IN THE SHADOWS OF THE MOON -- PART 2
by - Joyce
mab49@earthlink.net
April 1997

Warnings and Disclaimer in part 1

Sheriff's Office
 

"Listen, you overpaid, overdressed excuse for a law officer, I don't need some damn outsider trying to tell me one of my own people is capable of this kind of violence."

"Well, someone needs to tell you that you're going to have more murders unless you get over your fascination with random killings and accept that you've got a serial killer on your hands."

"Bullshit. Great fucking bullshit. I got a God-damn fucking lunatic on my hands."

Sheriff Collins raged around the office scattering deputies who hastily fled to safe corners before storming back to stand toe-to-toe with Mulder.

"Serial killers I might be forced to accept, maybe even that one of my people could be involved, but there is no way I can believe your notions that this is all part of some fancy satanic ritual That just doesn't wash down here. We're all God-fearing people in this town."

Mulder took a deep breath and tried to control his rising temper.

"Sheriff, will you at least consider the possibility that, heaven forbid, you could be wrong? Fifteen of the bodies are laid out in a precise pattern. The others are just a smoke-screen. For God's sake, sheriff, I can show you the damn pattern in a book if that would help."

"Sure. And this supposed pattern extends over half the county? Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, because a fool would have more sense!" Mulder snapped, finally losing the battle for control of his temper.

Scully walked on the tail end of Mulder's angry retort and sighed in frustration.

The sheriff exploded in a fit of profanity.

"God-fucking damn, Agent Mulder. I swear you'd drive God Almighty to drink with your fucking stupid ideas. Don't you ever fucking call me a fucking fool again or I'll send you back to Washington in ten different pieces, you hear me *Agent* Mulder?"

Watching the two of them, the short stocky sheriff and her tall lanky partner, Scully couldn't help visualizing a bulldog baiting an Irish wolfhound. The sheriff came up to Mulder's chest and had to look up to face him, a fact he obviously resented.

She saw the storm rising in Mulder's eyes as his effort to remain calm and professional began to collapse. She moved quietly to stand beside him, backing him up, even if just in the matter of helping him hold his temper. Mulder flashed her a quick grateful smile, then turned back to the sheriff. Scully braced herself. From what she heard as she walked in, this sheriff might occupy a modern office with all the latest equipment, but his attitudes were strictly early cave-man. Having to deal with a female agent was probably not going to soothe his temper.

To her surprise, upon seeing her, the sheriff bit back further comments

"Agent Scully, glad you could join us. Do you have anything of value I can use in my investigation?" The sheriff kept his face averted from Mulder's smoldering eyes and waited courteously for her report.

"After reviewing the autopsy reports and examining the latest body, I can categorically state that all the victims died of massive trauma and blood loss. The mutilations were carved into the flesh before death, probably with a hunting knife with a large blade. Subsequent to this ritual death, the bodies were shredded, chunks of muscle and bone were carved out and the remains scattered around the site. In addition, on the bodies indicated by Agent Mulder as possible ritual slayings, I found bruising and lacerations on the wrists and ankles consistent with some sort of restraint, probably leather or rope. They were obscured by the mutilation and shredding of the bodies but are still evident. Your coroner missed those marks completely, sheriff."

Scully laid out her report in short, simple language, knowing it would do nothing to appease the sheriff. It had taken an intense, careful scrutiny before she could find the signs that there was a purpose behind the killings. She might not entirely believe Mulder's theories of why, but she respected his instincts enough to pursue a detailed analysis of the bodies.

"Haaah!" The sheriff shot Mulder an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Upon further examination of the photos of the earlier killings and comparing them to the photos of the killings in this cycle I found that the pattern of mutilations matched exactly. You have two identical cycle of murders, apparently matching exactly one death to another in each cycle. All indications suggest one killer following an exact pattern, possibly ritual in nature."

Scully noted but didn't acknowledge Mulder's look of relief, thanks, and resigned horror.

"Thank you Agent Scully for a very intelligent, though completely unwelcome report. Now, ma'am, if you will excuse me I have work to do." The sheriff, having thanked her politely, retreated to his desk, ignoring Mulder completely.

"Mulder, what happened?" Scully asked as Mulder shrugged and headed off to the desk assigned to them. It was shoved over as far into one corner as possible, nearly hidden behind file cabinets as if the sheriff could put them out of sight and out of mind until they came up with something useful.

"Let's just say that the sheriff and I had a failure to communicate." Mulder's eyes were still furious, but a little of his usual sardonic humor peeked out. "He's agreed to have one of his deputies take us to the various crime scenes. I've already tried to get directions to the cave, but the sheriff is being spectacularly unhelpful in that regard. If you can get Deputy Cullum, I believe his name was, to pinpoint the sites on a map it would be a help. The sites are important, if the pattern I suspect exists."

"OK Mulder, but if I have to go out through that mob again, you're buying me dinner at the fanciest restaurant I can find when we get back to Washington." Scully gave him an exasperated look. Mulder chuckled as he realized she had had to walk back from the temporary morgue right through the media.

"Hazardous duty pay, eh Scully?" he chuckled as they went off in search of Deputy Cullum.

"You have no idea, Mulder. Oh, by the way, Francis says that the earthquake rather rearranged things last May and the trails to the cave are gone."

"Convenient . . . Francis?" Mulder looked sharply at his partner's smug expression.

"Just a friendly reporter I met. Nice man. Great coffee. Remind me to introduce you." Scully enjoyed the slightly frazzled, mostly befuddled look in Mulder's eyes. Score one for the Irish, she thought contentedly.

Helsgate, Tennessee
Late afternoon, July 21
 

Twilight brought with it a cool breeze that clipped the sharp edge off the brooding heat of the day. Mulder paused in his frustrated pacing to watch the shadows ease out of their secret places as the sun retreated. He was exhausted: he had plunged into autopsy reports, site evidence and a growing pile of computer print-outs trying to fathom the mind or minds of those responsible for these killings.

Angry at his inability to grasp the mind of the killer, he chased even Scully away to a safe distance with growls and glares. He scowled at the stark bloody facts surrounding the killer's victims as if he could pull the truth that lay behind the facts from the darkness that surrounded his adversary.

The farms and small communities dotting the mountainsides surrounding Helsgate clung stubbornly to the culture and architecture of their fore-fathers, although Mulder had seen modern equipment in use on more than one farm during yesterday's tour of some of the more accessible murder sites.

Helsgate was aptly named in his opinion. His dreams last night had resembled something out of Lovecraft's worst nightmares. Hellish was the only adjective he could think of. Yet, there was a brooding sense of being watched by something or someone not hostile, but definitely intrusive and curious. Mulder hated being watched and his paranoia was almost spiraling out of control at the thought that somebody was capable of slipping into his dreams. Memories of Modell still bled from the raw sores in his mind.

Mulder felt himself floundering in shadows until he slashed at them, and anyone else in range, in rage and frustration; his mind spinning like a top, searching for the bits and pieces of truth that the facts obscured. Seven deaths in seven days, the latest just last night. Two more to go before this cycle would be complete, unless the killer chose the sacred seven as his pattern this month.

A loud outraged voice on the street outside interrupted his musings.

"Damn it Agent Scully! Are you as much of an idiot as that fucking partner of yours? I thought you were the intelligent one of the pair of you."

Mulder groaned softly. The sheriff was not a happy man. In fact, Mulder could say without any fear of contradiction, that the sheriff was a thunderingly unhappy man. He was making no effort to hide his opinion that Agent Mulder did not live up to his idea of what an FBI agent should be.

With a sigh for his part in ruining the sheriff's opinion of the national government, Mulder grabbed his suit coat and prepared to leave. He wanted to get to the car before the sheriff or the press had a chance to corner him. Scully was proving, as usual, to be far more diplomatic with the man that he could ever hope to be. She shouldn't have to intervene again to keep him from telling the sheriff he was an unmitigated ass.

