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The Linking of Lost Souls

Part Two
by Katail


The call came shortly after Agent Mulder stepped from the shower. Another body. This one discovered only a block from the very hotel where Mulder was staying. Coincidence? Maybe, but he wouldn't discount the possibility that the killer was more aware of the police investigation than presumed.

Maybe this is a taunt, a show of superiority over the investigators?

Mulder shook his head to clear it as he eased the rented Ford out of the parking space in front of his hotel. He had to acknowledge that his thinking was muddled this morning. Afterall, very few people knew where he was staying while in Chicago, and if the killer was starting to focus on the police, then the more likely targets would be either Agent Miller or his partner Agent Vaughn.

Coincidence then.

Mulder turned right at the next block, and the flash of red and blue lights fought against a brilliant yellow-orange sunrise streaming across Lake Michigan. A uniformed officer met him as he opened the car door. Mulder flashed his badge. "Is Agent Miller on the scene yet?"

The young cop shook his head and moved back allowing Mulder to step out of the Ford. "Ident isn't even here yet. But the scene is well preserved. All we did was haul the body out of the water on the detective's orders."

"Detective?"

"Yeah. He found the body, called it in," he explained and then pointed off to the right. Mulder blinked twice, hard, until he made his brain accept Ray Kowalski's image standing only twenty paces away, staring back at him.

Ray offered him a grim smiled and motioned for Mulder to follow him out onto the pier, towards the body. They stood over the tarp-covered, sad little mound in silence for a moment.

"So," Ray said softly,"This is yer case."

Mulder nodded.

"I see now why ya didn't wanna talk about it."

Mulder sighed and dug his hands deeper into his coat pockets. The last thing he wanted was to involve his new-found lover in a case. Work and play—two separate entities. When they got confused, someone always got hurt. He sighed again. There was no alternative. Ray was a detective. This was his jurisdiction. He found the body. Agent Millder made contact with the Commissioner, but there were no detectives assigned to the case yet. That meant that Ray would likely be assigned to assist the F.B.I. while in Chicago.

"I'm sorry you had to see this, Ray."

"S'okay. Comes with the job."

Maybe Ray is thinking along the same lines, Mulder thought, He did say that we both went out last night to forget for a while. I guess we were allowed our peaceful moment, our escape into the pleasurable garden, but real life catches up quickly.

Ray lowered his voice to a whisper. "I gave a statement, said I was walkin' back from a hotel, but I didn't mention yer name. Don't worry, I won't say nuthin' bout us."

Mulder nodded. He knelt and reached to uncover the dead child. Ray turned away to look out over the water.

"I had 'em drag the body out with a crowbar. Nobody's touched anything."

Mulder nodded again. The he realized that Ray couldn't see him and murmured his approval. His attention focused on discerning any differences between this victim and the other four. Again, the eyes were open; staring at him with accusatory hatred. Another young life ripped from the world while he was busy burying himself in carnal delights.

Mulder drew in a deep breath. He glanced at Ray, but the detective still faced the lake.

"I don't think he's been dead long."

"Body's cold," Ray responded.

"Cool, yes, but I think that has more to do with the temperature of the water. Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet, and lividity only appears on the face and feet." He pushed a gloved finger into the purpled skin on the child's cheek and watched the color recede.

"Lividity? That's the reason his face looks all bruised?"

"Mm-hm. He was face down when you found him?"

"Yeah, I had one of the guys take photos before we pulled him out and right afterwards too."

Mulder nodded and covered the body back up. Ray turned back around, and Mulder wished he could think of something comforting to say to the troubled blue eyes in front of him, but his mind was already busy puzzling out the facts of the case.

"Ray, I think maybe the killing took place near by."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Well, we won't know for certain until the autopsy, but postmortem lividity takes place about three hours after death. It doesn't change after about six to eight hours, and it always shows in the lowest most part of the body. This body has it on the face."

"Yeah, well, that's how he was in the water. I told ya that."

"Exactly. And our killer wouldn't have transported him face down. He has reverence for the bodies. He feels remorse. I'm certain now that he washes the bodies previous to emersion into the river, or in this case, the lake."

