Mortus Iterum (Dead Again)
By Skinfull

Scarborough Apartments
Washington.

After unpacking the TV and VCR, and pulling a few cushions from one of the cardboard boxes that the moving men had dropped on any flat surface they could find, Sandra settled down to watch a movie with her glass of wine. The story on the screen played out easily before her but her eyes wandered around the room, mentally decorating her new home and paying the movie no attention.

Until a knock on the door dragged her back to reality. She placed her glass on the windowsill and cautiously went to the door. This was her first night in her new apartment and she hadn't met any of her neighbors yet, so she wasn't expecting a visitor.

"Hello?" she called out, reminding herself to get the spy hole put in first thing in the morning. "Who is it?"

"I'm your neighbor. I live in apartment 7H. I saw you moving in earlier and I just wanted to welcome you to the building." The voice was pleasant and friendly enough and she felt like a fool for hesitating to open the door, but something inside her wanted to keep it closed, savor her first night alone, and enjoy the peace she had been striving for. "I have a bottle of wine to welcome you...but I'll leave it out here."

She heard the sound of the bottle being placed on the floor against the door and the few steps of her new neighbor walking away. Feeling silly, she shook away her misgivings and opened the door.

"Hi. I'm Sandra Carson." She extended her hand to his, which he returned with a crooked smile.

"Hi. Welcome to the neighborhood."

She let him in and he picked up the bottle of wine on his way. His smile seemed genuine as he passed by her in an aromatic wave of soap and mild aftershave.

"Let me get you a glass."

"Thanks." He opened the bottle of wine with the corkscrew that was by her own drink and was ready to pour by the time she rejoined him. "Did you have any trouble moving your stuff in?"

"No. There wasn't much to move anyway," she laughed self-consciously, scanning the room for open boxes that might be displaying her meager belongings.

"You're not from DC are you? Is that a mid western accent I detect?" he queried, leaning on the sill as she perched on the corner of a wooden box that held her 'Pottery Barn' collection.

"Yeah. I grew up in Ohio. Moved out here for my post graduate degree."

"Georgetown University?" he asked and she noticed his dark brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled.

"Yes. The degree is in microbiology but it's boring, you don't want to get me started on that." She laughed again then saw the bag of groceries on the counter that she forgot to put in the fridge. "I'll be right back."

In the kitchen she fumbled with the milk and eggs and shoved them quickly into the fridge. She turned the corner from the kitchen and stood in the doorway to the living room as he approached with her drink in his hand.

"It's a lovely apartment you have." He sipped at his wine and walked towards the hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Not at all."

When he was gone, she took the opportunity to make the room a little more presentable. She draped some throws over a pile of boxes and aligned the cushions on the sofa. After a few minutes passed and he didn't return she became suspicious. She listened for the sound of running faucets but heard nothing. Venturing down the hall, she was about to call out his name when she realized he hadn't told her what it was yet.

"Excuse me...are you okay?" she knocked lightly on the closed bathroom door but there was no response. "Hello?" the metal door handle was cold as she turned it to open the door, …only to find the room empty. Startled, she backed out of the room into the hall where the only other door was the one to her bedroom.

She took two careful steps over to the door and slowly pushed it open. It was too dark to make anything out, but she needed to walk further into the room to reach the light switch. With her feet barely past the doorframe she stretched her hand along the wall and fumbled with the switch, blinking away the intrusion as the light covered the room.

He stood by the end of her bed, completely naked, his clothes puddled in a heap by the open window and he stood like he was in a trance, ready to jump.

"What the hell?" she mumbled as she backed away, her thoughts swimming in confusion. "What are you doing?" she yelled.

"I didn't want to get any blood on my clothes." He said simply as if it was the obvious explanation for him standing naked in her bedroom. He had taken her robe off the chair by the bed and was pulling the cotton belt free from it. After winding it around each hand in tight loops, leaving a foot length hanging loose between them, he walked towards her, snapping it soundlessly.

"Get the hell away from me!" she yelled, the power of her legs coming back as she tried to run away but he chased after her, grabbing hold of her around the neck with her robe belt and dragged her backwards into her bedroom. Her legs kicked and thrashed as she struggled to get a foothold but he was too strong and too tall. Her fingers scratched at her neck, pulling at the taut skin to get hold of the ever tightening belt but it was no use.

When he reached the bed he tossed her onto the bare mattress and rolled her onto her back. She coughed and wheezed when the release of his grip brought a sudden surge of hot air into her lungs, but as he fumbled with the tie on her sweats, the horror of the situation came crashing down on her chest, crushing her lungs and her ability to breathe.

"No, no please no!" she fought as he pulled her sweats off over her knees and left them around her ankles, trapping her feet with them. She kicked her legs wildly, the instinct for survival still strong in her until his fist came down in a crashing blow to her face, stunning her into silence for a moment.

It was then that she noticed his face. It wasn't the face of the man she had let into her apartment. His eyes shimmered black and cold, suddenly emerging green instead of the chocolate brown she had noticed earlier. His cheeks seemed to shake and move, his skin tautening around his face and suddenly she was looking into a face she had never seen before.

He held her still with one hand against her neck, pulling her against him, and the other cutting off her air supply. She soon became weak and surrounded by darkness. Her face flushed with warmth as the trapped blood flooded her cheeks. She invited the darkness in when her only other option was to see his face contort with rage.

The limpness of her lifeless body did nothing to distract him as he focused on his raging need. Replacing the cotton rope with his hands, he circled her neck and cried out in pleasure as he slumped over her.

For a few moments he didn't move, focusing on his breaths that came fast and shallow. With a sigh he rolled off her and stared up at the white peeling paint on the ceiling. The neglect and disdain for the room suddenly making him disgusted, and he jerked away from her body.

Standing back he looked down at her pale skin, a stark contrast to the dark mattress. Her body was slim but with the curves he had so admired when he had spied her moving in, now exposed in full glory before him.

He felt the growing desire churn in his stomach again and he stepped closer to touch her, but decided against it. He dry washed his face, rubbing his hands gingerly over his cheeks, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. He felt the discomfort of his skin moving again but shook it off. Crouching to his knees, he fumbled through his clothes, searching the pockets of his jeans. With his fingers finally curling around what he was looking for he moved swiftly to the body and got to work.

***

FBI Headquarters
Basement Office.

Dana Scully slowly ambled through the narrow hallway and entered the office with a curved, knowing smile. Friday at last, she thought with a sigh of satisfaction. It had been a long, slow, and monotonous week of paperwork and creative editing of Mulder's reports. His somewhat sketchy explanations of how the last bureau issue car had been totalled needed a few extra touches, and his receipts were all filed under miscellaneous.

But finally Friday had arrived. Although no fanfare greeted her this morning as she walked through the building, she felt like she was walking through a parade. Her heart beating excitedly at the prospect of a lazy weekend, her smile a little brighter than normal, and then there was the small apple Danish she'd treated herself to when she bought her latte.

At her desk, she set the coffee down and next to it carefully she placed her treat. After shrugging her coat off and hanging it onto the stand by the door she sat at the desk and ripped open the deli paper bag. The bitter taste of the latte was perfect with the sweet apple from her Danish. She sighed contentedly with every bite, settling a little deeper into her chair each time. There was only one bite left when Mulder walked in, his expression somewhat darker then her own. He'd been gone before she had woken for some reason, so she had anticipated his dark mood to greet her this morning.

His jacket had already been shed and the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up past his elbows. Scully watched him cross the room and scramble through the files on his desk before finishing the Danish.

"Couldn't sleep last night?" she asked, commenting on the empty space he had left her to wake up to this morning.

"I was sleeping fine until the sirens started," he muttered, his bad mood infecting his somber voice even more.

"Sirens?" She pushed herself away from her chair and walked over to where he still fumbled around his desk.

"There must have been a burglary in one of the houses on our block. The alarm woke me then with the sirens blaring and I couldn't get back to sleep."

"So you went for a run?" She had tripped over his sweats that had been carelessly discarded on the bathroom floor on her way to the shower.

"Yes but I was too riled up. So I came in to do some work." His voice was strained as he moved the heavy monitor to get it out of his way.

"You should have woken me Mulder." She reached out to rest a hand on his back but he moved out of her reach. He pulled out a thick manila folder from under his pc monitor, leaving it lilting to the side. "What are you looking for?"

"This." He held it up and flicked through the pages until he came to what he was looking for. Through squinted dark eyes he glanced at his watch. "Skinner wants to see us by the way."

"A case?" her voice was an octave over her normal timbre as her lazy weekend dissipated before her. Goodbye Friday night bath, she mused, hello Saturday morning in the airport, or a crappy motel in Nevada, or the morgue.

"Maybe. Agent Daly asked me for consultation on a case file yesterday and I had a look...but it seems my services are not required..." his voice trailed off.

"What case?" He passed her the file folder as he rolled his sleeves back down and fastened the cuffs.

"A woman was raped and beaten in her apartment. She died during or prior to sexual assault and there were no signs of forced entry."

"Boyfriend, husband, ex?" Scully queried as she flipped the page of the file over and started at the grotesque picture of the victim. He guided her to the elevator with a hand on her back as she quickly read over the file.

"She was single. Just moved into the city. Didn't know anyone. Lived in an apartment building on the northwest."

"There is something else, Mulder. What is it? Why does Skinner want to give us this case?"

"On the body they found...a note."

"From the killer?"

"Of sorts..." He reached for the file and flicked through the pages until he reached the end. "A quote. It was carved into the victims forearm."

"Carved?" Scully held up the file photo and examined the picture more closely. "How?"

"It's not clear. The coroner thinks with a tattooing needle but it's too clean."

"'I did this not as a sex act . . . but out of hate for her," She read from the file, "It's signed by Albert De Salvo?"

"The Boston strangler," he answered her unspoken question. "Alleged Boston Strangler. Depending on who you ask."

"A copy cat killer? After all these years?" she asked, doubting what she read in the autopsy results preformed by the M.E. on the victim.

"Insanity has no time constraints," he replied tersely as he preceded her through the hall to Skinner's office.

AD Skinner sat behind his desk, his eyes fixed on the pages before him. Without looking up to greet his two agents, he gestured them towards the chairs before him. They sat silently and waited for him to speak. Slowly Skinner closed the file he had been reading and looked up to face them fully. His fingers formed a temple before his lips and he rested his thumbs under his chin.

"I don't have time to ask the careful questions, Mulder, so I want you to tell me straight." He pushed back on his chair and stood, letting his hands find a comfortable spot on his hips. "Why did Agent Daly send this file to you? Without speaking to AD Larkin or myself," he added tersely, turning away from his agents to take a deep breath.

"He called me yesterday morning and asked me to look through it. Agent Scully was at the Coroners office filing reports and I was at loose ends so we met and discussed the case."

"Simple as that?" Skinner barked, whipping his head around to face Mulder.

"Yes sir." Mulders voice was flat, his frown deep and his eyes glazed over in thought.

"I've spoken to AD Larkin and he is adamant that you have nothing to do with this case. Can you explain that?"

"No sir." Mulder shifted on his seat, meeting his boss's eyes for the first time, but it wasn't enough to hide the discomfort he was feeling.

"Why did Agent Daly circumvent the usual channels to bring this case to you?"

"I don't think it was like that sir, it wasn't a conscious decision to bypass AD Larkin. He asked me to look at it and I did."

"Have you prepared anything for the case?" Skinner asked abruptly.

"I was working on a profile," Mulder began feeling Scully's gaze burn into his cheek. "But I've only had the case for one night. I would need more time. I have nothing but conjecture."

"You have no more time. AD Larkin is on his way up here-"

Before Skinner could continue there was a light knock on the door and Kim entered softly, AD Larkin on her heels. He was one of the oldest Assistant Directors, somewhat jaded with too many crimes and killers under his belt.

