xXx
AN APARTMENT ON JUNEAU AVENUE. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.
For the first time in a long time Ross Lyon was truly thankful that he'd rented this particular apartment so he'd be close to the FBI offices in the Plaza East Building Otherwise he wouldn't be able to take an hour or so in the afternoon and get it on with Laura Massey.
Man, he still couldn't believe she feigned having a migraine to get out of lunch with her uncle. 'You're a lucky fucker,' Lyon, he thought. She was hot for his cock though, so it probably wasn't just luck; his talents in the sack made her come back for more.
It was lucky that Laura and her uncle apparently had nothing to do with the case. He sent Mulder back to the Plaza East to look over the material Borden had given them, but he doubted Mulder would find any further connection between either Borden or Laura and Sutcliffe. He told Mulder he was going to stop by Milwaukee Police headquarters and see what was up there. He would do that too...as soon as he was done with Laura.
He grimaced in pleasure as he gazed down at the top of Laura's head. Her mouth slid down his cock again. She had some technique. It felt like a fucking vacuum cleaner as she sucked him.
"Yeah, baby...that's it...take it," he mumbled, grasping her head in his hands. "Come on...all of...it," he hissed, pumping his hips. He shoved his cock into her throat again, pulled back and shoved again and again. She took it all, deep-throating him almost effortlessly.
'Christ it’s good,' he thought, gritting his teeth. But fuck...he was so close. He was gonna come, but he didn't want it this way. He wanted to feel her tight cunt around him when he shot his wad.
"Hang on, sweetheart...I wanna fuck you," he said, pulling back and pushing her away at the same time.
Laura smiled at him as she let his cock go with a wet smack.
"Oh yes, Ross. Give it to me," she said, his pre-cum smearing her lips.
He chuckled roughly.
"Baby...you are one hot bitch," he said, grabbing her and spinning her around so she fell to her knees. Laura laughed and thrust her ass up at him.
It only took a second to roll a condom down his hard-on and then he rammed his cock home, impaling the woman kneeling in front of him as she moaned in ecstasy.
xXx
THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC.
"Scully?"
"Mulder...where are you?"
"Enjoying the hospitality of the Milwaukee field office...a cup of bad coffee and a stack of casefiles. Where are you? Did I catch you in the basement?"
"Just. I was about to pack up and go home."
"Ah. Did the meeting with Skinner run long? For what it's worth...I'm sorry you got stuck with that budget hassle."
"Let's just say you owe me, Mulder."
"More than you know, Scully."
"Mulder...are you all right? You sound...tired."
"Yeah, I am a little tired I guess."
"Is the case going badly?"
"I don't think it's going badly. I think...well, I think there's an answer here...we just haven't found it yet. I feel close to a solution. You know how it is when it's just there...the answer, but you can't quite reach it?"
"Yes, I know what you mean. What leads are you following?"
"We're looking into a trip Barbara Sutcliffe took to Italy just before she moved to New York City and started her career as a murderer. But we haven't correlated all the information yet. I'm actually waiting for Agent Lyon and his partner to get back here so we can do that. I'm hoping we can avoid contacting anyone in Italy on this but that may be a necessity."
"Do you think something happened to her in Italy to drive her to do what she did?"
"Scully...there has to be something..."
"The word...possession was bandied about..."
"I know that."
"Have the Milwaukee agents been receptive to your theory on..."
"I haven't mentioned it."
"Oh?"
"Look, Scully...these guys are real cowboys, ok? Sometimes I am perceptive enough to actually realize when I might be considered…off base."
"Well..."
"I'll concede that what went on between me and Barbara Sutcliffe in the past could have been...I don't know...just my being too cocksure of myself when faced with a truly evil, manipulative sociopath and nothing more. But I reserve the right to pursue this as an X-File if the evidence presents itself."
"But the evidence hasn't presented itself?"
"Like I said...we're still correlating it. Italy seems to be the nexus. After Italy she went from being Barbara Sutcliffe, artist to being Barbara Sutcliffe, 'The Artist'. I've been sitting here reading through what we do have on her past and I keep asking myself...what happened to this woman to change her into a killer?"
"I read a little more from the older VCS files on her after I got out of the meeting with Skinner. She did seem so...normal. There wasn't anything that pointed toward that kind of pathology in her early life."
"Exactly. I mean what did she do? Visit Italy and come back transformed into a homicidal maniac?"
"Possession would make as much sense."
"That's what keeps knocking around in the back of my mind. I have a feeling I'm going to be up tonight back at the Wyndham searching the Internet for information on Italian demonology practices."
"Listen...remember our promise? I...I want to be sensitive to the idea that your past issues with Barbara Sutcliffe were disturbing. Do you want me to ask Skinner to assign me? If you could use another opinion I could..."
"No...no that's ok. I don't think it's necessary for you to come out...yet. Although I'm considering it, believe me. I may need you to actually take a look at the victim if nothing pans out with this Italian angle."
"They're still holding the body?"
"Yes, the Milwaukee County coroner has it. Maybe Mr. Alvin Sparrow can give us some additional clues."
"You know I want to help. And Mulder...I...I'm sorry but I have to say this...I hesitated to even bring this case up again given how much it bothered you, but..."
"Oh hell...I know, Scully. Listen, thanks...really. I've been thinking all day about what I said to you yesterday and I should grovel at your feet in apology for acting like such an asshole. This case...what happened with Barbara Sutcliffe in the past...it's all affected me on some level that I can hardly admit much less articulate. I realize you want to help. And I'm sorry I shut you out. As soon as I know a little more, I'll call Skinner myself and request you as forensic back-up, ok?"
"Oh, Mulder. You...you infuriate me, sometimes."
"Just sometimes?"
"Yes...one minute I want to shake you until your teeth rattle and the next minute I..."
"Want to kiss me?"
"I wouldn't go that far. But you have a way of apologizing that makes it hard to stay angry with you."
"Does this mean you accept my apology?"
"Yes...it means I accept your apology."
