Once a Thief: The Net Serial by Demi-X Part One Take the long way to work ictor walked out into the bright sunshine of the late afternoon. The pleasant heat of the day doing nothing to cheer him up. Mulder had gone, and once again, he was alone. Fox didn't have a choice in the matter, he'd had to leave; to get back to his own job and to his own partner. It wasn't easy for them to say goodbye, but there was no help for it and knowing how they felt about each other, made it all the more difficult. The realization that he was falling in love with another man, a man he had just met, hit Victor like a ton of bricks. How did this happen? Last Friday I'm in the Director's office, complaining about having to babysit an out of towner; thinking of ways to get back into her good books by Monday. And now here I am, late for an important meeting, in deeper shit then when I started out. FUCK! Victor shook his head, unlocked the driver's side door to his truck and climbed in. He took the long way to work, delaying the inevitable for just a few moments more. He only wanted a little more time to be alone with Mulder, even if it was only in his mind. While driving, all of his thoughts were all centered on he and Mulder. What they had done, how they had done it and the words of endearment that they had spoken to each other afterwards. Victor flushed with the memories. When Mulder had whispered into his ear, 'I think I'm falling for you.' just the very idea of Mulder being crazy in lust with him, made Victor smile all over again. After LiAnne had called of the engagement, Victor had sunk into a blue funk. Their breakup left him feeling like there was something wrong with him, that he was unlovable and incapable of truly loving someone else back. Then Fox Mulder came along and everything changed. Mulder had shown him that he was desirable, and worth loving. Fox had also shown Victor, that he was capable of reciprocating those emotions and able to feel deeply for someone again. Victor was no longer empty inside. The mask he had been wearing to cover his true feelings had finally come off, he had never felt so comfortable... so complete before. It was difficult for Victor to admit to himself that it had been a man who had finally made him see what he had been missing in his life. And even harder still for him to admit that it was the very same man who had shown him the way that he had fallen and fallen hard for. Feeling like this was over a guy was not what he would have ever expected. Victor had been denying and burying his emotions for so long that he himself didn't even know the full extent of them. Victor had always assumed that he would marry and father children, and that carnal love didn't necessarily have to be part of the package. After all he had been able to perform for LiAnne when it was required. In fact, Victor was used to not getting what he wanted. Suppressing his desires and going through life feeling numb had became a habit, a habit that Fox Mulder had helped to break him of. As these thoughts and many like them, meandered through Victor's brain, he was disappointed to see that even though he had taken the long way around, he still arrived at work, far too soon for his own liking. Five hours late, but nevertheless, still at his work. Well, may as well go in and get it over with. His partners would no doubt be furious with him. At the agency it was an all for one and one for all mentality. Translation: when one person was in trouble they all caught shit. Victor hoped that the Director had been merciful and sent the two home already. He hated to think that they had been trapped in the quiet office with her all this time. Of course, the Director liked to punish her agents every now and again, so it would not be a big stretch to find out that they had been forced to wait for Victor to arrive. Like a man meeting his final hour, Victor walked down the long, deserted hall way and rounded the corner to the meeting room. At the glass doors, he paused just long enough to reign in his thoughts of the weekend. Then, swallowing hard, he pushed open the door. And there she was, the Director, just sitting there placidly in her large black leather chair, awaiting his arrival. Just a black widow spider lying in wait for a fly to cross her path. For his part, Victor remained just as calm as his boss. His face was a perfect mask of control, none of the turbulence that he felt in his stomach showed on the surface at all. He did not smile, but said with a cheeky wit, "Am I late?" Not the smartest one liner he had ever come up with, but bold considering the Director wanted to cut his balls off and feed them to her tank of piranhas that she kept at her apartment. The Director, still sitting at her desk stood up, pointed her finger at Victor and said calmly, "You got some nerve you asshole. I told you to be here at ten this morning. And before you ask, I took pity on your partners, who, even though they flew out in the middle of the night... managed to be here on time to brief me. Them, I sent home. Now where the hell were you?" "I got hung up trying to finish the profile, that Mulder guy was kinda flaky." Lied Victor evenly, "He made it really hard for me to work." Another half truth. The Director was way too calm and Victor was starting to grow suspicious. The Director stepped out from around her desk and picked up a small remote control. "Hand over the profile Mansfield." She instructed. Victor tossed the sealed envelope containing the documents that he and Fox had worked on, onto the large table that had three empty chairs around it. While the Director aimed her remote at a small video player nestled in the wall of her office. "Sit." Victor pulled out a leather chair and dropped himself into it. Waiting to see what the catch was. He knew that The Director wouldn't let his missed meeting just slide by. Something was up all right, trained agent that he was; he could feel it in his bones. "Watch the screen." Was all the Director would say. Then she pushed the play button and waited patiently for the fallout. Victor watched the screen as it slowly faded in from black. The footage looked like surveillance video of someone's bedroom. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. The camera focused in closer on its targets; two men in a large bed, who were engaged in intimate relations. Anal sex to be exact. The two men were Fox Mulder and Victor Mansfield. Recognition dawned on the agent's face. OH SHIT !, he thought, then, It's us. THAT BITCH! The Director pushed the pause button and the frame freezing on the two men spooned together in the after glow of orgasm. She turned and faced Victor, the horror of being taped written all over his handsome face. "Now correct me if I'm wrong," she laid her left pointer finger on her cheek, "...but that is the FBI agent Fox Mulder with his dick up your ass. Is it not?" The Director smiled and raised her eyebrows, "Hmm. ?" The shock finally wore off of Victor and he stood up angrily, knocking the chair that he had been sitting in backwards, away from himself. He had never been more furious in his whole life. This was it, he'd had it with the Director and the whole agency. He was not going to put up with this type of shit from her anymore. "How dare you?!" He roared at his superior. "You've got no right coming into my place and spying on me!" "Oh I have every right and don't you ever forget it!" She flung back at him, finally letting her own rage to surface. "You have no rights. I pay for that place on my own. With my own money! Earned dodging bullets for you every fucking single day I'm on the job!" His outrage clearly taking over, Victor was not about to back down from this one. "What I do or don't do in MY house is MY business. I am not one of your lap dogs, freeloading the rent and the bills." He took a deep breath and continued, still every bit as pissed off, but no longer shouting. "I'm a big boy, I pay my own way." Victor stared into the Director's eyes, the icy depths of green cutting right through her. "I quit." He said quietly. There. It needed saying and he had said it. That was easier than he thought it would be. The Director, with an astonished look on her face stammered, "You what?" She couldn't believe her own ears. "You heard me." Answered Victor, "I quit. This organization sucks, and so do you for that matter. Who the hell are you to do this to me? What did you think? That I would let you hold this little movie of yours over my head? Well don't hold your breath, because you'll turn blue. I'm 'outta here. Show it at the next briefing, for all I care." The truth was Victor did care, there was no way in heaven that he wanted anybody else to see that tape. Especially Mac and LiAnne, but Victor had no control over anything the Director said or did anyway. All he could do was control his own fate and actions. Quitting seemed the best way to assure that no one would see his first starring role in an agency production. After all, once he was gone, who would care? His partners would only start again with a new member for the team, be it female or male. Victor continued to glare at the Director, the look on her face was priceless. She couldn't believe that one of her agents actually had the 'cojones' to talk to her that way. Victor turned his back on her and began walking away. He was already thinking about what he would do next to put food on his table and had managed to get about half way to the doors before he heard it, the tell tale click of a gun being cocked. Victor froze then slowly turned around, making no move for his own weapon. "What?" He said sarcastically. "First you violate me and now you won't allow me the dignity of leaving on my own terms?" The Director had indeed pulled her own firearm, and she was deadly serious. Enough was enough, she had allowed Victor to vent, but she was tired of his attitude, and quitting was out of the question. Mansfield was a dreamer if he thought otherwise. The Director's outstretched arm holding the large gun did not waver or shake in the least, her aim dead on. An invisible bulls eye painted over Victor's heart, the target. "Sit down." She instructed coldly. Victor walked slowly back to the table, picked up the chair that he had knocked over and sat in it. What's that phrase? Oh yeah, Resistance is futile. "Now are you calm?" The Director asked, Victor only nodded his head. "Good, because you know there is no way you can quit. So get that idea out of your pretty little head right now. Besides, you don't really want to quit, everything's such a goddamned principle to you Victor." The Director sounded more exasperated than angry. "Now. I promise you that I won't show that tape to any one. But I need to remind you of the ground rules first,..." She walked to the table and glared right back at Victor, not afraid of him in the least, "...The next time you go renegade on me, or lie to me or balk at any job I see fit to give you, I won't show this movie of mine to any one up here. Nooo, I'll ship it first class to the J. Edgar Hoover building. To the care of one A.D. Skinner. Lover boy's boss. You know how homophobic that organization is? I'll tell you how bad they are, it's not; Don't tell and we won't ask. But; don't do it at all or your gone. Let me tell you Mr. Mansfield, the minute they get one look at that tape of you and your friend, he will be out on his ass so fast he won't even have the time to ask about his pension plan." She had won by hitting Victor where it would hurt him the most; threatening Mulder. The Director knew that Victor could not be bested by simply showing him a little bit of erotica that he had made. No, she had to go for the jugular, and that meant going after Fox Mulder. She knew that the FBI agent would come in handy. Mulder was Victor's Achilles heel, and thank the goddess for it. The Director looked at Victor, waiting to hear what he had to say to her very real threat. Victor looked sideways, knowing that he couldn't hurt Mulder that way. No help for it then. He swallowed his pride and said flatly, "Okay. You win. What do you want from me?" "Like I said,... " She said in an obnoxious, gloating manner. "All I want is for you to behave your self from now on. No more arguing with me. No more fucking up evidence. Just do your job, do it right and get it into you thick skull that I'm the boss around here. You cannot win when it comes to being in a contest with me. The sooner you realize that Victor, the easier your job will be. Christ almighty, Mac and LiAnne clued into that ages ago. You're so stubborn." She laughed humorously. Defeated, Victor looked up from the spot that he had been staring at on the table top, "Anything else?" he mumbled. "No, leave the profile with me and I'll read it later. Go home now and be here tomorrow at 9:00 A.M. sharp. Looks like you three might be needed in this homeless murder thing after all. Oh yeah,...." she added, "I took all the bugs and cameras out after the two of you went out on the town Saturday night. There's nothing left in your apartment." Victor stood, taking his cue to leave. "Thanks, but don't do me any favor's eh." He turned around and started to walk away. Thinking as he went, how he was going to have to phone Mulder and let him in on what was going on. Victor pushed open the doors and started down the long lonely hall, to go home. The Director watched her agent's retreating back. Naive` fool that he was, believed her. She had been lying when she said that no one else would see the tape. Dobrinsky had seen it all already. Though he was not very happy about it. The Director felt absolutely no guilt about filming or lying to Victor, that was why she made such a good director for the agency. Victor pulled into his parking space and shut the truck