With thinning grey hair and a portly stomach, he strode across the room determinedly, his eyes locking on Mulder over the top of his half glasses. He was wearing a fashionable dark navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a plain black tie but it didn't hide the tiredness in his face or the anger in his eyes. As Kim closed the door after her, AD Skinner invited Larkin to sit down.

"No thanks. It's simple, Mulder. Stay away."

Larkin held his hand out, gesturing for the file in Mulder's hand. With only a quick glance in Skinner's direction where he confirmed the slight nod, Mulder handed the file back.

"I have more than enough agents to handle this case," Larkin blurted out, flicking through the pages in the file as if he were checking to make sure it was full. "I don't need your people making the situation any more aggravated."

"We would only offer the assistance required, but if you feel like you don't need it then fine." Skinner's lips were pulled so thin Mulder could hardly see them as he crossed his arms across his thick chest. "But you know there are no better agents more qualified to tackle this case then Agent Mulder and Agent Scully."

"It's not a damn X file Skinner!" Larkin roared angrily, "You have no jurisdiction over this case."

"Agent Mulder was consulted on this case."

"Well consider him un-consulted." Larkin shoved the file under his arm and walked towards the door without offering them a further glance.

***

Whitley Bed and Breakfast
Washington.

Out of all the rooms Michael Wilson was asked to clean at the Whitley B&B, the basement was his favourite. The room had one bare bulb hanging from the low ceiling and only two small windows, whose light was blocked by overgrown ivy. But the task of sweeping and mopping the old stone floor could be stretched out to last most of the day.

Not that anyone had asked him, he grumbled, but if they wanted this house to look older by putting in the old stone flooring, they could add more to the effect by not asking him to mop it out as often. But he preferred it to standing in the kitchen getting shouted at by the chef, and he damn well wasn't getting paid enough to deal with the public.

Down here with only his iPod for company, he could imagine he was someplace else and not worry about mopping. So far this morning he had managed to stay down in the chilled basement for almost two hours before the heavy thud of the door startled him. Choosing to ignore the faint voice he could hear calling him though his earphones, Michael mopped vigorously at the stone floor.

His head rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the music, while his fingers danced over the handle of the mop as if across the fret board of his guitar. He daydreamed of the matte black Gibson he was saving up for and that image alone helped him push the mop around.

"Michael!" he heard, the voice getting closer and angrier, but he paid no attention but jumped back as the heavy hand slapped the back of his shoulder.

"What the hell!" Michael yelled as he tugged the earphones off his head and twirled around angrily. "Christ, Jason, what ya do that for?"

"Kevin wants you up in the kitchen." Jason smiled at his visibly shaken friend.

"What for, I'm not finished mopping up down here." Michael argued indignantly as he swept his arm around the small basement.

"He says the wedding party is finished with dinner and he needs a hand washing dishes."

"Alright," he replaced his earphones and grabbed his mop roughly. "I'll be up there as soon I drain this mop bucket."

His voice rose over the music and he turned to reach for the bucket. Jason thumped his back and raced back up the stairs. Stumbling from the friendly but exuberant thump, Michael tipped the bucket over and spilled its contents on to the cream tilled floor.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as he reached for it and pulled it back into place. The water spilled across the floor and he chased it with his mop as best he could. Without really caring, he banged the mop into a stack of chairs and jumped back as they suddenly toppled to the floor. "Crap," he muttered, looking around to see if Kevin, the hotel manager, had heard the clatter.

As quick as he could manage, he picked up the chairs and started to stack them again. He hurried to get them back into place before someone came looking for him again, and pushed them up against the wall but found their pathway blocked. Hunching down onto all fours, he held his face to the ground so he could look underneath, allowing him to see a bundle stuck between the legs of the chair and the wall.

With his arms outstretched and his chest flat on the cold floor, he reached under and grabbed it. Pulling it out roughly, he kicked it aside and slid the chairs back into place. Grabbing his mop and bucket he turned to walk away, but stopped suddenly as he noticed the dark stains on his hands. The light was too dim to recognise it for what it was, but the wet feeling on his skin chilled him. He turned back to the chairs and slowly walked over to the bundle he had kicked away so carelessly only moments ago.

It was brown cloth and coarse like a potato sack, tied several times around with blue twine. Looking closer, Michael noticed the same stains on the cloth as were on his hands as he reached out for it. It was heavy and uneven and there was a strong unrecognizable smell surrounding it, clinging to the rough cloth, so he dropped it quickly on an old discarded table that hugged the wall.

"Michael, you still down here?" Kevin yelled from the top of the stairs. "C'mon, I need you up in the kitchen."

"Kevin!" Michael called without taking his eyes off the bundle. "You better get down here right away!"

"What's going on?"

"Come down!" Michael yelled out angrily and listened to the heavy thudding footsteps of his boss approaching. "I found something you should look at."

Kevin stood annoyed behind him, his hands on his hips and his brow furrowed angrily. "I have 45 guests out there waiting for dessert, this better be good," he muttered in a low impatient voice.

"I found this, hidden behind the chairs."

"What is it?"

"Dunno, but I think...I think it's covered in blood." Michael held up both his hands showing the dark staining on his skin. With careful, disgusted movements he pulled at the twine to loosen the package and pulled the sides apart.

The smell seemed to explode into the room like rotting meat and his stomach lurched. The air in his mouth was stale and hard to swallow but he wasn't about to take a breath, the stench growing sharper still, making them both cover their mouths.

Kevin held his tie over his nose and mouth and gagged as Michael pulled his tee-shirt collar up to cover his own. Carefully reaching down with slow movements he removed the last piece of cloth to reveal two human feet, two hands, and another unrecognizable piece of meat. The flesh and muscle were decaying and the bones at the joints were jagged where they had been sawed free from whoever the victim was. Blood stained the cloth on the inside and had leaked heavily through the material but it was obvious there was little of it left, although neither of them could tell how long this grim package had remained hidden where it had been found.

Michael turned away and managed to crouch over the mop bucket before his stomach protested the smell and rejected the small breakfast he'd eaten earlier.

Looking down at his hands, he suddenly realized what the dark stains were. His stomach lurched again as he turned to see Kevin examining the dismembered limbs closely. But as his boss turned to him, he saw a revulsion that matched his own and then he noticed not only the feet and the hands but also the size of them. They were so much smaller than his own.

He looked down to his blood stained hands and somehow, suddenly, his brain realized that the severed limbs belonged to a child.

***

FBI Headquarters
Basement Office.

The remainder of the day at the office was muted with a tremendous silence that seemed to suffocate them both. She sat at her desk looking at him from the corner of her eyes, but could offer him no more comfort than he had already rejected.

Watching the clock flick past four o' clock, Scully sat back in her chair and sighed. The idea of her bubble bath lingered in the back of her mind but the black mood that Mulder was permeating was stopping it from forming into a full notion.

"You want to know why AD Larkin hates me?" he said suddenly, dropping his pencil onto his desk and dragging his fingers loosely through his hair as he revived the question she had brought up a moment ago.

"Yes," she replied bluntly, focusing her eyes back on her screen.

"It's nothing really. Just a decaying hatred he has built up for me over the years." He stood to rifle through his case files, but she saw the movement as his offering of the proverbial olive branch. "You'd think a man of his age would be trying to bury the hatchet instead of keeping it festering."

"Festering over what?" Turning on her chair, she faced him fully, her interest peaked.

"It's stupid...it's nothing." He shrugged it off but his refusal to meet her eyes intrigued her. "He'll be retiring soon and I won't have to deal with it anymore!" he added.

"You make it sound like you stole his woman!" she said laughing but stopped suddenly at the look on his face. "Mulder?"

"There may have been a member of the fairer sex involved...but I had no idea she was...with him."

"I can't believe this!" She tried to cover her smile with her hand but it wasn't working. "When did this happen?"

"A long, long time ago. My second year in the bureau." Mulder admitted with a slight blush. "He was a big man on campus back then."

"Was it his wife?"

"His wife? No Scully!" he laughed at the preposterousness of the conversation but his mirth was cut off by the shrill sound of the phone. He snapped it up from its cradle. "Mulder."

After a short one-sided conversation Mulder hung up and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "That was Skinner. They found a new body. Looks like they need us after all. Ready for an autopsy?" Scully stood with him and followed him out to the stairwell without a word.

At Quantico the Lab had already been set up and AD Larkin met them in the lobby. His tie was missing and the top two buttons from his shirt had been undone. His face was clammy with a tinge of green lurking behind the surface. Scully walked in first and he extended his hand. She shook it carefully, not missing the fact that he swiftly put it back into his pocket as Mulder approached.

"It's in here," he said tersely, walking ahead into the lab allowing the agents behind him to exchange curious glances.

"It?" Mulder queried as they approached the large metal table that had been draped with a blue tarp.

"Gender is indistinguishable at the moment."

Beneath the coarse blue material she saw two feet, hands and another piece of flesh she couldn't recognise. Turning the small delicate hand in her own, she was physically sickened by the size of it. Having worked on so many cases, so many bodies and corpses, she was able to control the urge she suddenly felt to flee.

The tiny fingers that she imagined didn't have the strength to defend against attack; the small feet that she thought had kicked out in vain only to fight a losing battle. She gently placed the hand back onto the table and carefully touched the small foot.

"The body, or rather dismembered limbs of the body were found in the basement of a local Bed and Breakfast," Larkin sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel the impending headache.

"Has the rest been located?" Mulder asked, fearing the answer he was about to hear.

"Partially. The skull and scapula bones were found buried in a shallow grave behind the hotel." Flicking through more pages, he kept his eyes on the jumble of words rather then the remains on the table.

"The body..." Scully couldn't form the words to finish her sentence.

"It was fed to the wedding guests." Larkin said coolly, leaving Mulder and Scully speechless, their mouths agape.

"What?" Scully managed to choke out.

"It seems that a delivery of meat the hotel was expecting was cancelled unbeknownst to the chef, who arrived to work this morning to a fridge full of fresh meat." Larkin walked across the room to the stainless steel counter where he had placed the file. He pulled out the photos of the basement where the limbs had been found, from the back and reluctantly passed them to Mulder.

"Why would he bury the skull and save the feet and hands?" Scully queried, trying hard to tamp down her growing horror.

"Maybe he was saving them for another trip?" Larkin suggested chancing a glance at the table but looking away quickly.

"The chef accounts for 40 lbs of meat that was ingested by the wedding party but even with the skull, scapula, feet and hands there is still a considerable amount missing." Scully said mentally calculating it in her mind.

A hot, uncontrollable wave of fury washed over her, boiling her blood and clouding her vision. Her trained fingers ran over the roughly jagged edges from where the foot had been severed when it caught her eye.

"There is something written here..." She reached overhead to fix the light and pulled it down closer to the smoother flesh of the remains. Across the flat, dismembered flesh, they tried to make out the small black text.

""He told me so often how good human flesh was, I made up my mind to taste it."" She read aloud.

"Albert Fish," Mulder said by her left ear.

"Who?" Larkin asked, stepping back as Mulder pulled on some gloves and gingerly touched the writing. He watched as Mulder examined the text as if he could derive something of the writer from it.

"Albert Fish. He was a serial killer in the 1920's. The basis for the Hannibal Lector movies."

"1920's?" Larkin was clearly annoyed at Mulder's fractured thoughts.

"The last quote was from Albert De Salvo. He was active during the 1970's."

"These remains are fresh. Core temperature is still relatively high and decomposition has only just begun. I'd estimate it in the last 25 - 20 hours." Scully pulled off her jacket and reached for the lab coat that hung on the stand by the door.

"There are agents already going through recent reports of missing children." Larkin said, stepping back to give her more room as she donned headgear and a fresh pair of gloves. "We're still trying to identify the...the child."

