From: X-Phreeek Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Fear Itself 1/4 Date: Tue, 14 May 1996 08:22:27 -0700 **Rated R-ish** *No Third Season Spoilers* I wrote this one about a year ago, so it definitely has no third season spoilers ... in fact, it doesn't really have any second season spoilers! This story is choc-a-bloc with foul language, drugs, violence, a little sex, and all that nastybad stuff. If you're into that, read on! Go ahead, I won't tell. If you're not, THROW THIS AWAY NOW. Well, it's not really all that graphic. But it's not for the squeamish ... who knows, these days? Also, to Chris and the gang, FOX and 10/13: sorry I stole your characters. No copyright infringement is intended. I don't mean any harm, I know they're yours, I promise I won't make any money from this, and all that happy horses**t. No, really. I mean it. Fear Itself by julie viola carneiro (viola@ella.mills.edu) Part one of four ----- Friday, April 21, 1995 The Tenderloin, San Francisco Eight p.m. Trish was watching TV when the sounds of a nasty fight thumped and scraped up the stairs of her three-room shit-hole apartment into her bedroom. She looked up to see Calvin, Tony, and Dave shoving, pulling, and dragging a Suit through the threshold. He was a tall fucker, all right, and though they had his hands cuffed behind him, he was still fighting them like a mad dog. They'd somehow gotten the clip in his mouth, which was good, she thought. But with all the goddamn noise they were making it wouldn't make much difference. Calvin kicked the Suit behind the knee and Dave shoved hard. The Suit went down, just like that, to his knees. Dave pushed again and he was on his belly, but still kicking out with those long legs. She was surprised by his bravery. Most people would have been cowering and whining like a whipped puppy by now. But not this bastard--he was looking them up and down, calculating, almost like he was memorizing them. His glare made her nervous. Trish lit a cigarette. "What's this, huh?" She asked, trying to sound unconcerned. "He followed us home," Calvin whined, "Can we keep him?" Tony and Dave thought that was REAL funny. "And what's gonna happen next week, when you forget all about him," she asked, playing along. "Then I'll end up feeding him and cleaning his cage and burying him in a fucking shallow grave when he's dead!" She let her voice go up a little at the end, so they'd know she wasn't joking. She knew the Suit was listening too, because she could see him get even more pissed off and then he kicked again, sending Calvin a nasty shot to the knee. "Shit!" Calvin turned red, more humiliated than anything, and kicked the Suit hard in the stomach. He curled up tight and closed his eyes, but she could tell the anger never left him. "So what did you bring him here for?" Trish was serious now, holding Calvin in her stare so he wouldn't go ballistic on the Suit. She loved Calvin, but sometimes his temper scared even her. He wasn't really a bad guy, she figured--he just wasn't a man you wanted to piss off. Especially if you were handcuffed and gagged on somebody's dirty hardwood floor. "I don't know," Dave answered. <> she thought. <> "We just felt like it. I mean, he's dressed nice. Maybe he's worth something to somebody." Dave stared down at the man and shrugged twice--one of his nervous twitches when he got caught not thinking straight. "You guys just thought it'd be fun to kidnap him, didn't you? You got spun out on Meanies, and then you picked out this poor sap and decided to have some fun. Don't you know there's no money in that shit? Nobody ever pays a ransom, man. They just don't. Not even on TV." She caught a glimpse of something inside the Suit's trench coat, and the pieces made sense all at once. Suddenly she understood why he didn't show any fear of them. "Do you even know what you got here?" She asked, savoring it. Were they *ever* going to be surprised! "Sure," Tony said, "Some bastard Suit with a fuckin' gold watch, gold teeth, and a gold card!" Tony was always the one thinking cash, she had to give him that, but he was way off with this one. Suit kicked again, rolled onto his side, and tried to get up. Calvin punched him in the face, and he fell over on his back, panting and choking on the gag. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose down to his jawline. "Get those Floorsheim's off him, or he's really gonna hurt you next time," she said, reaching into his trench coat. She pulled the sleek black Sig out of its holster, and mimed shooting them. "Freeze! You're under arrest!" She said, grinning, and watched the smiles slide off their faces. "A cop?!" Dave squeaked. "No way," Calvin said angrily. "We would have known ... *I* would have known." Calvin was never wrong--and if he was, you'd better not tell him about it. The sudden silence was palpable. Trish met Calvin's stare for the barest moment, then looked away. "Maybe it wore off," She said quietly. Calvin glared down at her, and she shrank from his gaze. "Maybe you're right," he answered, taking a step forward. Trish stepped back, staring down at her bare feet. "Don't let it happen again." he growled. Then, just as quickly, his mood changed. He chuckled to himself. "Damn! A cop, huh? Well ... let's see what he's got on him." After a moment's hesitation, Tony began digging through the man's pockets. Trish stopped him, relieved to change the subject. "Hey man, I want to look through his shit too! Now get those shoes and socks off, asshole, and try to fit these-" she tossed Tony the man's own pair of handcuffs, "-around his ankles." Dave and Calvin held him down as she dug into his pocket and pulled out a thick wallet, then tossed it to Calvin. He opened it and pulled out a wad of bills, probably about a hundred bucks. "Cool!" She said, and looked down at the man. "Dinner's on you!" The cop winced as Tony forced the too-small handcuffs around his ankles, but he stayed quiet. <> she thought. <> The clip was something she'd worked on in her spare time at the BallRoom. Men would come in all the time--fuckin' perverts, she thought. They all wanted to be tied up and spanked like bad little boys while they got licked or fucked or sucked or whatever. Some of them wanted to be gagged too, but of course they were into pain, and no puny rag would get them off. So she'd invented this thing that she named after the paper clip that had given her the idea. It was a work of art, almost. It was a metal clip with little tines poking out of it--probably the only one of its kind in the world. You pinched the bastard's tongue in the clip and secured it with a plastic bit that fit in their mouth. The best part, though, was the black piece that covered their mouth. It had a little key in the middle to hold it in place, and nylon straps on either side to tie behind their head so they couldn't spit it out. Definitely better than a ball-gag if you were *really* into pain. Most of her Johns were. She was proud of it in a way, but right now she *really* wished she hadn't let the boys play with it. They would never have had the guts to grab this guy in the first place if they'd thought he would be yelling his head off the whole time. "He ain't no cop, Trish," Tony said, smirking. "See--no badge in here. His name's ... Fox ... Mul-der." He pronounced the name on the driver's license with difficulty. Tony wasn't the best reader. "Fox!" he laughed. "What a stupid name!" "Thank you," she spat venomously, at the same moment she pulled a thinner wallet from a pocket in his coat. Tony looked at her, confused. She stood and leaned over into Mulder's face. He glared back at her, unflinching, his nose wrinkling slightly in disgust. "That's Trish, spelled T-R-I-S-H, in case you missed it." She straightened, then opened his ID wallet. She stepped back a pace, stunned. Then she began to giggle. "Oh man," she said, shaking her head, "You really stepped in it this time, boys. We are really screwed. Oh man, what a nightmare!" Fox Mulder couldn't agree more. He swore to himself if he got out of this alive he'd NEVER walk alone at night in a strange city again. He had painfully regained consciousness only a few minutes earlier, in time to realize he was being pulled out of a van and dragged up the back stairs of a run-down apartment building. He struggled desperately as the realization struck him that these were probably the men he had come to California to track down. It was a futile effort. He doubted he was a match for the three of them under the best conditions, and these were certainly NOT the best conditions. But the thought of what was to come--what these men would do to him--kept him fighting. He regarded his captors coldly as they emptied his pockets on the floor of the filthy apartment. Calvin was obviously the oldest of the four, at least thirty years old. His snug black T-shirt accentuated his muscular build and pale skin, and his close-cropped black hair gave his dark emerald eyes an even more menacing look. He was clearly the leader of the three. Tony and Dave were probably both in their twenties. Tony's blonde hair was slicked back off his forehead, and he wore a goatee that hid most of his face. He was big-- almost as big as Calvin. Dave was the smallest, the one who had approached Mulder in the alley. His long, curly brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his faded gray eyes darted from Calvin to Tony as if seeking reassurance. Trish was the youngest of all. Mulder wondered if she was even eighteen, but despite her youth he knew she was the quickest thinker of the bunch. The girl was dwarfed by the hulking men, but she didn't seem to fear them. The men were excited when they found his cellular phone, but Trish quickly grabbed it away from them. "They can trace these calls, you know," she told them angrily. As they bickered over his phone, Mulder reluctantly had to admit they fit the profile he had created in his mind for the killers terrorizing San Francisco. The only piece that didn't fit was Trish. What part did she play? She was obviously the brains of the bunch, but she lacked the predatory gleam in her eyes the others shared ... His thoughts were abruptly cut short as Calvin delivered another vicious kick to his stomach. He exhaled sharply and looked up. The three thugs were standing over him. "A fucking Fed!" Dave said shrilly. "I don't believe it. Oh man, we're SO screwed!" "It was your idea, Dave," Tony said, counting Mulder's money over again. "Now