and grinning as she did the same. They were both older, but they still had it, he reflected smugly. "Damn, Scully," he whispered, unaffected in no small way himself. "You sure know how to drive the nightmares away!" Scully smiled a self-satisfied smile as she belted her robe securely around her body. How many fifty-one year old men could do that twice in one night, she thought proudly. Of course, she had given him several hours to recover after the first time. Maybe tomorrow night she'd see if he was up to the task again. ----------------- TUESDAY 7:23 a.m. ----------------- Emmie stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, giving a mock glare at her parents, who looked entirely too chipper today. She sighed as she opened the refrigerator, reaching for her usual carton of yogurt and the low-fat milk to pour on her cereal. A girl had to keep her figure in mind, she always told Fox when he chided her for not eating enough, and took great delight in pointing out how badly his own eating habits compared to hers. She stepped back and turned toward the kitchen table. A puzzled look crossed her face and she picked up her foot, examining the bottom of her sneaker. "What?" Scully asked, seeing her daughter's odd behavior. "There's something sticky on the floor," Emmie replied as she started to set down her breakfast and reach for a paper towel. "Didn't Mrs. Hankins clean yesterday?" "I'll get it," Scully said quickly, rising to take the paper towel from Emmie's hand. When Emmie gave her a strange look, Scully explained, "You need to eat breakfast so you don't miss the bus." Emmie sat down and stared suspiciously at Fox, who was working hard to stifle his laughter. "What's up with you two?" she asked as she popped the top from the yogurt container. "Nothing," Scully told her brightly, rising from the floor where she'd mopped up the 'sticky stuff'. She didn't dare look at Mulder, for she knew he realized, as did she, that the 'sticky stuff' was in the exact spot where they'd made love the night before while their daughter slept. "What are you laughing at?" Emmie demanded, staring at Mulder over the cereal box. "Comics," he managed, trying desperately to get himself under control. Emmie sighed. "You haven't even opened the paper, Fox," she pointed out patiently. Mulder gave her a dazzling smile and a wink. "I'm just remembering the ones I read yesterday," he lied as he reached for the morning paper. Emmie rolled her eyes in typical teenage-girl fashion and continued eating in silence while Scully sat down to finish her coffee. "Mom, can I have a pool party Friday night?" she asked suddenly, after she had scooped the last bite of raisin bran from her bowl. Scully looked up in surprise. "Don't you think this is kind of sudden?" she asked. Emmie, seeing her mother about to refuse, turned to the man who had been her personal slave for most of her life. "Please, Fox?" she cajoled. "It won't be much trouble. I'll just invite a few friends, and we'll grill hamburgers or something. You won't even have to do anything." Mulder looked at his step-daughter's pleading brown eyes and melted immediately, exactly as she'd hoped he would. "Scully," he said, turning to his wife, "it wouldn't a problem, would it?" Scully looked from her husband to her daughter and knew she'd been had. "How many friends are we talking about?" she questioned. "Um...ten?" Emmie asked hopefully. "Make it five and you've got a deal." Emmie pouted for a moment, and Scully found herself wondering if she'd been practicing in the mirror--the pout looked so similar to Mulder's that it was almost funny. "Well...but is it all right if Ellery spends the night?" the girl pressed. Scully smiled. She had known that would be the next request. Emmie and her best friend, Ellery Monroe, had been almost inseparable since the third grade. With such similar names, teachers had often sat them together in alphabetical order, and the girls also shared a striking resemblance to one another. Both had dark brown eyes and brown, wavy hair which they wore in identical styles. They often dressed alike and had taken to calling themselves 'almost twins'. Both girls were around so often that she and Mulder had practically begun to think of themselves as having two daughters instead of one. "All right, Ellery can spend the night, but everyone else is out of here by ten, got that?" Scully stated as she rose to put her empty cup in the sink. "Got it. Thanks, Mom," Emmie beamed as she jumped up. "I think I hear the bus." She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and returned the bear hug Fox bestowed upon her. "Have a good first day at school," he said as she left the room. "You too," she called over her shoulder. "I'll try not to embarrass you in front of your friends," Mulder yelled after her, laughing again at the muffled, "Oh, Fox!" that drifted through the front door before it closed. "She is a treasure," Scully murmured quietly, her fingers rubbing the spot where Emmie's lips had touched her. "How many fifteen year old girls still kiss their mothers?" "Maybe she lost so much when she was younger that she learned to appreciate what she has," he commented, folding the newspaper and laying it aside. "But the real question of the morning is, do we need to fire Mrs. Hankins and hire a better housekeeper?" She ignored his laughter, silently shaking with her own as she started for the shower. Mrs. Hankins had been coming in once a week to clean for them for three years now, and her work was always stellar. "It's not Mrs. Hankins' fault that you're an animal," she replied when he entered the bathroom. "She can't be expected to follow us around and clean up after us every time you're overcome with passion." Mulder snorted. "*I'm* an animal?" he retorted. "I seem to recall you were rather insistent that we do the wild thing then and there." "Nonsense." The words came around the closed shower door, and seconds later Mulder heard the water start. "I was simply trying to take your mind off your nightmare. And your speeding ticket," she reminded him, poking her head out the door of the shower stall to give him a wicked smile. "Careful, woman, or you'll find yourself up against the wall of that shower stall," he threatened, putting the stopper in the tub drain and beginning to run his own bath. "You're all talk, Mulder!" "And don't hog all the hot water!" he continued, ignoring her jibe. "I got here first!" It was a race they engaged in every morning. Mulder still refused to take showers on a regular basis, although he had shared one with Scully on occasion, preferring the dubious psychological comfort of a bath. Scully, on the other hand, thought that baths should involve candles, scented bubbles, a good book and lots of relaxation time. In the morning, she whipped through a shower in fifteen minutes flat. Several years ago they had remodeled the bathroom, adding a separate shower stall and a larger water heater, in order to alleviate the arguments about who would go first in the morning. Now they could both be content. "Do you think she knew what that stuff on the floor was?" Mulder called as he slid into the steaming tub of water and reached for the shampoo. "God, I hope not," Scully answered. "She's only fifteen." "I'm amazed at how early kids become sexually active these days," he told her. "It's scary." "Not our daughter," Scully said with mock severity, peeking around the curtain at him once more. "I won't consider the possibility, do you hear me? We've dealt with enough trouble in our lives--this is one thing I refuse to endure." He stared at her for a moment, then shouted with laughter. "I'll tell the fates you have so decreed," he informed her before slipping beneath the water. "You do that," she replied grimly. ---------------- FRIDAY 4:02 p.m. ---------------- "What's wrong?" The question rang through the silent car, his tentative attempt to broach the wall Emmie seemed to have erected between them since the night before. She'd spoken to her grandparents on the telephone the previous evening, and ever since that conversation Emmie had been quiet and withdrawn around him. It was obvious something was bothering her, and although Mulder had initially resolved to let her bring it up in her own time, the continued silent treatment was beginning to bother him. "Nothing," she muttered. "I'm fine." As a verbal jab, it was promising. She had been privy to more than one argument between Fox and her mother over the years concerning that very phrase, and knew how it irritated him. If she saw his wince, she ignored it. He reached across the seat for her hand, but she pulled away, and after a moment he quietly returned his to the steering wheel. "I can't apologize if I don't know what I've done wrong," he told her quietly. She remained in her sullen silence for another few minutes, then turned to him and said deliberately, "Game, Fox." He felt his heart begin to race. Game. It was his own invention--well, not really; the concept was old, but putting it into the form of a game was his idea. You got to ask the other person anything you wanted, and they had to answer perfectly honestly. The catch was that, in return, they got to subject you to the same scrutiny. He'd found it a useful tool to use with his students, and had also discovered that the revelations he made about himself, things he normally wouldn't have revealed to anyone, actually helped strengthen his bond with them. It had helped him get to know Emmie far better than most parents knew their teenagers. All it took was for one of them to speak the word 'Game'-- it meant difficult secrets would be revealed. He swallowed hard, wondering what rack she was about to place him on, and then said, "All right." "Remember the rule." He nodded. The only rule to the Game was that of honesty. Everything spoken must be completely truthful. Emmie turned her eyes out the window, unwilling to face him now. "Grandma told me last night that today would have been my dad's birthday." Mulder was stunned by her remark. Of all the things he thought she might say, bringing up Zach hadn't even been on the list. Zachary Morrow was almost never spoken of in their household, and he hoped by now that Emmie had come to think of him as her dad. Apparently he'd underestimated her devotion to her biological father. "Okay," he answered, hands tightening imperceptibly on the wheel. "What do you want from me?" She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, then bravely turned to look at him, fixing him squarely with her dark gaze. "I want to know about my father's death. I want to know what happened." He stopped breathing for a moment, hoping the car would crash, killing him but leaving Emmie miraculously unscathed, or that he might suffer a sudden, fatal heart attack, hoped, in fact, for an entire host of things, none of which occurred. She waited, still silent, for him to answer. "No, Emmie, please," he begged softly. "Don't ask me to tell you about that." "Game, Fox," she reminded him coldly. "It's *your* game, remember? Did you think it could only work to your advantage? You and Mom have always avoided the questions I've asked about my dad. I'm fifteen now. I'm not a kid any longer. I want you to tell me." And in the end, he really had no choice. ---------------- FRIDAY 5:50 p.m. ---------------- Justin Dulexy drove slowly down the quiet