"See...I knew the groveling would work."
"Oh, just...put a sock on it."
"Scully! That's a sexual innuendo if I ever heard one."
"Mulder..."
"Ok, ok. So...uh...I guess I'll let you go."
"All right. I'll read through more of the case material on Sutcliffe tonight so I'm more up to speed."
"Sounds good. And, Scully..."
"Yes?"
"Thanks again, for everything. I mean that, partner."
"I know, Mulder...and I appreciate it. I'll talk to you soon."
"Right. Soon."
xXx
THE MILWAUKEE FBI FIELD OFFICE. THE PLAZA EAST BUILDING.
Mulder rubbed under his glasses, massaging his eyes. As he'd told Scully, he really hadn't found anything significant in the reviews or the MIAD transcript. The Italian trip slides Borden had given him before he left MIAD showed what appeared to be an excited group of students having fun and admiring the sculpture of Italy. All the data indicated that Barbara Sutcliffe was a boringly average individual, if a talented artist. There just wasn't anything untoward about her past academic history.
He kept asking himself...how in the hell could you reconcile her past with what she did when she returned from Italy and settled into the art scene of New York City as a murdering sculptor? Should he pursue this case as a standard criminal investigation or delve into his possession theory and classify it as an X-File?
And what was he really afraid of here? Barbara Sutcliffe? Looking bad in the eyes of the Milwaukee agents? That he might be burning out and that his faith in the validity of the X-Files was in jeopardy?
None of that meant jack shit at this point. The immediate objective was finding Barbara Sutcliffe. That was the important matter at hand, not his self-doubts. His thoughts needed to be focused toward finding this woman...whatever it took. He needed to get with the program and just get to work on digging up evidence.
Mulder removed his glasses and set them aside, shaking his head. He had to think that something happened to Barbara in Italy to change her. Whether that something was possession or a relatively mundane occurrence...they had to determine it. In the absence of other information the Italian study trip was the one unknown quantity they could investigate.
Mulder sighed and pushed back from the conference table. He glanced at the nearby wall clock. Where the hell were Lyon and Fowler? He was anxious to see if Lyon had gotten anything else from the Milwaukee PD, and if Fowler's interviews with Borden's students on the Italian trip dredged up anything useful.
As if on cue Mulder caught sight of Fowler making his way through the nearly empty bullpen outside. The other man waved at him through the glass of the conference area. Ok, one down and one to go, he thought as the short, balding man opened the door and entered the room and shut the door behind him.
"Shit...what a drive I had to Green Bay. A tractor-trailer jackknifed on I43 and traffic was backed-up the whazoo. I'm just glad I had AC in the bu-car otherwise I would have cooked. Where's Lyon?"
"Taking a late lunch?" Mulder asked, rubbing at his temple again. The headache he had earlier was still pulsing distantly behind his eyes. I'd better find some aspirin, he thought, before it comes back with a vengeance.
"Late lunch? It's nearly 6 o'clock...time for dinner," Fowler replied. He raised an eyebrow as he stood looking down at Mulder.
"Well, he did say he was going to check in with the Milwaukee PD when I left him at MIAD at around 2 PM. I was hoping to brainstorm further on what we discovered today sooner rather than later," Mulder said.
Fowler scratched at his bald spot, his face puzzled.
"He didn't check in?"
"Not with me."
"Not with me either. That's not like Ross," Fowler said. He stopped scratching his head and pulled out his cell phone. After punching a couple of keys on the front he stuck the cell to his ear.
"Where the fuck are ya, partner?" Fowler barked into the receiver. He chuckled after listening for a few seconds.
"Yeah, I know how they can be. All right...get your ass back here. Mulder's here and so am I. Yeah, I got complete interviews. Yeah, that might go a long way toward making me forgive you. Ok."
He clicked the cell phone shut but the puzzled look returned to his face.
Mulder rubbed his temple a little more as Fowler spoke.
"He said he had trouble seeing the Milwaukee Detective in charge of Sparrow's murder. He also went to talk to the Milwaukee County coroner again about Sparrow's autopsy results. And...He’s bringing us pizza as a peace offering. At any rate, he's on his way in."
"Ok," Mulder dropped his hand from his temple and nodded.
"Say...you got a headache? Did you eat? You shoulda eaten, you know."
Fowler smiled and Mulder gave him a brief smile in return. It appeared that Agent Fowler was trying to be friendly. Maybe he actually wanted to make Mulder feel welcome in Milwaukee.
"I did have lunch but this headache's been sticking with me. Maybe it's from the heat."
"I've got some Advil at my desk. You want a couple?"
"Yeah, that might not be a bad idea. Thanks."
"Hang on."
Mulder took a sip from the coffee cup at his elbow as Fowler left the conference room. The coffee was cold now, but that worked better for swallowing the pills. Fowler returned and sat down, tossing Mulder a packet of two Advil tablets.
"Water?"
"No need," Mulder replied. He tore open the packet, shook the tablets out and put them in his mouth. As he drank the tepid coffee, Fowler studied him.
"You know, Mulder...Lyon's normally an ok guy for the most part. Sure, he's not perfect but we get along as partners. He's not a firebrand but he's a good agent capable of solid work. It really isn't like him to slack off or not call in."
Mulder finished swallowing the coffee and placed the cup down on the table.
He wondered if Fowler agreed with his
own assessment of Lyon at the moment. It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as
offer it as a testament for his partner. Lyon might be a passable
agent but he was obnoxious. He couldn't even give
Fowler the benefit of the doubt on the last part of his assertion
regarding his partner's behavior on the job.
"You said normally?" he replied.
Fowler pursed his lips. His face showed he was debating whether to break the bond of partner privilege and comment on Lyon's actions. He finally shrugged.
"He's got his mind on this new woman he's seeing maybe. He hasn't introduced us...but he said she's quite a looker."
Mulder couldn't help smiling.