As he fled the office, Mulder ran smack into Francis who was skulking around the back door. Mulder had never actually seen anyone skulk before, but could come up with no better word for what Francis was doing.

"Agent Mulder, it's an honor to run into you, literally," Francis commented cheerfully as he helped Mulder regain his balance

"Not now Macsen." Mulder growled trying to keep his temper. Scully had told him about Macsen, who was feeding her all sorts of useful local information, but he was in no mood to cope with even cooperative reporters.

"It's OK, Agent Mulder. I don't bite. Agent Scully and I have an agreement. I don't badger you and she gives me an exclusive interview once this is all over. Thought you'd like to know, Jake Harmon didn't come home this morning and his best buddy, Miles Tolfer hasn't been seen since last night."

"You suggesting Tolfer is a suspect?"

"Not in the least, Agent Mulder. Tolfer is a strapping young man with more brawn than brains, but Jake is the meanest fighter in this county. Tolfer couldn't take him with a two-by-four. Just thought you'd like to know."

Francis started to leave, then stopped, gave Mulder a curious, almost apprehensive look that sent shivers up Mulder's spine. Now he began to understand why Scully seemed so cautious about using him.

"The storm's near to breaking. Witch-markers have gone up on the trails and there's rumors of a witch-hunt forming. I don't like the smell of things." Francis gave a quick shudder and looked apprehensively up at the mountains then walked quickly away.

Mulder shook his head. His mind was dripping in blood and a barely sensed feeling of impending doom hovered like a damned vulture. Now the voice of doom was coming out of the mouth of a small-town reporter. Mulder winced as his headache made the fading daylight shimmer and shatter into thousands of glaring bits of light.

Mulder turned the corner towards the street and his car and stopped abruptly when the sheriff's angry voice boomed out.

"Damn it, how long does he intend on standing there detailing all my sins to Scully? Why in hell doesn't she just tell him to go off and fuck himself?"

Mulder withdrew back into the alley and listened to the tirade, praying the sheriff would grow tired before his own temper exploded. Scully did not deserve to be caught in the middle of a shouting match.

"Agent Scully, you have got a fucking madman for a partner," blustered the red-faced barrel of a man dressed in a sheriff's uniform. "I don't have the manpower to patrol those damn woods looking for some goddamned cult! I've known everyone in this county since they were pups and no one here worships anything more exotic than Elvis!" Collins thundered.

"Then sheriff, you will probably have another body by morning," Scully retorted coldly, looking up only a spare inch or two to meet his fuming eyes. "Agent Mulder may be exasperating, unorthodox and perhaps even off-the-wall, but he is the best profiler in the Bureau." She paused, fixed the sheriff with cold blue eyes before continuing, "That is what you asked for, isn't it?"

Sheriff Collins turned even redder. Scully mentally considered the possibility of an impending stroke, then decided that this man's arteries were probably used to his tantrums by now. The sheriff gave her a blistering stare and stomped off, muttering profanely. Mulder's name seemed to crop up frequently and she suspected her own name was beginning to appear in the sheriff's profane litany.

Mulder moved quietly out of the alley to stand behind her as she watched the sheriff disappear into the coffee shop across from his office.

"Damn me with faint praise, Scully?"

"Mulder, I thought you were still buried in your profiles." Scully didn't jump, but her quick flush betrayed her embarrassment, whether for her near-agreement with the sheriff on her partner's flaws or for her ardent defense of his theories, she wasn't sure.

"Considering Sheriff Collin's opinion of me and my profiles, I doubt if they'll be much use," Mulder said morosely. Anger mixed with exhaustion had turned his eyes into dark hollows buried in a stubbled grey face. He rubbed at the back of his neck, blinking in the growing twilight.

"I think the sheriff has a bit of a problem with the notion that the murders are occuring in an arcane occult pattern that stretches over an area twenty square miles across. You weren't exactly at your tactful best," Scully added with a slight smile to take the sting out of her words.

"Who me?" Mulder asked, trying to look innocent and failing miserably. "If the man is so committed to the idea of random, unconnected slayings interspersed with animal attacks, then why in hell did he contact the FBI?" Mulder stormed as he steered his partner to their rental car.

"I don't know Mulder, and truth-be-told, I don't think the sheriff does either," Scully said as she got in the car.

Mulder sighed as he got behind the wheel. "I tried, I really did, but the man's mind is so damned closed."

"I know, Mulder, I saw you trying," Scully said patiently.

She considered it worth butting heads with the sheriff to make sure Mulder felt guilty enough to at least attempt to eat something. To her certain knowledge he had not eaten more than a bite or two since the dinner in Asheville night before last.

"Come on Mulder. Back to the motel. Just stretch out for a couple of hours. I promise I'll call you if anything happens."

"Scully, I can't sleep. He's going to strike again. If I can just make sense of the damn evidence."

"Mulder, stop it. You won't do anyone any good if you collapse. You haven't eaten or slept since night before last. You are going to eat something and then take a nap if I have to handcuff you to the damn bed!" Scully's temper was beginning to flare.

Mulder gave her a very weary attempt at a leer. "Oh Scully, your timing on that offer sucks."

Scully's eyes turned ice-cold and she began a slow advance on her partner while reaching for her handcuffs.

"OK, OK, I'll be good. Let's stop for a burger and then I'll lie down. Just no cuffs, OK. I'm too tired to even think about bondage games."

"Just get in the car, Mulder. Now!"

Mulder did as she ordered. He wasn't hungry and didn't even want to think about trying to sleep, but Scully's temper was nothing to fool around with.

Sleep eluded him but he did stretch out on the bed to rest under her stern watchful eye. Mulder did not expect to sleep, his nerves were strung too tight and images of the dead flashed like sudden beacons behind his closed eyelids, but it was easier to lay down than argue with Scully when she was in full protective, nurturing mode. He felt her watching over him until she dozed. As he lay there, he let his mind race through the scattered bits and pieces of this bloody jigsaw puzzle, trying to fit them all together. Finally his sleep-starved body slid into restless inertia. While his body rested, his mind slipped off after nightmares of a more personal nature.

Scully was deep asleep when the phone rang just past dawn. She awoke to Mulder's profane curse and to the news that an eighth victim had turned up. The media were swarming like sharks as they left the motel.

"No comment."

"No, I refuse to make any comment until I have examined the evidence at the scene."

"No, I don't think the aliens are invading. Personally I can think of a hundred better invasion sites than Helsgate, can't you?"

"Once and for all, there are no aliens. Bigfoot isn't grabbing take-out dinners from the local population and most importantly, if you don't move I will either arrest you for impeding a federal officer or I'll run over you, your choice."

Deputy Cullum was stationed at the turnoff to the murder site. The murder victim had been found by hikers in a rugged section of old forest in the nearby foothills, approximately ten miles from town. Cullum's boyish charm was not soothing a pack of frustrated reporters, but his jeep effectively blocked their attempts to drive any closer to the crime scene. Mulder thanked whatever god was listening that he didn't have to cope with reporters while trying to piece together the compulsions that drove this killer.

Mulder was barely out of the car before he was accosted by a furious Sheriff Collins.

"Damn it all to Hell, Agent Mulder. When are you going to get off your fucking ass and give me some sort of fucking profile on this God damn fucking killer? Shit, we're going to run out of folks to kill before you get around to being of any use!"

"Sheriff, if you would just listen to what I have been trying to tell you . . .."

"Listen here, Agent Mulder of the F..B..I. I'm telling you, again, that this ain't no local killing. These are good people being butchered here. If you're in over your head, then clear out and leave me the hell alone."

"Sheriff, if this isn't a local killer, then you've probably got a demon loose, in which case I doubt if the FBI has any jurisdiction in Hell. Of course, you may be more of an authority on that place than I am."

The sheriff gave Mulder a furious glare before turning on his heel and walking over to the corpse. Mulder shook his head and unclenched his jaw.

Sheriff Collins could give Skinner lessons in being bull-headed, he thought wearily. I wonder if it would feel as good to punch Collins as it did to punch Skinner?