neighborhood street, casting his eyes about for anything out of the ordinary. He'd been down this street four times in the last hour, trying to determine the best course of action to carry out his plan. He'd already decided to grab the Mulder kid, now all he needed was an opportunity. He knew where he would take her, when he would make the call to her parents, and how much money he would demand for her return. The only unpredictable thing in his entire plan was just exactly when the snatch would be carried out. As he turned the corner, circling the block one more time, he saw her. She must have walked home from school, because she was carrying a backpack over one shoulder and walking quickly toward the Mulder house. As he drew closer he saw her initials in green fabric on the blue denim backpack: E.M. He smiled. Most people in this neighborhood weren't home from work yet, and the street was quiet. He could make the grab without being seen if he was even remotely lucky. Ellery strode quickly toward Emmie's house, her swimsuit and towel in her backpack. She'd gotten home and done her homework in record time, but then her mother had made her eat supper and wash the dishes afterwards, so she was running late. Finally, her parents had left for their weekend away, and Ellery had escaped. The party was supposed to start in half an hour, and she wanted to be wearing her new one-piece suit by the time Mark arrived. Then, later tonight, she and Emmie would spend hours talking and giggling about the boy they both had a bit of a crush on. She was looking forward to seeing him in his swimsuit. Her thoughts interrupted by the sound of an automobile engine, she glanced up at the truck coming toward her. As she watched, it slowed and then stopped. Ellery kept walking, feeling slightly uneasy when the passenger side window was lowered. She intended to continue walking without giving the driver even a glance, but he called to her. "Hey, little girl, can you help me out?" His voice sounded friendly, and unsure, and Ellery thought maybe he just wanted directions or something. Her mother had always warned her about climbing into cars with strangers, but surely if she just stood here on the sidewalk and talked to him, it would be all right, wouldn't it? She gazed in at the driver. He was a large man, bigger than her father, and something about him bothered her, something she couldn't pinpoint. She shook off the feeling. It was silly, and no doubt stemmed from her mother's horror stories. "Yes?" she asked in a voice that trembled only slightly. "I wonder if you could tell me how to find this street," the driver said, pointing to a map that lay on the seat. "What street is it?" she asked nervously, taking one tentative step toward the truck. "I'm not sure how to pronounce it." Ellery bit her lip in indecision. "Hey, I understand. You're not supposed to talk to strangers, and that's very smart. I shouldn't have asked you." The guy waved his hand carelessly, with a friendly smile. "I'll just find a grown-up--" At that Ellery bristled inwardly. Grown-ups. Adults thought they knew everything. This man wasn't going to hurt her, he was nice. He just needed a little help, and she could give it to him. Ellery had spent her whole life in this neighborhood and knew every street in a half-mile radius intimately. "Let me see," she interrupted, stepping up to the truck and peering in the window, caution forgotten. A split second later she knew why her parents had taught her not to talk to strangers. The gun glinted, silver steel, against his jeans as he pointed it at her, keeping it in his lap so any passersby would be unaware of its presence. She sucked in her breath and felt her body go weak with fear. "Get in. If you scream, or try to run, I'll kill you. Just open the door and quietly get in." She hesitated for a moment, until he made a motion toward her with the firearm, and then obeyed him, climbing in to sit beside him on the seat, her face completely white. "Good girl," he told her, his grin not quite so friendly now. "Put your hands right here on the dash, right where I can see them." He gestured with the gun and she obeyed, clutching at the vinyl with hands that trembled. He drove with one hand, keeping an eye on her at all times, for several miles until they reached a less-populated neighborhood. The houses here were widely spaced, and he stopped the truck on the side of the road at a safe distance from the closest one. "Turn around," he ordered, and she did, her entire body shaking now. "Please," she said as she felt him pull her arms behind her back, "please don't hurt me." He quickly tied her hands behind her back, then made her scrunch down so she was sitting on the floor. She was crammed into the small space so tightly that she couldn't make any sudden moves even if she had the courage to try. When he had her settled, he started the truck again and drove off. "Don't worry, Emmie," he told her reassuringly. "If you behave yourself, I promise I won't hurt you, and in a couple of days you'll be safe at home again." Ellery's eyes widened when she heard him call her by her friend's name. He'd goofed! He hadn't wanted her at all, it had been Emmie he was after! She wondered if she should correct him--it might make him mad enough to hurt her. If he found out he had the wrong girl, would he let her go? Or would he kill her so she couldn't identify him, and then go back for Emmie? Still shivering, Ellery closed her eyes and began to pray for answers, and for safety. ---------------- FRIDAY 7:13 p.m. ---------------- Mulder sat in the shadows cast by the house, watching from a distance as Emmie and her friends dove and swam in the pool. Ellery hadn't yet arrived, but all the other kids were there and the party was in full swing. Scully periodically brought out more food and sodas from the kitchen, but true to her word, Emmie and the kids had done most of the work. His heart ached as he watched the dark-haired beauty he and Scully used to refer to as 'Nymph'. She meant more to him than anything else in the world, she and Scully, and if he were to lose her love, her respect, Mulder knew it would just about kill him. Nothing else mattered to him if he didn't have the two of them in his life. Scully plopped down into the chair beside him, interrupting his scattered thoughts, and handed him a paper plate loaded with hot dogs, chips and dip. She popped the top on a can of diet soda, took a swig, and sighed deeply. Snitching a chip from the plate he was now balancing on one knee, she surveyed his face carefully. "All right, Mulder, spill it," she commanded, and he turned to her, startled. "What are you talking about, Scully?" he tried, even knowing she wouldn't be fooled. He was correct. Scully sighed again, and only barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes as Emmie often did. He was trying to be difficult, but Scully was in a 'no bullshit' mood tonight, and wasn't going to play his game. "Look, Mulder," she said curtly. "I've had a long day, capping a very long week, and I'm tired. Something is obviously bothering you, and I don't have the time or the patience to try and coax it out of you. Tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to have to inflict pain. What's wrong?" Her words were softened a bit by the concern in her eyes, and after a second of shaking his head in denial, Mulder gave in. There was no use fighting her anyway; he'd never won in all the ten years they'd been married. "Emmie asked me about Zach today," he said at last. Scully's eyes widened as she took another chip. "What did you tell her?" she questioned. He made a small noise of disgust. "Everything, sanitized for the consumption of a fairly innocent fifteen-year-old girl. I had to, Scully. She hit me with the Game." "And you were caught in your own trap." Scully shook her head ruefully. "I told you not to give her that kind of power," she commented mildly, "but you're the Child Psychologist, and you refused to listen." "And I told you, Scully, kids have to feel they have some control in this world where, really, they don't." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "A lot of good that Psychology degree is doing me now, though. She won't even talk to me." "Mulder." She put her hand comfortingly on his arm. "You know she's just upset, and you know she'll get over it. If you told her that you're the one who killed Zach, you gave her a great shock. She's a level-headed girl, though, and eventually she'll realize that you had no choice. Did you tell her what Zach was trying to do? That he wanted to kill us both?" He nodded, handing her back the plate and standing. "I did, and I know you're right, Scully, but still..." "I know," she sympathized. "It's hard. But Emmie still loves you, Mulder. This isn't going to destroy her feelings for you. Deep inside, you know that." "I know. Intellectually, I know. But it's different when it's your own relationships in question." "I've known about that difference since the first time you were injured and I had to care for you as a doctor, instead of your partner and friend. It's always hard to look at the situation objectively when it's one of your own that's hurting." He opened his mouth but his answer was cut off by the ringing of the telephone inside the house. "I'll get it," he muttered, hurrying away before she could lecture him further. "Maybe it's Ellery." The last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of the basics of human behavior. He knew all that, knew it as surely as he knew his own name. It was the living it that was difficult. Mulder managed to catch the phone on the fourth ring, before the answering machine picked up. "Hello?" he said, expecting to hear Ellery's breathless voice explaining why she was late--Ellery, in his experience, was always late and always breathless, a quality he found both annoying and endearing. "I have your daughter, and if you want her back you'd better cooperate." Mulder stared at the phone, hearing the silence of a broken connection. What the hell had that been all about? Quickly he checked the Caller ID box, but it yielded no information other than that the call had been from someone wishing to remain anonymous. No surprise there. "Was that Ellery?" a cold voice behind him asked, and he turned to see Emmie waiting, her face a mask of indifference that mirrored his own. "No, I think it was a wrong number," he told her, and she was out the door before he even finished his sentence. He sighed again, biting his tongue to keep in the angry words that wanted to form, and stuck his head out the kitchen door. "Scully, could you come here a minute please?" She joined him in the kitchen moments later, her face changing from curious to concerned when she saw his confusion. "What is it, Mulder? What happened?" "I'm not sure," he replied slowly. "That was a...very weird phone call." She checked the box herself. "Anonymous? What did they say?" He repeated the single sentence the caller had spoken, and they stared at each other. Almost simultaneously, realization dawned on their faces and they both spoke at once. "Ellery!" Mulder snatched up the phone and called the Murray household, receiving no answer at all, which worried him even more. "Her parents should be home, shouldn't they?" he groused, and Scully gasped. "I forgot to tell you--they received a sudden invitation