Quickly, he stood and searched the weathered boards.

"What? What is it?" Ray asked.

Mulder backed up and looked around the area. A line of desolate warehouses and ramshackle apartment buildings crowded the lake shore. "I have a feeling."

"A hunch? About what?" Ray followed his gaze around the area. "You think he's watching us?"

Mulder whipped his eyes back to Ray. "That's probable. I was thinking that maybe he stood here or the next dock over to dispose of the body."

Ray nodded. "I'll clear the area further." Mulder watched Ray stride away towards the nearest uniformed cop and give instructions to widen the blocked off area to include the two closest docks.

Then his gaze lifted to include the beige sedan pulling up to the police line, Agents Vaughn and Miller in the front seats. Yesterday, Agent Vaughn had expressed misgivings about working with the Chicago police force. "They tend to act like we're stepping on their toes, like they could handle it just fine without our help," she had said. Mulder watched as Ray walked over to the agents and introduced himself. He was sure Vaughn would have no complaints. Ray would be an asset to the team.

His eyes rested on the wiry, vibrant cop and a flash of memory from last night skipped over his mind. He felt a smile forming, but this was an inappropriate moment to reminisce. Mulder broke his stare and looked over his shoulder at the dead boy. The sight was more effective than ice water.

xx

Brrr! You could keep steaks frozen on her ass—definite ice queen, Ray thought as he shook Agent Vaughn's hand.

Agent Miller was politely friendly, but Vaughn had some serious anger issues. Her icy blue eyes bored into Ray as he brought the agents up to date, her mouth held in a firm line as serious as the straight gray-green suit she wore.

"So since Mulder thinks that maybe the guy did his dirty work nearby, I can help ya canvas the neighborhood. People around here get nervous enough around cops, they'll freak when ya start saying F.B.I."

"Ah, thank you, Detective. Your help is really appreciated," Agent Miller said sincerely, "Laura, do you-"

"I'll stay at the scene," Vaughn interrupted, "Wrap things up here and follow up at the autopsy."

Miller nodded. "Sure, Laura. I'll call if we find anything."

As Agent Vaughn walked away, and Miller turned to Ray. "Sorry about her attitude."

"Hey, no, that's okay. Yer F.B.I. and I'm just a Chicago flatfoot, and here I am buttin' into yer case like I belong there."

"No, it isn't that. Laura had to work in Chicago a few years back. Female officers weren't common then, and well, I don't want to get into it, but apparently, the officers acted in an unprofessional manner. Laura was deeply offended and she sort of views all Chicago cops on the same level now."

"Great. Well, I'll stay out of her way," Ray offered as he watched Vaughn and Mulder conversing a short distance away.

Mulder nodded to her as she left, and then he walked over to join Miller and Ray. "Vaughn says that you'll help us look for witnesses, Detective?"

"Yeah." Ray noted Mulder's 'all business' behavior with approval. "I was thinking, actually, I was thinking that there's a small park nearby and, and, and it's got, uh, one them community pools. It's closed now for the winter, but it would make a nice quiet place to wash a dead body, right?"

"Where is this place?" Mulder asked.

"About two blocks away. I can show you."

"Wait, no, I'll find it. You and Agent Miller should try to find some witnesses. That okay, Agent?"

"Yeah, sure, Mulder. Detective, there's a lot of buildings to cover here. Why don't you take the residents and I'll ask around the businesses?"

Ray agreed. A dark weight seemed to lift from his soul as he gave his full attention to the new case. Police work was his passion. In the face of his depression over Stella, he had forgotten that.

xx

Mulder turned the facts of the case over in his mind. The small pool house had been broken into, but there was no obvious evidence of their killer. Still, one of the showers had been recently used, and so Mulder had another forensics team go over the whole building. Two hours later, they now had some short blond hairs pulled from the drain and a few threads of blue cotton caught on the chain-link gate at the entrance. That wasn't much, but Mulder was sure that the hairs would match up to the body they found this morning.