Brushing past the sheriff, Mulder looked down at the savagely mutilated body. He gave it a quick, almost casual scan, as if he had expected to find the body laid out exactly as it was.

Scully saw the muscles in his jaw clench and watched his eyes retreat into his dark private chamber of horrors where he stalked the mind of the killer. She hated what cases like this did to him; feared that each time he walked into the darkness, it would be the last, his mind consumed by the madness he stalked.

Scully scrutinized the body of a young man, barely recognizable as even human. The previous victim had been a woman. Apparently the killer wasn't limited by gender. The victim appeared to be a young adult, powerfully built, like a linebacker. With a clinical eye she examined the deep gashes that had torn open the chest and shattered the rib cage. She could tell they had been inflicted with a purpose and were not just random slashes. To the killer, and possibly Mulder, they had meaning. Their job was to figure out the meaning before anymore of these pathetic corpses turned up.

The face was unmarked, contorted in frozen pain and terror. Like all the others, his body lay in the center of a bed of cold ashes, anointed with a sweet-sour unguent that combined unpleasantly with the ripe scent of blood. Routinely she scooped up a small dab of the unguent and placed it in an evidence bag. Similar samples from the two most recent victims were already on their way to Washington for analysis. On a guess, she estimated that death had mercifully occurred about midnight. It had been a long slow death.

She did notice one major change in the pattern. The killer did not shred the body of his victim. He left the mutilated body, stretched in the rictus of sacrifice, taunting their efforts to catch him. Scully knew Mulder would take the taunt to heart, as if it was meant for him and him alone.

The still, hot morning air stifled conversation. Even at 7 a.m., the heat was oppressive, baking the forest under leaden grey skies. Heavy clouds promised, but did not deliver, rain. The barren rocky site of the murder felt like an oven. The trees loomed heavy around the site, blocking any breeze. They cast their shadows over the victim and the investigators like an oppressive shroud.

The sheriff and his deputies walked around quietly, retreating into silent resentment against the killer and the outsider who offered his insane theories blaming these horrors on a neighbor or kin. They cursed him, remembering the peace and trust of this small community before the deaths, before Mulder and his theories.

Scully finished examining the body, noting the similarities between the previous murders as well as the differences. She stood up slowly, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs. Sheriff Collins was glaring at Mulder who was absorbed in pacing off some pattern in the clearing. Mulder was muttering to himself, oblivious to everyone. Scully walked over to the sheriff.

"Well, from a preliminary examination, this body follows the same pattern as the other ritual killings," she noted crisply, catching the sheriff's attention, turning it away from Mulder. "I really doubt either a transient or an animal would go to all this trouble. Don't you agree sheriff?" she added in a coldly professional tone.

"Agent Scully, right now I'm prepared to accept even the crack-brained theories your partner spews out," he growled. "Just don't ask me to be happy about . . . What's he doin' now? Checking for fairy rings?" Collins asked sarcastically.

Scully looked over at her partner who was wandering in circles while staring intently at the ground. She sighed and gave a barely perceptible shrug. From the looks of it, Mulder was entranced by some theory. She knew he had probably forgotten everything but the need to find confirmation of whatever idea he was pursuing. His shoulders had that obsessed hunch she had grown to know only too well, and to fear more than just a little.

"Now what the Hell is he doing here?" Sheriff Collins charged off towards the tree-line. Scully peered at the shadows there and wasn't too surprised to see Francis trying to slip unnoticed into the clearing. Taking the opportunity while the sheriff was distracted, Scully headed over to Mulder.

Mulder had a set, closed look on his face, his hazel eyes shadowed as he moved through the crime scene in ever-widening circles; ignoring startled deputies in his path, forcing them to jump out of his way or get run over. They gave Scully quizzical glances which she ignored. A whispered "Spooky" reached her ears and she sighed. Mulder was never going to escape that damned nickname. Still, he seemed onto something.

Scully waved the deputies out of the way. She'd give Mulder his head for the moment and run interference, but he'd better open up and share his theories or he could walk back to the motel.

As he walked the path of power and sealing, Mulder tried to shake that feeling that he was being led around by the hand, but it suddenly seemed so clear what had happened. His mind was splintered in the old familiar way that, on the one hand terrified him and on the other intoxicated him, as he slid into the mind of his prey never knowing if he could find his way back out again.

The killer walked this path to seal the area against unwanted intrusion. When the path reached an area ten feet from the sacrifice, the circles meant to open the gateway to power changed to an intricate weaving pattern that turned back upon itself like a knot being tied. This was necessary to seal the gateway so that the soul torn free from its body could not escape his control nor could those wishing to interfere interrupt his ceremony. His divided mind noted these things and stored them for later analysis. He prepared to pull back his mind, to reunify his psyche before he slipped too far into the mind he was probing.

Abruptly Mulder stopped and scowled. He felt a feather touch of something brush his shoulders. Turning sharply with an irritated rebuke, he encountered no one. He felt a chill shadow pass through him and he shuddered as his mind shattered apart. He was in the killer's mind, reliving the final moments of the frenzy from the ceremony, becoming part of him, helpless to shut out the memories, helpless to do anything but feel what the killer felt and taste his ravenous desire to open the gate to the horror that promised him power over life itself.

The forest was haloed with an eerie red light that enveloped him like a cloak. His victim lay sprawled amid the dark candles now burning low and sluggish. A dark opaque shadow loomed in the air just above the sacrifice. Death was building the gateway to power. Soon it would be strong enough to bridge the gap between its world and his, strong enough for him to open it and take the power the whispering voice had promised him in the cave.

The killer's exaltation echoed in Mulder's soul. He danced along the spiral path in the slow graceful steps of the ritual necessary to reopen the circle he had sealed at the fifteenth hour. Blood draped his naked body in lines that mirrored the slashes on the sacrifice. Ancient runes painted in sacrificial blood to seal the spell which would open the gate. In one hand he held an obsidian blade dulled with thick blood that also coated his hand and arm. As his left hand raised the blade in triumph to salute the waning moon, Mulder saw the tattooed tail of a serpent circle his wrist.

Reeling with dissociation, Mulder staggered under the impact of the killer's satiated glee in the death agony of his victim; his obsession to open the gateway. Desperately Mulder fought nausea and fear as he tried to focus his thoughts, to anchor himself before he was lost in the killer's mind. Engulfed by insane gloating and an impossible sense of melting from one form to another, Mulder felt himself falling deeper into the frenzy of an alien mind. As he sank into a swirling pit of fire, a cool hand hurled him away from the maelstrom, into a cool, quiet dark place.

"Mulder!"

A touch on his shoulder slammed him back to awareness. He started violently, whirling around as he reached for his gun. As he drew and aimed, Mulder saw Scully step back, concern and alarm clouding her eyes. Drawing a shuddering breath, Mulder sagged. He fumbled twice before he managed to holster the gun.

"Damn it Scully," Mulder rasped, trying to work up anger at his partner to cover his shaky grasp on sanity.

"Mulder, can you hold on until we get to the car?" Scully asked anxiously. She reached out and touched his arm. Mulder jerked as if burned, then gave one last shudder and lost some of the disoriented look in his eyes. He avoided looking at Sheriff Collins, missing his look of suspicion and contempt. Wearily he allowed Scully to guide him to the car. Out of habit he aimed for the driver's side.

"No way, Mulder!" Scully snapped. "I'm not letting you drive. You zoned out back there for nearly fifteen minutes."

"I'm fine, Scully," Mulder snapped back. "Quit hovering," he added with a vicious bite, still clutching at his anger like a drowning man to a life preserver. Anger helped him focus; it kept the shadows at bay.

"Mulder, Sheriff Collins is convinced you're on drugs. All it would take it the tiniest excuse and you'll be spending the next twelve hours in his jail waiting for blood test results," Scully replied sternly. She refused to be intimidated by his anger, but it worried her. Mulder was capable of being incredibly pig-headed whenever he got angry and she had no desire to chase him all over the county waiting for his inevitable collapse.