to spend the weekend with Adam's brother. They asked if they could leave Ellery here until Sunday and I told them that was fine. She was supposed to walk over after she finished her homework--Mulder, she should be here by now!" "Damn!" he ground out. "Scully, you stay with the kids. I'm going to walk toward Ellery's house and see if I can find her, or...anything." "Shouldn't we call the police, Mulder?" she demanded as he disappeared down the hall. "Not yet," he called back. "They can't do anything yet, and we don't really know what's going on, do we?" She hurried after him, catching up with him at the front door. "We have a phone call from a possible kidnapper," she argued. "Do you really think that's a coincidence?" He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Just give me half an hour, Scully. Let me look for her. If we call the police now, we could be endangering her even more. And," he went on, nodding toward the back of the house, "we can't let these kids know anything's wrong until we're sure." Reluctantly, she nodded and watched him start down the street toward the Murray house. Closing the door, Scully silently whispered a prayer that Ellery would be found safe and sound, and that the phone call had been a horrible mistake or a bad joke. Then she headed purposefully back to the poolside. She needed to see Emmie, make sure she was all right. Mulder walked the entire way to the Murray house, and knocked on the door but received no answer. He tried the front door and found it locked. There was no trace of Ellery. ----------------- FRIDAY 10:02 p.m. ----------------- This time when the phone rang, Mulder lunged for it. "Yes?" he said tersely, trying hard to keep his voice in check. He couldn't explain why he felt guilty that Ellery had been kidnapped instead of Emmie, but he did. "I have your daughter, Rich Man." The voice on the other end caused a sudden yanking at his memory, and Mulder's face paled slightly as he listened. He knew he recognized the voice, but from where? His memory refused to cough up the answer just then, but it did supply him with a feeling, an absolute certainty that Ellery was in grave danger. "You have the wrong girl," he said slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. If they were to get Ellery back unharmed, he would have to remain cool throughout this ordeal. "Why don't you just let her go, and we can forget all about this?" The voice turned to gruff laughter. "I don't think so, Rich Man. Not without a little cash incentive." "Look," Mulder explained patiently, "the girl you kidnapped is not my daughter. Her parents aren't wealthy, they can't give you what you want. If you let her go now, you can still walk away from this." The voice was silent for a few seconds. Finally, it growled, "You know this kid, don't you? If you lie, I'll hurt her." "She's my daughter's friend," Mulder answered quickly, clenching his fists in helplessness. He saw Scully grab for her cell phone and lunged to stop her. Shaking his head violently from side to side, he ignored her look of angry bewilderment. "Then you pay." "What?" It wasn't what Mulder had expected. "You pay to get her back, Rich Man. I want two million dollars for the kid." "You're not getting a dime from me, you bastard." The voice laughed again, a sound that sent chills down Mulder's spine. "I'll give you a little while to think about it," the kidnapper answered. "When I call back, you'd better be prepared to pay up, or the little lady bites it." "Don't--" He grimaced when he heard the click of the disconnection. Mulder stood still, think hard for a second before Scully interrupted him. "Why didn't you let me call the police?" she demanded. "They might have been able to trace the call!" Mulder shook his head grimly. "He wouldn't have stayed on the line long enough for that. If he knew we were involving the police, Ellery might be hurt." Or killed, his mind nudged, but he refused to voice that thought with Emmie present. She wasn't fooled, however. "Fox, what did the man want?" Mulder sighed. "He wanted ransom. Two million dollars." "And you said no?" she asked incredulously, disbelief all over her face. "Emmie--" "It's just money, Fox! How many times have I heard you say that?" "Emmie, we can't negotiate with kidnappers, we have to call in the experts," Scully interjected gently. "You *are* the experts!" she yelled. "You're both always telling me those hotshot FBI stories, surely you know what to do! You could have just agreed to pay him the money. If Ellery dies, it will be your fault, Fox. Are you going to kill every who's important to me?" Emmie ran from the room, tears of anger streaming from her eyes, and didn't see the look of intense pain that crossed Mulder's face at her words. "It'll be all right, Mulder," Scully said, putting a detaining hand on his arm when he tried to follow the girl. "She's just upset. She'll calm down later, after she has a chance to think about it." Mulder sighed again, heavily, and reached his fingers beneath the lenses of his glasses to rub his eyes. "We should call Walter," he said, and Scully agreed. She placed the call while Mulder paced the den, gnawing on his lower lip. "They're on their way," she told him, hanging up the phone and standing in front of her husband so that he was forced to stop his trail. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she made him look her in the eye. "It will be all right, Mulder," she insisted. "Between the four of us, we'll figure something out. Walter can make sure that everything is handled quietly, and with a little luck the guy won't even know we've called in the FBI." "I sure hope he doesn't," Mulder confessed, pulling her close so she could wrap her arms around him comfortingly. "It's just..." Scully pulled back to look up into his face. "What?" He shook his head quickly, biting down on his lip again, deep in thought. "I can't place it," he told her, "but I know that voice." ***** It didn't take long for Walter and Jess Skinner to arrive, and soon all four adults were gathered in the Mulders' den. Emmie's guests had been sent home, and she had locked herself in her bedroom. Occasionally, sounds of sobbing could be heard from that direction, and Mulder's face would whiten a little more. None of this was lost on Skinner, who knew that Mulder's women had him tied up in knots at the best of times. "Mulder," he said sternly, using his best AD voice, "settle down. Emmie will survive. Our job now is to make sure that Ellery does." "I know that, Walter. I just feel so helpless." "Tell me everything the caller said," Skinner ordered. Mulder swallowed, moistening his dry throat, and thought back to the call. "Well, obviously he thought he'd kidnapped Emmie. He must have been watching us, planning this for a while." Skinner nodded. "Once I convinced him he didn't have my daughter, he asked if I knew Ellery. When I said I did, he told me he wanted me to pay two million dollars to get her back. I'd already told him her parents weren't wealthy." "Anything else?" "He kept calling me 'Rich Man'. And Walter, I know that voice." Skinner perked up. "From where?" Mulder shook his head slowly. "I don't remember, but I know it wasn't good." "From prison?" Jess asked quietly from across the room, and Mulder started. He'd forgotten she was there. "I'm not sure," he answered tentatively. "Maybe. He sounded as if he was trying to disguise his voice, and not doing a very good job of it." "Think back," Skinner said. "Try to hear in your mind the voices of people you knew there." "Walter--" "Jess, it may be the only way to identify this person," Skinner argued. "Our first thought has to be for Ellery's safety." Mulder closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, forcing himself to allow voices of the past to invade his memory. He'd worked through a lot of his troubles with Jess years ago, but some things simply didn't bear remembering, and he knew this would be both painful and frightening. Mulder felt a hand cover his and looked up to see Jess sitting beside him, an encouraging expression on her face. "Good, Mulder, go ahead and shut your eyes again," she said gently, and he did, hiding the despair that showed in them. He didn't want to have to travel this road again. "I'm right here with you," she went on, and he grasped at her fingers, a known, trusted lifeline. Deliberately, Mulder called up as many people as he could recall, trying to hear their voices in his head. Cellmates had come and gone, and there were those men who had cornered him in the exercise yard--refusing to go there, not even for Ellery, Mulder backed quickly away from that memory. He hadn't known their names anyway. Scully watched, concerned, as her husband's torment played out over his face, until finally he opened his eyes and looked up at Jess. "I just don't remember," he said helplessly. "Mulder, could it have been someone from before? Someone you once sent to prison perhaps?" Skinner asked. "Maybe," Mulder agreed. "I'm sorry, Walter, I know I've heard that voice before, but it's just not coming to me." Skinner sat back, disappointed. "It's okay, Mulder. Maybe it will come to you later." Mulder shuddered inwardly. He didn't want it to come to him later. He knew that voice meant something horrible, and he didn't want to dredge it up again. On the other hand, he really had no choice. It might be Ellery's only hope. Before he could send himself into a maelstrom of memories again, the phone rang. Skinner whipped out his cell phone immediately, motioning for Mulder to answer. "I want two million dollars in cash, left under the gazebo in Soldier Park at midnight tomorrow," the voice said without preamble. "I want you to leave it, Rich Man. If I see anyone else around, or if anyone but you tries to make the drop, the little girl dies. I know you're trying to trace this call, so I'll make this quick. Two million. Midnight tomorrow. Soldier Park. You. Alone." The kidnapper hung up before Mulder was even able to respond. "Damn!" Skinner swore, stabbing the button on his cell phone viciously. "He knew we were trying to trace," Mulder said. "That means either he knows we've involved the police, or he's been watching our family for some time and knows we're friends with the Skinners," Scully observed. "If that's the case, he'd realize the FBI would be involved from the beginning." "But in that case, why would he grab the wrong girl?" argued Skinner. Scully shrugged. "You've seen Ellery, Walter. You know how much alike she and Emmie are. If he was spying on our family from a distance, it would be an easy mistake to make." "He wants me, and only me, to leave two million dollars beneath the gazebo in Soldier Park tomorrow at midnight," Mulder told them. "He said if he sees anyone else around, or if anyone else brings the money, he'll kill her." His words hung like a chill in the air. "What do you intend to do?" Skinner asked at last. Mulder ran his fingers restlessly through his hair. He knew Scully wouldn't be happy with his decision, but in the interest of Ellery, not to mention his future relationship with Emmie, he felt he had to follow his instincts on this one. "I think we should do as he asks." All three of them stared at him, stunned. Scully was the first to speak. "Mulder," she said gently, moving closer to him and sliding her arm around his waist, "I know how you feel about