"I think I met her at MIAD this afternoon. I guess I could understand how she might be a distraction." His face grew serious again. "But we need to concentrate on this case. I don't want to wait for Barbara Sutcliffe to murder someone else in order to get fresh clues.
Fowler ran his hand over his mouth and then finally sat down heavily.
"Yeah, I know," he sighed. He picked up a pencil and studied it, tapping it on the table a few times. Then he looked Mulder in the eyes. "Listen...I'll put a word in Ross's ear about keeping his mind on the job. I don't want that psycho bitch to kill anyone else before we get her." He cleared his throat. "Shit...this case stinks." Fowler tossed the pencil down.
Mulder sat back and put his hands behind his head, giving the other man a small sympathetic smile.
"You're preaching to the choir on the stench quotient. Look...I don't mean to come between you and your partner. We have different work styles. I'll try to be more...accommodating."
Fowler brushed him off with a wave of his hand.
"Don't worry about it. I'm the epitome of diplomacy when necessary. I'll see that he gets the message...in my usual tactful way. So, let's just try to get back to the matter at hand...catching this whacko."
Mulder nodded, brought his arms down and shifted forward again.
"Anything significant in the interviews with Mitchell, Smith and Hardaway?"
Fowler shook his head, scowling.
"What you've got are basically one average John Q. Public and two average Jane Q. Publics...although it would have helped if the agent we had do the background checks had found out Keith Mitchell and Borden were an item.
"Yeah, Lyon said the same thing...although more colorfully."
"I bet. At any rate, I didn't come up with much. Italy was sunny and warm; they had a lot of fun...the sculptures were, to quote Marjorie Smith, 'inspiring'. It was pretty much your typical study trip I guess."
"Did they mention anything about a ballet school?" Mulder asked.
Fowler hauled out a notebook from inside his coat pocket, flipped it open and started to thumb through the pages.
"Uh...oh...yeah," he replied. His eyes scanned over his notes. "They said Barbara Sutcliffe had some kind of fainting spell at the... 'Varelli Academy di Ballet'. Suzanne Hardaway said it was because she had her period and it was hot in the building."
Before Mulder could answer a noise at the conference room door caused both men to look up.
Lyon was fumbling with the doorknob with one hand and balancing two large pizza boxes with the other.
"Hang on, buddy," Fowler said. He rose, hurried to the door and opened it.
The aroma that only a pizza with the works could give off reached Mulder's nostrils. He felt his mouth water.
"Ah ha...Edwardo's...my personal favorite," Fowler remarked.
Lyon strode in and dropped both pizza boxes on the conference table.
"Fuck me," he said. "I got nowhere with the Milwaukee PD or the coroner. I hope you guys have some leads because I'm fresh outta clues on this bitch."
The smile on Fowler's face flickered out. Mulder sighed This was going to be a hell of a long dinner 'hour'.
xXx
THE WYNDHAM HOTEL. DOWNTOWN, MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.
Mulder struggled against the chains that bound him, his eyes straining to see past the darkness. Phantom fingers caressed his face. A foreign touch... a musky scent... he couldn’t see his captor, but there was no question that she was a woman. When he opened his mouth to protest, she dipped her finger into his mouth like a finely tapered paintbrush. Her thumb beneath his chin was gentle, even encouraging. She wanted him to taste her essence, to pool it inside of his mouth like milk and honey. But the taste was sour and the texture reminded him of bile. This was no ordinary desire but lust created out of a timeless greed.
Nauseated, he tried to turn his head to the side.
"No?" she murmured. "Perhaps you would prefer this."
The mocking finger inside of his mouth turned into the crushed silk of his partner’s tongue. Scully... He could feel her delicate hands reaching up to cup his face, comforting him with a lover’s caress. Her taste was as distinctive as her touch was sublime. The steel chains prevented him from clasping her to him, but his mouth fused to hers in hot desperation.
Scully broke their kiss with a whisper, "Close your eyes, lie still...as death..."
It was an odd request but the memory of her breath was sweet and the trail of her lips was tantalizing. She was gliding her lips down the length of his torso, stopping to graze his nipples with her teeth. The tension on the chains increased as he strained towards the pleasure/pain of her mouth. She was both rewarding and punishing him. It was a seduction of his mind as well as his body.
"Scully..." The sound of her name was a hiss of approval. She knew what he liked... the promise of his cock inside her mouth...the scrape of her nails against his ass. She was kneeling... rubbing his thighs with her nipples.... circling his balls with the tip of her tongue.
He gasped as she rocked towards him. With each thrust of her body his cock was sinking further into the warm velvet of her mouth. She was pulsating around him, forcing him deeper toward the nirvana of her throat.
"Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast..."
In the distance a forge was burning with the intensity of a thousand candles. The light illuminated a darker truth. The woman kneeling at his feet wasn’t swaying in passion; she was being taken from behind with strokes hard enough to propel her forwards.
Skinner....
She was the servant to the master, prostrating herself in front of an altar in which he, himself, was the chained sacrifice. With every plunge into her body her arousal dripped onto the floor like hot wax. He followed the copper of Scully’s hair to the black of Skinner’s eyes. In them he expected to see a fierce possessiveness. But what he discovered was the greatest torment of all...a passion that burned for them both. A passion he suddenly acknowledged was in his own heart as Skinner's eyes smoldered up at him. Jesus...he wanted Skinner's cock too. He could almost taste it...almost feel it...
The flame seared through his entire being. He felt himself exploding in Scully’s mouth. She swallowed with greedy gulps. With every spurt her fingers squeezed his testicles...milking him for more.
Stunned, he gazed down at her hair. It was no longer the color of copper but raven black. Lips, full and dripping with semen, curled into a triumphant smile.
"Squisito" she murmured. Delicious.
Mulder woke in a cold sweat, the sheets of the bed twisted around his arms and legs. He lifted his head to discover an embarrassing truth. The darkest of fantasies had led to the wettest of dreams. "Shit," he murmured to himself. Was he suffering the effects of a troubled psyche or should he blame the pizza? Either way, he felt nauseous. Clutching a sheet to his stomach, he got up from bed.