Mulder considered arguing; he felt more solidly connected to this reality when his anger drove the gibbering madness back into the shadows, but another wave of nausea hit and he found himself on his knees retching into the bushes beside the car.

Scully's hands felt like fire against his forehead and shoulders as she steadied him. Fire to melt the ice that gripped his heart as the shadows pulled him howling into their midst. One shadow, haloed in green light, cradled him like a baby, shielding him against the others who would take him. A feather touch, smelling of pine and damp earth caressed his forehead and sent him into blissful darkness.

Scully let Mulder's limp body slide down to the ground while keeping his head from hitting any blunt objects. His skin felt cold and clammy but his pulse was strong, if a bit too fast. She didn't need a medical degree to know that Mulder was in shock.

"Damn you Mulder. I told you to be careful," Scully whispered to his unconscious form.

"Having trouble, Agent Scully?" Sheriff Collins' tone was sarcastic. He regarded Mulder's prone body with open contempt. His foot twitched slightly as if barely restrained from poking Mulder's side. Francis was hovering tentatively just behind the sheriff, eager to find out what was happening, but obviously chastened by whatever lecture the sheriff had chosen to give him.

Scully sighed and silently reminded herself that the sheriff wasn't the first to regard Mulder as some strange life-form masquerading as a law enforcement officer.

"Agent Mulder is obviously sick, sheriff. Perhaps the home-cooked meals at the excuse you call a motel could use a health inspector. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your witticisms to yourself," Scully replied in a quelling tone and a look that Mulder would have recognized immediately. Scully was not amused and getting testy. The sheriff might not have Mulder's insights, but he could feel the temperature drop and refrained from offering any more mock sympathy.

"Help me get him in the car." Scully's glare left no doubt she was not going to take no for an answer.

"No, let me, Agent Scully. I'm just leaving anyway." Francis gave Collins a wry grin as he carefully sidestepped the fuming sheriff.

"Boy, I told you to scoot and I mean it. Now!"

Francis gave Scully an apologetic shrug and quickly sprinted off down the road.

With rough efficiency, the sheriff picked Mulder up and stuffed him in the back seat of the rental car. Scully tried not to wince as several loud thumps indicated that the sheriff wasn't being particularly gentle about the process of fitting a tall man into a tiny back seat.

"When he recovers ma'am, I'd really appreciate a report that has some semblance of the professional coherency we've all come to expect from the FBI."

Sheriff Collins was rewarded with a look from Scully that would have frozen fire. He merely smiled, doffed his hat and stood aside politely as Scully got into the car.

"Oh, be sure to let me or my deputies know if Agent Mulder needs anything," he added with mock concern.

"He'll be fine, thank you." Scully bit off the words as she struggled with the seat adjustment. Damn Mulder and his long legs. Suddenly the seat hurtled forward nearly pinning her against the steering wheel. With a muttered oath she eased the seat back to a comfortable position. Slamming the door shut, she gunned the engine causing the sheriff to jump back in alarm. Scully had the car in motion before the sheriff had even begun to curse.
 

Auld Sallie's Cabin
Late Morning, July 22
 

From the light trance she had invoked, Auld Sallie watched the FBI agents pursue their investigations. Eager to assist, she reached out to gently open a path for the dark man to follow, to sense the memory of the sacrifice that screamed from the befouled earth. She did not expect such a strong reaction. The man actually touched Lafe's mind. All she had hoped to do was give him a waking dream of the ceremony. Instead he had plunged deep into the madman's mind. This dark man hunted by seeking out the minds of his prey and using what he saw to capture them. Her gentle push had shoved him deeper than he ever intended to go. It had taken all of his strength and much of hers to pull him back from the abyss.

Once he was free, Sallie granted him oblivion and, touching his mind briefly, tried to seal the wounds her rashness had torn open. His partner was his strength now. Her reason would be the forge to temper his dark visions into something tangible. Still Sallie feared that she had opened a doorway that could bring down doom upon them all. Abashed, Sallie retreated back into the grey shadows of the dreamworld to ponder how to use this strange pair. They would have one chance to strike. The summoned ones were her weapon, but she knew that her hand must be the guiding force. Only together could they destroy this evil and close the gateway before it opened.

Glen Morgan Inn
8:30 a.m. July 22
 

Scully drove with all the speed she could manage on the narrow two-lane country road. Thankfully Mulder was quiet, except for an occasional groan when she hit a bump. By the time she reached the motel, Mulder was beginning to make a serious attempt to sit up, hampered by the motion of the car as it hit the last S curve at fifty miles-per-hour. Scully was reasonably certain all four wheels were on the road at the same time, but she couldn't restrain a grin. She really enjoyed letting go and hot-rodding it. Her brothers were good teachers and she remembered illicit drag races on back roads with the top down on her brother's convertible and the wind whipping her face with the smell of freedom and exhaust fumes. The car came to an abrupt stop in front of the motel. Mulder slid off the seat and into the floor with a small outraged curse that sounded almost normal. Scully was torn between relief and a desire to throttle her erratic partner.

"OK Mulder, ride's over."

Scully grinned at Mulder's bewildered attempts to untangle himself from the back seat.

"We need to talk," she added sternly.

"AAARGH . . . umph"

Mulder's reply came in a rumbling groan as he clawed his way up from the floor onto the seat. Scully was pleased to note that his color was almost back to normal.

"Scully, why am I in the back seat?" Mulder asked plaintively.

"Mulder, just get out of the car. We need to talk," Scully said sternly, refusing to be diverted by Mulder's bewildered expression.

Mulder took note of the ice in his partner's voice and saw the steel in her eyes and winced. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain what had happened. He wasn't even sure what happened himself, except that he skittishly avoided dwelling too deeply on the experience. A vague memory of drawing his gun on her at the crime scene then throwing up came to mind. Now he really knew he didn't want to have this conversation. If Scully was this mad at him, then Sheriff Collins' already low opinion of him must be reaching new depths.

"Move it, Mulder! It's too hot to sit out here."

Spurred by the impatient exasperation in her voice, Mulder hastily unfolded himself out of the car. Scully held the door open and watched silently as he stretched out the kinks. Mulder considered pointing out that her driving left something to be desired from a passenger's point of view but decided that the better part of valor was complete silence.

Once inside his motel room, Mulder headed straight to the bathroom. Scully heard the sounds of splashing water as she went through the connecting door to her own room. Shedding her jacket, she pondered Mulder's seizure and how to persuade the sheriff that her partner wasn't crazy. First, however, she had to persuade herself.

"The killer has a serpent tattoo on his left arm, Scully."

Mulder's abrupt comment from the doorway startled her. She took a deep breath to calm her irritation before turning to face him. God he looks awful. Haggard wouldn't even begin to describe his face. His shoulders were stooped, either with despair or exhaustion, she couldn't tell.

"Mulder, I'm not even sure I want to know how you know that," Scully replied brusquely. She gave Mulder a searching look, her natural skepticism warring with Bureau records detailing "Spooky" Mulder's incredible ability to get inside the minds of the serial killers he profiled.

"He's conducting some sort of ritual . . . following a precise pattern . . . sacrifices to open a door."

Mulder hesitated, his eyes gazing into shadows only he could see. His words came out in jerks and starts, as if they were being torn out of him. Scully held her breath as Mulder's disjointed phrases painted a far more vivid picture than she wanted to see. There was no rational way he could know these things.

"He'll kill again tonight to close the cycle, then once again. The last point remains to be sanctified, then the center, before the doorway opens."

His voice dropped and faded until it sounded like the whisper from a ghost. Scully shivered as his tone grew more remote. Her partner had withdrawn into some dark place where she could not, would not, follow.

"I can feel him, Scully. Not as overwhelming as before; this time I know who I am. He's quite mad, but not the way you think. You think he's mad for believing he can open a gate to hell; I know he's mad because he dares to open it."