the police, but--" "This has nothing to do with that," he interrupted. He wanted to be angry at her for believing he could be that shallow, that he'd put his own fears ahead of a little girl's life, but he knew that his past actions had made it a valid suspicion. "Scully, this guy knows who we are. And I know him, although I can't remember how just yet. It's very likely that he knows we're both former FBI, it's very likely that he knows one of our closest friends holds a high position with the FBI. He's going to be on the lookout for any sign that we've tried to entrap him." She stared into his face, knowing he was right but unwilling to allow him to place himself in the path of a kidnapper, especially one that might be holding a grudge against him. Her inward attempt to find a way to dissuade him from this course was rendered unnecessary by Skinner's next words. "I can't let you do that, Mulder." Skinner spoke in the stern, authoritative voice that he used on his subordinates, the one that could still rattle Mulder after all these years. Tonight, however, Mulder was not deterred. "Walter, I called you because you're my friend. I haven't officially called in the FBI. You don't have the right to make that decision." "Neither do you, Mulder," Jess interjected softly. "It's for Ellery's parents to decide." Mulder dropped his eyes to the floor and sighed. "They don't know yet," he confessed, and Skinner stared at him in disbelief. "You haven't told them?" he demanded. "Mulder, what the hell--" "They're out of town, Walter!" Scully said sharply. "They called earlier this evening and asked if Emmie could spend the weekend here while they were away. We've called the place where they're supposed to be staying, but as of an hour ago they hadn't yet arrived." "Try them again," Skinner said gruffly. "This is their decision." Mulder obediently dialed the number, and was at last connected with Ellery's father. "Adam, it's Fox Mulder. I've been trying to reach you." "Oh, hello Mulder. We were a little late arriving. Is everything all right? Nothing's happened to Ellery, has it?" The concern in his voice made Mulder feel two inches tall. How was he supposed to tell this man that his daughter had been kidnapped by mistake, that once again the Mulder family past was hurting those around him? "I think--I think you and your wife had better get back here as quickly as you can," he said gently. "There's been...something's happened." ------------------ SATURDAY 2:13 p.m. ------------------ "Mulder, I'm going, whether you like it or not, so stop arguing," Skinner insisted, a note of finality in his voice. "I'll keep the backup unit well away as you've asked, but I'm not letting you go in there alone." Mulder sighed heavily and, removing his glasses, ran his hands over his haggard face. He hadn't slept at all the night before--indeed, none of them had. Adam and Carolyn Monroe had arrived at their house in the wee hours of Saturday morning, and the six of them had argued all the rest of the night, attempting to hash out a plan on which Mulder and Skinner could agree. "Let me do it his way, Walter," Mulder had argued. "It's more important to get Ellery back safe and sound. I don't want to lose two million dollars, but it certainly won't break me. If they catch the guy, I'll get it back. If not..." he shrugged. "But what's to stop him from taking your money and then killing her anyway," Skinner countered, at which Carolyn had broken into soft weeping. Adam put his arm around his wife, comforting her silently while they both watched Mulder and Skinner. They'd known the Mulder family for six years, ever since their daughters had become fast friends, and Adam knew that Mulder would figure out the best approach to take. They were less acquainted with the Skinners, but still knew them to be trustworthy. Right now he didn't give a damn about Skinner's procedure or Mulder's money--he just wanted his daughter back alive. He was trusting Mulder to take the lead, because in the past, the man had shown himself to be extremely competent in an emergency. Mulder was ex-FBI, Dana was ex-FBI, Skinner was *still* FBI. This was their world; Adam knew when he was in over his head. "Your backup unit will be there to assure that doesn't happen. They should move in and catch this guy as soon as he tries to retrieve the money." "And about that money," Skinner went on. "Can you even lay your hands on that much cash at this hour on a Saturday?" Mulder's jaw tightened almost unnoticeably. "I can if I have to," he said positively, but Skinner had his doubts. "If you're not going to let him get away with the money anyway, why not give him something else?" Scully suggested. "Stuff a suitcase with blank paper or something so it looks about the right weight. Our squad should grab him before he gets a chance to see it." When Skinner had suggested hiding his unit in the trees and bushes surrounding the gazebo, Mulder had flatly refused. "If he sees them, he's liable to follow through on his threat," he argued. "We can't take any chances. I'm going in alone." It was finally agreed, although Mulder still had reservations, that a backup squad would be concealed at some distance from the drop point, unfortunately out of sight of the gazebo, but the layout of the park made that obstacle impossible to overcome. As soon as Mulder left the suitcase and got out of there, the professionals would move in quickly and silently, lying in wait for the kidnapper to make his move. Skinner was finally able to arrange things to Mulder's satisfaction, but when Mulder saw Skinner readying himself he protested. "Just me, Walter." "Mulder," Skinner said obstinately, checking his weapon, "I refuse to let you go in there completely alone. Too many things could go wrong. I'll head over to the park now and conceal myself in a position where I can keep an eye on you. I'm just one man. He'll never know I'm there." At last, seeing that Skinner would not be persuaded to change his mind, Mulder had reluctantly consented, and Skinner had taken his leave. Jess had watched her husband go with a mixture of pride and fear; normally he worked at a perfectly safe desk job, which suited her just fine. She wasn't accustomed to seeing him endanger himself. Scully, who had quite a lot of experience seeing her own husband place his life in peril for the good of others, merely hugged Mulder tightly, praying that by this time tomorrow Ellery would be home, the kidnapper would be locked up, and they could all get back to their nice, normal, boring lives. ------------------ SATURDAY 5:30 p.m. ------------------ Dulexy entered the room where the little girl was tied, huddled in a corner, frightened out of her wits. She gazed up at him with huge, scared eyes as he approached, and he tried to smile in order to let her know she needn't fear him. It came out more as a grimace. In one hand he held a glass of water, and in another, a small white tablet. She watched as he knelt beside her, but drew back when he tried to place the pill on her tongue. "Don't worry, little girl, it won't hurt you. It's just a sleeping pill. I need you to take a nice, long nap." When Ellery kept her lips clamped shut, Dulexy sighed patiently, put down the glass, and pried her mouth apart with both hands. He tossed the pill down her throat, shaking his head a little when she choked on it. Holding the glass up to her lips, he waited while she drank about half the water. He noted with relief that after a short bout of coughing, she seemed to swallow the pill without further mishap. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently. "If your friend's dad does as he's told, you'll be back home tonight. Just go to sleep and don't worry." "What if he doesn't do as he's told?" she whispered. He smiled, a real smile this time, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "He will," Dulexy promised. She nodded, confused at his kindness toward her when he clearly didn't have her best interests at heart. He wasn't a good guy, she reminded herself as he left the room, no matter how nice he seemed now. He'd kidnapped her, and he'd wanted Emmie so he could get money for her. He'd pulled a gun on her and tied her up, and he hadn't given her anything to eat. Tears beginning to slip down her face again, Ellery closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. Unused to drugs of any kind, she soon fell into a deep sleep. ----------------- SATURDAY 7:32 p.m. ----------------- Dulexy watched in amusement as the man crept around the shrubs bordering one side of the area, looking for a good hiding place. From his vantage point, hidden in a heavy copse of trees, he'd seen the man arrive on foot, dressed all in black, a suspicious bulge beneath the arm of the jacket he wore even though the weather was still comfortably warm. He'd been angry when he first saw the spy, and had carefully and quietly scoped out the area, believing there might be more, but as far as he could tell, there weren't. He knew the identity of the man, of course. It was Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI and close friend of Fox Mulder. At first, he'd wondered if the FBI was officially involved--if he was going to be forced to kill his hostage--but careful snooping had revealed no other interlopers. Skinner was apparently here alone, sent to watch Mulder's back. That was fine. He'd simply make certain Skinner and Mulder never had an opportunity to take him. That shouldn't be too hard, since he was forewarned. He glanced over at the girl sleeping in the seat next to him. Just a few more hours and he'd be on his way, he thought. But the arrival of the interloper had forced a slight change in plans. Now, instead of waiting until Mulder left and simply picking up the money, he was going to have to confront Mulder. He'd make sure the man in the bushes never had a chance at him, but one way or another he was getting away with his money. ----------------------- SATURDAY 12:00 midnight ----------------------- Ellery had been awake for half an hour, sitting quietly, as the man with the gun had ordered. He'd wrapped duct tape around her wrists, and she sat with her hands in her lap. He told her she'd get to go home soon, and while part of her was afraid he was lying, she made herself believe in his words. She wanted to see her mom and dad again. She wanted to see Emmie. She wanted to sleep in her own bedroom, with the stuffed animals on the bed and the pictures of Ricky Martin on the wall. And she never wanted to be on the wrong end of a gun again for as long as she lived. The kidnapper, who had been keeping one eye on her while he also carefully and constantly surveyed the area, suddenly stirred. "Time to go," he said, pulling her by the arm across the bench seat and helping her climb out onto the ground. "Be perfectly quiet," he growled in her ear, and she nodded. He made her stand in front of him, keeping one arm around her waist, and guided her out of the trees toward the gazebo. ***** "He's putting the suitcase in place now." Skinner spoke quietly to Scully, who was in the car with the squad leader, on his cell phone. "Just a few more minutes and he'll be out of the way, and you can tell the men to move in." "Almost time," Scully said to Frank Rockway, the officer in charge, and he nodded, motioning to his men to get ready. ***** Mulder approached the gazebo