A phone interrupted his groggy trip to the bathroom.
It was 'pizza boy', himself.
"What’s up, Lyon?" Mulder mumbled. He cleared his throat to help focus his
mind.
"I think our psycho bitch problem is solved."
"Solved? How?" Mulder asked.
"Take a look out your window."
Mulder did as Lyon requested staring down at one of the bridges that spanned the Milwaukee River directly below his window. Lights from a
Milwaukee Police cruiser flashed below, making trembling patterns over the water. An ambulance was coming across the bridge, its siren silent. Mulder could see Lyon, he could see Fowler...and he could see two police officers
Mulder could see Lyon, he could see Fowler…and he could see two police officers pulling a body out of the river; a woman's body.
"Oh fuck," Mulder breathed.
"Get your ass down here," Lyon said...and the line went dead.
xXx
CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC.
Walter Skinner stood staring out into the night from his apartment in the Viva Towers. He could see his reflection in the glass...a middle-aged, barefoot, muscular man in dress slacks and no shirt stared back at him. His specs obscured the expression of weariness he knew was in his eyes.
The air conditioning from a nearby vent wafted across his bare chest, cooling him and ruffling his chest hair at the same time. DC glittered beneath him...he could still see traffic on the streets and tiny figures going about their unknown business. It was one o'clock in the morning, but the city seemed to never sleep; a condition he could relate to since his nights lately were spent staring at the ceiling above his bed.
He fingered the glass of J&B in his hand. He told himself that after a hell of a day, capped off by a meeting that kept him overtime at the Bureau, he needed this second drink. Tipping the glass to his lips, Skinner took a swig and welcomed the smooth heat of the liquor as it flowed down his throat. The booze was finally starting to relax him. He hoped it would pave the way for sleep by stilling his seemingly endless inner discussion about Scully and Mulder.
Since his arrival at home his mind had been caught in an endless debate on why he revealed his feelings to Scully. The debate yielded only one truth...it certainly hadn't been the damn GAO budget report that caused him to do it. Otherwise he was clueless as to what made him breach professional decorum. Maybe he was having some kind of mid-life crisis. Maybe he'd held himself in tight control for too many years and simply reached a breaking point. The answer continued to elude him.
He also kept asking himself if he'd seen Scully return his interest at all...whether the expression on her face after his suggestive comment meant she was uncomfortable with his feelings...or whether she was discomforted because she felt the same and didn't know how to deal with the issue.
He knew they were either going to have to pretend it didn't happen or deal with his confession at some point...and he had no idea which would be the case...or what would ensue. The more he went over the issue the more confused he became.
And of course his mind dwelled on Scully's partner as well. He had mused over issues of friendship and mutual respect between them until he reached for the liquor bottle and finally poured that first drink.
If he took another swig of this second scotch maybe he could tamp down the desperation he felt. What would Mulder think if he heard about his confession to Scully? Desperation grew in him when he thought about Mulder's reaction and what that might do to the tenuous bond of friendship that had grown between them...or at least which he hoped was growing, their differences notwithstanding. He had to admit that it would disturb him greatly if he lost Mulder's respect or found his feelings of friendship weren't reciprocated.
Skinner lifted the glass to his lips, thinking not for the first time how important Mulder's friendship had become to him. And finally...how he had to admit his feelings went beyond friendship...how much...
The knock on his front door startled him. His hand jerked and J&B spilled down his chin and onto his chest. All thoughts of Scully and Mulder emptied from his mind as the remainder of his drink emptied from his glass, the scotch dripping onto his dress slacks.
"What the hell?" he mumbled.
Skinner knew from past experience that late night callers didn't bode well. He was instantly alert... his senses focused on moving quietly back across the hardwood floor. He gently set the glass on the bar and briskly pulled his Sig Sauer out of the holster where it lay on the wooden bar.
His feet barely made a sound as he carefully walked to the apartment door. There was a second knock. He stood to the side, his gun up and ready, the safety off.
"Who is it?" he said.
A muffled male voice came from the hallway outside.
"Sergei?"
Skinner's brow furrowed in bewilderment. He couldn't quite believe his ears. There were only two people who had ever called him by his middle name...and that wasn't his late grandmother on the other side of the door. He took a quick look through the peephole and confirmed the identity of his visitor. Despite wondering what brought this familiar caller to his door unannounced and at such a late hour, his lips curled in a smile. He flipped the safety back on his Sig Sauer and stuck the weapon in the back of his dress pants. Sliding back the dead bolt and unlatching the doorknob lock, he swung the door open to greet the bearded man outside.
"Kak dela, Dimitri?" Skinner said. "It's been a long time."
Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko smiled, his white teeth showing through the salt and pepper of his beard and mustache. His intelligent hazel eyes were tired but filled with pleasure at seeing Skinner.
"I'm fine, my friend. And it *has* been a long time. Yet you remember your Russian...that honors me...and honors your babushka as well," he replied in accented English.
Skinner stepped aside gesturing for Dimitri to enter the apartment. He shut and locked the front door after the priest moved past him. Yvashko deposited the briefcase he was carrying next to the door.
"I don't get to practice my conversational Russian often, but whenever I do, I think of my grandmother and you..." Skinner said.
Both men stood awkwardly staring at each other for a moment. Then they stepped forward to embrace. Skinner wrapped the slightly shorter and leaner Dimitri in a bear hug and Dimitri slapped Skinner on the back.
"It's good to see you," Dimitri laughed.
'Christ, it's good to see him too,' Skinner thought. They e-mailed back and forth, but he hadn't actually seen Dimitri Yvashko since he made AD.
The hug and his friend's voice instantly brought back memories that were over 30 years old. Memories of another fond embrace. He was 18 and so was Dimitri. They'd reached young manhood together, sharing everything like brothers despite the fact Dimitri was a Russian immigrant and Skinner was a farm boy from rural Pennsylvania. But that day so long ago they were going their separate ways...Skinner to war and Dimitri to the peace of the priesthood in his native Russia. It was their destiny, Dimitri had said.