He navigated icy patches in the street back by the docks again as he walked over to Ray and Agent Miller. Ray was leaning against the grill of a large semi hauling bags of cement, while Miller spoke to the driver nearby.

"Anything?" Mulder asked.

"Na. I got a lady down two blocks complainin' ta me about her neighbor for twenty minutes, and a guy around the corner that wanted my phone number," Ray answered.

Mulder smiled. "What did you tell him?"

"Said I wasn't into men who wore furry red nightgowns."

Mulder laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Ray smiled back at him and Mulder felt an impulse to wrap the shivering detective in his arms and hold him close so they could share warmth. He settled for brushing his fingers over Ray's tan overcoat sleeve. Frost crystals on his shoulder and arm from the truck's grill glimmered in the sunlight. Ray looked over the top of his blue shades and gave Mulder the sweetest shyest smile Mulder thought he'd ever seen on a man's face. A warm hum settled in his brain, but the moment was interrupted by Agent Miller.

"This guy hasn't seen anything either," he said dejectedly. "I thought we would get lucky with a trucker who arrived early and might have seen something, but there were only the two drivers parked a block and a half away. They didn't leave their cabs and they couldn't see out to the water."

"What about trucks that dropped their load before you got this far down the street?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, well, I have the name of one to check out. Hopefully, he's the one the others heard pull up here early this morning."

"And this guy?" Ray asked.

"Oh, he only arrived twenty minutes ago. This building is a storage facility for the cement, and the two workers are here to help him unload. They meet the trucks at appointed times."

"Hm. That's too bad. They would have seen everything from here." Ray pointed out towards the lake. The cop cars were gone now. Police-line tape still barred the way onto the dock, but the wind harried it into a yellow blurry line.

"So I noticed," Miller commented, "Here is a list of employees just in case." The curly-haired agent brandished a folder full of papers and then shoved it into his dark coat. "I'm going to track down that one last trucker now. I called Agent Vaughn earlier, and Albert is finished with the autopsy. I told her we would convene at our hotel to discuss details around two o'clock. You're welcome to join us, Detective Kowalski. You've really been a great help."

"Thanks. I still gotta go to the station and get officially assigned to this case, but that won't be a problem."

Miller nodded. "Great. See you then," he said and walked off towards his rented sedan still parked by the pier.

Mulder heard the trucker climb into his cab behind them and shut the door. He shoved himself away from the chilly metal grill and gestured for Ray to follow him to his own rental car. Squinting against the wind and the bright morning sun, he watched Ray shuffle alongside him. The wind had frozen the tips of Ray's hair into slick wild peaks, but Mulder remembered the feathery softness of those golden strands when it was dry.

He wistfully nibbled on his lip in thought. Maybe I should explain about Alex. Ray is a great guy. I want to see him again, but if that's going to happen then he needs to know a little more detail. "I'll drive you to your car. Do you have to check in at the station right away?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah, I should. I've been off-duty the past coupla days. The Lieutenant was kinda surprised to hear from me. Plus, my partner has no idea I'm doin' this."

Mulder nodded as he opened the car door and got inside. He looked across at Ray buckling the seatbelt around himself. "Will you have time to meet for lunch before two?"

Ray looked back at him with that shy smile again. "Yeah. I'll have time. Lunch would be good. Greatness."

Mulder smiled and he wondered how Ray's ex-wife could possibly give up a guy like Ray. Maybe they'll work it out. He started the car and put it in reverse and then glanced in the rearview mirror.

Someone was watching them.

Back on the corner where the truck had been parked, Mulder saw a dark figure. Quickly, he turned to look out the back window directly. The man fled.

Mulder was out of the car before Ray had his seatbelt off. He raced around the corner and saw a tall man with short dark hair scramble into a beat-up, little, blue Pontiac Sunbird. He noted the license plate as the car drove off, and then, his rented Ford pulled up next to him.

"Come on, come on! We can get him! Get in!" Ray yelled from behind the wheel.