cautiously, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings in case the kidnapper happened to be nearby, watching him. He slid the suitcase all the way beneath the gazebo, holding the loosened wood out of the way, then drew back, letting the cover fall into place. Mulder glanced around, saw no one, and rose from his crouched position. Still brushing dirt from the legs of his jeans, he turned and froze. Of all the faces he'd never expected to see again, this one was at the top of the list. "Dulexy," he said, just a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice. "Did you escape, or did some poor idiot actually let you out?" Dulexy ignored his needling comment. When Mulder took a step toward him, Dulexy jammed the gun into Ellery's temple and hissed, "Stop right there." Ellery stiffened, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Mulder stopped immediately, his eyes on Ellery's frightened face. "Glad to see you can follow orders so well, Rich Man," Dulexy grinned. He held Ellery in front of him, shielding his body with hers. She stood right between Skinner and a clear shot. The gun Dulexy held to Ellery's head glinted in the bright moonlight. "Put your hands up where I can see them." SHIT! Mulder screamed inwardly. The addition of Justin Dulexy to the mix had made an awful situation suddenly turn unthinkable. Mulder remembered Dulexy well, still remembered how helpless he'd felt as he'd struggled in the big man's grasp, held by arms as strong as banded steel while he was beaten nearly senseless. This man would kill him, and Ellery too if he felt the urge, with no compunction whatsoever. Right now his best option was to cooperate, and hope to hell the cavalry arrived soon. He forced himself not to glance toward the bushes where Walter was hidden. "Why not let the girl go?" asked Mulder steadily as he raised his hands. "You never wanted to hurt her anyway, did you?" Dulexy studied him carefully for a moment, searching for signs of a trap. "Sure," he agreed, approaching Mulder from the side until his gun was at the other man's temple. "She can go. In exchange for you. Because if there's not two million dollars in that suitcase, someone's going to suffer. Will it be her, or you?" Mulder nodded his assent, and Dulexy let Ellery go, keeping Mulder carefully between himself and Skinner's gun. Mulder, moving slowly so as not to provoke an attack, took Ellery by the shoulders. "You have to go now," he told her gently, wiping the tear streaks from her cheek. "It'll be all right." "But Dr. Mulder--" Mulder ignored her, pointing her casually toward Skinner's hiding place, praying she would run in that direction. "Go, Ellery," he commanded, and with only a slight hesitation she obeyed. He saw with relief that she was running directly to Skinner. "All right, *Dr.* Mulder," Dulexy sneered. "Show me the money." Mulder's jaw clenched, the only outward sign of his nervousness. He hoped Skinner could find a way to take Dulexy out before Dulexy discovered the fact that the suitcase under the gazebo held nothing but blank paper. "You can still walk away from this," Mulder said in what he hoped was an encouraging voice. "The police haven't been called. If you get in your car and drive away, nothing more will come of this." In answer, Dulexy jammed the gun harder against Mulder's temple and, jerking a little on the arm he held behind Mulder's back, gave Mulder a slight shove. "Get the money, Rich Man," Dulexy growled, and with another hard swallow, Mulder began slowly approaching the gazebo, Dulexy still holding him in front protectively. Mulder hoped to bend down at the gazebo in order to give Skinner a clear shot, but realized Dulexy must be on to them when the other man crouched with him as he pulled the suitcase from its hiding place. "Open it!" Dulexy ordered gruffly when he hesitated, and with a barely audible sigh, Mulder obeyed. Dulexy's eyes, which had grown wide and sparkling with anticipation, suddenly turned hard. "You fucking bastard!" he hissed, and before Mulder could react, the world went completely black for him as Dulexy struck him full-force on the side of the head with his firearm. Skinner fired immediately but he was unaware that he'd been spotted. Dulexy dropped to the ground as quickly as Mulder's limp form, and Skinner's shot went high. Skinner raised his gun to take aim again, and dropped it in the next second when Dulexy's shot tore through his middle. With a loud groan of pain, Skinner was knocked to the ground. ***** "Go!" Scully yelled when she heard the first gunshot shatter the stillness of the park. Almost simultaneously, a second shot rang out and a loud groan erupted through the cell phone. "Walter? Walter, what the hell happened?" she demanded into the phone, but there was no answer. Seconds later, sirens split the night air with their screaming as the backup units raced to the rescue. "Shut off the sirens!" Scully screamed, and they were immediately silenced, but she knew the game had already gone all to hell. ***** Hearing the sirens, Dulexy swore once again and hoisted the unconscious Mulder to his shoulders. Moving with incredible speed, considering his burden, he threw Mulder into the truck and climbed behind the wheel. The tires spun for a moment before gaining traction as Dulexy put the pedal to the metal, and seconds later they were gone, disappearing down the small utility road Dulexy had taken before the backup unit ever got in sight. ***** Skinner opened his eyes to see Ellery standing over him, his gun in her hand, pointed in Dulexy's general direction. "Ellery, no!" His weak cry was drowned out by the deafening roar as Ellery pulled the trigger. She jerked at the unexpected recoil and gave a little scream at the noise. When she seemed about to fire again, Skinner ground out, "Ellery!" He jerked in pain as the effort sent a lightning bolt throughout his body. Dreamily, Ellery turned to face Skinner. "Have you ever fired a gun before?" he asked, softly now, unable to yell again even if he'd thought it necessary. She shook her head slowly from side to side, as if just beginning to realize the horror of the situation. "Then don't. Just put it down. They're gone, you can't help him now, and you might hurt someone." His gentle tones reached her consciousness, and in a trancelike state, she bent and placed the gun beside him on the dirt. "That's good. You're doing good. You're a brave young woman." He winced again, and asked, "Are you all right?" Ellery suddenly seemed to snap out of her trance, becoming a scared teenager again right before his eyes. She heaved a shuddering sigh and wiped her face with her grimy hands. Her wrists were still bound with the duct tape, and Skinner tried to reach a hand up to help her, but his limbs wouldn't obey his commands. "I'll be ok, Mr. Skinner." Noticing for the first time his condition, she looked guilty. "We need to get you to a hospital." He managed a weak smile, clinging furiously to consciousness. "Scully will come," he whispered. Ellery looked around worriedly, wondering where Mrs. Mulder was and why Mr. Skinner thought she would come. All she could see was police cars with their lights flashing, but she wasn't certain the police had noticed them yet. She pushed aside the torn bit of shirt that covered his wound and examined his injury with an almost critical eye. Her face whitened slightly, but she continued, clumsily bunching up the ragged pieces of fabric and attempting to cover the bleeding hole in his abdomen. "Uh," Skinner grunted when she pressed down, feeling the pain renewed. "Sorry," she muttered, readjusting the cloth in a vain attempt to make him more comfortable. "You're really bleeding a lot." "Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, trying not to gasp for breath. She gave a slight smile, meeting his eyes only briefly. "My mom's a nurse." ***** "Another shot! Where are they?" Scully screamed frantically as they rounded the corner. The shot had resonated through the phone in her hand, and she wondered exactly who had been firing. She could make out Ellery's form in the bright moonlight, kneeling over a man on the ground. Realizing as she drew closer that the man Ellery was hunched over was Skinner and not her husband, Scully scrambled from the police car to approach them. "Where's Mulder?" she asked, kneeling beside Ellery. "Are you all right, Ellery? Where's Dr. Mulder?" "The--the man took him," Ellery stammered, and Scully could tell the girl was going into shock. Ellery shivered lightly, and Scully put her arms around the young woman in an attempt to warm her. Scully looked up, her eyes racing over the landscape, but she could see no trace of Dulexy, or the vehicle in which he must have escaped with her husband. Some of the backup officers were combing the area on foot while others were trying to determine which of the several roads out of the park Dulexy might have taken. Shaking her head partly in anger at Mulder for getting himself in trouble yet again, and partly in wonder at the capacity things had for going wrong in her husband's orbit, Scully pulled out her cell phone and dialed for an ambulance. ---------------- SUNDAY 7:27 a.m. ---------------- Sylvia Stiles looked up from her coffee when the back door of her farmhouse opened. The house and adjoining acreage had been left to her after her mother died, and she'd lived here first with her husband, Alfred, and alone in the six years since Alfred had gone. The property had been in their family for over a hundred years, and Sylvia swore to die in the same house in which she'd lived her entire life. Her brother, Justin, approached and wordlessly poured himself a cup from the pot on the counter. Since Justin's release from prison several months earlier, they'd had nothing more than stilted conversation in their infrequent meetings. They'd never been close as children, Sylvia being eight years older than Justin, and now they had nothing in common and nothing to talk about. This morning, though, Justin seemed different. "Where'd you come from?" she asked, lifting her cup to her lips for another sip. "Sylvie, how'd you like to leave this place?" he asked, the excitement barely discernable in his voice but his eyes sparkling. She shrugged. "Been living here my whole life," she commented to the coffee in her cup. "Put down roots. Have lots of memories. Don't see any reason to go." Dulexy took the chair next to her and turned it around, straddling it and resting his arms across the back. "What if I said I knew a place where we could get lots of money?" he demanded, and noticed with satisfaction that his sister showed a bit more interest. Money had been tight for her, he knew, after that bastard of a husband had walked out on her to take up with the slutty sales clerk down at the hardware store. "Money?" she questioned tentatively. "Where? And how much?" "Three million dollars," he said pointedly. Sylvia coughed on her sip of coffee and set the cup down quickly. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at him, waiting. "I have something that could bring us three million dollars," he confirmed, watching as her face took on a thoughtful expression. "And all I need from you is a little help." "What do you need me to do?" she asked after a moment. The things that Justin asked were never easy. He'd been a demanding little boy, and over the years she had watched him grow into something more, something utterly frightening as he approached adulthood. He was a tall kid, solidly built, and when Justin was seventeen, he'd beaten a man to death with nothing but his fists. After thirty years in prison her brother had been released, and as far as Sylvia could tell, the only changes in him had been for the worse. Dulexy stood, holding out his hand to her. "Come with me," he said, and she found herself following him in spite of her better judgement. They climbed into Justin's truck, a sixteen year old Ford that he'd picked up from God-knew-where after he'd been released from prison. Sylvia was surprised when, after driving down the dirt road that led to her house for half a mile, he turned back onto her property, taking a seldom used trail barely wide enough for the truck to clear. "Where are we going?" she asked, clutching at the door handle as the pickup navigated the bumpy path. "Grandma and Grandpa's old house," he said slyly, giving her a sidelong glance. He wasn't sure how Sylvia would react to his news that he was hold a kidnap victim for ransom on her property, but he'd already decided if the old bitch gave him any trouble, he'd just cap her. She hadn't done him any good lately that he could recall. When he'd arrived on her doorstep after being freed from prison, she'd given him some money and essentially told him to get the hell out of her life. It had only been in the last month that she'd allowed any beginnings of contact with him. But for all her high and mighty ways, he reflected, she was far from a saint herself. He knew for a fact that she hadn't filed an income tax return since Alfred had walked. Stupid old bitch probably didn't know how. Dulexy stopped the car in front of the small, dilapidated farm house that had once been the pride of this property. His great-grandfather had had the house built before the turn of the century, and for all of Dulexy's childhood it had been the place his mother's parents had resided. When his mother and father had married, old grandpa had built his baby girl a house half a mile away, partly as a wedding gift and partly as a way of keeping an eye on his little girl. Anne Conklin Dulexy had been very much her father's daughter, more so than most realized. So much so that at times, Justin Dulexy wondered just who his biological father had been. Anne and her daddy were *that* close. Of course, that was a carefully guarded family secret, one which was never discussed and would have been met with a stony silence had any member of the community dared put it into words, but Justin knew. It didn't take much, once he reached his teens, to figure out just what those looks his grandpa gave his mom really meant. After Justin's father, James Dulexy, had died in a farming accident, (one which the fourteen year old Justin had often wondered, especially as he grew older and more jaded, if his grandfather had had a hand in), Anne and her father grew even closer. Unfortunately, the old man found that his years of alcoholic excesses finally caught up with him, and he was found dead one morning in the barn, crashed on a pile of hay, an empty whiskey bottle still held loosely in his lifeless fingers. Not long after, Anne had been forced to put her mother in a nursing home, and the drain on the family finances had been great. Justin had been twenty-three and already in prison when his mother died of lung cancer, and by then the farm had gone to hell. Sylvia lived on in the house her mother had left her, and 'Grandma and Grandpa's place' had been abandoned, left to decay at the nonexistent mercies of nature. "What are we doing here, Justin?" Sylvia asked suspiciously as she made her way up the front steps with caution. She hadn't been here in years, and it was evident that the house was beginning to collapse in several places. The front porch sagged dangerously, and one of the five steps leading up to it was completely disintegrated. "I want to show you something," he replied, grabbing her arm to keep her from tumbling down the stairs when her foot slipped. "Come on. The floor's sturdier inside." Sylvia followed him into the room that had been her grandparents' bedroom, just down the hall from the living room through which they'd entered the house. Most of the furniture and personal belongings had been removed from the house over the years, but there was still the odd piece here and there. Her grandfather's large easy chair still stood, alone, in the main room, and Sylvia shuddered when she saw it, a half-remembered image of herself as a young girl sitting on Grandpa's lap while he slipped his hand beneath her dress flitting through her mind. Anne hadn't been the only Conklin descendent with whom Grandpa had been intimately acquainted. When she entered the bedroom she stopped, shocked into stillness at the sight that greeted her. A man, slightly older than Justin from the looks of him, yet smaller in stature than her brother, sat bound with ropes on the floor in front of her. His arms were pulled tightly behind him and his feet were tied together. His head slumped forward over his chest, and Sylvia could see blood matting the unconscious man's greying hair. It had trickled down his face to his mouth and dried there, giving him an almost circus-clown-like appearance. She turned wide eyes to her brother. "Who is that?" she asked in awe. Dulexy grinned. "An old buddy of mine from prison," he told her, watching to gauge her reaction. "He don't look like no ex-con to me." He snorted. "He wouldn't, Sylvia. He's been out for ten years." "And he kept in touch with you?" Now Dulexy laughed outright. "Not quite. Let's just say we had a chance meeting and leave it at that. The point is, Sylvie, he's loaded. Worth millions. And if we play our cards right, some of those millions can be ours." Mulder, hearing the laughter through the cloud in his brain, stirred and moaned softly. "Justin--kidnapping?" She turned fearful eyes to him. "You'll go back to jail!" Dulexy held to his patience by a thread. If he was going to pull this off, he'd need her help. "Sylvia, as long as you keep your head together, I won't be going anywhere, except to California after I collect the money for Mr. Millionaire here." "What exactly do you want me to do, Justin?" "Keep quiet," he answered promptly. "All you have to do, Sylvie, is keep your mouth shut. If the police come to question you, be cooperative, but remember--you don't know anything. And I need you to be convincing; don't give them a reason to search the property." She nodded, wondering if she was a good enough actress to pull all that off, when her attention was drawn to the man on the floor. Mulder moaned again, and tried to raise his head. When Dulexy saw the look of concern that crossed his sister's face, he decided he'd better think fast. Having Sylvie spoil the bastard wasn't in his plans, but given the opportunity, she'd want to dress his wound, and feed him and take care of him. Dulexy had other ideas. "He's the reason I spent so much time in isolation that one year, Sylvie," he said in his best little-brother voice. He knew Sylvia had been told about the weeks he'd spent in solitary after helping a guard beat Mulder. He'd held the smaller man, helpless in his iron grip, while a guard had taken to him with a steel pipe. If all had gone according to plan, Mulder would be dead now and Dulexy $500 richer, but they'd been interrupted before the job could be completed. Sylvia stared at Justin, then back at Mulder. Then she walked deliberately over to where Mulder sat helpless, tied to the bed, and raised her foot. She delivered one sharp kick to his ribs, watching as he whimpered once and fell back into unconsciousness. Regardless of how nice the man looked now, family was family, and if their prisoner had been responsible for Justin's long stretch in isolation, then he was her enemy as well. ----------------- SUNDAY 11:03 a.m. ----------------- Mulder opened his eyes slowly, aware that something was wrong but unable to quite pinpoint the difficulty. He swallowed, lubricating a throat that felt as rough as sandpaper, and turned his head to look around. A sudden rush of pain and nausea convinced him further movement was a bad idea, so he cast his eyes about instead, taking in his surroundings. He was in a sparsely furnished bedroom, one which smelled of must and decay, and guessed the room had not been used in a good long while. An enormous bedframe stood in the center of the room, its fine wood long since ruined by the rain that would doubtless blow in through the broken windows during bad weather. The bed still held a mattress and box springs, and Mulder wondered idly whether mice nested there. It seemed a good place for mice to nest. Shaking his head to clear it of the fog surrounding him, Mulder had to bite his lip to keep back a groan. Someone had inserted a cannonball in his skull while he was out, he noted carefully, and any future movement must be slow and careful if he was to avoid puking his guts up. Also, it was apparent that he'd either been hit or kicked in the ribs, since his entire left side felt bruised, and breathing was painful. Willing the feeling of nausea to diminish, he took slow, deep breaths until he felt confident the meager contents of his stomach were going to remain in place, at least for now. Taking stock of his situation, he discovered that the pains in his head and ribs were not the only misery his body faced--they were merely the most apparent. His arms were drawn behind him painfully, tied around one heavy leg of the bed frame. He sat on the chilly floor, his legs tied together at the ankles. He wasn't gagged, he realized suddenly, and wondered if that meant there was nobody close enough to hear him if he yelled for help. Straining again to raise his head, very slowly this time so as to avoid another wave of illness, he tried to peer out the nearest window. The window was too high from his awkward position on the floor, so nothing was visible to him except an empty field, and the tops of trees that looked to be about two hundred yards away. There was no sign of life, and listening carefully, Mulder heard no sound other than occasional birdsong. He settled himself carefully back against the bed, trying to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders, and set his befuddled mind to figuring out his predicament. They'd tried to fool the kidnapper, who had turned out to be Justin Dulexy, of all people. With a sigh, Mulder wondered if his past would ever let him be. Skinner had been there; had he escaped? And more importantly, was Ellery safe? If Skinner had apprehended the suspect according to plan, Mulder guessed he wouldn't be in this position now, so it was a safe bet to figure that Skinner might have been hurt. Or worse. Mulder refused to allow that thought to even form completely before shoving it away. If Walter had been killed and he somehow managed to survive, Jess Skinner would take him apart bit by bit until there was nothing left worth saving, he knew that without a doubt. Jess would probably be furious with him anyway, for leading Walter into this mess. If Skinner had managed to get away there was a chance that he might be rescued as well, but if not--Dulexy had said someone would suffer if he didn't get his money. How much suffering was Dulexy willing to put him