"This guy isn't thinking about the victims. I don't think the victim is important." Mulder's voice was low and Scully wasn't sure if he meant to say it aloud or not.

"Maybe not to you Mulder, but there's a parent out there who is missing her child-" Larkin said tersely, almost eager to disagree with him. "But you wouldn't care about that," he added coldly. Scully instinctively knew that the comment had nothing to do with this current case.

"It's not about the child, or the lady in the apartment. It's about the killers. Albert De Salvo, Albert Fish." Mulder walked around the table as if he hadn't heard Larkin, peering closer at the severed limbs. "Ted Bundy, Charles Manson...Jeffery Dahlmer...John Gacy..."

"Where the hell are you going with this Mulder?" Larkin asked angrily, his face flush with the effort of remaining calm.

"It seems to me that he isn't interested in who he is killing but more how he is committing these acts."

"That doesn't help us discover his identity."

"No, not yet. But obviously he is trying to understand some of the most notorious killers in history. Get into their heads. Did you know that over 80% of all known serial killers were at some point employed for some sort of Law Enforcement?"

Scully tried to catch his eye. Tried to stop his diatribe but it was no use; he was no longer seeing the room, the autopsy lab or the other people with him. All he was focused on was the body, what was left of it. The decaying limbs, the severed foot, the plain black text.

"I think you were right about these." Mulder pointed to the limbs on the table. "They weren't buried with the skull because he was saving them."

"Saving them for what?" Larkin asked, not entirely interested in Mulder's reply.

"He said it himself here...He told me so often how good Human flesh was, I made up my mind to taste it."" Mulder stood up straight and fixed his eyes on Larkin's angry stare. "Maybe he was going to eat it."

***

Georgetown University Library
Parking Lot.

Janice Smith juggled the heavy literature books in one hand as she tried to locate her keys from her pocket with the other. Finally her fingers brushed against the cold metal of her car key and she tugged on it to free it from her jeans pocket. She winced at the scratching she could feel against her thigh as the jagged metal dragged across the inside of her pocket.

"Damn jeans, I knew they were too tight!" she muttered under her breath as she reached her car and dumped her books onto the roof. With both hands on the job now, she pulled the keys out easily and quickly unlocked the door. She hurriedly placed her books onto the back seat, slipping out of her jacket and tossing it over them.

Glancing behind her, she dispersed the familiar chill down her spine that seemed to creep over her whenever she walked though the parking lot alone. Only one other car sat in the lot and she knew it belonged to the librarian. Jumping into her old Nissan, she locked the door behind her and let out a little breath.

"Home, James," she breathed aloud as she turned the key in the ignition and listened to her engine splutter to life. The small car shuddered in protest as she shoved the gear stick into reverse and pulled out of the space. She had parked right outside the doors to the library as usual, but it meant she had to travel the length of the parking lot to get to the gate. With the sidewalks lined with trees and tall bushes, she always kept one eye on the road ahead and one eye on the pathway.

"Too many horror movies, Janice!" she chastised herself as she reached the gate in safety. She settled into her seat and fumbled with the radio before checking the traffic and slipping the car into drive. Then she saw him.

Across the road with his leg in plaster up to his hip and a pile of books spilled out on the sidewalk before him, she recognized him from the library, having seen him there many times before. They had exchanged smiles and glances but no words had been uttered in the silent sanctuary of the library.

He had balanced one of his crutches against the wall as he tried to pick up his books, but even from across the road Janice could tell he was having terrible trouble. She glanced at her watch and saw it as nearing eleven thirty. Jack would be waiting, she argued with herself but she as watched his other crutch fall out from beneath him she sighed in resignation.

Driving quickly across the double lane road, Janice rolled her window down and smiled warmly.

"You look like you could do with a hand," she said, unlocking the door and slipping off her seatbelt. Slowly he looked up and she saw his face red and sweaty with his efforts. He smiled in recognition and stood up fully.

"I'd prefer a foot but whatever you have to offer would be great," Janice jumped out of the car and quickly gathered his books. He passed her a backpack and she saw the broken zip through which they had fallen.

"Do you have another bag?" she asked.

"No, but it's okay. I'm getting the GUTS to Rosslyn station." He helped her bundle the books into the bag and tried to hold it closed as best he could

"Rosslyn Station? That's near Moore?"

"Yeah, just around the corner."

"Let me give you a ride," Janice said suddenly much to her own surprise. "I'm going right by it."

"No, I couldn't do that," he argued as he leaned back to reach for his crutch. "I couldn't impose."

"Please, I can't leave you struggling like this. It's only a few blocks."

"Are you sure?" he looked warily at her car.

"It's a tank!" she admitted, sensing his concern about her car. "C'mon, get in."

She took his book bag from him and walked around to the passenger side. Dumping his bag onto the back seat, she held the door open for him and watched as he slowly made his way around to the seat. She'd pushed it back as far as it would go and he still had trouble fitting his cast in. But eventually, and with only a little pain, he seemed settled.

Janice hurried around to her own seat and was soon buckled in next to him. She noticed immediately how his aftershave filled the car with that gorgeous masculine smell. Soap, aftershave and men, was there a better smell? She queried silently, casting him a sideways glance.

She gunned the engine, as a form of reassurance that it was still there and still needed, before pulling carefully out onto the road. Traffic around the university was light at this time of night and it wasn't long before she saw the bright lights of the metro station.

"That wasn't too hard now was it?" she said smiling as she pulled up near the entrance.

"It was a lot easier then I thought!" he admitted, shifting on his chair and facing her as much as his cast would allow.

"Do you need a hand up into the station?" She was looking out the window to the large entrance where a row of steps led to the ticket kiosk.

"No, that's okay. I think I'll be staying here."

"Sorry?" she looked around to see him holding a small gun in his hand. It was nestled against his torso and out of view of passers-by, but the barrel was unmistakably aimed at her head. "…What?"

"I want you to drive."

"Drive?" Her confusion was wild and she looked out to the metro station again. "Where?"

"Just start the car and drive. I'll let you know where to."

With shaking hands Janice pulled away from the curb and drove straight on Moore Street to Lynn Avenue, then continued north across the river back towards the university. It was all too soon that the familiar sights had disappeared, taking with them the small sense of hope she had been burgeoning since this nightmare began.

To her dismay they passed the university grounds and turned west onto Benton Street. He pointed towards the small garden park known as White Haven parkway and urged her to pull in silently. Janice killed the engine and kept her hands on the wheel. Her knuckles were white with tension as she turned slowly to see him. The hand holding the gun was lifted higher as he tugged on his cast and to her horror, she watched as it fell away from his leg.

"Get out of the car," he said tersely. Pushing open his own door he stepped out and quickly came around to meet her. "Move!"

He grabbed her elbow and dragged her towards the small park, pushing her through the broken hedge and following her with a sneer on his lips.

"What do you want?" Janice said suddenly finding the need to fight, the need to defend herself. "My boyfriend will be expecting me, he'll have called the police by now!"

"Yeah, sure." He pushed her further into the darkness and she looked up to the night sky. She could hear what little traffic there was on the surrounding roads but she doubted there was any hope that they would hear her. "Over there!"

He pushed her towards a group of willow trees and under the hanging branches. In the darkness he threw her to the ground and twisted her onto her back. She looked up to him with glistening eyes as he put the gun down and straddled her across her thighs. She wanted to buck him away but she was frozen in terror.

He smiled and ridiculously, she couldn't help but notice how nice and clean his even white teeth were. A dimple appeared on his left cheek and his eyes warmed, but as his hands fumbled at his belt she started to cry.

"No! Please! You have to let me go!" she wailed. "Please!"

She began beating her hands off his chest and twisting beneath him but he gripped her tightly with his knees and grabbed her hands. He held them up over her head, stretching his torso along hers as he did. His nose brushed gently over her mouth, her cheek, and across her eyes.

"Do you like it rough?" he whispered against her ear.

"Please...no," she whimpered, her tears flowing over her cheeks as she turned away from him.

He sat up again still holding her hands over her head and removed his belt. She screwed her eyes tightly shut as she prepared for his invasive touch but it never came. He released her hands and sat further up her torso, then lifted her head and slipped the coarse brown leather belt around her neck. He fed it through the buckle and tightened it around her neck forcing her to face forward.

She kept her eyes tightly shut to save herself from the horrible image, but as he tightened the belt they shot open wide with surprise. He forced her hands to rest alongside her body and pinned them there with his knees.

As he tightened his belt, she gasped for air, watching his smile deepen, darkening his chocolate brown eyes and lighting his whole face up. Then she watched dumbly as his eyes turned a light shade of blue and his cheeks puffed out. His skin ruffled then smoothed out to make a different face. Even his hair seemed to change color to a sandy brown.

It all seemed so unreal until her lungs burned in pain and begged for release. Her legs kicked out fruitlessly and her mouth opened for the scream that would never come.

His eyes locked almost hypnotically with hers as he tightened the belt further, and one hand reached down to her abdomen to feel the rapid beating of her heart as her life fought the resistance.

Janice wanted to close her eyes, shut out the horror, but for some reason she couldn't. She held them open gasping for the air she so desperately wanted, until finally the darkness overcame her.

***

Mulder & Scully's Residence
Georgetown

The sound of the phone was enough to wake her. It took a moment longer for her to roll towards the bedside table where the cordless set lay, but the ringing stopped before she could reach it. But it was too late. She was awake now and she knew she wouldn't get back to sleep. It was only then that she realized she'd woken to an empty bed again. Patting the pillow and the bedclothes, she could feel they were still warm.

Scully sat forward and pushed the duvet from her legs. She slowly got off the bed and padded around the room out to the hall, grabbing one of her partner's tee shirts from the chair and slipping it over her head. From the top of the stairs she could hear Mulder's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Slowly she made her way downstairs and listened as his voice went quiet then heard him coming towards her.

Stopping two steps from the bottom, she placed her hands on each side of the stairs, watching as he approached. Delighted to see him wearing only his black boxers, she smiled at his ruffled bed-hair.

"Morning," he said standing at the bottom of the stairs and pulling her a step closer, his hands on her bare thighs. His fingers brushed the edges of her tee shirt and he was thrilled to see that she wasn't wearing any underwear. "What has you up so early, Agent Scully?"

She circled his neck and leaned against him as his hands cupped her butt. "Early? What time is it?" she asked as he kissed the bottom of her neck.

"Quarter past five."

"Five?" She pulled away from him and looked out towards the window where the sun was leisurely making it's presence known. "Who was calling at five in the morning?"

"Skinner." His hands moved up her back, pulling her tighter against him, and he felt the tension coil the muscles in her back across her shoulders.

"Skinner?"

"Yeah." Resigned to the fact that they had work to do, Mulder slapped her playfully then turned her round and followed her up the stairs. "AD Larkin called him and told him about another body."

"Why did he call Skinner?" she asked as an after thought as she went into the bathroom and flipped on the shower, before pulling towels from the closet.

"He may have accepted our help on this case but I don't think he's ready yet to ask for it outright." Scully stepped into the shower and quickly washed herself down, lathering her hair with shampoo. With her eyes closed and her fingers knotted into her hair she didn't see Mulder stepping in behind her and only realized he was there when his fingers replaced hers in her hair.

"You never did explain to me why he hates you so much." She teased, tilting her head back so he could reach her better.

"Didn't I?" She realized he was stalling as he brought her head under the warm spray and rinsed it off.

"So? Aren't you going to tell?" she asked as they swapped positions and he stood under the water.

"There is nothing to tell really." He tilted his head back and let the warm water caress his face.

"I'll find out sooner or later Mulder so you may as well tell me now!" Stepping out of the shower Scully draped a warm towel around herself against the chill and watched as he pretended he hadn't heard her. He lathered his hair with closed eyes as she sat on the closed toilet and waited.

