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?"

At Scully's rebuke, Mulder's eyes lost their fire and his shoulders hunched as if he sought to brace himself against his own personal demons. Fear brushed ice-cold fingers on his neck as he remembered what the killer had planned for him. He tried to control the urge to shudder. Catching Scully's irate glare, he shrugged.

"Sorry, sheriff. I'm tired. Guess we all are."

Sheriff Collins harrumphed loudly. He returned to his reports and even scanned Mulder's profile several times, glowering furiously as he tried to make sense of it. Mulder began to pour over maps of the county.

"Sheriff, you might consider stepping up your patrols, especially in these areas. It's just a guess," Mulder almost strangled over that word but was rewarded by Scully's slight smile at his effort to be diplomatic, "but the killer might find one of these four areas attractive tonight."

"Guess it wouldn't hurt. I'll check out a couple of leads personally. I'm not saying your profile rings a bell, but I've got an idea or two that might produce some results. I'll check in every so often. Sims, check out the areas Agent Mulder designates. I think we can show him how professional we are. Agent Scully, you and Agent Mulder stay here. I don't want you two getting lost up in those hills. I've got enough on my plate without hunting for lost FBI agents."

Sheriff Collins had only been gone a few minutes when Deputy Cullum burst in.

"Hey, guys, you'll love this one. All those reporters are headed down to the old grist mill. Seems Benji Macsen was spouting off in Matt's bar. Claimed he saw a large man-like beastie prowling around the creek down there. You'd have thought someone struck gold the way those reporters started scurrying." Deputy Cullum kept chuckling over the story as Sims handed out the patrol assignments. Within minutes Mulder and Scully were alone in the office.

Scully wondered if Francis had had anything to do with Benji's sudden sighting. She gave Francis credit for savvy thinking and wondered if he knew something was in the air.

Probably lurking about waiting for us to pull the killer out of our hats, she thought, not unkindly, but with a certain degree of exasperation. She had enough to cope with trying to keep an eye on Mulder. The last thing she needed now was to have to watch out for canny young reporters out to cop a headline.

By sunset Mulder was barely restraining an urge to pace. He threw down the pencil he'd been fiddling with and stormed out of the office. The slam of the door startled Scully who had been scanning local public records to see if she could spot anything suspicious. With a resigned sigh, Scully got up from the computer and followed her partner into the dusk until she found him leaning over a low stone wall surrounding the local war memorial.

"It's going down, Scully. As soon as night falls, he'll make his move. I can sense he's already tracking his victim and expects to take him easily. He knows his chosen sacrifice and is amusing himself by imagining his victim's chagrin," Mulder concluded in a puzzled tone. Scully saw his eyes narrow as he focused on the problem. She perched on the wall nearby as she waited.

Mulder stared into the looming darkness as he tried to piece together the hints and shadows cast by his quarry's mind to determine what was so amusing about his choice of victims. It was something of a relief to let his analytical mind focus on something other than the upcoming horror. Scully's silent approach and support lent him strength to shove his fear to the back of his mind.

With a sudden swift move, he vaulted over the wall and walked over to the statue of a World War I doughboy frozen in a heroic pose as if caught in the very instant of charging into battle, bayonet at the ready. Mulder leaned against the statue and stared blindly into the heavens as if begging the stars for an answer. Piece by piece he assembled and reassembled the jigsaw clues, searching for a coherent pattern. Gradually this purely mental exercise induced a sense of calm. His terror fluttered against his control like a bird fluttering against a window; annoying, but ineffective.

"Oh my God!" Mulder jerked away from the statue with a look of mingled triumph and horror.

Scully slid off the wall, alert to her partner's rising agitation. Please God, let this all end tonight before I have to face the decision of what to do if the killer targets Mulder. The clock in the courthouse tolled nine; time was not on their side.

"Scully, did the sheriff say where he was going?" Mulder asked as he set a fast pace back towards the sheriff's office.

"Just that he intended to check out a couple of areas you mentioned as likely sites. Why?" Scully replied a bit breathlessly as she scurried to keep up with her long-legged partner.

"Well, if we don't find him, he's going to be intimately acquainted with one of those sites. Our killer is nothing if not audacious. The sheriff's his next victim."

Scully swore she detected a faint note of admiration in Mulder's voice.

"How can you know that? Are you in contact with the killer?" Scully stumbled over those words, barely able to believe she they had come out of her mouth. She was still skeptical of Mulder's bizarre theory, but didn't want to believe that he had crossed the line into insanity. That didn't leave a whole lot of ground in the middle but what there was, she clung to tenaciously.

"Actually, my conclusion is based on good old-fashioned deductive reasoning," Mulder paused, waited for Scully to catch up before giving her a sly grin. "Relieved?"

Scully scowled at him in exasperation. Mulder's mercurial moods reminded her of a roller coaster; she had never been fond of roller coasters as she recalled. She understood the physics of them, she just didn't like how they made her feel.

"Sheriff Collins is so adamant that none of the people he knows could be responsible for these horrors that the killer finds it amusing to select him as his next victim. Escalation of status of the victims as well as personal satisfaction. It all fits the pattern. I'm a last minute substitution. I think the last victim was supposed to be someone higher up the social ladder, at least locally. Perhaps a minister or community leader; someone respected and well-liked." Mulder was pleased to note his voice was normal; excitement mixed with certainty that at last he was on his quarry's trail. Now, if he could reach the sheriff in time.

"Sheriff Collins. Come in. Sheriff, it's important. Pick up your mike, damn it," Mulder all but shouted into the mike.

"Come on sheriff, you can hate my guts later. I need to talk to you now! Sheriff, you're a target. The killer is going to be coming after you."

Mulder turned to Scully, his eyes dark with frustration laced with a darker shadow of fear. "Damn it, Scully. Stubborn is one thing; this is sheer stupidity."

"Mulder, he might have his radio turned off. He wasn't exactly happy with you when he left."

"Well, he's going to pay a high price for stupidity then," Mulder's growl turned into a resigned sigh, "But I don't think he's just ignoring me. I think our killer has already made his move. I can't sense him anymore. It's like he's hiding behind some barrier."

Mulder picked up the mike and began to berate the silent deputies.

"OK, I know somebody out there has got to have their radio on. Sims, you're the chief deputy. I'm telling you as an FBI agent. The sheriff is in danger. Someone has got to go check on him."

Sims barked over the airwaves, "Listen, Agent Mulder, Harvey has probably had all of you he can stomach for one day. Just shut up and let us do our job. It was your idea for us to be out here in the first place."

"Listen to me, Sims. I don't give a damn if you think Collins is trying to avoid me. He's in danger. I need you to check on him now."

The crackle of empty static was his only answer.

"Sims, you dumb little fuck. Pick up the mike!"

