TITLE: Hearts and Bones AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer E-MAIL ADDRESS: MSK1024@AOL.COM DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you like, just tell me where. DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and Skinner belong to 1013, Chris Carter, and to the X-Files. All other characters are mine. SPOILER WARNING: some for Requiem RATING: PG-13 CONTENT: X, Casefile, MSR COMMENTS: Please visit my other stories at: http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm SUMMARY: In 2006, a child abduction/murder case hits very close to home for Mulder and Scully. Hearts and Bones (Part 1 of 11) By Michelle Kiefer March 2, 2006 - 4:15 PM Potomac, MD “Well, if I were her, I’d put my lawyer on speed dial.” Balancing the phone against her shoulder, Doreen felt the frisson of exhilaration one received from really good gossip. Doreen could hear the roar of the TV in the family room as her older children watched some noisy kid’s show. Scrubbing at a bit of dried egg on the kitchen counter, Doreen watched through the window as her youngest child played on the driveway. Five-year-old Casey rode her little pink bike in careful circles, the chilly March breeze stirring her long blond hair and the purple streamers that hung from the handlebars. Casey had received the bike for her birthday last week, so even though it was too cold to play outside, she insisted on riding. The child had been crushed to find she wasn’t able to ride without training wheels. Doreen made a mental note to bring Casey’s bike helmet out to her. “So spill—what happened?” Sheila’s voice was strident on the other end of the phone and Doreen had to lift the handset away from her ear. Leaving her post by the window, Doreen moved away from the family room so she wouldn’t be overheard. “I heard that she found her husband in bed with Donna Taylor,” Doreen’s voice thrummed with excitement. “She came home from work early and caught them, as the saying goes ‘in the act.’” “Oh. My. God.” Sheila’s voice was becoming even more shrill. “Donna--PTA President--Taylor in bed with her VP’s husband?” “Well, they say that politics makes for strange bedfellows.” Doreen returned to the window and waited for Casey to circle back into view. When the child didn’t ride back up the driveway in a few seconds, Doreen decided that a scolding was in order as the sidewalk was off limits to the little girl. “Sheila, I’ll have to call you back. I need to check on Casey.” Snagging the pink bike helmet off the mud room coat rack, Doreen stepped out onto the patio. The air was still: no little girl giggles or wheels squeaking their need for WD40. Doreen tugged her sweater closer around her as the raw wind lifted her hair. Trying to convince herself that Casey had simply stopped to investigate a bug or pretty stone, she rounded the corner of the house. Doreen’s hand flew to cover her mouth and she stopped, legs leaden with fear at the sight of the little pink bike, overturned at the end of the driveway, its back wheel slowly rotating. -=-=-=-=-=- March 12, 2006 - 6:10 AM McLean, VA In another life, Dana Scully had stayed in bed until the last possible moment before starting her day. Her snooze button had been well utilized in the days when she lived alone. But these days, the early morning quiet was too valuable to squander dozing. Looking at Mulder, she couldn’t help but smile. He was still soundly asleep, having worked very late the night before. He looked younger than his years with his face pillowed on his arm and his hair sticking up in tufts and whorls. She had roused for a moment in the middle of the night, when he’d climbed into bed and molded his body against her back. During the night, his t-shirt had ridden up, and she longed to trace the thin line of hair that ran down his stomach. She knew that his golden skin would be firm and sleep-warmed, but she denied herself this so he might have an extra hour of sleep on a Saturday morning. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of bed and closed the door behind her. She padded quietly down the hall, pausing briefly at her daughter’s room to listen for signs of movement. The only sound was Molly’s even breathing, so Scully crept past the door and down to the kitchen in search of coffee and the morning newspaper. She was on her second cup of coffee and the editorial section when Mulder walked into the kitchen, five-year-old Molly clinging to his back like a monkey. The child’s thin arms were linked around Mulder’s neck and he supported her legs at his waist. He backed up to the kitchen counter so his passenger could disembark. With her tall, spindly frame and tangle of dark hair, there was no mistaking whose gene pool Molly swam in. Only her intense blue eyes and rosebud mouth spoke of the Scully side of her inheritance. “I hoped you could get some sleep this morning,” Scully said over the rim of her mug. Mulder looked wonderfully rumpled in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms. His eyes had a drowsy quality that made her want to pull him back to bed. “I had to get up soon anyway.” He smiled as he helped Molly hop down from the counter. “So Squirt, what’s it going to be for breakfast?” “Could we have french toast, Daddy?” Molly looked up at her father hopefully. “With cinnamon?” “Sure, why don’t you get the eggs and milk out of the fridge,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Smiling, Mulder waved off Scully’s attempt to help and bent to pull the frying pan out of the cabinet. There weren’t many dishes in Mulder’s culinary repertoire, but french toast was one he excelled at. Almost as an afterthought, Molly wandered over to her mother for a good morning kiss. Scully pulled her daughter onto her lap and they watched Mulder as he cracked eggs into a bowl. Mulder seemed to her, far more comfortable as a parent than Scully thought she would ever be. He was natural and relaxed in the role, as if he had been waiting his whole life to take the stage. Maybe it was the sense of wonder that Mulder brought to life that allowed him to connect with their daughter on a level that Scully could not reach. Scully combed through her daughter’s hair with her fingers and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Molly’s head. She loved her daughter with every cell in her body, but sometimes she felt awkward and stiff, as if motherhood exercised muscles too long unused. It felt at times as if she had been dropped into someone else’s life. It was beautiful, but one she didn’t quite fit. She and Mulder had cobbled together a life from the remnants of their partnership and the love that had kindled after so many years. Parts of past lives could be seen here and there: Mulder’s old leather couch in the den, her armoire in the bedroom. Medical journals fought for space with tabloid newspapers on the coffee table. Unexpected pregnancies had been changing lives for thousands of years, and she and Mulder were no exception. Mulder had been returned in ragged shape, scant months before Molly’s birth. For days after he was found shivering in a frost covered field in Iowa, he had been unable to speak, as if he hadn’t used words in a long time and was out of practice. Scully had held his hand and talked to him quietly. She longed to hear his deep, rich voice tease her or argue with her or even shout at her. Instead, he had searched her face with a bemused intensity as he tried to assimilate all that she was telling him. His trembling hands had traced her face, her collarbone, and then drifted to her rounded belly. He seemed to take her condition in stride and she wondered if he had somehow known about her pregnancy during the time he was missing. He surprised her when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse, “Are you going to let me make an honest woman of you?” She and Mulder had taken advantage of her maternity leave and his recuperation time to hammer out their future. For reasons they could never quite uncover, they were given a great deal of accommodation at the FBI. They never found out who smoothed the way, but it seemed she and Mulder had some leverage. For the first months of Molly’s life, they had feared she would be taken, and both of them had lost more sleep than average new parents. Tests had shown Molly to be nothing more than a healthy, normal baby, and they both breathed a little easier knowing that their various medical problems hadn’t affected her. While the issue of Molly’s health seemed secure, her parents still wondered what interest certain parties might have in their daughter. After many days and nights spent startling at every sound, peering into every shadow, they decided that by allowing their lives to be