off. He sat in silence for a few minutes, staring into space, before he finally got out of the vehicle and locked the doors behind himself. He had originally planned on going up stairs immediately and phoning Mac to see how things went in Greenland. Touching base with his partners was his ritual. But he had heard his stomach grumble and realized that he had not eaten a bite since breakfast, and that meal consisted of swallowing down Mulder's cock chased by a piece of dry toast to combat the hangover. Victor walked out of the underground parking lot and went up to the street. He turned right and headed straight for the little pizza joint he favored. Once inside he ordered a small pepperoni and mushroom on a thin crust. The proprietor informed Victor that it would be a thirty minute wait for the take out. "Sorry." He said to his regular customer. "No problem, I'll come back for it in a bit." Victor left the small restaurant and walked to the local park, where he sat on a lonely bench, far away from everything and everybody else. The location reflected his mood; lonely and desolate. He needed to be by himself. Looking up at the stars into the night sky he thought of Mulder. They had sat together on the very same bench only two nights ago and gazed up into the very same horizon, speculating on the probabilities that life may be out there. Lost in deep thought, Victor never even heard the intruder approach, but he did freeze when he caught the click of a switch blade and felt its sharp point digging in at the soft flesh of his throat. "Don't move, or I'll drop you here and now." Whispered a husky male voice. The man's breath stank of cigarettes and beer. Victor's stomach turned over at the smell. Thinking that he was in the process of being mugged, Victor questioned, "What do you want? My wallet?" He pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket. The assailant, still holding the knife, whispered angrily into Victor's ear, "I told you not to move!" Victor saw the man's other hand come around to the front of his face, and in it was a small aerosol can. He tried to grab at the hand with the knife and at the other hand holding what Victor thought was pepper spray at the same time. But the move was in vain. The man sprayed him directly in the face, before the agent could truly defend himself. He struggled for a few seconds then the night sky went from blurry to completely black, rendering Victor unconscious and helpless. Part Two: The road to hell Victor woke very slowly, his brain a mass of confusion, had left him not fully understanding exactly where he was or what was going on. He remembered that a stranger had tried to rob him in the small park near his apartment but that was it. No. That's not right. He had only thought that the man was trying to rob him. But the assailant, did not go for his money but had instead, sprayed him in the face with something powerful and noxious when he tried to fight him off. No wonder I'm laying here feeling like shit.! As Victor spoke to himself, the fog in his brain slowly began to lift. The agent's carefully honed survival instincts told him to lay still and feign sleep; his body obeyed the silent command. He knew by the warmth of the air that he was somewhere indoors, exactly where remained to be seen. Victor could also tell by the rough material against his back that he was shirtless. The chill of his feet made him aware that they were bare as well. And once he concentrated hard enough, Victor could also feel a cold metal bracelet around his left ankle The weight of the jeans against his thighs let him know that - to his relief—his pants were, at least, still on. Where are the rest of my clothes? And why am I cuffed and to what? Why was I snatched in the first place? Victor didn't know the answers to these questions yet, but he planned on finding out one way or another. The idea that maybe the Director had set him up passed briefly through his mind. Maybe teach 'bad boy' Vic a lesson or two. But going this far? No. Even this was too much for her. He knew that The Director liked biting into your jugular and sucking the life right out of you. But she took her pleasure in letting you know that it was her who was doing it. No, this must be some other perp He thought for lack of a better word. Maybe an old enemy? As the numerous possibilities of who it could be ran though his brain, Victor became aware of something else; the need to urinate. Before he actually woke up, Victor stopped his breathing so he could listen for sounds of another person in the room with him. Nothing. It was quiet, way too quiet. In fact, Victor couldn't hear a single noise. No passing traffic, honking horns or sirens wailing at all; no sounds associated with the city. But then if he was being held in the country side, why couldn't he hear the usual noises associated with mother nature, like frogs croaking or birds calling out? Most likely, he deduced, he was still in the city. Stashed away some place quiet, locked up in some sort of jail cell or isolation room. He cracked his eyelids slightly, but all he could make out was a grey wall. No help for it then, I have to open up my eyes to see where I am. Victor's lids fluttered then opened up, the minute he did that, the ceiling immediately began to spin in circles. He slammed his lids shut and waited for the spinning to stop. When it finally did, he sat up slowly. Though the room was no longer whirling, Victor still felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The dizziness he was experiencing was worse than he'd ever felt before. Oh, God. I'm gonna be sick. Victor didn't fancy the idea of puking, so he tried breathing deeply through his nose, but the effort was in vain. His stomach kept churning, over and over again. Unable to hold back his gorge, Victor leaned to his right and dry-heaved onto the cold cement floor. He had not eaten in well over twelve hours. So there was nothing in his tender stomach to give, except bile, and up it came, leaving its foul taste behind. When Victor was done retching, he worked up a mouthful of saliva and spat it on the floor, adding it to the bluish tinged bile. He used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin; noticing that his chest and forehead were sweating. Caused by the after effects of being gassed he supposed. Victor looked all around the room for a toilet, an saw that there was none. In fact there was no sink or window either. The tiny room was composed of four, all grey concrete brick walls with only one door leading in or out of the small cell. The single door looked like any other door that you would see in the front of a suburban home. Right down to the peephole in the centre. But the peephole in this door was meant to look in at him, not he out. Victor bent over and peeked under the narrow cot that he was sitting on and was pleased to find a large metal bucket that had no handle. Pulling out the bucket he contemplated how he was going to manage the feat. The other, free half of the hand cuff that was around his ankle was locked to about two feet of chain, that was in turn, welded to a large metal eye cemented into the wall. Victor gave it an experimental tug, but the chain was firmly attached. There would be no pulling it out of the wall. He quit entertaining plans of escape for the moment and scooted to the foot of the cot; having just enough play in the chain to hang his imprisoned limb over the end. He placed the bucket on the floor accordingly and took aim, sighing at his release. When he was done, Victor shook, buttoned up and pushed the bucket back under the foot of the bed. The notion of liberating himself back on his mind now. But how? Relieved that his hands were unbound, Victor felt around the mattress hoping to feel a loose bed spring to straighten out and pick the lock with. To his disappointment the bed was stuffed with some sort of hardened foam chips. Okay,... he reasoned, A piece of metal from the bed frame No such luck there either, the frame was made of wood, not even a stiff splinter could be gleaned from it's smoothly sanded surface. As a last resort, he went through the pockets on his jeans, hoping to come up any thing. Even the silver foil wrapper from his favorite chewing gum might help. But he was plain out of luck. His pockets had been cleaned out by whom ever it was who had taken him. And who ever that person was, they had been very thorough. Victor could find nothing that could be culled from his immediate surroundings. As he sat there musing a fresh wave of dizziness hit him, so he flopped over back down on the bed in frustration, waiting for the spell to pass. Suddenly exhaustion rolled over Victor. His lids became heavy and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Victor, as he lay there with his eyes closed, hoped that Mac and LiAnne would realize that he was missing. They would eventually of course, but convincing The Director that he was genuinely gone was another matter. However, he was confident that they would come looking for him, sooner or later. Victor just hoped it was sooner rather than later. As he lay there perfectly still, he tried to recall exactly what had happened to him, he remembered trying to pull his wallet out of his jacket pocket and the unknown man with the bad breath had slapped it away. Maybe, if he was really lucky the wallet was still near the bench. At least it would give his partners a starting place. His thoughts slowly began to drift and even though he tried to fight it, sleep finally over took him, his body unable to cope with the after effects of the 'nerve gas'. Victor's kidnapper, a man named Jack, stood and watched his prisoner through the small peep hole in the door. He could see by the way this one acted when he had awoke that he was smart. Smarter than the other men he had found in the various parks over the years. This one also was better fed and stronger too. His body was fit, his muscles well defined. Jack could see that his newest captive had been living a good life, not a life fraught with hunger and fright, which can only come with being homeless. Jack had the good fortune of spotting the good looking man leaving the pizza restaurant on Saturday night, and right away Jack knew that he had to have this particular man. His looks were perfect for his 'needs'. Jack was glad that the other man, the one who had been with intended was finally gone. Although he had to wait a few extra days for him to be alone, the wait had been well worth it; Jack's perseverance having paid off. He hoped that this delicious captive would fight back; making him harder to break. Crushing the green eyed man's spirit would be a challenge. A challenge that Jack looked forward too with keen anticipation. Jack let the man sleep, it was time for him to rest too. Morning would come soon enough. And when it did, his prisoner would wish that he had never been born. Jack licked his lips at the sight of the prone, shirtless captive laying on the bed, and taking one last look, he turned to make his way to his own sleeping area. LiAnne, avoided The Director's wrath by taking her sweet time reading the profile Victor had worked on over the weekend. Never lifting her eyes once from the white sheets of paper. Mac on the other hand had no defense, LiAnne having the only copy of the document they were supposed to be studying. The Director paced back and forth, stopping in front of Mac to demand yet again, "Phone him." "I just did, still no answer." Mac swallowed hard and tried reading the papers in front of his partner sideways. LiAnne leaned forward and propped her head up with her hand, effectively blocking Mac's view. Coward he thought. The Director slapped the table with the palm of her hand to get Mac's attention. It worked, the young agent swung his eyes forward. "I said, call him again." She shook her finger and glared at Mac, like somehow it was his fault that Victor was an hour late for the meeting. Mac did as he was told and immediately hung up when Victor's answering machine picked up for the fourth time. LiAnne having finished reading the profile for the second time passed it casually over to Mac and piped in cheerily, "I still remember Vic's code for his answering machine, maybe I should check his messages, get an idea of what he's up too." The Director quit scowling at Mac and smiled brightly at LiAnne. "That's my girl. Do it. Mac dial Vic's number again." Mac reached back inside his coat pocket and retrieved the phone, dialed up Victor, and made a sour face at LiAnne as he handed the cell to her. She snatched the proffered appliance from Mac's hand, sticking out her tongue as she did so. After Victor's short and to the point "Leave a message" was over, LiAnne punched in the code numbers. She heard two messages from early Monday morning, both from the Director. Then to her surprise one from late Monday night, left by a man, whose voice she did not recognize. ...."Hey, shadowy government agent man, how are you? How was the meeting? I guess your still in it." The voice chuckled softly into the phone, "Or you would have picked up by now. I wanted to let you know that the flight was good. I got home okay." The unknown man's voice turned somber, and continued on huskily, "The minute I took off I wanted to turn the plane around so I could see you again. God Vic, I can't get you out of my mind. I'm so crazy for you—you know that don't you? Having to wait until next month just so I can look into your beautiful green eyes again..Christ Vic,.. You, I and the weekend....I,..I don't know what else to say except that it was the best ...ever. Phone me when you get in, don't worry about the time, I'll be up. Talk to you later." There was a few seconds of silence then the male voice added a tender, "Miss you." Before