Scully listened in dismayed admiration as Mulder used an increasingly profane vocabulary to try to convince the deputies that the sheriff's radio silence was more ominous that a simple desire not to speak with a particularly annoying FBI pain-in-the-ass.

"Sims, you have got to listen to me. The killer is going to try to take the sheriff. If you don't get to him first, Collins is going to be our next victim. Shit, why don't you answer me?"

Mulder pounded a fist on the table by the radio. Fighting an urge to scream obscenities over the radio, he tried again.

"Cullum? Cullum get over to the Sheriff's last reported location. Take some goddamn initiative for a change. Now!"

Silence, broken by static, was his only response. Mulder's temper exploded into cold biting contempt for the men's refusal to heed his warning.

"Men, there is going to be another fucking murder if you don't get to Collins before the killer does. Move! Now ! Because I promise you, if anything happens to Collins because you were too damn stubborn to get off your asses and check on him, I will make you all regret your mothers ever met your fathers."

Sims' voice broke the silence with a curt, angry snap.

"Fuck you Agent Mulder. We're following Harvey's orders. Why don't you just sit down, shut up and leave us alone."

Mulder hurled the radio mike against the wall. His eyes were a sad contrast to the profane anger spewing out of his mouth. Fear mixed with grief for the sheriff and an anger at his own inability to do anything to stop the killer.

"Damn them all to hell. Damn them into the next generation. Damn!"

Scully had never heard Mulder swear this way before and wondered if this departure from the norm was an indication of how tenuous his self-control was. She wished her father was here, he'd probably appreciate the profanity a lot more than she did and might even be able to suggest new phrases; Mulder was beginning to repeat himself.

"Agent Mulder, this is C.J. I'm not too far from where the sheriff might be if I'm guessing him right. I'll just take a swing over and make sure he really is just enjoying some peace and quiet. Anything to get some peace and quiet myself. If you're interested, I've got a cousin who can teach you how to really swear. You sound a mite out of practice." A ghost of a chuckle echoed across the radio link.

"Rawlins, thank God there is at least one intelligent man out there. Get to the sheriff's last location as fast as you can. Fly if you have to, but get there. We don't have much time." Mulder closed off the mike. "The sheriff doesn't have much time," he whispered.

While they waited for his report, Scully tried to keep Mulder's frenzied impatience under control. The office wasn't big enough to sustain pacing, but Mulder tried.

"Damn it, Scully, what's taking that idiot so long?" Mulder snarled as he slammed his fist against the wall, dislodging two pictures to shatter against the floor and denting the Sheet-rock.

"Mulder calm down," Scully said soothingly as she came up beside him, hand raised to rest lightly on his back. At the feather-touch of her hand Mulder flinched violently. "Mulder?" she asked softly, masking her worry behind a tone of professional concern.

"Sorry, Scully. I can't help seeing the sheriff laid out like the other sacrifices." Mulder sighed in frustration. Telling her that he was also seeing himself stripped and gutted wasn't even a temptation. He didn't want to worry her any more than he already had. Drawing in a deep shuddering breath he shoved his fear firmly back behind the barriers. He needed to be in control, for the sheriff's sake, for Scully's.

"We'll find him, Mulder. Maybe Deputy Sims was right, Sheriff Collins just doesn't want to talk to you," Scully added with a ghost of a smile. "You seem to get on his nerves."

"Who me?" Mulder asked with a lopsided smile. It wasn't up to his usual standard, but Scully gave him an 'A' for effort. Her heart ached as she watched him try to hide his fear from her.

"No, I think our killer has him. He's someone who could approach Collins easily, without suspicion. I doubt if the sheriff even knew what hit him." Mulder's expression grew distant as he focused on events rapidly escalating out of control.

"It's beginning, Scully. We have to find them or you'll get to repeat this exercise tomorrow night." With an effort, Mulder managed to sound almost professionally detached, but a glance at Scully's expression told him the effort was wasted. He sighed and wondered why he ever tried to fool her, she knew him too damn well for her own peace of mind sometimes.

"I'm OK, Scully. We need to concentrate on finding Collins before the ceremony is complete. No man deserves to die like that, even a man as close-minded as the sheriff. The good news is that we have four possible sites to investigate; the bad news is that the sites are too far apart to search without splitting up."

"No way am I letting you out of my sight, Mulder," Scully snapped. "His deputies can search the first two sites on your list. You and I will just have to cover the other two." Scully's glare left no doubt that Mulder was now on a short leash.

"Scully, it will take us nearly two hours to reach the first site, if we can even find it. Locating a site on a map is not quite the same as finding it on foot. Plus, we only have the maps to guide us. Remember, the sheriff said there were front ways and back ways to half the sites and he neglected to leave us a native guide. No doubt he wasn't going to waste a deputy guiding a half-crazy FBI agent into the woods," Mulder pointed out, trying to quell an urge to stamp his foot in frustration. Finally he regained control of his temper and sighed in acknowledgment of her point.

"We don't have any other choice, Mulder. Which site would you pick as most likely?" Scully shifted from a comforting to a professional tone in a blink of an eye. Briefly she considered finding Francis and pressing him into service as a guide, but one look at Mulder's barely repressed anxiety and she decided she didn't want to take her eyes off her partner long enough to hunt Francis down. Mulder was capable, as she well knew, of taking off after this killer on his own. She didn't intend to give him that chance.

Frowning, Mulder considered the problem. He allowed Scully to shepherd him to the car, absorbed in analyzing the two sites and trying to fit one or the other to the killer's purpose. Either would seem to fit the symbolic location of his profile, but Mulder knew that more than just location determined the killer's choice.

10 p.m. July 22
 

They drove in silence through the darkness. Scully pushed the speed limit as much as she dared on a dark, unfamiliar mountain road. A rattled report from Deputy Rawlins to the effect that the sheriff was missing and his car door was splattered with blood got a curt command from Scully to move with all possible speed to site number one. Scully glanced over to see how Mulder reacted to this news, but he did not comment on the accuracy of his prediction. The silence stretched out as strained nerves drove them forwards. From what Scully could remember of the map, they would have to make a decision when the road forked about thirty miles ahead. Until then, however, she decided to let Mulder ponder the problem without interruption.

Reluctantly Mulder realized he'd have to reach out and try to touch the killer's mind. Personally he'd rather traipse through the New Jersey sewers, but he had no choice if the sheriff was to stand any chance at all. A quick glance at his watch told him it was just after 10 p.m. The killer would be at the selected site by now and would have finished the preparations for the sacrifice and would be getting ready to cast his warding circle. Once that was done, he'd be safe from any attempt to reach him. Mulder knew he had to make the attempt now or depend on random chance to pick the site. Acting on his intention before his fear could stop him, Mulder opened his mind and tried to seize on the tenuous connection he felt with the killer. Strong violent images erupted through the link, nearly drowning Mulder in the stench and disordered chaos of the killer's twisted emotions. The sheriff spread-eagled on a rock slab painted with runes in the sheriff's own blood.