Mulder hurried to obey. Ray screeched away from the curb. The Sunbird had turned the corner, but they were only moments behind. They caught a glimpse of the rusty bumper before it turned another corner. The McCormick Convention Center loomed up in front of them, and they saw the Sunbird race into the parking area beneath it.

Pedestrians momentarily blocked the entrance for them. Then Ray screeched into the shadowed garage, and they frantically searched for the small car. Minutes later, they spotted it again—parked between a red pick-up truck and a silvery-gray Continental. The driver was nowhere to be seen. The car showed evidence that it had been hot-wired.

Ray called in the plate anyway. He would have the results when they met for lunch at twelve-thirty.

xx

Ray was late for lunch. Joe is such a dumb fuck. He can't handle anything on his own! Ray thought as he opened the diner door.

He had left his partner with only three open cases to handle, but Joe was patently unorganized and lazy. Ray supposed he had never noticed Joe's attitude, because Ray was always there to pick up the slack.

He ended up spending two hours filling out paperwork and handing off those open cases to other detectives. They weren't happy about doing his work, but when they found out he had volunteered to work with the F.B.I. on the Little Boy Blue case, they kept quiet.

Lieutenant Briggs balked at letting Ray join the investigative team—his detective was supposed to be taking it easy—but he *was* happy to hear that Ray's damaged eye only required a new set of prescription glasses. Still, he knew of Ray's troubled home life and didn't feel his detective was up for the sort of emotional trauma a murder case could cause. Ray was adamant. He argued that the case really belonged in the hands of the F.B.I. and that he would merely serve as a liaison with local officials and residents. Briggs thought it over, and in the end, he couldn't argue. Joe was assigned to help out the other detectives in the division until Ray went back to regular duty. Ray wondered, as he looked around the diner, how his partner had ever managed to make Detective.

And how come I never noticed how useless he is? Joe's a great guy, but I'm thinkin' that I might get a whole lot more done with a different partner backin' me up.

Mulder was already seated at the last table in the corner. Good thing, too. This place is packed. Ray thought as he sat across from Mulder in the booth.

"Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay. I should have given you my cellphone number," Mulder answered.

"Yeah, well there wasn't much to tell you. The Pontiac from this morning was stolen yesterday. I had 'em haul it in for prints, but they got nothin' but the owner. Guy musta been wearin' gloves. They did pick out a brown hair from the driver's seat." Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out a small clear plastic bag marked with an evidence label.

"Thanks," Mulder said glumly as he took the proffered clue.

"Hey, what's wrong? This is good, right? I mean, now you got evidence to tie him to a scene."

Mulder grunted and he smoothed his fingertips over the heavy plastic sealed opening in the bag. "It's just that the man I saw on the street doesn't really match up with the profile I had forming."

Ray waited, but Mulder wasn't forthcoming. "Yeah, okay, so I know yer gonna say it all again in an hour, but tell me the part of the profile that changes."

Mulder looked up from the small bag in his hand. "I thought our killer was an older man—fifty or sixty years. The man we saw in the street today was more like late twenties. Also, the way he disappeared on us was very professional, but I didn't see him as a career criminal. And, up until that point, he was very meticulous, carefully planning every move. I just don't think he would be so bold as to show himself like that."

"Well, okay. Maybe it's not our guy. Maybe we got some creepy fan of his handiwork snoopin' around," Ray suggested.

"Maybe," Mulder responded, but he didn't sound convinced.

"So, okay. Maybe the guy we saw this morning isn't involved in the murders at all. Maybe he's a professional. Maybe he's a mob guy and that warehouse has a little more than cement gettin' delivered there. This is a big city. That kind of coincidence wouldn't be a surprise."

Mulder nodded.

"I'll check it out for ya—see if the place is bein' watched by Narcotics. Stick to yer profile for now. Go wid yer instinct." Ray gave a reassuring smile and was pleased to see Mulder smile back, wryly but warmly.

Mulder handed him back the evidence bag. "Make sure one of us signs for that before we take it out of your hands."

Ray nodded."Yeah, sure. I'll give it to Miller. Hey, we gonna order or what?"