hanging up. The man had not left his name, but obviously Vic would know who it was. Who could it be? LiAnne knew every one Victor knew, she couldn't even begin to hazard a guess as to who the caller was. LiAnne, who had been blushing furiously, waved away the expectant looks of the other two, more as a comfort gesture to cover her own confusion and when she heard Mac's messages, she broke the connection. "What?" Stammered LiAnne, "Oh, yeah. Well no messages. Just the one's from you and Mac." She dithered on as the two continued to stare at her, waiting. Mac knew she was lying about something. So did the Director for that matter. Now the Director was getting worried, after last night she had thought that she and Victor were on the same wave length. There was no way he would jeopardized Mulder that way. Victor knew that she would follow through on her threat to expose Mulder to his superiors if need be. No something must have happened. Exactly what, she couldn't say. The Director cut off her thoughts and said to Mac, "Get over to Vic's place and see what's going on. Phone in if you come up with anything. LiAnne, looks like this case,..." The Director gestured towards the desk where the open file containing the information concerning the park murders lay, ",...needs our help after all. You can stay here and I'll brief you on what's been happening. Why are you still here Mac?" The Director stared hard at the lone male agent, "Goodbye." Mac spun on his heel and walked as fast as he could to the exit doors. When it came to secrets, Mac had to be in on them, so if LiAnne knew Victor's code for his machine, well then Mac had to know it too. Childish yes, but it was part of his boyish charm. With a quick glance, Mac was able to memorize the numbers LiAnne had used without her even knowing it. The young agent didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to worry too. Vic always phoned him to touch base when and if they were working opposite ends of a case. Victor had not checked in last night, and coupled with the no show at the meeting today...Well, it was enough to make him wonder. Mac pulled out his cell phone and punched in Victor's number, once the answering machine finished talking he punched in the code. Mac listened, bored with the Directors messages, then he heard one left by an unfamiliar male voice and he couldn't believe his ears. Some guy telling Victor that he was crazy for him, that he couldn't get him out of his mind, that he missed him. What was Victor up too this weekend? Until fifteen seconds ago Mac would have sworn that he knew Victor better than any one, even LiAnne for that matter, but now, after hearing 'that' message he didn't know anymore. Mac hung up and pocketed his phone, more determined than ever to find out what was going on. Wondering as he walked to his car just when Victor started liking guys. And how come he had never picked up on the fact. Victor slowly began to regain consciousness, the last thing he remembered was falling back asleep on the cot. It took him a few seconds to orient himself. Where am I now? He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to shake out the cobwebs that clouded his mind. Victor tried to sit up, but he couldn't move, it was then that he realized that he was restrained. Once again he was in a small room, not much larger than the last one. He lifted his head and looked back and forth, scanning not only his surroundings but also the restraints that held him down. He was spread eagle, flat on his back in four point restraints, that were reminiscent of the type that would be seen in use at a old-time psychiatric hospital. The archaic devices were made of stiff leather with heavy metal buckles, there was sheep's wool lining on the inside of the leather to prevent chafing. All four restraints were pulled tightly around Victor's ankles and wrists and the circulation was restricted slightly. Leaving him with the irritating sensation of 'pins and needles' in his hands and feet. Victor was relieved to see that he, at least, still had on his jeans, his upper torso and feet were still bare. A man cough from a darkened corner somewhere in the room. A deep voice spoke to Victor. intoning ominously, "Good your awake, now we can start." The agent made no reply to the voice, he just watched curiously as the man that went with the voice came out of the shadows, pulling a metal surgical tray behind him. On the tray there was a small metal bowl that was about the size of a quarter cup measure, a needle-still in the manufacturer's wrapping, one glass of water, surgical tubing, a single white candle secured to the center of an old tun can, matches and a small brown packet no bigger than a postage stamp. Victor did not like the looks of the stuff on the tray, especially the needle and brown packet. He was an ex-cop who had worked narcotics, the tray contained items that would typically be described as 'works'. Tools for a junkie. NOT GOOD! he thought. The man stood over his captive and looked down asking gruffly, "What's your name?" Victor still would not speak to his captor, instead giving the man an unblinking, even stare.. So Jack—who liked this part of the interrogation—leaned over and punched his prisoner in the stomach as hard as he could. All of Victor's breath was lost in one giant 'whoosh' at once. He gulped and gasped, trying to fill up his lungs with oxygen again. The pain of having all of the air knocked out of him made his eyes tear up. Creating an illusion that his eyes were even a deeper green than usual. Jack like the effect, it turned him on. He was going to take his time with this prisoner, enjoying him while he lasts. "I'll do it again unless you tell me your name" reminded Jack pleasantly. Victor managed to get his pain under control and blinked back the watery drops coming from the corners of his eyes. He wheezed out a simple "Victor." Then came all of his questions, "Who the hell are you any ways? Did the Director send you? Let me up, why am I tied down? What the hell is the matter with you? Where are my clothes?" Victor had been planning on not saying a word to this 'errand boy' for the Director, whom he still suspected just might be behind this. She did, after all have a fetish for bondage and other assorted kinky stuff. However, before he could blurt out another question, Jack leaned in again and hit Victor with a small rabbit punch to the right side of his face. Immediately cutting off anything else the agent had been about to say. The punch, though not too heavy handed, stung. And a purple bruise from the top of Victor's eyebrow to his cheek bone began to show instantly. Jack grabbed Victor's face in a painful clutch, his thumb under one cheek bone and the other four fingers underneath the other one. He held on tightly forcing the man to look into his face, "I ask the questions here. Don't you speak unless spoken too. Got it?" Victor tried to pull his face away, but Jack gripped tighter. Victor nodded 'yes' in understanding. "Good, now for courtesy's sake I'll tell you my name, it's Jack." Jack, while still holding Victor under the cheek bones, leaned over and kissed the restrained man roughly. Victor tried to turn his head away, but could not. Jack sucked on Victor's lower lip until it was so tender and sore that a bruise rose to the surface there. Jack let go of Victor and laughed, making the agent's stomach turn over; so that he felt like vomiting all over again. Jack's breath was still bad, though not as awful as it had been the night before. Victor winced at the terrible taste of the other man in his mouth. Now he was positive that this guy was in no way associated with the agency. Even the Director wouldn't do this to him. The thought of being defenseless against this psycho frightened him. Victor had been scared very few times in his life, this was one of those occasions. He had to think, try to figure out how he was going to get out of this mess. What if Mac and LiAnne aren't able to find him. Victor assumed that he was on his own; better not to count on them. Just in case. He had a feeling that Jack would probably end up killing him, an inevitable outcome he did not look forward too. "Who gave you these? That guy I saw you with on the weekend?" Jack asked leering at Victor while he pushed on one of the two big hickeys on his chest that Mulder had given him. Victor turned his face away from Jack, unwilling to drag Mulder into this mess even if it was only metaphysically. Jack grabbed the large purple spot on Victor's chest and pinched, twisting the flesh painfully until he cried out a hesitant "Yes." "Yes, what?" Jack exaggerated. "Yes," Victor spat between clenched teeth, tightening up his muscles against the pain, "It was the man you saw me with." He's going to kill me! He's going to torture me and then kill me. Victor knew that for the time being, he would just have to endure until a chance to escape came up. He had to come up with some sort of a plan; there was no way he that he was just going to lay there and let this guy murder him. One piece at a time. Jack bent his head over and spoke into Victor's face, "Well, lover, I'll do you better than he ever could." Jack sucked the flesh next to one of the hickey's into his mouth and bit down hard, drawing blood. He sucked a little harder then let go. Smiling, he ran a finger across the bleeding wound. Scooping up the red liquid he rubbed it across Victor's lips. Unwilling to acknowledge that he was hurting, but unable to resist a chance to mouth off, Victor cracked, "Some how I doubt that. Brush your teeth, your breath tastes like shit." Victor worked up as much moisture in his mouth as he could and spit directly into Jack's face. A little act of defiancé, that earned him another punch to his head, this time to the other side. Bringing another bruise to the surface near his eye to match it's neighbor. Victor only grunted when he took the punch, no way was going to give this sick fucker the satisfaction of seeing him break down if he could help it. So there Victor lay, already bruised and bloody only one day into his captivity. He liked that Victor was so strong willed, strong wills when they gave in, was a beautiful sight to see. Jack turned away from his captive and mopped up the saliva with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He pulled the tray close to him and using the matches, lit the candle. Then he opened up the little brown packet and shook about 1/8 of the pure white powder into the metal bowl. Ignoring Victor's question of "What are you doing?" Jack drew some of the distilled water out of the glass using the fresh needle as his measure. "See, it's clean." declared Jack, holding the needle up for Victor to view. He pushed the water out of the needle and into the bowl, using the sharp point of the syringe to mix the contents. Using his sleeve as a make shift pot holder, Jack heated the liquid over the burning candle. And when he was fully satisfied that the concoction had cooked long enough, he put the dish down and blew out the candle. Drawing up a syringe full of the warm potion, he lay the needle aside and picked up the rubber tubing knotting it tightly around Victor's right biceps. Forcing the healthy veins to the surface of the flesh on the inside crook of the man's elbow. Victor was frantically trying to thrash his way out of Jack's grasp, but there was no where to go. "Don't you put that shit in me man. I swear to god, if you do, I'll kill ya. I mean it." Jack back-handed Victor across the face, blood spilled from the corner of his lips where a tooth had cut the delicate lining of his mouth. Laughing at what he assumed week, idle threats, Jack truly had no idea who he had kidnaped. Ignorance of his captives abilities was Victor's only advantage in this situation. Ignoring Victor's protests, Jack pinned the agents right arm so it was still. He took up the needle and expertly plunged the sharp metal tip of the syringe into a deep blue vein. Jack depressed some of the liquid into the blood stream and then drew back some of the rich red blood, letting it mix with the rest of the clear fluid. By doing this, Jack gave what little of the drug he had put into Victor's system a chance to 'race ahead' and make Victor's body more receptive. He didn't want to O.D. his prisoner on the first attempt after all. Jack could tell by looking that Victor was a non-drug user. Making him an addict wouldn't take too long, one only had to have the patience to do it right. But for the present, all that Jack had on his mind for now was to make Victor pliant and later on, as the day's passed by he would work more seriously on making his captive dependant. Jack silently counted to 60 then pushed the rest of the contents in the hyper dermic needle into Victor's rushing blood stream. Done, Jack pulled out the empty needle and held it up before Victor's eyes, stating triumphantly, "Heroin." He paused for effect and then said, "And in about 48 hours, I'll have you so addicted that you'll be begging me on hands and knees for more." Victor mumbled groggily, "Fuck you, you're dead..." his voice trailed off and he was unable to continue coherently. The agent's head lolled to the side as the powerful heroin gripped his virgin system. Jack grabbed Victor's jaw and jerked him around, looking into the large dilated pupils. Recognizing Victor's state for what it was, he petted back the short hair from the stoned man's brow. Excited to finally be able to start. Jack pulled a silver wrapped condom out of his back pocket and tossed it onto the tray. Victor was so out of it that he didn't even know what was going on, all he did know was that he had no control over his body. He could feel Jack's hands undoing his button fly jeans, but he was helpless to