Kyrie Eleison 
By Xenith 
xenitha@yahoo.com 


Rating:  NC-17 for graphic subject matter:torture
Archiving:  Sure, just let me know first.
Category: SA MTA Rating: 10
Spoilers: Thru 6th season
Keywords: Mulder/Sc/Sk friendship;torture; Muldertorture
Summary:  Mulder faces death at the hands of a serial torturer-
murderer because of a mistake he made years ago as a young profiler.
Feedback:  Yes! Yes! Please send me feedback!!!!!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the X Files or any of its characters and make
no profit from this story.  The X Files are Chris Carter's. Any
resemblance between any character, organization or cheesy hotel cited
herein is purely coincidental and unintentional. If there really is a Reno
Hilton, I've never been there, much less the bridal suite. This hotel is

PART 1

"...Kyrie Eleison down that road that I must travel,
Kyrie Eleison through the darkness of the night..."

(Kyrie, Mr. Mister)

*note:  Kyrie Eleison means Lord, have mercy; Christe Eleison means,
Christ have mercy.  The words are spoken as part of the Catholic Mass, as
a prayer pleading for God's help and care for us in our sins.



February 20, Reno Hilton,
American Society of Law Enforcement Officers Yearly Conference


Mulder looked glumly up at the cloudy sky as he and Skinner removed the
suitcases from the back of the rental car.

"Sir, I still don't think it was necessary for Scully and me to attend this
conference.  We have a full case-load and we both have to testify at the
Miller trial next week."

Skinner hauled the last suitcase out of the trunk and set it on the
pavement. "As I said before, Agent Mulder, you and Agent Scully have a
genius for avoiding professional training conferences and classes. The Law
Enforcement Conference promises to add to your store of knowledge
regarding current forensic techniques."  He picked up two suitcases
labeled 'Skinner' and 'Scully'  and began walking into the hotel. "Scully
should have the room keys by now.  For the time being, Mulder, just try to
enjoy yourself.  Consider that an order."

Mulder picked up his own suitcase and followed Skinner inside.

Inside the Reno Hilton, Agent Dana Scully tried to convince the clerk one
more time.  "No, you don't understand.  There are three of us and we have
confirmed reservations for three separate rooms. We can't possibly all
share one room."

"I'm truly sorry, ma'am, but the computer seems to have lost your
reservations.  The hotel is fully booked because of the conference, and
all we have left is the bridal suite, as I've already told you. That at
least has one bedroom with sitting room. That's the best I can do." Scully
noted that the clerk looked as harassed as Scully felt, facing both an
uncooperative computer and an angry Scully. Scully shook her head; this
went against all her sense of propriety, sharing the bridal suite (of all
things), with two men at this prestigious conference.

"Are we ready, Agent Scully?"  Scully turned to find Skinner with luggage
and a dejected looking Mulder trailing behind.

"I'm sorry, sir.  They lost our reservations and all they have left is the
bridal suite.  It has a bedroom and a sitting room, but only one
bathroom."

Mulder grinned. "Why Agent Scully, I do believe that you are blushing!
What's the problem?  The heart-shaped tub or the king-sized waterbed?"

Skinner forced himself to hide his own smile and turned to the clerk with
his best bulldog frown.  "Are you absolutely sure that you have no more
rooms?  Maybe something in the VIP accomodations? I'm an Assistant
Director for the FBI, this is Agent Dana Scully, a top pathologist at the
Bureau and Agent Fox Mulder, a senior field agent. We were assured that we
had confirmed reservations so that we could attend this conference."

The clerk looked visibly frightened.  "I'm very sorry sir.  But the VIP
suite has already been taken by the Keynote Speaker and his staff. The
bridal suite is the only space we have left."

Skinner shrugged.  "I think we'd better take the bridal suite then. Agent
Scully,   Agent Mulder and I can share the sitting room and you can have
the bedroom.  I can assure you that Mulder and I will be complete
gentlemen, and under the circumstances we don't have much choice."
Skinner motioned to the clerk.  "Let's have the room keys."

The clerk handed out the keys "Here you are, Agent Scully, Walter Skinner
and Fox Mulder"  The clerk motioned to a nearby bellhop and gestured for
him to take the bags from Skinner and Mulder.  The bellhop, a tall man in
his thirties with heavy muscles  picked up Skinner's two bags easily,
loading them onto a trolley.  He studied Mulder's face as Mulder handed
him the last bag.

"You weren't the agent involved in the Michael Bailey case, were you?" The
bellhop asked as he finished stacking the luggage and moved toward the
elevator.  The three agents followed him inside.

"Yes, I was. Are you familiar with it...Paul?"  Mulder eyed the bellhop's
nametag, then absently watched the floor numbers flash by.

"Yeah,  I knew some of the victims.  Bailey was from around here, you
know. I heard he died about a year ago."  The bellhop smiled.  "Well,
thanks to you Michael Bailey is dead and gone.  I never thought I'd ever
meet you in person; it's really made my day... this'll be your floor."

The bellhop smiled again and led the three to room 1013, opening the door
with a flourish.  He motioned the three agents into the room.

Mulder and Scully followed Skinner in, their mouths as agape as Skinner's
by the sheer effect of the decor.

The room was a gilded fantasy with walls covered in scalloped red velvet
wallpaper, decorated with candelabra sconces held by golden cherubs. Two
red velvet love seats faced a brass and glass coffee table supported by
more cherubs, while an enormous entertainment center fought for corner
space near the window with an impossibly ornate carved table.

Skinner recovered first and tipped the bellhop, closing the door firmly
behind him.  He noted that Mulder and Scully had gone to explore the other
room.  He followed out of sheer morbid curiosity.

The bedroom was dominated by a giant round bed, adorned with curtains of
yet more red velvet encrusted with gold tassels. The bathroom door led off
the bedroom and did, indeed, contain a heart-shaped bathtub of decorative
red and white tile.  A supply of bubble bath and condoms were neatly
stacked beside the tub.

Mulder just grinned as Skinner cleared his throat. "We'll knock on your
door if we need to use the, er.., facilities."

"Thank you, sir.  I'm sure it'll be fine."  Scully was blushing an even
brighter red than she had downstairs.

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about explaining this on the
expense report."  Mulder flashed a grin at Skinner and went into the other
room to unpack his bags.


February 21, 9:00 p.m.

All three agents were soon taken up with the conference.  To Mulder's
surprise, he did begin to enjoy himself, immersing himself in the
conference sessions offered.  On the second evening Mulder had returned to
the room while Scully and Skinner attended a late seminar when there was
a knock at the door.

When Mulder opened the door, he found the bellhop with a cloth covered
tray which held a champagne bottle, glasses and a large box of chocolates.

"Oh, hello...Paul, wasn't it?"  Mulder looked expectantly at the bellhop.

"Hello.  The manager asked me to check to see that your stay has been
comfortable so far.  And, to apologize for the mix-up, I brought some
complimentary chocolates and champagne, and, well also to thank you for
your work on the Bailey case.  It isn't often that an ordinary citizen has
a chance to thank somebody like you.  I really hope you enjoy the candy." 
Paul set the tray down on the table and glanced around the room. "I
brought three glasses.  Are your co-workers here?"

"No, they're at a seminar.  But thank you very much." Mulder lifted the
cover of the chocolate box.

"Well, I hope you don't wait for them before you sample the chocolates.
They're Godiva, the best. I like the round ones, myself." The bellhop
watched with satisfaction as Mulder picked up a round chocolate and popped
it into his mouth.

"Hey, this is really good." Mulder took a second chocolate and bit into
it, then his  expression changed to one of dismay. "I don't feel that
great...  I think I need to sit down.  Too much sugar, I guess." Mulder
abruptly sat down on the loveseat.

"You don't look so good either.  Do you want me to get you a glass of
water? Mister Mulder?"

 Mulder started to get up but swayed and fell to the floor, unconscious.
The box fell from his hand onto the plush carpet, its contents rolling
over the floor.

The bellhop grinned and retrieved a baggage cart containing an oversized
steamer trunk from outside the door.  He quickly picked up the scattered
chocolates from the floor, piling them haphazardly into the box, and then
began to bundle Mulder into the trunk along with the champagne, candy and
tray.  The bellhop turned when he heard the door rattle behind him.

Skinner entered the room and took in the scene at a glance, "Hey, what do
you think you're doing?" and rushed the bellhop. Skinner then felt a
sharp, electrical jolt and fell to the floor, as the bellhop put a taser
back into his pocket.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?"  The bellhop pulled a switchblade
knife from his pocked and cut Mulder's shirt off him. Then he began
tearing it into strips, binding and gagging a furious and incapacitated
Skinner. "I guess you have to come along.  You better not struggle too
much, you might hurt your friend," the bellhop said conversationally as he
squeezed Skinner into the trunk next to Mulder.

"But don't worry, there's plenty of air.  I drilled some good holes in the
top."  The bellhop locked the trunk securely, then covered it with padded
blankets, moved the trolley into the hallway, and calmly locked the room
behind him.

The bellhop took the service elevator to the basement, where he rolled the
luggage cart out a back entrance to a parked van, hidden behind some
dumpsters. Mulder was still unconscious when he was loaded into the back
of the van, Paul Bailey noted with satisfaction.  But he took the
precaution of tying Mulder and gagging him with materials waiting in the
van.  Skinner tried to struggle, but quieted down after Paul hit him on
the head.  Both were soon in the van, with Paul happily driving them all
toward his secret place.


February 21, 10:00 p.m.

Scully opened the room to find it empty.  Of course, Mulder could be out
running, but it was strange that Skinner hadn't returned.  Oh, well, they
probably were busy talking shop somewhere.  She shrugged and decided to
try out that heart-shaped tub.

Two hours later, Scully was worried.  There were no messages at the front
desk from either man.  She tried both cell phones, to discover Mulder's
ringing in the closet and Skinner's phone sitting on the television set.

By 1:00 a.m. she decided that something must have happened and telephoned
the front desk again.  No one had seen either man leave the hotel.  Scully
dressed and went downstairs.  She checked the bar, the restaurant, the gym
and, after a check of each of the seminar rooms, had to acknowledge that
they just weren't there.

Damn it, she muttered to herself, where the hell are they?  Mulder might
disappear on me, but Skinner wouldn't.  She tried the room again, but it
was empty.

She returned to the front desk and asked for the chief of hotel security.
She tapped her nails nervously on the desktop until a stocky, middle-aged
man approached her.

"Yes ma'am, I understand you want to see me?  I'm Bert Youngman, head of
security here."  He looked Scully up and down with blatant appreciation.
"Has somebody been bothering you?  I know it gets pretty rowdy during
conventions."

"No, that isn't the problem at all.  My colleagues and I are attending the
law enforcement conference here, and both my partner and my boss seem to
have disappeared."  Scully pulled out her badge and FBI identification.
"They didn't come back to the suite after the conferences ended for the
night."

Youngman smiled knowingly. "And it's now, what? 2 a.m. on a convention
night...Miss, they're grown men doing what grown men do when they're in a
strange town, during a convention in Reno. They'll be back tomorrow
morning, a little hung over and a lot broke, feeling ashamed of
themselves.  You just go back upstairs and go to bed. They'll be back!"

"But you don't understand, they aren't like that. Mulder might go out for
a run, or even ditch the conference for a case, but he wouldn't just go
carousing without leaving a message or a note. And Skinner.." Scully tried
to imagine Skinner tying one on. No, not on a business trip, and not
without leaving word for his agents.

"Just the same, trust the voice of experience.  And lady, I've had a lot.
If they haven't dragged their sorry asses back by tomorrow noon, give me a
call then.  But for now, just let boys be boys."  With that, Youngman
smiled at Scully and walked into an office behind the desk, shutting the
door behind him.

What he said was logical, but Scully couldn't fight a gut feeling that all
was not well with Mulder and Skinner.  They weren't just getting fleeced
at a blackjack table.


Somewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, 2 a.m.

Skinner became fuzzily aware that he was sitting on a cold linoleum floor,
his wrists tied behind him to something pole-like and equally cold.  He
sat up straighter and bumped his head on the bottom of a ceramic sink,
discovering in the process that he had just made a splitting headache
worse. He tried to take stock of his surroundings.  A pipe, his hands were
tied to a pipe.  He struggled to focus his bleary eyes, grateful that his
glasses had somehow survived the trip, and saw that he was in a windowless
room with plain white walls.  He squinted up at the bare light bulb
dangling from the ceiling and his eyes widened as he saw what was
suspended next to it.

A nude Mulder, the rope tying his wrists neatly caught up by a hook in
the ceiling, hung there unconscious. His ankles were tied and the rope
fastened down to an eye-bolt embedded in the floor.

Skinner noted that he himself was still fully dressed in slacks and shirt,
shoes and socks but no tie. Skinner began to struggle with the ropes at
his wrists; at least his feet were free.   No weapon, though, damn it.
Left it in the room.  What the hell happened?  Must be another one of
Mulder's crazy cases.  That man attracts trouble like sugar brings ants.
Obviously Mulder is the primary target for this crazy, though. He kept
tugging at the ropes, although they showed no signs of loosening.

Skinner heard Mulder groan and cough as he began to regain consciousness.

"Mulder!  Wake up!  Come on, you're the only one who can figure out who
this wacko is and what we're doing here...Come on, snap out of it!"
Skinner tried to put a commanding snap into his voice.

Mulder lifted his head and focused on Skinner. "Wha....what happened?
Where are we?  God, my arms hurt."  He tensed and tried unsuccessfully to
move his body against the ropes. Then he looked down and realized that he
was unclothed and tied.

"Must have been some party.  Did I have a good time? Or is it still going
on?" Mulder looked around the room, taking in the blank windowless walls,
the ceiling and floor restraints.  "Obviously some planning went into
this."

"Yeah, and I'd say you're the guest of honor," Skinner said dryly. "I'm
tied, but my feet are free.  So far no slack in the rope but I'm working
on it. See if you can get yourself free.  And while you're at it, are
there any crazies gunning for you that I should know about?"

"Too many, but none that spring to mind."  Mulder tried to pull himself up
but gave up abruptly with a yelp. "Ow, I think my left shoulder is coming
out of its socket."