what the hell do we do?" As if to answer his question, Calvin kicked him again. Mulder drew his legs up against his chest, trying to protect his ribs. Through watering eyes he saw Trish stand up from a corner of the room and walk over to them. "We need time to think," She said. Without warning, she grabbed his left foot, jammed a syringe between his toes, and pushed the plunger down. She pulled the needle out, and for a few moments, nothing happened. Mulder looked around wildly, suddenly panicked, trying to find an explanation in their faces. Trish's face was unreadable, but the men seemed even more eager, almost excited by his fear. Slowly, he felt a warm tingle travel up his leg, then rise through his body. "Sweet dreams," Mulder heard Trish say as he was pulled into black, dreamless slumber. ----- Nine p.m. Scully sat on the edge of her chair in the hotel room and wondered what kind of trouble Mulder had found for himself this time. He'd gone for a walk alone--always a bad idea where Mulder was concerned--and still hadn't returned after two hours. Scully wondered how long she should wait before calling for outside help. Mulder was just as likely to wait until she'd worked herself *and* the local police into a frenzy before breezing into her hotel room. He would be oblivious to the trouble he had caused, and high on some new lead he'd uncovered in his wandering. It wouldn't be the first time. She'd give him another hour. She checked her watch--he had until ten p.m. Scully wished they had just stayed in D.C. They had come to San Francisco as a favor to a friend of hers, Kendra Wallace, who worked Homicide for the S.F.P.D. They'd met last year, when Scully was teaching and Detective Wallace had flown to Quantico for a three-month advanced training course. The detective was having trouble with a case that was bizarre, even for the City, and immediately thought of Dana Scully and her partner. Would they consider flying to San Francisco for the weekend, just to take a look around? Although Scully couldn't see any hint of the paranormal in the case, it was Mulder who seemed more eager to go. Scully suspected he might have a crush on Kendra--an allegation he hotly contested. The young Detective Wallace was tall and athletically built, with dark chocolate skin and beautiful, slightly slanted deep black eyes. Kendra got stares wherever she went, and even Mulder couldn't be so entrenched in his work that he hadn't noticed her, Scully thought. "C'mon, Scully," he'd said, "I just think it would be nice to get out of town for a couple of days--like a weekend getaway." Scully was not swayed. "Uh-huh. A weekend getaway tracking down murderers in San Francisco. I can't wait." She said, looking into Mulder's eyes for any hint of deception. "Don't look at me," he replied, "You're the one who agreed to go." There had been a string of homicides in the Bay Area during the past month. The victims were both male and female, all molested, mutilated, or both before their murder. Most of the murders were committed during the day, often in alleys or even in the victim's own apartment. There had been fourteen perpetrated in the same fashion in only one month, yet there had been no eyewitnesses, and no one had heard or seen anything suspicious at all. Kendra believed there were several men working together, which was something of a mystery in itself. Serial murderers usually killed alone. Otherwise, they followed the typical serial pattern--and the level of violence had escalated with every victim. Yet there was little trace evidence left behind by the perpetrators, no matter how violent the murder. The strangest clue of all, the agents discovered upon their arrival, was the fact that all the victims had oddly shaped cuts and abrasions on their tongue and mouth. It looked almost as if they had been bitten, but there was no trace of saliva other than their own. By the time Detective Wallace took them to dinner at Stars Restaurant on Friday night, Mulder was already a million miles away. Scully could see his mind spinning madly behind his darkened, thoughtful eyes. He had already assumed his 'don't-bother-me-I'm-about-to- come-up-with-something-really-good' look. Maybe he didn't have a crush on Kendra after all, Scully thought. Kendra eyed the handsome agent with interest. "My, your partner has quite a ... cortex, hasn't he?" Kendra asked, pouring herself another glass of wine. She'd worn a particularly seductive outfit that evening, having found herself in the unusual position of having to work at being noticed. She and Scully together had garnered a leer from every table in the place--except theirs. "You'll have to forgive him, Ken," Scully said. Mulder still hadn't come back from his musings--still on Planet Mulder. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I'm not sure he ever thinks about--" "We have to check out all the Dungeons in this city," Mulder proclaimed, a little too loudly. Several restaurant patrons turned to look at him, and one or two smiled knowingly behind their napkins. "What?!" Scully hissed, hoping he'd catch the hint and lower his voice. "I think the killers are working out of one of them," he continued, more quietly. "Agent Mulder," Kendra purred, "I think you know more about our fair city than you let on." Scully looked at them both in confusion. "Dana," Kendra continued, "the houses, hotels, basements--whatever-- where prostitutes work who specialize in S&M or B&D are called Dungeons. Agent Mulder, we certainly don't know where they all are, and even if we only check out the ones we know of we'll be at it for a good, long time." Mulder sighed, disappointed. "There has to be another connection then, something to narrow it down." He pushed at his food distractedly with a piece of bread, thinking. "I think those mouth injuries were caused by some sort of restraint--a gag, or ... Detective Wallace, are there any victims Scully could reexamine?" Kendra nodded. "The freaks have been busy this week-- we've got three on the slabs right now. More wine?" Kendra asked, a mischievous grin touching her lips. "Uhh, sure," Mulder answered, not really paying attention. She filled his glass. "There's something not right about their pattern ... " Mulder mused aloud. "They're too quick, too clean ... obviously too deliberate to be crimes of passion, yet ..." His mind churned through the details again as he sipped absently at his wine. "Serial killers generally like to linger at the scene, or at least take the victim somewhere to gloat over them." At this, Scully looked away. Mulder paused, a momentary look of guilt washing over his face, then continued. "The killings are utterly random, yet deliberate and premeditated at the same time. Why?" Scully shrugged as Kendra refilled her glass as well. "I'll bite--why?" "I mean, where's the thrill in that?" Mulder continued. "They don't discriminate by sex, age, race, anything. What could drive them to kill so often and so violently? What possible release or excitement could it offer them?" "Well, we're assuming these men are spree killing, simply for the thrill of getting away with it," Kendra answered. Mulder scratched the side of his nose thoughtfully. "Yeah, but despite what you see in the movies, that type of murder is *extremely* rare. Fourteen in one month?-- it's almost unheard of. It's almost as if ... as if there is some sort of outside influence, something else directing or controlling their actions." "Mul-der ..." Scully shot him a warning glance. She knew where his train of thought was headed, and she wanted off that train before he embarrassed her in front of Kendra. But Mulder's thoughts were already far away. "What if someone is performing some kind of experiment ... " he trailed off, hazel eyes unfocused, lost in thought as he drank the rest of his wine. "Like what, Mulder?" Scully finally said, exasperated. "Like spraying LSDM on unsuspecting urbanites?" Mulder's mouth fell open. "That's it! That's exactly what I was thinking, Scully--it makes perfect sense." Only the puckish gleam in his eyes gave away that he was teasing her. "No, Mulder," Scully groaned into her wine glass. "No, no, no ..." She was beginning to feel a little tipsy, but took another drink anyway. She knew Mulder was only half- joking, and if this was why he wanted to come to California, she was going to need another bottle. "Couldn't they simply be twisted, perverse serial killers? Does the government *have* to be involved in order to spark your interest?" Mulder grinned lopsidedly, too pleased with himself to be offended. "No--but it helps. Detective Wallace, how soon can Scully get a look at those bodies?" She looked over at Scully, who was staring into the depths of her glass, absently swirling the wine and studying its legs. Her eyelids drooped low over her pastel blue eyes. Scully didn't look like she was in any shape to perform an autopsy. "If Dana is up to it, I'm sure we can schedule it for this evening." "Hmmm?" Scully looked up at the sound of her name. "What?" "If not," Kendra continued, smiling seductively at Mulder, "we could always spend the evening at my flat, and take care of all that in the morning. And please, Agent Mulder," she said, her voice dropping to its most sensuous, husky tone, "Call me Kendra." Mulder stood up and tossed his napkin onto the table. "Certainly," he answered pleasantly. "Thank you for a lovely dinner, Kendra. Scully, I'll meet you back at the hotel?" "Mulder, where are you going?" Scully demanded, embarrassed by her partner's rudeness. "For a walk. I need to think this over, and it'll help clear my head. We'll meet up later for those autopsies, OK?" "Mulder, be *careful,*" Scully answered, concerned. "I'll be home before the street lights come on, Mom," he grinned, and without a backward glance, left the two most beautiful women in the restaurant to stare after him. "Like I said, Ken ... " She sighed. "I'm sorry, Kendra." "Oh, don't you worry, Dana." Kendra took a sip of her merlot, giving Mulder one last longing look as he left the restaurant. "It only makes him more intriguing." ----- (continued part 2) =========================================================================== From: X-Phreeek Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Fear Itself 2/4 Date: Tue, 14 May 1996 08:23:10 -0700 **Rated R-ish** *No Third Season Spoilers* Disclaimers and stuff in part one Fear Itself julie viola carneiro (viola@mills.edu) Part 2/4 ----- Nine p.m. When Mulder awoke, he