consumed by fear, they could protect their child right out of her childhood. There were more questions than answers in the days after Mulder was returned. Why had he been taken, and what had happened to him while he was gone? For that matter, why had he been returned? Was alien invasion still a threat, and who among the known players still was in the game? Their investigation brought no answers to that raft of questions. The conspiracy seemed to have folded itself back up as mysteriously as it had developed. Scully could never decide if the silence from the consortium was comforting or ominous, but for over five years, the quiet had persisted. If there was still a threat to any of them, there was nowhere to hide that they couldn’t be found. When there is no place safe to hide, you stay in plain sight and try to protect yourself. So they bought the house in McLean, a four bedroom, three bath Colonial in a tree lined neighborhood. They installed the best security system they could find, and then searched for a babysitter they could trust. Myrna was great with Molly and Mulder and Scully felt confident after the Lone Gunman did a thorough background check. Finally, she and Mulder approached the Bureau and explored the limits of their newly discovered leverage. They met with Skinner as soon as Mulder was released from medical leave, proposing changes to the X-Files division that would work with their new lives. Mulder would continue to work from the basement office, with two agents under him. Scully would resign and work with the FBI on a consultant basis, her first priority cases from Mulder’s group. The restless child on her lap brought Scully back to the present. “Let’s set the table while Daddy finishes cooking.” Molly’s movements as she and Scully arranged the plates, glasses and silverware were graceful and sure. Mulder carried the plate of french toast to the table as Scully poured orange juice. Sitting with her family, sharing a lazy Saturday breakfast, Scully thought of Teena and Bill Mulder. Had they too lingered at the table, enjoying the peace and gambling that they could keep their children safe? The ringing phone pierced her thoughts. Mulder moved to pick it up, after taking a gulp of coffee. Scully watched him stretch his arm up to brace himself against the kitchen cabinet as he spoke, the muscles in his back moving smoothly beneath his shirt. “God, how long has it been? They’re both fine….yeah, she’s growing like a weed.” His voice was casual, but she could see his stance begin to change as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. As minutes passed, Mulder’s murmured comments seemed more and more abrupt, and his body stiffened. “Is the body still in situ? Okay. Yeah.” Silently, he replaced the phone and stood for long seconds looking out the kitchen window. “Squirt, if you’re done with breakfast, why don’t you go get dressed.” He didn’t move from the window. His voice would have passed for normal to anyone else, but Scully could hear the tension. Molly seemed to sense her father’s changed mood as she cooperated in what was usually at least a minor struggle. “Body still in situ?” She came to stand next to him by the window, touching his arm lightly. “That was Dave Sutton from ISU. He wants me to drive up to Riverbend Park. They have a murder victim he wants me to look at,” his voice was now expressionless. She always worried when she couldn’t detect emotion from him. “Why does he want you?” “The condition of the body fits the pattern of a series of murders he and I worked on a long time ago.” Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the tiny lines at the corners of Mulder’s eyes. “Back then over an eighteen month period , three girls were abducted and murdered, their bodies left in Caledonia State Park in Pennsylvania. This new murder has some striking similarities. The girls were found dressed in different clothes than they were abducted in.” “How long ago was this, Mulder? You think this could be the same guy?” “They asked me to consult on the case maybe twelve years ago. Fall of ’94.” He turned his face away and it frustrated her not to be able to see his eyes. “We never caught him. The murders just stopped.” “I don’t remember you consulting on a case like that….oh.” She stopped short as she suddenly realized why she didn’t recall the case from fall of 1994. She didn’t remember anything from the fall of 1994. He turned back to face her and pulled her into his arms. She wondered if he was here with her now, or somewhere back in that dark time. He held her tightly, as if he was afraid she would again be ripped from his embrace, and lowered his mouth to cover hers, in a kiss that surprised her with its need. She answered that need with all the tenderness she could muster as she parted his lips with the tip of her tongue. She slipped her hands under his t-shirt, finally granting herself the touch she had resisted earlier that morning. Mulder groaned into her mouth as her fingers glided over his chest. Pulling back from the kiss, she studied his face, trying to take his emotional temperature. His smile, as he looked down into her eyes, seemed resigned, that of some ancient warrior perhaps, honor bound to battle an enemy who outnumbers him. -=-=-=-=-=- Hearts and Bones (Part 2 of 11) March 12, 2006 - 11:15 AM Riverbend Park Potomac, MD “Sorry to ruin your Saturday, Mulder,” Sutton said as he negotiated his way down the muddy path. The weather had finally warmed up after several weeks of bitter cold, and the thaw had made for sloppy roads and squelching mud. Dave Sutton hadn’t changed much over the years: he was still a jock, still what people refer to as “a nice guy.” Sutton’s boots slipped a little and he caught the branch of a fir tree for balance, releasing a shower of melting snow. Mulder concentrated on not falling on his ass. Like Sutton, Mulder wore boots with his dark suit and overcoat, practicality winning over fashion. He didn’t get out into the field as much as he used to, leaving the legwork to the agents under him, but he remembered how wet and messy crime scenes could be. The two men made their way down to the Potomac, toward the yellow crime scene tape strung between the trees like Christmas lights. Mulder could see the technicians and detectives moving carefully on a small rise overlooking the river. “Kayakers spotted the blanket covering the girl from the river.” Sutton nodded in the direction of a detective at the edge of the scene. “Brennan from the Fairfax County PD remembered the Caledonia murders and called the Bureau. Lucky break that his call got put through to me.” Mulder supposed they were “lucky” in some macabre way. It was a rare opportunity to view the body where it had been found, to really absorb the details. Most often in his profiling years, he had worked with photos and visits to crime scenes days or weeks after the body had been removed. Mulder saw the small shape, covered by a red blanket, still lying in the snow under a stand of trees. A young woman with short dark hair bent from the waist and took photographs of the blanket. Mulder recognized some of the law enforcement people and Steve Klein, the county medical examiner, who was waiting to examine the body. Detective Brennan approached them as Mulder and Sutton ducked under the yellow tape. “They got a nice boot impression, but not much other trace evidence. We still need a positive ID from the parents, but we think the little girl is Casey Marino, five-years-old, who disappeared from her front yard ten days ago.” Brennan pulled a snapshot out of his pocket and handed it to Mulder. A moment captured in time, little Casey stood proudly with a beribboned pink bike. Mulder could feel his jaw clench; Molly had the same bike, down to the iridescent purple streamers. “According to her mother, the day she went missing, Casey wore jeans, a purple sweater, and a pink and blue ski jacket. She had been riding the bike shown in the photo with her mom watching from the house. Mom turned away for a second and the kid was gone,” Brennan said. Mulder wondered how hard the detective had to work to keep his voice businesslike. “But she isn’t wearing those clothes now?” Sutton asked. All three men looked toward the center of activity as the technicians folded back the blanket to reveal what lay beneath. The young woman with the camera recorded every detail. While she efficiently worked at her grim task, Mulder could see the woman’s face was wet with tears. “No, that was what clicked and made me call you. One of the kayakers who spotted the blanket climbed up here to investigate. When he called the police, he mentioned that the kid was wearing a party dress.” The technician crouching over the body called the coroner over and Mulder and Sutton moved closer. Mulder swallowed hard, as he prepared himself to view the dead child. She looked as if she were on her way to a birthday party and had stopped to take a nap. Mulder could still see that she’d been a pretty kid. He tried to force his mind to view her clinically, to not see her though the eyes of another little girl’s father. Still, he couldn’t help noting that she was smaller than Molly, and chubbier and he was ashamed that he was glad there was no resemblance. The child was wearing a green dress with white and pink sprigs and a white lace collar, white anklets and shiny black shoes. Her blond hair was braided into long plaits, tied off with green ribbons. Mulder nodded at Klein, and stepped away to give the M.E. room to examine the body. Sutton followed him to the edge of the small plateau. The river seemed to sparkle under the sun with a thousand tiny mirrors as the water rushed past. Mulder thought that this must be the perfect picnic spot in warm weather. “It’s pretty here,” Mulder observed. “He chose this place for her.” “We’re going to transport her now.” Klein had walked over to stand with the two men at the river’s edge. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with something other than the smell of death. “I’ll know more after the post-mortem, but it looks like she was suffocated.” “Can you determine the time of death?” Sutton asked. “That’s going to be a little tricky due to the extremely cold weather we’ve had over the last couple of weeks. Pending further examination, I’d put time of death between five to eight days ago.” A small flurry of activity caught their attention and they turned to see the morgue attendants beginning to move the gurney bearing the child up the path. Mulder forced his gaze back to the sparkling river and tried to get into the head of a man who would scout out the nicest view for his tiny victim. As the last of the detectives and technicians straggled up the path, Mulder felt a wave of tremendous sadness. “You coming?” Sutton called out from the path. “I’ll meet you back at Quantico.” Mulder listened to the rushing water and the wind whispering through the trees. With a deep sigh, he started back up the path to the car, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Scully, I’m heading out to Quantico. I want to look at the files from the Caledonia cases.” He leaned against the car and waited for the balm that could ease his heart. “So the murders are related?” “I think so. The victim was dressed in a party dress, like the others. The other girls were older, and there were a few other differences, but my gut tells me this is the same guy.” “Who’s doing the autopsy? I can drop Molly off with my mom and assist if you want.” “Scully, I can’t ask you to do that.” He closed his eyes in relief at her offer. He knew he was standing in the doorway of a very dark room and nothing would make him feel safer than Scully’s hand in his. He wondered how much of that relief was evident in his voice. “Look, Riverbend Park is Fairfax County, right? I’ll call Steve Klein and see when she’s scheduled.” -=-=-=-=- March 12, 2006 - 6:45 PM McLean, VA “Dammit!” Scully rubbed the pins and needles twang out of the elbow she had banged on her way in the door. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, as if it was saddened by the lack of little kid noise. When she had asked her mother to babysit, Maggie had suggested that Molly spend the night at Grandma’s. Scully ached to hold her daughter tight, to run her fingers through glossy hair, and maybe blot out the image of a corpse that measured no more than forty-two inches in extremis. Scully knew it was best that Molly not pick up on either of her parent’s feelings about this horrible case, but her absence was almost painful. Scully crossed to the refrigerator and poured herself some juice. Sitting at the kitchen table, she covered her face with hands that shook only a little. Forty-three pounds. The body had weighed forty-three pounds. She drank some juice and tried to remember how much Molly weighed. It seemed to her that a mother ought to know how much her child weighed. Rising from the table, she stalked into the small office she shared with Mulder, where household records were filed next to reports on mutant worms. Sitting at her desk, she dug through the drawer searching for the card from Molly’s last pediatrician visit. Her increasingly frantic scrabbling among the papers masked the sound of Mulder entering the house, and she was startled when he appeared at the office door. “What are you looking for?” he asked in weary voice. “How much does Molly weigh?” Blinking, she looked up at him. “A little over forty pounds. Why?” His expression was one of confusion and he flinched a bit when she slid the drawer shut forcefully. “I’m glad one of us knew that,” she murmured softly. She tried to make her voice gentle. “Are you hungry? I could order a pizza.” He looked too tired to eat, but he nodded his head. “Okay. I’m going to take a shower before it comes.” Forty-five minutes later they sat across the kitchen table, picking at the pizza and discussing the case. Mulder looked slightly refreshed, his hair still damp, as he asked her about the autopsy. “Cause of death was asphyxiation, probably by the blanket the victim was wrapped with. We found tiny red fibers in her nasal passages. There was no evidence of sexual molestation, but Steve did find a spot on her leg that appeared to be dried semen. We sent that off for analysis.” She worked very hard at not letting the wrenching sadness of the afternoon color her voice. “I need you to look over the autopsy reports from the three victims from Pennslyvania. You might pick something up that was missed.” She felt a flush of pleasure at his trust in her. “Sure. You mentioned that there were some differences. Tell me about the Caledonia cases.” She pushed her plate aside and leaned forward, over arms folded on the table. “The victims from Caledonia State Park were older than the Marino girl—between ten and thirteen, but the thirteen-year-old looked much younger. The oldest of the girls, Ashley Collins disappeared while walking home from the library. Amelia Montalvo never made it home from school one day and Carlie Bryant went missing from her front yard.” He stopped to take a long pull on his beer. “Witnesses?” “Only for Amelia--conflicting accounts from other children walking home from school. They saw either a tall man or a short man, wearing a hat or not, pull Amelia into a white or light blue car.” Mulder finished the beer and rose to get another from the refrigerator. “Were these girls suffocated, too?” “No, two were strangled and one died from a blow to the head. The thing that convinces me that this is the same UNSUB is that the previous victims were all found wearing party dresses and not the casual clothes they disappeared in. Their hair was braided and tied with ribbons, again, not the way they wore it when they went missing.” “Sounds almost like he was playing with dolls,” she said with a shudder as she began to clear the table. “What was really significant was the dresses weren’t new. They were from the late 1970s, a popular clothing line—Gunne something.” “Gunne Sax,” she offered. “I had one—they were very common.” “Yeah, they were sold everywhere so we weren’t able to trace them. The dresses were in good condition, but had been worn and washed several times.” He played with a fragment of pizza crust on the table. “You said the dresses were significant,” she prompted. “You don’t think he bought them second hand?” “I think the original dresses belonged to someone important to the UNSUB: someone he looked up to, idolized--a sister or a cousin.” Mulder pushed back in his chair. “I think she became disgraced somehow in his eyes, most likely during adolescence— maybe drugs or a pregnancy. I believe he was trying to recreate this person before her fall from grace, to redeem her.” “But then the murders just stopped.” “It happens sometimes. We thought he might have died or been arrested for an unrelated crime. He could have been institutionalized.” “Mulder, I saw the dress that Casey Marino was wearing. It looked new and it wasn’t the same brand.” The dress had been pretty. Scully remembered thinking it was the kind of dress she would have picked out for Molly. “I think he no longer has access to the original dresses. Something has changed in his life recently and it is stressing him enormously, triggering his need to seek out another victim, and this time he’s gone after someone much younger. I haven’t got it all worked out, but that’s significant too.” He sighed, a ragged sound that tore her heart. Scully