stop it. As his trembly hands pulled down the jeans, stopping at mid thigh, Jack caressed the soft white flesh hidden beneath the material. He breathed in heavily and thought that of all of his prisoners, Victor was, by far the most beautiful of them all. Victor moaned out a weak protest, but it fell on deaf ears as Jack stripped off his own clothes with a practiced efficiency. He picked up the condom and the needle and then he hopped up onto the padded table, straddling Victor's chest. Holding the corner of the wrapped condom in his teeth, Jacked ripped it open and spat out the bit of foil. Grabbing Victor's head, he held it straight, "Look at me Victor, open your eyes." He demanded. Having no will left to fight with, Victor reluctantly did as he was told and opened his eyes. Jack took the condom out of the wrapper and pried open Vic's lips open placing the latex between them. Then he held the point of the needle flush with the skin right below the dazed left eye of Victor and warned malevolently, "Bite me and I'll take your pretty green eye out and feed it to you. Understand?" Vic nodded feebly, the drugs controlling him. Jack used his other hand to squeeze Victor's mouth together, forcing him to purse his lips so that the condom was held in place. "Because you're a fag, I'm going to use the rubber. I don't know who you've been fucking, and I don't want one of those faggoty diseases." Pushing his erect cock into the opening of the condom, Jack shoved his whole penis in one deep thrust down Victor's throat. Making him gag and choke. Jack sighed in contentment as he began to drive his cock in and out in of Victor's mouth with a regular rhythm. He pushed the needle a little harder against the flesh just above Victor's lower orbital bone—cutting the skin slightly—and instructed, "Start sucking gorgeous,...blow me, and blow me good if you want to live." Victor was aware enough to feel shame at being forced, but too far gone from the drugs to resist. So he did as he was told to and breathed through his nose deeply; his un-resisting mouth pleasuring his rapist. Jack's game had begun. Part Three: Searching for Mr. Mansfield Victor retched and choked as Jack pushed his hips forward, pushing his cock as far down his throat as possible. Jack thrust viciously, driving into Victor so hard it was as if he was trying to pierce right through his hostage's esophagus. Jack smiled and gazed down at his latest acquisition "Ooh, yeahh . Anyone ever tell you that you have a mouth like a vacuum? Keep up the suction bay-bee" Jack snickered softly at his own comparison and increased his already fast pace. He had since abandoned the needle that he'd been using to threaten Victor with, and settled for using his thumb instead. Jack pressed the thick digit into the soft flesh under Victor's left eye, making it just painful enough that, Victor was having a hard time concentrating. Jack used his other hand to hold Victor's head; forcing the imprisoned man to look straight up at him, eyes wide open. Every time Victor tried closing his eyes and shutting out the reality of what he was being forced to do, Jack slapped his face, hard. Making him stare up and watch the man who was assaulting him. Blood trickled out of his nose and mouth and Victor wished that Jack would just hurry up and finish. He had no possible means of escaping, whether it was physically or mentally. The restraints held his body down, and the drugs held him tightly secured within the bonds of a chemical straightjacket. It got Jack off on making Victor look up at him, forcing him to see his dominator. Knowing that he had succeeded in burning his image into Victor's drug addled brain for a life time. For Victor, having to acknowledge Jack, took away virtually all of his control; what little he could have in such a situation. It was all part of the ritual, and before Jack was through with him, he would make the agent do a lot more painful and humiliating things than being forced into oral sex. The men who had been in this position before had all thought that if they did what Jack asked without argument, that somehow he would let them go. And Jack let them think that, the unspoken pretense of release comforting his victims into a false sense of security. Jack found that it was impossible for him to pull his gaze away from Victor. He stared down, drinking up the deep green of his captive's eyes, mesmerized by them. He had never had a green eyed 'toy' before, and Jack found the large jade orbs to be the most compelling. Usually, men who had brown hair had brown eyes, though a few of the men he had taken over the years had blue eyes, those he had kept alive longer because of the novelty. Yep. thought Jack as he neared orgasm, I think I'll keep this man around a few days more than the usual. Which meant that Victor had about another five or six days of living left, give or take a day. And depending on whether or not Victor angered his captor too much. In Jack's sick mind, all the men he had kidnaped and eventually murdered were merely his 'playthings'. He had found them. He had taken them. They Alone were his to possess. The thought of possessing another human being, and particularly the human being who was laying beneath him right now, was exhilarating. With his newest one looking up at him, silently begging to be let go; pushed Jack over the edge. He leaned his head back and with thigh muscles clenching tightly . . . his orgasm was achieved. Fortunately, Jack was the type of guy who came in silence, and Victor was relieved. He didn't think that he would be able stand hearing Jack screaming out his name or any of the other number of things a man might cry out in the moment of release. Satiated and satisfied, Jack released his painful grip he had on Victor. Shuffling himself backwards so that he was sitting on top of Victor's groin. He noted in passing that Vic was not erect at all. About half of the others Jack had taken had been erect or semi-erect after, their bodies betraying their minds. He peeled off the used condom, tied a knot in the end and threw it on the metal tray, the condom making a wet "splat" noise when it met with the shiny metal. Victor rolled his head to the side and spit, trying to erase the taste of latex from his mouth. Wishing that his jailor would get off of him, so that sweet unconscious oblivion could wash all the way over him. Yes, sleep would be a good thing now. Jack hopped off the table and with his back to Victor he snorted, "What's the matter Vic? Prefer a little flavor with your rubbers instead?" Laughing at his own un-funny joke he began dressing just as quickly as he had undressed. Looking back over to his shoulder to the prisoner, he was disappointed to find that Victor had passed out. Well this was bound to happen when a body was not used to such harsh drugs. Jack finished with rolling up his shirt sleeves and stepped to Victor. He reached for the mostly nude man and fondled his private parts briefly, thinking that the unconscious man would need a shower soon. Then pulled up the blue jeans. Carefully doing them up. Plenty of time for the water games later. Lucky for Victor, Jack was in no particular hurry to kill him. He walked over to another surgical tray that was hidden amongst the shadows of the dark room, eyed the various instruments laying on it and picked up a pair of metal hand cuffs. Victor may be conked out now, but past experiences told him that the prisoner could wake up at any moment. And just like the boy scout motto; Jack thought it best to always be prepared. Jack, had learned that lesson the hard way. First Jack un-did the right ankle restraint then walking to the head of the table he gently unbuckled the right wrist, replacing the leather cuff with the metal one. Then he walked around to Victor's left side and un-did the other wrist. Rolling over the limp man with ease to the right, pulling the right arm back, Jack cuffed the wrists snugly together. Only after he was sufficiently satisfied that Victor was not going to wake up, did Jack undo the last piece of leather restraining him. Being 4 inches taller and 25 lbs heavier, he had no problems hoisting the unconscious man up and balancing him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Jack carried the dead weight back to the concrete room and small uncomfortable bed. Mac buzzed the apartment from the front entrance to Victor's apartment. Still no answer. He looked left and right, made sure no one was coming and then pulled out his black lock picks and in no more than 30 seconds had the main door open. Shitty security. Mac thought that by all appearances Vic should be home, his truck was parked in his spot the underground lot. Getting in the so-called secure lot to check it out had been a piece of cake, he simply followed another tenants car in. He was disgusted with the lack of security in the apartment and spotted glaring errors here, there and every where on his way up. The entire building was a B&E artist's dream. I can't believe Vic lives in such an easily breached place. He's taking a big risk staying here. Mac had been to Victor's apartment many times before but he never really noticed before how easy it was for an intruder to slip in and out undetected. A man in Victor's line of work should be in a tightly controlled building. Then again Mac lived in just such a building, provided by the agency and where had that gotten him? Bugged conversations and invaded privacy that's what. Mac pounded on Vic's door, and when it was clear that no one was going to open up, Mac pulled out his key ring and flipped the keys over until he found the one with a capitol V marked on the grip. Mac had keys to both Victor's and LiAnne's apartments, though they didn't know it. Unlocking and opening the door, Mac called out, "Vic, it's me man. You home?" No response. He shut the door behind him taking a second to hook up the security chain. He didn't want to be caught by surprise inside the apartment...by anybody. Mac's old tricks from his days as a thief paying off time and time again. He wandered through the kitchen, stopping in the living room to survey the mess. Normally Vic was fastidious when it came to house-keeping. An empty 40 oz. bottle of Tequila left out on the coffee table along with several dried out lemon rinds and two shot glasses glared out at him as if in warning that there was something wrong. A salt shaker laid on it's side on the rug, making Mac even more suspicious. He bent over and picked it up, his mind trying to put together the scene that he was seeing. Ok, so Vic has been drinking. He replaced the salt shaker on the rug and spoke aloud to a shot glass, "But with who? That guy on the tape?" Mac didn't know, but he seemed like the most probable candidate. The air in the living room had gone stale, old liquor bottles had a way of sucking all of the fresh air in a room and churning out a stale smell that can only be removed by opening a window. The agent wanted to do just that, open up a window but he didn't dare. He had to maintain the integrity of the apartment just in case the Director wanted to come down and look around herself. And if this turned out to be a crime scene, then everything would have to stay the way Mac found it. He wandered down the hall, peeking into the bathroom he saw a pile of towels laying in the laundry basket. "That many towels for one guy?" Again Mac spoke aloud. Vic always kept his laundry up. So someone had definitely been here with him. They had showered separately...or together either way there was enough dirty linen for two. As soon as Mac pushed open the bedroom door, the smell in the room assaulted him. The tell tale scent of sex was still evident even after a full 24 hours. And judging by the condition of the sheets on the unmade bed, lot's of it. The sheets needed to be washed. Something else Victor would not have normally over looked. Mac had, after all, been in this bed before, though it was only a joke back then. Mac had had the occasional secret fantasy involving he and Victor. But he'd always just assumed that Victor was strictly hetro, therefore making any contact other than friendship impossible. But that was ok, these day's Mac was mostly into women too, mostly, but not always. Mac sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the answering machine's play button. Double checking to make sure Victor hadn't phoned the machine himself. He looked down as he listened to the Director yell into the phone, and saw that the garbage can was full of Kleenex. He didn't need to be told what they had been used for. As he stared into the waste can, a thought struck him as listened to the unknown male caller's message again. Victor was supposed to be working all weekend with some guy from the F.B.I., an agent named Mulder. Could he be the one who left the message? No way, a secret agent and a Fed? Too twisted. But yet, here was all the evidence, staring him in the face. Circumstantial yes, but evidence all the same. Mac was less than pleased to think that his partner had turned to someone else to become involved with. He dropped the jealous thoughts and focused his attention to the real task at hand; the mysterious disappearance of Victor. Mac knew that the agent had left his apartment sometime Monday afternoon. The Director had confirmed it, in her rants this morning that Victor had eventually shown up for work Monday; several hours late. Why was he so late? Mac figured he now knew the answer to that question. One last fling before saying goodbye? A late night party capped off with an early morning fuck and a shower. Lucky dog, at least someone was getting laid. LiAnne, ever the ice princess, had turned him down flat in Greenland, threatening to shoot him if he "Acted up" again. But if the FBI