Both men were silent when they heard a noise at the door to the room.  It
swung open, revealing the hotel bellhop, now casually dressed in jeans and
t-shirt.  He carried a large brown paper sack in one hand and a broom in
the other.  He laid the both objects on the floor several feet from
Mulder, and well away from Skinner.

"Well, I'm glad you're both awake.  Now we'll have some fun."

"What the hell is going on?"  Skinner barked.

"I'm sorry you had to come along, Mr. Skinner.  I'm really only interested
in Agent Fox Mulder."  Bailey began pulling a series of brown paper
parcels out of the sack.  "But you saw me kidnapping Agent Mulder, so I
had no choice but to bring you along."  Bailey paused.  "I could have
killed you there, of course, but that wouldn't have been smart."

"So why do you want me?" asked Mulder.  "What did I ever do to you?"

"I lost a brother because of you.  You remember the Bailey case?  My
brother Michael Bailey was found guilty of serial murder because of your
profile of the killer and was sentenced to death.  He committed suicide
while he was on death row.  He couldn't stand it any more."  Bailey
stepped over to Mulder and stared into his eyes. "Because of your
INCORRECT profile, my innocent  brother was put on death row and he killed
himself. Now you're going to be executed, slowly."

Bailey smiled and began unpacking the brown sack again.

"What did I do wrong?" Mulder was too startled to feel afraid. "How did I
make a mistake in the profile?"

"You said that the murderer was a physically strong man with a history of
torturing small animals, somebody who knew all the victims and someone who
had lots of friends.  You focused on Mike because he was a trainer at the
gym and all the victims were his clients.  But he had  been arrested as a
kid for torturing cats.  When that came out, you said that he must be the
murderer.  The Feds were all over him.  When  I saw you testify at his
trial you were so damned sure he was guilty." Bailey took the last package
out of the sack.

"But what you didn't consider, Mr. Smart-ass Oxford educated FBI-man,"
Bailey continued, "was that I was the one who tortured the cats. My
brother lied for me when I was twelve, to give me another chance."
Bailey's voice roughened.  "They couldn't even prove the juvenile charge
against him, so they dismissed it.  And the only friend I ever had in my
life was Mike.  You were just plain wrong! Did you even bother to make
sure they got the right guy?"

"If you knew that, why didn't you tell the police? Why did you let your
brother go to death row?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"Because I was the KILLER, damn it!  I wasn't going to finger myself for
this, but that's no reason to f*** up like you did and kill my brother!
For all the good it did Mike, you might as well have pulled the switch on
him yourself.  And Mike never told anyone it was really me. He died, still
protecting me."  Tears were streaming down Bailey's face. "I haven't hurt
anyone ever since Mike was arrested but I always promised myself I'd have
some serious fun if I ever met up with you. God, what a chance, you came
right to my hotel!"

"But how did you know the victims?"  Skinner pitched his voice low and
calm.

"I worked out at the same gym.  My brother always let me in for free. I
saw them all come and go from the gym."

Mulder was silent, stunned by the disclosure.  Skinner decided it was up
to him to try to talk their kidnapper down.

"You don't have to do this, you know.  They'll come looking for us. You
still have a chance to end this, make a run for it.  They'll be here
before long, and they won't stop looking for us. You know that."

Bailey began unwrapping the first package, removing a set of shiny
scalpels from the paper, setting them on the floor near Mulder's feet.
"They won't find you.  We're up in the mountains at the end of a private
road.  They didn't find this place during the first investigation, and
they won't find it now.  Nice and quiet, remote." He laughed. "No
neighbors to hear strange noises at night."  He pulled open the next
parcel and removed several packs of cigarettes and matches and a large
ceramic ashtray, then continued to the rest of the parcels.

Skinner was puzzled as he watched Bailey unwrap a variety of items, few of
them overtly threatening.  But Skinner also noted that Mulder looked
grimmer and paler as the contents of each package was exposed: spool of
black thread with a darning needle, broom, cigarettes, matches and
ashtray, brown plastic electrical extension cord and scalpels.

Bailey caught Skinner's expression and walked over to him.  "You never
heard the details of the case, did you?  Hey Mulder, you tell him what I
did to my other victims."  Bailey grabbed up a scalpel and held it against
Mulder's chest, poised to slice. "Tell him right now."

Mulder hesitated, then adopted his most clinical tone. "The bodies showed
evidence of extensive torture before death and mutilation after death.
Before death, the chest, back and legs showed incised wounds consistent
with a small sharp blade like a pocket knife or scalpel. Small circular
burns were found in the abdomen, buttocks and genital areas; clearly
cigarette burns."  Mulder stopped and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Skinner looked nauseated.

Bailey jabbed Mulder with the scalpel, drawing a thin line of blood down
his left breast.  "Go on.  You aren't finished."

"The victims also displayed injuries consistent with having been beaten
multiple times with a fine rope or electrical cord. Several of the male
victims had also been beaten with a heavy object like a bat, causing a
ruptured spleen in one, and extensive kidney damage in another.  All the
victims had abrasions at the wrists and ankles and swelling of the
extremities, indicating that they had been suspended by their wrists for a
long period of time, probably several days. After death they were
disemboweled, their eyes and mouths sewn shut with coarse thread, although
several were disemboweled before death." Mulder eyed the heavy darning
needle and spool of thread with distaste.

"Very good, Agent Mulder.  At least you got that right.  So, shall we
begin?" Bailey delicately continued the bloody line on Mulder's chest,
diagonally and down.  Mulder's gasp sounded loud in the silent room.
Skinner racked his brains, trying to find the words that would stop this
from happening. Mulder beat him to it.

"I'm sorry about your brother, I can't say how much. But you know I'm only
human.  I can only go on the information I'm presented with, and I don't
know how I would have known that you were the killer after all." Mulder
stopped abruptly as the scalpel suddenly slashed across his abdomen.

"You just shut up.  You're trying to talk me down, aren't you? I've heard
about you profiler types, you're trying to make me let you go. But you
aren't going anywhere, and you're going to pay for your mistake." With
that he ran the scalpel across Mulder's chest, more deeply.  Mulder bit
his lip and grimaced but couldn't restrain the grunt of pain. Before long,
he lost even that much control.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Reno Hilton, February 22, 9 a.m.

Scully watched the digital clock on the table click
over to 9 a.m. and picked up the phone.  No Mulder or
Skinner.  Damn them, she considered. I'm calling the
police, and if they show up later after a drunk or a
night in the casinos, I'll kill them myself.

She dialed 911 to report the agents missing. The Reno
police department was gratifyingly responsive to
Scully's report, sending two detectives over within
ten minutes of her call.  They took a statement and
promised to send over a forensic team to dust the
suite for fingerprints and check for other trace
evidence.

She also telephoned the local field office, and at
their suggestion, put through a call to Washington to
report the situation.  To her dismay, she was referred
to A.D. Kersh.

"And so, Agent Scully, you are telling me that Mulder
has disappeared mysteriously again and taken Walter
Skinner with him this time?" Kersh drawled into the
line, his voice dripping tired skepticism calculated
to make Scully lose her cool.

Scully focused on her deep breathing.  "I wouldn't put
it that way, sir.  They haven't reported in since
about 10 p.m. last night.  This is very unusual
behavior for A.D. Skinner, I'm sure you'll agree.  I
want to begin a search for them here and have already
notified Reno P.D. and the local Field Office."

"Then you'll call the police department and tell them
that the F.B.I. will handle this as an internal matter
through the Reno Field Office.  No sense airing the
Bureau's dirty laundry when, in all likelihood, Mulder
is off on another one of his wild-alien chases.
Undoubtedly Walt Skinner is out looking for him, more
fool he. And agent, I want you to stay in that hotel
and attend the conference per the original plan.
Mulder has had too much influence on you and frankly,
I don't trust you not to run wild yourself, chasing
after him.  You will leave the investigation to the
local F.B.I. personnel and you will not interfere.  Is
that understood?"

Scully was silent for a moment, then collected herself
to reply, "I understand perfectly sir." She hung up
the phone.

In Washington D.C., Kersh made a quick call to the
Reno field office and stressed that he wanted this
investigation considered a low priority and Scully
sidelined.  "I know Mulder, and he's a wise-ass of the
first water.  Walter Skinner deserves what gets for
taking that pair back and giving them free rein again.
Don't waste your agents' time on this one.  They'll
come back with E.T.'s corpse or something.  All right,
keep me posted.  Thanks."


Reno Hilton February 22, 4:00 p.m.

Scully removed her gun from the suitcase and checked
the clip; it was full.  She holstered it at her waist
and sat at the table to make a list of witnesses to
question.  Two agents from the Reno field office had
stopped by to take a statement from Scully, but it was
clear from their demeanor that this was just a chore
to be gotten through as quickly as possible.  They
simply did not intend to take the disappearance of
Mulder and Skinner seriously.  They hadn't even
bothered to search the hotel room for trace evidence.
Before they left her, the senior agent pulled Scully
aside and gave her a warning.

"Agent Scully, we have been given very clear orders
about you.  You are not to be involved in this
investigation in any capacity, and will have no access
to F.B.I. facilities, labs or personnel.  We don't
want to hear from you on this, is that clear?  And
please don't bother the local P.D., we don't want to
upset our relationship with them because of a rogue
agent or two."  Scully could only fume silently as the
two agents left the room.

It all felt so familiar.  Somebody in Washington
probably decided to shut this investigation down.
"Just like Missy's case, they're going to bury it.
Damn it!!"  Scully picked up one of the gorgeous
brocade throw pillows from the love seat and threw it
against the red velvet wall.  "And if I ever see red
velvet again after this, I think I'll vomit!"


Sierra Nevada Mountains, February 22, 4 p.m.

Not for the first time that day Skinner wished with
all his heart that his hands were free, so that he
could cover his ears and block out Mulder's screams.
Skinner's arms were tired and raw, as were his
shoulders .With every cry Mulder had let out, Skinner
had fought harder against his bonds, struggling to do
something to stop this.

A small puddle of blood pooled beneath Mulder's feet;
more of it covered Bailey and some had splattered
onto Skinner.  Mulder was unlucky enough to be still
conscious despite day-long torture, first cuts with
the scalpels on abdomen and back, then beaten with the
electrical cord, then body blows with the broomstick.
The thudding sound still rang in Skinner's mind.
Skinner could swear that he had heard ribs break with
one blow.  Mulder's voice had diminished in volume
until it reached its current dull rasp, his breathing
had grown harsh and labored.

At last Bailey seemed to be tired and dropped the
broomstick to the ground.  "Well, Agent Mulder, I think
I'll take a break.  But I'll be back later to finish
up, count on it."  Bailey removed a fluffy white
terrycloth bathtowel from the paper sack and began
toweling the blood off his own body then picked up the
broomstick and carefully wiped the blood off of it as
well.  He draped the towel around his neck then
returned the cigarettes, scalpels and other items to
the paper sack, picking it up with the other hand.

"Wait, please,"  Skinner pleaded. "Excuse me, but
we've been here a while, could we have some water and
something to eat?"  Skinner put a tight rein on his
temper and tried to sound friendly.  "And I need to
use the bathroom."

Paul stopped and considered.  It was unusual for him
to have more than one captive at a time, but he didn't
want the second one to die or get sick before his
time.  The other one wasn't going to last much longer
either unless he got some water.  Paul made his
decision and left the room, returning shortly with a
large empty plastic tumbler, and a long chain with a
locking manacle.

He walked across the room and opened a door, showing a
tiny bathroom. He left the tumbler on the floor and
returned to Skinner, pulling the taser from his
pocket.

"I'm going to chain your ankle.  It should be long
enough for you to get o the can.  But if you try
anything, you get this." He gestured with the taser.

"I understand," said Skinner. Paul attached the
shackle to Skinner's right ankle, then began to untie
his wrists.  Paul backed away toward the entrance and
out of Skinner's reach and gave a sunny smile as
Skinner carefully moved his hands in front of his body
and began rubbing them, trying to restore feeling in
them.

"I have to go to work now.  I'll see you tonight. Oh,
and here's your lunch."  Paul left briefly and
returned with a loaf of bread.  He set it on the floor
between Mulder and Skinner.  "Bye, now."

Bailey went out the door and Skinner could hear him
lock it behind him. Skinner carefully got up and
shambled over to Mulder, who seemed to be finally
unconscious.  The chain was just long enough to reach
him.  Skinner was struggling with the ropes at
Mulder's wrists when he heard a hoarse whisper.

"So, now do you understand why I avoid training
opportunities?"

"Mulder, how are you doing?"  Skinner had never felt
more inadequate as an A.D. or an F.B.I. agent.

"I'm alive; but that's all I'm shooting for right
now."  Mulder's body shook convulsively with a shiver.
"I'm pretty cold.  Think I'm going into shock.  Can't
do that; Scully would disapprove."  Mulder's voice
trailed off.  

Skinner broke in anxiously.  "Stay with
me Mulder.  We've got to plan.   We're getting out of
this."  The knots were slippery with blood and
Skinner's fingers kept sliding across the rope.

Mulder shook his head. "I can't believe I f***ed up so
badly on this case.  An innocent person dead because
of my profile... I don't see a way out, unless Scully
arrives with a SWAT team...  God...I hurt...."

"Mulder, I'm still working on these ropes, I'll have
you free in a moment. Can you free your feet?"

"I'm trying but I don't have much leverage.  He's tied
them pretty tight."  Mulder struggled for a moment
then gave up, panting in exhaustion. "Sorry, just
can't."

"Well, keep trying.  Now, what can you tell me about
this guy?"  C'mon, Mulder, keep talking, Skinner urged
silently, you won't die on me if you keep talking.

"I think he's pretty close to the original profile.
Paul got part of it wrong. In the profile I said that
the killer was in contact with many people. That fit
Michael Bailey but also fits his brother Paul, since
he was a gym regular.  But I don't think Paul is open
to hearing that just now....God, I even knew Michael
had a brother but I discounted Paul because of
Michael's prior 'record.'"  Mulder's voice trailed off
and his eyes closed.

"So why is he upset with you?  Paul is really the one
at fault, all he had to do was confess and his brother
would go free. Hey, Mulder, you still with me?"
Skinner pulled at the ropes again and pitched his
voice louder. "We still need to make a plan.  How can
we get to this guy?  You're the one with the psych
degree.  Tell me."