"You still here?" he jibed playfully when he turned off the shower and stepped out to grab his own towel.

"C'mon, Mulder!" her eyes sparkled as his cheeks flushed and he knew it was a loosing battle. "Sharing is caring!"

He laughed out loud, a raw chortle at her angelic expression as he soaped his face up with shaving cream. Standing in front of the mirror, he could see her watching him from the other side of the small bathroom, a determined smile embracing her lips and lighting her eyes.

It had been too long since he had seen her like that. Too long since he had put that expression on her face and, as he turned, his own smile faded.

"I love you Scully," he said suddenly serious, causing her smile to falter for a second, then it returned if somewhat faded.

"Don't try to weasel out of this one Mulder," she chuckled, glancing at her watch as she stood and walked towards the door. "Don't make me go Special Agent on you!" she added over her shoulder as she went to their room to dress.

By the time Mulder had finished shaving he heard Scully puttering around in the kitchen. No doubt making toast and coffee that she'd force him to have. He smiled, wondering how he would explain that he had been up for ages and had already eaten three of the bagels she was saving for lunch.

Looping his tie around his neck he raced downstairs and snatched a slice of buttered wheat toast off her plate before she could offer it.

"We have twenty minutes to get to Quantico," he informed her around a mouthful of breakfast.

"We?" she queried, finishing off her last slice and putting the plate into the sink.

"Well, I'll drop you at Quantico." He fixed his tie as they walked through the kitchen and took the coat she handed out.

"And you?"

"I'm going out to the precinct to meet Detective Brice who called in the murder."

***

14 Thomas Street

The dull grey of the computer screen was the only illumination in the room. With the heavy curtains drawn and all the windows shut, the air was warm and stale with the smell of rotting meat permeating every crevice. But he didn't even notice it anymore. It was part of him. Part of what he had created. The smell of victory, he decided, chuckling to himself as he raised the cold glass of milk to his lips.

He had been staring at the computer screen for so long that the words had become jumbled, insincere. After arriving home on such a high last night, he got immediately to writing, but that had been over eight hours ago and the adrenaline rush had worn off. He typed the last sentence over and over again, until the words held no meaning and he knew his train of thought could not be recaptured. He templed his fingers before him and concentrated on the text he'd written in an urge to recapture the feeling he had lost. Then started to type again.

He was a handsome, charming, urbane and extrovert graduate, who did charity work and campaigned for the Republican Party in the USA - Ted Bundy did not fit the bill as a serial killer.

And that was his great advantage.

"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God."

God? Through the creation of life we can ourselves feel godly but with death will it be the same? Do I take the role of the almighty deity?

He read aloud what he had just typed and smiled.

Saving the word file, he pushed the chair away and stood up with curling limbs as he stretched the aches away. He lifted the now empty glass from the desk and brought it out to the sink where he rinsed and left it on the sideboard to dry. Checking the clock over the stove, he noticed he still had another hour before classes began so he strolled to the bathroom and started the shower. Undressing in the total darkness of his bedroom, he grabbed a towel from the closet and stepped into the steam filled room.

After thoroughly washing himself down he wrapped the towel around his waist and stood before the mirror to shave. Slowly and with well-practiced ease he pulled the straight razor across his cheeks until it was as smooth as he desired. He splashed warm water over his face and rubbed in the moisturizer.

He took his time choosing his shirt and tie and finally decided on the white shirt with dark red tie. It contrasted wonderfully with the black Jacket and trousers, he thought as he carried his shoes downstairs. In the kitchen he glanced at the kettle as he tied his laces and decided against coffee. Wanting a latte instead, he thought he'd grab one on the way. Opening the fridge, he tried to ignore the rotten smell as he took a swig of milk from the carton before grabbing his keys and sauntering down the steps of his front door. The sun was high and bright today as he walked through the morning pedestrian traffic.

On the corner of the block was the coffee shop he often frequented. He no longer had to ask for his order. As soon as the waitress spotted him walking in she prepared his latte and wrapped up a slice of marble cake. He winked at her as he handed over a few bills and told her, as usual, to keep the change.

"Can I offer you a lift, sir?" He'd just stepped outside into the light and was blinded for a moment by the brilliance of the sun. The words, the simple gesture of kindness caused his heart to beat a rapid rhythm in his chest. He held up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and spotted Carrie Goldman in a sporty red car by the curb. She watched him with a flirty smile as her hair cascaded around her face." Professor Brown?" she purred when he didn't reply.

"Carrie, good morning," he managed to say as he deliberately slowed his breathing and tried to ignore his heart's lurch into his stomach.

"I'm just on my way to the university. Can I offer you a lift Professor?"

"No that's ok. It's only a couple of blocks. I'll enjoy the walk."

"Your parents told you not to take lifts from strangers?" she said laughing as she started the engine smoothly and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, not noticing that he didn't laugh with her as she pulled away from the curb.

***

Washington DC Police Dept
Idaho Ave

"Suspect?" Mulder queried, his voice high with surprise as they entered the exam room next to an occupied interview room.

"No. He called us last night to report his girlfriend missing." Mulder looked through the interview window to the young man who was nervously sipping luke-warm water from a plastic cup. "We told him to come by this morning and file a report."

"He hasn't officially identified the body?" Mulder asked, looking through the pictures in his hand of the crime scene that was discovered early this morning.

"No, but as he was waiting at the reception area, Detective Pearson was carrying the evidence bag from the murder scene and he recognized her belongings." Mulder closed his eyes and bit off a curse.

"Do you mind if I talk to him?" Mulder asked, remembering to ask before barging in and taking control of their investigation. He smiled inwardly with the knowledge of Scully's influence and slipped the photos back into the file folder on the table.

"Not at all."

Mulder nodded at Detective Brice and slipped out of the room. He paused a moment by the interview room door and took a breath. As he opened the door the young man looked up, his eyes red raw from the unshed tears and his arms hugged tightly to his body as if racked with a chill.

"Mr. Jack Douglas?" Mulder extended his hand and waited for him to shake it. He took a seat across from him and leaned forward, interlocking his fingers before him. "I am special Agent Fox Mulder from the FBI."

"FBI? What the hell? FBI? Where is she? Why won't they tell me anything?" His speech was slurred and rapid, quivering with the emotion he was experiencing.

"When did you last see your girlfriend?" Mulder asked, allowing him to take a breath before answering.

"Last night." Jack wrung his hands together then wiped his palms on his jeans. His eyes darted from Mulder to the large mirror that was on the wall. "I got in from work at seven and we chatted for five minutes before she left."

"Where did she go?"

"She always goes to the university library on Friday nights. A study group." He gulped down the last of his drink.

"She attends one of the local universities?"

"Georgetown. She's just finishing her degree in Chemistry."

"Do you know who is in that group with her?" Mulder pulled a notepad from his breast pocket and prepared to take the names down.

"Three of her class mates. Jerry Conway, Matt Wilson and Kate Young."

"What time does she usually return home?" Mulder walked over to the dispenser and poured himself and Jack more water.

"Usually around eleven but she has stayed as late as 1am, usually only if she has an exam coming up. She was supposed to be home last night though."

"Why do you say that?"

"We had booked theatre tickets. For the late show. The AMC was showing the Star Wars triple bill starting at midnight."

"When did you call the precinct?"

"A little after midnight. At first I was just mad at her for forgetting, but I called Matt's place and he said they all left just before eleven and that she was speaking with the librarian."

"So you began to worry?" Mulder inferred urging him to continue to speak.

"I tried calling her cell but it kept going to that damn voice mail." He sipped his drink and Mulder sympathetically watched as more tears welled up. "I thought maybe she had car trouble but I figured she would have phoned or text messaged. So I called the police. They said I had to wait 24 hours before I made a report." He sneered and rolled his eyes looking at the mirror with contempt.

"So you came down first thing this morning?" Mulder prompted.

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep much so I was down here by five this morning. They made me wait a couple of hours and as I was waiting I saw a cop carrying in Janice's backpack."

"You are sure it was hers?"

"Yes. I made it. I'm a graphic designer," he added at Mulder's quirked eyebrow. "It has a design of a dragon on the back of it and some Chinese writing on the side."

Mulder looked at the mirror and nodded. Within ten seconds there was a light rap on the door and it was immediately opened. Zip locked in a large evidence bag was a navy blue backpack; the dragon design just as Jack had described on the back. He pulled the bag closer and began to open the evidence bag.

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that. It is still being processed," Mulder said kindly, placing his hand over Jack's to stop him tearing open the plastic barrier.

"Processed?" the expression of confusion on Jack's face was so innocent that Mulder had to look away. He removed the bag from the table and passed it back to the officer who had carried it in, swallowing hard.

"This morning at four fifteen there was a female body discovered at Whitehaven Parkway."

"A body?" Jack barely whispered as he slumped back in his chair and Mulder watched as the color physically drained from his face.

"The physical description matches that of Janice Smith. Her car was found a few blocks away."

"Can… can.. I see her?" Jack's tears fell loosely about his face, streaming across his cheeks and blurring his vision. His voice cracked as he sat up and tried to regain control of his emotions but Mulder could see he was fighting a loosing battle.

"Of course." He patted his arm sympathetically, " I'll arrange everything."

The scraping sound of the chair disguised Jack's sobs as Mulder pushed away from the table and left the room. Detective Brice was waving at him to join him from across the room.

"Agent Mulder, we might need your help with this one!" Detective Brice said as he held his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and lowered it from his angry face.

"What's that?" Mulder asked as he crossed the bullpen towards him.

"Library security won't release footage till we get a warrant." Brice handed him the phone and Mulder took it with a grimace, wishing immediately that Scully was here to smooth out this stuff.

"Hello?"

"You need a warrant to get it, I don't care," Came the terse reply from the other end of the phone.

"This is Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI."

"I don't care if you are the goddamned Pope. Call me when you get your warrant." To Mulder's surprise the phone suddenly went dead. With a bewildered smile he passed the receiver back to Brice who was shaking his head slowly.

"He said we should call back, with a warrant."

"And with a few more choice words too I'm sure! What an asshole." Brice rolled his eyes heavenwards.

"I'll sort out the warrant and collect the footage. I want to see if maybe the librarian will remember Janice. Can you get someone to call these three? Apparently she was studying with them last night." He ripped out the page of his notebook and handed it to Detective Brice.

"Sure. I'll take Douglas to the morgue to officially identify the body."

"Okay. Will you call Agent Scully first to make sure she's ready for viewing?"

"No problem."

***

Quantico Autopsy Lab

Dana Scully pulled the latex gloves off quickly and tossed it aside. Rushing over to the counter, she grabbed a notebook and pen and hurried back to the cold body on the slab. She pressed the record button on the recorder again and reached overhead to aim the light for a better view of the text, before carefully jotting it down.

"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God!" she read aloud. "The text is clearly written in a soft text that appears to have been tattooed on with great care. No residual bleeding on the fresh wound either suggesting it was post mortem. " She turned to find her phone when it began ringing and smiled as she spotted his name on the ID display.

"Mulder, how do you do it?"

"Pure skill mixed with raw unadulterated manly talent," came the quick reply.

"I was just about to ring you." She said glancing down at the page in her hand.

"You found something?" She could hear he was driving; she hated talking on the phone with him while he was driving.

"Yes. On her belt buckle I found some calcium sulphate hemihydrate, CaSO4*1/2H2O. According to the local police chief I spoke to a moment ago there were traces of it in her car too."

"And that would be?"

"Plaster of Paris."

"Did she have a broken bone?"

"Not according to her recent medical records."

"What else?" He asked knowing she was holding more.

"Another quote," she said, and then read it aloud for him.

"Ted Bundy," he came back immediately.

"Where are you going Mulder?" she asked finally, realizing he was still driving.