His voice was pleading now, begging her not to abandon him in the darkness; to believe him. Scully reminded herself to breathe, trying to find a way to pull him free of this trance.

"There is another waiting in the shadows. Power and evil beyond measure, waiting . . . watching. So many souls to feed a monster."

Mulder shook slightly, his words now coming out in a rush, tumbling over each other as he tried to contain the flood of images that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I'm not losing it, Scully. At least not yet. I've gone that route before. This feels different somehow." Mulder sighed as sagged against the door frame and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Mulder, Sheriff Collins will not accept any of this," she snapped.

"Do you?" Mulder asked seriously. His eyes sought reassurance, support.

Scully felt she owed Mulder at least a careful consideration of his words. She balanced the obvious insanity of his conclusions with the knowledge of his profiling skills and past successes.

"Is this what it was like . . . before?" Scully asked, shifting the subject slightly to give herself time to think, to appraise the facts.

Mulder gave her a hard look, noting the shift and allowing her to see he was aware of it; accepting it as delay rather than refusal to answer.

"Similar," he paused, walked over to the bed and sat down heavily. His eyes refused to meet hers as he tried to steady his breathing and present his case in as calm a fashion as possible when talking about looking inside a serial killer's mind.

"Out at the site, it was worse than anything I've ever experienced before. Up to a certain point it was just my usual sort of crazy quilt mixture of insight, deduction and intuition. I can visualize what the killer feels, how he reacts, but it's like I'm looking through a mirror. This morning was like nothing I've ever experienced or want to experience again. Suddenly I felt as if someone had shoved me into the killer's body and mind. I was the killer." Mulder paused.

"Always before, there was a sense of separation. What I said earlier, here in the room, that is familiar ground. I can sense his mind, his motivations, his needs, but I'm not a part of him."

"OK Mulder, I may not understand how it works, but your talents in this area are a matter of record. I'll accept what you're telling me even if I'm not sure I accept how you know."

Scully smiled to see Mulder's face light up with gratitude. Some of the tension melted away and he sighed with relief.

"Now try to get some rest, Mulder. If you're right, we're going to be busy tonight."

"Later," Mulder replied curtly, his eyes suddenly wary and distant. He began pacing. His body language changed from the controlled tension of a hunter to a barely controlled frenzy. Scully looked on with growing concern. Her partner's moods were mercurial, but this was a fast change even for him. An alarm began to ring in the back of her mind.

"I have to try to . . . damn it . . . it's like trying to wade through molasses. God, the man is insane!"

Mulder shuddered violently, his eyes grew wide with fear as if he had drifted into a waking nightmare. Mulder released a long shuddering breath that was more than part moan. Scully watched as he fought the nightmare his mind had summoned.

"He is following some ritual . . . it's ancient, incredibly so. I can catch snatches of it. Latin perhaps, no, more ancient than that. Each death is prescribed exactly - manner, time, place. Two more remain. He's gloating now, sure of victory; sure of his reward. He's no longer human. There is more beast than man in him. Something looms beyond him, some power that guides his hand, that uses him for its own purpose."

Mulder spoke in ragged gasps, his blind eyes turned inward. Suddenly he stiffened, a horrified expression freezing on his face.

"Oh God!" he moaned.

"Get out of my mind!" he bellowed as he threw himself to his knees. His hands clutched at his head as he began to slam his head against the wall, shrieking at his unseen tormenter.

"Mulder?" Scully was stunned by the sudden turn of events. She reached out to calm him, but he threw himself away from her.

"Mulder, please . . .."

Scully withdrew her hand, fearful that he'd hurt himself in an effort to avoid her touch. Instead, she squatted down close to him, trying to soothe him with words. He stopped pounding his head against the wall, but from the look in his eyes that wasn't necessarily an improvement. Whatever he had tapped into was overwhelming him and there was nowhere he could run to escape it.

Scully ran over her options. She didn't want to sedate him, but he was beginning to scare her.

"Mulder, I'm here. Talk to me. What's happening?"

Scully kept her voice calm and even. She remembered a groom soothing a frightened thoroughbred during a storm when she was ten. The horse had twitched and rolled its eyes like Mulder was doing now, terrified, yet responding gradually to the voice of the one person it trusted despite the terror of the storm. She could only hope that the trust she shared with Mulder would be enough to anchor him through this storm.

"God! SCULLY!" Mulder gasped as he twisted away from her, tearing his eyes away from hers.

"It's here. It felt me searching and now it's here inside my head. HELP ME!" Mulder cried out in torment. "So much blood . . . the ancient paths to power awaken that which lurks beyond the gate."

Scully flinched as something or someone else looked out of Mulder's eyes.

"Power, sweet sharp-scented power flows with the blood. Child of Hell, Child of Earth, I will stretch my hand across the land and bring forth the shadows to do my bidding In the shadows of the moon I will feast on the souls of men."

Mulder's face twisted in pain and for a moment he was back in control then with a violent shudder, the other returned.

"Fool. You dare to stand against me. Then feel my wrath! Flames shall hallow the sacrifice."

Laughter broke off in a tortured gasp as Mulder fought for control. Scully felt she could hear his heart crashing against his ribs. He'd have a heart attack if that kept up, she noted clinically.

"You puny human offal. You exist to serve me. I shall rule here and your souls will feed my hunger."

Scully clung to her sanity as she listened to Mulder's ravings.

"All the land and the people therein shall be my slaves and I shall reap a bloody harvest."

His words were twisted with venom.

"Whore, do you think you can save him?"

Insane gloating laughter burst from his lips as Mulder reached for her.

"You can't even save yourself. You want him? I'll give him to you, for a price."

The voice was hollow, soulless, wrapped in Mulder's body; a body that now stalked her with deliberate intention.

Mulder's eyes flickered between hazel and a red-black shadow before collapsing into black pools as his face was completely overshadowed.

As Scully watched in horror, fragments of prayers and Hail Marys bursting from her lips, her partner's features melted and became bestial. Except, deep in those dark eyes, she saw a tiny hazel light struggling against the encroaching shadow.

"Scully . . .." Mulder pleaded as he was dragged back into the shadows.

Scully watched helpless as the shadow consumed him. Hating herself for her cowardice, her one fear now was that this thing would touch her.

"Mulder, no."

As if in answer to her plea, Mulder surged out of the shadow. His expression looked like he was staring into the depths of Hell. His eyes reflected terror warring with a dawning madness. The overshadowing flickered and again the Other looked out from Mulder's eyes.

"Yield to me, fool. Take her. Give unto me the one who would save you," the voice commanded.

Eyes consumed by a mad hatred swept the room. Scully felt like a terrier facing a snake, hoping to escape notice even as she considered her next move. Her medical kit was too far away. Her gun was at hand, but she wondered if she would be able to coldly shoot Mulder even to protect herself. Wondered if it would even have an effect on whatever was possessing him.

Mulder's face twisted in pain as he began a violent struggle with whatever was possessing him. He threw his head back, howled out a throat-searing "Nooooo!" The cry was filled with defiance, desperation and fear all jumbled together.

Mulder tried to cover his face with his arms. Abruptly he jerked and screamed in terror, his arms began flailing wildly and his breaths came in ragged choking gasps. Flames flickered around his head and arms, engulfing him in fire.

"Burn then! Burn in the fires of Hell that I have prepared for you."

Scully lunged for a blanket and started towards him intent on smothering the fire, her horror shoved aside the wake of her greater fear for her partner's life.

Suddenly a cold gale burst into the room bringing with it the intoxicating scent of heather. Held fast by the torrent of wind, Scully watched helplessly as a dark violet shadow erupted from Mulder's body. The shadow recoiled as the wind battered it and then vanished with a snarl. The flames disappeared in a crackling display of fireworks. Mulder gave a long, shuddering moan and crumpled in a boneless heap at her feet.