The ropes were finally loosening, thank God.

Mulder's head lolled on his chest.  He shook his head,
trying to clear it.  "Plan...Well, he won't be
receptive to anything I tell him.  His guilt is
driving him.  He's repressed all the guilt he feels at
not coming forward and made me his scapegoat,
especially since Michael committed suicide as a
result.  And it's even worse for Paul since Michael
apparently died still trying to protect his little
brother.  Michael never did name the real killer."

Mulder coughed, then winced and drew in a harsh
breath.  "If you have to negotiate with him, I think
you can get to him if he perceives you as an ally.
You have to convince him that you agree I'm at fault
and deserve to be punished.  You might be able to
distract him and get away."

"I can't leave you here with him." Skinner was
shocked. "I don't leave my people behind."

Mulder returned Skinner's look with his own level
stare. "I know that you don't want to, but there's no
way I can overpower this guy, and even if we both got
out, I'd be physically useless. I'd only hurt your
chances of getting help.  Besides, by the time you
talk him down I might not....be an issue.   You have
to try."

Skinner knew when he was outgunned.  "Okay, I'll try.
But you hang in there; don't you give up to this
bastard.  You aren't going to die on me, do you
understand Agent Mulder?  Besides, we haven't gone
over your most recent batch of expense reports yet."

The ropes finally came free and Mulder slumped
bonelessly forward to the floor.  Skinner caught him
and eased Mulder to the floor, where Mulder lay
shivering on the cold linoleum.

Skinner pulled off his dress shirt and undershirt,
wrapping as much of Mulder's body in the fabric as he
could.  He leaned Mulder into a sitting position
against him, then began working on the other set of
ropes at Mulder's ankles.  Mulder faded in and out of
consciousness and was unaware when Skinner succeeded
in untying the last of the ropes.  At that point,
Skinner had no choice but to stop and consider their
position.

Although Mulder was free, he was incapacitated and
Skinner was worried about him.  They had no clue about
their location, but the certain knowledge that this
killer had been so successful that he'd never been
caught.  Skinner pulled at the chain and found no give
in it.  He watched Mulder's troubled sleep and thought
to himself,  I can either negotiate with Bailey, or,
if he gets within range of this chain I can go for
him.  If he gets within range...Scully, I hope you can
do one of your miraculous rescues, because we can sure
use it now.


Reno Hilton, February 22, 7 p.m.

Scully sat in the hotel dining room and toyed with her
Caesar salad.  She had spent the rest of the afternoon
taking statements from the other guests sharing the
hallway with room 1013.  Nobody had heard suspicious
noises or noticed anything unusual.  Of course it
could simply mean that Skinner and Mulder were
abducted from somewhere else in the hotel.  She
grimaced: maybe it's aliens after all.  Time to go
back to solid, boring detective work.  She needed a
list of the guests and the staff at this hotel.

Normally, she'd just serve a warrant and get the
information quickly, but the FBI and local police were
unavailable to her.  Scully dug at the salad again.
No luck with normal channels.  She'd tried to
sweet-talk the desk clerk, but he politely refused to 
release any information without a search warrant, citing 
privacy laws protecting the guests  as well as personnel.
Well, if the usual channels were closed, it was  time
to get desperate.  She pushed her salad away, and
decided to make her phone call in the privacy of the
room.

Langly picked up the phone, but was soon joined by
Byers and Frohike after Scully had explained the
emergency.

"Can we hack into the hotel computers?  Is the Pope,
Catholic?"  Langly  cracked.

"I'm accessing their database even as we speak"
Frohike added.  "Do you have your laptop with you?  We
can e-mail it."

"I've got it right here."  Scully flipped it open and
logged on.   "Good thing this isn't our usual rat-trap
hotel.  They have separate  lines for modems.  Ah,
here it is." Scully opened her mail and found the
document; she began scrolling through the list of
hotel employees until her eye stopped at one
name...Paul Bailey.

"A hotel bellhop named Paul was asking Mulder about
the 'Bailey'  case....can you find out what job title
Paul Bailey holds and whether he was on duty the day
we checked in?  And get any personnel files you
locate on him."  Shortly a second e-mail revealed that
Paul Bailey  was a bellhop at the hotel and had been
on duty February 20.   His next of kin was listed as
Michael Bailey, last known  address: San Quentin
Prison in California.

"I have to find out more about Michael Bailey.  I know
that Mulder keeps his  own files on the cases he's
handled, dating back to his days in the VCS.  Can you
guys go and see if Mulder has a file on Michael
Bailey?  It's either in his apartment or in the
basement office...but would you be able to get in?"
While Scully was pondering this, Byers interrupted.

"We can get into the Hoover building, no problem.
Remember, we got in before, when Mulder was in the
Bermuda Triangle.  We'll find the file for you and
have it Fed-X'd or faxed to you as fast as we can."

"Yeah, don't you worry Scully.  We'll help you any way
we can.  We'll get 'em back."  Frohike added.

Scully smiled a tired smile.  It was so good finally
to have allies in this. "Fine, I'll look forward to
hearing from you then."  She hung up the phone and
considered her next task: searching the room.

At her request, none of the hotel cleaning staff had
been allowed into the suite that day.  Scully borrowed
a vacuum cleaner with a fresh bag, and extra bags,
and had purchased a roll of clear plastic tape, a
fingerprint kit, a package of plastic baggies and
latex gloves. She proceeded to methodically search the
room.  While vacuuming the floor of the sitting room
she found a single chocolate candy which had
rolled under the love seat.   She carefully dropped it
into a ziplock and laid it on the table.  A survey of
the rest of the floor found nothing conspicuously
unusual, apart from some long white cotton strands.
She bagged these as well.

She did a similar search in the rest of the suite,
vacuuming the areas carefully, with fresh bags for
each.  She then examined the bag contents at the
table, covering her face to protect from dust.  More
white strands from the sitting room, some flakes of
red crushed rock and some leaves.  She sniffed, they
gave off an aromatic scent: eucalyptus.  No other
debris turned up in the bedroom or bathroom.  She had
lifted fingerprints; lots of  fingerprints.  There
were too many to match easily or quickly and she had a
feeling that time was running out.

She reviewed her three vacuum-cleaner bags and
assorted baggies.  They needed to go to an evidence
lab, but the FBI was closed to her.  She pulled out
the Reno phone book and found a private lab in the
yellow pages.  She carefully typed a cover letter with
complete instructions, including her credit card
number, then packaged it with  her evidence and
arranged for the hotel to hand carry it to the lab in
the morning.

Scully rubbed her eyes and looked at her watch:
midnight, and her body was still on East Coast time.
This evidence, if it was evidence, could lead to the
kidnapper. Or it could just prove sloppy housekeeping.
She began to feel despair.  Scully decided to go to
bed; she'd try again tomorrow, when she was fresh.

Before she got into bed she sat quietly and held her
gold cross in her hand. She knew that she worried too
much about Mulder's safety, although she'd never known
a more disaster-prone man in her life. But she
couldn't shake a sense of dread that somehow Mulder
was in deep trouble and needed her badly.  Words from
the Mass ran through her mind and she whispered them
aloud: "Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie
eleison."  She quietly said a heartfelt prayer for
Mulder's and Skinner's safety and, comforted, lay down
to sleep.


Reno Hilton, February 23, 3:10 a.m.

Scully tossed and turned in the palatial bed.  Every
time she dropped off to sleep she saw Mulder's
agonized face.  She felt him, in terrible pain,
calling out to her for help, for rescue, and she was
powerless to move. When her bedside phone woke her she
was grateful.

Scully groped blindly for the receiver.  "Scully." She
mumbld.

"Scully, it's me, Frohike."

Scully sat up.  "Frohike, do you know what time it is
here?"

"Yeah, I know it's early, but I had to tell you.  We
got the Bailey file and just put Byers on a plane to
get it to you.  You have to pick him up at the airport
at 9 a.m. your time."

"Wait a minute, I thought you were just going to
Federal Express it to me or something?  Why is Byers
coming out?" Scully grabbed her glasses from the side
table and slid them on.

"Well, we found the file in Mulder's apartment and
read it...and well...we thought Byers should bring it
out to you.  We thought maybe you could use some
backup."

"Frohike, I AM an F.B.I. agent and I'm armed.  I don't
need somebody to protect me."

"Well, it's too late.  He's on his way.  And he'll act
as a liaison to us as well.  Our lab and computers are
at your disposal.  We want to help, Scully."

"All right.  I guess you guys are involved.  What
flight is he coming in on?"


Reno Hilton, February 23, 10:00 a.m.

Scully opened the door to room 1013 and paused to give
Byers a chance to recover from the decor.

"This isn't what we usually get.  They don't have any
rooms left because of the conference, so you'll be
sleeping in the sitting room.  The love seats unfold
into beds."  Byers set down his suitcase and continued
to look around the room owlishly.  He was clutching a
large manila envelope under his left arm, with every
sign that it hadn't left him since Washington.

"NOW will you stop all this mystery and let me read
the file?  I don't understand why you wouldn't give me
the damn thing until we got here.  Come on, give!"
Scully held out her empty hand for the folder.  Byers
gave her a look full of pity and handed the file to
her.

"While you're reading the file, Agent Scully, I'll set
up my computer and see what more information I can
find on Michael and Paul Bailey." Byers set up his
laptop on the coffee table and was soon absorbed in
his work.

Scully sat down at the table and unfolded the contents
of the file, reading carefully and looking closely at
several photographs.  After a few minutes she
stiffened and turned around to Byers.  "My God, what
kind of a monster was this man?  Is this why you flew
out instead of just sending the information?"

Byers pushed his laptop aside.  "We wondered if,
maybe, the younger brother was like the elder.
Michael Bailey's victims usually didn't last very
long."

"And they died in agony," Scully said softly, laying
her hand gently on the folder. "It's been two days
since they were taken.  If Paul is anything like
Michael, they could last maybe three more days before
he finishes them off.  And he has reason to hold a
grudge against Mulder, his profile was the central
piece of evidence that put Michael on death row.
Mulder's file hasn't been updated since he left the
VCS.  I wonder what happened to Michael?  Paul said to
Mulder that Bailey was dead, thanks to Mulder's work."

"That's easy enough to find out.  I'll hack into the
San Quentin records and we'll see."  Within minutes
Byers had downloaded the information and called Scully
over to see.  "It looks like Michael Bailey died last
year, a suicide.  He left a note protesting his
innocence, said he couldn't take prison any more."
Scully read the screen over Byers' shoulder.

"Who was notified of Michael's death, and how?" she
asked.

"It says here that the only family member left was a
younger brother, Paul.  All Michael's effects were
sent to him, including the suicide note.  At that time
he had an address in Truckee, California.  Never heard
of it."  Byers watched Scully get up and run into the
other room, returning with a Nevada/California road
atlas.  She located Truckee, then Reno.

"The address is only an hour's drive or so from here.
Does it match the address for our Paul Bailey?" She
said.  Byers accessed the personnel records for
Bailey.  They matched.

"It's him, then.  I should call and get an arrest
warrant."  Scully picked up the phone and began
dialing, then stopped.  "They were very clear that I'm
not to be involved in the case, and they've done
everything possible to keep me uninvolved.  I can call 
in the Truckee P.D. for backup if I need to, but I 
don't want to give them time to contact the Reno field 
office."  Scully put the phone down and went to the 
dresser, removing Mulder's holstered weapon from the top
drawer.

"Byers, have you ever used a gun?"



Sierra Nevada Mountains, February 23, 10:00 a.m.

Skinner wondered whether it was day or night or how
much time had passed. His watch had broken in the
struggle and Mulder's was gone.  The light bulb
overhead never wavered or dimmed, and there were no
windows to let in light.  There was only the
occasional hum of a central heater, keeping the
temperature from dropping below chilly.  He and Mulder
huddled together for warmth, and, he supposed, for
human comfort.  For what felt like the thousandth time
Skinner pulled at the chain and felt nothing but
resistance.  His wrists felt better but now his ankle
was swelling.  No matter, this was unimportant next to
Mulder's problems.

Skinner listened to Mulder's troubled breathing, harsh
and uneven and getting worse.  Mulder's shivering,
constant for the last several hours, was increasing.
Skinner moved closer and wrapped his arms around
Mulder, trying to share what body heat he could.
Damn.  There had to be a way out of this.

"Hey, does this mean we're dating?"  Mulder rasped.

Skinner pulled his arms away in embarrassment then
frowned and put them back. "You're sick and you've
been shivering.  Better put up with it, since I plan
for you to repay the debt in mandatory overtime when
we're out of here.  When was the last time you
volunteered to lead the tour at the Hoover Building
for the tourists?"

Mulder was silent for a moment.  "Sorry.  It's a
knee-jerk reaction. Sometimes I don't know why Scully
puts up with me.  What time is it? For that matter,
what day is it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine.  You want some
breakfast?"  Skinner pulled the loaf of bread  and the
tumbler over, half filled with water. "And you ought
to have something to drink."

"Thanks, I'm not really hungry.." Mulder started, but
at Skinner's glare accepted a small piece of bread and
the water. "When he comes back you're going to try
negotiating, aren't you?" Mulder mumbled around the
bread.

"If that's the only option.  I just don't know if I'm
that good an actor."  Skinner chewed on his own piece
of bread. "The last time I tried to act, I was a tree
in the third grade Christmas pageant.  It was a
non-speaking role."

"So try method acting.  Remember all the times I've
screwed up and Scully has had to go to you for help."
Mulder sipped at the water but put down the rest of
the bread uneaten. "Getting into this guy's head is
our best chance." Mulder shakily pulled himself to his
feet.  Skinner got up and offered a hand, but Mulder
shook his head.

Holding onto the wall for balance he crept into the
bathroom and shut the door behind him.  Skinner heard
the sound of vomiting, but decided to give Mulder his
privacy.

After several minutes of quiet, Mulder came out of the
bathroom and made his way to the door, rather than
back to Skinner.  Mulder leaned against the doorjamb
and tried the knob.  It didn't budge.  He ran his
hands over the door frame and scrutinized the lock
carefully.