Had it been destiny that brought that tentative kiss from Dimitri...so startling yet somehow not unexpected...and so very sweet? Had his eager response been destiny? Had their awkward denials after that uncertain but arousing embrace been destiny too?
Skinner wondered about that over the years. Neither man had ever spoken of that hot summer afternoon in the barn on Skinner's farm. It was a pleasant, hazy memory and that's all...not a destiny that was somehow overlooked...an opportunity missed.
It was several seconds before Skinner realized he was probably smearing spilled scotch all over Dimitri's black suit coat.
"I spilled some scotch," he finally murmured and broke the embrace.
"I did think you smelled rather like J&B. So you still drink it?"
"Yes," Skinner replied. "But look...Dimitri...come in and sit down. What brings you here?"
"I know it's late but..." The priest suddenly noticed Skinner's sidearm. He gestured at it with his chin. "Forgive me, I've been remiss. Perhaps I should ask how you are, Sergei?"
Skinner looked into Dimitri's quizzical eyes and made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. He slipped the gun out of his pants and sauntered over to the bar. The gun slid easily back in its holster.
"Well...you know...it's the nature of my job. When someone's at the door late at night it pays to be cautious."
Dimitri nodded.
"It's a troubled world we live in, Sergei."
"I can't argue that. Now...sit down. Would you like a drink? I have some vodka."
"Yes, spasiba."
"A shot?"
"Please."
As Skinner poured the vodka, Dimitri retrieved his briefcase and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He seated himself and opened the case. Skinner carried the vodka over and handed it to the priest. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed that Dimitri's hand was shaking slightly.
"Dimitri...are you really all right? Don't bullshit me..."
The priest took the vodka from Skinner, downed it in one swallow and placed the glass down next to the open briefcase with a 'clunk'.
"Sergei...we do indeed live in troubled times...and they're about to become more deeply troubled than either you or I could imagine."
xXx
A BRIDGE OVER THE MILWAUKEE RIVER. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.
Sweat trickled from Mulder's hairline and down the back of his neck, oozing slowly past his hastily donned dress shirt's on its track toward making his back itch.
The setting sun hadn't mitigated the heat. The humidity was still high, and the river smelled of fish...alewives as Fowler had cursed, holding his nose.
Barbara Sutcliffe looked like the belly of a dead alewife where she lay, half-naked and dead on the stretcher at his feet. She was fish belly white...with eyes that were filmy from both death and being in the less than clean river water. He squatted and fingered with latex covered fingers, the knife slice that stretched from one of her ears to the other. If it hadn't been for the absence of her tongue sticking out of the wound he would have thought drug dealers had given her a Colombian necktie. In that moment Mulder felt pity for Barbara...at least pity for the young woman who had gone to Rome with her friends and seemed so happy and carefree so many years ago.
"So...one dead psycho bitch," Lyon pronounced, standing back slightly and jotting something on his note pad. A photographer's flash punctuated his words. The last of the crime scene pictures had been taken and the cameraman moved away.
"Stop calling her that," Mulder whispered. "She was a human being...once."
"Whatever." Lyon coughed. "We're done here. Case closed."
Mulder stood up, and when he did, his headache returned with a vengeance. He shook his head, trying to dispel the onslaught of pain and when he did so, his gaze traveled up river...toward the next bridge that spanned the water.
He could see someone standing on the bridge. A woman standing and watching them. A tall woman with long dark hair. He strained past the ache in his head to see her face. He could just...if he tried....he could just make out her face...
"Take her away," Lyon said, jerking Mulder completely back to the matter at hand. Just as quickly as it came, the headache was gone and Mulder shook his head in bewilderment. Something about a woman on the bridge...he glanced up river but the figure of the woman was gone. He filed the vision away as movement commenced all around him.
Lyon gestured toward the coroner and his assistants who were on the scene with the "meat wagon" as the Milwaukee agent had so colorfully put it. Fowler trailed after the city of Milwaukee employees as they lifted the body and conveyed it to the coroner's van.
"I wouldn't be so fast to say case closed," Mulder replied. "For one thing...there's no sight of the knife that..."
Lyon looked up from making a last note, slowly closed the pad and tapped his pen on the cover for three beats. It was as if he were counting to curb his temper. ‘Or maybe he's counting their strikes and I'm out,’ Mulder thought as Lyon spoke.
"Why the fuck can't you let it go, Mulder? The knife's probably in the river since the officers who pulled her out didn't find it. There's nothing weird or bizarre about this woman's death. There's nothing weird, bizarre or alien about this case. You just heard the coroner say his best guess from a look at the wound and the blood spatter pattern was that she cut her throat here and fell into the river there. She probably did cut her own throat...it can be done...especially by nutjobs who are several cards short of a deck. So, little green men didn't kill Barbara Sutcliffe and dump her here."
"Gray men...they're gray."
"Christ," Lyon said, shoving his notebook and pen in his pocket.
"Go back to bed. We're done."
Lyon started to turn away and Mulder grabbed his sleeve. The other man's eyebrows shot up and he looked down at Mulder's hand.
Max Fowler left the coroner's van, which was pulling away and walked back over.
"Agents?" he asked.
"Look...I know you don't like me, Lyon. I don't like you either. But Milwaukee asked DC to send you help on this case and here I am. I've had some experience in profiling and I'm telling you...I don't think we should close this case yet. I think there are unanswered questions about Barbara Sutcliffe's death and..."
"And so what? Mulder...you were sent out here to help apprehend a dangerous felon. She did us all a favor and offed herself. Your job's done as far as I'm concerned and that's what I'm going to tell DC as soon as I get back to the office. I don't know what else you think can be gleaned from this case that's even important. And if it's some crazy ass spooky angle I don't want to hear about it anyway. So like I said....give it up and go back to bed."