came to stand by his chair and he put his arms around her waist. She chuckled slightly when he nuzzled between her breasts. “It tickles.” “Then, I’m obviously not doing it right.” His voice was muffled by her sweater. She threaded her fingers though his hair and remembered another case, another time, when they had stood like this. “Oh, I think you’re doing just fine,” she said, as she gripped the bottom of the sweater and pulled it off. “It must be the material that tickles.” She caught his grin as he lowered his mouth to kiss the skin above the edge of her bra. Her fingers clutched at the soft cotton of his t-shirt as he worked the bra clasp and pushed the scrap of lace and satin away to caress her breasts. Feeling a sudden hunger to touch warm, golden skin, she tugged at his shirt with impatient hands, peeling it off. Mulder drew her onto his lap and they sat, arms around each other, bare skin to bare skin. Her face was pressed against the skin of his neck, and she could smell the soap from his shower. A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the kitchen, as his fingers lightly grazed her skin, running up and down her spine. Her touch was firmer as she slid her palms along his arms, shoulders and down the planes of his back. She simply could not satisfy her need to touch him everywhere, his arms rough with hair, shoulders smooth and well muscled. And then his lips were on hers, his mouth tasting of pizza and beer and need. She met that need with her own hunger, kissing him deeply. She gasped into his mouth as he suddenly stood, lifting her in his arms and knocking the chair over. Lacing her arms around his neck, she laughed. “Mulder, are you crazy? You’re going to throw your back out.” But it did feel wonderful, in an “Officer and a Gentleman” way. “Nonsense, my beauty. I’m a manly man in the full bloom of my manhood.” His arms certainly felt secure as he carried her through the house. He did allow her to climb the stairs to their bedroom, remarking that manly men in their forties did have a few limitations. It was ironic, really, that people, so thoroughly educated, so intellectually blessed, found communication difficult. Words had always been inadequate between them, unsatisfactory expressions of how they felt. That night, hands and mouths and bodies communicated in ways that spoken language couldn’t. -=-=-=-=-- Hearts and Bones (Part 3 of ) March 13, 2006 - 8:25 AM McLean, VA Maybe the bloom was off his manhood after all. Mulder bent at the waist, resting his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He knew he must look pathetic, wheezing and coughing at the end of his street. Though many years had passed since his experience with the tobacco beetles, he always felt a split second of panic when he couldn’t breathe. He had hoped to work off some of the nervous energy he felt over the Marino case and decided some exercise would do the trick. As he ran, he’d turned the facts over and over in his mind, and the miles had passed almost unnoticed. What had started as a simple morning run had turned into a punishing trek worthy of Marine boot camp. His knees were screaming at him to curl up on the side of the road and die like a sensible person. He smiled, remembering that the morning had started out rather pleasantly. Waking up naked, wrapped around an equally naked Scully, brought back memories of their all too brief first days as lovers. Life with a five-year-old had made sleeping in the buff unwise, so waking to the sight of Scully’s pearly skin glowing in the morning light was a rare delight. Fitted along Scully’s back, one hand resting on her hip, he had gloried in the feel of her warm flesh. He and Scully held the record for the longest courtship in the history of couples, but had been physically intimate for such a short time before he was abducted. He returned to find fatherhood looming, causing his heart to pound with more fear than he had ever felt from the various terrors he’d faced in his work. His worries had faded a bit, with Molly’s birth. That night, he’d sat by Scully’s hospital bed while she slept, and quietly made his daughter’s acquaintance. Molly’s tiny body had almost completely fit in one hand, her feet not even reaching the crook of his elbow. Though he was pretty sure that newborn babies couldn’t see, Molly seemed to look right into his eyes, as she made the tiniest sounds like the cooing of doves. He’d fallen instantly, irrevocably in love. Warmed by the memory of Molly’s slight weight in his hands, he began to walk slowly toward home, willing himself to breathe normally. He thought back to his profiling years, when he had run to the point of exhaustion on an almost daily basis. He’d watched the men and women around him search for some way to blot out the horror of their days. Some drank to numb themselves, but that had always brought too many memories of a darkened living room, the sound of ice clinking in a glass the only clue that someone was there. At last, ahead was the welcome sight of his house, bricks burning honey warm in the morning sun. He shivered slightly in his soaked sweats, but his breathing was more comfortable now. With a little luck he could slip under Scully’s worry radar. He craved a shower, a cup of coffee and his arms around Scully, in no particular order. Well, maybe the coffee first. As he began to cross his yard’s yellow tinged grass, Mulder winced inwardly as he spotted his neighbor waving a greeting from the immaculately manicured lawn of the house next door. “Good morning, Fox. Good to see someone with enough time for a jog.” Whit Bradley’s booming voice rang out across the low stone fence. Mulder had long ago given up on trying to get his neighbor not to call him “Fox.” “Good morning, Whit,” Mulder called back, hoping to get out of the chilly air and avoid a long conversation. Whit had a tendency to ramble on about the relative merits of mulch versus compost until Mulder wanted to impale himself on Whit’s rototiller. “You know, Fox, looks like termites are getting at that deck of yours.” Whit gestured toward the offending stucture. “Don’t want to let them get a foothold, Fox, or one day you’ll fall right through the floorboards.” Mulder was actually thinking that disappearing from sight through a hole was a great idea. With relief, he noticed Scully walking across the lawn, jacket pulled tight around her. “Well, good morning to you, Dana.” Whit said. “I was just telling Fox that you need to have your deck looked at. I can see from here that you’ve got termite damage.” Whit was the leading authority on other people’s property. In summer, he had advice on greening up that lawn and in winter he could tell you that your weatherproofing was inadequate. He could tell you how much you had overpaid for your car insurance and why the model of car you chose didn’t get the best mileage. “You know, Whit, we’ll be sure to get that looked at right away.” Scully smiled and nodded. “Thanks so much for letting us know.” Scully never ceased to surprise Mulder with her ability to make nice with the neighbors. While her interaction with them was mostly superficial, years of dealing with local law enforcement had left her with a talent for smoothing the wrinkles out of people. Mulder shivered again as the wind picked up. “Mulder, let’s get you inside, you’re soaked.” He could hear the concern in Scully’s voice. “Whit, thanks again for telling us about the deck.” “Thanks for the rescue, Scully,” Mulder whispered as they walked back to the house. He felt a cramp at the back of his calf and hoped Scully wouldn’t notice that he was favoring his left leg. “I was losing my will to live.” “Whit means well,” Scully said as they reached the back door. “Whit is a well-meaning bore.” Wincing, Mulder toed off his running shoes and left them on the mat. “Who’d name their kid ‘Whit’ anyway?” Mulder smiled at Scully’s “look who’s talking” expression. He was glad to see there was coffee still hot in the carafe. Before he could pour a cup, Scully snatched the empty mug out of his hand. Replacing the mug in the cabinet and reaching up, she grabbed a large glass off the shelf. “Mulder, you look awful. You’re pale and clammy. And don’t think I didn’t notice you were limping. You pushed yourself too far, didn’t you?” Scully opened the refrigerator and poured Mulder a glass of orange juice. “Drink this, it’s better for you right now than coffee.” “I’m fine. I think I’m still capable of a morning run,” he said with more testiness than he intended. “I want to interview the Marinos today.” He could see the worry in her face and it both touched and annoyed him. He downed the orange juice and rinsed out the glass. Bending to put the glass in the dishwasher, he