found the warmth had not left him, and he was grateful. He blinked, and from the corner of his eye saw a girl sitting in front of a black-and- white television. Someone had taken his trench coat and watch while he was unconscious, and lain him face down on a bed on the far side of the small room. The only other furniture in the room was the television, a chair, a small dresser, and a radio. The bed smelled of cigarettes and body odor. Mulder rolled over on his side to escape the smell. He felt the pinch of the manacles clasped tight around his wrists and ankles, and something in his mouth. <> he wondered sluggishly. He knew he should care, that he should be concerned, but somehow he couldn't quite muster it. He closed his eyes and did his best to remember what happened after he left the restaurant. ... He had headed out into the night, the pleasant wine buzz lingering as he walked. Street lights and neon signs lit up the street, and Mulder felt at ease to let his mind wander. There was a connection they were missing, somewhere. There always was--you just had to look at it from a different angle. <> Mulder walked on, oblivious to the sudden lack of tourists and increasing number of homeless people and prostitutes on the street. He stopped to get his bearings, and was surprised to find himself in a neighborhood where the only neon signs advertised sex shops, peep shows, and liquor stores, all with barred windows. There were no working street lights in sight. <> he thought ruefully, <> He turned and walked the other way, hoping he'd remember his path. He had only wandered a few blocks, Mulder was sure of it, though his sense of direction was often sorely lacking. <> He berated himself. <> He looked down a long alley to his right and saw a busier, better-lit street at the other end. He walked quickly through the middle of the alley, glancing warily from side to side. A long-haired man stepped out of the shadows to his left. "Got a light?" he asked nervously, holding up a cigarette. The man was slight of build, and Mulder stood a good six inches taller than he, but he had no desire to stop for anyone in this alley. "No. Sorry," Mulder said, about to walk past him. He never felt the blow to his head, only saw the wet asphalt rushing up to meet him, then darkness ... The darkness looked pretty good right now. <> Mulder thought. <> <> He coaxed his muddled brain to consider the situation. He knew he needed to do something to get through to one of these people, to gain their trust. Otherwise, there would be no one to stop them when they decided they'd all be better off if he were dead. From what he knew of the killers, it wouldn't be too long before they made that decision, either. For an instant he flashed on Scully's face when she saw his body. He shivered, and pushed it back. His only choice seemed to be Trish, and the first step would be getting her to take this god-awful *thing* out of his mouth so he could talk to her. As it was, he could barely swallow, and the pain was increasing as the drug wore off. His feet itched from lack of circulation, and he knew his hands would soon feel the same way. Mulder looked up at her, hoping to catch her eye. She didn't see him at first because she was too busy watching TV. It looked like an old rerun of Starsky & Hutch, but it was hard to tell from the snowy reception. The volume was turned down and L7 was blasting from the small boom-box sitting atop her television set. He tried to swallow, and the contraption bit deeper into his tongue. He tasted blood, and grunted in pain. She looked up. "It's about time you woke up-- lightweight." She spat the word out like an insult, turning in her chair and hugging her knees as she stared at him. Her short, unkempt bleached-white hair stood wildly on top of her head. She was too thin, and her skin was a dull, pasty color that only hinted at how long it had missed the sun. She wore a dingy, once-white men's tank top and baggy cutoff jeans. "What are you lookin' at, Ugly?" she asked, swiping at a line of clear mucous making its way down to her upper lip. She coughed, reached for an empty beer can on the floor, and spat into it. Mulder shook his head slightly, and was instantly aware of a thunderous headache that throbbed from the lump on his head. He winced and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, Trish was standing over him, biting her lip as if making a decision. "You don't have to tell me that clip hurts," she said. She lit a cigarette and regarded him mildly for a moment while she smoked. Then she stuck the cigarette into the corner of her mouth and reached behind his head, squinting through the smoke as she worked at the knot of nylon. Once the knot was undone, she turned the key, and the clip snapped open. He gasped in relief as she pulled the horrible device out of his mouth. She inspected it briefly, then held it before his eyes. "Do me a favor and don't do anything stupid, 'kay?" She said, almost gently. "Don't talk shit to anybody, don't bite anybody, and don't bother to yell 'cuz nobody in this building is gonna call the cops anyway." She tossed the clip on the floor. "If you try to pull anything ... I don't need to tell you it hurts a lot more the second time. And I don't like to see people like that--not even a cop. That shit bums me out." She sat down in front of her television again. Mulder swallowed gingerly, feeling a little blood slide down the back of his dry throat. How long had he been out? He was terribly thirsty, and wanted nothing more than to get the awful taste out of his mouth. He cleared his throat. Trish turned her head slightly, still watching the TV. "Yeah?" Mulder chose his tone of voice carefully--not demanding, not pleading. Almost conversationally, he asked, "Water?" His voice was rough, but he thought he'd done a pretty good job. "Oh, jesuschristonacrutch!" Trish shouted suddenly, and stormed out of the room. She returned with a glass half-full of murky tap water. She held his head and he gulped it down, willing himself to ignore the dirty glass and mystery particles suspended in the liquid. She slammed the glass down on the floor. "Satisfied?" she said angrily. He nodded again, watching her face for any hint this might anger her further. She turned and sat back in the chair. "Then shut the fuck up." ----- Nine p.m. "Mmm," Calvin growled contentedly, "That was fun." He stood up, looked to Tony and Dave. "You done with him?" They nodded. Calvin turned to the man behind the dumpster. His hands were bound behind him, and air gurgled and bubbled through the thick flow of blood pouring from his mouth and chest. It stained his shirt and green linen blazer; spilled in all directions, forming rivulets that flowed quickly down the sloped side of the alley further into the darkness. Calvin was careful to avoid the blood as he leaned into the man's face. "Are you done?" He asked quietly. The man looked past him, unseeing. He moaned. "I'll take that as a yes," Calvin said, and plunged the knife through his eye, leaping back to avoid the spray of blood and fluid from the wound. "Damn! I'm getting sloppy. We gotta get that clip back--it's throwin' off my rhythm." Calvin looked down at his bloodied jeans. "Fucker," he grumbled, reaching for a bag on top of the dumpster. He stripped off his soiled clothes in the alley and quickly put on a new J Crew turtleneck jersey and jeans. Tony and Dave pulled out similar outfits and changed as well. They shoved their old clothes into the bag and headed out of the alley. Dave lit a cigarette. "Where are we going now?" "Let's go back to Trish's," Tony suggested. "We could play with the cop." "Yeah, but we can do that later." Calvin looked the North Shore street up and down, considering. "I'm hungry. Anybody want a pizza?" ----- Ten p.m. Now she would allow herself to worry. Scully called Kendra first to make sure Mulder hadn't contacted her since the last time she'd called--about fifteen minutes earlier. Kendra's voice was gentle. "No, Dana, he hasn't. But I've called out the cavalry for him. A couple of uniforms should be at your door in a minute." Scully thanked her and hung up. No sooner had she done so than she heard a knock at the door. <> She opened the door and was disappointed to find two uniformed police officers instead. She let them in and gave them the details of his clothing and appearance, and where and when she'd last seen him. "Don't worry, Agent Scully," one told her. "If he's in this city, we *will* find him." She thanked them profusely as they left, moved by their sincere determination. She sat on the bed and suddenly had to cover her mouth to stifle a sob. "Dammit, Mulder," she said, and dialed his cellular phone number again. ----- Mulder's phone chirped from inside his trench coat on the floor. He had almost nodded out again, and the sudden sound made his heart thump hard against his ribcage. He held his breath, waiting to see what Trish would do. It had to be Scully trying to find him. The phone rang again, and again. "Man, you get so many calls, you'd think you got a one- nine hundred number," she said, surprisingly unruffled by the insistent ringing. She looked over at his coat. "Shut up!" she told the phone, and laughed to herself. It continued to ring. "You want me to take a message for you?" Trish asked, grinning at him. "Would you mind?" he said, half-hoping she would answer it. "Nah, that shit's tapped. I'm not *stupid* you know." "Yes, I know," he answered tiredly. She wasn't stupid, he knew that much for certain. And there was something about her--she had a sort of searching look in her eyes, and a sense of sadness he recognized. For all their obvious differences, she somehow reminded him of himself. The phone rang, still. "I could show you how to turn it off," he offered, hoping to gain her trust. "No thanks. You'd just send out some kind of Morse-code distress call or homing beacon or something." A fat orange tomcat leapt in off the fire escape through the open window. "Baby!" Trish exclaimed, hugging the cat and ruffling his fur. The front door opened, and she dropped the cat and reached for Mulder's gun on her dresser. "Honey, we're home!" Dave squeaked as the three came up the stairs. "Pizza!" Trish yelled happily as Dave came in with a large pizza box. "Beer!" Tony answered. "Buds!" Calvin said, pulling a baggie of marijuana out of his pocket. Trish moved closer, running her fingers through Calvin's hair and standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "Just