Solo By: afg Rating: NC17 for graphic violence, sex and expletives. Category: Casefile, Scully/other, MSR Disclaimer: Not mine and no money is being made. Summary: While Mulder is suspended and on medical leave, Scully gets assigned to Violent Crimes. Thanks: To audu2, for giving her time and much needed skill, also to Xangel for help and encouragement. For: The delightful AnubisKV5. See what your simple request has unleashed! Bet you're sorry now. Feedback: Would be lovely. siggy.63@btinternet.com Website: www.ofnoconsequence.com Note: This story is set season 5 before 'Travellers' but it doesn't follow canon. ~oOo~ Chapter Seven Apartment 19 Paxton Place Julian Street Baltimore Maryland 6:30am Alice watched as he walked out of the apartment, and automatically went to the door and slid home the deadbolts. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It seemed as though there had not been enough air in the room since he'd come around last night. She wearily pushed herself off the door and went to the bedroom. She was so tired, all she wanted to do was lie down and curl in on herself and sleep, but the bed smelled of him; she felt bile rise up at that thought. Quickly she stripped the sheets and pillowcases and shoved them in the laundry basket. She could still smell him and something else, something that smelled like old cooking fat. Her stomach rolled and she clapped her hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom. Falling to her knees before the toilet, she emptied the contents of her stomach with violent, gut wrenching heaves. She panted and rested her clammy cheek against the cool porcelain. Finally she found the energy to stand up. Her legs felt rubbery and her thigh muscles trembled as she walked to the shower and turned it on. She took off her thin robe and stepped under the hot spray. Reaching for the shampoo she squirted a large dollop onto her palm and began to massage it into her hair and scalp in an almost frantic manner. The previous nights' events kept popping up in her head, making her flinch. She'd been so fucking stupid, she'd baited him and he'd taken great pleasure in showing her the error of her ways. She finished washing her hair and rinsed her head under the water. She squeezed the bottle of shower gel and began to soap her thin body, wincing as she washed the abused flesh between her thighs. The pain a reminder of how the evening had begun. He'd come over at about ten. He'd been happy; almost manic in the way he'd greeted her. She'd made him a cup of coffee and sat with him on the sofa while he drank it. He'd done the usual, asked her about her day. He always wanted to know about what happened on Days of our Lives and all the other interminable soap operas he insisted she watch. She knew that it was just another of his ways of keeping tabs on her. How she hated those soap operas with their overblown portrayal of everyday life. They hadn't a fucking clue what everyday life was like. She often thought she should write in and give them a few pointers. Maybe a really juicy pedophile story would keep the viewers entertained. She hated them all, almost as much as she hated him. They'd gone to bed and he'd started off gently with her, but, as usual, he'd ended up fucking her with a brutality that left streaks of crimson down her pale thighs. She could almost tune out the feel of his body pounding against hers but she could never tune out the noise. The grunting and the words he used. She had long been used to being called all sorts of names during her time on the street with Vince, but no one had ever made her feel the way he did. His words covered her like a layer of slime, making her skin crawl with the shame of it. When he'd finished he'd rolled off her, sweating and panting and telling her she'd been so sweet, so good. He'd gathered her to him and spooned up behind her holding her close. She'd laid with him in the dark, running her fingers across the thin well-healed scars on her wrists, longing for it all to be over but knowing that, even in death, he would have his way. The first and only time she'd tried to escape him, he'd taken her to a local kindergarten. They'd sat on a bench opposite the playground and watched as the small children played on the Jungle Gym and squealed with delight as they'd scooted down the slide. He'd pointed to a little girl with curly blonde hair. "Do you see her?" He'd asked. She'd nodded. He'd picked up one of her bandaged wrists and kissed it. "She's very pretty isn't she?" Alice had nodded again. He'd been right she was very pretty, her smile, bright. Sweet innocence had shone from her eyes. "If you kill yourself Alice, I'll take that little girl and I'll fuck her. I'll split her in two and then I'll peel her pretty, pink skin off. Then I'll squeeze the life out of her and send her to you for company. Would you like that Alice, to wander around the next world with that sweet little girl?" She remembered as if it were yesterday, sitting there on that bench, tears running down her face, watching the little blonde girl, knowing that she'd be responsible for her torture and death at the hands of this man. Alice believed in an afterlife, she knew she'd never be fortunate enough to find that death was final. Last night, as she'd been held in his arms, his warm body wrapped around hers; she'd longed for oblivion so much that her chest ached. So, she'd asked him about the