through? And would he eventually release Mulder if Scully paid up, or was this finally the end of the line? As the pounding in his side and head continued, Mulder wondered which, given the choice, he would go for. Mulder didn't know how long he had been there, stretched uncomfortably on the floor, before he heard the footsteps approaching. Turning his head carefully toward the bedroom door, he waited to face his captor. Dulexy had spent several hours considering his good fortune. All in all, he thought himself an okay guy; he'd never intended to hurt the little girl, even when she turned out to be the wrong one. All he'd wanted was his payoff and he'd have let her go, unharmed. Finding himself in possession of his old prison buddy, however, was an entirely different matter. Fox Mulder had always irritated Dulexy, with his smart college-boy's mouth, his Fed background and his ratting ways, and now Dulexy saw his chance to even the score a bit. He still wanted money, and he'd damn well get it, but the chance to have a little fun with his prize was too good to pass up. Now he approached the bedroom, knowing Mulder was probably awake and wondering what was to become of him. Dulexy heard a slight groan coming from the room where his prisoner lay, and smiled to himself. Mr. Rich, Oh-So-Fine Mulder had no idea the turn his life was about to take. "Dulexy," Mulder rasped when the larger man appeared in the doorway. "How nice to see you after all these years. We should get together sometime, do lunch." Dulexy smiled even more broadly and walked to the window. Without a word he yanked down the metal curtain rod that hung there, stripping off the decaying fabric that still clung to it in places. He turned back to Mulder and, without warning, struck him hard with the rod across his abdomen. It might not have hurt so badly if his ribs hadn't already been aching, but as it was, the impact felt like fire. Mulder made an 'oof' sound and sucked in his breath, waiting for the next blow, but it didn't fall. "I always wanted to wipe up the floor with your smartass self, Mulder," Dulexy told him. "Looks like I'll get my chance." "I thought it was money you wanted." Mulder tried to keep his voice steady, but he was rapidly growing more afraid. If Skinner and Scully didn't arrive soon to get him out of this one, there was no telling what Dulexy might do to him. //I am too old for this// his subconscious whispered. //Too old to be at the mercy of a lunatic.// Dulexy laughed. "Oh, I do want money. Lots of it. In fact, the asking price has gone up. I figure the little woman will be willing to pay more to help you avoid getting hurt." He placed the end of the hollow metal rod at Mulder's throat and caressed it slowly down his body. "I think she'll come up with the cash to get you back...what do you think?" Mulder grimaced inwardly as the rod approached his groin, but kept his face impassive. Suddenly he was wracked by pain as Dulexy pressed it into his crotch, hard. "I said, what do you think?" Dulexy flared, and Mulder fought to remain in control. "I think you'd better return me to her undamaged, you son of a bitch, or she'll cut your balls off and stuff them up your ass," he managed before Dulexy raised the rod and struck him so hard across the stomach it drove the breath from his body. "Before I'm through with you, you'll lose that smart mouth, asshole," he heard his captor growl through a haze of pain. Mulder didn't respond; he was too busy gasping desperately for air. Dulexy tossed the metal rod into a corner and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Mulder began frantically working the knots that held him tied, twisting his wrists this way and that in an attempt to loosen them enough to free himself. For it was becoming increasingly clear to him that he might not survive this encounter with this particular slice of his past. ---------------- SUNDAY 2:52 p.m. ---------------- Scully stuck her head quietly in the door of Skinner's hospital room. Jess was dozing, sprawled out in the room's only chair, her dark head thrown back against the vinyl upholstery. "Jess?" Scully said quietly, touching her friend's arm, and waited while Jess roused herself. "Hi, Dana," Jess said sleepily, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "I'm sorry to wake you." Jess shook her head to clear it. "It's okay, I've been asleep for a while." Scully inclined her head toward the man in the bed. "How is he doing?" A tiny smile flickered over Jess' face, then disappeared, replaced with lines of worry. "Not bad," she replied. "The doctors say he's going to pull through, but I'm a little worried that he hasn't come out of it yet." "That's normal, Jess. He took quite a lot of damage, and with the drugs they gave him during surgery coupled with the painkillers--he probably won't wake up for hours yet." Jess did smile this time. "I know, Dana. It's just...really hard to wait." Scully hugged the woman briefly, and felt Jess' arms tighten around her waist, seeking support. "I do have some news," Scully said when they'd pulled back. "Ellery was able to identify the man who kidnapped her from photographs." Jess' eyebrows shot up questioningly. "It was someone Mulder knew in prison, someone he shared a cell with for a short time." Jess shook her head wonderingly. "What do you suppose he's going to do?" she asked. "Will Mulder be...?" Scully's face was grim. "I have to find him, Jess, and soon. This man--Justin Dulexy is his name--he's not just a former cell mate of Mulder's." She paused for a moment, fighting the horror of the words. "It's the man who held him while that guard beat him. This man tried to help murder Mulder once before. I'm afraid..." She bit her lip. "The police want to handle it their way, but I'm afraid they'll just make him more angry, and that Mulder will pay for it." Jess glanced at her husband's sleeping form. "Is there anyone at the FBI that you could call on, Dana?" she questioned slowly. "Someone who might help you?" Scully sighed. "I don't know, Jess. Maybe I can do a little snooping on my own and find out something useful, but without the Bureau's resources at my disposal...at any rate, I'm going to explore that possibility right now. I just wanted to check on the two of you first." Jess smiled again her face tired and worn. "We're fine," she assured her friend. "I still have my husband, thanks be. Now, you go and find yours before it's too late." Scully nodded, and giving Jess another friendly hug, left the hospital. Her first destination was a local library to dig up copies of old newspapers. Two hours later, Scully sat back and yawned, stretching her sore muscles. Sylvia Styles. Justin Dulexy, whose release from prison had garnered a small article in his local newspaper, had a sister named Sylvia Styles who still lived in the area. It took Scully only a matter of minutes to find a phone book and track down the woman's address. It took a little longer to actually locate the Styles property, nestled in an isolated, rural area twenty miles from the nearest town. When she did arrive at what she was fairly sure was the right house, she stopped the car and looked around cautiously before emerging. The house was old and unkempt, but the yard was mowed, and someone had planted a bed of fall flowers beside the sagging front steps. It looked as if the residents at least tried to keep the place looking nice, and Scully wondered if Ms. Styles had a husband around to help with the work. She was greeted before she reached the top of the porch steps by a woman in a faded house dress and white sandals. She appeared neat and clean, if poor, and again Scully was taken by the baffling paradox between the rundown property and the apparently unavailing efforts to counteract the appearance of shabbiness. "Ms. Styles?" she said tentatively, wondering if the woman would receive her graciously or run her off the property. "Yeah?" "My name is Dana Mulder. Would you mind if I spoke to you for a few minutes?" "Mulder?" The name apparently drew the woman's attention, and Scully felt her heart leap in her chest. It sank a moment later when Sylvia continued, "The police was already out here this morning about a Mulder. Said they thought my brother might have taken him." "Did you talk to the police, ma'am?" Scully asked politely, all the while screaming inside for this woman to just tell her where she could find Mulder. "Yeah, I talked to them. Couldn't tell them nothing, though." "Have you seen your brother since he was released from prison?" Sylvia shrugged. "He comes and goes. Mostly he's gone. I haven't seen him in a while." She crept a little closer to Scully and studied her face carefully, taking note of the deep shadows under the younger woman's eyes and the lines of worry around her mouth. "That Mulder person--he your man?" Scully nodded sadly. "Yes, he's my husband. We have reason to believe that your brother kidnapped him last night. I was hoping..." Sylvia nodded sagely. "I know, you were hoping I could help you find him. Well I'm sorry about your man, and I'm sorry I can't be of no help." Scully turned her head briefly, fighting back the tears that tried to come. She'd had such high hopes for this visit. With a sigh that shuddered only slightly, she responded, "Thank you, Ms. Styles. I appreciate you talking to me." As Scully spoke, her eyes roamed the landscape, and when they lit upon an old barn not far from the house, hope blossomed on her face. "Is it possible that your brother might be hiding here on your property without your knowledge?" she ventured cautiously. Sylvia followed Scully's gaze and grinned, revealing a set of teeth yellowed and crooked, but intact. "You think Justin might be hiding your man in my barn?" Scully said nothing, but held the woman's gaze, a look of almost pleading in her eyes. Sylvia shrugged again. "Well, come on then, let's go have a look around that barn," she said, beginning to walk in that direction. "Funny you should mention that, you know," she confided as they made their way toward the ramshackle structure. "The police never even asked to look around when they came out this morning. They just asked me if I knew where Justin was, and then took their leave." Scully's mouth tightened at what she considered inept investigative techniques, but reminded herself sternly that she no longer had any authority to be doing what she was doing. With Walter laid up, they were at the mercy of local law enforcement. The two women reached the barn, and Sylvia lifted the heavy wooden latch that kept the doors closed. One door hung slightly askew, and hinges creaked as the doors were pulled open. "I just use this for storage now," Sylvia told her. "I haven't had any livestock on the property in years." Scully stared at the stacks of boxes and pieces of broken furniture that littered the barn. "Do you mind if I just take a look around?" she asked, and Sylvia nodded for her to go ahead. Scully peered into every possible nook and cranny of the building, climbing carefully up the ladder to the hayloft, avoiding the missing rungs and mindful of a couple of weaker ones. A thick layer of dust lay over everything in the loft, and it was obvious that no human had been there for a very long time. Disappointed, she made her way back down to the ground. "Satisfied?" Sylvia asked, not unkindly, and Scully nodded. "Thank you for letting me look around," she said, extending her hand in a friendly gesture, and after an odd look the other woman clasped it briefly. "You're husband--he knew Justin in prison?" she asked curiously. "Yes." "That's funny. You don't look like the wife of an ex-con." Scully's shoulders straightened a bit at that. "My husband was wrongfully accused of murder," she said tightly. "He was released when the real killer was brought to justice." //But not before your brother nearly killed him!