"Back to the Hoover building. I need to get warrants to secure video footage from the university library. There is a young man coming to identify the body soon. Will she be ready?"

"Yes. I'm done here." Scully glanced sadly over at the body on the table and mentally calculated the time she'd need to make her ready for viewing.

"Okay I'll pick you up on the way to the library."

***

Georgetown University

The students filed out quickly, racing through the corridors to make it to their next lecture. Michael Brown watched them silently making sure each student dropped their report on his desk as they filed by. Most of the girls cast hopeful smiles in his direction but he paid them no heed, watching the reports pile up instead.

"Professor?" turning slowly to his right he saw Aimee Traxler approaching his desk rather sheepishly. She clutched her folder to her chest and fixed her eyes on a point on his cheek, refusing to make eye contact with him. "Sir, I was wondering if I could get an extension."

"Extension?" He toyed with her, enjoying the way the muscles in her face scrunched up with nerves.

"I didn't get time to finish my report. I've been working so hard at the paper this month that everything got away from me." She knew she was babbling now and she tried to stop the flow of clumsy words that cascaded from her dry mouth but she couldn't help it.

"Is my class too difficult for you Aimee?"

"No sir, it's just the time-"

"You had no time put aside to do your report?"

"I had, sir, but the paper kept calling me about the bodies they found in the city, they needed articles on it and its my job, I need the money to pay the rent." Aimee's cheeks burned hot under the curious gazes of her fellow students as they watched her squirm.

"The report was due today. You have until 3pm to have it on my desk. No later."

"Sir!" Aimee began but he had gathered up the pile of pages and turned to leave the room.

"3:00 pm Aimee. No later or you will fail my class. Now run along."

"Yes sir," came her soft defeated reply.

Michael Brown stepped through the corridor, his face clear of the thrill he was feeling. He loved his job, the constant interaction with students, and the mixture of emotions of fear, happiness, joy and confusion that emanated from the students on a daily basis.

He stepped into his office and locked the door behind him. Folding all the reports he held, he neatly fit them into the trashcan before sitting at his desk and reaching for the red folder from the bottom drawer.

Slowly he opened it and flicked through the pages towards the end. With an orange highlight marker he ruled lines across a name on the list -- Ted Bundy, then added yesterday's date and a computer filename after it.

***

Georgetown University Library

Scully climbed out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs. After being in the autopsy lab all morning she welcomed the stinging breeze that tickled her throat and wafted through her hair.

"This guy was on a major power trip this morning," Mulder said mockingly as he fiddled with the warrant in his hand and pulled his badge out of his pocket.

"He was within his right to demand a warrant, Mulder."

"Maybe, but when its someone's life, its annoying as hell."

They walked through the main doors and Scully stood back a little as Mulder slapped the warrant purposefully on the reception desk and held his badge out to the baffled looking receptionist.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I'm here to collect the video footage from your CCTV cameras."

"You'll need to speak to Kip, let me call him." With trembling fingers she dialed through to the security office and spoke quickly. After replacing the receiver she looked up to Mulder and nodded. "He is on his way down."

Mulder turned to Scully and took a few steps closer.

Kip. He mouthed soundlessly in her direction, and then rolled his eyes.

"People in glass houses…Fox!" she replied and he grinned.

Just then a small door to the left of the entrance opened quickly and a small stout man with receding hairline and an expanding waistline marched over to them. Mulder held his badge out stiffly and handed him the warrant.

"We need to collect the footage immediately. Any hesitation on your part will result in immediate arrest."

"This way." Kip stiffly led them through the door and into the security hub where a bank of televisions covered one wall.

"Can we see the footage from last night?"

"What time?"

"From 10 pm to 4 am," Scully butted in and leaned forward, resting her hands on the console to get a closer look.

The footage whizzed by and at precisely 11.24 the unmistakable figure of Janice Smith left the library and hurried to her car. Scully watched the monitor as the body she had been examining all morning was brought to life on the grainy black and white screen. She was seen unlocking her car getting in and driving off the scene towards the gateway.

"Nothing. You?" Mulder asked.

"No."

"Do you have anything from a different angle?"

"No sir, we cover the door and the grounds, but nothing else on the entrance."

"I need that tape."

Kip ejected the tape and passed it over to Mulder with a crooked smile.

"Sorry about earlier but we get a lot of crank calls from the students."

Mulder grudgingly grunted his acceptance then left, Scully smiling in his wake before following him quickly. She found him leaning against the tall reception desk speaking softly with the librarian.

"She was in here last night with four students. Left at about 11.30. Do you recall her?"

"No, I'm afraid not." The librarian was visibly shaken and Scully appreciated the soft tones Mulder took with her, easing her through his questions. "Has something happened?"

"We're just tracing her whereabouts. So you don't remember her?"

"I'm afraid we get so many students in this time of year. With thesis studies and exams on…" her voice trailed off and Mulder slipped his card across the marble surface.

"Well, if anything comes back to you, let me know."

"I will."

Mulder smiled and turned to walk out the large double doors. However, instead of climbing into the car, Mulder walked away from the building towards the entrance at the road.

"Mulder?"

"If she made it to her car safely, then how did he get in her car?" he mused aloud to no one in particular. "The plaster was in her car so he must have been in it before the murder. If it was afterwards he would have driven the car further away."

Scully followed him and they both walked the short distance to the gateway. Across the road they spotted the bus stop and little else. The buildings were mainly residential with little or no security measures in place.

"You know Ted Bundy used to have a fake cast. He would put it on his leg and pretend to be injured to lure women into his car, under the guise of helping him."

"You think that's what he did?"

"We saw her get into her car. She made it. There was no delay when she got in that would indicate someone was waiting for her in the backseat." He watched the traffic for a break then raced over to the bus shelter, Scully in tow. "It's possible he was waiting here for her."

"Mulder, maybe in the 70's you'd stop to help a stranger but not nowadays."

"Maybe he was someone she knew. Maybe that's why she stopped." Stooping low on the ground he spotted two white marks that looked like chalk on the pavement "See this?"

Scully rubbed her fingers across them and brushed the tips of her fingers against each other. She glanced up at Mulder with a knowing look, then took a tissue from her pocket and brushed it roughly over the markings. As she slipped the tissue into a concealed evidence bag, Mulder pulled out his cell phone and called for a crime scene unit.

***

FBI Headquarters

Sitting in the meeting room, Mulder swiveled gently from side to side on his chair watching the door and waiting for Agent Larkin to make his entrance. Next to him Scully was reading over her autopsy report, knowing she would be asked to go over it aloud, dumbing it down for non-medically trained agents.

"Do you think this is for my benefit?" he asked softly, leaning towards her and resting his elbows and forearms on the table.

"Don't be so hedonistic," she said without looking up. "He is trying to make an entrance, assert his authority. But I don't think it is purely for your benefit."

"Maybe not," Mulder conceded, leaning back on his chair to swivel some more.

Just then the door swung open admitting AD Larkin's confident gait. He had shed his jacket and had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows but his tie remained securely fastened to his collar.

"Okay, what have we got? Autopsy, Agent Scully?" he said as he crossed the room to the top of the table, his eyes focusing on the sheets of paper in his hand. He offered no one a look and barely gave the impression he was listening.

"Janice Smith died of asphyxiation. She was strangled with a leather belt with a steel buckle. I found bruising on her torso and abrasions on her hands to suggest that she was restrained with her arms by her side. Possible he straddled her while choking her." Scully spoke loudly and clearly, looking straight at AD Larkin.

"Any text on her body?" Larkin asked glancing up at her over the rim of his glasses.

"Yes sir. A Ted Bundy quote. "'You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation is God."" Scully let her words sink in before continuing. "Also on her belt and in her car I found traces of calcium sulphate hemihydrate ." She saw the bewildered looks on the agent's faces then added, "Plaster of Paris."

"Ted Bundy used fake leg casts," Agent Daly supplied.

"We obtained the security footage from the University Library this morning and confirmed Janice Smith left at 11.24pm. She got into her car and drove away from university property safely," Mulder spoke up.

"However, across the street at a bus stop Agent Mulder found traces of calcium sulphate on the pavement. We called a CSI unit immediately."

"On the scene?" AD Larkin looked over to Agent Jones who was heading up the CSI Unit.

"We found the calcium sulphate but little else. Cigarette butts and hair samples we took are being processed for prints and DNA but it was a public bus stop, so there is no guarantee they belong to our perp."

"We interviewed several drivers from different bus routes who would have been at the bus stop between 10:30 and 12 and some of them remember seeing a man on crutches." Agent Holwel added. He pulled from his folder a picture and passed copies around the room.

"Approx. 6 foot 2, 170 pounds. Light brown hair well trimmed and well dressed. He had his left leg in a cast from hip to ankle and was carrying a backpack of books. He didn't get on or off any of the buses and was leaning against the wall."

"He was spotted at 10:20 by a bus driver named Damien Wright but wasn't there at 10:10 when Maggie Marks drove by."

Mulder stared down at the picture before him. There was nothing remarkable about this man. No distinguishable scars or marks on his face that would make him easily noticeable. His eyes were open wide and Mulder stared into them intensely, wondering what made him do the things he did.

"So what's next?" AD Larkin asked the room.

"I'm meeting with Detective Brice in half an hour. He was interviewing her study partners," Mulder offered.

"We are waiting for results to come back on the prints and DNA."

"Okay then. Get to it." Larkin stood up and watched as the agents gathered their files and left the room. "Agent Mulder, a word."

Mulder cast Scully a wary glance before turning back to the table. He dropped his files on the table but refused to sit down. When the last Agent had left the room and closed the door behind him leaving them alone, AD Larkin slowly took his glasses off and folded them into his breast pocket.

"If you ever go over my head to authorize a warrant and a CS Unit again, I will have you busted down so quickly…." Larkin ground out angrily, his hands spread out on the table before him and his eyes boring into Mulder's.

"Sir?" Mulder faltered.

"You continuously try to undermine my authority and I won't have it. Once more Mulder…just try it again and you'll regret it."

Larkin stood stiffly and stalked from the room, leaving Mulder staring dumbfounded after him. He leaned back against the table and watched as Scully re-entered the room.

"What was all that about?"

"He just wanted to chew me a new one for getting a warrant for the video footage and calling the CS unit without his authorization. A job he should have done but didn't. "

"What?" Scully said surprised, leaning back next to him.

"He's just not going to let it go."

"Let what go Mulder. What did you do? Why does he hate you?"

Mulder looked over to her and knew it was time to tell her. Regardless of how embarrassing it would be.

"Okay. I'll tell you on the way to the precinct."

Mulder led the way silently to the car and pulled out into the midday traffic without uttering a word. Scully let him drive a couple more blocks before turning to face him.

"Well?"

"Huh?" he said in mock confusion glancing at her sideways.

"Tell me, Mulder. Spill."

"Okay." He pulled up at a red traffic light and drummed his fingers rhythmlessly on the steering wheel. "It happened years ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard this bit…second year in the bureau…what happened?" she teased, smiling at his obvious discomfort.

"It was at the Directors Christmas Ball. Back when I was still out to impress and attended those god awful events."

Scully laughed, knowing his disdain for those nights now.

"I attended with a friend of mine from the academy but she quickly hooked up and left me to fend for myself."

"Poor you."

"I know! Well, I was at the bar, I started talking to a woman and she actually fell for my clumsy attempt at conversation. We laughed and talked for a while then I asked her to dance. I'm not sure why. It must have been the whiskey talking." Behind them a car beeped them to move with the traffic and Mulder slipped the car into gear and took off. He concentrated on driving for a while longer then continued talking.

"We pretty much danced for most of the night and as everything was rolling up to an end, I felt a finger tap my shoulder."

"AD Larkin?" Scully guessed.

"Agent Larkin at the time…wondering if he might spend some time with his date..."