A strangely curved obsidian dagger stained with dried blood.

The sheriff looking up in astonished horror as a clawed fist flashes down on his head.

A luminous figure, with the face of a dark angel wrapped in wings of black fire, hanging in a web of molten silver.

Anger shattered the link. Rage and triumph, and a promise of a slow agonizing death burst back across the severed link.

"Which way?"

Scully's voice startled Mulder out of his macabre reverie. He was glad she couldn't see his expression by the dim light from the dashboard. He stared out at the darkness. The car's headlights cast grotesque shadows on the trees. A thin sliver of moon rode in the heavens just above the treetops. Sighing in frustration Mulder steadied his voice; no use giving Scully any more reason to doubt his sanity.

A cool breeze reminding him of green-leafed shade on a hot day passed through him leaving behind a yearning for the left-hand trail. In the distant mist-shrouded hills, Auld Sallie concentrated on the dark man's journey. A guide she could be. Maybe it would be enough. The earth shrieked its protest as she felt the ceremony begin. She feared that they were already too late to prevent the sacrifice. Too much was coming down to this single man and woman. Sallie didn't like last stands. Her people had made too many of them and littered the battlefields with their dead to prove it.

"I have no idea, Scully. Though just on a hunch, I'd say left."

Scully flashed him a look that was lost in the darkness, but Mulder could hear her exasperated hiss as she pointed the car left. Within minutes the car was bouncing and jerking over a corduroy road. Scully began swearing viciously, drawing on all her father's naval vocabulary, as she fought the steering wheel. Mulder's head hit the roof with a loud thud when the car bucked over a dislodged log then plunged into a deep gully. The sound of an axle snapping silenced Scully's cursing and Mulder's moans.

"Sorry, Mulder"

Scully climbed out of the car and surveyed the damage with her flashlight. Mulder's flashlight gyrated wildly as he forced his door open against the side of a tree and wedged himself out of the car. He swept the light over the road behind them and up ahead considering their options.

"Scully, I think we're on the right path. This road's been sabotaged or else they have very hungry termites here abouts."

Scully walked over and looked down where Mulder's flashlight shone on the damaged road. Two logs spanning a gully had been sawed in half. Their car now rested half into the hole, impaled on the broken logs.

Scully pulled out her cell-phone and dialed Deputy Sims's emergency number. A blast of static answered her attempt to call for backup. Damn things. Let a little thing like a mountain get in the way and all I get for the taxpayers' money is static.

"Care for a walk in the moonlight, Scully?" Mulder asked as he turned and pointed his light up the road.

Scully sighed and put her cell-phone back in her pocket. She reflected on all the times she had refrained from throttling her partner. Chalk one more up in the ledger, she grumbled to herself.

"Lead on Mulder, but this time you get to explain the car."

Let's I hope I'm around to make the explanation, Mulder's mind responded in an uneasy blend of prayer and desperation.

It was beginning to look unlikely that they'd get to the site in time to save the sheriff. Still they had to try. As he recalled the map, it had been about ten miles from the turnoff to the site. He estimated that they faced at least a three mile trudge along an uneven road before it narrowed to a foot path. The map had been vague at this point but Mulder estimated that the foot path probably extended for less than a mile before the clearing where tonight's ceremony was probably already beginning. If they encountered no further delays, the sheriff might have a chance, slim, but better than none at all. Compelled by the need for haste and his fear, Mulder began a fast walk up the road.

"Mulder, slow down! If you trip and break your ankle you'll be no help to the sheriff," Scully barked. "And if you leave me behind, I'll break your ankle myself."

Mulder shuddered, torn between rushing headlong up the road and slowing down to allow Scully to keep up. Held immobile by indecision, Mulder hesitated long enough to allow Scully to reach his side. Her hand against the small of his back radiated reassurance.

Scully felt his muscles tense and tremble with the effort to remain motionless. Shifting her hand to his arm she carefully guided her partner up the road, letting him lead the way, but maintaining periodic physical contact to remind him that he wasn't alone.
 
 

Table Rock, Preachers Mountain
12:10 p.m. July 23
 

For nearly two hours they moved up the road at a steady pace. The corduroy road forced them to a slower pace than Mulder intended. Just as they entered onto the footpath, the howls of a man in torment echoed among the trees in the still night air. When the first scream shattered the night,

Mulder started violently. He sprinted forward before Scully could grab him. Cursing, she followed, drawing her gun, hoping Mulder would remember to take at least elementary precautions. Considering his current state of mind she wasn't optimistic; maybe a berserk charge would have the effect of being so unexpected that it might succeed. Then again . . ..

A shuddering shriek of pain and horror collapsed into silence as Mulder as crashed into a scene from hell. Blood hissed on embers. A tall wiry man wearing nothing but runes painted in drying blood danced in the smoke. Through the haze, Mulder thought he could see the man's shape shifting from human to beast. Smoke coiled and twisted above a gore-drenched body spread-eagled on the ground surrounded by glowing coals.

A pit of red hot coals bubbled with boiling blood and entrails exuding a noxious smell that clung greasily to the air. A great slab of rock lay across a bed of the smaller rocks it had smashed in its hurtling impact from the mountain above. Dark fir trees crowded around the site, smothering light and sound from the clean heavens. Heedless of anything but the figure dancing in the smoke, Mulder charged forward, drawing his gun.

"Freeze, FBI!"

Lafe, caught between man and beast shapes, paused to watch Mulder's charge. A feral grin stretched his face into a grotesque grimace, cracking the blood smeared across his lower face and exposing long glistening fangs. When Mulder crashed against the borders of his warding spell, Lafe laughed. Driven to his knees gasping for breath, Mulder glared at his quarry. His heart was thrashing erratically, the world spun dizzily as he fought the urge to collapse unconscious.

As if from a great distance, he heard Scully come up the trail behind him; probably in FBI-approved style, something he rarely remembered to do, his conscience reminded him. In the part of his mind that wasn't occupied with breathing, Mulder realized she was probably expecting to have to rescue her hapless partner from whatever mess he'd landed in this time.

"You're early," Lafe's voice was dry and withered as summer grass. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you must wait until tomorrow. Now I really must depart before she arrives to spoil my fun. Be patient; our time together will come soon enough."

Mulder struggled to focus and aim his gun at the hazy figure. Before he could fire, the killer made a casual gesture with one hand and an inferno erupted right in Mulder's face. Flames roared and reached out fiery tentacles for him. Mulder screamed and hurled himself backwards, crashing into Scully. With his enemies occupied, Lafe completed the transition to beast and loped off into the woods.