for you," he crooned, shaking the bag and reaching down to caress her cheek. "Cool," she said, eying the bag greedily. "I used the last of my other shit on him." She pointed to Mulder disdainfully. "Hey," Calvin said, filling his pipe, "What happened to that, uhh, thing? That thing in his mouth." "He didn't need it. He's not gonna try anything on us." She answered, a little anxiously. "So where is it?" Calvin asked, handing her the pipe. "Oh. Uhh ... on the floor." She waved in its general direction as she lit up. They smoked the marijuana and opened their beers before diving into the pizza. Trish picked off pieces of pepperoni for the giant cat improbably named Baby. They ignored Mulder completely. Mulder remained silent, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible under the circumstances, and hoping for more time to plan his escape. He knew it would be no use trying to get through to Trish while the men were there, and he had no desire to anger Calvin or the others. So he waited, ignoring his grumbling stomach and aching feet as they ate. When they had finished Calvin stood up. "Well, we're outta here," he announced, grabbing another beer. Tony and Dave followed suit. "Hey, wait a minute!" Trish exclaimed loudly. "You're just gonna dump him here and take off? What's up with that?" "Look, we'll be back later," Calvin answered irritably. "Here, I'll leave the pot with you." He dropped the baggie onto the floor and casually slipped the clip into his pocket. "Aw, man. This sucks!" She crossed her arms over her skinny chest, angry and defeated. Tony patted her on the shoulder as they left. "Shit!" She yelled as soon as she heard the door lock behind them. Baby spooked and jumped out of the window. Mulder wished he could do the same. "Man, I gotta get to WORK! I'm supposed to be there tonight. How do they think I afford this luxury suite, huh? Fuck them!" She threw her beer can on the floor, its contents splashing over both of them. Trish didn't seem to notice. "Where do you work?" Mulder asked quietly, though he'd already guessed the answer. She balled her hands into bony fists and ran at him. At the last second she held herself back, instead pointing a finger in his face. "Don't--" she stomped her foot. "Just--don't--talk--to--me." She bit at the scarred knuckles of her left hand, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "I need to chill out," she mumbled, and stormed angrily into the next room. Mulder heard dishes break, and pots and pans hit the floor. She was just like him, all right--at his absolute worst. "Jesus," Mulder whispered, "What am I going to do?" He pulled against the shackles that bound his wrists. They were tight, but there was a chance he could get out of them, or maybe manage an amateur contortionist's trick and pull his cuffed hands around his legs to get them in front of him. At least he wouldn't be so helpless--but he needed time, and he knew she would be back any minute. He sat up with difficulty, looked down at his feet, and stifled a groan. They'd been going numb for a while, and now he saw they'd turned the color of a sickly purplish bruise. <> he thought. ----- Ten-thirty p.m. Hunches, instinct, and intuition. It was all Mulder had to go on more often than not, and it didn't bother him in the least. Scully, on the other hand, couldn't relinquish her hold on logic and science so easily ... but that was exactly what she was considering as she sat on the bed in Mulder's hotel room waiting for Kendra. Scully sat surrounded by the things he'd strewn haphazardly about the room before dinner, and they comforted her in some small way. She wanted to be surrounded by him, by his clothes, his scent--to feel his presence, to be as near to him as she could. She needed to think as he did, because her well of ideas had already run dry. The rational part of her mind told her to wait--wait for a call, wait for them to find him. And that was simply not acceptable. Intuition teased her, tugged at the threads of her rationality, told her things she didn't want to hear. It told her, clear as day, that Mulder had been kidnapped by those monsters. There was no proof, no proof at all. But there was also no getting away from the idea; it had parked there in her mind, and planned to set up shop no matter how she ignored it. She could try to tell herself she was just being paranoid, or letting her mind play tricks on her, but it was too late for that. Every cell in her body screamed she was right. The television chattered to itself in the corner. The news was on, and Scully glanced over at it occasionally, trying to block out the thoughts that plagued her. " ... the murder rate for the Bay Area has seen an astounding increase over this month last year, Ted. In fact, more violent crimes have been committed this month than in the last six months combined." "And remember Jennifer, the month isn't even over yet. Yes, a very disturbing trend. Well, Bob, what happened in the world of sports today?" "Ted, as any basketball fan will tell you, the Pacers are *hot* this season! I'm predicting ..." There was a light knock at the door, and Scully leapt off the bed. "Dana, it's me, Kendra. Let me in." Scully opened the door for her friend. She looked into her eyes, hoping for good news. Kendra frowned slightly and shook her head. "Nothing--yet. But we'll find him. Every damn cop in San Francisco is out looking for him." "Are they checking the ... Dungeons?" Scully said, nearly choking on the word. A look of concern crossed Detective Wallace's face, and she moved to Scully's side. "Dana," she said, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder, "We talked about that over dinner, but there's no reason to suspect--" "I know." Scully's eyes darted back and forth, her brow knitted as she fought the battle within. "I know." she sat back on Mulder's bed, fingering a button on one of his shirts. "But that's exactly what happened. I'm sure of it. Mulder went for a walk, and he wasn't paying attention. He never does. He probably wandered into a bad neighborhood, and they ..." She shook her head quickly to rid herself of the mental image. Kendra picked up the phone. "OK, Dana. I'll put in a call, and have the beat cops check them out." Scully sighed. She knew Kendra was just humoring her-- probably thought the stress had gotten to her--but it didn't matter as long as they were looking for him. Detective Wallace hung up the phone and studied her friend. She sat in the middle of her partner's bed, fondling his clothes, with a look of concentration just like the one Mulder had at dinner. She was trying to solve a puzzle that couldn't be solved; at least not yet. Kendra wanted to comfort her, but knew there was nothing she could do. "It's just a matter of time, Dana," she said, breaking the silence. Scully looked at her watch. Nearly eleven. "A matter of time ..." she repeated. "He may not have much time." She refused to say what she was thinking. The victims were usually murdered within a few hours of their kidnapping. What they did to those poor people in that time--she shuddered, feeling her gorge rise at the thought of them hurting her partner that way. <> she thought firmly. <> She pushed it to the back of her mind. It was just a hunch, she reminded herself. But it clutched her heart like an icy hand and wouldn't let go. ----- When Trish returned, she had another beer and a better attitude. "Sorry," she said. Mulder just nodded. "So," she said, sitting on the floor and filling the pipe again, "about my job. You really wanna know?" "Sure," Mulder answered, shifting a little on the bed. He grimaced--his feet were aching again. "Sorry I can't help you with that," she said, simultaneously lighting her pipe and putting White Zombie into her CD player. "But I know you can run a hell of a lot faster than me. Tell you what--next time I go to work I'll bring you back some leg irons. They won't pinch so bad." <> Mulder thought bitterly, but said nothing. "So ... yeah. What was I talking about? Uhh ... work. I got this job, and like, people pay me to tie them up and hurt them and stuff. I like, totally hate it but, uhh ... oh well!" She giggled. "Where do you work?" Mulder asked, hoping to capitalize on her talkative mood. "At The BallRoom. Get it? ... Ball ... Room?" She laughed. "Oh shit, dude, I'm totally messed up. I prob'ly shouldn't have told you that ..." She lit another cigarette, and was suddenly racked with violent, hacking coughs. She leaned out the window and spat. "Maybe you should lay off drugs for a while," Mulder suggested carefully. She laughed again--a short, angry sound. "Just say no," she sneered. "Yeah. Next time you go to the dentist, try to 'just say no' to Novocain. It fuckin' hurts, man." She looked away. "Yeah, yeah, that shit'll kill you ... but who wants to live forever?" Mulder held her in his gaze but said nothing. "Anyways, I need it for work ... I mean, I don't get into the bondage thing or anything. But I got a job to do, and Calvin's stuff helps me do it." "What stuff is that?" Mulder asked. "Aw, man, you know Cal would be pissed if I told you. But--" She peered into the empty hallway, "you won't tell him, right?" "Right." He nodded quickly. <> He could sense vulnerability under her facade of world-weary bitterness, and pressed on. "I won't tell him. I promise," Mulder said sincerely, and paused to let his words sink in. "Where does he get it?" "He doesn't get it anywhere. He makes it--someplace across town, I think. See, he went to Cal, and he's like a scientist or something. He used to go to school there until they caught him making E and acid in their lab--he totally had a Candyflip factory goin' on!" She laughed. Mulder raised an eyebrow, and shrugged his ignorance. She groaned, and rolled her eyes. "E is for Ecstasy ... you know, MDA?" Trish asked patiently, as if talking to an especially slow child. "And acid is LSD ... " she drawled slowly, "and a Candyflip is when you mix them together. Got it?" "Yes." He nodded for her to continue. "So he got kicked out and lost his job and everything. Calvin says if he hadn't got caught he'd be a millionaire by now. He's a total genius," she said, her eyes shining. "Anyways, he invented this stuff called Blue Meanies-- because he colors the drops blue. And he's making lots of money now, but he saves it all to make a better lab to make more stuff, so I have to keep working. Only for a little while longer, though. That's