Mulder glanced down and saw Lyon's fist clenching at his side. His jaw tightened and he slowly let go of the other man's arm. He knew that if he didn't release the other agent, they were going to end up belting each other. Much as he didn't like Lyon he wasn't willing to risk disciplinary action over something as stupid as hitting this asshole.
He looked at Fowler. Fowler shrugged but his expression was more sympathetic.
"Yeah, Mulder. Look at it this way...you can head back early and maybe take a couple of days off after you get done with the paperwork. Nothing like a few days of unscheduled vacation to make you feel like you're cheating the system a little."
Mulder turned away from Fowler's friendly smile. He stripped his latex gloves off and stuffed them heedlessly into his pants pocket. His gaze went to the river again and he ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair. A mixture of dread and excitement flashed though his guts. Clearly if he thought this case wasn't closed he was going to have to follow up on it alone. Well...not really alone. The idea that he would most certainly go back to his hotel room and call Scully buoyed his spirits.
"All right," he said, turning back to Lyon. "Forget it. You file your report, and I'll file mine and we'll call it quits. Forward what you find out from the coroner tomorrow. I'll add it to my notes and book a flight back to DC."
"Fine," Lyon replied, his jaw tight.
Mulder abruptly turned away and started to walk back toward the entrance of the Wyndham Hotel.
"Mulder!" Fowler called after him.
He didn't answer as his shoes made hollow clanking sounds on the bridge's metal walkway. The cold, hollow sound echoed the feeling in Mulder's heart, the cold feeling that told him something was definitely amiss regarding Barbara Sutcliffe's death. The icy sensation that there was something he was forgetting about the last few minutes...something important that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something that would give him all the answers.
xXx
CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC.
Skinner closed the file in his lap and looked up, craning his head to look at Dimitri Yvashko, who stood at the apartment windows staring out into the night.
"So, you've been doing this for three years now...working within the Synodal Department of Cooperation?"
"Yes...ever since our Patriarch appointed me to the department I've acted as one of the liaisons between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. The church is very interested in maintaining contact with the FSB and the other KGB successors. Another branch of the Synodal department deals with the Armed Forces.
"Well of course I'm aware of the church's connection with the Federal Security Service. I just had no idea...Dimitri...why didn't you tell me you were involved with this...this..."
"Battle?"
Skinner tossed the file onto the coffee table, sat back and let out a breath.
"I don't know what to call it...but *witch hunt* might come close."
Dimitri left the window, walked over and sat down in the overstuffed chair adjacent to the couch. He leaned forward and addressed Skinner.
"She is a witch...but she's much more than..."
"Dimitri...come on...you know what I meant by *witch hunt*. You can't expect me to believe..."
"Sergei...I know this is hard to accept...especially by a man who is so grounded in facts and hard evidence in his life work. I haven't told you about this aspect of my work partly because I knew you would find it out of your sphere of belief. But there was also a degree of Church secrecy involved...and a personal wish on my part to not complicate your life with my problems in this area. But now you must believe me, the world is in terrible danger...all our souls are in terrible danger."
Skinner sighed and rubbed up under his glasses. To say he was having a difficult time swallowing the information Dimitri had brought him was no exaggeration. Even after everything he'd seen over the last 5 years in his association with Mulder and Scully he was still essentially a skeptic at heart. He did need facts and evidence. He was willing to believe some things because he could see the evidence or had direct experience with them...but this...this supernatural bullshit strained his credulity.
"Dimitri...are you sure that this woman isn't a member of some kind of cult on the order of Anton Levay's church of Satan. Those people are full of it...and hardly capable of endangering mankind...but they are good at PR and..."
Dimitri bowed his head.
"I'm asking you to try to believe as my friend, Sergei. I think she's here in the US and I have to make a very unofficial investigation. But, I need the help of someone higher up in law enforcement with access to the tools that come with that position...and I didn't know where else to come but to you."
Skinner looked at the top of his friend's head and felt something cold prickle at the back of his neck. Dimitri was serious. As farfetched as he found what he'd read in the file...Dimitri believed it with all his heart. He didn't want to think his friend was suffering delusions. Dimitri had never shown any evidence of psychological instability.
Skinner shifted on the couch and came to a decision. This was his friend. He at least merited the benefit of the doubt and an attempt at understanding. He cleared his throat and Dimitri looked up.
"All right...let me get this straight. In the late 1700's an architect named Varelli built three houses for three witches?"
"Yes...a diabolical trinity. Just as there are three fates, three graces and three furies, so there are three sorrows..."
"Our Ladies of Sorrow...as in Thomas De Quincey's 'Levanna and Our Ladies of Sorrow'?"
"The essayist De Quincy was aware of the legend only...but not the truth."
Skinner nodded not so much in confirmation as much as to focus his train of thought.
"All right...so these three sorrows are called the Maters, or Mothers if we're using English and not Latin," he said.
"Yes. The Mothers of Whispers, Tears and Darkness; three very powerful sorceresses--they are really demons for all intents and purposes."
"Who generate all the ills of mankind from these three mansions that Varelli built?"
"Yes. As you read in the file...they use black magic, and psychic influence...especially temptation...temptation of every appetite including erotic temptation to work their wiles. They are able to possess innocent women, destroying them while they use their bodies to continue their demoniacal plotting."
Skinner shook his head.
"This is...very hard to believe."
Dimitri seemed to ignore his rumbled protest.
"For many years a select group within the Russian Orthodox Church has been hunting them," Dimitri murmured. "My brothers and I have used our connections with law enforcement organizations throughout the world to track them to their houses in Freiburg, Germany, New York and now Rome."
Skinner flexed his hands and again set his mind to wrapping itself around Dimitri's story as best he could.
"And your...brotherhood managed to destroy two of them?"
"The Mother of Whispers in Germany and the Mother of Tears in New York. They were eliminated years ago...before I was appointed to the Synod. I've been hunting the last...The Mother of Darkness all this time."
"And you trailed her to Rome and now think she's in the states?"