Mulder settled back into the blue bench seat and pushed his menu along the table and into Ray's hands. He lolled his head back and relaxed. "The special looks as good as anything else. The entire menu is fried grease and eggs," he said laughingly.

"You got objections? We can go somewhere else," Ray suggested as his eyes roamed over Mulder's stretched torso.

Mulder's eyes were closed as he answered. "No. I like my daily intake of heart disease. It's just that I'm so used to eating healthy while on a case. Scully always-" Mulder halted and he suddenly straightened in his seat.

"Mulder? Hey, what's wrong? Fox?" Ray lowered his voice and reached out to pat Mulder's tight fist. Then he swiftly pulled back as the waitress walked over.

They placed their orders, and Mulder had time to collect himself.

"You okay?" Ray asked as the waitress left them.

Mulder nodded. "It's not something I can talk about...here."

"Later? Tonight?"

Mulder bit down on his lip, and Ray wondered if he was pushing things. "Okay. Tonight. I think we both have our stories to tell."

"Yeah, sure. Not here though. I come here ta get away."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and Ray chuckled nervously.

"Well, ya see, cops have their hangouts. But I haven't been in the mood fer company lately. So I been comin' here since Stella and me started fighting this past summer. Mostly truckers and guests from the hotel across the street eat here, so everybody is friendly, but nobody really gets ta know you. Understand?"

xx

Yes. Mulder did understand. No one judged at that diner. Everyone was given their space and privacy, but casual conversation was still welcome.

After their orders arrived, Mulder spent the rest of the time marvalling over the quantity of food Ray could inhale. He wondered how Ray could stay so rail thin, but that mystery was solved a half-hour later as they sat gathered around a conference table at the hotel where Agents Miller and Vaughn were staying.

Ray constantly tapped a pencil, or thrummed his fingers, or paced the room. When he talked, he used his hands emphatically, and when he didn't talk, his body spoke volumes as to whatever he was feeling. His boundless energy enervated Kyle Miller, annoyed Laura Vaughn, and kept Fox Mulder continuously distracted with sudden erotic thoughts.

Mulder was forcibly reminded of his first look at Ray across the lecture hall only a day ago—Ray's lean body thrumming with energy and anticipation, cop-mode turned all the way on.

"So, then, okay, okay, then Mulder was right, the kid wasn't dead too long before I got there," Ray said as he paced the room.

"Like I said," Agent Vaughn slowly explained, "It's impossible to accurately pinpoint time of death unless you have a witness, but a dead body cools between one and two degrees per hour. Taking into account the frigidity of the water, I'd say the boy was murdered about an hour beforehand."

"Jesus," Ray said as he leaned against the wall and pushed his fingers into his hair over and over. "So if he didn't kill the kid at the pier, then he must have dumped the body just before I got there."

Ray looked back at the agents and Mulder could see the fear in Ray's eyes, the helpless thought that if Ray had left a few minutes earlier, just a little earlier, then they wouldn't be gathered around this table now. He wanted to console his friend, but his mind was on the case.

"He probably dropped the body twenty or thirty minutes before you arrived," Mulder said then he turned to Agent Vaughn. "Was there anything else in the autopsy?"

"Yes. Evidence of sexual molestation."

Mulder frowned. "That is new, and I didn't expect it. Postmortem?"

She nodded. "Probably and traces of semen."

Ray pushed himself away from the wall. "This- that is sick. This guy is totally sick," he said and started pacing the room again.

"Yes," Mulder nodded, "But something has happened. Something made him change his routine. He's developing."

"What do you mean?" Agent Miller asked as he leaned forward onto the table. "Tell us about the profile you have worked up."

Mulder nodded and stood, crossing the room to a chalkboard. "Okay. We're looking for a male, forty to fifty years of age, married, but one or no children. His moves are well-planned, so he's intelligent. Normally I would guess that he has a college education, but in this case, I think age and experience are preventing him from making mistakes."

"Experience?" Miller asked.

"Wait, wait, yer telling us that this guy has done this before?" Ray asked.