what he said. Pretty soon we're going to move to LA and live with all the rich people." "What is the drug made of?" Mulder asked. "Do I look like a pharmacist?" Trish answered. "How the hell should I know?" "OK," Mulder said, "What effect does it have on you?" "It kinda makes you angry, I guess. Not exactly. I mean, you can tell when people are scared, and it makes you excited, sort of." She shook her head in frustration. "It's hard to explain. I take it for work. I don't get into hitting people, you know? But when I take it, I do. A lot of people take it now--at least around here." Mulder was beginning to understand the nature of this drug, and why the men hadn't killed him right away. When he first regained consciousness, he hadn't been afraid. He had been angry--mostly at himself for being foolish enough to walk into their trap. He wasn't satisfying because he wasn't afraid of them, and his lack of fear dulled their aggression. "How many people?" Mulder asked apprehensively. Trish opened her mouth to reply when the front door slammed open. "Just don't be afraid," Trish whispered urgently. "and everything will be all right." ----- (continued part 3) =========================================================================== From: X-Phreeek Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Fear Itself 3/4 Date: Tue, 14 May 1996 08:23:39 -0700 **Rated R-ish** *No Third Season Spoilers* Disclaimers and stuff in part one Fear Itself julie viola carneiro (viola@ella.mills.edu) Part three of four ----- "Trish!" Calvin shouted angrily. "What?!" She yelled back as he stomped into her room, followed by Tony and Dave. "We're having a bad night, OK?" he said. "What happened?" Trish asked, her tone softening. "Nothing," Calvin mumbled, kneeling to retrieve a half- finished beer left under the bed. "Don't you work tonight?" he asked, pointedly changing the subject. "Yeah, I'm supposed to. You gonna walk me over there?" she asked hopefully. "Tony will," Calvin said. "Hey Tony--stop by Danny's on your way back and see if he wants to come over. Trish, you want some of this?" Calvin asked her, pulling out a small vial with an eyedropper in the cap. Trish sighed unhappily, hesitated a moment. "Yeah," she answered. She walked over to him, and he put a drop of the azure liquid under her tongue, then gave himself three. He held out the dropper for Tony and Dave, who each took two. She grimaced at the bitter flavor as she grabbed her duffel bag off the floor, turned to peek at Mulder. Mulder swallowed hard and was reminded of the pain in his suddenly dry mouth. This was precisely the situation he was trying to avoid. He hadn't made enough progress with Trish, and she was leaving him. Mulder stared back at her, and let her to see a hint of the fear that crawled in his belly and threatened to spill from him at any moment. <> he implored silently. <> Her brow knitted with worry momentarily. "Don't hurt him, 'kay?" she said suddenly. "Us? Hurt our special friend?" Dave snickered. Calvin's patience had run out. He stood swiftly and pushed her toward the stairs. "Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted. Trish pursed her lips, shrugged, and followed Tony out, sparing only one last glance at Mulder before she was gone. Calvin's eyes narrowed as he caught the last of their exchange. "I think she likes you," he smirked, moving to tower over Mulder sitting on the bed. Mulder didn't flinch. Calvin reached down, hauled Mulder to his feet, and held him there by the lapels of his suitcoat. Pain spiked from his bound ankles up through his calves as his feet were forced to support his weight, but Mulder didn't react to it. He refused to give Calvin the satisfaction. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Calvin spat. Dave giggled at him from across the room. "Are you too stupid to be afraid of us?" Calvin shouted angrily, just inches from Mulder's face. Mulder stared back, utterly unemotional, into the obsidian depths of Calvin's dilated eyes. ----- Eleven p.m. Trish walked into the BallRoom half an hour late. Kat was sitting in the waiting room, polishing her nails. Trish could tell she was angry. "Hector's waitin' for you," Kat said. "He's *been* waitin' for you." Trish nodded and slipped quickly past her down the dimly-lit hallway to her room. She stopped at the door, dug into her bag for her outfit and changed in the hall. She slipped out of her T-shirt and shorts, then pulled on her leather bustier and slipped into her black-and-orange Manson-face tights, followed by black leather short shorts. She leaned over to lace up her orange Doc Marten 14-holes when an image assaulted her-- the cop his nose is bleeding they're hurting him sweet jesus please make it stop --overwhelming all of her senses at once. She leaned against the wall for support. Trish drew a shuddering breath as the image quickly faded from her mind. She ran a hand through her hair and pushed open the door. Hector was waiting. He was angry, too. "Where you been, bitch?" Hector was already naked, sitting on the floor. Trish reached behind the door as she closed it and retrieved his harness. "Get on the chair, Hector," she growled. He obeyed readily, eyes shining in the candlelit room as he stood on the chair. Hector always said he liked it better when she was in a really bad mood. He wouldn't be disappointed tonight. She cinched him in tight and fastened the harness to a hook in the ceiling before she kicked the chair out from under him. Hector hung there spread- eagled, swinging slightly, like a hammock in the breeze. He was horny as hell. He made Trish sick. "You got the ... thing, Trish?" he asked eagerly. <> She shook her head. "Sorry." "What?!" Hector shouted. She pulled a rubber billy club out of the closet. Without warning, she cracked Hector across the face. Blood spilled from his nose, and for a moment he looked startled, even afraid. Then his eyes closed with pleasure as he licked at the blood on his lip-- in the closet the blood o god it hurts scully where are you? --Trish dropped the billy club and ran from the room, ignoring Hector's shouts of protest as she slammed the door. She threw herself on the couch in the lobby. "What's the matter, Trish?" Kat asked. She shook her head, unable to answer. The front door opened abruptly and two cops burst inside. Trish recognized one, a regular customer named Robert. "Up against the wall!" he shouted, pretending not to know her. Kat and Trish complied calmly; they'd both been through it before. Robert came up behind Trish and leaned close. "Where's your John, Trish?" She turned around, casually, and leaned against the wall. "He's hangin' around somewhere," Trish replied, her voice low. "Why don't I show you?" Robert nodded to the other cop. "I'm gonna check it out-- you check the rest of the place. Get that one to show you around," he said, motioning to Kat. Kat sighed, boredom clearly etched on her face. Trish led Robert down the hall and stopped in front of her door. "When do you get off?" she whispered, fondling his thick leather belt. "That depends," he answered. "Who you got in there?" "Nobody I can't get rid of," she answered quickly. This day was already bad enough--she didn't want to spend the night in jail on top of everything else. She sank to her knees and worked at unbuckling his belt. "Later," he snarled, shoving her aside and glancing furtively over his shoulder. His partner was nowhere to be seen. "I have to see who's in there," he said firmly. He lowered his voice. "I'll be back to collect on that favor." "Whatever," Trish answered. For all she cared he could screw Hector, as long as she didn't get busted. She had to get home right away for some reason or other ... it wasn't quite clear anymore. She stood in the hallway alone as he checked out her room. <> she thought, smiling to herself. Robert came out after a minute. "Everything up to code?" Trish asked. "Yeah," he answered, grabbing her small breasts and giving them a quick squeeze before heading down the hall. "I'll be back at two," he said. Trish did her best to smile seductively at him. She had to go home, *now*. Trish followed Robert back to the lobby. "Anything?" his partner asked. "Nah. Let's get out of here," he answered. Robert's partner gave him an odd look, but followed him out the door. Kat sat back on the couch. "I'm out of here, Kat. I'll be back later," Trish said. "Where the hell are you going?" Kat answered angrily. "Don't even start," she warned, crossing her arms. "You *know* you owe me. Robert's comin' over at two--I'll be back before then. Just take care of Hector for me, all right?" Trish headed for the door, not really caring if Kat was angry or not. She had to get home. As soon as she reached the street she broke into a run. Mulder's heartbeat filled her ears, growing louder as she drew closer to her apartment. She could feel his labored breathing matching hers as she raced home, every thunk of her boots striking the asphalt an accusation. You should have stayed home. You should have told the cops. You shouldn't have left him with them. You shouldn't have left him. She reached her door, and her trembling fingers fumbled with the keys until she managed to get the right one into the ancient lock. She was up the stairs in an instant, and burst into her room. The boys were there with Danny, but the cop was nowhere in sight. "What's goin' on?" Calvin said testily. "You get off work early or something?" Trish ignored him. "Where is he?" she panted, her voice dry with apprehension. They recognized her fear instantly, and all four of them came to their feet as one to advance on her. The animal gleam in their eyes frightened her even more. "Where is he!?" She asked again, backing away from them. Dan moved to stand in the doorway, blocking her escape. She turned to Calvin. "Cal?" she said in a small voice. "Calvin? Please. Please don't--" He grabbed her by the wrist, hard enough to bruise. "You know better. You *know* not to come here like this." His voice was deadly calm, his pupils so dilated she could see only black. Without warning, he backhanded her across the face, sending her to the floor. He turned to the others, ignoring her with an effort. "Let's go," he commanded, grabbing Mulder's trench coat off the floor. They seemed to hesitate a moment, looking down at Trish hungrily. "Did I stutter? Did I mumble?" Calvin growled. "Let's GO!" They turned away from her unwillingly, and followed him down the stairs. Trish sniffled, too