murder. "Did you kill that woman they found in the park?" She'd felt his arms clench tighter about her. "Have you been watching the news, Alice? You know I don't like you watching news." He'd warned her not to watch programs like that. No news channels or documentaries, just movies and soap operas. "I saw the FBI people." "Did you now. I'm very disappointed in you Alice." She'd felt his fingers brush through her hair. "Did you kill that woman?" Her heart had been beating so fast she had been sure he must have felt it. "Alice, I thought you knew me better than this. I thought we had an understanding. Do you have some quaint notion that if you push the right buttons I'm suddenly going snap and kill you in a rage?" She'd kept silent. "You know, Alice. I don't feel tired at all. How about I take you out for a drive, would you like that?" "No...please." She'd felt cold sweat break out all over her body. "Good, we'll do that. Get dressed Alice. Wrap up warm, it's cold tonight." He'd driven them downtown, towards the station yards. He'd parked beside a tall, wire fence, which they'd walked beside for a few yards before he'd found a gap that they could squeeze through. The night had been still and very cold, there was no noise, save for the sound of their footsteps. He'd walked them over to a derelict warehouse. She'd thought that he must have been here before because he knew exactly what he was looking for, or rather, who he was looking for. She'd thought that that part of it was the most terrible. The idea that he'd chosen the exact person who would pay for her latest mistake, that this person was living on the whim of one man. In some respects, Alice thought he sometimes seemed almost godlike. "Here we are." He'd pointed to a pile of old cardboard and dirty bits of cloth. He'd kicked it and a startled grunt had sounded from within. "Come on out, old man, I have something for you." She'd watched as slowly a head appeared. He'd looked old, but she'd suspected he was younger than he'd looked. His life on the street had added more years than he'd ever need. She'd watched the man's runny, bloodshot eyes light up as the bottle was waved about in front of him. "Do you want this?" he'd said as he'd dangled the bottle in front of the derelict. The old man's hand shook as he'd reached out for the bottle. He'd pulled back clumsily as his benefactor started pouring the contents over the mess of cardboard and cloth surrounding him. The sound of a match being struck was obscenely loud in the stillness that surrounded them. She'd turned away from the confused old man, cowering in his little kingdom of rags, to look at the man beside her; his face had been illuminated by the small flame. He'd been smiling, enjoying himself. She'd watched, paralyzed, as he'd flicked the match towards the old man. "No!" she'd cried out and started to rush forward towards the derelict. She'd felt strong arms around her waist, easily holding her back. The screaming from the old man had sounded inhuman. The smell of burning cardboard and human flesh had been thick and cloying, it had stuck to the back of her throat. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." She'd found herself chanting. "Do you see Alice? This is your fault. If you'd just been a good girl this would never have happened," he'd told her when the noise from the old man had stopped. " I don't know why you make me angry Alice. I love you, you know that; look how well I look after you." He'd turned her around in his arms so that she was facing him, the heat from the burning body had made his cheeks pink and he'd looked ridiculously boyish. He'd had a relaxed expression on his, face almost post-coital. "Well, that was a pleasant diversion, but I have to work tomorrow. Let's get back to your place and get some sleep." They'd driven home and he'd undressed, first her, then himself and they'd got into bed, with him curled around her once again. "You'll be good now, won't you Alice." He'd whispered in her ear. "Yes." Alice jumped as the water suddenly turned cold, breaking her out of her thoughts. She turned the shower off and got out. Toweling herself dry, she padded into the bedroom and got dressed. She went into the living room and turned on the TV, she turned up the volume, but nothing drowned out the sound of the screams in her head. ~oOo~ Mulder's Apartment Alexandria. Washington DC. 7:15am "Shit." Scully muttered to herself, as she realized what the time was. She got up off the couch and groaned. A freestyle jazz quartet seemed to have taken up residence behind her eyes, and were jamming for all they were worth. She could hear the sound of a radio coming from Mulder's room. She'd spent the better part of the night alternating between fury and self-pity, hot tears emerging unbidden from her eyes. She'd finally got to sleep sometime in the early hours. She dragged on her robe and walked over to the kitchen and started up a pot of coffee. Then she made her way to Mulder's bedroom. She knocked once and entered. "Morning Scully. You okay?" Mulder ventured with the same tone of voice she'd heard him use to talk down dangerous lunatics. She wasn't sure how she was feeling this morning, physically she felt like crap, mentally was another matter entirely. "I'm late, I need to check you over." She pulled back the quilt to reveal his long legs. She manipulated the toes of his injured leg, making sure that the circulation