Scully covered her mouth with her hand in mock shock.

"Right in the middle of the dance floor," Mulder said, "She started to explain how she had attended the ball with him only as a friend and now wanted me to escort her home."

"Oh Mulder!"

"Needless to say AD Larkin was livid. To his credit he didn't do anything further that night but ever since he has had it out for me."

"And you and this mystery heart breaker?" Scully inquired teasingly, "did you make it worth her while?"

"I never kiss and tell Scully!"

Scully laughed sensing there was more to that story than he was letting on. More to the mystery woman than he was willing to reveal but she didn't push, Mulder looked embarrassed enough. Even more surprising was the childish grudge of a grown man like Larkin.

***

Fort Totten Park

Michael Brown watched from the back of the crowds. His eyes scanned the room for the long silky blonde hair he craved. He could already feel the silky strands between his fingers and he felt himself hardening at the prospect of making it real. Thankful for the cover of darkness as he ambled through the park, he worked his way through the crowd that had gathered for the midnight concert by the local orchestra.

The music was soulful as it drifted through the still night air. Most people had brought blankets to sit on but some hovered near the back, content to listen to the sounds while standing. The carefully executed performance across the grand piano stalled even Michael's thoughts as he halted a moment to immerse himself in the haunting music.

Then he saw her.

She sat alone on a red and blue checkered blanket with tasseled endings. Spread out on it next to her was some music sheets and notebooks that she scribbled things down whenever the mood struck her.

Michael circled slowly around her in a wide perimeter to get a better view. From the front he could see the pale complexion of her beautifully clear skin. Her eyes he couldn't make out but decided to examine them closer when he got the chance. Her hands moved fluidly along the music sheets as she noted down the sounds that drifted over her, the riffs that touched her and the thoughts they provoked.

Perfect, Michael thought, wondering how he would sit next to her, strike up the conversation and get her alone. Then with a sinking heart, he watched as another man approached her. With two glasses of wine in his hands, he crouched beside her and proffered one glass towards her. He couldn't hear their words but from the surprised expression on her face it wasn't an expected intrusion. She declined his offer of the glass of wine and gestured towards the work she was doing, before smiling warmly at him as he turned and left.

Michael wasn't sure if he was glad that she was still alone or worried now that he might get the same reaction. For a moment longer he watched the crowd, then as the couple that were sitting next to him rose to get some more wine from a vendor behind them an idea struck him.

Quickly he gathered up their blanket and walked away from the crowds. Back at his car, he took a notebook and a pencil from the glove box and folded the blanket carefully under his arm. Shedding his coat, he loosened his shirt collar and tie and made his way back to the park in a seemingly random route. When he approached her from behind, he avoided all contact with her and secured a spot on the grass to the left and just in front of her.

Laying the blanket out before him, he took the notebook out and started to line the pages with the five recognizable lines for music notation. When he had the page fully lined, he summoned up all the musical lessons he could remember and started to take note of the melodies that played around him.

He had filled the first page and was beginning to line the second page when her voice called out to him softly.

"Excuse me?" He ignored it the first time and concentrated on lining his page as best he could, delighting in her persistence. "Excuse me?"

"Me? Were you talking to me?" he half turned to her inquiringly.

"I see you are taking note of the music."

"Trying to. I forgot my music note book, so I'm trying to make do."

"I can give you some sheets if you'd like." He turned fully towards her with an easy smile and watched as she pulled out some pages of her notebook and handed them out to him.

"Thank you, that would be great."

"No problem. Nothing worse then the homemade music bars!"

"I'm Joe by the way." He took the pages and held out his hand.

"Stephanie."

Feeling he was near her limit of intrusion he smiled warmly at her and turned back to his work, hoping she wouldn't want to compare notes at the end.

When the orchestra had finished playing and the crowds began to slowly dissipate, Michael took his time gathering up his things. He couldn't help but notice that she was stalling too.

"Beautiful, wasn't it?" he ventured as he folded his blanket clumsily.

"Yes. They played a lovely rendition of Brandenburg's concerto."

"Quite."

"Do you play?" she asked.

"I play piano and dabble in violin but I wouldn't say it is suitable for human consumption." He laughed and she smiled with him. "You? Do you play?"

"I used to play violin with the national orchestra in New York but not anymore."

Without realizing it, they began to walk away from the park towards the bank of cars near the entrance. Michael deliberately slowed their pace hoping the crowds would be lessened by the time they got there.

"Oh? Why not?"

"I was in a car accident a couple of years ago. Broke my hand and severed my nerves." Her voice was steady as she spoke but he caught the glint of regret in her eyes.

As they crossed the parking lot, she fumbled in her pocket for her keys and opened the driver's door.

"It was a pleasure talking with you, Joe."

"And you." He watched as she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt, then screamed inside with triumph as she rolled the window down.

"Is your car here?"

"No, I'm staying in a hotel a couple of blocks away. The Plaza."

"Can I offer you a lift?"

"No, that's okay I couldn't impose."

"It's no problem. It's the least I can do for a fellow music lover."

He climbed in beside her and smiled as she drove off. She parked across the road from the hotel and accepted his offer of a nightcap in the hotel bar. They claimed two comfy seats near the back of the room and sat close sipping wine and talking softly. The bar staff topped up their drinks without being asked and soon Stephanie was surprised to see the creeping rays of daylight color the city streets outside.

"Oh my, it's late."

"Or early," Michael added, moving his hand from her knee, where it had rested most of the night, to her cheek.

"I better go," she said softly but made no move to do so.

"Stay," he whispered, kissing her cheek where his fingers had just stroked. "Stay with me."

One arm snaked around her shoulders pulling her closer and the other crept up her knee to her thigh and circled her waist. She slid easily onto his lap sitting sideways with her head on his shoulder. He bent slowly and kissed her warmly. His mouth was warm and wet against her lips and she sighed into the kiss, parting her lips for him and allowing him to kiss her deeper.

"Will you come upstairs to my room?" he asked in between the butterfly kisses trailing her neck as his lips covered as much of her skin as he dared in this semi public area.

"Yes," she panted.

He slid her off his lap onto her feet and followed her closely. Taking her hand, he led her through the empty bar and lobby to an elevator off the lobby. Once the door closed, offering them more privacy than they had all night, he pressed her to the elevator wall and pushed his body against her.

She couldn't help the desire that coursed through her as he squeezed her breast through her blouse, nipped at her ear lobe, and licked her neck in small teasing strokes. The elevator ride was all too short to the fifth floor. He all but pulled her out of the confines and along the hall to his room.

Once inside, all the resolve disappeared as they hungrily shed clothes. His shirt and tie fell next to her skirt and blouse. Her underwear came off so easily, the silky material slipping against her satin skin to the floor in a luxurious puddle.

"Joe," she breathed softly.

"Shhh," he urged as he dropped the rest of his clothes and peeled off his socks. "Don't say it. I'm not used to the passion you bring out in me. I've never done anything like this before."

"Me neither."

He knew they were the words she wanted to hear. The words she longed for, of reassurance.

***

Plaza Hotel

Detective Brice paced the floor of the ornate lobby until he spotted Mulder and Scully walking in. After shaking their hands, he gestured for them to follow him. They all took the elevator to the fifth floor where a smaller lobby greeted them. There was no receptionist at this one, only a phone, a fire extinguisher, and several shelves of towels and pillows for guests' use. Also to the left of the elevator were two doors marked with the familiar male and female signs for restrooms.

"The body was found at 11:03 am today, by another guest." He opened the door to the female restrooms and stood before the middle stall. The door had been removed off its hinges and was leaning against a different wall. The entrance was blocked off by yellow police tape.

From her pocket Scully pulled out a pair of latex gloves, slipping them on easily. Mulder held up the tape for her to step under and she crouched low over the body.

The body was completely naked, twisted and contorted around the toilet. The ligature marks on her neck was unmistakable, so much that Scully could make out the individual finger marks.

"According to the night staff she arrived with a registered guest, Joseph Toucan, at about 1 AM. They went into the hotel bar and stayed there till about 4. By that time they had gotten real pally, if ya know what I mean."

Mulder turned towards the opening door to see AD Larkin stride in.

"The receptionist has ID'd the photo fit as Joseph Toucan. But all research points to that as an alias." Larkin's words were loud and hurried, his anger at being so close, bubbling to the surface over the calm exterior of his FBI persona.

"Do we have an ID for her?" Mulder asked reaching to lift the tape for Scully to step out.

"Hotel surveillance has them walking in from across the street. There is a car out there that they might have arrived in. We're running the plates right now."

"She died from asphyxiation. He placed his hands around her neck, both hands, strong and brutal. There are eight finger marks around the back of her neck and two thumbs on the front at her larynx. But she hasn't been dead that long. It couldn't be more then a couple of hours."

"Any text like the other victims?"

Scully looked carefully over the body again and on the inside of her thigh she found the small black lettering.

"For me a corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me" She read aloud.

Just then the cell that was clipped to Brice's belt crackled to life startling them all.

"Brice here, what is it?"

"We ran the plates and found the owner."

"Wait a sec…" Brice switched the phone over to speaker. "Okay go ahead."

"Stephanie Adams. The license picture is of a female, five foot eight. 120 lbs. Blonde, brown eyes."

Brice looked up to Scully who was nodding slowly in confirmation of the description.

"Lock up that car, don't let anyone get near it."

Mulder was already out the door; he skipped past the elevator and raced down the stairs. He had made it across the street and was already leaning into the car when Scully and Larkin crossed the road behind him.

"Mulder, don't contaminate that scene. I have the CS unit on the way and I don't want to waste any time tracing DNA from your god damned hair!" Larkin yelled at him.

Mulder ignored him and continued to check the contents of the car, his trained eyes scanning quickly over the discarded letters and pages until they fell across the leaflet that rested on the dashboard.

"Midnight Concert by Washington Orchestra at Fort Totten Park," he read aloud, pulling himself out of the car and standing up straight next to Scully. "This was last night. If she didn't arrive at this hotel until after one then maybe she met him here."

"That's about 9 blocks away," Scully said, already pulling the keys out of her pocket and backing away.

"Let's go," Mulder walked away and stopped only when Larkin grabbed his arm.

Silence bristled between them and the tension crackled, but Larkin nodded slowly and released him.

***

Fort Totten Park

The park was deserted with only a few remnants that the concert ever happened. Scattered flyers advertising the concert, discarded food wrappers and other detritus, with two park rangers cleaning it all up.

The car lot was empty and Mulder ran across the grass to the nearest ranger to speak to him. He produced his badge and held it up.

"Fox Mulder, FBI." From the inside his jacket he retrieved a folded copy of the photo fit sketch and a grainy photo from a security camera and passed it to the ranger. "Did you see this man here this morning?"

"Yes I did!" He watched as Scully joined them and flashed her badge.

"Where?"

"He came in through the north gate and got into a car over there. Then he drove off…looked to be in a real hurry too."

"You're sure it was him?" Scully asked.

"Yes. I noticed the car when I got in this morning, only one here. He looked kind of odd too, troubled. I like to people watch. Interesting hobby, that's why I remembered."

"What time was that?"

"About eight thirty. We like to get this park real clean before anyone else gets here. And with the concert on last night we knew the place would be a mess. His car really caught my eye, ya know. It was a vintage."

"What make?" Scully asked, opening her notebook.

"1967 Ford Mustang, midnight blue."

"Did you get the license?"

"Yes." He watched both agents as Scully jotted the license plate down and smiled her gratitude. They exchanged glances and seemed to have a whole conversation without uttering a word. "What's all this about?"

"Thank you for your time." Scully cut in as they backed away and raced over to their Taurus. Mulder was already revving the engine and spinning out of the park while she dialed Larkin's number. She quickly relayed all the information they had and waited on the line as he barked orders in the background at the crew who stood around him. She heard him shout at two agents to locate the owner of the Mustang and bring him into the local precinct, then he came back to her to tell her the body of Stephanie Adams was en route to Quantico.