stunned to cry. Her nose was running, and she wiped it absently on her forearm. She looked down at her arm, streaked with red. A drop fell from her nose, spattering her orange boots. Trish heard sounds from downstairs, and slowly got to her feet. She walked to the window in a daze as their voices floated up to her. " ... I'm gonna take off," She heard Dan say before he headed down the street alone. "Chickenshit," Calvin muttered. Dave and Tony nodded, chuckling. "So where do you wanna go?" Tony asked. "Let's go get a chick," Dave answered. "I'm in the mood for one now." "Whatever," Calvin shrugged, as the three shadowed hunters slipped silently down the street, into the night. Trish heard a noise from the closet and spun around, jerked open the door. One look inside and the images flooded back to her as a dream remembered. Mulder lay on the floor, his face bloody, his right eye swollen nearly shut. He stirred as the light from the bedroom spilled over him. He tried to sit up, couldn't. "Nice of you to stop by," he rasped sarcastically. "I'm sorry," Trish said miserably. "I'm sorry." She ran to the kitchen and came back with a damp rag. She gently wiped the blood from his nose and mouth. He pulled away from her. "Don't." "I'm trying to help you," Trish pleaded. "Help me? Help me!?" he repeated angrily. "You want to help me? Let me go." he said, finally managing to sit up. He glared at her with his good eye. Trish shook her head. "I can't," she said, her eyes wide with fear. She stood up suddenly and left him in the closet, then returned a moment later with his keys. She knelt next to him and removed the cuffs from his ankles. "That's all I can do," she said. Mulder considered his feet for a moment, tried to flex his toes a little. He looked up at Trish, who was still in her gaudy dominatrix outfit, and noticed her bloody nose for the first time. "What happened to you?" he asked. "Nothing," she replied, barely audibly. "I just got careless. I got scared, that's all." "You were afraid ... " he said, "and that's why he hit you?" Trish shrugged, nodded slightly. "What the hell does that drug do--make you *want* to hurt people?" "Not ... exactly," she answered. She tugged on Mulder's sleeve. "Can you get up? I'm sick of sitting in the closet." She helped him to his feet, and he took a deep breath, fighting the wave of dizziness that washed over him. After a long moment, he was able to hobble to the bed. He looked longingly toward the open bedroom door, knowing there was no way he could make it down the stairs. Not yet. "So what does it do to you?" he asked again. "Like I said, it's hard to explain," Trish said, reaching for the last beer on the floor. "You can tell when people are afraid of you. I mean, you sort of get high off other people's fear, and it makes you feel like--like a big animal. A big cat or something, like the king of the jungle. All the other animals are afraid of you ... and you love it." Mulder flexed his fingers as she talked, trying to bring the feeling back into them. He could probably get down those stairs, he thought, but he'd play hell trying to open the door with his hands fettered behind him. He still needed her help. "You can tell when someone is afraid? How?" Mulder coaxed, playing for time. "You just can. It's like ... you sort of get inside peoples' heads, I guess. I mean, you get an idea of what they're thinking." "Can you do that now?" Mulder asked. She sighed, bored with the conversation. "No. It doesn't last very long. I mean, I don't feel it now. But for a little while ... " "What?" "I knew ... I mean, I saw what they were doing. I could feel Calvin hurting you." "You read Calvin's mind?" he asked. "No--" she said, frustrated, "I read *your* mind. I don't know how or anything. I was thinking about you when I took it, but ... I don't know. I mean, it works a little different every time ... " "Why didn't it make you aggressive this time?" he asked. "You weren't afraid," she answered simply. "That didn't stop Calvin and his friends," he said. She shrugged, looked at the floor. Shrugged again. "Cal's changed," she whispered. "He takes it all the time now. It's making him different." She stared at the floor. "He's mean ... he didn't used to be mean to me." "Then why don't you leave?" he said, leaning forward a little and lowering his voice as well. "Can't you go home, go back to your family?" Trish almost laughed. "I used to have a family." She finished her beer, threw it in the corner. "They sucked. Calvin and Dave and Tony are my family now. We need each other. Calvin helped me out when I first got here. I owe him--I can't just leave. He'll get better ..." Mulder blew out a breath, and decided to lay his cards down. "Look, Trish, you have *got* to let me go," he said. "You can't get away. If they kill me, the FBI won't stop looking until they find you. And no matter how far you run, they will find you. But if you help me, they'll deal with you. I'll make them deal. I promise." Trish's mouth twitched down at the corners, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "Right. Now go ahead and tell me you can make it all better for me. I can get rehab time and everything will be just fine. Go ahead--tell me!" Mulder shook his head. The 'I'll make sure they go easy on you' idea wasn't turning out very well. He wondered how many times she'd heard it before. <> "I can't do anything for you, Trish. You have to do it for yourself." He paused. "But believe it or not, I know. I know how you feel. I lost my family ... a long time ago." He sighed. "It doesn't have to destroy you." Trish had no answer for him. "They're going to kill me, you know," he said calmly. "Naw, they're not," she said, but the hint of doubt was clear in her eyes. Mulder saw her uncertainty and pressed his advantage. "They've already killed over a dozen people this month. Why should they stop now?" Mulder asked. "What the hell are you talking about? They haven't killed anybody!" Trish didn't know anything about their killing spree, as Mulder had suspected from the start. It was exactly the kind of leverage he needed. "Yes, they have. Haven't you seen it on the news? They're the ones I came to California to find." "No way," she said, turning her back to him. "They've used that thing--that clip--on all their victims," he said, raising his voice. "Where is it, Trish?" She looked over at the floor where it should have been. "It was ... I thought I left it--" "You did," Mulder interrupted. "They took it." ----- Eleven forty-five p.m. The three men smoked as they walked slowly down the busy street. Calvin's dark green eyes roamed, searching for any sign of weakness in the passers-by. To the casual observer they looked like completely normal tourists. Calvin wore Mulder's trench coat to cover his tattoo, a life-sized eight ball permanently commemorated on his muscular forearm. Their clothes made them indistinguishable from the thousands of other WASP-y kids that wandered the North Shore Italian district that night. Even though it was nearly midnight, the streets and outdoor cafes were choked with people enjoying the mild weather, and the weekend that had just begun. Calvin's latest victim had yet to be discovered. Tony spoke up. "So what the fuck are we gonna do about that cop?" "Yeah," Dave said, his eyes betraying apprehension. Calvin remained utterly cool. "What do you think, man? We're gonna fuckin' kill him, what else?" "Oh man, that shit makes me nervous!" Dave squeaked. "Shut up, Dave. Everything makes you nervous," Calvin answered. -------------- (Concluded part four) =========================================================================== From: X-Phreeek Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Fear Itself 4/4 Date: Tue, 14 May 1996 08:24:06 -0700 **Rated R-ish** *No Third Season Spoilers* Disclaimers and stuff in part one Fear Itself julie viola carneiro (viola@ella.mills.edu) Part four of four ----- Scully leapt off the bed when the hotel phone rang, but Kendra reached it first. She answered, then listened for several moments. Scully fidgeted, knowing they hadn't found him yet, but that something was definitely up. Kendra hung up the phone. "All right Dana, get your coat. They arrested a guy who fits our preliminary profile. He was caught attacking someone in the Tenderloin." "I'm right behind you," Scully replied, grabbing her purse and coat. They made it to the precinct in under ten minutes. Wallace led Scully past the front desk and through a door where an older, uniformed officer was waiting to lead them to the prisoner. He handed Kendra a folder, and they followed him in silence down the hallway to the jail. "Why isn't he in Interrogation, Frank?" Kendra asked. "Believe me, you don't want to get that close to him," he replied cryptically. Scully's heart fluttered in nervous apprehension as they were buzzed into the cell block and followed him to the last cell at the end of the dim hallway. Kendra waved him off, and he retreated to the far end of the hall. The man was stocky, his red hair aglow, the only color in the gray light. He paced back and forth in his cell like a caged tiger. He stopped as they approached, and stood against the far wall of the cell. "Daniel Patrick Whalen? Have you been read your rights?" He nodded, grinning slightly. "I am Detective Wallace, and this is Special Agent Scully. We'd like to ask you a few questions." "Why don't you come on in?" He drawled huskily, thrusting his hands casually into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. Scully ignored him. "Mister Whalen, why did you attack that man tonight?" His manner made her uncomfortable, and she wanted to get the interrogation over with quickly. "Because I can," he growled, his lips pulled back into a nasty imitation of a smile, exposing his teeth as he advanced toward her. He was menacing in an abstract way, Scully thought. Everything about him was somehow animalistic, predatory. Bars notwithstanding, Scully took a step back. If Mulder was being held captive by these monsters ... her heart went cold with fear at the thought. Whalen howled, a piercing, feral shriek and dove for her, stretching his arms as far out of the cell as he could, fingers grasping at air as she leapt backwards. The officer at the end of the hall flew forward, banging the bars with his billy club. "Back off!" he shouted. Whalen pulled his arms back. He laughed, but it was tinged with frustration at the loss of his prey. He stood stock still, staring