"The hinges are recessed and it looks like this door
is built to be airtight.  This door is made of metal,
not wood."  Mulder rapped his knuckles against it and
the door made a solid 'thunk'.  "It isn't hollow,
either."

Mulder carefully turned around and gingerly stood
leaning his weight against the door. "Have you heard
noises like a ventilation system?"

"Yes.  A heater comes on periodically and I can see
some air vents up in the corner."  Skinner pointed to
some small openings at the ceiling, too small to climb
through. "Why? Is that important?"

"I think we're in somebody's old bomb shelter," Mulder
said. "When I was a kid, the people next door had one,
built into the side of their hill. It was heavy
concrete with this kind of door and was completely
self-sustaining."  Mulder wrapped his arms against his
chest. "My dad said it was a stupid idea.  He said
that the human race would kill itself  slowly, by
corrupting itself, allowing evil to continue, he said,
not by something fast and clean like the bomb.  I
never understood what he meant by that."  He gave
Skinner a troubled look. "I guess I do now."

Mulder leaned hard against the door.  "I think I need
to sit down." He slid painfully down to a sitting
position and huddled there, folding his body into a
fetal position, breathing hard.

"What's wrong Mulder?"  Skinner asked anxiously.

"Just d-d-dizzy and c-c-cold."  Mulder closed his eyes
and rested his chin on his knees.  Skinner tried to go
to him but was caught short by the chain at his ankle.

"Mulder, can you make it back over here? I can't help
you from here." Skinner said calmly.

Mulder opened his eyes. "You can't help me if I'm over
there either.  I need to be mobile while I can, so we
can find a way out of here."  Mulder levered himself
onto his feet again and continued to follow the wall,
circling back around to Skinner and the porcelain
sink.

"No openings or weakness in the wall. If I had a piece
of wire I could try to pick the lock."  Mulder sat
down next to Skinner and looked around dispiritedly.

"Well, we do have a potential weapon," Skinner said,
forcing cheerfulness into his voice.

"What's that?"  Mulder asked suspiciously.

"Our minds."

They sat silently, each with his own thoughts until
first Mulder, then Skinner dozed off to sleep.

Some time later the door opened and Bailey appeared
holding his paper sack, a gun in his right hand.

"I wondered if you'd untie him.  All right Agent
Mulder, please move toward the center of the room and
away from your friend."

Skinner began to move in front of Mulder as if to
defend him.  Mulder muttered urgently to Skinner, "No,
don't.  The act starts now.  You have to convince
him."

Skinner startled but didn't look back at Muldeer.
Trying to look unconcerned, he walked away from
Mulder, as far as the chain would reach.

"I can't say I mind keeping this f***-up away from me.
He's been nothing but trouble since the day he walked
into my office," Skinner stated loudly.

Bailey gestured Mulder toward the opposite wall.
Mulder moved slowly across the room and Bailey pulled
a pair of open handcuffs out of the sack, throwing
them at Mulder's feet.  "Put them on."  Mulder
complied slowly, looking for an opening to lunge at
Bailey, but was offered no opportunity.

"So, have you been shopping at 'Sadists 'R Us' or
what?"  Mulder commented as he fastened the cuffs to
his wrists. "And that's a nice gun, too.  I imagine
you didn't wait the three day waiting period?"

"Y'know, Mulder, you really are a smart-ass, aren't
you?"  was Bailey's only comment.  "You, Skinner, hang
him up.  I don't plan on being kicked in the head."
Bailey motioned Skinner toward Mulder with the gun.
Skinner obeyed and looped Mulder's wrists over the
ceiling hook.

"Now the feet."  Bailey tossed a pair of leather leg
cuffs linked by a short chain over at Mulder and
waited while Skinner threaded the chain through the
eyebolt in the floor and locked them.

"And now Mr. Skinner, here are your cuffs.  Please
handcuff yourself to the pipe over there."  Bailey
tossed the cuffs to Skinner and pointed the gun
meaningfully at Skinner.  Skinner reluctantly cuffed
his right hand to the pipe.  Another chance gone.

Bailey briefly left the room and returned without the
gun.  He opened the sack and removed only cigarettes,
matches and ashtray.  Mulder, behind Bailey, met
Skinner's eye and gestured with his chin.  "Play
along," he mouthed.

"I don't see why you have to lock me down like this,"
said Skinner.  Rage, thought Skinner, think of all the
incomprehensible reports, all the times Mulder hit you
and got away with it. "I never liked the bastard
anyway.  I don't give a damn what you do with him."

"So why did you untie him? And he's wearing some of
your clothes."  Bailey lit a cigarette and took a few
puffs before putting it carefully into the ashtray.

"He was bothering me, wanting to be untied, so I let
him down just to shut him up.  Then he started whining
that he was cold.  So what could I do?  Anything for
peace."  Remember all those disciplinary hearings,
Walt, all those meetings with the Director to save
Mulder's ass yet again.

"Oh, and here I thought he was the FBI's shining
star." Bailey casually pulled the cigarette from the
ashtray, took a puff and ground the lit end against
Mulder's abdomen where the shirt didn't cover.
Skinner closed his eyes as Mulder cried out.

"Well, he used to be."  Skinner spoke loudly, hoping
to distract Bailey. "But he started investigating
weird cases, ghosts, vampires, aliens, things like
that.  Who could take him seriously?  And he breaks
the rules all the time.  Frankly, I'm not surprised he 
caused your brother's death.  The man's a major screw-up 
and has always been."  Bailey turned away from Mulder 
and approached Skinner, the lit cigarette still in hand.

"You agree that Mulder caused Michael's death?"
Bailey couldn't believe he'd found an ally. "You're
just lying to get me to let you go."

"I'd be lying if I told you I like being locked up
like this,"  Skinner said with complete sincerity.
"And knowing it's that idiot who caused this makes it
even more frustrating.  Yeah, I agree with you, based
on my experience as his boss."  That's it, Walt,
you're getting him.

Bailey was silent as he walked back to Mulder.  He
eyed the cigarette in his hand contemplatively then
grinned and pressed it into Mulder's hip.  Mulder
cried out again and jerked away.  The cigarette went
flying, to land glowing on the linoleum floor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Reno Hilton, February 23, 11:00 a.m.


"Byers, will you hurry with that?  We've got to get going!"  Scully walked
over to the table where Byers sat hunched over his laptop.

"Just a second.  I'm sending Frohike an e-mail telling him where we're
going.  If we don't check in with him by this time tomorrow, I'm asking
him to call the cops."  Byers shut down the computer and closed the lid.
He grabbed his long sleeved wool sweater and pulled it on over the flannel
shirt he wore.

"You're asking FROHIKE to call the police?"  Scully couldn't control her
smile.  "That I'd like to see....But I hope I don't. Are you ready?"

"Yes."  Byers picked up his down jacket and followed Scully out the door.

"You know, I never thought I'd see you dressed in jeans.  I didn't know
you even owned casual clothes."  Scully punched the elevator button for
the ground floor.   The doors slid shut.

"Well, I have to wash my car in something, don't I?" Byers smiled.  As
they entered the lobby area Scully caught herself looking around for that
bellhop, but didn't see him.  You don't want to see him, she reminded
herself.  Don't want to scare him off or make him move Mulder and Skinner
to another location.  And you can't arrest him, no evidence and no
warrant.

Scully led Byers to the parking garage where her rented Taurus was parked.
As she pulled out onto the street she noticed that a cold rain was coming
down hard.  Well, she mused, why shouldn't the weather be as rotten as the
time I'm having?

Scully handed Byers the map.  "I guess you get to be navigator.  I don't
know how to get where we're going any more than you do."


Somewhere East of Truckee, Noon

"I think it's snowing harder."  Byers peered out the window anxiously.
"What happened to the rain?"

"It froze,"  Scully said curtly, concentrating on keeping the car from
sliding off the road.  As soon as they had begun climbing into the
mountains, the rain had turned into snow, at first light and sparse, then
heavy. Now it was hard to see the road and Scully had the defroster and
wipers going full blast.

The car began to slide and Scully eased off the gas pedal.  They were
traveling on a narrow road with deep ditches on either side.  All other
road traffic had been left behind 20 minutes ago.  The last house was two
miles back.  She didn't dare travel any faster than a crawl or the car
would slide off the road.

"Don't you have chains in the car?"  Byers asked.

Scully gritted her teeth.  If she had ever thought of Mulder as an
annoying travel companion, he was a pleasure compared to Chatty-Cathy
here. But making it worse was a growing sense of urgency building inside
her.  She became more and more aware of a need to get there fast.  Mulder
needed her, and soon.  It was all she could do to keep from flooring the
gas pedal and letting the damn car slide wherever it wanted to.

"No chains.  It's a rental.  I didn't expect to drive anywhere but back to
the airport and maybe go shopping.  Are we near the turnoff?"

Byers checked his map again.  "The man at the gas station said that the
turnoff for Black Bear Road is about ten miles off the highway and that
it's marked by two redwood trees on either side.  It should be coming
up....there!" he shouted and pointed to the right. Scully abruptly swerved
the car, which went into a circular skid and slid onto the side road,
barely missing the ditch.

Scully stopped the car and took a deep breath.  That was close.  Byers
smiled and made a 'thumbs up' gesture.  Scully nodded and put the car back
into gear, to slowly climb up the snowy hill.


21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 23 12:00 noon

"Goddammit! You burned me!" screamed Bailey, putting his fingers into his
mouth.  He picked the cigarette off the floor and put it into the ashtray,
then turned on Mulder.  He kneed the agent in the groin, then began
landing heavy punches on Mulder's abdomen.  Mulder tried to double over,
but wasn't able to protect himself because of his bonds.  Then he began
retching and emptied his stomach onto Bailey.

"Shit!!" Yelled Bailey and backed two paces.  He ran into the bathroom and
began wiping himself off with wads of toilet paper.

Skinner looked at Mulder with concern.  Mulder's head hung on his chest,
his eyes half open and glazed looking as he panted for breath. Bailey
glared at Mulder and raised a clenched fist, preparing to drive it into
Mulder's face.

"Hey, Mr. Bailey, Sir?"  Skinner called out loudly. "I have to go to the
bathroom really bad.  Could you undo my hands?"

"What?"  Bailey lowered his arm and turned in confusion to Skinner. "Can't
it wait?"

"No, I've got to go now or you'll have another mess on your floor.
Please?"  Skinner tried to keep a friendly and sheepish expression on his
face, although inside he was boiling with a consuming desire to pound
Bailey's face in.

"Ok, ok..." Bailey went over to Skinner and fumbled the handcuff key out
of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.

Skinner erupted into motion and, grabbing Bailey by the throat, wrestled
him to the floor.  Bailey tried to move out of Skinner's reach, but
Skinner had had enough and fought with a rage that caught Bailey off
guard. Against Bailey's struggles, Skinner moved to put him into a
headlock.


21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 23 12:00 noon

Scully stopped the car at the end of the road.  The snow was even thicker
now, if that were possible.  She could just see a cabin about 15 feet
ahead.  She and Byers got out of the car and began to walk as quietly as
possible to the front door.  Scully was glad she'd worn her heavy coat and
snow boots.  Who'd have thought that California could have weather like
this?

She stepped onto the wooden porch, on which two faded rocking chairs sat.
A broom had been dropped on the wooden floor in front of the door.  Scully
carefully picked it up and moved it aside.  She motioned Byers to stand to
one side and quietly drew her weapon, then saw that Byers had done the
same.  Although he looked nervous, he held the gun competently enough.
Scully felt a brief flash of longing for Mulder at her back, then squared
her shoulders and walked forward to rap at the door.

There was no answer, but she could see a light inside. She cautiously
turned the knob and found the door unlocked.  She opened the door slowly
and peered inside.  There was nobody in the large living room, although
she could see a fire burning through the glass-fronted wood stove.  She
stepped inside, Byers following her, and saw that the room was sparsely
furnished and painfully neat, with couch and several chairs, a few floor
lamps.  A hallway led off the main room into the kitchen.

"You check those rooms, while I look into the kitchen. Yell if you need
me," Scully whispered to Byers.  Byers nodded and walked through the other
doorway.

Byers found a small bedroom beyond the doorway, empty except for a bed.
The bedroom, like the living room was incredibly clean and looked well
kept, even though the window was cracked and had been boarded over.  Byers
noted a complete absence of dust or clutter and had to admire the owner's
housekeeping ability.  Nobody was hiding in the closet or under the bed
either, and no dust mice.  Byers lowered his gun and went to check on
Scully.

He found her in the kitchen standing next to the kitchen table holding a
once-white terrycloth bath towel, which was covered in long streaks of
dried blood.

"Dana?"  Byers said softly.

Scully looked up and Byers had to look away from the pain in her eyes.
"They're here." She said in a trembling voice, then cleared her throat.
"Or they were.  Did you find anything?"

"No.  No other rooms either."  Byers looked through an open door into a
small bathroom.  "Anything in there?  Any...clues?"

Scully shook her head.  "No, everything's incredibly clean, except this."
She ran her hand over the towel and picked off a long strand of dark hair.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. "We should check outside.  There
may be a storm cellar or a shed."

They opened the back door and went down the back steps into a world
covered in white.  After circling the house they found no other entrances
or buildings, but did see a large, battered van parked under some trees.
Scully broke into a near run and was pulling the back door open when Byers
got there.

The van was empty except for strips of shredded white cloth and a watch,
wedged in a corner.  Scully pried it out and looked at it closely. She'd
seen it a hundred times on Mulder's wrist.  She was close.

There had to be another structure here.  The house hadn't been empty long.
She walked to the front of the van and felt the hood, still warm.
Wherever they were, it was nearby.

Scully looked around at the terrain surrounding the house.  There was
nothing obvious and the snow didn't help.  Then she saw some shallow
depressions, rapidly filling with snow.  Footprints!

"Come on, Byers."  Scully started toward the footprints, determined to
follow them before they disappeared.  The footprints made a winding narrow
path up the hillside, and the house was soon out of sight.  Scully rounded
a corner and found to her dismay that the footprints had vanished.

"Damn.  That snow is covering everything."  She kicked the snow in
disgust. Then her eyes widened and she reached down to her feet and
brushed the snow away from the ground.  Byers leaned over and picked up a
pinch of red rock particles, then scraped away more snow from either side.