***

14 Thomas Street

Michael Brown latched the door behind him and rested his back against it. His breathing was heavy and labored as he moved through the room and raced into the bathroom. In the mirror he watched as his face contorted back to his own familiar features and laughed. A deep throaty laugh that gurgled up from the pit of his stomach and shook his shoulders.

He could still feel the pressure of her neck, the thrill from the feel of her pulse beneath his fingers and he stared down at them in astonishment, unclenching them from the fists they had been during his transformation. Crossing the room to where he kept his PC, he booted it up and began typing.

'John Reginald Halliday Christie was a typical "repressed" lust killer who could achieve satisfaction only through rape, murder, and probably necrophilia.

Christie's motives were sexual; he admitted strangling one of his victims during intercourse. He related how he had invited women to the house and having got them partly drunk, sat them in a deck chair, where he rendered them unconscious with domestic coal gas. He then strangled and raped them.'

Michel leaned back on his chair as he typed, reliving the moment over and over in his mind, then slowly the Cheshire grin spread across his lips like a slash from a blade.

"For me a corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me."

He interlocked his fingers at the back of his head and sighed satisfactorily. The words flew out of him in a way he had never experienced. Never before had the passages for his writing been so succinct and accurate. Never before had he felt the rejuvenation of life course through his body like a river.

Ever mindful of his work, he saved it and closed the file. As the sensations began to fade he went over to the fridge and selected the bag of meat he'd was saving. Saving for moments like these, moments when he needed to feel it and maintain that precious high for a little longer, a littler stronger.

The pan was already on the stove, greased and dirty from the last use. He thought of cleaning up a bit but decided against it. When the oil was at boiling point he dropped the meat into the pan and stood back as it splashed up hot sparks of fat.

He knew it wouldn't be long now. He knew he'd been sloppy and careless, but that was the way it had been done. Bundy, Christie and Fish, they all left hair, DNA, semen and other evidence behind. His dissertation wouldn't be valid if he had cut corners, changed the routines.

He grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. Flicking through the various channels until he found the news, he waited. Waited for the report he knew was coming.

His meat feast was almost done when the newsflash appeared. The picture of the muted newscaster suddenly changed to the onsite reporter who stood across from the Plaza hotel. Michael turned up the volume and waited in anticipation for the bulletin.

"The body was found in the public restrooms on the fifth floor. Police have yet to release any information on the victim until next of kin can be contacted but we have Special Agent Mulder from the FBI with us."

The camera panned to the left where Mulder stood, a grim expression on his face. In his hands he held a small file and Michael stared at it, the smile on his face widening. Absently he stirred the meat in the pan and inhaled the delicious aroma of cooked flesh.

"We have gathered considerable evidence today." Mulder admitted vaguely as the newscaster asked more questions.

Michael turned back to the stove and forked the meat onto a plate. Moving across the room he perched himself on the edge of the couch and took a bite of his meal. It was medium rare, and he loved the pattern the blood had left on the plate, mesmerizing him as though an ethereal message was held within the gruesome image.

He observed Mulder as he spoke with clear confident tones, the agent avoiding eye contact with the camera, instead addressing the interviewer. More questions were fired at him but Mulder offered little or no information, opting instead to excuse himself from the interview.

The reporter continued speaking into the camera but Michael's eyes moved with Mulder who had moved with large strides into the background to converse with a small red headed woman who he assumed was another agent. Michael smiled, chewing on his next odious mouthful.

She's perfect. It won't be long now, he thought.

***

The Plaza

The garage of the plaza was strewn with SWAT members and CSI Agents. AD Larkin was standing over the table upon which a map of DC was spread out. Scully stood with Detective Brice at the doorway and turned as Mulder approached, offering him a sympathetic smile.

"What have you got?" Mulder asked Brice, nodding at the pages he was showing Scully.

"We've run the plates and turned up a name and address. Michael Brown 14 Thomas Street."

"Professor Michael Brown? Professor in psychology at Georgetown University?" Scully said then added, "SWAT Team is ready, and AD Larkin wants to speak with you," Scully told her partner as she fixed on her bullet proof vest, slipping her suit jacket over it.

Mulder accepted the vest she handed him and carried it with him as he crossed the room to where Larkin was barking out last minute orders to the SWAT members standing around waiting.

"This has to go smoothly, quickly and without any screwups." Mulder cringed at the stereotypical moral boost but made no comment. The desired effect seemed to be working as the SWAT members fanned out to their various units.

"Sir?" Mulder said as he pulled off his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. "Agent Scully said you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, I need you to go back to the Hoover building and copy this warrant." Larkin held out the folded page and waited for Mulder to take it.

"Sir?" Mulder's fingers stalled over the Velcro strap he was fastening.

"Judge Waterman failed to provide us with enough copies." Larkin sneered smugly, watching the battle of reactions play out on Mulder's face.

"But sir the-"

"Agent Mulder, are you disobeying my direct order?" Larkin stood up a bit straighter and spoke loud enough to be sure to be overheard by other agents.

"No Sir," Mulder said firmly after a moment's hesitation. He took the warrant with a tight smile and walked back to Scully, angrily tugging his vest off on the way.

"Mulder, you have to put the vest on."

"No I don't." he dropped it onto the chair beside them. "I'm not going on the raid."

"What?"

"AD Larkin wants me to go back to the Hoover building to sort out this warrant."

Before Scully could ask any more questions, Larkin called for attention from the entire room. He barked out the orders to each team leader and stressed the importance of this raid. Mulder stood at the back of the room watching with growing anger. When the time came the men and woman all poured into the waiting vans. Scully followed Brice to the police car and shot a look back at Mulder. His eyes were sad, underlying worry making them bright. She nodded her assertion to his silent plea to keep safe then shut the door and buckled up.

The garage cleared so quickly that Mulder found himself standing in the swirl of dust the vans kicked up in their wake, his feet glued to the floor and his anger palpable.

***

14 Thomas Street

Michael stripped down to his boxer shorts and raced through the hall to the fire escape. He hurried down the metal stairs and ignored the sharp pains in his bare feet as he pushed on to the floor below him. The fire door was stuck and he roughly shoved his shoulder against it. Finally on the third attempt he managed to swing it open, bashing it against the wall inside.

Moving quietly through the hall he counted the doors down to Apartment 7. He took a moment to smooth out his hair and slow his breathing before knocking carefully on the door.

"Who is it?" came the frail reply.

"Mrs. Leeson? It's me, Professor Brown. I seem to have locked myself out of my apartment. I know you have the set of skeleton keys."

"Michael? Is that you?"

He waited as the shuffling footfalls came closer to the door. The latch on the door rattled as she released the chain. Michael braced himself for the push and watched as the door handle moved. With all the force he could muster he pushed himself off the opposite wall and rammed into the door.

With a scream Mrs. Leeson fell back from the door, smashing her head against the wall behind her and falling to the floor. Michael rushed in after her and slammed the door shut behind him. He dragged her dazed body to the bedroom and laid her out on the bed. She struggled to come to for a moment but then passed out.

Michael went back to the door and waited.

***

Outside the unmarked vans screeched to a halt on the curb and all the agents poured out. Scully followed the lead team into the building as the others secured the surrounding area. The vest she was wearing constricted her breathing but it offered her the comfort she needed to continue. She followed the orders of the team leader and hugged the wall to the elevator. With her gun outstretched she covered the hallway as the other agents got into place.

They raced up to the first floor in a well-trained fluid execution and held position at the bottom of the stairway to the second floor. They had all studied the layout of the building on the way over here so everyone tensed as they started the ascension towards Brown's apartment.

Scully covered the stairway again as the various agents silently stepped up into position. She waited for her signal to go and moved swiftly and silently when it was her turn. Radio silence was kept throughout the maneuver, the team relying solely on hand gestures and trained instinct.

As they curled around the apartment, Agent Smith stood to the side and gestured for the battering ram to be readied. He slammed his fist against the peeling paint and called out.

"FBI, open up."

After a few seconds when no reply came Smith stood aside and watched as two agents rammed the door open and let the SWAT team barge in. The room swam in pandemonium as the agents cleared out the small apartment.

"Living room, Clear!"

"Bedroom, Clear!"

"Kitchen, Clear!" Came the quick replies as they swept through the apartment. Scully stepped aside as they went through the quick process and followed them through at the end. The first thing that hit was the foul stench that clung to the air. She coughed and covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she stepped further into the apartment.

"No one here," Smith relayed to her. He pulled the radio from his pocket and called to the other teams to report in.

Scully checked slowly through the room; trying desperately to ignore the disgusting odor , she switched her trained eyes on her surroundings. She noticed the PC with the empty shell where his hard drive should be, the plate of half eaten food on the floor beside the couch. With her latex gloves in place she bent closer to it and touched it. It still felt warm.

Her mind reeled in horror as her eyes studied the meat. The curved bite marks, the sharp rips where his teeth had cut into the flesh and the pink of the half cooked meat.

It wasn't meat, she realized suddenly, it was human flesh.

Fighting revulsion as she put it back down she stepped back and found herself in the small kitchenette. The smell was stronger now as Scully forced her legs to step further into the room. It seemed to be permeating outwards from the fridge.

With her mind screaming in protest, Scully pulled the fridge open and swallowed back the taste of bile that exploded into her throat. Each shelf was packed full with bags and bags of unrecognizable meat. The bags were tied loosely and Scully could make out the rotting flesh from the groundswell of smell they were creating, infested with maggots and lying in pools of congealed blood.

She slammed the fridge door shut and stepped out of the kitchen. In the living room Agent Smith was rearranging the other teams to start a search of the building. They all seemed to be oblivious to the stench. No one made a comment about it or covered their mouths. Smith asked Scully to team with Agent Bryson and told them to start on the first floor.

The relative fresh air in the hallway was a welcome relief. She took a few lungfuls as they descended the stairs to the first floor. She noticed that Bryson looked a little green around the edges too and smiled.

As they approached the first door Scully pulled her gun free from it's holster and held it rigidly by her side. Bryson crossed the door and nodded to her that he was ready.

He lifted a fist to the door and knocked on it heavily. "FBI OPEN UP!" he called out. It opened partially and Scully glanced to see a small elderly man peering fearfully through the gap.

"Sir, can we come in?" she asked, showing him her badge. With trembling fingers he opened the door and stepped aside as the two agents swept through his small apartment. They spoke quietly as they walked carefully through the apartment, then left when they were satisfied it was secure.

"Thank you sir. Lock the door after us," Bryson said as they stepped back into the hallway. "One down eleven to go."

***

Michael Brown watched the distorted figures of the two agents as they entered the apartment across the hall. Through the peephole he could make out more then just the periphery. His body tensed as they came back into the hall and stepped over to the door. Scully seemed to glare through the peephole and stare right at him but he knew that was impossible. With the kitchen knife held firmly in his hand he stepped back from the door and braced himself against the wall.

The heavy thumping of the agents at the door startled him even though he was expecting it. Blood roared through his head and made his hands tremble. He forced them to still as the agents knocked again.

Mentally he counted to three then took in a deep breath. He held it in, burning his lungs and causing his eyes to water as he waited for them to burst through the door. As if on cue, Agent Bryson smashed through the door and held it open for Scully to race in. She held her gun up and walked trough the hallway into the living room. She checked the kitchen and bathroom and then stepped into the bedroom.

Spying the elderly woman on the bed, she raced over to check her pulse. It was weak and thready. The blood stained the pillow behind her head and her breathing was shallow. Scully took the cell phone out of her pocket and called Detective Brice.

"Brice," he said, answering the call on the first ring.