into Scully's eyes. Whalen's eyes were solid black at their centers, and she chilled as she stared back into them. She was transfixed by his gaze, like an animal caught in bright light. In the back of her mind, an idea began to take shape, and take on a voice. <<... some sort of outside influence, something else directing or controlling their actions,>> she heard Mulder say. But what? Her concentration broke as Kendra pulled her toward the door. "He's psycho, Dana. We're not getting anything out of him right now." "But what caused it?" Scully asked, almost to herself as they walked away. "He's probably just another street freak," Wallace answered. "Outside influence ... " Scully whispered. The pieces clicked together almost audibly. "Dana? You OK?" Scully looked up. "Mulder said he thought there was some outside influence controlling these people. I have a feeling he was right. I think they're under the influence of some kind of chemical that heightens aggression. A drug that may be on the street right now." She paused a moment, considering. "I saw on the news that there has been a significant increase in violent crimes in the past month. That coincides with this spree ... " "True," Kendra replied quickly, "but we suspect they're simply copycat slayings." Scully's brow furrowed slightly. "That's awfully convenient, don't you think? I mean, it's plausible on the surface, but it's really rather unlikely there are so many copycats out there." "You actually believe there could be a drug on the street that turns people into serial killers?" Wallace asked, incredulous. Then her look softened. "I know how hard this is for you, Dana," she said quietly. "Don't you think it might be better to leave this investigation to someone else?" "No. No I don't--" Scully said angrily, "--since I seem to be the only one willing to look at all the possibilities!" "Hey," Kendra replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "I'm on your side, remember? Just say the word, and I'll do anything I can to help." "I want to have some tests run on that man." She sighed. "But it'll take hours for the blood work to come back. I can't just sit here like some war bride waiting for news from the front," Scully said, suddenly frustrated. "I have to *do* something." "All right," Kendra began hesitantly. "The last two ... were found in North Beach. I'll take you down there, and we can have a look around." "Let's go," Scully said simply. ----- Twelve-thirty a.m. Scully and Detective Wallace sat in an unmarked car parked just off Columbus Avenue. They had been tracking the three men for the last half hour. To the untrained eye, they were nothing out of the ordinary, but for the two Academy-trained women, the telltale signs were unmistakable. They were definitely on the prowl, stalking the unsuspecting tourists clogging the street ... hunting them. Scully sucked in a breath as the men drew closer. One of them was wearing Mulder's trench coat, she was certain of it. "What?" Detective Wallace asked, her voice hushed. "They've got Mulder's coat," she answered through clenched teeth. "The big one is wearing it." "Are you sure?" Kendra said, peering down the busy thoroughfare at the men. "I might be able to find out," Scully said, pulling out her portable phone. She quickly dialed a number, then stared intently at the dark-haired man. He started, looking down at the pocket of his coat. From their vantage point the women could hear the faint chirp of Mulder's phone. Kendra threw Dana a look. She nodded curtly, and they leapt from the car and quickly approached the young men. Scully flashed her badge. "Federal Agent--" She broke off as the men made a mad dash down the alley. "Call for backup!" She yelled to Kendra as she drew her gun and tore after them. The men had already seemingly disappeared, but Scully knew they had to be there. They were hiding in the shadows they knew far better than she did. She stopped, trying to still her breathing to listen for any minute sounds that might give them away. Suddenly the large blonde man burst out of the shadows and ran away from her. "FREEZE! I'm armed!" Scully shouted. He ignored her. "Bastard!" She murmured. She needed to capture one alive if there was to be any hope of finding Mulder. Scully took careful aim and shot him in the leg. He stumbled, but kept running. She heard a girlish shriek come from behind the dumpster to her left. Another man slipped from the shadows to her right and raced down the alley. She ignored him and brought her weapon to bear on the little man cowering in the shadows. "Come on out of there!" She ordered as Kendra sped around the corner leading two uniformed officers. They ran past her trying to catch up with the two down the alley. The small, ponytailed man stepped out of the shadows, visibly trembling. "Get down on your belly! Hands behind your head and interlock your fingers!" she barked. He obeyed. She stepped over him and straddled his midsection, pointing her gun directly at the back of his head. "Where is he?" she demanded. "I don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about, lady!" He whined. Scully leaned closer to him, pushing the business end of her weapon into the base of his scull. "You lie--you die," she said, her voice low with menace, each syllable clearly enunciated. He whimpered. "OK, OK! Just don't kill me!" "Where is he?" She repeated. ----- One a.m. Trish finished stuffing her clothes into her duffel bag-- two shirts, a pair of pants, one pair of boots. She grabbed a handful of CDs off the TV and threw them in as well as the rest of the money from Mulder's wallet. "I'll just hold on to this for you," she said, carefully setting his gun on top of the pile. "Where are you going?" Mulder asked uncomfortably. "You're right, man. I gotta get out of here--start over where nobody knows who the hell I am," she replied. Mulder clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath, wondering if he'd completely misjudged her. "So what happens to me?" "You?" She asked. "You, my friend, are also getting the hell out of here. I don't need no goddamn murder on my conscience." Mulder allowed himself the barest moment of relief, never forgetting that Calvin could be back any moment to change her plans. As if on command, the door slammed open and they heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. "Shit!" Trish yelped, frantically trying to stuff Mulder's keys into her pocket. They fell to the floor just as Calvin stormed in, Tony limping behind him. Mulder looked into Trish's eyes, and his heart sank. She was terrified. He shot her a warning look, and clamped down on his own emotions. <> Calvin took one look at her duffel bag, the keys on the floor, and Mulder sitting on the bed. "What the FUCK is going on here!?" He roared, shoving Trish away. In a blind rage, he grabbed Mulder from behind by his arms, savagely pinioning them back until his elbows nearly met, and pulled him off the bed. There was a dull pop as Mulder's left shoulder joint separated. Mulder arched his back and pulled in an agonized breath. He kept his mind blank, allowing only the simple mantra to occupy his consciousness. <> Calvin lifted him higher, his bare feet only brushing the floor as Calvin threw him headlong into the closet and slammed the door, leaving him in darkness. Trish blinked, trying to clear her vision. Calvin advanced, shaking with an uncontrollable rage and hate that she had seen before--but never directed toward her. He flung her against the closet door, and she shrank away from him, into the corner. "Cal--" She cried. "I'm sorry!" He shook his head, almost sadly. "Nope," he said with finality. "Not good enough, Trish. Not this time." He pulled a .357 Magnum out of the waistband of his jeans. Trish cringed, pushing herself as far into the corner as she could. "I love you, Patricia. I really do," he said. "Oh Jesus ..." she groaned. She jerked sideways as the bullet slammed into her left temple. The back of her head shattered outward, sending blood and brain tissue splattering in all directions. Shards of her skull exploded against the wall, and the jagged edges of bone embedded there. She crumpled silently to the hardwood floor, a look of surprise set permanently into her young face. Tony's head throbbed from the report of the gunshot. His lungs ached from their flight from the police, and his leg still spilled his blood at an alarming rate, but he had sobered enough from the drug to realize that this was all wrong. Things had gone too far--Calvin had gone too far- -and Tony didn't want any part of it. It wasn't worth it, not for the money, not for the high. None of it was worth this. He knew the solution. Tony knew what he had to do. He didn't hesitate. He reached for the gun in Trish's bag and blasted a hole in Calvin's chest. Calvin looked down at the spurting wound, stunned, his mouth falling open as the gun slipped from his hands. Calvin groaned, a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat as he fell to his knees, then flopped face forward on to the floor. Tony looked down at him, then slowly at the closet door. One more detail to be taken care of, and he would be home free. There would be no witnesses to this crime. ----- Now or never. As soon as Mulder hit the floor, he knew it was now or never. He yanked at the shackles that bound his wrists, ignoring his shoulder's scream of protest, ignoring his aching ribs and the sounds coming from the bedroom. <> He quickly realized there was no way he could slip his hands out of the cuffs, so he worked to pull them in front of him instead. He hunched his shoulders down, squirming until he got his bound wrists past his hips ... where they stuck. Mulder's breath whistled through his clenched teeth as he fought the intense pain and rising nausea. He rolled onto his back and pulled again, but they wouldn't budge. <> Mulder thought, stifling a hysterical laugh. He took a deep breath. Something hit the closet door, hard. He heard Trish cry out, then the sharp report of a gunshot in the bedroom. Mulder cursed to himself in the dark. He took a breath, mentally preparing himself for the pain, and with one last mighty pull wrenched his hands in front of him. He stood unsteadily and leaned against the door, listening for his chance. He flinched instinctively when he heard the second shot, and the thud of what must have been Calvin falling to the floor. <> The rational part of his mind told him his chances were better if