was good. She moved to his upper thigh and gently palpated the flesh exposed at the top of the cast. "Any muscle spasms?" "No, Scu..." "How's your lower back feeling." She addressed her question to his cast. "Scully, please." If you want you can do a little more walking around the apartment with your crutches, just don't over do it and don't put any weight at all on that leg." She pulled the covers back over him and stepped back. "I'll get you some fresh water and you can take your meds." "Fuck the meds, Scully. Just talk to me." He'd had enough of the doctor, patient routine. "If you want to talk, my mother will be over in a minute, you seem to enjoy talking to her quite a bit. I don't have the time. " She picked up his water glass from the night stand and went to the bathroom. Mulder watched her go. He didn't know this Scully, he was used to her anger, he even enjoyed it in an odd way. There were few things more intriguing to him than sparring with an indignant Scully. Her tongue was sharp and quick and her eyes so alive it made the rest of the world seem pale and uninteresting. This Scully seemed dulled as though someone had come along and turned the contrast control way down. Scully came back with his glass topped up, she handed it to him and popped the cap on his meds shaking the required dose into his palm. They both turned to the door as the sound of someone opening the apartment door. "I'm going to take a shower." Scully informed him and disappeared back into the bathroom. After a few minutes Maggie Scully popped her head round the door. "Morning Fox. Has Dana left already?" "No, she's taking a shower." "Did you have a bad night, you sound tired?" Maggie walked over to the bed. Mulder looked up at her. "She knows about our little chat." "Oh, I see." Maggie perched herself on the edge of the bed. "Let me guess, she wasn't very happy about it?" They could hear the hum of a hairdryer start up in the bathroom "That's putting it mildly." Mulder scrubbed his face with his hands. "She won't talk to me, I was thinking that maybe you could try. I'm worried about her, Maggie. I know she's been unhappy lately but I'm at a loss to know what to do." "I doubt I'll have anymore success than you, she just so damn stubborn, but I'll try." The both looked up as Scully emerged form the bathroom all ready for work. She gave her mother a mirthless little smile. "Hi, mom. I've told Mulder that he can use his crutches a little more, so, if he wants he can go into the living room, but make sure he doesn't over do it." "All right, honey." She said, trying to make eye contact with her, but Scully was not playing. "I've got to go, I'm running late." Scully walked into the living room, Maggie followed and watched as Dana picked up her briefcase. "Dana, are you angry with me?" Scully didn't look at her. "No." "You never could lie very well." Maggie smiled. "Mom, could we not do this now. I've got to go to work." Scully said as she put her coat on. "All right, Dana. When would it be convenient for you?" Maggie wasn't going to let her off the hook. "Mom. I can't deal with this right now. I'm in the middle of a case. I just don't have the energy. If you want to talk, talk to Mulder. You two seem to be getting on like a house on fire." "He's worried about you, so am I." Maggie ignored the bitter tone of her daughter's voice and walked towards her. "There's no need, I'm fine." Scully backed away towards the door. "Dana, you don't seem fine to me. I'm sorry if I stepped out of bounds, but I needed to know what's going on. You are my daughter, I want to help you." Maggie looked at her with eyes that begged for understanding. "Mom...I can't...I'm sorry." Scully turned and walked out of the apartment as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. "That didn't go quite the way I'd planned." Maggie sighed. ~oOo~ Violent Crimes Section FBI Headquarters Washington DC 8:55am The drive in had been hellish. Heavy traffic had held Scully up, until the throbbing behind her eyes threatened to expand into a full-blown migraine. The office was buzzing with activity as she walked in. "Agent Scully." Agent Hicks looked up as she walked in. "There's a team meeting in five minutes. AD Skinner's organized a press conference this afternoon. The SAC wants all his ducks in a row before he faces the mob." "The day just keeps getting better." Scully said as she sat down at her desk. "Alarm didn't go off this morning?" Hicks grinned at her sympathetically. "Something like that." Scully booted up her computer bringing up the file on Kyle Roberts, she'd had an idea. Checking his date of birth she picked up her phone. "Hi, Jen, it's Agent Scully. I need you to run a name for me... I know...I'll be over in VCS...That great, Thanks, Jen." She put the phone down just as Prebetich came out of his office. "Okay people lets get on with this." Prebetich moved to stand in front of the large corkboard on the far wall. The board was filled with crime scene photographs and pictures of all four victims that their families had supplied, showing vital young women smiling into the camera. "Jessup, you've been doing the interviews with the staff at 'Bete Noir'. What have you got?" Jessup opened his notebook. "I've got three members of staff who remember seeing Jocelyn Mount dancing with a dark haired man. The club owner, Brian Thewlis, identified the man as Paul Stockton who frequents the club on a