"This looks like ground pumice stone.  That isn't native to this area.
This path must have originally been marked with it. See, the dirt on
either side is a dull yellow.  This is what you found on the hotel room
floor wasn't it?" Byers held out his hand for Scully to see.

"Yes.  It looks very similar.  We need to follow this path, but how to
scrape the snow away?"  Scully looked back over her shoulder. "I have an
idea."

She led Byers back to the front porch of the house. As expected, the
structure was still empty.  She picked up the broom and led Byers back up
the hill to where the trail had ended.  Using the broom she methodically
swept away patches of snow until she had found the path again.  Soon the
path reappeared when they found themselves under cover of a stand of pine
trees at the base of a hill.  Suddenly Scully stopped.

"Shhh.  Did you hear that noise?"  She asked Byers.

Byers shook his head but was quiet, listening.  Then, faintly they heard a
scream that seemed to be coming through the rock face.

"That's Mulder's voice." Scully's eyes grew wide. "Where is he?"  She
looked around her but could see no structures and the sounds seemed to be
coming from thin air.  God, he isn't...haunting me, is he?  No, she told
herself firmly, he's still alive and there is a rational explanation for
this.

She found her explanation when Byers noted a slit cut into the rock.
Scully peered into it and pulled Byers away.

"I think that's some kind of ventilation hole.  There has to be an old
mine or silo down there.  That's where they are."  She told him.

The cry came again, louder and more anguished this time.  Then they heard
a second voice, shouting.  Skinner! That was Skinner. Scully looked
around, frantic to find the entrance somehow.  Wait a minute, there were
eucalyptus leaves on the carpet too.  They must grow near the doorway,
please God, let them grow near the doorway...

"Look for eucalyptus trees. They mark the doorway." She said shortly and
hoped she was right.

Byers climbed up the hillside a few feet. "Over there!"  He pointed and
Scully could make out two tall trees with long skinny leaves inside a
small ravine ahead.

The two moved as fast as the snow would let them and were soon standing
under the eucalyptus trees.  A weather-beaten wooden door sat flush
against a rock wall.  Scully moved to open it to discover that she was
still clutching the broom.  She set it against the rock wall and pulled
the door open.  She walked in and Byers followed.

They found themselves in a cavern, obviously an old mine working. To
Scully's surprise, the mine was lit by electric lights spaced evenly along
the ceiling.  She drew her gun again and Byers did the same, walking
cautiously forward into the dimness.

She stopped abruptly when the cavern ended at a concrete wall, with a door
at its center.  She could dimly hear noises coming from inside, but
couldn't identify voices or words.  She slowly turned the doorknob with
her left hand and held her gun with her right, then pushed the door open
wide and yelled, "Freeze!  Federal Agent!"

All action inside the room stopped.  She saw Skinner with the bellhop in a
headlock, obviously struggling to subdue the man. And then she saw Mulder.

"Oh my...God...."  She couldn't take her eyes off of him, nor could she
move.  Byers shouldered past her and his eyes widened when he saw Mulder.

Skinner recovered first. "Scully, thank God you're here.  Help Mulder."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"Byers, go through this guy's pockets and take out any keys he's got."
Skinner held Bailey down while Byers extracted a small key ring from
Bailey's pants pocket.  Byers ran back and unlocked the cuffs on Mulder's
wrists, then gently supported Mulder's body as he dropped to the floor.
Byers handed the key ring into Scully's waiting hands and she unlocked
Mulder's ankles, then tossed the key ring to Skinner.

Scully laid her coat onto the floor and had Byers ease Mulder down onto
it.  Mulder's eyes were closed and his skin was pale and clammy. He could
have passed for a dead man but for his labored breathing and Scully was
jarred to note how much he looked like the photographs she'd seen of
Bailey's victims.  He was dressed only in the stained remains of a cotton
undershirt and dress shirt and was a mass of bruises and dried blood from
his torso to his knees.

Scully gently rolled him onto his side and noted that his back was as bad.

After getting the key ring Skinner freed himself from the ankle cuff and
quickly relocked it around Bailey's ankle instead with a sense of
satisfaction. Skinner pocketed the key and made his way over to where
Scully and Byers huddled over Mulder.

Scully knelt at Mulder's side, studying him with a fierce intensity belied
by her trembling hands as she felt for a pulse at his throat. She
carefully pulled the sides of the coat around to cover him.

"What was done to him?"  Scully turned her burning gaze onto Skinner.

Skinner tried to come up with a way to describe what had happened without
causing her any more pain.  He knew miserably that this was impossible.
"He's been beaten repeatedly, especially in the abdominal area, and has
lost some blood because of lacerations and incised wounds. The burns you
saw.  He hasn't been able to keep anything down since yesterday, and has
been chilled and feverish for the past day."

Skinner stopped and cleared his throat.  Scully's face was still and
unreadable.  Byers had turned away and Skinner could see him convulsively
swallowing.

"What...he means to say is... that I got my ass kicked...," Mulder
whispered.


Scully tried to smile at him, but couldn't hide her worry. "Mulder, how
are you feeling?"

"About what you'd expect..." Mulder's eyes closed and he forced them open
again. "This means... more health insurance forms...doesn't it?"

Mulder began to retch and vomited over Scully's coat.

"God, we need an ambulance." Scully pulled out her cell phone then looked
at the concrete walls surrounding them. "Byers, can you go outside and
call the paramedics?  I'll stay with Mulder."

Byers took the phone and left.  Scully pulled a kleenex from her pocket
and wiped the fluid from Mulder's face.

Mulder gave a weak smile. "Sorry.  That was...your new coat, too..."

"Not a problem," said Scully. "You have credit cards and I'll get a new
and more expensive coat out of you."  Mulder nodded and closed his eyes.

"Mulder, I need to examine you.  Tell me if anything hurts."  Mulder
opened his eyes and nodded again, then closed them. Scully lifted Mulder's
shirt and gently ran her hands over his ribcage.  She could see deep
crimson and purple bruises running across his chest and down to the
abdomen.  Mulder winced and gasped as she pressed against his chest.

"Looks like you have two broken ribs."  Scully noted the fine lacerations
running over Mulder's body, partially covered with dried blood. She moved
her hands down to his abdomen and palpated it gently. Mulder cried out and
all but sat up in reaction. Scully frowned, then wrapped the coat more
securely around Mulder and gave him her best reassuring smile.  "Ok, you
rest now.  I'm going to look Skinner over."

Scully pulled Skinner to the other side of the room and began gently
examining the bump on his head. "How about you? It looks like you got hit
on the head,"  Scully said loudly then went on, "I don't want Mulder to
hear this, he's been through enough already."

"What is his condition?"  Skinner asked with concern.

"I think he may some internal injuries, his abdomen is distended and
tender. You said he took some heavy blows to the abdominal area?"  Scully
picked up Skinner's left wrist and began examining the abrasions left by
the rope.

"Yes.  Bailey punched him hard several times in the abdomen and kneed him
in the groin about 30 minutes before you got here. You've seen the
evidence of the other beatings."

"We need to get him to a hospital, soon." Scully said.

Just then Byers returned to the room, brushing snow off his shoulders and
shaking his head.  "We're too far out.  The cell phone doesn't reach. I
went down to the house and both the power and the phone are out."

"Damn, then we need to load Mulder into the car and get him to a
hospital." Scully started, then stopped when she saw Byers shaking his
head.

"You should come out and see, Agent Scully.  It's snowing so heavily that
the car is buried.  I don't think that the roads are passable. I managed
to get back here from the house, but I don't think we're going anywhere
for a while."

"You can't be serious," Scully said and ran out the door. Outside she saw
a world muffled in a blanket of snow. They'd have to get him to the house
at least. They could rig a stretcher for him somehow.  She spotted the
broom she'd dropped at the doorway; that would be a good stretcher handle.
She picked it up on her way back inside.

She found Skinner and Byers talking quietly.  Byers had peeled off his
sweater and loaned it to Skinner, leaving Byers in shirt and down jacket

"We can make a stretcher out of my coat and Byers'jacket and get him back
to the house." She told Byers and Skinner. "This will make a good
stretcher handle, but we need to get another length of wood or a tree
branch."  She held out the broom and was surprised when Skinner recoiled.

"That damned thing isn't touching Mulder, and he isn't going to see it if
I have anything to say about it,"  Skinner said angrily.

Scully was perplexed.  "What's wrong?"

"The last...time...I saw that thing was when Bailey was wiping Mulder's
blood off of it."  Skinner was surprised to find himself near tears. "We
aren't using it, even if it's the last damned hunk of wood on the planet."

Scully looked down at the broomstick she still held and quickly ran with
it out the door.  She threw the broom to the floor and found herself
irrationally wiping her hands on her pants legs, trying to hold down her
nausea.  She gave herself a mental shake and returned to the room.

"Well, we have to get him out of here somehow." Byers turned to Skinner.
"Should we carry him?"

"I'll carry him out," Skinner offered. "I learned a fireman's carry in
'Nam."

"No, that won't work," said Scully. "If he's got internal injuries, a
fireman's carry would put pressure on the abdominal area. It might cause
more damage.  And we can't just drag him in the snow, he'd freeze."

Scully looked around the concrete room, stained with Mulder's blood, and
shivered. "And he can't stay here."

"As I said, I'll carry him. Like this."  Skinner knelt and wrapped
Scully's coat more tightly around Mulder, then gently lifted Mulder like
an infant into his arms.  "Now let's get the hell out of here."

"What about him?" Byers pointed to Bailey, who crouched silently against
the wall.

"He can stay here.  There's heat, light, water, food and a toilet. He
isn't going anywhere." Skinner, carrying Mulder easily, moved through the
open door.

Scully followed.  Byers was the last, giving Bailey one final troubled
look before he closed the door behind him.

They made their way back to the cabin, Byers and Scully stamping snow down
and clearing obstacles for Skinner and Mulder.  Although the snow had
stopped for the time being, the clouds overhead were dark and threatening.

They arrived gratefully at the cabin to find the fire still alight in the
stove, but dying down.  Scully held the door for Skinner and motioned for
him to lay Mulder on the couch. "This is the warmest room, so let's put
him here."

Skinner deposited Mulder on the couch, while Scully built up the fire in
the wood stove.  Byers found some kerosene lamps and began lighting them.
Soon the room took on a warm glow.

"The wood's low.  Why don't I cut some more?  I saw a woodpile behind the
house."  Skinner picked up the axe from the corner behind the stove.

Scully was hesitant. "Are you sure you should? You've had a head injury
yourself. Maybe you ought to rest."

Skinner gave Scully a solemn look.  "Dana, after the past 24 hours, I NEED
to cut some wood.  A lot of wood." Scully nodded and frowned as she
watched him go out the back door.

"Agent Scully, maybe we should find some more blankets." Byers looked
meaningfully in Mulder's direction.  Damn, she thought, he's shivering
again.

"Yes, bring all the blankets and pillows you can find. I think we may all
be camping out in here tonight.  I'm going outside to check on the car."
Scully wrapped herself in one of the blankets and went outside again.

She couldn't find the car.  For that matter, she couldn't find the road.
From the porch all she could see was a featureless field of white, that
stood as tall as the porch's top step.  She considered, the private road
was about five miles long.  Somebody could hike down and find a neighbor,
maybe be able to use a phone or get a four wheel drive vehicle in.  But 
the sky looked threatening, it would be dangerous to try it today.

Mulder.  What about Mulder?  She frowned and crossed her arms, clutching
the blanket closer to her.  She could hear the sharp sounds of Skinner
cutting firewood, loudly and at furious speed.  She went back inside the
cabin.

Byers sat on a rag rug near Mulder's couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow
and a small transistor radio in his hands.  "I made some coffee, there's
more on the wood stove," he said without looking up.

Scully gratefully got herself a cup and sat down on the rug next to Byers.
She took a sip, grateful for the heat and flavor of the coffee.

"I found this in the closet as well as the batteries. Let's see if it
works."  Byers turned the radio on and was cheered to hear static come
out. "Maybe I can find a weather report."

Byers adjusted the dial until he found an AM news station.  The weather
was the top item of news.  A major storm had blown in and was causing
whiteout conditions in the mountains.  Both Highways 50 and 80 were closed
by landslides and entire mountain communities were cut off without power
or telephone. The storm was expected to last for several more days and
local roads weren't expected to reopen for some time after that.

"The road's completely covered," Scully said. "I couldn't even find the
car! Somebody will have to hike out when the snow stops."

Skinner walked in from the kitchen with an armload of wood, dumping it
into the woodbox next to the stove.  "That should do it for a while. There
are some smaller logs ready to use stacked outside the back door, as well
as some kindling."  Skinner got a coffee mug and poured himself a cup,
taking a seat in the armchair. "Agent Scully, in all the confusion I
forgot to ask you.  Where are the rest of the FBI agents? Surely you
aren't the only one they sent out after us."

Scully flushed.  "It's a long story, sir, and you won't like it much. But
this is what happened..."

Scully recounted the substance of her conversation with Kersh and the
reaction of the local field office and police department. "And so, sir, I
knew that time was of the essence. Since I had no other support, I
recruited my own."  Scully smiled at Byers.

"And I couldn't have asked for better backup."

Byers blushed.  "It was our pleasure, Agent Scully."

Skinner stared thoughtfully into his coffee mug.  "I always thought Kersh
was a dumb-ass; just not this dumb."  He looked up and met Scully's
troubled eyes.

"Sir, I have no proof that this situation resulted from anything more than
Kersh's spite."

"No." Skinner said.  "And you probably never will. Well, what now?"

"I've been thinking, sir.  Somebody could walk out and get help.  The road
is about five miles and the nearest house on the way in was about two
miles beyond that.  We might be able to use the cellular down there, or
borrow a phone at a neighbor's house." Scully took another sip.  "But I
think it would be risky today.  It looks like the storm isn't over."

"I agree.  But can Mulder wait that long?"  Skinner's eyes wandered back to
Mulder, motionless on the couch.

"Truthfully, I don't know." Scully sighed. "But I think the person hiking
out has the best chance if he waits until the storm is over. "

"Well, then I'll leave when the storm subsides."  Skinner sipped his
coffee, missing Scully's telltale frown.