Scully swore as Mulder barreled into her knees bringing her down on top of him. She had just gotten into position to fire after a brief hesitation on catching sight of Mulder on his knees gasping like a winded long distance runner. She had seen the killer make a dismissive gesture and then Mulder screamed and flung himself back into her. He had his hands pressed up against his eyes as he continued to try to scrabble backwards away from some horror only he could see. By the time she disentangled herself from Mulder, the killer was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn it Mulder, we had him! What in hell were you doing?"

Scully's temper, frayed by the race up the road in the dark, worry about her partner's erratic behavior and now the killer's escape, exploded. She stormed at her partner, raking him over verbal coals without ever once repeating herself.

Mulder catapulted out of his fire-nightmare in a great gasping rush. The fire had whispered to him, called to him as it turned his skin to blackened ash and melted the flesh from his bones. All he could hear was a voice speaking from the flames, telling him that the fire loved him even more for his terror. The fire fed on terror and would burn in his soul long after his body was ash blowing on the wind.

Scully's angry voice smothered the voice of the fire until it flickered regretfully and fell silent. Mulder gradually realized that he was not engulfed in fire. Then he came to the cold realization that Scully was really, really mad at him. He groaned and wondered if it wouldn't just be simpler to shoot himself now, except that Scully sounded like she wanted to claim that privilege for herself.

Mulder scrambled to a sitting position and rested his head against his knees. His head felt like it was crammed into a small space already occupied by a unsyncopated steel-drum band. He'd failed. Scully's scathing commentary didn't even come close to the guilt-laden abuse he was busy heaping on his own head. Sometimes he wondered why he was so easily manipulated when he was supposedly so brilliant. Scully deserved better. Hell, if the killer had his way, she'd soon get that chance to move up out of the basement.

Standing up abruptly, ignoring a brief attack of vertigo, Mulder staggered over to the body. The sheriff had been disemboweled. Blood had sprayed over a wide area. The runes painted on the rock slab marked the five directions as well as invoking the elements of water, air, earth and fire. Tonight the master rune was fire. The cycle of nine warding runes was complete, which left tomorrow's runic ritual somewhat problematic. His intellectual curiosity was piqued, but he had an uneasy feeling that curiosity was going to be satisfied along with the other unanswered questions of this case when he met the killer tomorrow night.

Realizing that Mulder was not paying attention any longer, Scully swallowed the rest of her tirade and followed him over to the body, shifting into professional mode. Careful not to disturb the evidence, she squatted down beside the splayed and mutilated corpse to examine the wounds.

Leaving Scully to her job, Mulder retreated and pulled out his cell-phone. The connection was faint and riddled with static, but he persisted and finally managed to reach Deputy Sims with the news of his boss's death. Sims sounded stunned, but quickly promised to bring help. Mulder tried to warn him about their car, but the static flared up and severed the connection.

While Scully conducted her preliminary examination, Mulder scanned the area for trace evidence. After a careful search of the area around the clearing, he found the back trail the killer must have used to reach the site. A travois obviously used to haul the sheriff to the site was abandoned in the brush. From what Mulder could see by flashlight, the trail was a gentle slope, easily accessible to a man pulling a sled. Exploring the trail, he discovered that it only extended about a hundred yards before opening onto a dirt road. Two sets of tire tracks looked fairly fresh. Maybe they would be able to get a fair cast of them. Not much use to finding the killer, but one more damning piece of evidence to use once they caught him.

"Mulder?"

"Down here, Scully. I found the killer's escape route. Looks like he knew a short cut," Mulder answered as he re-entered the clearing. He saw the ice in his partner's eyes and heard the iron in her voice and knew he still had some explaining to do before she completely discarded the notion of chaining him to his desk doing paperwork for the rest of his career, if he had a career after this fiasco.

"The wounds on the body match those on the other bodies you designated as ritual killings. Mulder, why are you so certain the killer plans to strike again tomorrow? He's been rigidly following a set pattern so far; what reason would he have to break the pattern now? If he follows the pattern, we won't hear anything from him now for another month." Scully sounded riled but no longer quite so angry; she was willing him to give her an explanation she could accept for his behavior as well as his theories.

Mulder sighed, looking over Scully's head at the descending moon for several long heartbeats as he tried to marshall his words. Finally he dropped his gaze to look her eye to eye, his eyes dark with emotion, barely masking the enormity of self-reproach and fear he was feeling.

He was relieved to see that Scully had her temper back under control, but he could see it straining to break free. She looked worn out. Her mouth was set in a stern scowl that warred with the deep-seeded concern betrayed in her eyes.

Mulder's heart twisted at the pain he was putting her through. Having to work with him, even on his best days, was hard enough; trying to cope with his recent erratic behavior must be hell on her.

"Scully, I'm sorry. You deserve an explanation and I can't give you one you'll accept." Mulder spoke in low, earnest tones. "The killer is using my mind against me; call it hallucinations, hypnotism or magic or whatever. I ran into a barrier that damn near stopped my heart. While I was remembering how to breathe, the killer promised me we'd meet tomorrow night, then fire erupted in my face. The next thing I remember is untangling myself from you." He sighed and tried to give her a smile that conveyed apologies for all his shortcomings.

"You have every right to be angry, but we're operating on a deadline here. If the killer sticks to his schedule, we probably have eighteen hours or less before he makes his move."

"You honestly believe he's coming after you? What if he's just jacking you around while he goes after someone else?" Scully had shifted into full skeptical gear and wasn't giving an inch.

Mulder swore under his breath in frustration. Damn! I wish that just for once she'd remember she's Irish and believe in things that go bump in the night.

"I know it sounds crazy, but our killer is following an ancient ritual. Everything hinges on the successful completion of that ritual down to the smallest detail. If we can disrupt the ceremony, we will have a more than fair chance at stopping him; not even considering that the power he's trying to unleash doesn't consume him first."

Mulder watched wearily as Scully began tapping her foot impatiently about a third of the way into his explanation. Scully's skepticism was beginning to irritate him. She simply refused to comprehend that they were dealing with something paranormal, perhaps even demonic, hiding behind the mask of a mundane serial killer. She was going to persist in the delusion that all they had to face was one insane murderer. Meanwhile she remained blind to the greater danger her science refused to admit existed.

Try as he might, he couldn't think of a way to break through her stubborn scientific barriers. In four years of partnership he'd only managed to dent that barrier; he wondered what it would take to actually breech it. He did know however, that when that moment came, he really, really didn't want to be anywhere in the vicinity.

"And if you're wrong, Mulder?" Scully spat out the words. Frustration and worry had quenched her ability to rein in her temper. She had followed Mulder's lead up to now, but now all her training screamed at her that her partner's instability had allowed a killer to escape. Patterns ruled a serial killer's actions. That was an established law of criminal behavior. The patterns in this case told her, and should be telling Mulder, that they had lost their chance to catch the killer until he began the cycle again next month.

She trusted Mulder and would walk into hell with or for him, but she needed some sort of assurance that his wild theories were correct to balance against rational scientific principles; assurance that his mind hadn't finally bent under the weight of his failure to prevent this latest death. She needed an anchor. She would follow him into Hell, but not into madness.