Stunned for only a moment, Scully quickly recovered her senses and ran a quick check of her prostrate partner. His pulse was slowing down, but was still racing. She could only imagine how fast it must have been going during the seizure if it was nearly 180 now. His breathing was ragged but was also gradually slowing to a steady even rhythm. His face twitched as if he was still in the grip of nightmares.

Scully watched in disbelief as a halo of pale green light brushed his face. To her amazement, she looked up and saw the greenish glow enfold Mulder. It reminded her of fireflies on a dark summer night or the pale wings of moths shining in the moonlight. Hearing Mulder sigh, she looked down and saw him relax into dreamless, peaceful sleep. The greenish glow coalesced briefly and Scully's overburdened mind swore it saw a tall radiant figure, composed of smoke and air. It stared intently at her, then faded into nothingness. Scully shook her head and wondered if there was something in the water.

After arranging Mulder's tangled limbs into a more comfortable position on the floor and covering him with a blanket, Scully settled on the bed beside him and popped open her lap-top. She really wanted a drink, but 10 a.m. was a bit early, even for an Irish lass confronted by more unworldly commotion than her rational mind wanted to cope with. Keeping an eye on her sleeping partner, she began trying to compose a coherent report.

Glen Morgan Inn
 

During the long morning, Scully tried to process what had just happened to Mulder. She had heard of his reputation as a profiler and had even witnessed his uncanny ability to get inside a killer's mind, but never had she heard of or witnessed this kind of . . . well, possession was the word that sprang to mind, but her Catholic soul shuddered away from the implications of the word. An exorcism would be an interesting line item in their expense reports.

"Wonder if our medical insurance covers exorcisms?" she whispered softly as she watched Mulder twitch slightly in his sleep.

As she had watched Mulder plunge deeper and deeper into horror, she began to understand why he had been drugged in the past. Perhaps not so much for his own protection, though that might have been part of the equation, but more likely to protect the men around him from the raw horror of witnessing this kind of mental pollution. She had heard stories of the agents who were never quite the same after the spectacular case in Oklahoma years ago.

So then, drugs were an option, but only if she couldn't bring him out of this on her own. Mulder was her partner; she couldn't betray his trust like those bastards who had used him, drugged him and damn near killed him in the process just to keep him plugged in to that "crazy spooky" talent of his.

Scully remembered her fear when Mulder seemed to be possessed by the mind he was probing. All she had wanted to do was break Mulder out of this connection, to bring him back before his mind snapped under the pressure. She had to pull him back to sanity. Sedating him had become, reluctantly, a viable option, but that would have required an explanation to the sheriff that would have been difficult at best. Still, if it had come down to a loss of face versus Mulder's safety, or her own, she knew she wouldn't have hesitated.

This thing, this entity or whatever, terrified her. Part of her wanted to curl up in a tight little ball until it went away, but she was a trained agent and partner to the man it was consuming.

Scully remembered stifling a near hysterical urge to laugh as she memorized the shadowy features overlying Mulder's familiar ones. She wasn't looking forward to telling the sheriff she got the description of the killer as it possessed her partner.

Can you put out an APB on a demon?

Glen Morgan Inn
4:00 p.m. July 22
 

Seven hours later, she had cobbled together a report that profiled the killer using Mulder's ravings as a base coupled with a fair description of the overshadowing that had possessed Mulder. She wasn't sure she believed a word of what she'd written, but she felt compelled to set down what she had seen and heard. She owed that much to Mulder. A second report, reduced to bare bones, detailed what she thought the sheriff would accept. That report was much harder to write. Lying, even on paper, was not one of her strong points. Though, after being partnered to Mulder, her ability to creatively adjust the facts was improving.

The sheriff sent over the preliminary autopsy report on the latest victim at Scully's request. She didn't dare leave Mulder alone long enough to conduct the autopsy. The sheriff made a sharp sarcastic comment about the fragility of FBI agents, but complied. Somehow Scully doubted if she would turn up anything more than the last corpse had produced. At least this time the medical examiner had a complete body to work on.

Should reduce his chances of missing anything, she thought uncharitably. The autopsy she had performed yesterday on a shredded corpse was more than enough for one lifetime. She almost envied the doctor his intact corpse.

Mulder began to stir even as Scully considered waking him. Before she could put thought into action, Mulder cocked open one eye and peered curiously at the world. His puzzled expression nearly started Scully laughing. Nerves, she thought, and relief that her partner seemed to be back to normal; if normal was a word anyone could use to describe Mulder.

"Scully, is there a really good reason I'm sleeping on the floor when there's a nice soft bed nearby?" he asked plaintively as he struggled to sit up. He absently rubbed his head, apparently noticing several bumps but obviously not sure how they got there.

"You're lying where you fell, Mulder. You're too heavy to lift into bed," Scully answered with a straight face. The barest twinkle in the depths of her eyes betrayed her relief. Mulder sounded normal, as if the madness of that morning had never happened.

"I freaked out, didn't I?" he said morosely. "Damn!"

After a brief pause, "How bad?"

Mulder's tone made it clear he wasn't expecting a good answer. Scully considered her options for a moment and settled on the truth, bare and stripped of all emotion as perhaps the only answer.

"Bad enough."

She smiled slightly trying to reassure him that whatever happened she had been there and was still here for him. The truth would hurt, but she suspected lying, even if she could pull that off with Mulder, would hurt even more. Mulder had to know he could trust her, even when it hurt.

"Let me guess: I was spouting off disjointed phrases that sounded like a raving lunatic," Mulder said through clenched teeth. He pounded a fist against the wall in angry frustration and winced. He dropped his head into his hands and waited silently, fearfully for her to continue.

"Well yes, but you also provided me with a good profile of our killer."

She paused for a minute, gauging his reaction, trying to decide just how much to tell him. He didn't seem surprised; in fact her announcement only seemed to deepen his withdrawal. Her rational mind whispered to her about stress hallucinations. Mulder's ravings, drawn from whatever source, sounded utterly improbable, but, if stories from his days in the BSU could be believed, they were also utterly on track. After Oklahoma he was considered as crazy as the oracle at Delphi, but just about as deadly accurate. She had never heard of anyone mentioning the overshadowing before, but maybe Mulder would know. The Irish in her soul shuddered, but she refused to acknowledge the whispers of superstition.

"Mulder, there was something more . . .."

Mulder raised his head and regarded her warily. Scully looked like a frazzled lion tamer. Mulder wondered what else he'd done. He knew she'd heard the tales of his days in the BSU, but hearing and experiencing are two different things. Mulder held his breath. He'd dealt with the jibes and skepticism of the other agents in the Violent Crimes division and wouldn't blame her if she decided he needed a lengthy vacation on a psych ward, but it would hurt.

Rubbing his face, he wondered if he'd have a partner after this was all over. He sighed and tried to focus on the fuzzy memories. Somehow they didn't feel right, even for his usual flirting with the abyss. He felt like someone else's mind was still whirling around inside his head. It felt foul, like the New Jersey sewers, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He refused to look at Scully as she continued to describe his 'episode'.

"You acted like someone possessed. Your mannerisms changed; at one point your features . . . they seemed to be overlaid by . . . something."

Scully's tone had lost its clinical detachment, dropping to a low hesitant whisper as if she hoped he could persuade her she had been dreaming. Her description ground to a halt as she saw Mulder's expression dissolve into horror.

"Oh God, I thought it was only a nightmare!" Mulder breathed the words like a forlorn prayer.

"What did I say?" he asked quietly, sounding like a condemned man waiting for sentence to be pronounced.

Scully shuddered at the despair in his voice. Not trusting her voice, she handed him the unedited report and the report she'd composed for the sheriff. Mulder gingerly held the pages as if he were holding a live grenade. His eyes sought hers, asking for reassurance. At her brief nod, Mulder swallowed and began to read. Silence, marred only by the rustling of paper, held both in place as he read.

"You've got a great future as a horror writer, Scully," Mulder said with a faint attempt at humor that didn't come close to reaching the anguish in his eyes. He sighed as he handed the profile back to her.