"Are you sure that you should be the one to go, sir? After the events of
the past few days, you aren't in peak physical condition.  It might be
better for Byers to go."  Scully looked meaningfully at Byers and he
nodded vigorously.

"I think she's right, Mr. Skinner.  Besides, I'm dressed for hiking."

"Well, I disagree.  If it's clear tomorrow I'll borrow some clothing from
Mr. Bailey and go for help."

"Sir, I don't think you're being reasonable." A moan from the couch
silenced Scully and all three turned to see Mulder's eyes open. Scully got
up and went over to him.

"Hi, sleepyhead."  She brushed his hair out of his eyes. "How ya doin'?"

"Okay," Mulder whispered.  "But I'd really like some water."

"Sure, I'll get you some."  Scully went into the kitchen.  After she left,
Mulder gestured for Skinner to come over, close by. Skinner got up and
went over to Mulder's couch.

"Sir..."

"What, Mulder? I can't hear you." Skinner leaned closer to catch Mulder's
whisper.

"Sir, you can't leave here.  Please let Byers go."

"Why not, Mulder?  Despite everything, I'm in better physical shape than
Byers. And I have a thing or two to say to Kersh when I get him on the
phone."  Skinner spoke softly, looking anxiously at Mulder.

"Bailey is still here.  If he gets loose..." Mulder stopped at Skinner's
vehement head shake then started again, "If he gets loose, Byers can't
protect Scully...and...Bailey...."

"Here's your water. I only gave you  a little.  I don't want you to drink
too many fluids just yet."  Scully reached behind Mulder's head and
stacked pillows to prop him up. Mulder said nothing more but met Skinner's
eyes with clear anguish as he took the glass from Scully's hand and
carefully began to sip it.

Skinner nodded at Mulder and returned to his chair, slumping into it with
apparent exhaustion.  "You know, Agent Scully, you may have a point.  I've
been fighting a splitting headache all day. Now that the adrenaline is
wearing off, I don't feel very well."

"Are you feeling nauseated sir?  How's your vision?" Scully quickly left
Mulder's side and went over to Skinner.

"No, no, I think I just need to rest and take it easy," Skinner said
hastily. "But you're right, Byers is in better shape than I am right now."

"How did Bailey abduct you two, anyway?" Byers asked.

"I don't know what he did to Mulder, but when I got back to the room he
was loading Mulder into a big steamer trunk.  I tried to stop him and he
got me with a taser, then knocked me out.  When I woke up, we were in that
room."  Skinner peered down into his coffee, looking uncomfortable. "He
said he wanted to kidnap Mulder because of a profile Mulder did in the
VCS.  It seems Mr. Bailey's brother Michael was convicted of a series of
murders that Paul actually committed. Mulder's testimony put Michael
Bailey on death row."

"Where he committed suicide,"  Byers finished. "So then, the real serial
killer was..is...Paul."

Scully blanched. "Then Paul Bailey planned to follow his pattern, with
Mulder as his victim?"

"Yes," Skinner said, and then was silent.  After a moment he got up and
walked through the kitchen, going out the back door.  Scully followed and
found Skinner standing on the back deck, staring out at the snow.

"It's kind of cold out here, don't you think?"  Scully began.

"I couldn't do anything," Skinner said.  "Have you ever felt utterly,
completely helpless and you couldn't do a thing about it?"

"Since teaming with Mulder?  On a regular basis." Scully smiled quietly.
"It isn't surprising that this...experience...has upset you. It would be
cause for worry if it didn't."

"You don't understand.  I'm responsible for Mulder. I'm his superior. It
was my job to see to it that we both got out of there safely. Do you know
what I did while that wacko was...hurting...Mulder?"  Skinner turned to
Scully and she was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "I closed my eyes
and wished I were a thousand miles away. And... deep in my soul...," Skinner
stopped and took a ragged breath then forced the words out. "I was... glad
it wasn't me."

Scully leaned toward Skinner and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. She
could feel him tensing, fighting back the emotions. "It's ok....it's
ok...," she murmured.

Skinner pulled back and took off his glasses, wiping them and his eyes on
his sleeve.

"But you did do something," Scully said.  "When we got there you had
Bailey in a headlock."

Skinner gave her a hesitant smile. "The only reason I was able to get to
Bailey was because of Mulder's plan to talk him down.  Mulder gave me the
strategy and forced me to try it."

"Well, you didn't get these just sitting passively." Scully took Skinner's
wrists in both her hands and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. "You
tried to get free, didn't you?  You just couldn't. It's no sin to try and
fail."

"I tried.  Every time he screamed, I tried.  Every blow I heard...I tried.
But I just couldn't do anything...."  Skinner did break down, then, and
Scully found herself holding him while he cried.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 23 4:00 p.m.

Scully had left Skinner alone outside on the rear deck, still concerned
about him.  She returned gratefully to the warm cabin and found Mulder
still asleep and Byers in the armchair deep in a novel.  She peered at the
title: "War and Peace."

"Now where did you find that?" she asked.

Byers lowered the book and looked inside the cover. "It belonged to
Michael Bailey.  I found it on the shelf over there."  He pointed to a
small bookcase standing against the far wall. "It's been a while since I
read this book, it's good to re-read it again." Byers lost himself in the
book again.

Scully wandered over to the book case and studied the titles.  She found
classic literature, poetry, history-both ancient and modern, and several
favorites of her own. Each of the books she removed from the shelf had
Michael Bailey's name inside.  I wonder what kind of man he was? Scully
pondered as she thumbed through a dog-eared copy of Milton.

As she put the book back onto the shelf, she notice a battered cardboard
box on the floor.  She knelt down and saw that it was filled with the
mementos of a life.

"What'cha lookin' at?"  Mulder called from across the room.

Scully picked up the box and carried over to the couch. "I don't know. It
looks like a box of keepsakes." Scully lifted out a small trophy and read
the inscription 'Speech and Debate Club, First Place, presented to Michael
Bailey March 12, 1978.'  Mulder took the trophy and handled it carefully
before giving it back to Scully.

Mulder reached into the box and found a small photo album.  The first
picture showed two young boys sitting under a tree, the elder with his arm
protectively around the younger one.  Both wore broad grins. The label on
the back read 'Mikey and Paul, June 1973.'  Later pictures showed the two
boys, grown older but always together. The last picture was labeled
'Michael at graduation, 1979' and showed a proud young man in cap and gown
flanked by his equally proud little brother.  Mulder looked troubled and
thoughtful as he handed the book back to Scully.

Scully found a newsprint obituary dated August 1979. "It looks like their
parents died together in an auto accident.  There were no other
relatives."

"Somehow when you do this kind of work, you stop thinking of suspects as
people.." Scully said, closing the album and replacing it in the box. She
put the box on the floor next to the couch and focused on Mulder.

"It must be serious, you have your 'professional' face on,"  Mulder
commented.

"Mulder, I wanted to let you rest a bit before I took a close look at your
injuries.  There was always a chance we could get you to a hospital so
that your wounds could be cleaned in a sterile environment."

"Not gonna happen, huh?"  Mulder lay back against the pillows.  "Is it
going to hurt?  How much?"

"I don't know.  That's the problem.  I don't really know what your
condition is, except that you may have some internal injuries, you are
feverish, probably shocky and developing some type of infection."

"What if you just leave me as I am?"  Mulder looked troubled. "I...I'd
rather not have anybody touch me just now."

Scully looked at him with compassion. "We could leave you as you are, but
I don't think it would help your wounds any.  It will be a few days before
we can get out of here.  Do you trust me to help you?"

"Scully, I trust you with everything.... except maybe my video
collection."

"Hey, it was an accident, that copy of the Sound of Music showing up in
your video cabinet." Scully grinned.

"Yeah, inside the jacket that said 'Debbie Does Dallas'?" Mulder snorted
then winced and paled.  He lay back again and said nothing for a moment.
"Ok, you're the doctor.  But, I'd like some privacy. I haven't had much of
that lately."

"Okay.  Let me take a look and see what medical supplies we have on hand."
Scully got up and went over to Byers and motioned for him to follow her to
the kitchen.

"Byers, could you read in the kitchen?  I'll need the living room for a
while."

Byers nodded. "I heard.  Anything I can do to help, just ask." Scully
nodded and went outside.  Skinner was chopping wood again, but not as
ferociously as before.  Well, she thought, at least he's keeping warm.
Skinner noticed Scully and put down the axe.

"That's a good sized woodpile.  You feeling better?" She sat down on a
weathered bench against the wall.

"A little.  But it still bothers me." Skinner eyed Scully.  "And you don't
look too happy yourself.  How's Mulder?"

"I need to dress his wounds if I can.  He's asked for some privacy, so I'd
like us to have the living room for a bit.  I need to check the cupboards
to see if Bailey has anything stronger than soap and water. I'd give my
eye-teeth for a quart of Betadine and an IV."  Scully looked up.  "In his
condition I may cause as much pain cleaning his wounds as Bailey did
causing them."

Skinner stiffened.  "If there's anything, anything I can do to help...."

"I'll be sure to ask."  Scully met Skinner's eyes. "Remember,  Mulder isn't
Bailey's only victim here.  Your scars just don't show."

Skinner nodded "Or yours."

Skinner followed Scully into the kitchen and joined Byers at the kitchen
table.  Byers had found a deck of cards and was playing solitaire. As
Scully went into the bathroom she heard Skinner ask him whether he'd ever
played poker before.

Scully opened the medicine cabinet and removed a bottle of hydrogen
peroxide, one of aspirin, some cotton balls and a roll of gauze. She
didn't find anything else she considered useful except for some clean
towels and a fresh bar of soap.  She tried to run hot water from the tap,
but got only icy water.  She moved to the kitchen and happily found some
anti-bacterial dish soap.  She stopped and surveyed the large iron stove.

"I think it's an old fashioned wood-stove.  Bailey isn't much for
luxuries, is he?" Byers commented.  "That's why I made the coffee on the
stove in the living room, it, at least was already hot."

Scully sighed in resignation and went to get wood but found herself
meeting Skinner at the doorway.  "I'll get that.  You just fill a pan with
water. I've used this type of stove before.  I'll set it up for you."
Scully found a large pot and filled it with the icy water, then set it
onto the stove. She found Skinner lighting a fire in the stove; she could
hear the flames roaring inside and the beginning of heat radiating from
it. Skinner shut the iron door with  a clang and stepped back, dusting off
his hands.

"I've put extra wood in the pile next to the stove. Just add it as
needed."  Skinner turned and went back to the table without further
comment.  Scully was collecting her supplies together when she heard a
loud 'thud' from the living room.  She raced into the living room,
followed closely by Skinner and Byers, to find Mulder, wrapped in a
blanket, laying on the floor breathing hard.  He looked up, his face
twisted with pain. "I'm...sorry.  Had... to go... to the bathroom."

Skinner and Scully helped him up and back over to the couch.  Mulder was
pale and sweating and seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open.
"Mulder, I'll rig up some kind of bedpan for you. I'm so sorry," Scully
began.

"No, don't want a bedpan.  I can do this...if someone can help me to the
bathroom," Mulder pleaded.

"I can help him," said Skinner.  Mulder nodded assent.

"I can help too."  Scully was puzzled as Mulder vehemently shook his head
'no.'   

"Why not me?" she asked.

"You're a girl!" said Mulder scornfully.

Scully smiled. "I think I just lost that battle.  Ok, go ahead and give
Mulder a hand, but will you do me a favor?"  She pulled Skinner away.
"Tell me if he passes any blood in his urine.  It could look red or dark
colored."

"You think he's bleeding inside?" Skinner asked.

"Possibly, and I don't think Mulder will volunteer the information, since
I'd only worry about him and I can't do anything about it."

Skinner grinned. "He's right, you will."

Scully smiled back. "Just a normal hazard of the job."

Skinner went back and, supporting Mulder under his shoulders, walked him
into the bathroom and shut the door.

Twenty minutes later Skinner helped Mulder back to the couch and settled
him in, then he went into the kitchen to wash his hands.  Scully was
ladling out hot water into a smaller bucket half filled with cold water.
She turned when she heard Skinner come in.

"Well?" she said.

"Nothing that I could see. But if I do notice anything, I'll tell you."
Skinner said.

Scully felt relieved, although she knew it was premature.  Mulder could
still have internal injuries with blood loss on a microscopic level. This
just meant that it wasn't immediately life-threatening.  Still, feeling
lighter, she picked up her bucket and towels and went into the living
room.

Mulder was lying quietly when Scully pulled a chair next to the couch.
"So, how are you doing?" she asked. "You want to get started?" Mulder gave
Scully a nervous look and nodded. Scully set the bucket of warm water next
to the couch, along with soap, towels and gauze bandages. She smiled
reassuringly and unwrapped the blankets from around him. She helped Mulder
lean forward and covered the couch with towels, then helped him lay back.

"I'll need to get this shirt off.  It'll probably be sticking to you in
some places.  Let me know if you need me to stop." Scully began to clean
his injuries with the soap and water.  At first Mulder flinched with every
touch, then, clenching his jaw, his face became impassive.  After she had
been working for a few minutes, Mulder spoke.

"Scully, have you ever thought about evil?"

"Huh?" She asked.  "What about evil?  It exists. We've both seen it. What
more is there to think about?"

"Have you ever defined it for yourself?  Wondered whether, with the best
of intentions, you're actually doing an evil thing to somebody else?" At
Scully's stare, Mulder added. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Well, I don't think you can ever see all the consequences of your
actions. If you tried, you'd go crazy.  I guess for myself, when I
question an action I'm about to take, I just pray and ask for the grace to
make the right decision."  Scully smiled.  "I know you're allergic to
religion, but that's the way I do it."  She worked a little longer, then
stopped and met Mulder's eyes. "You're thinking about Michael Bailey
aren't you?"

"Yeah.  Nothing much to do here on the couch but think.  Scully, when I
wrote that profile I arrogantly assumed that he had to be the killer. But
I was so confident in my own judgment, I didn't check all the evidence
thoroughly.  It simply never occurred to me that somebody else might be
the killer."  He looked thoughtfully at the box, which still sat next to
the couch.  "And I understand Michael's reasons for not reporting his
brother to the police."