man, Mulder, has already left and Victor's come and gone from work... then where the hell is he? Judging by the state of his apartment, Mac thought it was safe to assume that Victor probably had never even gone back inside his apartment, or else he would have picked up around the place. Therefore, he must have parked his truck and gone somewhere else, and wherever he was going, something had happened to him either on his way there or at his destination. Something bad. Why else would he not check in with the agency? Mac pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Director's number wanting to bring her up to speed with his thoughts on his missing partner. "Ok." Began the Director "Here's what we know so far... two months ago an elderly man, out walking his dog discovered the nude, murdered body of a still as yet unidentified male under some shrubbery in Ballard Park. Joe Doe's stats read as follows: Caucasian, approximate age 34, 6' 1", 190 lbs, brown eyes, brown hair. Joe Doe's corpse was still relatively fresh when he was found, decomp hadn't even begun to set in yet. The autopsy results revealed that he had only been dead around 24 hours." "The Director was reading impassively from the police and coroner's report she had received. She casually looked at the crime scene photo's, there was nothing in them she hadn't seen before. Definitely not the worse stuff she had come across. She slid the photo's across the table top to LiAnne. Who looked at them just as impassively as her boss had done. Though not for the same reasons. At the moment LiAnne's mind was a million miles away. She was too busy thinking about Victor and the man on the machine. Not liking any of the conclusions she was drawing to; pangs of jealously licked her insides turning her stomach into a tangle of dragonflies. She thumbed through the photo's quickly with out really seeing, then set them aside waiting for more information. The Director continued, "He had track marks on the inside of just one arm, and his body was covered in bruises. Some of them the M.E. estimated to be.." she flipped up the page "..about 3 to 4 days old mixed in with some that were fairly recent. They also determined that he had been sexually assaulted, in a manner described on paper only as 'extremely deviant', apparently his tissues in the rectal area were a mess. Death was due to strangulation," " The Director looked up from her papers and pulled off her glasses, she looked LiAnne in the eye directly and stated flatly "The poor man was drugged, raped and methodically beaten over an extended period time. We don't know Joe Doe's name yet, but we do know that he lived in Ballard Park. Someone or some people abducted him from the park, kept him alive for about 4 days then murdered him and dumped the poor bastard back to where he'd come from." "She paused, waiting for LiAnne to react to her statement. After a beat she realized that LiAnne wasn't looking at her, but was looking through her. The Director reached forward and snapped her fingers twice under the young woman's nose. "Hello, earth to LiAnne are you home?" LiAnne blinked her eyes clear then shrugged off her temporary trance. She had heard everything the Director had said to her, it was just taking a few minutes to digest it all. LiAnne sat up straight all business now. The Director asked casually "Are you all right? What's going on?" "Nothing, I'm fine. I was just worrying about Vic. Wondering where he is." Well half of it was true anyway, she just didn't mentioned that she had also been thinking about Victor and another man. She truly was concerned as to his where-a-bouts. "Well don't be, Mac will phone if anything's up." Showing no real concern over Victor just yet, the Director turned her attention back to the case. LiAnne asked "How come we have this case? Why aren't O.P.P or the RCMP taking care of this? "I am glad you asked that." The Director was too, it showed that her favorite agent had been listening after all. "Joe Doe's vitals were run through the computer in an attempt to I.D. him. It's not too often a grown man is the victim of a sex crime. Any how, when his Vi-stats were entered, the computer kicked up all sorts of red flags. Seems that starting around 6 years ago two victims matching Joe Doe's description were found in Central Park, four months apart." The Director went back to her desk to look at the report, refreshing her memory. "The killings were virtually identical, right down to dumping the victims back to where they had been snatched from. N.Y.P.D thought that they might have the makings of a serial killer, so they passed the case on to the F.B.I. In particular to a young profiler by the name of Fox Mulder. He wrote the profile up, but then the killings never expanded beyond the two known." The Director drank down what was left of her cold water and continued on with briefing LiAnne, "Now it looks like the killer kept on murdering, he just changed his location. There were, subsequently seven more murders after the New York pair. One in Las Vegas, two in L.A., one in Seattle, one in Vancouver, one in Regina and one-the last body found- in Toronto." "Local Cops have too much on their plate right now, and quite frankly this is too big for them. So we're stepping in to help out. Of course local law enforcement will get the credit when we catch this guy. Which is why I had Mr. Mulder down from D.C. on the weekend." Added The Director innocently. She pulled more photo's out of another envelope, they were head and neck pictures of the other eight victims, all of them taken in the morgue. LiAnne picked up the photo's and looked through them. Studying these photographs more closely then the other ones of the John Doe from the park. She reached the last picture and went through the stack again, then the gravity of the situation hit her, all these men were really dead. So why was she still thinking of Victor? Recognition dawned on her, she was thinking of Victor because all the dead men reminded her of him. Alarmed LiAnne looked up at the Director, who was reading another document. "What ?" asked the Director expectantly. LiAnne was amazed that the Director hadn't already caught it yet. "Do you realize,..." she began, her voice a little shaky, "...that all of these dead men look like Victor?" LiAnne didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but the facts were there. "They have similar looks, builds and are all close to the same age range to him." Along with alarm, LiAnne now felt queasy. "OH GOD! Victor only lives a block and a half from Ballard Park. What if this freak is staking out the park looking for his next victim. SHIT!" LiAnne raised her voice, she was positively scared now. "He goes to that park all the time. Day and night." She jumped up so fast you might have thought her chair had burst into flames. The Director stared at LiAnne wide-eyed with worry. Adding up the facts for herself. 1- Victor goes missing, 2- He lives near and frequents a park that the last known victim lived in and was dumped back into after his death and 3- His resemblance to the other men right down to his age, weight and height were just too close for comfort. The Director walked to her phone intending to call Mac to see just what the hell was going on. Maybe he had already heard from Victor. However, before she reached her phone, it rang out, it's noisy shrill startling both the Director and LiAnne. "An Omen" whispered LiAnne. When Victor finally woke, he found that he was back in the small cell and chained to the wall, with his hands cuffed behind his back. He had been laying on his stomach but with a bit of effort, he managed to roll to his side and then into a sitting position. He kept his eyes on the door and wondered when Jack would be back for him. The after effects of the high grade heroin had left him with a mild headache. Luckily he had ended up sleeping most of the high off. But, even as stoned as he was, the memories of what Jack had made him do, were not erased. His cheeks reddened in at shame at the left over images of what had been done to him. He was a grown man. Stuff like this didn't happen to men, especially to a man who was used to getting shot at for a living. What will Mulder think? worried Vic. Then he told himself practically that it didn't matter what Fox thought, this guy was going to kill him any ways. And for all he knew, no one even knew that he was missing yet. Victor heard the bolt click, and he snapped his head up to watch as the door swung open. Jack stood in the door way with a tray of food and water in his hands. His body illuminated from behind by an un-seen light source. He carefully kicked the door shut behind him and placed the tray down on the floor. Victor made no move to get up. Not that he could get far, chained to the wall and all. "You hungry Victor?" Jack's voice was soft-almost caring. Victor shook his head no. But the truth he was he was hungry. Ravenous in fact. Jack ignored his captives gesture and squatted down next to the tray, he lifted a white cloth napkin off of a small plate and held it up to Victor so he could see what was on it. The plate held a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich with bright green leaf lettuce. His mouth began to water and in an act of betrayal, his stomach grumbled loudly in response to the sight and smell of food. "I'll ask you one more time, are you hungry?" Victor wanted to refuse the food and the water, but he couldn't afford to get weak. He needed to keep his strength up if he was going to have any hope at all of escaping. If a window of opportunity opened up then he wanted to be able to take it. Victor turned his head sideways, his face a perfect mask of vulnerability, he looked at Jack and whispered "Yes". "Try anything, and I'll kill you where you sit." Warned Jack. He put the tray down and picked up the uncut sandwich and the water bottle. Victor straightened up awkwardly with his back to the wall. His free leg bent at the knee and tucked in close to him, while his chained leg lay partially extended over the bed. Jack climbed onto the cot and sat so close to Victor, he was almost on top of him. Reluctantly, Victor opened his mouth and allowed his captor hand feed him the sandwich. His bites were followed by large sips of water. Both of which he needed badly. Once Victor had finished the sandwich, Jack asked, "Do you need to pee?" Unwilling to speak to Jack, Victor simply nodded his head 'yes'. He appeared to be passive on the out side; waiting to see what Jack would do. This could be his chance to escape if Jack uncuffed him to go to the bathroom. No such luck, Jack wrapped his hand around Victor's throat and squeezed, cutting off the agent's air temporarily. With the other hand he reached under the foot of the bed and pulled out the bucket. Jack angled himself around Victor and pushed the gasping man towards the end of the bed. "Oh no," Victor said a raspy voice, "Un-cuff me so I can go on my own". Jack perched on his knee's behind his captive, wrapped his arms around Victor and pulled him close so that his chest rested against the other's back. With his hand still around Victor's throat, Jack spoke directly into Victor's ear, "If you need to go, I'll help you. Otherwise piss your pants." Jack's free hand invaded the planes of Victors chest and when he felt the bite mark that he had made earlier, he pushed down cruelly on the tender spot, making Victor inhale sharply from the pain. Victor had no wish to be held by another while he urinated, but the alternative-soiling his jeans-was even less appealing. Picking the lesser of the two evils, Victor nodded his assent "Fine. Unzip me then, I gotta go." Jack grinned to the back of Victor's head. "Good boy." He undid the jeans and delicately grasped Victor's penis, aiming it accurately at the bucket. Flushed with humiliation, Victor was having a hard time getting started, the hand that held him was distracting. But eventually the need to go won out and he released his bladder. After he had finished urinating, Jack still held onto Victor. "Let go of my dick you twisted fuck and do me up." Hissed Victor through clenched teeth. Jack made no reply to Victor's demand. Instead he wrapped his fist around the formidable member in his hand and began to very slowly, ever so gently, stroke it to life. Victor was absolutely mortified with himself. How could he get hard at the hands of this pervert? In anger and frustration, he struck out by snapping his head back and smashing it into Jack's nose. Jack, in extreme pain, grabbed at his nose and tried to stop the blood from gushing out of his nostrils. Perhaps not the wisest move on his part, but at least now Victor could die knowing that he had tried to protect himself. In a full blown rage, Jack pulled his hands away from his nose and punched the still handcuffed Victor hard in the side of head, a primal scream tearing from his throat as he did so. Ignore the blood dripping from his nose. Stunned by the punch, Victor lay there in a crumpled heap trying clear the stars out of his vision. Dripping blood and sweat, Jack stood and went over to the tray. He picked up another napkin that had concealed the rest of the contents of the tray. The heroin works. Victor saw the paraphernalia. His eyes widened in panic and he began to shake his head mumbling "No, no" over and over again. Jack flipped the struggling man over and pinned him down with one heavy knee to the back. He quickly tied the rubber tubing around Victor's tense right arm and then repeated the same procedure on his captive has he earlier in day. Within a few seconds the drugs started to take effect and Victor's body gradually went slack, all the fight draining out of him. Jack wound his fingers through Victor's short hair and reefed