there was only one of them to deal with, but he had to work hard to keep himself under control as he waited. Tony opened the door a crack to peer inside, and Mulder threw his right shoulder against it with all his might, sending Tony crashing to the floor on top of Trish's body, and his gun spinning across the room under the bed. He felt the terror flare in him at the sight of her corpse, still oozing blood from her shattered skull. Tony's eyes blazed with unnatural intensity as Mulder's fear sent a rush through him. Mulder took one look into those glowing blue eyes. He knew he couldn't reach his gun first, and his fear took over. He ran. ----- One-fifteen a.m. "Please don't let it be too late," Scully prayed aloud, fingering the tiny gold cross at her throat as if it were the crucifix on her rosary beads. It took an agonizingly long time for Agent Wallace to drive them to the scene. After a seeming eternity, they blazed into the darkened street, trailing half the San Francisco police department behind them. It seemed the other half had arrived just before them. A dozen or more police cars and a SWAT team swarmed in and around the battered old building, blue and red flashing deep in the night, bathing it in unnatural colors. Scully jumped from the car before it had even come to a stop, and reached the stairs when she heard shots ring out from the apartment above. She flashed her badge and flew up the stairs. The scene in the tiny room was gruesome. A man and a teenaged girl lay in pools of blood on the floor. A third man sprawled half-inside the closet. An officer in a bullet-proof vest pulled the gun from the man's hand. "What happened here?" Scully said, her voice strained and flat. "He had a gun," the officer said, as if that explained everything. "Where is Agent Mulder?" She shouted, finally overwhelmed by her fear and frustration. "You killed the only man who might have known where he is! How are we supposed to find him *now*!?" "Ma'am," the officer replied patiently, "Your suspect could have been lying. He may not ever have been here." "He was here," she said firmly, looking about the gory scene for proof to back up her hunch. The officer looked at Scully doubtfully as Kendra entered the room. "Dana?" she called worriedly. Suddenly, Scully sprang forward, kneeling next to the dead man in the closet. She jerked the watch off his wrist, held it up for them to see. "He was here," she said triumphantly. She held Mulder's watch with reverence, ignoring the bloodstains and torn leather band. "Where could he be?" Detective Wallace asked her quietly. Scully frowned, her brow knitted in concentration. Logically, he could be any number of places ... <> she thought, holding his watch tightly in her fist. She ran. ----- Mulder stumbled blindly down the pitch-black alley, oblivious to pain, unaware of his bare feet splashing through the muck and broken glass. All he could feel was the fear that had engulfed him completely, blocking all reason. He slammed into a rough brick wall, bouncing back and almost falling. With his still-manacled hands he felt his way quickly along the wall, discovering to his horror that he had run into a dead end. His heart leapt into his throat as he heard footsteps approaching. He crouched low, curling himself into a tight ball as a flashlight beam crisscrossed the alley, cutting through the darkness. His pulse throbbed hard in his temples. He was sure Tony could hear it. The path of light washed across him, then returned an instant later, pinning Mulder against the grimy wall. A small moan escaped him as he threw his hands up over his face and covered his eyes. The handcuffs glinted, reflecting the light as it grew brighter, nearer. An instant passed in unbearable silence-- "Mulder!" Scully's voice pierced him like lightning. His relief was instant, and he found himself suddenly out of breath. His heart beat even faster as Scully rushed to his side. "My God ... Scully! Oh God--" he croaked as she unlocked the handcuffs from his wrists. "What ... how did you ... " He shook his head as the words he wanted escaped him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his knees and rocked back and forth, his eyes screwed shut, teeth chattering as he tried to control his breathing. Scully pulled at his arms, and he flinched away from her. It was then she saw that something was terribly wrong with his left shoulder. It seemed stiff and unnaturally slumped. His arm was limp, but Mulder gave no outward sign that he was aware of the injury. He was in shock. She grasped his right hand tightly in hers. "Mulder," she called. She looked into his glazed dark eyes, piercing him with her sky-blue stare, forcing him back to the here and now. "Fox." She spoke quietly, reassuringly in his ear, and as it filtered into his consciousness, he thought that her voice was the most beautiful he had ever heard, her eyes the most ineffably beautiful he had ever seen. "You're safe." She tenderly touched his bruised face. "Sit back now, Fox. You need an ambulance. Just be still." He nodded slightly, not trusting himself to speak. "I'm going to get help," Scully said gently. "No!" he cried, shaking his head quickly, eyes wild. "D- don't leave me. Please." "All right," she soothed, "All right, Fox." Scully sat down in the filth beside him, pulling him into her arms and repeating her reassurances as she would to a frightened child. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe now." Slowly, his rocking stilled, and he sat up straighter. Scully released him from her embrace, but kept a protective hand on his arm as they waited for help. Mulder had regained some of his composure by the time the paramedics arrived. After a brief check they decided it was safe to move him, and gently lifted him onto a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. They took Mulder to the hospital against his wishes. All he wanted to do was go back to the hotel and sleep for a long, long time. He complained loudly that Scully was a doctor, after all, and shouldn't she be able to look him over to make sure he was OK? "Agent Mulder," she said sternly, "Ignoring for the moment that your shoulder is obviously dislocated ... I am a doctor who specialized in pathology. I practice medicine on live people only when it is *absolutely* necessary. Now if you were dead, on the other hand--" "Okay, okay. I get it," he sighed unhappily. "So off to the hospital I go. Again." Scully stayed by his side throughout, asking questions now and then as the emergency room physician checked him out. Many tests and X-rays later, the doctor concluded that his ribs were badly bruised, but not broken. He had also incurred a slight concussion, minor cuts and contusions, his wrists and ankles were raw, and his arm had indeed been pulled out of the socket. The doctor informed Mulder they wanted him to stay a day or more for observation. Mulder was determined not to stay in the hospital. He pleaded with Scully to take him back to the hotel, giving her his best pound puppy look and quiet, convincing argument about how much better he'd rest in his hotel room, and how confident he was in her ability to handle any unexpected complications that might arise. Scully wasn't at all thrilled with the idea, knowing she'd probably be up the rest of the night worrying about him. In the end, Mulder won. His injuries were minor enough that the doctor agreed to release him into Scully's care, and she filled his prescriptions while the doctor finished bandaging him up. "One thing, Mulder," Scully began hesitantly when she returned. "Yeah?" He asked warily. She paused. "When we get back to Washington, I want you to see someone," she said seriously. "Who? You trying to play matchmaker for me?" He asked coyly, raising one brow and smirking slightly. He didn't fool her for a moment. "You know what I mean, Mulder. A therapist. I want you to see a therapist." "Ah shit, Scully. Again? Don't you think I've heard it all before?" He said, exasperated. "I haven't forgotten, you know." "I'm sure you haven't forgotten the *words* Mulder," she answered, steely eyed. Not this time, mister, her eyes reflected, and he knew he'd have to give in if he wanted to get out of the hospital in the near future. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." he grumbled. She stared him down until she was sure he realized how serious she was, then handed him his little white bag full of prescriptions. "Got you some Restoril while I was at the pharmacy," she told him conversationally. Mulder rolled his eyes, but wisely kept his lips clamped shut. It was nearly four in the morning by the time she helped him into a wheelchair to leave the hospital. She was about to wheel him to the door, feeling victorious and only slightly manipulated, just as Kendra Wallace stepped in. Kendra was still exquisite though she had been up all night, and the stark hospital atmosphere only served to enhance her beauty. "So, Agent Mulder, what's your secret?" He looked up at her, noticing for the first time how striking she was. "I--I--what do you mean?" he managed. "How'd you find our suspects so quickly?" she asked. "Just lucky, I guess," he replied shyly, suddenly conscious of his dirty and disheveled appearance. "I need to get back to the hotel," he mumbled, looking up at Scully uncomfortably. She smiled, somehow relieved by his embarrassment, and winked to Kendra as she wheeled him into the hallway. "OK," Kendra called after them. "But I know a certain Fibbie agent who owes me dinner!" Mulder's mouth dropped open at the prospect. He turned to Scully, ready to accuse her again of matchmaking. "Don't look at me," she laughed, grinning wickedly. "You're the one who ditched her." Come to think of it, the idea was pretty appealing. Get cleaned up, get some sleep, a little dinner, and afterwards ... But this was definitely a setup by the both of them. His defiant streak took over, and he refused to give Scully and Kendra the satisfaction--just yet. Mulder ran a hand carefully through his hair and sighed. "Get me out of here, Scully," he groaned tiredly, but both women caught the glimmer in his eye. "See you tomorrow, Ken," Scully said. "I think my patient has had more than enough excitement for one day." ----- End. Special thanks to my friends Tony, Dave, Dan, and Calvin, who graciously allowed me to turn them into evil dudes. No names were changed to protect the innocent. Guys, I think you liked it a little too much ... Write me! Write me!