fairly regular basis. None of them, however, recall seeing Tessa Platt leaving the club and no one saw her talk with anyone other than her friends." "She apparently talked to a man outside the ladies room, nobody saw this?" Prebetich asked. "No, nobody remembers seeing her do anything other than sit with her friends at the bar." "Okay, any luck in tracking down the club's clientele that evening?" "The club's owner told me that on a Sunday the club is open to non members and on those nights he gets a lot of newbies to the scene, so he wasn't familiar with any of the customers other than Stockton, who, according to the club owner, likes to trawl for, in his words, 'fresh meat.' I asked if Stockton's behavior was ever inappropriate, and he told me that he was always well behaved and was never any trouble." "Did you show him the other victim's pictures?" "The club's only been opened for two years so I showed victim number three, Mary Dowd's picture. He doesn't remember seeing her at the club, but that's not to say she wasn't there, it's a while ago." Prebetich nodded in agreement. "What about the parking lot, did anybody see Tessa getting her car?" "No luck. Baltimore PD has been canvassing the area. It was a Sunday night, it was quiet." "Okay, Jessup, keep at it. I want as many customers that were at that club contacted and interviewed." Prebetich looked over at Hicks. "Stockton. What's your take on him?" Hicks shrugged his shoulders. "He's tricky to get a handle on. He's very cultured, very cool. He wasn't flustered by my questions. In fact he almost seemed amused." "How's his alibi?" "Not good." Hicks looked in his notebook. "He says he left the club after dancing with Jocelyn Mount. He went straight home and went to bed, alone. There's no one to verify his whereabouts." "Background check?" "Just done that. The man's a saint apart from one incident back in 1995. Get this; a woman named Patricia Wood accused him of assault after an evening spent at a private club in Baltimore. She said he grabbed her and tried to force her into his car. She later dropped the charges saying that it had been a misunderstanding. I called the officer who had been investigating the case and he reckoned that Stockton had paid the woman off." Hicks closed his notebook with a flourish. "Is that so?" Prebetich grinned. "Okay, let's get any information we can on this guy. I want to know everything from his favorite color to what he has for breakfast." "What about surveillance?" Hicks asked. "Let's see what we can dig up on him first. With staff and funding the way it is, I need to present a solid case for funds for a full surveillance routine." He turned his gaze on Scully. "What did you find for Roberts?" Just then Scully's phone rang. "Excuse me a moment." Walking over to her desk she picked up the phone. "Scully...You're kidding?...what happened?...Okay, Jen, that's a big help, thanks for being so quick." Scully turned to Prebetich. "Roberts isn't really Roberts at all." Prebetich raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You have my attention, Scully." "His actual name is Bruce Taylor. Originally from Santa Monica, he was adopted at the age of twelve when his mother and father and two older sisters were killed in a house fire. The police suspected arson but they could never prove it. Young Bruce was the only one to survive." "Well isn't this a morning for revelations? What about his juvenile record?" "Under California law, Juvenile records are sealed when a child is adopted. In essence they're given a clean slate. Even the adoptive parents wouldn't know if he'd been in trouble." Prebetich made a dismissive hand gesture. "Well, let's work on getting them unsealed." He smiled at her. "What about his alibi?" "Flimsy. I traced the phone number he gave me of the woman he was with. It turns out that his lady friend was so stoned she could barely remember her name never mind who she slept with on Sunday night." Prebetich "Okay. We've got some good leads, let's make sure we cover all the bases with these guys. If one of them is our killer, I don't want him slipping through our fingers because of sloppy procedure. Let's get it right." Prebetich gave them all an encouraging grin. The agents returned to their respective desks. Scully sat down with a tired sigh and massaged her throbbing temples. "Agent Scully, are you all right?" Scully glanced up to see Prebetich looking at her. She immediately straightened up. "I'm fine, just a bit of a headache." He dug in his pants pocket and tossed her a small blister pack of Advil. "Thanks." "You're welcome." He smiled "I suspect we'll all need a few more of those before this case is over." She nodded and watched him walk back to his office. The horrible irony was that this case was the only thing taking her mind off the real reason for her headache; a packet of Advil wasn't going to anything about that and she hadn't a clue what would. ~oOo~ Mulder's Apartment Alexandria Washington DC 2:00pm Mulder sank carefully onto his sofa with a relieved sigh. He'd been hobbling about his apartment trying to exercise his stiff muscles. He was slightly alarmed to find how easily he tired. "It'll be the pills that you're on, Fox." Maggie Scully walked into to the living room she'd been watching him from the kitchen. "Once you're off those you'll feel more lively, I'm sure." Mulder smiled at her. "I was just going to watch the news. The