"If I'm wrong, Skinner will have my resignation on his desk Monday morning, but I'm not wrong. Whether you believe me or not, the killer will strike again tomorrow, no make that tonight." Mulder hesitated then continued in a grimly amused tone, "Look at the bright side, Scully. Whether I'm right or wrong, you have an excellent chance to get a new partner, one a bit more conventional if you're lucky."

Mulder felt almost relaxed. He had passed beyond fear into a state of resolute, unnatural calm. Even his angry resentment at Scully's reluctance to accept his prediction was fading into a grim acceptance that while she could not allow herself to stare into the abyss, nevertheless she would fight like a hellcat to keep the abyss from swallowing him. Even if she failed and he faced the final horror alone, he would be grateful to her and with his dying breath bless her for being willing to try in spite of her doubts.

Scully started to speak, torn between angry exasperation and concern for Mulder's sudden emotional isolation, but was silenced by a shake of his head and the sad look in his eyes.

"It's OK, Scully. Let's not fight over abstract philosophies. We'll put together a report on tonight's incident. I take full responsibility for allowing the killer to escape and I'll make that clear in my report. Say whatever you want in yours, it won't change the facts. I'll give Sims a description of the man I saw, maybe that will be enough to end this."

However, I think I'm going to skip the part where the suspect turned into a giant cat. Even I'm not sure I believe that, Mulder mused silently. The implications were devastating: If whoever was controlling the killer could grant that kind of power, what hope did they have of defeating it? These dark thoughts pulled him ever deeper into the shadows lurking in his mind; shadows of the abyss that whispered to him whenever he touched the face of evil in his profiles.

Mulder fell silent for so long that Scully wondered if he even remembered she was there. She was actually startled when he resumed speaking. His calm, detached manner was doing more to frighten her than the frenzied energy he'd displayed earlier. It was as if all the life had been sapped out of him, leaving only a dry, passionless husk.

"I want to stay over until Sunday, just to see this thing through. If I'm right, I don't want to jeopardize anyone else's life by removing the killer's primary target. If you're right, we'll spend the day finalizing our reports and giving Sims any assistance we can before I notify Skinner of my . . . breakdown," his voice broke over the word but he hastened on before Scully could interrupt. "I expect he'll leave it up to you whether to stay and assist the replacement team or escort me back to D.C.," he finished in a calm, almost clinically detached tone that broke her heart.

"Mulder, just because I'm having a hard time believing you have some psychic connection with this killer doesn't mean I don't believe you believe it." Scully paused for a second, half expecting to see one of Mulder's rare grins at her awkward rationalization. When none was forthcoming she plunged on, now certain that Mulder was already crashing into a dangerous depression. "We'll observe standard security precautions and I'll alert Deputy Sims to the possibility that you may be the next target. After your successful prediction about the sheriff, I doubt if he'll argue with me."

And I'll make damn sure you don't make that prediction come true by your own hands. I'll drug you myself before I let you self-destruct.

Scully gave him her own grim smile. Fear had crystallized into a determination to protect Mulder, from himself if necessary, at all costs, even their friendship.

Preacher's Mountain
12:30 a.m. July 23
 

A strained silence fell between them as they waited for Sims to arrive. Mulder wandered all over the crime scene, stopping every so often to examine some detail that caught his eye, but disturbing nothing. Something was bothering him about the dream he had in Asheville; the sense that someone had intruded into his dream. Now, recoiling from the horror of the sheriff's death and his own less than impressive encounter with the murderer, he replayed the dream slowly, frame by frame until he could pinpoint the shadow that tried to slip across the edges of his awareness.

During the long silent wait for reinforcements, Mulder pondered that shadow, until he came to realize that it was real; it did not originate in his own subconscious. He remembered catching a fleeting sense of surprise when the shadow realized it had been detected. Apparently whoever or whatever it was that intruded was adept at slipping into other people's dreams without detection. Obviously, then, he was looking for someone very old and probably very powerful. Sims might know of such a person, but Mulder knew after what occurred in this clearing, Sims was not going to be a very cooperative man.

Scully watched Mulder's restless prowling with a growing sense of unease. Her concern threatened to erupt into full-grown worry when he stood silent over the sheriff's body for nearly half an hour, staring intently at the butchered corpse as if memorizing each cut of the knife. Usually he tried to stay away from the messier corpses and Sheriff Collins definitely qualified as a messy corpse. Even Scully's stomach was unsettled by the sight, but Mulder showed no signs of distress, in fact Scully was hard pressed to discern if he was showing any emotion at all. Finally, she decided to break the silence and approached him with cautious concern.

"Mulder?" she said softly, trying to draw him out of his morbid preoccupation. Almost reluctantly he turned away from his contemplation of the body to look at her, shading his eyes against the light of her flashlight. Scully felt a chill ripple up her spine. There was an aching loneliness in his eyes that belied the still, remote expression on his face. Mulder merely shook his head as she opened her mouth to speak and walked off.

She watched him go as she tried to decide whether to force a confrontation now or wait until after they had returned to the motel. Prudence dictated waiting until she had him alone with an uninterrupted chance to force him out of this emotional retreat. He had thrown her a promise to resign like he'd toss a bone to a yapping dog and under ordinary circumstances, she would be furious. She couldn't even begin to imagine Mulder quitting the X-Files over a mistake like this; forced out maybe, quit never. But what scared her now was a gnawing certainty that he was serious. This case was affecting more than his judgment, it was seriously impairing his belief in the future.

The arrival of Sims and the other two deputies shattered the abnormal silence.

"What happened here?"

"Agent Scully and I were proceeding up the trail when we heard a scream. I reached the clearing first and saw a man, approximately five feet, eight inches tall, wiry build, dark brown hair, standing in the middle of the smoke. He was holding a large-bladed knife in his left hand. Sheriff Collins was laying there as you see him now." Mulder paused and expelled one breath then drew in another and he tried to marshall the words to explain what happened next.

"I drew my weapon and shouted the command to freeze. I'm not exactly sure what happened next. My impression was that the killer hurled a chunk of the fire at me. I panicked and in my attempt to get away from the fire, I backed into Agent Scully who was just coming into the clearing. She fell over me and the suspect fled."

"Some damn lot of good you are. Is that standard FBI training? A lone suspect gets away from two trained agents?"

"Deputy Sims, I accept full and complete responsibility for the escape of the suspect. Agent Scully had no reason to expect me to roll into her nor did she have any reason to believe I wasn't capable of holding the suspect or shooting him if he tried to escape. The fault was entirely mine. I panicked and the suspect escaped."

Mulder gave his report in a dry, emotionless tone. Sims bristled angrily as Mulder took full responsibility for the killer's escape, but controlled his fury to a single 'damn you' before turning his back on Mulder.