"Yes. And it's imperative I find her. We knew it was only a matter of time before the Mater's plans reached fruition. And make no mistake, their goal wasn't to just bring ills to mankind...it's always been to bring down mankind..."
"By opening the gates of hell and bringing hell on Earth...the enslavement of mankind by Satan and his minions?"
"Yes," Dimitri answered. "The Mothers have been sacrificing men for years...performing the blood rites...building a nexus of power, pushing the door between Earth and Hell open a crack at a time...but now...now I sense this last Mater is very close to throwing that gate wide open. And I must stop the Mother of Darkness from completing her task."
"You alone?"
The priest gave Skinner a gentle smile.
"If it is God's will. But, Sergei...I think it's not my destiny to be alone in the hunt any longer...I think...I dreamed..."
The priest stopped talking and rose, walking again to the windows to stare out them. Skinner stood as well and followed him, standing at his friend's side.
"Dimitri?" he murmured.
The priest didn't look at him, but spoke quietly, still staring out into the darkness.
"Sergei...I prayed for an answer and I think my answer was to seek you out for help. But besides coming to you for support I also came here to warn someone specifically...someone in grave danger."
"Warn who? Me?"
"I'm not sure, my friend. I've prayed on that too...and although I know I won't hunt alone this time...I'm just not...sure..."
"I don't understand."
Dimitri let out a sigh and left Skinner's side, traversing the room to the bar where the bottle of vodka and his shot glass now sat. Skinner turned and folded his arms over his chest.
"Part of the way I follow my quarry is by being...sensitive," Dimitri explained, reaching for the vodka and pouring himself another shot.
"Sensitive? You're trying to tell me you're psychic?" Skinner asked.
"Only a little," Dimitri said, letting his lips turn up in a self-deprecating smile at the disbelief in Skinner's tone. He downed the vodka and then continued. "I marshal certain minimal psychic talents to follow her trail. You might describe her...aura as an evil miasma...a foul stench that even the most rudimentary sensitive can track."
"So, you think she's...what...after me? Why the fuck would..."
"I had a dream. I saw a man in the dream that was in great peril from the Mother of Darkness. I think this man will soon be a sacrifice. Perhaps the last sacrifice."
"Oh great...so I'm going to help usher Satan into this world? Remind me to tell you sometime how that already hits closer to home than you realize."
Dimitri placed the shot glass back on the bar and turned to look at Skinner.
"The face and form of the man were unclear...but I sensed the aura of the law about him. In one of my most recent dreams, I even saw a partially obscured badge...the badge of an FBI agent. The Mother has a personal vendetta against me and anyone in the brotherhood. She will do anything to get at us...attack our family, our friends. My close family is dead...and you're the only true friend I have in law enforcement, in the FBI, Sergei. So, although my dreams have been frustratingly symbolic at times...I had to come here to both ask for your help and warn you...or tell you to warn someone..."
Skinner shook his head in bemusement. Dimitri raised an eyebrow.
"What?" the priest asked.
"I'm sorry. I was just thinking how much you sound like one of my agents. How everything you've said reminds me of him and how often I've sat at my desk and told him how hard it was to believe him too.
Skinner walked over and sat back down on the couch rather heavily. It was nearly 3 AM, he was now sleepy at last and the booze he'd consumed as well as the strange nature of the conversation was making him feel fuzzy and out of focus. Dimitri followed him, his eyebrows still quizzically raised. The priest sat down in the overstuffed chair again and stared at Skinner, studying him.
"Agent Fox Mulder," Skinner continued. "He and his partner, Dana Scully comprise a unit under my jurisdiction. They investigate...unusual cases for the FBI. X-Files...cases that are unsolved and what you might think are very similar to the type of situation you're in now."
Dimitri sat up straighter.
"Their cases involve the supernatural and occult?"
"Yes...anything of a paranormal nature. UFO sightings and such as well. But you know...Mulder didn't always chase after ghosts and aliens...he was one of the top profilers in the Violent Crimes Section. In fact, right now he's assigned back to VCS to help apprehend a serial killer who..."
Skinner stopped talking as he noticed Dimitri's eyes unfocus. The priest was staring right through him...and his face was draining of color before Skinner's eyes. Skinner's brow wrinkled in concern.
"Hey...Dimitri," Skinner said.
The priest didn't answer. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow.
"Dimitri! Are you all..."
The priest came back to reality abruptly, color flooding back into his countenance. He became agitated and gestured with impatience toward Skinner.
"I'm all right. Tell me more about this Agent Mulder..." Dimitri said. "What does he look like? Where is he now? I..."
Skinner held up a hand.
"Dimitri...slow down...what...what the hell happened to you just now? You looked like...well you weren't here for a couple of seconds."
"I told you I sensed things," Dimitri replied. "I...sometimes I experience something akin to a waking dream..."
"And that was one...a waking dream?"
"Yes...I saw...Sergei...I think it is Fox Mulder who is in grave danger."
xXx
GEORGETOWN. WASHINGTON, DC.
"Dana Scully...Hello?..."
"Scully, it's me."
"Mulder! Is something wrong? Are you ok?"
"I'm sorry to wake you..."
"No...That’s all right...what's going on? Did you get a break in the case?"
"You could say that."
"What happened?"
"They just pulled Barbara Sutcliffe out of the Milwaukee River."
"Dead?"
"As a door nail."
"Jesus, Mulder...was it suicide?"
"The coroner's preliminary assessment is that she slit her own throat and fell in."
"I take it you don't agree?"
"Scully, I...I'm not sure."
"We talked about me coming out..."
"Yeah, I know we did..."
"I'm still willing to do that, of course. But the coroner's exam should be able to confirm if it was a suicide."
"By the depth and angle of the wound?"
"Yes. As a general rule, if she was right handed the wound will probably start on the left and finish up on the right."
"Probably?"
"All right...definitely if she cut her own throat and she was right handed."
"Barbara was left-handed."