his head back, "You want blood?" He seethed, spittle spraying from his mouth and hitting Victor on the side of his face. Jack wiped his bruised nose on his sleeve which was still dripping little droplets of blood. "I'll show you blood pretty boy" He roughly shoved Victor's face into the mattress, demonstrating his anger. Part Four: Calling Agent Mulder Jack gripped the back of Victor's head with one hand and used his other, in one swift motion to unbuckle and pull his sleek leather belt through blue jean loops. He pulled his knee away from Victor's back and stood up. Folding the belt in half, Jack began to beat the handcuffed man with it. When the leather connected with Victor's soft, pale flesh it made a loud smacking noise. Jack swung his practiced arm with all his might, putting the force of his large biceps and shoulder behind the blows. A red welt appeared on the skin wherever the belt struck. Victor tried to shield himself, but without the use of his hands it was virtually impossible. Jack's anger at being given a bloodied nose escalated to beyond furious; he was working himself into a frenzy. Not aiming at any particular part of Victor, Jack whipped the belt randomly-from the backs of Victor's well muscled arms, down his smooth back to his head and face. Not caring where the supple black leather landed. More spittle sprayed out of his mouth when he bellowed, "DON'T. YOU. EVER. HIT. ME. AGAIN!" The perspiration dripping from his forehead peppered Victor's body like rain drops. At Some point, during the beating, Jack had changed his grip and was now battering Victor with the buckle end of the belt, inflicting even worse damage. Victor rolled over to his left side, trying to escape the punishing whipping. He felt the sting of the buckle as it struck his right cheek, making his eyes water and he knew immediately that the skin there had been opened up. Warm blood flowed from the cut down his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. The coppery taste of the liquid spurred him into action and his instincts took over. He rolled to the foot of the bed in order to be able to bring his knees up to meet his head, trying to protect himself as best as he could by trying to covering as much of his head as possible. Like a turtle retreating into its shell. And now all Victor could do for himself was to endure the pain of the beating and wait for the crazed man to tire. Mercifully, the fresh dose of drugs in his system had dulled some of the pain. Eventually, Jack's pace slow, then stopped. Despite his pain addled condition, Victor realized an opportunity had come his way, and he took it. Effecting a completely convincing I'm helpless face, he swallowed down the searing pain and rolled onto his back so he could look directly into Jack's pale blue eyes. Victor was aware that the blood and bruises made him look even more defenseless. "Please..." He pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Un-cuff me. I won't try anything." Then in an even softer, breathier tone, "I promise." Victor blinked his large green eyes up at Jack, knowing his wet lashes made his eyes appear even larger. He was trying to appeal to Jack on any level he could, sexual or otherwise... whatever did the trick. Jack stared down unblinking at Victor. He felt no real pity or sympathy towards his prisoner, but looking down at him now into that very handsome face he felt something. He wasn't exactly positive of what, but it was something that was for sure. Jack knew that if he railed too hard on Victor too soon, that he would end up killing the man sooner than he intended too. And even though he was furious that his captive had hurt him, he had, after all wanted a fighter this time. Someone who would be more of a challenge than the last man. That guy had ended up being no fun at all by dying so easily. "No. I won't take the cuffs off. But I'll allow you to have your hands in front of yourself." Jack was no fool. "Please, do it." Having his hands cuffed in the front at least gave Victor a fighting chance. "I'm so tired, I just want to sleep." To prove it, Vic closed his lids and feigned a yawn. He rolled over to give Jack better access to the metal bracelets. Doing a perfect imitation of a rag doll, Vic allowed himself to be cuffed in the front. Jack sat down on the bed and adjusted the cuffs. Then he reached out with a large hand and brushed back the short dark brown hair on Victor's forehead and said quietly, "I don't like it when you make me do things like that. Behave and it won't happen again." The kindness, after an act of cruelty was just another component of his carefully orchestrated game. Jack, by performing acts both cruel and kind in nature, would eventually break down his prisoner. He put the onus on the captive by letting him think that it was his fault that he had been hurt when in reality Jack would have found any excuse to punish Victor. He leaned in and kissed Victor very softly on his puffy, bruised lips. Then he stood and walked to the door, gathering up everything that he had brought into the room and put the items back on the tray. As Jack moved around the room cleaning up after himself; he sang softly, "No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, the sad man ...behind blue eyes." Victor would never have guessed that Jack was the type to casually sing. The bastard's happy with him self! And inside, Victor was just as happy for himself because during the beating, when he had been turtling around near the foot of the bed, his earring had caught on some loose threads on the mattress. He had to tug lightly in order to releasing his caught ear. It was then that the proverbial light bulb lit up over his head. Jack had carefully removed all the things from not only Victor's person but from the room that might enable him to escape. Except the earring that he wore, Jack seemed to have over looked it. The silver was soft and Victor would be able to straighten out the hoop and use it to pick the handcuff lock. Victor thought that by asking for freedom from the cuffs entirely, would most likely end up in a compromise with his hands in front. A circumstance he could very easily deal with. But first he had to sleep. The adrenaline rush of the beating along with the drugs had left him exhausted. He allowed himself to fall asleep, telling himself to wake as soon as possible. All he needed was a couple hours of rest. The Director picked up the ringing phone. "Yes?" "It's me." Mac said, monotone. "Vic's not here but his truck is, and it's in the right parking spot. I think I'll walk through the neighborhood, see if anybody's seen him around. His place is a mess and that's not like him. Something's wrong, I can feel it," added Mac ominously. "Forget that for now, come back in. LiAnne and I have some new information. We'll take a look at what we got then go from there." The Director didn't want to say too much over the phone. She, better than anyone, knew that the walls had eyes and ears. And she didn't want to get a full scale investigation going, only to have Victor show up later. Though like LiAnne and Mac she did have a bad feeling about Vic's disappearance. The Director hung up on Mac without saying goodbye, giving him no chance to argue her orders. LiAnne had sat and listened to the one way conversation. Correct in guessing that the person on the other end was Mac. The Director turned to the female agent, a serious frown set to her mouth. "Go down to records and pull the last 10 cases Victor worked on. Look for anyone who made a threat against him or has a grudge..." "Yeah, right. Everyone threatens him at some point..." The Director's hard stare stopped LiAnne mid-sentence. She continued on as if she had not been interrupted. "See who's out of jail and looking to even up the score. Check out everyone, let's eliminate the obvious. I don't want to blow this up if we don't have too. Grab Dobrinski on your way out and get him to help you. I'll send Mac down when he shows up." She waved her hand, dismissing LiAnne. The Director waited until LiAnne had shut the door behind her before she picked up the phone. Keying through the numbers stored in her computer, she made a few phone calls then dialed one final number. She checked the time on her watch to make sure that he would still be at work. Only 4:00-he'd still be there. "Federal Bureau of Investigation." stated a slightly nasal female voice. "Fox Mulder's desk please," asked the Director pleasantly. If she was wrong and nothing had happened to Victor; then Skinner would be furious with her for calling the F.B.I. agent back into town. But if things turned out like her gut feeling told her it would, Mulder's years as an experienced profiler would be invaluable to finding and retrieving Victor alive; and in one piece. Mulder's years as a investigative field agent would be asset in having him help with the search. But what made him the most valuable to the investigation was his physical and emotional attachment to Victor. Fox Mulder would go to the ends of the earth to find Victor Mansfield. Of that she was sure of. He would search for and check out every clue he and the team could turn up, and he would not stop looking for Victor until he found out what had happened to him. Fox Mulder reacted the same way with everyone he cared about-whether it was his sister, his partner or his missing lover. Mulder's obsessive personality was the Director's ace in the hole. "Mulder," came the terse greeting into the phone. The Director didn't care, anything was better than the Muzak she had been listening to. "Fox Mulder?" She queried, making sure that she indeed was speaking to the right person. "Yeah, you got him. What can I do for you?" He was distracted. He had been trying to concentrate on the file before him, but all he had managed to do was think about Victor and their weekend of fun; and why Victor hadn't called him back yet. "You don't know me but,.." always an inauspicious beginning, "...But I work for the same shadowy government agency Victor Mansfield does." There, that ought to grab his attention. "I have no idea what you're talking about ma'am" lied Mulder smoothly. "Yes..." she hesitated a beat, "...you do. I'm Victor's boss. I believe he told you I was the 'Dragon Lady', or he might have referred to me as the 'meanest woman in the world'." The Director smiled at the words Victor might have used. All of them an accurate description of herself, of course. "Ooh, yeah the bitch with the rubber fetish. He mentioned you. Look if this is about the profile..." "No, it's about Victor actually." There was a pause. Then a slightly worried, "What about him?" The Director could hear the uncertainty creep into Mulder's voice. She let the silence hang for a second before continuing on, "Well it seems he's missing. No one has seen or heard from him since our delayed meeting Monday night." She put emphasis on the word 'delayed' to keep him guessing. Even in a time of crisis the Director couldn't resist the mind games. "I've put in a official request of course, this call is merely a formality, but I think you should come back up here A.S.A.P." "When? Exactly when did he go missing?" Asked Mulder. The Director smiled into a mirror and fixed her hair, studying her roots and purposely not answering the question. Mulder would be on the next plane to Toronto; no worries about trying to convince him to come back. "Our agency's jet should be landing at Dulles airport in about 2 ‡ hours to pick you up. We'll save the American taxpayers some money this time around. Your boss should be reading the request for your services as we speak." Mulder was impatient to get off the line. This bimbo wasn't going to tell him anything over the phone any ways. He should have known that if Victor could have called he would have. He was a man of his word. The quicker Mulder remembered that the better. "Ok, have all pertinent information faxed to me, I'll read it on the plane," he added hastily to the conversation. "The file is already on board. I should warn you though, we think Victor's disappearance might be linked to the profile you two worked on together this weekend. " She heard a sharp intake of breath. "I'll let you read the rest on the plane. You can draw your own conclusions about the case. Bring everything you've got on file. I'll have someone meet you at the airport when you land." Then she added, "Oh and Mulder? I look forward to seeing you again." She cut the connection. Mulder sat there holding the phone in his hand. Lost in thought. He was more than just concerned about Victor. But what had that woman meant by "I look forward to seeing you again" He had never met her. Mulder hung up the handset, only to pick it up again when it rang immediately after. It was Kim, the A.D.'s secretary; "requesting that Agent Mulder come to his office." Mulder stood and left his desk to head for Skinner's office. Mac, arriving at the agency while the Director was on the phone was told to see LiAnne and Dobrinski in the records room, to help them check Vic's recent cases. When he arrived the only other person in the place was LiAnne. Dobrinski having gone to check on some suspects who had fled overseas. "Sit down and pull up a file." LiAnne said rather grimly. Her eyes were sore from the fluorescent lighting glaring off of the bright white pages. "What's going on? Why did the Director call me back in? Did she tell you that Vic's truck was at the apartment?" Mac could have gone on with more information but LiAnne interrupted him by holding up her hand to stop him. "We're checking into past cases of Victor's. That's what's going on. The Director called you back in to show you this." LiAnne handed over the file containing all the information of the murders. "Look at the photos first then