"Davies, why don't you practice your interrogation skills on Agent Mulder and take down his goddamned pathetic report," Sims curtly ordered before he went over to kneel beside the butchered remains of his friend and mentor.

Taking his cue from Sims, the young deputy treated Mulder as coldly as if he were the suspect. Mulder appeared not to notice the open contempt. He repeated the detailed description of the man he'd seen in the smoke in a cold, dead tone as if he was already dead himself and the opinions of the living no longer concerned him.

Watching Mulder from a distance as she guided the remaining deputy in marking off the crime scene, Scully winced at the haunted look on her partner's face as he quietly accepted the scorn and contempt as if they were his just deserts. It was one thing for her to chastise Mulder, in fact it sometimes seemed that it had become second nature to her and an oddly stable fact in their relationship, but it was quite another to stand by and tolerate relative strangers treating him with such open contempt.

Scully felt her anger slipping loose from its anchor and slammed up the frigid walls of the ice-cold professional before she alienated Sims and the others. She addressed Sims in an impersonal professional tone that brooked no argument nor allowed any private expression of sympathy. Not surprisingly, she noted that Sims seemed to respond to the imposed distance between them with a return to a professional manner that wavered only slightly with grief.

"Deputy Sims, I think my partner and I have examined the crime scene as thoroughly as possible. I'd suggest stationing one of the deputies here until daylight when I'm sure you'll wish to return and go over the area again. I'll give you a full report on the autopsy later tomorrow afternoon, but my preliminary findings suggest it was a ritual murder. Perhaps the FBI labs can provide us with a lead on the ointment as well as possible fingerprints from the body." Scully watched Sims grapple with his self-control at the mention of an autopsy report then shut his grief behind an angry glare.

"Agent Scully, if your partner is the best the FBI can provide, I would just as soon the FBI stayed the hell out of my county," Sims railed angrily as he glared at Mulder who, finished with his report, was now standing alone in the shadows, staring into the darkness beyond the clearing.

"Deputy Sims, the killer was clever enough to take Sheriff Collins by surprise despite the difference in their sizes. Perhaps he used the same method to disorient Agent Mulder. I can name several drugs which, when reduced to powdered form, can produce sudden hallucinogenic episodes," Scully retorted coldly. She had not actually seen any evidence of drugs, but an airborne drug could explain Mulder's inexplicable behavior and sudden depression. Perhaps a bit of quasi-prevarication might calm Sims down and get him to ease up on Mulder.

Sims looked doubtful, but the notion that some sort of drug was involved obviously intrigued him. It would make his sheriff's death perhaps more comprehensible. Scully was willing to tread along the thin line between truth and falsehood if it made Sims willing to assist her in protecting Mulder.

"If you say so, Agent Scully, but I still think your partner is several cards short of a full deck. Harvey was too good a cop to let a suspect sneak up on him, so I guess I can't argue with your notion of drugs being involved."

"Thank you," Scully responded in a silken tone that would have set off alarms in Mulder's mind. She was in a dangerous mood; one Mulder referred to as the 'smiling tiger'. He usually found good reason to be elsewhere, anywhere else at such times, but Sims merely nodded as if acknowledging her sagacity in respecting his opinion.

With an effort, Scully controlled her urge to verbally flay this annoying man and concentrated on putting Mulder behind a very solid wall of protection.

"Now, if you're ready to listen, Agent Mulder believes the killer is going to strike again tomorrow night."

Sims's face darkened with anger at the mention of Mulder's name but he held his peace. He didn't need Scully to remind him that Mulder had tried to warn the sheriff of his danger. Agent Mulder might be a damned incompetent fool in the field, but by all accounts his profiling skills were uncanny.

"I'm listening," Sims said brusquely, letting Scully see his hostility but also his ability to control it. Let's just see who's the professional here, lady.

"Agent Mulder believes he is the killer's next target. Considering his accuracy in predicting the killer's actions so far, I intend to take every precaution. I want a guard posted for the next twenty-four hours until the threat is past. Maybe we can force the killer to come to us this time." Scully tried to sound as convincing as possible. Her doubts were her own and not for Sims's consumption.

Sims gave a curt nod and walked off muttering. Scully wasn't sure, but she thought she caught the words 'small loss'. She suppressed a surge of rage at the callous dismissal of Mulder's life. True, Sims was trying to cope with the sudden weight of responsibility for this case as well as personal grief and had no one readily at hand to blame except for Mulder. While she might understand, she was finding it hard to forgive.

1 a.m., July 23
 

Mulder had been quiet, too quiet for Scully's liking, on the ride back to the motel. He was a shadow of the man she had known for five years; Mulder with all the sharp provocative edges rubbed off until he resembled a chalk drawing with no outline. She wanted to yell at him, have him toss her an outrageous theory so she could argue with him, anything to break this painful silence.

Ordinarily she would have diagnosed his mood as depression, the silent withdrawal into introspection that bordered on resignation, but she had seen him break out of his shell to carry on a heated conversation with Deputy Sims. Her first instinct when she had seen Mulder break off his silent contemplation of the dark mountainside to stride towards Sims was to intervene. The last thing Mulder needed was to be on the receiving end of Sims's fury. Mulder might welcome the scathing contempt in his present mood, but Scully didn't feel like trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered psyche when Sims had finished.

As she moved to intercept him she caught an almost imperceptible shake of the head as Mulder asked her to stay back in their private language of glances and minute gestures. Relieved to see Mulder behaving normally, Scully was only too glad to snag Deputy Cullum, their designated watchdog, and give him an accelerated course in how to preserve a crime scene. The young deputy, who towered over her, was completely overawed by her and had been following her around like an over-friendly Doberman. Scully half expected the husky young man to roll over and offer his stomach to be scratched.

God, was I ever so young? she wondered. Glancing at her coolly professional partner calmly confronting a red-faced glaring Sims in what she could only describe as a relentless interrogation, she wondered if Mulder had ever been this young. Probably not, she mused sadly; he had been callously ripped out of childhood into adulthood, completely bypassing the awkward puppy stage. Still, trying to imagine Mulder as a puppy and then trying to imagine the breed gave her some much-needed respite from the horror that lay under a tarp ten feet away.

"Sims?"

"What the hell do you want, Agent Mulder?"

Sims glared at Mulder with undisguised disgust. Mulder noticed Sims' hand move to rest uneasily on the butt of his gun. Mulder carefully stood in a non-threatening stance, choosing his words with care. He needed information, not confrontation.

"Deputy Sims, do you know of anyone who might be considered, for lack of a better term, a witch or warlock? Someone who might be on more familiar terms with the legend of this demon that supposedly haunts these mountains."

"You got the gall to ask me about some fucking children's fairy tales when Harvey's laying there like a butchered hog? Damn it, you worthless son of a bitch . . .."