"This had gone far beyond anything I've ever done before. The profile you've prepared for the sheriff is good; it should give him enough to go on - if he decides to act on it. Still, it isn't enough. The other however . . .."

"Mulder, I'm not even sure what I saw."

"Don't go all rational on me now, Scully. Your life may depend on believing in this 'thing'."

Mulder paused to take in a deep breath, then exhaled explosively as he rushed ahead with arguments he knew Scully would fight.

"Something or someone has opened a link between my mind and that of the killer's. In the past, I've been able to catch snatches of what's in the killer's mind - flashes of insight into motives, but never have I felt like I was being invaded and used."

Mulder avoided Scully's eyes as he fought for words to describe what he was beginning to remember in terrifying detail. He remembered the killer's mind, strong and grasping as it reached out for him.

"I suppose it was like being raped; I fought but couldn't stop him from pillaging my mind. I felt his pleasure in my fear and helplessness. He wanted something from me. Then I felt something brush him aside. Something incredibly old, not human at all. I was drowning in evil and all I could think of was reaching you. You were my anchor to sanity. I felt its anger at the presumption that anyone could offer salvation to one it had claimed. I felt it looking for you," Mulder darted a quick glance at her as much to reassure himself that she was safe and to reassure her.

"I tried to break its control, but I knew I was losing . . . fading into a shadow in my own mind. I saw fire burst from my skin. I felt like a sausage on a spit. I watched my skin split open as the flames engulfed me. Before I was consumed, I reached into my soul for every shred of faith I had and challenged it's right to take me."

Mulder paused and gave her a smile that slid into a grimace. "I think it was surprised that I even dared to defy it. Maybe it was trying to control too many things at once to bother crushing me. I felt it leave and then I heard a calm voice telling me to rest, that I had won this battle. The voice also told me we had to stop the killings or else the madness I had felt would be unleashed upon the world." Mulder gave a quick convulsive shudder and hunched against the wall. His eyes were dark with remembered horror.

"Mulder?"

Scully's interruption startled her more than it did Mulder. She remembered to breathe as she wondered which of them needed to be committed; Mulder for believing what he was saying or her for not being able to categorically deny his belief.

"I know it sounds insane, Scully, but you saw what happened - I'm simply trying to describe what it felt like. Besides, you need to know something."

Mulder hesitated. If Scully had hated the last part, she was going to go ballistic over this next bit. Mulder wasn't particularly happy about it himself and didn't think it was going to get any better with time. Having a complete nervous breakdown right now seemed very attractive.

"I'm still linked to the killer I think," he admitted slowly. "The Other seems to be quiescent for the moment I can barely feel the killer. I think he's asleep, but when he wakes up he might decide to pay me another visit. If he does, I probably won't be able to stop him, if this morning is any indication."

Mulder licked his lips which were dry and cracked. Without a word Scully got up, filled a glass of water and handed it to him. Her stare felt as hard as diamonds, but she seemed willing to let him finish before reserving the rubber room.

"Scully, don't interfere. Let him take me - just stay out of his way. I think he'll try to draw me to him. Follow me and you'll have a fair chance of finding our killer. I caught the notion that he sees me as a fitting sacrifice for the closing ceremony."

Mulder tried to give her a lopsided grin, but knew it came across more like a grimace.

"You're insane, Mulder!!" Scully snapped.

"Is that your professional opinion, Scully?" This time the grin was genuine.

"Are you seriously suggesting that I let you use yourself as bait? Mulder, if what I just witnessed is any indication, you'd be helpless."

Scully's eyes were ice-cold. Mulder remembered the ice-fields of Alaska and wondered how he'd ever found them cold. She was radiating anger, worry and exasperation in icy darts that pinned him to the wall. This was not going even half as well as he had hoped and he hadn't been hoping for much, just a slight willingness to understand.

"I'm not suggesting anything. Just warning you not to get in its way. I won't. I can't fight him. Let him think I'm completely under his control."

Mulder paused, trying not to shudder at the image that sprang to mind with those words.

"Believe me, Scully, I'm really not very fond of this idea, but if he wants me, I don't think there is much either one of us can do about it. If all else fails, I will try to throw everything I have at him during the ceremony and hopefully disrupt the damn thing before he can open that gateway."

Mulder paused for a moment as if consulting some internal record. "I got the feeling that the ritual doesn't allow for much deviation. If I can mess it up, I don't think it is going to be very pleased," Mulder said with a sly smile. "Of course I'm counting on you arriving with the calvary long before we get that far."

Mulder grinned at Scully, trying to persuade her he knew what he was doing and had complete confidence in her ability to haul him back from the abyss.

Scully raised one eyebrow, giving her partner a freezing glare. Mulder tried to out-stare her before dropping his eyes. He didn't quite shuffle his feet but it took a fair amount of willpower to resist the urge.

"Mulder, I really don't believe I'm hearing this . . .." Scully began, sounding exasperated and angry with fear, winding up for a long dissertation on her partner's sanity (or lack thereof), intelligence and probable future (or lack thereof).

"Scully," Mulder interrupted, stopping the pitch before she had thrown the ball. Reaching over to touch her arm, his eyes begged for her understanding. With an effort he concealed his terror.

Allowing himself the luxury of collapsing in a corner gibbering with fear would play havoc with his effort to convince her to follow his advice. He even managed another lopsided grin.

"Please, trust me on this. There's no way you can stop him if he wants to take me, except by killing me, and I'd really rather you didn't do that. Just follow me and get ready to grab him. He won't hurt me until he's ready for the closing ceremony."

Scully scowled. Mulder had the damnest ability to make the insane sound reasonable. Despite every rational argument she could muster and every scientific bone in her body screaming no, she felt herself wavering before the force of Mulder's persuasion.

"Mulder, there is no reason to suppose the killer intends to kill again after tonight. If we can't stop him tonight, we're going to have to wait another month. That is the pattern he's stuck to so far. It's the pattern you sketched out. Why would he change now?" Scully's tone was stiff with disbelief as she tried to persuade Mulder he was reacting to a nightmare, not a prophecy.

Mulder's eyes flashed with anger, but he visibly controlled the urge to yell at his damnably logical partner. He knew there would be two more deaths if they didn't stop this man. The fact that he knew with an unshakable certainty that the last death would be his was not making him sound anymore rational, but he tried to keep the discussion at least reasonably professional.

"Scully, if I thought there was any other way I'd be the first to embrace it. This madman can reach me anytime, anywhere he wants, so we might as well use it. Hell, he's practically taken up residence in here with me; I ought to charge him rent."

A grin flickered across his face and for a brief moment, he looked almost normal.

"Maybe your profile will jog the sheriff's memory and this nightmare will be over by tonight," he added with an unmistakable note of hope in his voice.

There was an abrupt silence for a moment as Mulder's eyes lost their focus. Scully found herself holding her breath, afraid he was slipping away into the madness again and knowing that he was right; she couldn't stop him without killing him.

"We have to hurry though. He's already selected his next victim for tonight, but not taken him." Mulder's voice sounded distant but steady.

"You said he was asleep. How are you getting this information? And why are you so certain you're on his list of victims?" Scully sounded skeptical, but curious.

"We're linked, though I can't even begin to explain how. I can sense his extreme emotions so I presume he can sense mine. I can feel his sick satisfaction in his choice of victims. There is a perverted exultation that his task is almost done, his reward in sight. The final ceremonies are approaching. He's almost to his goal. Two deaths and then ultimate power. I can sense his delight in including me in the pattern. I'm an outsider, but that only seems to increase my value as a victim. I don't understand it, Scully, I just feel it."

Mulder shivered suddenly and wrapped his arms around his chest. His eyes closed as a soft moan escaped his tightly clamped lips.

"What is it Mulder?" Now concern dominated the fear, but only barely. She absently noted that her nerves were nowhere in good enough shape for these kinds of cases.