Scully sat back and watched Mulder's face with concern.  "Mulder, I know
that Bailey's love for his little brother reminds you of your relationship
with Samantha, but don't forget: Paul Bailey is a serial torturer-
murderer, responsible for at least 10 deaths, if not more."  She looked
down and tugged gently at a corner of Mulder's shirt, which was sticking
to his ribs.

"Ow! Easy there....I'm not saying that Paul Bailey isn't a sick SOB or
that he's a choir angel.  What I'm trying to say is that I think he has an
honest complaint against me."  Scully glared at Mulder.  Mulder went on.
"When I was hanging there and Paul told me about my mistake, the only
thing I could think to say was that I'm only human and I depended on the
evidence. Was that a feeble excuse, or what?  I should have looked more
closely at the 'evidence'. I made a snap judgment and made it stick.  No
wonder Paul beat the crap out of me. I can't say I blame him...."

"Such that he's justified in torturing you half to death?  That's
ridiculous! Are you sure you don't have a head injury on top of everything
else?" Scully's glare became, if possible, even more indignant.  She
stopped, to choose her words carefully, and went on.

"Mulder, you asked about my definition of evil.  Well, here it is. Evil is
deliberately causing pain to another person or persons for your own
enjoyment, without regard for the consequences of your actions.  Has it
occurred to you that what Paul Bailey did to you has repercussions beyond
Fox Mulder?"

Mulder looked puzzled and Scully went on.  "Skinner is eating his heart
out because of what Bailey did to you.  He thinks he could have stopped it
from happening and that he is responsible because he couldn't.  And, while
we're at it, I don't enjoy having to see you like this.  I'm a doctor but
we're miles from anywhere and there's very little I can do for you here.
That causes me pain." As Scully finished, she could hear her voice start
to tremble.  She quietly continued cleaning Mulder's wounds, then felt his
hand at her chin.  Mulder lifted her face and met her eyes.

"I'm sorry Scully, if anything I've done or said has caused you pain," he
said softly.  "I don't like you to worry about me, but I'd be lying if I
didn't admit that I'm glad you're here."  Scully grabbed Mulder's hand and
squeezed it, then continued treating him.

Mulder went on. "I'm surprised that Skinner feels that way, though.  I
wouldn't have made it without him.  While it was going on, I could look
over and see Skinner, full of rage and determination, trying to get free
of the ropes.  Just looking at his face helped. I knew I could count on
him not to give up.  After the first...session...I felt like I wanted to
die.  Bailey left and put Skinner on a long chain. Skinner got me down,
kept me warm, gave me water and forced me to think about getting out, not
giving up. He made me stop wallowing in pain and analyze Bailey's
psychology to come up with a plan to talk him down.  I owe him a lot."
Mulder pondered a bit, then continued.

"Ok, how about life after death?"

Scully sighed.  She hated it when Mulder was in this kind of mood. "So
what about it? Are you asking if I believe in heaven and hell?"

"Well, yeah.  What do you think happens after you die? Is all your life
geared toward earning your way into heaven?" Mulder grinned at her
challengingly, then winced as she hit a tender spot.

"Mulder, unlike you I have a religious faith that I believe in.  I believe
that if I lead a good life and trust God, I'll go to heaven.  Who knows?"
Scully smiled. "If I'm there to speak for you, he might even let you in."

Mulder looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.  "I've never really believed
in life after death.  I mean, it's a great idea, but I just could never
really believe in it.  I'm glad I don't believe in hell, although having
to try to make amends for your sins while you're still alive is even
worse. I suppose that the most I've ever hoped for from my life is to
spend it in a great cause."  He paused and went on, "or give it up for a
great cause."

"The Truth?" Scully asked quietly.  "Just be sure that the truth you die
for is really worth it, not more lies."

Scully stopped cleaning and picked up the peroxide. "Ok, Mulder.  I've
finished cleaning the blood and dirt off your chest, now here's the hard
part. The best cleanser I could find was this.  I'm going to apply it, and
it's going to hurt, a lot.  Ready?"

Mulder grinned weakly. "Boy, Agent Scully, you really know how to show a
guy a good time. Ok, go."  Scully saturated a washcloth with peroxide and
began swabbing Mulder down.  He heroically grit his teeth and held back
his yelp. But when Scully had finished, he said whitely, "You really don't
exaggerate about these things, do you?"

"Never," Scully said calmly and picked up the soapy water.  "I'm going to
change this for new water and I'll do the rest of you."

As she entered the kitchen she smiled to hear Mulder's reply, "Don't I
wish!"

Scully entered the kitchen to find Skinner and Byers deeply involved in a
poker game.  "Who's winning?" She asked curiously.

Skinner glumly pointed to Byers. "He said it was his first game ever, but
I owe him half a year's pay by now."

Byers just smiled quietly.  "How's Mulder doing?" He asked.

"Pretty good.  I think I'll be done in about thirty minutes, so try to
leave A.D. Skinner something to live on for the rest of the year."  Scully
checked her watch. "It's about 7 p.m. and I'm getting hungry. Which one of
you gentlemen would like to cook dinner?"

Skinner got up. "I'll do it. This way I might be able to have at least
one paycheck to call my own.  I'll check the cupboards and see what Bailey
has on hand."

Scully returned to the living room with more warm water to find Mulder
reading a packet of papers from the box.

"What's that?"  she asked as she sat down.

"Letters Michael wrote to Paul from prison.  They're very interesting. It
looks like Michael made Paul promise never to hurt people again, and in
exchange Michael promised not to report Paul to the police.  OUCH..."
Scully had reached Mulder's abdomen, heavily bruised and still distended
looking.

"Is that tender?" Scully asked and Mulder nodded his head.  Scully said
nothing but continued her work. After another wash of peroxide on his
lower body and extremities.. "Ow, Scully, take it easy there, will ya?"
...she helped him sit up and cleaned his back, applying the same
treatment. Then she wrapped the gauze bandage around his torso, where the
worst of the lacerations were.  Some of them had started bleeding again,
but not heavily. She had scrounged some shorts from Bailey's dresser and
primly averted her eyes while Mulder painfully slipped them on. Finally
she wrapped Mulder securely in his blanket and sat back.

"Ok, I'm done." Scully paused.  "Mulder, are you really sure you want to
dig into Michael Bailey's past?  It's over and done with, after all."

"Not while Paul is still out there.  Speaking of which, what did you do
with him."  Mulder looked around a bit nervously.

"He's out in the bunker.  We'll probably keep him there until the
authorities can take charge of him.  Skinner has volunteered to take him
his meals. He's been restrained, don't worry. He won't get out."

"Good," said Mulder with barely hidden relief.  "By the way, did you bring
my weapon with you? If you did I'd...like to have it back."

Scully looked at him curiously.  "Yes, we did bring it.  I'll get it for
you." Scully got up and returned with Mulder's gun.  He took it and put it
under one of the couch cushions.

The smell of food wafted through the room.  Scully went into the kitchen
to find Byers stirring a pot of soup while Skinner made sandwiches.  He
looked up as Scully came in.  "Everything ok?"

"Fine, sir." Scully washed her hands at the sink.  "I think we can move
back into the living room now.  "Mulder's a little groggy, but ready for
company."

Scully looked into the pot of soup, chicken noodle, good choice.  She
spooned some broth into a mug, and broth plus noodles into a second. She
gave the first mug out to Mulder, who looked at it suspiciously.

"What's in it?"  He sniffed at it.

"Chicken soup.  Try a little and see if you can keep that down.  If not,
we'll put you back on water." Scully began eating her mug of soup.
Encouraged, Mulder took a sip, then slowly finished the mug.  By then
Skinner and Byers had joined them in the living room.


February 23, 10:00 p.m.

By common consent they decided to spend the night in the living room.
Nobody wanted to sleep in Bailey's bed.  Scully made a pallet for herself
next to Mulder's couch, although he had generously offered to share.
Scully had just laughed and said, "In your dreams!"

Skinner and Byers made their beds closer to the kitchen doorway.  Before
retiring for the night, Skinner locked and bolted all the doors and
windows, then made sure that the weapon he'd taken from Bailey was loaded
and near to hand.  Then he lay down to rest.

Scully quietly followed Skinner on his rounds, double-checking the locks.
She felt silly sleeping with her gun under her pillow, but did it anyway
because it made her feel better.


February 24, 3:00 a.m.

Scully's dreams were haunted by a voice, pleading for rescue, then she
gradually realized that this wasn't a dream, at least, not hers. She
blinked in the dim firelight.  Skinner and Byers were asleep, but she
could hear Mulder. "Please, no...no, I haven't done anything
wrong...no...God it hurts!"

Scully got up and went to Mulder.  "Mulder, it's okay, it's just a dream."
She stroked his forehead until his eyes opened.

"What..?" Mulder's eyes were blank with terror, then he recognized Scully
and relaxed. "Oh. Scully...I was having a nightmare wasn't I? I'm sorry to
wake you." Mulder looked very tired and frightened.

"You were dreaming about Bailey, weren't you?" Scully asked gently.

"I was back in that room, but I was alone with Bailey this time, and I
wasn't coming out again."  Mulder shivered and Scully wrapped the blanket
around him more tightly. "I suppose I should expect this for a while, post
traumatic stress reaction."  Mulder looked bleakly around the room.
"Think I'll sit up for a while..."

"You want to talk about it?" Scully wrapped her blanket around herself and
sat closer to the couch.

Mulder's eyes anxiously scanned the room. "I guess I feel like
my...well... personal security is violated, for lack of a better term.  I
don't feel safe, even though I know I'm surrounded by friends."  He
grinned. "With guns." He looked troubled and couldn't meet Scully's eyes.
"I wonder what I'd do if  I met Bailey again; whether I'd just... 
collapse....with terror. I see him in every shadow,  I jump with
every strange noise."

Mulder looked down at the floor. "And I'm afraid that I won't be able to
do my job as an FBI agent because I'll be starting at shadows, for fear of
getting hurt again." Mulder took a breath and went on. "And even being
touched...I can't stand it.  Just having you dress my wounds was awful.
I...wanted to run just so that you wouldn't touch me, and I had to keep
reminding myself that it was you...Scully...my friend."

"I don't think that there's anything unusual in the way you're feeling,"
Scully said calmly.  "You've been through a trauma. And your personal
security WAS violated, in a terrible way." Scully gently cupped Mulder's
cheek with her hand, forcing Mulder to meet her gaze. "I felt that way
after Duane Barry.  I knew that my body wasn't the same as it had been
before, that I had been changed forever."

"Why didn't you tell me you felt that way?" Mulder said in a hurt tone.

"What could you have done?  Any more than you were already doing?  Mulder,
every time I turned around you were there, watching over me protectively.
I couldn't get rid of you!" Scully grabbed Mulder's hand and held it. "The
important thing is that you were there.  I knew I could trust you, and I
knew you would be there for me if I needed you. That's what kept me going;
that and the work.  It gets better after a while. If you ever need to talk
about anything, remember that I'm here."  Mulder relaxed back against the
pillows, his hand still in Scully's, but some of the haunted look had
drained from his eyes.

"Mulder, you need to rest." Scully pondered.  "Would it help if I climbed
in there with you?"

"Why, Agent Scully, I believe that my dreams are coming true after all."
Mulder tried to smirk but couldn't hide the longing in his face.

Scully snorted. "Agent Mulder, I am confident that, in your present
condition, my virtue is safe from you.  C'mon, scoot over."  Scully
snuggled against Mulder on the couch, tucking her head under his chin, and
listened to his heart as she dozed off.

Mulder stayed awake a little longer, watching the patterns of firelight on
the ceiling.  Then he, too, went to sleep and had no more dreams.


February 24,  7:00 a.m.

Scully got out of bed to find that Skinner and Byers were already up.  She
left Mulder sleeping and sat down at the kitchen table with the coffee cup
that Byers handed her.

"Where's Skinner?" She asked. "And how's the weather?"

"He took some food to Bailey.  He should be back soon. It stopped snowing
and the weather report says it's expected to be clear today but he roads
are still blocked. I'd planned to start out pretty soon."

Scully nodded. "I hope you made yourself a lunch. It'll be a long walk."

Byers picked up a small knapsack.  "Already packed." He put on his down
jacket and shouldered the knapsack. "Well, I'll be on my way.  Good luck!"

"You too.  Be careful." Scully called after him. Scully finished her
coffee then decided to find out what was keeping Skinner.  She grabbed a
jacket (Bailey's) and holstered her gun, just in case, she told herself.
She looked in on Mulder and found him still asleep. She quickly penned a
note: "Skinner and I checking on Bailey. Byers has gone for help. Back
soon."  Lacking a better place to leave it, she pinned it to the couch
next to Mulder's cheek.

Scully walked quickly to the bunker, following the tracks of Skinner's
footprints in the snow.  When she got to the wooden doorway to the mine,
she paused.  There were loud scuffling sounds coming from inside, as
though a struggle were going on.  When she heard a loud "oof!" in
Skinner's voice, she drew her gun and ran inside.  For the second time in
24 hours she flung open the bunker door and was shocked at what she saw.

Bailey lay on the floor, chained by his ankle to the pipe, with a bleeding
nose and a black eye.  Skinner had turned around when the door opened and
looked guiltily at Scully as he rubbed the knuckles of his right hand. "I
can explain..." He began nervously.

Scully stared coldly at Skinner and silently turned around and walked out
the door, marching fast for the cabin.  Skinner had to run to catch up
with her, and she fought him as he grabbed her arm.  She stopped and
turned on him.

"Just what do you think you were doing in there?" She demanded furiously.

"He mouthed off at me!  He deserves it, it isn't half of what he did to
Mulder."  Skinner's voice trailed away when he saw the rage in Scully's
face.

"So that's it then, an eye for an eye?  A torture for a torture?  That's
what you were doing, you know.  Causing pain to somebody for your own
satisfaction."  Scully gave Skinner a long, scornful look and continued
walking to the cabin.  "I'd have thought better of you," she said to the
air in front of her.

"I don't understand why you're defending him.  That man is a monster!"
Skinner shouted at Scully's tense back.