"Brice, this is Agent Scully. I'm in a first floor apartment with Agent Bryson. I have a woman hurt and needs medical attention."

"Which number?"

"Apt 7"

"Okay, they are on the way."

As she hung up the phone she could hear him calling out orders to the medical squad that were standing by.

"Bryson! Get in here!" she called out as she noticed the woman's breathing was faltering. "Bryson!" Scully called out then looked up as the bedroom door opened slowly. Instead of Bryson standing in the doorway it was another SWAT member.

"Get over here! Where is Bryson?" Scully shouted out pulling him down beside her where she knelt at the bed. "Hold this!" Scully pressed his hands onto the cloth that was pressed against the lady's head wound. "Keep pressure on it."

"Bryson's gone back."

"Do you have a radio on you? Call Agent Smith." Scully pressed her fingers against the woman's neck to feel for a pulse but there was nothing.

"No I don't."

"Shit, I'm losing her," Scully pressed her ear to the lady's chest and listened to the faint breaths.

Mrs. Leeson stirred on the bed rolling away from the intrusive hands that tried to help her. Her eyes flittered open and she spotted him.

Michael Brown leaning over her. His smile was curved and cold as it spread across his face.

"No…nnnoo," she murmured trying to get away. Two strong hands held her down by her shoulders as she turned to see a small red haired woman standing over her. The stranger's voice was soft and gentle as she spoke but the fear she felt building inside stole the comforting words from her as she spotted her evil tenant rising.

"We're here to help. Can you tell me what happened?" Scully asked trying to draw the elderly woman's attention.

"No!" Mrs. Leeson called out, staring wildly at something over Scully's shoulder. She flinched as Michael lifted his gun over his head. Scully turned to see what was scaring her and came face to face with the butt of the gun as it smashed into her temple.

**

FBI HEADQUARTERS

Mulder walked past Kimberly without a word and stalked into Skinner's office. The words he was ready to spew out in anger died on the tip of his tongue as he faced an empty room.

He swirled around on his heel and faced a bemused Kim who stood leaning on the doorjamb.

"Where's AD Skinner? I need to talk to him." Mulder ground out trying to hold back his anger.

"He's gone looking for you. Where is your cell phone Agent Mulder?"

"It's…" he patted down his pockets but didn't find it. "It's in the back of a police car." Kim quirked her eyebrow at that admission. "Where did Skinner go….I.. ?" Mulder asked but before he could finish his question the phone rang and Kim reached over the desk to answer it.

"AD Skinner's office."

Mulder waited patiently for the call to end and watched as Kim's face turned ashen. Her eyes slowly turned towards him and fixed him with such a look of sympathy and suddenly he knew that call was for him. His heart lurched into his throat as he stared at Kim holding the receiver out to him, his pulse roaring in his ears. Everything moved in slow motion, his mind clammed up with a dense fog; his hands grasped the phone without realizing it and pressed it to his ears. It was hard to form words over the lack of breath.

"Hello?"

"Agent Mulder." It was AD Larkin. "I was calling for Skinner."

"What happened?" Even his own voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

"He got away." Larkin sighed shakily into the phone and Mulder instinctively knew he had more to add. "He's taken a hostage."

This time Mulder felt the blood drain from his own face. Without listening for more, Mulder handed back the phone and raced out of the room.

He sprinted through the corridor to the FBI garage and was fumbling in his pocket for his keys when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, he saw Skinner running towards him.

"Mulder! Wait!"

Mulder tugged the right key free and unlocked the car. He gunned the engine and was surprised to see Skinner jumping into the passenger seat beside him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner shouted pulling on his belt as Mulder careened out of the garage and onto the street. "Mulder!"

Mulder ignored him and focused on the traffic. Weaving in and out of the cars took more concentration than his mind was prepared to offer.

"Mulder! You won't get near this case. You're too close."

"Too close?" Mulder scoffed.

"She is going to be okay," Skinner offered but Mulder made no reaction.

"The area is surrounded with over fifty SWAT members. They won't be going far."

Mulder reached over Skinner and grabbed the cell phone out of the glove box. The spare that Scully insisted he carry. Thanking God she had forced him to keep one in the car he dialed an old familiar number from memory.

"It's not the geography I'm worried about." He pressed harder on the accelerator and sped through the streets, ignoring Skinner's white knuckled grip on the dashboard as he waited for a reply.

"Lone gunmen."

"Frohike, I need you to get some info for me."

"Mulder! Stranger! You missed the best session-"

"Frohike, listen!" Mulder's urgency bit through the banter.

"What is it?"

"Professor Michael Brown. Professor in psychology at Georgetown University."

"What do you want on this guy?"

"Everything. I'll call you in one hour." As Mulder held the phone away from his face to press the end call button, he heard Frohike's protests.

At the apartment block he screeched to a halt and raced through the throng of onlookers to the perimeter. He flashed his badge at the agent on duty, who lifted the tape for him, allowing him to enter. Mulder found AD Larkin immediately and grabbed his shoulder, twisting him around.

"What the hell happened?" he shouted in Larkin's face before other agents pulled him away.

"Agent Mulder!" Skinner came up behind him and brushed the restraining agents away.

AD Larkin straightened his jacket and turned to face Mulder.

"Get him out of here!" he said coolly and quietly, staring Mulder straight in the eye.

"I should have been here! You bastard!" Mulder went to lunge for him again but the grip of Skinner's strong arms held him back and turned him away. With the aid of the burly AD, Mulder was forcibly removed from the crime scene and back towards his car.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner barked, his fury plain in the tone of his voice as he pushed Mulder against the door of the car. Mulder didn't reply and concentrated only on his ragged breathing. "Do you want to get fired? Is that what you're after?"

"I have to find her." Mulder's heartrending whisper cut through Skinner's anger like a raw wind. "I should have been with her!"

"What the hell happened? Why weren't you on the raid?" Skinner asked looking over his shoulder angrily, checking to make sure Larkin was still across the road.

"AD Larkin," Mulder bit out the name with contempt, "sent me back to the Hoover building to sort out the warrant." He moved his feet, shifting his weight from side to side as he glared across at Larkin.

"Agent Mulder, I'll deal with him. I want you to go home. I want you away from this crime scene and out of harm's way while we deal with this situation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir-!" Mulder started to argue but the sting of disappointment in Skinner's eyes crumbled his words to dust.

"I know what you're thinking, Mulder, but you'll only make it worse. Get out of here and I'll call you with any new developments." Without offering him the solace Mulder begrudgingly expected, Skinner turned and walked away.

Mulder let his head fall back onto the roof of the car with a soft thud. He closed his eyes from the glare of the morning sky but her image burned there tauntingly.

"Agent Mulder? You okay?"

Mulder looked up to see Detective Brice approaching slowly.

"Been better." He straightened up away from the car and pulled the drivers door open.

"She called me." It took a moment for Brice's words to sink in.

"What?"

"She called me to get a medical team up to an apartment. They found someone who had been injured."

"They?" Mulder asked realizing he was stuck in monosyllabic mode.

"She was working with Agent Bryson." Detective Brice stepped closer and placed his hands on the hood of the car as if he needed the help to stand.

"Bryson?"

"She called for medical assistance. But when we got up there she was gone."

"Where was Bryson?"

"They found him dead. He had been stabbed through the neck. Didn't have a chance. Also…"

"What?" Mulder urged. Could this get any worse?

"His uniform was gone. Brown had taken his uniform."

"That must be how he got close enough to take her." Mulder muttered aloud, his mind clicking into overdrive as he started to fit the pieces together. Clues he didn't realize he had, corners he didn't know he'd turned. He reached into the car and grabbed the cell again and hit the redial button. Brice looked on in confusion as Mulder got into the passenger seat and urged him to jump in to the driver's.

"Frohike, what have you got?" Mulder snapped on his seatbelt and pointed west.

"Nothing. This guy is clean. He has an alert on his record that was put on this morning but I'm guessing that was why you were calling me."

"Yeah. You have nothing for me."

"Nothing. He has been working at Georgetown University for the past four years. Exemplary record, had papers published and is considered a brilliant mind in the criminal psychologist field."

"What papers?" Mulder asked and turned to Brice. "Go to Georgetown University."

"In 1998 he published 'Criminal Serial Killers and the Forces that guide them', 'The mind of the Sane Serial Killer' in 2001, He goes off the map then for a while and emerges early last year attempting to publish another paper entitled 'Genetic Killers' in which he claimed loftily to have broken the genetic code of the mass murderer."

"Jesus, how did he move from psychology to genetics?"

"Well, there was a four year gap."

"Long enough to study genetic biology and break the gene code?" Mulder said skeptically.

"No. His paper was never published and he resumed his position at the university."

"Seems he was doing more there than just teaching classes."

"Mulder, I'll keep looking but it doesn't look too promising."

"Okay Frohike. Let me know if you find anything."

Mulder hung up the phone and slipped it into the inside pocket on his jacket. He rubbed his shoulders off the seat back and glanced at Brice.

"If he was an employee at the university of Georgetown then why didn't his finger prints come up with a match for the ones we inserted into the database?" Brice asked suddenly, with his head cocked to the side and his frown deep. "All educational employees have background checks and prints taken."

The question stumped Mulder, and he paused a moment in thought before snatching his phone again and quickly dialing a number.

"Gerry, it's Fox Mulder," he said as soon as he heard the call clicking into place.

"What can I do for you?"

"The prints you ran for me? What level search did you use?"

"A level four. All records including state and military as far as security clearance will allow."

"Does the system check for prints if the record belongs to a deceased criminal?" Brice looked over at Mulder at his strange question but quickly turned his eyes back to the road.

"No. The system was designed to move all prints belonging to the deceased to a separate folder. It needs to be searched separately."

"Will you run the prints again?" Mulder asked, his heart lurching a beat with the adrenaline boost that usually came with one of his spooky leaps as it coursed through his body. "Run all the prints we lifted from all the scenes and check them against the records we have dating back as far as 1900's."

There was a an incredulous pause, a sigh and then… "Okay, I'll get it started right away."

"Call me as soon as you find something…anything…no matter …"

"No matter how weird…I know, Mulder. You got it. I'll call you."

"What are you thinking?" Brice asked as he pulled the car up outside the university hall and looked over to Mulder.

"What if…what if the reason we didn't find a match for his prints was because his prints kept changing."

"Changing?" Brice looked over skeptically but followed Mulder's lead as he jumped out of the car and over to the University Reception.

"With each crime scene we found a lot of prints, but none of them linked the separate scenes. The only thing that linked the bodies were the quotes."

Mulder stalled a moment to scan the board of directory. He spotted the name Prof. M. Brown and noted the room number. Racing through the hall with Brice on his heel, he hurried into an elevator and repeatedly stabbed the button for the third floor in his urgency.

"But fingerprints are…they are unchangeable, Mulder! It's not like you can produce new ones. If anything, he had an accomplice."

Mulder looked over to Brice and briefly thought of explaining his theory, but decided against it. When the elevator doors started to open he rushed forwards, exiting at the first opportunity. Brice raced after him, but they both pulled up short as they turned the corner and spotted the two Agents on guard duty outside Brown's office.

"Agent Mulder," one of them said as he approached. "We were told to expect to see you."

"Excuse me," Mulder said as he sidestepped around him, but the guard put a hand on his chest.

"We have orders not to let you in here."

"Sorry?" Mulder looked up.

"AD Larkin called and left orders."

"You've got to be kidding?" Mulder's anger flared as he started to argue but the Agent on duty looked away. "He is impeding this investigation."

"It is our understanding that you have been taken off this case," the larger Agent muttered sneakily.

"Taken off active duty even?" the other one added.

Brice chose that moment to step in and move Mulder aside.

"I am still on this case. And I'm pretty damn sure the bureau doesn't want a territory