Mulder tensed slightly as Sims closed his fist around the butt of his gun.

"Deputy Sims, the killer is apparently fixated on this demon legend. Whether you believe it or not is immaterial; the killer does. What I need to know is if there is anyone who might be considered a local expert, someone old enough to remember the original legend?" Mulder kept his voice even and neutral, trying to defuse Sims' anger.

"If you had done your job earlier, you wouldn't be needing to chase off after witches. Damn you. Now you're wanting to run off after your spooky psychic shit when just a simple well-carried-out arrest would have ended this. Old Sallie seems just about the type of bullshit you'd find interesting. Maybe I should send you off after her; leave the real police work to the rest of us."

"Where can I find this Old Sallie, as you call her?" Mulder tried to keep his voice even, but he felt a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe he could find some answers before he ended up like the sheriff. He could afford to ignore the insults if he could just manage to get some real information out of Sims.

"Fuck you Agent Mulder. You are wasting my time with witches and legends and God alone knows what other frigging shit. Old Sallie is a senile hag who has half this county believing she's some sort of witch. On second thought, maybe you and she would make a pretty good match."

"Sims, I just need . . .."

"No, damn you. If she was a witch, I swear I'd pay her every cent I had if I could put you where Harvey is now. But then you believe you're the next one don't you? Well, don't look to me to be sorry if it happens." Sims spun on his heels and walked back to the huddle of deputies around the sheriff's body.

Scully could only hear the angry tones, ragged with contempt as they shattered the reverent hush that had fallen over the scene. She could not hear Sims's parting words, but she saw Mulder's face turn dead white.

Damn him, she thought, not entirely sure in her own mind which of them she was referring to. Her hopes for Mulder's return to normal were dashed as she watched him pull the silence back around him as Sims stormed off.

By the time she reached his side, Mulder had withdrawn into his shell, eyes hooded and dark with some emotion Scully couldn't quite pin down. The emotional distance between them hummed with tension as Mulder avoided her eyes with a shrug and a half turn of his body. Scully bit back an angry comment. She deserved more from him than this, she demanded more than this and resolved to force him out of this self-imposed isolation once they reached the seclusion of their rooms. It wouldn't be as private as she would have liked with Deputy Cullum posted just outside the door, but it would have to do. Mulder could just forget about shutting her out while he stewed in a self-destructive sewer of imagined horrors. She wasn't going to stand by and permit him to talk himself into a depression that could jeopardize his career. He *was* going to listen to her if she had to get his attention the hard way.

Wonder if Deputy Cullum knows where I can get my hands on a two-by-four?

Idly watching the trees flash by from the back seat of Cullum's jeep, Mulder tried to ignore the concern radiating out from Scully, concern tinged with just enough anger to make him wary. A meaningful conversation loomed in his future, another way of saying that Scully was going to badger him until he confessed to what was bothering him so she could wave it away with her magic wand of science and reason. For a woman whose stock reply to an question concerning her physical or mental health was 'I'm fine', she sure resented anyone else holding back.

Sorry, Scully. Science doesn't want to go where I'm going and reason has already fled the field.

Mulder wondered how his rational partner would react if she had even a glimmer of an idea what he was facing. If she could hear the cold whisper seducing hope from his soul, winding its tendrils of despair throughout his entire body. It spoke with the arid despair of a damned angel promising him his own too-long delayed damnation. It sent him visions of an eternity wrapped in guilt-spawned flames which would sear his soul clean of Samantha and Scully and the howling horde of other souls he had failed.

The whispers drew him away from the comfort Scully offered, drew him deeper into the darkness which lurked within his soul. Violence calls to violence, the voice mocked him. You can understand the killers you hunt so well because you came from the same abyss; you and they are brothers, you merely kill indirectly. You are the fire which draws the moths in until they are consumed. Shall I count your victims? It sang the litany of his dead until he felt his soul cringe with the tolling of each name.

Glen Morgan Inn - Helsgate, Tennessee
2:00 a.m. July 23
 

"No, Scully, I don't feel like discussing how I feel right now." Mulder broke the silence abruptly before Scully could even draw a breath to start her dialogue.  He shot out of the car and into his room before Scully had even begun to move to open her door. This was not going to be an easy confrontation and he wanted to be on his own turf, in-as-much as his motel room could be considered home turf. The slam of the door behind him gave him a pretty good idea how pissed Scully was. On his official Scully scale, he'd put her temper at a seven on a scale of one-to-ten. Making her mad wasn't his intention, exactly, but it was inevitable because he wasn't going to cooperate with her plans to let her convince him he was overreacting.

"Mulder . . .." Scully's tone was icily ominous.

Mulder felt the hurricane warnings go up. This was going even worse than he'd feared. Still, she could either accept his decision or rail against it, but he wasn't giving in this time. He didn't have the energy to fight Scully and the voice that kept whispering in his mind. Breathing a silent sigh of resignation for the hurt he was about to inflict, Mulder turned and held up a hand to silence Scully's incipient outburst.

"Just this once, Scully, I'm fine. Conversation over." Mulder looked her straight in the eyes without flinching, trying to communicate respect, apology and determination in their silent language. Scully's expression turned to cold fury and he knew either she wasn't listening or had deliberately misread him. Refusing to be intimidated, Mulder held her eyes in a silent battle of wills.

"Damn you, Mulder! You need to talk about this." Scully's temper exploded as she broke eye contact. Trust Mulder to be a stubborn ass about this.

Hell will have me soon enough Scully, Mulder thought as the whisper in his mind reveled in this angry confrontation. The violence that lurked deep within his soul boiled up until it lapped against the very edge of his conscious control. Driven by the voice and his terror, Mulder felt the temptation to explode, to drive Scully away where she would be safe from whatever was reaching out from Hell to claim him.

He didn't want to hurt her, but part of him did. The part that resented her debunking of his beliefs, that feared her hold on him which could make him sacrifice almost everything, even his quest, to protect her, and lastly that part which hated her for having the answers to everything neatly arranged and catalogued in her scientific world view. He feared that part of himself; the part that wanted to squeeze the mocking light out of her eyes and free himself.

Damn it, shut up. I won't hurt her so shut the fuck up! he screamed at the voice.

A soft evil chuckle echoed through his mind. But you'd like to do it wouldn't you? I'm only showing you what you try to hide from yourself.

"Why Scully? You wouldn't believe me if I did try to explain how I feel, so why waste your time or mine?" That came out with a vicious bite. There's more than one way to kill, the voice whispered helpfully. Mulder had to take a deep breath before he could continue, grasping for a more conciliatory tone. "Go to bed. I slept most of the day. You look beat. I promise not go anywhere without our watchdog, OK?"

Scully was too furious to even notice the softening of his tone. All she heard was his contemptuous dismissal of her opinions and her willingness to help him.