agent in charge of the case Scul...Dana's working on is giving a press conference." He pointed the remote at the TV and it blinked into life. "It's that terrible murder on Druid Hill. The serial killer?" Maggie shuddered. "Yeah." They watched as the News came on and went straight over to the Hoover building for the press conference. Prebetich and Skinner and a press liaison officer that Mulder vaguely remembered from the Doran case, were all sat behind a long table covered with mike stands. "Do you know him?" Maggie pointed to Prebetich. "No, not personally, but I've heard of him. He used to work White Collar crimes I think." Mulder thought that Prebetich came across very well. He was calm and friendly and managed to talk his way around the questions he didn't want to answer. "A born politician." "Sorry?" Maggie looked at him. "I was just thinking aloud." Skinner was his usual brusque self, bristling as a reporter accused the FBI of under funding the investigation. A reporter from the Washington Post asked if Agent Fox Mulder would be assisting with the case. Maggie nudged Mulder and grinned. Skinner told him that Agent Mulder was on Medical leave and would not be involved in the case. The reporter asked if it was true that Agent Mulder was on suspension and that was the real reason he wasn't involved. Mulder could almost hear Skinner's teeth grinding together as he gave the reporter a cold stare and told him that it was a departmental matter. Luckily Prebetich interrupted to make an appeal for witnesses to Tessa Platt's disappearance from the parking lot. Mulder watched Skinner's shoulders drop a little in relief. "I didn't know you were such a celebrity, Fox." Maggie said, as the picture cut back to the anchorman behind his desk. "Have you worked on a lot of cases like this?" Mulder switched the TV off. "Yes, several. It's what I did before I took on the X Files." "I take it by that reporter that you were good at it?" Mulder shifted a little in his seat. "I had a few successes." "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Maggie gave him an apologetic smile. "No, not really. I'm just glad that it's not that big a part of my job anymore. We still work a few serial cases but not like I did in VCS." "Are you worried about Dana?" He looked at Maggie and knew she was fishing. He patted her hand. "Scully will be fine. She's on a team and Agent Prebetich seems to be a good man. She'll be fine. Scully is a very good agent." "I can't help but worry a little. The man who killed those women seems very violent." Maggie stopped talking and watched as Mulder's eyes glazed over. He looked miles away. "Fox?" Mulder jerked, his eyes came back into focus. Reaching over to the coffee table he picked up his cell and quickly dialed a number. "Scully...No there's no problem. I just had a thought about your killer...His extreme level of violence suggests intense rage. Yet your man shows a lot of control at the scene doesn't he? Okay, what's he doing in the meantime to dissipate the rage?...Precisely... I know it's a big area, but talk to Joey Kritch with Baltimore PD, he'll help you out." Mulder flipped his phone shut. "What was that all about?" "You gave me an idea." Mulder said, putting the phone back on to the table. "Will it help?" Maggie looked surprised and a little pleased. "I haven't a clue." ~oOo~ Apartment 19 Paxton Place Julian Street Baltimore Maryland 2:20pm Alice Hudson turned off the TV. It was twenty minutes until the next soap opera she was supposed to watch, so she had a little time to herself. She'd disobeyed him again and watched the press conference about the latest victim of 'The Artist'. She knew he loved the name the FBI had given him. He also loved the attention. She could see him now in her minds eye, preening, his chest puffed out like one of her grandmother's big red cockerels. She thought that she was perhaps the only person in the world who knew the real him. Apart from his victims of course, they'd known him. He'd dropped the mask for them. She imagined that it must take a whole lot of energy to keep up his façade of normality, to hide the monster within. She got up from the couch and went to the small kitchen. Taking a Coke out of the fridge, she wondered what would happen to him without her. What would he do without his little Alice to play with every day? Then she thought of the little blonde girl and the sounds of the tramp last night and of all the other invisible people he'd killed as a lesson for her, or just for his own amusement. There was more than just her life at stake here. Far too many people had died for her already. She wanted it all to stop but she couldn't leave him behind to kill in her name. She wished that she was smart, she wanted to out think him, but it was impossible the man seemed to have every angle covered. She looked at the clock on the microwave and realized that she'd missed the first five minutes of the TV show she was supposed to watch. She rushed back into the living room and flicked the television back on. Hating him and herself. Even from miles away he controlled her. Yet, as she cursed him she longed for him to visit. Her body had begun to ache for the sharp little gift he'd promised he would bring. Her gaze fixed its self to the big haired bimbo on the TV screen, who was acting for all she was worth. Alice knew she'd better concentrate; she couldn't afford to make him angry tonight.