could feel the muscles in his back were beginning to stiffen. “If I suggest that you take a hot shower, are you going to bite my head off?” A hot shower was going to be a necessity if he wanted to be able to walk later. He allowed a small smile to break through and stripped off both sweatshirt and t-shirt. He was well aware that Scully was far more likely to be placated when he was bare-chested. Her answering smile showed him that the shirtless look still worked. “What can I say, Scully? When you’re right, you’re right.” Half an hour later, he was on his way to meet Dave Sutton in Potomac. Scully had handed him a bagel wrapped in a napkin as he walked out the door. She’d refrained from commenting about his need to eat something for breakfast and he was grateful. Still, the bagel sat on the seat next to him, untouched and destined to become as hard as granite. Meeting with family members was usually heartbreaking and he anticipated this interview would be especially difficult. It was necessary, though, to get a feel for who the victim was, to see why the UNSUB was attracted to this little girl and not the child down the block. He could feel his stomach churning as he drove through the suburban streets, past the churches filled with Sunday morning worshippers and the coffee shops busy with diners enjoying lazy breakfasts. Too soon, he was turning onto the street where Casey Marino had lived. He spotted Sutton’s car parked in front of a sprawling, modern-style home. Mulder pulled his car behind Sutton’s and both men climbed out. Mulder grimaced as his left foot hit the pavement, aware again of the twinge in his calf muscle. “How the hell did you hurt yourself between yesterday afternoon and now?” Sutton shook his head in disbelief. “If it wasn’t for bad luck, you’d have no luck at all.” “Sutton, don’t ever let them tell you you’re not an original thinker.” Mulder felt warmed by the banter. When other agents had been whispering that Spooky Mulder had misplaced his latest partner and was truly off his nut this time, Dave Sutton had behaved the only way he knew how—like a good guy. They had called him in on the Caledonia case during the darkest days of his life. Mulder had only just become accustomed to the light of Scully’s presence. He had felt like one blind all his life, given the gift of sight only to have that sight ripped away. He’d been mired in guilt, feeling powerless to help Scully or anyone else. Maybe that was why he threw himself into the case. Sutton had been straightforward and respectful, a little awed by Mulder’s ISU reputation. As he’d watched Mulder sink himself deeper and deeper into the UNSUB’s mind, Sutton’s concern finally overcame the awe. With the distance of time, Mulder could admit that back then, Sutton had reason for worry. The three little girls had populated his nightmares until the dreams took over his waking hours. They approached the house, and if Sutton noticed any difficulty Mulder had in climbing the steps, he kept quiet about it. Sutton rang the doorbell and a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged blonde woman. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Dave Sutton of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is Special Agent Mulder. We’d like to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Marino.” “I’m Susan Kovach, Doreen’s sister. Please come in.” Mulder could see that the woman’s eyes were red-rimmed and her voice was husky. “My brother-in-law took the kids out for a little while. It’s so hard for them to understand why someone would do this. Doreen’s here though.” She led them through a living room where the scents of a number of floral arrangements competed, producing a sickly sweetness. They passed through a well-appointed family room into a kitchen where cakes and pies covered the counter. Mulder recognized Doreen Marino by the look on her face. He had seen the numbness, the shock, in too many parents. She looked like a woman who was only beginning to realize that life as she knew it was over. Doreen had joined the group that no one wanted to be a part of—the club of parents who had outlived their children. “Doreen, this is Agent Mulder and Agent Sutton of the FBI.” Susan spoke gently to her sister. She turned to the agents. “Can I get you some coffee? Something to eat? We have all kinds of cake.” Mulder asked for a cup of coffee, while Sutton accepted a piece of carrot cake. Susan bustled around, pouring coffee and cutting cake, actions born out of the need to do something, anything, in the face of the utter lack of power against death. She set the cups and plates on the table and began to wipe down the counter, moving each cake and pie to scrub underneath. Mulder took a closer look at Doreen and wondered if she had slept since her daughter disappeared. He could tell that two weeks ago, she had been a pretty woman. Now, lines were etched into her face, and the skin around her eyes seemed bruised. She looked weary beyond words. “Mrs. Marino, I know you’ve already gone over this with the police.” Mulder said, with as much gentleness as he could muster. “It’s important for Agent Sutton and I to understand what happened the day Casey disappeared.” Doreen closed her eyes, as if it hurt too much to remember with them open. Her hands were clenched so tight that the knuckles stood out like little white stones. “Casey was riding her bike on the driveway. She only had it a week and she was so determined to ride without the training wheels. My husband wanted her to get used to the bike first. You know, I’ve never seen a kid with a will like Casey’s. She practiced every day after school and nagged to have the training wheels taken off every night. She was driving her dad crazy.” Doreen smiled at the memory, but the smile faded as the reality of the next part of the story set in. “I looked away for a moment—a second really--and she was gone.” A trembling hand reached up to cover her mouth. “Do you know what I was doing? Why I looked away from the window?” Her voice turned bitter. “I was gossiping with a friend—I don’t even remember what about. I was jabbering about something stupid and trivial while some monster was pulling my baby off her bicycle.” Doreen turned her face away sharply and Mulder was grateful to be spared the view into her shattered soul. “Do you know your neighbors well, Mrs. Marino?” “As well as anybody does these days. Everybody works. I know some of the other mothers, some of the kids.” She turned to him again. “Have you noticed a car parked that you weren’t familiar with, anyone you didn’t know walking in the neighborhood?” Mulder asked. “No. Not that I noticed.” Doreen’s eyes searched his face. “Mr. Mulder, do you have children?” “We have a little girl.” Mulder spoke softly. He prayed she wouldn’t ask how old his daughter was. “I have….had three kids.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I count heads constantly. Where are they and what are they doing. A hundred times a day. How long is it going to take before I stop counting to three?” The interview drew to a close, and he and Sutton gently extricated themselves from the sorrow that permeated the Marino house. Mulder found that going down the front steps hurt worse than going up had. He walked across the front lawn to stand at the end of the driveway. He pictured Casey pumping up the slight incline and gliding back down, a look of determination set on her little face. Was that what attracted the man who watched her? “He must have watched her for a while. Maybe from a car parked on that corner.” Mulder jerked his chin in the direction of a side street. “You think this is the same guy? Thirteen years is a long time.” Sutton glanced over in the direction Mulder indicated. “Local law enforcement think this is a copy cat crime.” “No. It’s him. He’s been away somewhere, in prison or more likely an institution, but the same compulsion drives him now as it did back then,” Mulder said with stony conviction. “What do you think he was looking for in victim selection?” Sutton asked. “The girls ranged in size and body type. The only thing they seem to have in common is long hair, but that varies in color and texture. Now he’s moved to someone younger and it makes it even more puzzling.” “I’m not sure. It could be something very intangible—they way they moved, the way the wind moved their hair on a given day. Something reminded him of a person that meant a lot to him.” “How long do you think we have before he starts looking for another kid?” “He could be looking right now.” -=-=-=-=-=- Hearts and Bones (Part 4 of ) March 14, 2006 - 8:45 AM Quantico, VA It was ironic really. Now that he had a window in his office, Dave Sutton missed the