"Fine then, if you want to blow your career to hell, go ahead." Scully stormed through the connecting door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the walls. Mulder flinched as he heard the bolt slam shut.

"Sleep tight, Scully. I'm sorry . . .." Mulder whispered as he leaned his head against the shut door. The whispering voice merely laughed and resumed its litany of despair.

Glen Morgan Inn
9:00 a.m. July 23
 

Scully woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her door. Groggily untangling herself from the bed sheets, she discovered she had thrown herself into bed still dressed. She remembered storming around the room for over an hour, furiously listing each and every one of Mulder's shortcomings until she was too tired to think any longer. The last thing she could remember was collapsing on the bed in frustrated fury after telling herself that if Mulder wouldn't accept her help, then their partnership was a sham and it really didn't matter whether he self-destructed or someone else did the job for him. This realization should have brought at least a resigned peace; instead it brought only pain and a soul-wrenching grief.

She had obviously fallen asleep at some point, but she didn't feel rested in the least. Stumbling to the door, she cautiously opened it a crack to discover a stubbled, bleary-eyed Mulder standing on her doorstep holding out a cup of coffee and a fresh bagel. Remembering her anger, she was tempted to slam the door in his face, but the look on his face as he silently held up his peace offerings and his foot in the door forestalled that very satisfying response to his presence.

Glaring icily at him, she unlocked the chain and let him in. From the looks of him, he probably hadn't slept at all. Probably obsessing over his belief that he's the next victim, she thought grumpily. Mornings were not her best time of the day. She was tired, rumpled and still more than a little angry with him, but the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was doing much to restore her equilibrium.

"Sorry to wake you so early."

"What time is it, Mulder? It can't be that early, the sun's too bright," Scully muttered as she cradled the coffee and began to inhale the life-restoring liquid.

"Actually, it's around nine in the morning. Sun's been up awhile, but it probably got more sleep than you did." Mulder kept his voice very steady. If he concentrated exactly on what he wanted to say and didn't allow his mind to wander off the prepared script, the voice had to remain in the background, barely audible. He was determined not to argue with Scully, not to let their differences get in the way of this case. The voice helpfully supplied the unspoken corollary to that argument; that he didn't want to leave Scully with any residual guilt when he became the final victim. Absently, almost wearily, he told the voice to shut up. He was almost past caring what it said.

"I'm fine, Mulder. What do you want?" Scully kept her tone neutral but her anger was not forgotten. She felt a twinge of satisfaction when Mulder winced slightly.

"Deputy Sims may have a lead on who our perp is. Working with my profile and the description I gave of the man I saw, he thinks the man we're looking for is Lafe Mileson, sort of a ne'er-do-well moonshiner, local thug and all-round general loser. Sims is getting ready to head up to Mileson's cabin in about an hour. He's not real happy about it, but he did ask me along and I thought you might like to come along." Mulder paused to gauge Scully's reaction so far, then hazarded a bit of humor. "Actually Sims asked for your help and I'm just sort of a necessary evil."

Scully ignored the humor and gave Mulder a long cold stare. He sighed inwardly and realized she wasn't about to forgive him yet. Probably the only way she would forgive would be if he broke down and let her soothe away his fears with science and reason. That wasn't going to happen so he guessed he was stuck with this frigid do-not-disturb zone between them.

"Fine. Give me a half an hour. Will you be in your room or down at the sheriff's office?"

"In my room. Sims is going to swing by here and pick us up. Matt left at dawn to get some sleep. C.J. is my watchdog for the day," Mulder said with a rueful smile. "It's a bit like being guarded by a Chihuahua, but he's meaner than he looks."

Scully puzzled over that last bit. She wasn't ready to make peace with Mulder, but she had to admit he sounded more rational than he had last night. Maybe he was beginning to come to his senses. Peeking out the door as Mulder left she saw what he meant. If Sheriff Collins had been on the short side, Deputy C. J. Rawlins was positively tiny.

A small, thin wiry man lounged against Mulder's door. So this was the much-heard-from but never-seen Deputy Rawlins, Scully thought. Collins had said something about him taking a long scouting trip up along some of the more remote mountain trails. She didn't remember seeing him at the crime scene last night, but then aside from Sims and Cullum, her entire attention was taken up by one very dead body and one very irritating partner.

C.J. grinned when he saw her peering out the door and looked about as dangerous as the Chihuahua Mulder had mentioned. Then she saw the large Bowie knife strapped to his belt and the almost too casual way he lounged and Scully rapidly reassessed the man. Probably an expert with the knife and even more probably skilled in unarmed combat. She had seen the look on a friend of her father's, a Navy Seal who had the same deceptively innocent look. Well, at least Deputy Sims took her seriously, she thought. More than she could say for her erstwhile partner.

She withdrew back into the room and took a hasty shower to wash away the grime and tears and dressed in her hiking clothes. Mulder had been dressed in hiking boots, jeans, t-shirt and his leather jacket, so obviously wherever this cabin was, involved some bit of hiking. It never occurred to her that Mulder hadn't felt it necessary to tell her to dress rough; had trusted their silent language to communicate that detail. On a conscious level she might be considering their partnership at an end after today, but subconsciously, she still moved and thought as one half of the whole.

When Scully finally emerged, C.J. gave her an appreciative grin and a sketchy salute. Ordinarily she would have resented the openly male appraisal but something about C.J. rendered it harmless, almost brotherly. I just bet he's hell with the women with a technique like that, Scully thought. She grinned back at him and nodded acknowledgment of the silent wolf whistle that hovered in the air between them. C.J. grinned again and knocked on Mulder's door.

"Get your sorry ass out here man, she's ready and waiting."

Before he had finished, Mulder shot out of his room with a faintly embarrassed look on his face. Scully guessed he'd probably been pacing impatiently and had gotten so absorbed in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten all about her. Before she could make any comment however, a raucous horn shattered the air. Sims was impatiently gesturing for them to get into his Jeep. Mulder and C.J. took the back seat, Mulder apparently willing to give Sims plenty of room, so Scully clambered up into the front seat.

Another Jeep pulled out of the parking lot after them and Scully estimated that Sims was bringing a small possee, all heavily armed if the shotgun in the door holster by Sims was any indication. Whoever this Lafe Mileson was, Sims was being very careful.

As the posse sped up the main highway she breathed a silent prayer that this whole thing could end this morning with Mileson captured or dead and then maybe, just maybe, she could begin to reassemble her partnership with Mulder. They would have to have a serious talk of course, but with Mileson out of the picture, she thought Mulder might be willing to listen to reason. The expression on Mulder's face as they settled in the Jeep had been bleak, as if he believed this was an exercise in futility, as if nothing he did could alter what he believed the fates had in store for him. That defeatist attitude stoked her anger and she gritted her teeth to keep from lashing out at him. They'd find this Mileson and that would be that; even Mulder would have to admit then that he had mistaken his temporary link with the killer for fate.

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