"Then the reverse will be true if she's left handed. You could also look for a false start...a smaller hesitation wound...it's quite common even for the most determined suicide in instances like this, to hesitate slightly before the decisive cut."
"The wound looked like she didn't hesitate much..."
"I could look at the coroner's report if you don't trust the findings..."
"Scully...to be honest...I'm not sure forensic evidence is going to convince me of anything at this point whether I trust the coroner or not."
"Are you trying to say you're treating this as an X-File now...on what grounds?...Mulder?...I asked on what evidence."
"If I say I have a hunch are we going to get into a long drawn out debate about it?"
"Mulder...that's not fair."
"All right, sorry. But really, all I have to go on right now is a feeling and some research I did on the Internet tonight about an Italian demonologist named Varelli...which was pretty inconclusive so far."
"Italian? Is this connected with Barbara Sutcliffe's trip?"
"Yes...her study group visited a Varelli Ballet Academy when they were in Rome. Barbara had a fainting spell there. I did a search on Varelli last night and came up with a reference to the ballet academy and an Italian satanist as well."
"So you're following up on your possession theory?"
"Yes."
"It could be a coincidence."
"I suppose, but...I'd like to nose around here a little longer and see."
"Have you told the local agents about your theory yet?"
"Not exactly. I just told them I didn't think they should close the case yet since they hadn't found the murder weapon."
"The knife could be in the river."
"That's what Lyon said. At any rate...I haven't gotten into any of the other...details regarding my theory."
"Well...with all due respect, I've known you to be completely willing to expound theories to the locals before. Why aren't you doing it now?"
"If you're implying I'm not confident about what I think's going on here...yeah, ok...maybe I'm not. But it's still a waste of time convincing the locals. Agent Lyon as much as told me that tonight."
"He's positive the case is concluded?"
"Oh yeah. Hell...Ross Lyon is worse than Skinner ever was on being close-minded."
"Speaking of Skinner. You know he's going to want an update."
"I'm sure he will."
"You didn't call him about this development?"
"No, why? So when he finds out, he can order me back to DC?"
"I didn't say that."
"Look, Scully, if you're suggesting I tell Skinner so he can pressure me to return and you won't have to..."
"I'm suggesting you tell him because he's our superior, Mulder...and Barbara Sutcliffe being found dead in the Milwaukee River is certainly an important development in the case."
"But you're thinking I should come back to DC...that the case is over because Barbara Sutcliffe's dead, right? Your tone makes me think I…"
"Mulder...listen to yourself, all right? You're upset...you sound exhausted. You're getting defensive and to be honest, you're not making a very convincing case for your theory here."
"Scully...with all due respect to *you*...maybe I'm upset and defensive because no one will fucking pay attention to me. Maybe I'm exhausted because I'm tired of people thinking I'm...Spooky Mulder."
"Well, I hope you don't think that I..."
"You know, Scully...for someone who's so unwilling to believe in possession, it wasn't that long ago that you were talking about the existence of seraphim and nephilim and trying to convince me that..."
"Damn it, Mulder...that really *is* unfair!" As I recall you were quite unwilling to be convinced about that yourself."
"Look...I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry. Scully?...Scully, listen, really...I..."
"Mulder...I'm not doubting your theory...I'm not doubting you. I'm just worried. I'm worried you're in over your head this time and I don't want you to get hurt, ok? I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."
"All right, yeah...I guess...I guess I could be in over my head. Maybe...maybe I'm letting my past history with Barbara Sutcliffe get to me and color my perceptions. Maybe all these hunches are just products of my paranoia. And crap...I am tired. It's as hot as blazes here. I've had a headache on and off all day, hardly any sleep because I had a bizarre...I don't know...a weird stress related dream I can barely remember now...and I had to deal with A-number-one prick Agent Lyon just a few minutes ago. Not to mention the fact that the whole Milwaukee river smells like a sweaty armpit."
"Alewives?"
"Bingo."
"You have my sympathies there...I remember those all too well when we were out there together."
"I guess it's time for me to grovel again, Scully...before I sound like an A-number-one prick."
"Maybe it's just time for you to call it case closed and come home. Let the locals handle the details for once, Mulder. I think you've done good work out there."
"I hope so...I don't feel like I did much at all."
"You know...I...I could be persuaded to meet you at the airport and we could go for sushi. My treat."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes. It occurs to me that I owe you a dinner and this would be a good opportunity to pay you back. What do you say, Agent Mulder?"
"I think you're a very persuasive woman, Agent Scully."
"So, you'll wrap things up there?"
"I could do that, yes."
"Promise?"
"Hey...far be it for me to turn down an offer of sushi. Tomorrow I'll just write up my report and hand over a copy to the field office. I need the coroner's findings but Lyon said he's going to send those over here later. But I'll book a flight for the afternoon and be back in time for our...date."
"Dinner."
"Semantic evasion? You wound me."
"All right, we'll compromise and call it a dinner date."
"There you go."
"Call me tomorrow when you know your flight."
"Will do."
"And Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
"Call Skinner...he really does need to hear what's going on from you."
"Aww...did he tell you he missed me?"
"Something like that."
"Really?"
"Mulder…Skinner doesn't dislike you...he respects you a great deal. He...I think he worries about you sometimes too."
"Gee, I'm touched."
"Mulder...Skinner's not...he's not inhumane, you know. He does care."
"You think I should cut him some slack."
"Think about the times he's done that for you and I think you'll answer the question yourself."
"Yeah, I guess. I know he can’t think I'm totally incompetent...otherwise I wouldn't be out here."
"Exactly. So call him."
"Yes ma'am."
"All right. Try...try and get some sleep."
"I will. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Mulder...I'm sorry if I made you feel like..."
"Don't worry about it, Scully...I think we're just...you know, things have been kind of tense."
"I know."
"Let's...we should talk more about that when I get back, ok?"
"I...I guess we could, Mulder."
"Ok, good. So...I'll let you go then."
"All right. Bye now...and have a safe trip back."
"Thanks. Night, Scully."