read the reports." advised LiAnne. Mac flipped through the pictures slowly, absorbing the carnage of some of the photos. When he had finished looking at the stack, he flipped through them again. This time more quickly. Mac looked over at LiAnne. Overwhelmed he asked, "Am I seeing what I think I am seeing?" LiAnne, sounding very much like Dobrinski, asked in return, "I don't know. What do you think you're seeing?" "I think..." Mac hesitated, "...that I'm looking at pictures of 9 murdered men who look a whole lot like Vic." Mac felt sick to his stomach. The resemblance between all the men was eerie. He picked up the report and began to read, not looking up again until he was done. Finally, he stood up and got a drink from the vending machine and then sat back down to re-read the report. His stomach was doing flip-flops by the time he had finished the papers. Mac connected the dots between the 9th victim in the park and Vic's disappearance. He too knew that his partner liked the park. Hopefully it just a coincidence, but Mac had a sinking feeling that it was not. An hour and a half after Mac had arrived the Director showed her face. And what a grim looking face it was. Both Mac and LiAnne had been startled by her entrance. In the Director's absence they had managed to clear up all the question marks relating to Victor and past cases. Dobrinski still had not come back from his end of things. As it turned out they had had some time to discuss what else was on their minds. Namely Victor and the phone call. LiAnne confessed to being confused by who it could be and what the call meant. She told Mac that she thought that maybe Victor was seeing another person, namely a man. But who that man could be stumped her. And why he would choose a man when he was heterosexual was beyond her . Mac on the other hand was not as shocked at Victor choosing a man as LiAnne. He and Victor had been flirting on a subconscious level for almost a year. Both men knew what was going on, but neither of them had ever acknowledge the flirtatious overtures. Mac brought none of this up to LiAnne though, he dared to venture instead, "Why not choose a guy? After the way you trashed him..." LiAnne answered that comment by slapping Mac across the face, claiming that she had not trashed him. "But," she admitted after a pause, "I did hurt him and badly too." She paused again and then asked honestly "Do you really think I ruined him for other women?" Mac laughed, surprised by the naivete of the other agent and replied, speaking slowly like he was talking to a small child, "No, I think he always liked men but never admitted it to himself. He is probably bi-sexual. I would guess. He's never said anything to me about it. Only Victor can tell us what's really going on with him. Victor... or...," Mac was rubbing the red hand print LiAnne's slap had left, "...that Mulder guy." "Agent Mulder? How'd you put the two of them together?" "Well, the Director did say that Victor was holed up in his apartment all weekend with Agent Mulder working out the profile of the killer. And when I went there today,.." Mac leaned in close to LiAnne, lowering his voice considerably, "...the place was a wreck." LiAnne flashed a confused look at Mac, as if to say 'Vic left a mess?' Mac spoke on. "There were a couple of shot glasses and an empty bottle of Tequila. And I didn't see any extra bedding for sleeping on the couch." Mac raised his eyebrows and gave his most damning piece of evidence. "The bedroom reeked of sex. His bed was unmade. Nothing was cleaned up. I heard the message on the machine too you know." It was at that point in the conversation that the Director had swept into the room kicking the door closed behind her. Both agents looked up and focused their attention on their boss. The Director looked back and forth between them and commented to Mac, "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary." Mac shook his head. "No. Just trying to piece together what could have happened to Vic. All these," he swept his hand at the stack of former case files, "...checked out. We're still waiting to hear back from Dobrinski." The Director rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Dobrinski is setting up the conference room. All his overseas stuff checked out too. Looks like we might be dealing with the park murderer after all." She walked behind the agent's chairs. "I've sent for Agent Mulder in Washington. He will be assisting us in the search." The Director ignored the narrowed eyes of LiAnne and the look of disbelief on Mac's face. "Agent Mulder will be officially in on this. So get over yourselves and think about Victor. He's our best chance at finding him. He knows serial killers better than anybody. Mulder's plane will be landing in a half an hour. The two of you go get something to eat and be back here by...", the Director looked at her Rolex, "...7:15. By then Dobrinski and I will have a whole lot more to tell you." The dismissed agents rose and left without dispute. Arguing only worked to piss off the Iron maiden. The Director gathered up the file and photos, taking it back with her to the conference room, wondered if that the fax she was waiting for had come through. Part Five: Some things are better left unsaid Mac and LiAnne sat at the large conference table, waiting impatiently for the Director to show up with Agent Mulder. The table seemed unbalanced to Mac; he was not used to seeing that third black leather chair empty. It didn't look right and it sure as hell didn't feel right. Mac exhaled heavily. He was frustrated that this briefing was taking so long in getting started. Vic's missing for Christ sakes. Where's the agency's sense of urgency? If it were up to him, he and LiAnne would have been kicking open every door to the storefronts facing the park by now, showing the proprietors of those shops Victor's picture; checking out where he had been and trying to trace his steps of where he had been going. Another 15 minutes then I'm 'outta here; meeting or no meeting. He looked over at LiAnne, who was making herself busy by inspecting her impeccably manicured nails. She may have looked bored, but Mac knew that it was just a cover. LiAnne was really a ball of nervous knots at the thought of meeting Agent Mulder. Breathing deeply and concentrating on her fingernails was just her way of coping. The butterflies in her stomach had left LiAnne feeling slightly nauseous. At dinner she had barely eaten a thing, opting to spread the food around the plate with her chopsticks instead. Not only was she not so sure about meeting the F.B.I. agent; but she was also very afraid for Victor's safety. And on top of all that, a little voice in the back of her mind kept questioning her as to why she had even broken up with Victor—the most kind and generous man she had known—in the first place? And for what? Mac Ramsey? What a mistake that had been. The bottom had dropped out of her and Mac's relationship the minute she split with Victor. How could I have broken up with Vic? He was the best thing that ever happened to me. LiAnne berated herself. She was conflicted in her feelings for both Mac and Victor. She had thought that she and Mac had some unfinished business to deal with so breaking up with Victor was for the best, but in hindsight it had been a momentous mistake. One that she would have to live with. She had gone to Mac after breaking up with Victor, but he had shown no serious interest in discussing past events with her, so she had ended putting their relationship behind her as well; as he had seemingly already done so. Truth was LiAnne had enjoyed living alone again; she liked not being in a committed relationship. Or so she thought at the time. Now that Victor was missing LiAnne wasn't really sure of what she wanted. It was while LiAnne sat there that she came to a decision; when they found Victor, alive, she was going to ask him to get back together. Yes, that's what she would do. Agent Mulder be damned ! He was probably just a passing fancy anyway. Ignoring LiAnne—who was in turn ignoring him—Mac checked his watch, it read, 8:25. He jumped up abruptly and started pacing. Having been pulled from her thoughts, LiAnne looked up and calmly asked the agitated man, "What?" "If no one walks through that door in the next 5 minutes, I'm 'outta here." As far as Mac was concerned he had been sitting there long enough waiting for The Director and Dobrinski to show up. He was tired of hanging around and waiting for Agent Mulder to come charging in on his white horse to save the day. It was just too much shit for him to put up with. Mac felt like his detective skills were being challenged. The Director acted that as if without Agent Mulder there would be no hope in finding Victor at all. Mac thought that it was total bull shit, he was just as good at his job as Mulder was at his. Mac did not appreciate another rooster invading his hen house. At times, it may have looked to others in the agency that Mac was nothing but a big cut-up and that he was always goofing around, which was true most of the time. But at a time like this, when one of his partners was in danger his full attention was focused in on Victor and his being found. He was serious now, and to prove it, he was even willing to put up with working with Mulder, partnering with him. Providing that the new partner showed up in the next 3 minutes. Enough shit, I'm gone. Mac grabbed his suit jacket and started to pull it on while he walked towards the big glass doors. But before he could reach them though the Director, who had entered through another door said to his back, "Hold your horses. We're ready to start." She smiled inwardly at Mac's impatience to begin; he was more worried about Victor than he liked to let on. The Director began laying out 3 identical folders on the long table. As she did this, Dobrinski pushed the main doors open and bustled through with his hands full of papers. Following close behind him was another man. Agent Mulder I presume. Thought Mac. The agent sat down and watching the slightly rumpled man make his way to the table. Dobrinski obviously had already met the man so he introduced him to everyone else in the room. Mulder asked the Director if he were to call her that, to which she smiled and replied "yes". When Mulder greeted LiAnne, she uncharacteristically ignored his outstretched palm and gave him a hard stare in return. He pulled his hand away and directed it towards Mac, commenting as he did so, "I heard a lot about you. Vic spoke highly of your...er... skills." Mulder gave him a small lopsided smile. Mac pumped the other man's hand twice, secretly pleased that Victor had mentioned him. As long as he didn't talk to much they would get along O.K. How Mulder and LiAnne would fare together was another story. Mac hoped that she was assigned some other duty in this investigation. He had not failed to notice the look LiAnne had given Mulder. Ignoring his hand seemed to seal his fate in her eyes. She was determined to disliked Agent Mulder before she even met him. LiAnne picked up Mulder's casual use of Victor's name. Hate'em already She did not speak one single word during the introductions. Preferring to stick to the old adage of "If you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all." Dobrinski instructed Mulder to take the empty chair then turned around to tack up some photos to the surface of a large roll-away cork board. First he put up a photo of a small pizza shop, then a black and white head shot of a man, that was of a very grainy quality. Lastly, he pinned up another photo of the same unknown man, that was taken quite a few years ago. In it he was wearing a formal Marine uniform. Under the photos Dobrinski tacked up a large map of the area around Ballard park. Having done that, he walked over to the table and handed a copy of the black and white photo to each agent. They all took the photo and studied it, waiting for the Dobrinski to begin. The Director sat behind her desk working at her computer. She already knew what Dobrinski was going to say so instead of listening, she was using the time to pull up old records to see if she could find anything else that might help the three reluctant 'partners'. Dobrinski picked up a long pointer stick and without preamble began. "The photo you are looking at is of a man named Jackson James Douglas. We'll call him 'Jack' for brevity's sake. He is an American citizen, male, Caucasian, age 45, born Aug 17, 1954 in Vancouver, Washington state. He's 6'4" tall, has blonde hair and blue eyes" Dobrinski made eye contact with each seated agent and as he looked at Mulder he said, "The last time he was weighed he came in at 210 lbs. Judging by the most recent photo...," Dobrinski slapped the grainy black and white photo with his pointer,"...an accurate measurement still." Mulder grimaced as he studied the black and white picture. He's a whole lot bigger than Victor The thought angered Mulder. If this freak dared to hurt even a hair on his... He reluctantly dragged his attention away from his private thoughts to concentrate on what Dobrinski was saying. "He was the only child to James and Fern Douglas-both deceased. Jack's parents were murdered on his 10th birthday by a unknown male who broke in during the family party. Jack's parents had been killed first then the assailant set his sights on him. He raped and beat Jack, and when he was finished with him he stabbed the poor kid. Lucky for Jack the assailant never had a chance to finish the job. It appears that he was interrupted by a neighbor who had happened to be returning some borrowed tools when he heard the screaming. The neighbor saw the blood and went to call the cops, allowing the intruder to escape. No one was ever arrested, but interestingly enough.." Dobrinski flipped through his files and pulled out picture which he tacked on to the board next to the others. It was a hand drawn sketch that could have been Victor, if the 3 at the table didn't already know better. "Here is a composite sketch of the suspect. Of course we know it's not Mansfield because he would have been only one year old at the time of the crime." The composite drawing of young Jack's assailant had at first startled both Mac and LiAnne, then helped them with answering the question as to why Jack was targeting a particular type of man. Puzzle solved. Mulder had been privy to all of this information while flying back to Toronto, so he of course already knew before hand as to why Jack was focusing was his attention on men who all were similar to each other. Jack was a whole lot sicker than any of them had even realized before, including Mulder himself. "Young Douglas, after his parent's funerals, was sent to Long Island to live with his grandparents. There's no info on the subject for the rest of his childhood and youth. However, we do know from.." Dobrinski went back to his pages for a quick consult, "... a report that was made to Jack's family physician by a school nurse that there might have been the possibility of physical and perhaps even sexual abuse in the house. That report was unsubstantiated though. Agent Mulder thinks it's most likely true ." The other two agents swung their heads to look at Mulder. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'm a psychologist" as if that explained it all. The trio looked back to Dobrinski who picked up his thread of facts and continued on. "Jackson Douglas surfaces again in 1970 when he joined the Marines...," Dobrinski pointed to the colored photo of Jack, "...with the permission of his grandparents. He served for 2 years then left. Records showed that he was honorably discharged. Jack's role in the military was a simple one. He was an expert marksmen. Translation—sniper. And when he wasn't out shooting the enemy from 200 yards he captured and interrogated Vietcong soldiers." Dobrinski opened up a bottle of water that had been sitting on the Director's desk, taking a long pull on the cool contents. No one spoke; each agent was lost in their own thoughts for the time being. Thirst sated, Dobrinski went on. "He virtually dropped out of sight after his discharge. So where he's been or what he's been up to between 1973 and now is a mystery. We can however, safely assume that he is the perp we're looking for in connection with Victor's disappearance, and the other 9 deaths. This surveillance photo of him was pulled off a security camera hidden under the rafters at this pizza place." Dobrinski pointed to the photo of the shop. "It's located across the street from Ballard Park and one block down from Mansfield's apartment. This image was recorded about 15 minutes before Mansfield left the restaurant and crossed the street to the park. The restaurant owner, a man named Samuel Chan, says that Victor comes in about 3 times a week. In fact, he'd even mistook the dead man from the park for Mansfield once." Mac asked, "Come up with a name on the dead look-a-like yet?" Dobrinski shook his head no. He didn't bother to tell any of them that they weren't even trying to I.D. that poor guy. The agency left that job up to the police. "Mr. Chan was working the night Victor disappeared, he said it was really busy in the place and that Victor had come in and made his usual order. He told Mansfield that it would be about a 20 minute wait so Victor said he would come back. Mr. Chan saw him cross the street towards the park but, after that he couldn't say. But Mr. Chan could confirm that he saw our suspect hanging around for more than two weeks, he specifically recalled seeing Jack earlier on in the evening of the night in question. Videotape confirms it." Dobrinski clapped his hands together once and concluded, "So folks here it is in a nut shell; Victor comes home late on Monday night and instead of going up to his place, he, on an impulse, goes to the pizza joint for a bit of take-out. Then decides to stroll around the park while waiting for his order. And while there, this Jack guy somehow subdues Victor and carries him off to an unknown hide-a-way to do to Victor, whatever it is freaks like him do." Dobrinski nodded to Mulder, who stood up and walked over to the display Dobrinski had laid out. LiAnne asked sensibly, "Can we confirm he was even in the park? What if he was snatched up by Jack from a waiting vehicle?" "Victor's wallet was found by another agent this afternoon. It was hidden in some tall grass near a bench. All the credit cards and cash were accounted for," answered Dobrinski. "Was it found by the same agent who came up with the surveillance photos too?" snapped LiAnne rather haughtily. Mulder was looking hard at LiAnne and wondering why she was acting so bitchy. To Mulder she seemed like a spoiled child who was mad because she could not get her own way. Scully would never behave in such a manner. Mulder was having a hard time wondering exactly what it was that Victor had ever saw in her in the first place. What did it matter who found what, as long as the trail led back to Victor? He hoped that when it was time to go, LiAnne would stay behind. She's acting like this is a pissing contest. Silly cow. LiAnne ignored the disproving looks that both Mac and Mulder were giving her. Dobrinski nodded his head and said, "Yes. But I don't think a vehicle is involved in this kidnaping. It takes too much time and effort to have a vehicle. Besides it would leave to much of a paper trail." Mulder cleared his throat as Dobrinski had settled himself on the corner of the table. He began, "I used to work as a forensic psychologist in the FBI'S Profiling Department. I'm trained to deal with serial killers along with your usual run of the mill bad guys. In fact the weirder they are; the better. It is easier to profile a person with a whole lot of kinks. But in this case, seeing as how there aren't a lot of facts, the profile of this guy is pretty slim. We missed a lot of important information the first time around. Ironically this is the file that Vic..um..Agent Mansfield" Mulder recovered quickly "...and I were working on last weekend." LiAnne's steely stare did not go unnoticed by Mulder, but he chose to ignore her and focused in on what he had to say. "I'll start off by saying that Jack is your typical anti-social loner; we know that by his solitary job in the marines and his lack of any real history on paper. I would also venture to say that although he is gay, Jack has never had a real relationship with a man or a woman. He's not interested in having a normal relationship, it's not what he wants. Jack can't or won't form lasting bonds with any one person. Childhood abuse at some point during his life, is unfortunately, a given in a case like this. And the answer to why he kidnaps, rapes and kills his victims is easy; he is subconsciously doing the very same thing as was done to him. Jack has become fixated on a certain look and age of his victims. All of them representing his own victimizer. He is in fact killing the man who took his parent's lives and caused him to be sent to a house where he was further traumatized. Killing the man who killed his childhood and all the dreams that went with it. I could delve deeper, but I think to go on further would only bore you and waste valuable time that could be spent searching for..Agent Mansfield." Mulder concluded his talk with a few more facts for the other two agents. Both were paying very close attention to what he was saying. The Director, who had been silent for the whole time, stood up from her chair and walked over to the map that was pinned to the board. She grabbed the pointer from Dobrinski and outlined some areas on the map. The Director split the group into two teams: LiAnne and Dobrinski where given the north side of the park and all the warehouses that went with it. Mac and Mulder, whom she wisely determined would do better without LiAnne, were given the south side to check out. There were a few old houses still standing amongst some warehouses and two storage facilities. If Dobrinski was correct in assuming that no vehicle had been used, then the area directly around the park would be the most likely place to start searching. She gave them their orders and then dismissed them. The four of them left immediately to begin their jobs. The Director went back to her computer and brought up the photo that she had been looking at. It was a picture of Walter Skinner wearing a tank top and black bicycle shorts. Well, well, well Walter Skinner, I hope you're straight 'cause YOU and I have to meet. The Director smiled suggestively at the screen. Victor rolled to his left side and tucked his cuffed wrists up under that side of his chin, stretching out his long fingers up the unseen, left side of his face so that he could get a hold of his earring. Though he was awake he kept up the pretense of slumber. Re-adjusting himself onto his side allowed him to keep up the charade in case he had an audience. Jack could be watching him right now for all he knew. Surreptitiously, he began to work on the silver hoop, pulling it slowly out of his lobe when he had it undone. No movement showed on his body, only his broad back rising and falling in regular intervals. To anyone who might be looking, Victor would still appear asleep. He used his thumb and forefinger to straighten out the thicker part of the main body of the circle. And after he had that done, Victor opened his concealed left eye and began to pick the lock to the metal bracelets while keeping his right eye closed. He was glad now, that when he was training for the agency, they had shown him several methods to picking all sorts of locks and bolts. After being shown each way, he was drilled and timed in order to perfect the act of escape. Fortuitous was the fact that these cuffs most likely came from a sex shop featuring bondage gear. Their types of handcuffs were easy to get out of. Even if they had they been real police issue however, Victor would have still been able to escape from them; it would've just taken him longer. In only took about half of a minute before he heard the soft "click" of the small lock opening. He smiled inwardly as he very slowly, very carefully eased the metal away from around his left hand then did the same to the right. Victor put the handcuffs together so that they formed a single circle. Then he slipped them over his left hand and held them tight in his clenched fist like you would hold a set of brass knuckles. He held the straightened piece of silver between thumb and finger on his right hand. He knew that if Jack was watching him; he would only have a few seconds before Jack was in the door trying to stop him. Victor would have to defend himself with one leg chained if he failed to undo the last remaining restraint. Well it's a start Victor shut his eye and mentally ran through opening up the leg cuff. He visualized the lock by picturing the size of the opening and where it would be located exactly. When Victor felt confident that he could successfully attack the lock, did he sit up. His tools were ready and he began to work as swiftly as possible. Acutely aware of the imaginary clock in his mind, ticking down the seconds. When the door to his bar-less jail cell did not immediately fly open, he was relieved. And taking a deep breath, Victor concentrated on trying to pick the lock that imprisoned his leg. The strong bond was proving to be slightly more difficult than the cheap manacles. But after another minute or so of trying, the lock gave way and Victor heard the simple 'tick' of it's release, it was music to his ears. FREE at LAST! Now all Victor had to do was wait for Jack to come to him, and when he did, Jack would be the one regretting that he had dared to steal Victor away from his friends and family. Victor's Revenge, would be sweet. He tucked the leg cuff under his pant leg to make it look like he was still restrained, then he laid back down and waited for his oppressors return. Jack was compulsive, Victor knew it was only a matter of time before he returned wanting to hurt him again. Only this time he wouldn't be such an easy target.. And while he lay there Victor plotted his next move. Once a Thief Net Serial Parts Six – Ten pansy64@hotmail.com

This series is the second half to the Monday Morning Mansfield serial. A little better written than the first, or at least I hope so. It would be a very good idea to have read the MMM's first before starting on this one. WARNING: the following body of work is very dark, with disturbing content throughout the chapters. It may not be for every one. Also when reading this, it would help for you to know that I wrote my villain "Jack" with Richard Burgi -UPN's The Sentinal- in mind. That's who my bad guy looks like, pretty good looking bad guy eh! In order not to clog up the actual story pages I will print all disclaimers right here. Having said that please be aware that italics indicate internal thoughts of character and to my knowledge there is no Ballard park in the city of Toronto. Having never been there, and being a Westcoaster my entire life, I had to make up some of the details. Thanks to Sickleweed for beta reading the origional O.A.T-The net serial stories. I re-wrote, re-vamped the series totally on my own. It was just something I wanted to do. Therefore any and all mistakes relating to grammar/continutiy are purely my own. I do not own any characters mentioned with the exception of Jack, Dr. Anwar and Darla, the receptionist. No infringements on copyrights held is intended. Demi-X. back to top

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