Scully turned and stopped dead.  "That's right, he IS a monster.  But you
aren't.  Don't you see that when you behave like that you're no better
than a Paul Bailey.  I'm going back to the cabin and get some first aid
supplies and give that monster some medical treatment, because while I do
have a grudge against Bailey, I am not a monster."  Scully turned around
and began to run for the cabin.  Skinner followed more slowly.

Inside, Scully furiously packed the gauze, soap, a washcloth and peroxide
into a paper sack.  Ignoring Mulder's sleepy questions, and Skinner's
pleas, she marched back out of the cabin and down to the bunker.  Skinner
followed her at a slower pace, hoping to give her time to calm down, and
conscious of a nagging sense of guilt.

When Skinner arrived at the bunker he found the door open and Scully
kneeling near the pipe which had restrained Bailey.  The pipe had been
twisted from the wall and Bailey was gone, as were the various sets of
restraints that had littered the room.  Scully turned a calm face to
Skinner.

"I think you weakened the pipe enough that Bailey was able to break away,
finally."

Skinner knelt next to her and examined the pipe. "I worked on the damned
thing for 12 hours, I guess I was making more headway than I thought."
Skinner paused, then met Scully's eyes as the truth dawned on them both.

"Oh my God...,"Scully whispered.

"Mulder."  Skinner got up and ran out the door, Scully running close
behind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Skinner quickly outdistanced Scully and ran as fast as he could make his
body go.  The cabin looked quiet enough, but he drew his gun as he
approached and barreled in through the back door.  He ran into the living
room to find himself staring into the nose of Mulder's gun, held by a
trembling and pale looking Mulder.

Mulder sighed with relief and put the gun down, then sat abruptly on the
couch. He looked cold, dressed only in shorts and bandages.  Skinner
holstered his gun and draped him with a blanket.

"What the hell is going on?" Asked Mulder.  "First Scully freaks out, now
you come running in."

"Bailey's loose." Skinner looked nervously around the room . "He broke the
pipe and got away.  We thought he'd come here after you. Scully was right
behind me."  Skinner turned around and looked out the back door.  "She
should be here by now."

Just then, they both saw Scully, a man's arm around her neck, being pushed
through the back door.  Bailey held her in an headlock and pointed
Scully's gun at her right temple.  He pushed her forward into the living
room, as Skinner backed away.  Mulder stood up and drew his gun, the
blanket dropping to the floor.

"Ok, put your guns down on the floor and kick them over to me," said
Bailey. "Or she dies."

First Mulder, then Skinner helplessly obeyed.  Bailey picked up Skinner's
gun, then Mulder's and stuffed them into his belt.

"Now, let's finish what we started," said Bailey with a smile.

Mulder broke the silence first.  "Hello, Paul.  I expected you."

"Yeah, well you'll be seeing a lot more of me." Bailey sneered. "Thought
you could get away from what's coming to you, huh?"

Mulder's face still.  "No, Paul, I don't expect that at all. I knew you'd
have to finish what you started.  You always do finish what you begin,
don't you?  You like things to be neat, tidy."

"You got that right,"  Bailey said, gesturing with the gun. "And I'm not
finished with you."

"I understand," said Mulder.  "And I understand your reasons. I read
Michael's letters to you and I know about your promise to him."  Mulder
looked into Bailey's eyes. "I know that he agreed not to turn you in to
police if you promised never to hurt anyone again."

"You don't count!  You killed Michael; it's your fault he's dead." Bailey
gripped Scully more tightly and she began to choke.

"You're right," Mulder said quickly. "I don't count. I caused Michael's
death with my mistaken testimony.  You have a real grievance against me. I
acknowledge that.  But you don't have any complaint against her, do you?
If you hurt her, you'll be breaking your promise to Michael."

Bailey paused and seemed to be thinking. Scully stared at Mulder and gave
her head a little shake. Mulder gave her a sad smile and went on.

"If you let her go, you can finish your business with me and still keep
your promise to Michael."  Mulder held his arms out, wrists together.
"They don't have guns any more, you have them all. Just lock them both up
and we can be on our way.  You have all the power here."

Bailey paused again, then pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pants
pocket. They had rusty brown stains on them, and Mulder knew them too
well. Bailey tossed them to Mulder. "It's a deal.  Put them on."

Mulder quickly fastened his wrists together and began moving slowly toward
Bailey.  "I'm ready to go with you now.  Just let her go, and we can
leave."

Bailey gestured for Skinner to go into the bedroom, holding the gun
against Scully's temple again.  Skinner moved forward slowly, looking over
his shoulder at Mulder as he passed. Bailey pushed Scully into the bedroom
and slammed the door shut, then jammed a chair under the doorknob.   Then
he threw a punch at Mulder, knocking him to the floor.  Mulder landed flat
and stayed down, watching Bailey warily.  A loud pounding sound began to
come from the bedroom door.

"I wasn't kidding, about finishing our business," Bailey said.

"And I still agree that you have a justified complaint against me. I was
arrogant and hasty.  Now I know the kind of man your brother was."  Mulder
sat up and pointed toward the box of mementos.  "He would do anything for
you."

"Yeah," said Bailey, sadly. "He would.  He did." Bailey eyed Mulder. "That
doesn't change what has to happen now," he said flatly. "I have to
finish."

"I know," Mulder said. "But at least it doesn't involve anybody else, does
it?"  Bailey nodded and grabbed Mulder by the handcuffs, dragging him to
his feet. "Let's go," Bailey said, grabbing up a pair of tennis shoes from
the floor, he gestured to Mulder. "Put them on."

Mulder slipped the shoes on his feet and shivered at the thought of the
snow outside, then shivered harder at the prospect of what came after.
Well, at least Scully was safe.

Inside the bedroom Skinner flung himself against the door again.  The door
rattled but didn't move.  Scully applied herself to trying to tear the
boards from the window.

"Of all the damn...fool...things to do."  Skinner threw himself against the
door again.  "When I see him again, I'll kill him myself..."

"That's just....Mulder."  Scully pulled at a board and found it coming
loose.  "Where do you think he'll take him? Back to the bunker?" Scully
looked around the scrubbed floor for something to use as a lever, and
found nothing.  She went back to tearing at the boards with hands and
fingernails.

"No."  Skinner threw himself at the door again. "He knows we'll look
there. He probably has some other bolthole.  These mountains are riddled
with old gold mines."  He threw himself again at the door.  It didn't
budge.

"Over here, I think we can pry some boards off." Scully tore at a loose
board.

Skinner joined her at the window and soon they had cleared enough of the
boards to climb out.  Skinner carefully broke the glass out of the window
and went through.  He paused to help Scully, but she waved him on.

"Go! Go! I'll follow!"

So Skinner crawled out the window and cautiously went around the corner of
the house.  There he found a new set of tracks in the snow, heading away
from the cabin.  He went to the wood pile and grabbed the axe, then
followed.

The tracks led into a stand of trees, then stopped. Skinner stood quietly
and tried to use all of his senses to detect any movement, any noise.
Heard nothing, then swung around when Scully came running up.

"Do you see them?" she whispered anxiously.

"No.  There's no sign of them," Skinner said briefly, peering through the
trees. "I've failed him again," he muttered under his breath.

"Lets check the area methodically.  Maybe we'll find some clues." Scully
bent down and scrutinized the ground, but found nothing.

"It's as though, the earth had swallowed them up," she said to the cold
wind.

Mulder was having trouble catching his breath.  Bailey had been running
and pulling him along for what felt like hours.  He didn't remember ever
feeling so tired and sick.  And scared, he reminded himself, oh yeah,
scared.

Bailey tugged on the handcuffs again, almost pulling Mulder off his feet.
Mulder stumbled forward, barely preventing a fall, only to be tugged
forward again.  They were running through a dark cavern, an old mine
Mulder thought. Bailey had run through a thicket of pine trees, knowing
that the needles would prevent footprints, then pulled Mulder through a
narrow opening in the hillside.

Mulder panted for air and wished they could stop.  No, he didn't wish they
could stop.  God only knew what would happen when they stopped. Got to
plan...Glad Scully's safe. That's the important thing, Scully's safe from
this man...

"I think we're here, Agent Mulder." Bailey stopped and Mulder saw a
cigarette lighter flare in the darkness.  Bailey had stopped before a
small opening in the wall, fitted with a battered wooden door. Bailey
pushed it open and shoved Mulder inside.

Mulder stepped onto something that rolled under his feet and fell to the
floor, then scooted back as fast as he could when he discovered what he
had fallen over: a pile of human bones.  He sat up and peered through the
darkness at Bailey, who was calmly lighting a candle stuck to the wall.

"This is my other place.  I don't like to clutter my secret place with the
leftovers, so I bring them here.  I keep the special ones, the best ones. 
These are the only ones I have left." Bailey lit a second candle and swung
it around the room.  Mulder could see four, no five piles of bones
scattered around the room.

"I clean them up first, of course, so they don't smell," Bailey continued
conversationally. "Even Michael didn't know about this place."  Bailey went
to the corner and pulled a rusty chain and shackle away from the wall. The
end was fastened to a bolt, driven into the rock.

Mulder got up and tried to run but was knocked down by Bailey's flying
tackle.  The fall sent a bolt of pure agony through Mulder's gut, and by
the time he had recovered his senses, his ankle had been shackled to the
wall.

"You wait here, I'll be right back,"  said Bailey.  He left, taking one
candle with him.  The only light was provided by the candle on the wall.
Mulder could see that it was short and wouldn't last long.

He looked around the room.  Now that he was used to them, the bones didn't
seem so frightening.  They almost might be considered fellow travelers. I
wonder how he defines 'the best ones' that he keeps? Do I qualify? Or will
Scully have to autopsy my dead, mutilated corpse? God...gotta stop
that...It was so cold in here.  Mulder shivered and pulled his arms around
his knees. Well, at least the waiting was over.

He hadn't told Scully everything on his mind.  Lying on the couch he had
gone over his original profile sentence by sentence.  He knew where the
mistake had lain, and it really was his fault. And it was then that he had
known that Bailey wouldn't rest until he had finished off his latest
victim.

Patterson had been on a tear.  The 'Tahoe Ripper' case was high profile,
capable of making the FBI look very good or very bad. The Tahoe area had
been plagued with a prolific murderer and bodies seemed to turn up
monthly.  So naturally the Bureau had volunteered the services of its star
profiler, a young and eager Fox Mulder.

Mulder shook his head in disgust.  He had been so proud to be part of the
task force that would take this monster down. This child-killer...He
remembered the photograph of Erica Wisely, a small boned ten year old with
brown eyes.  He grimaced, remembering.  Her body had been found, neatly
disemboweled, then bathed and left for her family to find. When he had
seen the body, he knew he had to catch the killer.

Patterson had been in a hurry, but so was Mulder. Catch him quick before
more people died.  And after Michael Bailey was arrested, the murders
stopped.  Arrested by Patterson, for a crowd of cameras. Mulder recalled
having been irritated by Patterson's grandstanding at the time.

Mulder had had initial misgivings about the profile and the arrest, but in
the six months between arrest and trial, the killings had stopped. So he
had to be the right one.  Everyone had been full of praise for the
brilliant Fox Mulder, whose near-genius had brought the monster down.  By
the time trial came Mulder was already hard at work profiling four more
high-visibility cases, and was certain Bailey had to be the right man. And
Mulder was a star profiler, wasn't he?

Mulder snorted and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. He
looked around the gloom. The room was roughly cut from the rock and braced
with large beams.  He tilted his head back and found the detail he was
looking for, a hook projecting from one of the ceiling beams. He turned
around and saw a matching eye-bolt in the floor next to him. He stared at
it absently and tried to fight down the panic.


21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 24 10:00 a.m.

"I just don't know what else we can do," Scully said around her third cup
of coffee. "We've looked all through the woods.  The bunker is untouched.
But they're out there...somewhere."

Skinner slumped at the kitchen table, staring into space.  "I can't
believe that Bailey got out because of that damned pipe.  And Mulder..."
Skinner's eyes closed. "What he must be going through right now..." He
paused when he saw Scully's pinched face.

"It's ok," she said. "Don't try to protect me; I've read the case file. I
know what Bailey's victims look like when he's 'finished' with them," she
said, bitterly. "Maybe Byers can get to help before..."  Scully abruptly got
up and, wrapping her arms around herself, walked out the back door onto
the deck.

Skinner waited a few minutes, then followed her onto the deck.  He found
Scully standing with her eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks and
her lips moving silently.  Skinner looked out over the snowy landscape and
considered, well, when everything else has failed, why not? He said a
prayer of his own.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Black Bear Road, February 24, 12:00 noon

Not for the first time in the three hours he'd been walking, Byers
wondered what he was doing here.  He considered his prior experiences with
snow, mostly skiing and sitting at home watching it fall outside. He'd
never in his life thought of slogging through it for hours at a time.

His feet were wet.  His nose was cold.  And it was running. He
surreptitiously ran his sleeve across his nose, glad that nobody was there
to see him.  Langly and Frohike would never let him forget such a loss of
standards.

Of course, neither Frohike nor Langly could ever picture the dapper Byers
stumping through snow in jeans that he'd worn the day before, sent on a
mission to save a life....

The world took on a rosy glow for a moment, until some snow filtered down
from a branch overhead and down the back of his collar.  Byers sighed.  He
supposed that he just wasn't the stuff of which heroes were made.  He
didn't think Mulder ever lost his cool, or got embarrassed, or did
something really stupid...wait a minute.  Let's get real, here.

Byers pondered a few of the truly stupid things Mulder had done and
concluded that he wasn't doing too badly after all.  Trouble was, on a
hike this long there wasn't much to do but worry, and think about your
life. I wonder if I could cut across country and make better time? He
pondered. In the distance he thought he could just see a barn. If there's
a barn, there are bound to be people. Byers took a last, wistful look at
the road and made up his mind.

The footing was easy at first, but then Byers began to discover things
about snow he hadn't really considered before. For example, it hid
obstacles.  After he turned his ankle for the second time on hidden rocks,
he went more slowly. And then there was snow's tendency to pile up in
deceptively deep pockets.  Soon his jeans were wet to the thighs and he
was getting progressively colder.

But there was the barn, just ahead.  He scrambled up a and