basement. Back in the days when the ISU was located sixty feet underground, the offices had seemed much more appropriate for the dark work done there. Sutton looked down at the bright sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot and gulped down the last of his lukewarm coffee. He wondered if Mulder was already working somewhere in the ISU offices. When Sutton had left the office late last night, Mulder had still been at work, muttering that he’d go home soon. He found Mulder at a desk in a temporarily unassigned office. It looked like Mulder had been there for hours, filling page after page of a yellow legal pad with scribbled writing. Stacks of reports and several paper cups containing what appeared to be varying amounts of coffee covered the desk. Flipping through his notes, Mulder ran an impatient hand through hair that was already standing up. “Did you stay here last night?” Sutton asked from the doorway. Mulder looked up, distracted. “No. No, I went home for a while. Look, Sutton, I have a wife if I want someone to fuss over me.” “And I’m sure she has her hands full on that account.” Sutton pulled a chair around to the desk and straddled it. “Want to go over the profile? I know the task force is getting antsy.” The Potomac and McLean PDs had formed a task force to investigate the Marino case. Sutton had detected the usual low level of distrust for the Bureau, but the team had requested help with the profile. Mulder, eyes closed, leaned back in his chair and was silent for several seconds. Sutton wondered if he was falling asleep. Finally, he spoke. “My original profile of the Caledonia UNSUB was a white, male, mid-to- late twenties. Probably unemployed, living with and dependant on a female relative. Above average intelligence, compulsive, very organized. He feels inadequate and has some kind of impediment, perhaps a deformity. It’s probably very slight, but he feels it sets him apart from other people. He’s remorseful about the killing and he takes great pains to lay the body out in a respectful way. Killing the girls isn’t his first intention. He wants to recreate some golden time in his past when he had a special relationship with a female relative. He kills the girls when they resist and the spell is broken. In short, he panics.” Mulder’s voice took on the monotonous drone that Sutton remembered well from the past. “All of that stands?” Sutton prompted. “Yeah. I stand behind all of that, but I’ve started to wonder why we couldn’t find him in 1994. I thought about it all night, and I think it was because he’s reclusive. It’s just a hunch, really, but it fits. The less contact he had with outsiders, the less chance there was for someone to notice odd behavior, less chance he would talk to a friend, brag to a coworker.” Mulder sat forward and began to check each of the coffee cups on the desk, looking for one that might be still warm. “You mean like Boo Radley?” Sutton asked. “Yeah, only a lot more disturbed. And Boo never kidnapped Scout and strangled her. No, this guy isn’t content to watch from a distance. Something triggered his compulsion, drove him out where he began to stalk his victims and fantasize about the past.” “What about this relative he was living with?” “I still believe he was dependant on someone, at least in 1994, and she may have covered for him. Or was in denial.” “We better get going if we’re going to meet with the task force,” Sutton said, looking at his watch. Mulder got to his feet and began to stack the folders and load them into his briefcase. Exhaustion showed in his every move as gathered his suit jacket and Sutton’s thoughts drifted back twelve years. Sutton had never seen anyone as much in despair as Fox Mulder back then. He’d considered Mulder a legend, larger than life, and had been shocked at the appearance of the frighteningly thin man who walked into his office. But he hadn’t been disappointed in Mulder, not in his brilliance nor in his kindness. Sutton had heard that Mulder’s partner had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Mulder never spoke about it and Sutton didn’t ask, but he could tell that the loss was like an open wound. Sutton found himself worrying about Mulder’s fitness for duty. Sutton had become truly alarmed when he roomed with Mulder during the investigation in Pennsylvania. Mulder ate next to nothing during those days and hardly seemed to sleep. The man had seemed more concerned with disturbing Sutton with the noise from his nocturnal movements than with his own comfort. The few times he noticed Mulder doze off, he seemed restless, arms and legs twitching as if ready for flight. Once or twice Sutton caught him jolting awake, breathing heavy, his eyes darting around the room in search of something. Sutton never forgot the haunted look in Mulder’s eyes. Both he and Mulder had been called to other cases after the profile was handed to local police, Sutton to New Jersey and Mulder to California. As they parted company, Sutton had truly wondered how long it would be before Mulder “ate his gun” or died in the line of duty. It was with tremendous relief, that Sutton heard that Dana Scully had turned up alive. Over the years, he would run into Mulder or hear some wild story about him and his partner. It wasn’t long after Sutton’s own marriage had taken one final downward spiral that he heard Mulder had succumbed to marriage and parenthood. The irony of that turn of events was not lost on him. “Sutton?” Mulder was looking at him with amusement and he realized his mind had been drifting. He could feel his face flush as he steeled himself to steer the conversation in a direction he was sure would irritate Mulder. “I was thinking back to the original case. It got rough back then.” “It was hard for everyone who worked on that case.” There was an unspoken warning in Mulder’s voice. “Jeez Mulder, I thought you were going to end up in the hospital. I just don’t want you to get in too deep this time.” “I don’t need you hovering over me. I’ll be okay.” Mulder softened his tone, perhaps recalling twelve years past. “Sorry. I…uh….have you caught a kid case since you got married?” Sutton asked. “Sutton, I’m hardly a rookie.” Mulder said with some annoyance. “But since you asked, no. This is the first one in a long time.” “Listen, it’s different than when you were single. Don’t underestimate how rough this can be.” Sutton took a deep breath. “You know, you’re ahead of the game in a way. Your wife understands the work. Vickie was a children’s librarian. Poor kid had no frame of reference. I think she felt like she had fallen down the rabbit hole.” “Divorced?” Mulder asked and Sutton nodded slowly. “How long?” “Almost five years. Look, just take it easy, okay?” -=-=-=-=-=-=- He can’t see their hands, but he knows they will be icy. His heart pounds at the thought of their frozen touch. They stand before him, just as they had all those years before: three girls, pale as moonlight, cold as stone. Their ruffled dresses drift around them, long hair floating on unseen wind. It’s their empty eyes that frighten him the most, with sockets black as night. Their voices echo in his mind, asking questions he can’t answer. “Why couldn’t you save us?” “Why didn’t you stop them?” “Why?” He covers his ears, trying to block out the whispered words, but he can still hear the pleading. The solemn children part and a small figure pushes through the gap; this part of the dream is new. The child, smaller than her ghostly sisters, doesn’t speak. Her mouth is open in a silent scream and her hands reach out and their touch burns cold. He tries to move away but the other girls surround him, their hands clutch at him, freezing his skin through his clothes. “Mulder?” A clear voice broke through the echoing whispers. He woke with a start, knocking over one of the paper cups of cold coffee. Flustered, he moved his notes out of the river of black liquid. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough and the scribbled writing on the last page was smudged. Scully stepped forward and helped him gather up the files and notes and stacked them on a file cabinet. She found a pile of paper napkins in one of the desk drawers and mopped up the spilled coffee. He knew by the set of her jaw that she was concerned at finding him asleep at his desk late in the afternoon. “What are you doing here, Scully?” Mulder asked. “I thought Myrna was off today.” “I reviewed the autopsies on the first three cases. I figured if I wanted to talk to you about them, I’d better come down here. I fell asleep waiting for you last night.” “Is Molly with your mother?” he asked. “Molly had a play date with Lindsay Kaplan. Lindsay’s mother asked her to stay for dinner.” Scully tossed the wet napkins in the trash and began to gather up the coffee cups. “Scully, what were you thinking?” he asked, his voice growing louder. “How well do you know this Kaplan woman?” “Can you give me a little credit here? Linda Kaplan is a very responsible mother. She’s read the newspapers—she won’t let the girls out of her sight.” “Fine. Let’s hope that Linda Kaplan doesn’t look away for a second like Casey Marino’s mother did.” He knew his voice was harsh and loud, that he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. The look in Scully’s eyes told him that he had pressed on that tender spot that she kept hidden so very well and he hated himself for it. “Look, you asked me for my help on this.” Her voice was low, but he could hear the anger simmering just below the surface. “Okay. You’re right. What did you find?” He nodded toward the chair. He could see the tension in her ramrod straight posture as she sat down. She retrieved a folder from her brief case and flipped through some notes. “The post-mortems appear to have been handled meticulously. Things were pretty much as you said they would be. There was significant bruising on all three of the girls, especially on the wrists and shoulders. I think it’s safe to say that they all put up a fight. Ashley Collins and Carrie Bryant’s throats were manually compressed; both had fractured hyoid bones. From the bruising, I would say the UNSUB used one hand at the throat, with the other holding them across the chest.” “Could that indicate he killed them while trying to restrain them?” “Possible. You don’t need to use much force to strangle someone that young,” she replied. “It could have happened unintentionally, I suppose.” “What about Amelia?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. He felt unutterably tired. “Amelia died from a massive subdural hematoma. The back of the skull was fractured. There were very prominent finger-shaped bruises on her shoulders, so I think it was possible that he slammed her head against a wall or the floor. And she didn’t die right away. Judging from the intercranial bleeding, I would say she was unconscious for a few hours before she slipped away.” “So, there was nothing new?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "There was something I saw in one of the photos, but I can't be certain. The coroner's report made no mention of it." At her words, he sat forward, his exhaustion draining away. "The bruises on Carrie's throat were especially distinct." She lay a photo on the desktop. He studied it, although he knew it by heart. "The ecchymoses correspond to the four fingers of the killer's right hand," she continued. "Maximum bruising seen here, here, and here." She tapped with a pencil. "But the ring finger--" "It's too short," Mulder interrupted. "The bruise is too short. He's missing part of his finger." "Not necessarily," Scully said, trying to balance his energy with her calm. "It might just be that his finger was bent." "Why didn't I see this before? Why didn't somebody see it?" Mulder's frustration was palpable. “I knew you’d find something,” he said, trying to repair the damage he had done. She stood up and tugged her jacket down. “I better let you get back to your work,” she said, sharply. “Are you going to be late tonight? Mulder, you’re exhausted.” Her voice softened. “I’ll try to be home early.” -=-=-=-=-=- Hearts and Bones (Part 5 of 11) March 15, 2006 – 12:45 AM McLean, VA The world’s dullest medical journal was not going to lull Scully to sleep tonight, so she snapped off the light and lay wide-eyed in the darkness. Every synapse was on alert, every cell listening for the sound of a car door in the driveway. Molly had been wired too, after her visit with Lindsay. Fits of little girl giggles and ice cream after dinner had Molly nearly bouncing out of the car on the drive home. The child was monumentally disappointed in not seeing her father again and it had taken “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie” and two George and Martha books to get her to sleep. Scully had hardly seen Mulder for more than a half an hour at a time in days. He’d come home well after midnight the night before and left for Quantico early the next morning. She knew he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours since the morning Sutton called with the Marino case and he probably hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days either. She’d been unnerved the first time she had seen this behavior, back in the early days of their partnership. He’d frightened her badly as he sunk deeper and deeper into another man’s dementia. At the time, she had feared the gentle man she had come to care about wouldn’t be able to climb back out of the madness. She knew the price that profilers paid to do their work. The stress on the human body was undeniable—ulcers, heart disease, depression all took their toll. She knew it wasn’t uncommon for profilers to run themselves to exhaustion, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. At the rumble of Mulder’s car pulling into the driveway the tension drained out of her and she was almost too tired to get out of bed. She lay blinking into the dark and listened to the distant creaks and bumps as Mulder moved around downstairs. That thump was the little table in the entryway. He always stumbled into that late at night. That rustle was Mulder looking through the mail. Swoosh and thwap were the refrigerator in the kitchen as he got himself something to drink. Finally, the need to see him, to assess his state of mind and body, overcame her weariness and she pushed herself off the bed. Gliding quietly through the dimly lit hall and down the stairs, she stood silently in the doorway watching him. His movements were clumsy with exhaustion as he spread his notes and files over the kitchen table. He shrugged out of his jacket and proceeded to roll up his sleeves and she was struck with a wave of love so strong it nearly knocked her down. Her anger over his behavior this afternoon dropped from her like the leaves in autumn. “Mulder?” “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” His voice had a soft, late at night sound as he sat at the table. “No, I couldn’t sleep.” She saw that he had poured himself some milk and she was glad he was getting some nourishment. She poured herself a glass and came back to the table. “I’m sorry I blew up at you this afternoon. The task force was less than open to the idea that the crimes were from the same UNSUB. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” “S’ okay,” she said as she bent to kiss the top of his head. “Mulder, there are going to be sleepovers and class trips and Girl Scout camp before we know it. We both have to get used to the idea that Molly will be out of our sight some of the time. You know, it’s only a matter of time before the boys start to call.” “Boys?” he asked, with the hint of panic. “When does this boy stuff happen?” “Oh, thirteen or fourteen if we’re lucky. Twelve if she’s precocious.” Scully smiled at the mental image of Mulder grilling Molly’s dates, casually revealing his service weapon in its holster. “Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” He took her hand and seemed to relax a little. “I’m planning on having background checks done on all prospective suitors.” “Come up to bed,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You need to rest.” “I’ll be up in a minute.” He smiled reassuringly, but she knew he would be still be working at the table when morning’s light brightened the kitchen window. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- March 15, 2006 – 9:30 AM Quantico, VA 1 girl’s cotton dress, size 6X 1 pair patent leather shoes, size 12 1 pair white cotton socks, no size listed 1 white cotton undershirt, size 6 1 white cotton panties, size 6 2 green ribbons, 18 inch length Mulder thought it read like a shopping list for Easter Sunday and not an inventory from the coroner’s office. As he read off each item, he lifted a plastic bagged article of clothing from the cardboard box. Last of all, he slipped the dress out of its plastic bag and spread it over the desk. The cotton fabric was crisp and new. He fingered the lace that rimmed the collar and stroked the slippery ribbon sash. The crime lab had determined that the dress was a current style available at Sears stores across the country. The shoes, socks and underwear were purchased through Sears also. He tried to picture Boo shopping at Sears, sliding dress after dress along the rack until he found the perfect one for his little doll. He and Sutton had taken to calling the UNSUB Boo Radley and he almost felt the need to apologize to Harper Lee. The task force had officers visiting Sears stores in the area, having the staff check inventory and computer records in the hopes of identifying where and to whom the dress had been sold. There was a slight chance that someone might remember a painfully shy man who seemed out of place choosing children’s clothes. Mulder was sure that Boo had paid cash, counting out money that had been precisely arranged in his wallet, each bill facing the same way. Mulder held the sash up to his face, rubbing the slick satin against his stubble. He could see Boo dressing Casey, buttoning each tiny heart-shaped button, arranging the satin sash in a bow. Was Boo crying? Did he keen and sob as he brushed Casey’s hair? He hadn’t meant to kill her. She was the one, the precious redemption. The other had become soiled, worldly and sad. This one was to be the happy child, the pure girl again. “Jeez Mulder, you look like shit.” Like a phone line severed, the connection to the UNSUB was lost. Sutton leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. A whole lot shorter, wearing a Donna Karen jacket and 4 inch heels, it could be Scully standing there. “Why, thank you,” Mulder said, with as much sarcasm as he could manage with his head pounding. “So Sutton, does Boo Radley start out as Boo Radley?” “You mean was he born that way or made? I guess a little of both.” “Yeah. But at some point in his life, Boo had to interact with the world. More than likely, he attended grade school somewhere. I’ve been looking at the first murder—someone like Boo would start out very close to home, where he felt safest. Carlie Bryant was the first victim, snatched off her front lawn one summer afternoon as she cooled off under the sprinkler.” Mulder’s head hurt and he knew that about fourteen hours of undisturbed sleep was the only thing that would help. Unfortunately, sleep was the enemy right now. He reached into his briefcase and rummaged around until he found the bottle of aspirin he’d tossed in. He swallowed three, chasing them down with lukewarm coffee. Though Sutton watched him carefully through this, he mercifully kept quiet about it. “They did a thorough search of the homes around the Bryant’s. Fayetteville isn’t that large,” Sutton said as he watched Mulder clumsily refold the dress and put it back in the plastic bag. “We missed him the first time. The neighbors may have had no idea he was living there. He probably rarely left the house in daylight and when he did he would have avoided interacting with anyone. We have to go to Fayetteville—the key to this whole thing is there.” Mulder laid each item of clothing back in the evidence box and folded it closed. “But he’s got to be in the Potomac area now. You think we’ll find anything in Fayetteville?” “We have to try and trace this guy back, far enough that someone might remember him. Before he became Boo Radley.” -=-=-=-=-=- March 15, 2006 11:45 AM McLean, VA “Mommy, can we give Daddy some of our cookies to take to Pennsalania?” Molly asked as she drew her finger through the flour that coated the kitchen counter. “Pennsylvania.” Scully corrected. “And I’m sure Daddy would love some cookies. I just hope they’re ready in time.” Scully was reminded of childhood afternoons spent baking with her mom as Molly stood on a chair across the work island. This was what mothers and daughters did, wasn’t it? Mulder had come home unexpectedly with news that he and Dave Sutton were going to Fayetteville, hoping to find some trace of their UNSUB’s early life. She and Molly had been elbow deep in green tinted sugar cookie dough, cutting out leprechaun hats and four leaf clovers for St. Patrick’s Day. Mulder had kissed her and then Molly, brushing some flour off the little girl’s cheek. “Oh Molly, you’re covered with so much flour, you look like a little ghost,” Scully had joked. She was puzzled over Mulder’s sharp intake of breath and took a good look at him, noticing how pale he was. His eyes seemed hidden in shadow. She knew he hadn’t slept last night. She had missed his solid warmth against her back as she drifted in and out of sleep. She wanted to ask him if he was well enough to be going anywhere but up to bed, but found herself unable to broach the subject with Molly nearby. “You okay?” she asked. That would have to be the extent of her interrogation. “I have a headache, that’s all.” He ruffled Molly’s hair. “I’m going upstairs to pack a few things.” The last batch of cookies was nearly cut out and ready for the oven when the doorbell rang. She was just dropping the last four-leaf clover onto the cookie sheet when she heard Mulder call out, “I’ll get it.” “Well, I’m just so glad I caught someone at home,” a loud and cheery voice rang out. “You must be Fox Mulder. You don’t mind if I call you Fox, do you?” “Excuse me.” Mulder sounded polite, but she could hear annoyance. Scully could picture his jaw tighten. “I’m Pinky Mayhew Dubord, your neighbor from across and down. We’re asking folks to sign a petition to get a traffic light installed on the corner of Reynolds and Evergreen.” Scully tried to place Pinky among the neighbors. Was she the extraordinarily thin brunette in the red brick Tudor or the nipped and tucked blonde from the big Dutch Colonial. Scully began to wipe her hands off on a dishtowel. “Mrs. Dubord, this really isn’t a good time.” The annoyance in Mulder’s voice was up a notch. “Oh but Fox, we really can’t be too busy for our children’s safety. That corner is just two blocks from the school.” Pinky’s intensity level was on the rise, her voice becoming more shrill. “I’m sure you can find a moment to look this over.” “Look, this isn’t convenient right now. Maybe you could…” “Fox, this won’t take but a minute. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to neglect your civic duty.” Snapping off the oven and warning Molly not to open its door, Scully left the kitchen. Her protective instincts coupled with intense curiosity propelled her into the living room. Ah yes, it was the fluffy blonde after all. Mulder’s hands were clenched tightly and Scully could see the little vein in his forehead pulsing. “What part of ‘not now’ don’t you get?” Mulder was shouting now, two bright spots showing on his cheeks against the pale skin. “Now, will you please get the hell out of my house before I haul out the handcuffs.” Pinky’s face registered the kind of shock that only the wealthy and pampered can really achieve. She sputtered incoherently and Scully would have loved to see Mulder slap the cuffs on Pinky, but Molly was watching wide-eyed from the doorway. Scully walked across the room and laid a gentle hand on Mulder’s arm as she moved past him. “Pinky, you don’t mind if I call you Pinky?” Scully said, voice firm and low. “Did I mention that my husband is an armed federal agent? I’m sure you have lots of other stops to make and we wouldn’t want to hold you up. Or shoot you.” Pinky’s mouth gaped open and Scully was pleased to see that the woman had been rendered speechless as she pushed the stunned Pinky out onto the front step of the house and firmly closed the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. All the anger seemed to have drained out of him along with any energy as he looked over at the frightened child in the doorway. He crouched down, or maybe his knees gave out. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Molly, c’mere honey. It’s okay. Daddy’s not angry with you.” Molly threw herself into Mulder’s arms and he swung her up into an embrace. Scully moved closer and laid a hand on Mulder’s back as she stroked Molly’s hair. This might have been the first time Molly saw her father really angry. Not just angry because he stepped on a Lego with his bare foot, but angry enough to shout at a stranger. The child seemed to be calming already as Mulder cuddled her and whispered to her. “Molly sweetie, it would be really nice if you got some of those cookies for Daddy to take with him. Can you get a paper bag and fill it for Daddy and Agent Sutton?” Molly trotted off enthusiastically and Scully wondered how many cookies she was going to ‘taste test’ as she put them into the bag. Scully took Mulder’s hand and pulled him over to the couch. “Sit down, I want to talk to you.” “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have let that woman get to me.” “Mulder, I don’t care about that. I would have gladly helped you kick Mrs. Pinky Mayhew Dubord’s surgically enhanced backside down the front steps.” She looked deeply into his eyes, worried at the turmoil she saw there. “I’m worried about you. Do you want me to come with you? I have an autopsy this afternoon, but I could try to get someone else to do it.” “No. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if we find anything.” -=-=-=-=-=-