// her mind screamed, but she clamped her lips tightly shut to keep that thought inside. She couldn't afford to alienate this woman. Scully stopped beside the porch and before Sylvia could climb the steps, pulled a card from her purse. "If you don't mind, ma'am, this is my cell phone number. Could you just...give me a call if you see or hear anything?" Sylvia took the card and examined it closely, then tucked it in the pocket of her dress. "I'll do that," she affirmed, and watched as Scully crossed the yard to the driveway. "I sure hope you find your man safe and sound," Sylvia called to her as she climbed into her car, and Scully gave a short nod of thanks before backing out of the driveway and heading for home. She had to find another avenue of exploration, and soon. Sylvia looked at the card again when she got inside. The woman seemed nice enough, and few people called her 'ma'am' these days without a tone of sarcasm in their voices. In fact, Sylvia thought, she had actually liked the wife of Justin's hostage. Liked her very much. With a thoughtful look, she opened a kitchen drawer and tucked the card beneath the silverware tray inside. She didn't plan to betray Justin, but couldn't bring herself to throw it away. Justin had asked her to keep quiet about the man he was holding, and about the fact that there was another house on the property, invisible from the road and forgotten by many of the locals, and Sylvia had done that. It didn't do to eliminate your options, she decided as she went back to her television program. Especially when you were dealing with the likes of Justin Dulexy. ---------------- SUNDAY 3:07 p.m. ---------------- Mulder shifted his uncomfortable body as much as he could, trying to ignore the way his bladder was yelling at him to empty it. His hunger was raging and his thirst was worse. He must have been here for over twelve hours now, and there was still no sign of rescue. He'd worked the ropes binding his wrists until blood from his torn skin stained the fibers, but to no avail so far. Once, he'd thought he felt the knots beginning to give a little, but finally decided it had been wishful thinking. Dulexy had returned to his prisoner just once more during the day. He'd been drinking from a beer can, and Mulder had gazed at it longingly as he licked his dry lips. Water was preferred, of course, but at this point any fluid at all would be welcome. On the other hand, he reflected, remembering his tortured bladder, perhaps liquid wasn't a good thing right now. He'd even gone so far as to ask Dulexy to release him to allow him to use the bathroom, but Dulexy had only smiled coldly. "Piss yourself," he'd said succinctly before leaving the room, and Mulder wondered miserably if it would come to that after all. Now his muscles were screaming, his abdomen still ached where Dulexy had struck him--which didn't exactly help the bladder situation any--and Mulder began to wonder how long he could last if Scully and Skinner didn't arrive soon. He wasn't as young as he used to be, he reminded himself, and even though he was still in good shape, a fifty-one year old body simply can't tolerate the things a thirty-five year old one can endure. He closed his eyes, praying inwardly that he would be discovered before too much longer, and eventually fell into a restless sleep. ---------------- SUNDAY 6:00 p.m. ---------------- She snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Yes?" she barked. Dulexy laughed. Apparently his delay had had the desired effect--the bitch was anxious. "I have him." He heard her breathing heavily for a few seconds. "Is he hurt?" Dulexy smiled to himself. "Oh, he's not in the greatest shape, but he'll live. If you cooperate." "What do you want?" she demanded, and he was pleased at her courage. "Three million dollars." "Three?" Her voice was cool. "I thought it was two." "Price went up while I waited." He tapped his finger on the table, awaiting her response. "How do I know he's alive? I want to talk to him." His eyebrows shot up at her answer. It wasn't what he'd expected. He'd thought she would be so frantic with worry over her husband by now that she'd promise anything he asked just to get Mulder back. No, not what he expected at all. She hadn't appeared to be the 'tough as nails' type when he'd surveilled them from a distance. Apparently he had been mistaken. "Look, lady, I make the rules here. Now either you pay up or he dies. And it ain't gonna be no quick, easy death either. Is that really what you want your pretty rich man to go through?" Scully's hand tightened painfully around the phone. She watched Officer Allen's face, waiting for the sign that the call had been successfully traced. It hadn't come yet. "I don't think you'll go through with it," she said calmly, desperate to keep him talking. "I don't think you want to be found guilty of murder again. You'll get the death penalty this time, you know." He laughed again, a deep, guttural sound. "I know what you're doing, lady, and it won't work. If you care about him, you'll leave the police and FBI out of it from now on. I'll call back again, but I warn you, he's going to pay for this." The click in her ear sounded so final. ---------------- SUNDAY 6:15 p.m. ---------------- Dulexy paced back and forth across the room, tossing furious glances at Mulder. Mulder watched him warily, the agony in his beaten body almost enough to make him pass out, but afraid to give up consciousness while his captor was nearby. "That bitch wife of yours is going to learn not to fuck with me," Dulexy growled, and Mulder suppressed a shudder. He'd surmised from his kidnapper's behavior that Dulexy had demanded money, and Scully had probably been less than cooperative. While a part of him realized that Scully was afraid Dulexy would kill him as soon as the money was secured, another part wished she'd just pay the damn ransom so he could get the fuck out of here. One way or another. He couldn't fault her planning though--she was trying to buy time, which Mulder knew meant she was searching furiously for him. "You must not mean a whole lot to her, Rich Man," Dulexy taunted. "Married you for your big bank account, didn't she? I'll bet you can't even keep a woman like her satisfied. Maybe after I'm done with you, I'll give her a taste of what a real man feels like." Mulder's lips compressed with his rage, but he was determined not to be taken in by Dulexy's obvious psychological tricks. He tried not to whimper as Dulexy approached him again with the curtain rod, but the look in the other man's eyes was terrifying. He squeezed his own eyes shut and waited for the first blow to fall. When it did Mulder was unable to suppress a scream of pain. Before long, his entire mid-section was bruised and battered, one mass of tortured nerve endings, and he didn't know how much more he could take. His crotch still throbbed with the memory of the blow that had fallen there earlier in the day, but mercifully, Dulexy seemed content to avoid that area now. "Let's hear you beg me, Mulder." Dulexy grinned as the metal rod fell relentlessly, again and again in the same spot until Mulder thought surely he would die from the agony. He was certain his insides must be useless mush by now, as often as Dulexy had attacked his gut, and he found himself wondering why the man didn't hit him somewhere else. "You're not so high and mighty now, are you, Mr. Rich Motherfucker, layin' here in your own piss? Beg me to stop and I'll consider it." "I'll die--before I'll beg--you for anything, you sadistic bastard!" Mulder managed to gasp between blows. His wrists jerked at the ropes that held them captive, and his hands itched to ball into fists and ram directly into Dulexy's ugly face, but all he could do was squirm in a fruitless attempt to elude the rod that kept raining torture down upon his mid-section. Finally, Dulexy seemed to grow tired of his game, and tossing the curtain rod aside once again, he grabbed Mulder by both sides of his head and raised him up painfully, until they were nose-to-nose. Mulder felt the muscles in his arms screaming in protest at the position, but he said nothing, staring into Dulexy's black eyes with all the courage he had left. "Before I'm finished, you'll beg," Dulexy said confidently, the touch of a cold smile curving his mouth. "You'll do anything I say before I'm done with you." He let go and Mulder's head dropped back against the wooden bed frame. Breathing heavily, Mulder stared up at him, refusing to answer. "Maybe your bitch would be more convinced if I started cutting pieces off you and sending them to her. A finger, maybe, or a toe to start with," he mused, and this time Mulder was unable to hide his shudder of fear. Dulexy smiled wider. "I think I've hit upon a plan," he gloated. "Just the thing to convince her that I am not playing games." "If she pays you, and doesn't get me back alive, she'll hunt you down and kill you." Mulder managed to grind out the words in spite of the burning pain that consumed most of his body. "She'll get you back alive," Dulexy replied, starting for the door. "It's up to her how much of you is left, though." He disappeared down the hall, chuckling to himself. Mulder felt the wetness on his bloodied wrists and hands, wincing at the pain there, and then resolutely began to twist against the ropes once more. He had to escape. Even if Scully and Skinner were looking for him, they might not find him until it was too late. Dulexy was a lot meaner than he'd been in prison, and he'd been frightening even then. At least his bladder was happy, even if his clothing wasn't, and a flush of shame colored his cheeks as he remembered finally letting go, the mixture of relief and disgust he'd felt. Dulexy had found the entire situation humorous, of course, but what worried Mulder more than the humiliation of having wet himself like an infant was the hunger and most of all, the incredible thirst plaguing him. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over twenty-four hours, and by now his inner voice was ruthlessly reminding the rest of his body of that fact. He was also well aware of the numerous bruises Dulexy had inflicted on him with that damned curtain rod. Mulder was amazed that such a flimsy-looking instrument was capable of causing so much pain. On the other hand, the rod wasn't strong enough to cause any serious damage--at least he didn't think it was...his abdomen was still very tender but Mulder hoped it was merely from external bruising and not something worse. He was pretty sure a rib had been broken from whatever had happened to him before he'd awakened. It felt as if someone had kicked him in the side, and he was pretty sure that was exactly what had occurred. Ignoring the pain from his torn wrists, Mulder again grimly set about attempting to free himself. He had to get away before Dulexy followed through on his latest threat.