After a moment Mulder shook off whatever had affected him and gave a rueful grin. He considered trying a chuckle but decided the effort would probably resemble a groan.

"Sorry, I caught a preview of tomorrow's coming attraction starring yours truly."

His grin was weak as he tried to assume a bantering tone. Scully wasn't fooled. Her partner was fighting against a vision that terrified him, but she doubted if she was going to be able to pry the details out of him. Please, dear God, don't let me find them out on an autopsy table. Mulder's fear, more than anything he'd said, convinced her that his plan was insane.

"Mulder, I will not stand by and let you walk out of here into the waiting arms of a killer." Scully emphasized her point with one of her patented stern glares. Mulder shrugged and looked bleak.

"And how are you going to stop me, Scully? If you drug me you may just end up making it easier for him to take me over. While I might really not want to be awake for what he has planned, I would at least like the chance to fight back."

He paused, getting his fear under control. The idea of dying drugged and helpless was almost worse than dying from the tortures this killer had planned. He felt his irritation with Scully's dogged scientific point of view rise and let it take the place of his fear.

"Damn it, would you just listen to me for a change. Unless we catch this guy tonight, we're going to have to play it his way. And yes, Scully, I'm terrified knowing what he has planned for me. I am not a FOOL!" Mulder snapped, his anger finally breaking free.

"OK, Mulder," Scully said soothingly, nodding her surrender, but giving him a look that easily translated into we'll talk more about this later. She was far from persuaded, but they were wasting time. She'd consider other options tomorrow if they didn't catch this guy tonight.

Sheriff's Office
5 p.m. July 22
 

While Mulder grabbed a quick shower and changed clothes, she called in her profile to the sheriff, giving him the working description for an APB. The profile didn't remind the sheriff of anyone, but he promised to circulate it among his deputies. Maybe one of them would recognize some detail. Scully had to listen to a repeat of his staunch belief that this couldn't be someone local; no one in these parts even sounded remotely similar to this profile. Finally she sent the sheriff off to spread the word and set his deputies to watching the areas Mulder seemed to feel were most likely spots for the night's activities.

Twenty minutes standing under a hot shower until the water turned cold, clean clothes and a quick shave did much to restore Mulder's control. He had bottled the fear behind a mask of detached calm. The control wavered for a moment when Scully told him the profile didn't match anyone the sheriff recognized. He tried to remain calm, but he knew Scully could see that he was desperately hoping the killer would be found tonight. As he turned to leave, she reached out and held his arm for a moment, using the brief touch to send a message of silent reassurance and support. Feeling irrationally calmer, Mulder flashed her a wry smile. Placing his hand in the small of her back in acknowledgment and reaffirmation of their bond of trust, he ushered her out of the room.

Scully was grateful they had reaffirmed their bond. Sheriff Collins was surly, resentful and openly antagonistic as soon as they walked in the door.

"Well, is the wonder-boy finished with his nap? Nice of you to take the time to share your insights on the case with us poor hick cops, Agent Mulder."

"Sheriff, if you've read my profile, I don't see how you can still maintain that the killer isn't a local man."

"You just don't give up do you? You think because I don't have a fancy degree, you can just expect me to swallow that shit and smile?"

"The evidence, as well as my profile, clearly show . . .."

"I don't give a fuck about your profile. I'm not about to fall all over your goddamn report like a pup sucking its moma's tit. You may have the fancy letters behind your name, but you sure don't have the sense to go with them. Your profile ain't worth shit compared to my knowing the people in my county."

"Mulder, don't . . .." Scully quietly intervened when she saw Mulder's jaw clench. Mulder heaved a deep sigh and nodded to her as he relaxed his hands.

"Damn it, why can't you open up your closed mind and just consider the possibility that I am right? How many people have to die this time before you can bring yourself to admit you're fucking wrong? Again!"

"Damn it!" Sheriff Collins rose up out of his chair, his face flushed with anger.

"OK, I've had it. Both of you calm down!" Scully's voice froze Mulder as he braced himself to meet the sheriff's charge.

Knowing the fear Mulder was fighting to control, Scully had little patience with the sheriff's attitude, but she wanted to keep hostilities to a minimum and the discussion on a professional level.

"Now, we can either continue this discussion as professionals or Agent Mulder and I can leave and let you cope with explaining to the press how your refusal to discuss this case caused more deaths."

"All right, Agent Scully. Then, as one professional to another, can you please explain certain points in this profile you sent me?"

Scully looked at Mulder with a brief flash of resignation before regaining control of herself.

"Sheriff, since it was my profile, don't you think . . .."

"No Agent Mulder, I don't think, at least as far as you're concerned, so why don't you go off somewhere and make us some coffee while Agent Scully and I discuss this case like a pair of professionals."

Scully winced at the venom in the sheriff's voice. For an instant Mulder appeared to be on the brink of physical violence, then he relaxed and a sly look of amused mischief crept into his eyes.

"Sure thing sheriff, I'll let Agent Scully explain all about it."

Scully sighed and wondered what sins she was paying for. Trying to explain one of Mulder's profiles, especially one that involved demonic possession, was not going to be easy. She had a feeling this was not going to be a good day for the reputation of the FBI in this town.

"Can you explain how you came up with such a dramatic description of the suspect's motives, Agent Scully?"

"Agent Mulder examined the evidence as well as the location and timing of the murders and determined that the killer is following some sort of ritual. The victims, at least those found at the locations Agent Mulder identified earlier, seem to be regarded as sacrifices; means to an end."

"Very nicely put, Agent Scully. Now what the hell does that mean to me? How can I put those nice, precise words into a noose for this damn killer's neck? Can you tell me that?"

"Sheriff, profiling is not like staring into a crystal ball. Agent Mulder takes the facts, his expert knowledge of the psychology of serial killers and comes up with a probable psychological profile. Certainly you must know of someone who comes even close to what he described."

"Do you mean, you can even come up with the fact that the killer has a serpent tattoo on his left wrist from psychology?" The sheriff's voice dripped honey, but his eyes were hard and cold as a snake's.

Scully squirmed inside, desperately wishing Mulder would help her out. Even to the point of provoking another argument with the sheriff. Anything to keep her from having to admit they were basing the profile on a what Mulder believed was a psychic link with the killer. Never a good liar, especially in matters of dubious province, Scully found herself on the defensive.

"That is just one aspect of the profile, sheriff. I think you'll find there is sound scientific basis for believing that the killer is a local man, apparently fixated on the local legend of the demon and intent on recreating the murders attributed to it."

"Bullshit, Agent Scully, and you know it. You're too intelligent a lady to buy into your partner's crap. Now why don't you tell me what's really going on here without this piece of shit your partner calls a profile?"

Mulder shot out from where he had been standing in the corner. He moved so fast that he was in the sheriff's face before anyone could intercept him. Leaning dangerously close to the sheriff, Mulder used his lanky frame to force the sheriff back into his chair until it rested against his desk.

"You are a stupid little man. You can't see the facts laid out straight before your face. If you'd had the wits to realize what was going on we might have been able to stop this killer before now. He's going to kill again, sheriff. He's going to keep on killing until someone comes along with more brains than you and this entire farce of a police force have put together."

Sheriff Collins surged up, shoving Mulder away. Mulder stumbled backwards for a few steps then caught himself. Both men's faces were flushed and angry.

"That does it! I'm going to haul your ass to the county line, Agent Mulder, and then I will take great personal pleasure in booting you out of my jurisdiction. And you can take that damn profile of yours and shove it up your ass for all I care."

"Damn it, shut up! Sheriff Collins sit down! Mulder, sit! Now!"

Sheriff Collins sat down in a reflexive obedience to the commanding tone Scully hurled at him.

Mulder carefully kept his eye on his partner as he found a chair and eased himself down into it. Mulder was still angry, but Scully almost never yelled. Prudence dictated obedience.

"Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely right now, may I remind both of you that we are supposed to be trying to catch a killer before he kills again tonight. Threats and name calling are not very productive ways of catching a killer. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"