"Well, not exactly. I think he's worked his way up to it—for a great many years. Probably practiced on animals when he was younger, but I suspect he may have done some kidnapping in the past."

Miller nodded. "We should check Illinois and Iowa missing persons file for the past ten years," he said. "Plus, I'll get back in touch with the sheriff departments of the earlier victims' towns.

"Also," Mulder continued, "Up until this point, he was feeling remorse over the deaths. I think he sees himself or possibly his own son when he looks at the victims. I would guess that he has blond hair and blue eyes."

"Or his son does," Vaughn added.

"Right. This latest sexual interest troubles me though. Even though his motive is anger, I thought he felt a rapport with the victims. The anger wasn't necessarily directed at them."

"Yeah? Well, I don't think this guy has a raging, killer chicken either. What about them scratches?" Ray asked.

"They have to do with the killer's past—an experience he probably had as a child, somehow related to his anger."

"So maybe he was, you know, molested as a kid himself," Ray suggested, "Maybe uncle or his dad liked ta use the henhouse fer cover."

"Hmm, maybe," Mulder said, "But I think we should have seen this behavior from the beginning. No, something has made him change, and I have no evidence to support this theory, but I think that something also had to do with the reason he started killing."

"Alright, so what about this mysterious watcher you both saw this morning?" Agent Vaughn asked.

They all turned to Ray. "Nothin. The cement company is on the up and up. That guy, he ain't mob."

They all quieted into their thoughts. Mulder stared at the floor. They had so little information! Just more questions, and the case was now going to be based almost solely around his profile—one that could be faulty now that the thief of a blue Sunbird had shown up.

Ray threw himself dejectedly into a chair and Vaughn rested her head on the table.

Miller sighed. "Okay. We'll have to wait and see if he shows up again. In the mean time, I think we should go on Mulder's profile."

Mulder groaned inwardly and hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Miller continued. "I still haven't caught up with our trucker that delivered his shipment at five-fifteen. He's off-duty and hasn't returned the message I left."

"Does he fit the profile?" Vaughn asked.

Miller grimaced. "That would be nice and convenient, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, he's a divorced thirty year old with barely a high school education. I'm hoping he may have seen someone or something."

"Okay," said Ray, "That's where I can help. I'll track down this trucker for ya this afternoon."

"Good. Thanks, Detective. Mulder? Would you go through the statements we took this morning—see if anything stands out? Agent Vaughn and I will backtrack through kidnapping cases from the past ten years."

"Better make that twenty years, Kyle," Mulder suggested, "Our man has been around for a long time, brooding, planning. Plus, I would concentrate on the border of Iowa, near the quad cities. That's where he started and it's probably where he lives. The profile marked him as a man who travels for a living—a salesman or a business consultant, maybe."

"We'll take that under consideration," said Miller, and Agent Vaughn nodded her agreement as she stood and gathered together her files.

"We all have each other's cell phone numbers, so if anybody finds anything..." Vaughn said as she opened the door, held it for Miller, and followed him out into the hallway.

Mulder listened to the agents voices outside the room as they walked away. Then he looked down at the floor and closed his eyes. What if he was wrong? What if the real killer was the man they had chased this morning? How many more would die? Had he taken another already? Mulder slumped his shoulders. He was so tired, worn. He was missing something, something vital, something right in front of him, but his head hurt. The deaths of these young boys weighed down upon him so heavily, and his heart was already so empty, so damaged.

A soft touch on his shoulder startled him. Ray. The blond detective was still in the room, watching Mulder and now reached out to clasp him in a gentle embrace. "Hey, it's okay," Ray murmured, "We'll catch him. We'll get him. You and me. We make an okay team."

Ray's fingers carded through his hair, calming him. Mulder thought of Scully. She should be the one holding him, reassuring him, the other half of a really *great* team. Mulder held Ray tighter as he felt the ache of her loss dig into his chest like a broken, rusted shovel.

"Okay, okay, it's okay. Hey, relax. Tonight, we'll talk tonight. Okay?" Ray said. His voice and hands comforted Mulder for the moment. Ray pulled back laying a soft kiss by his ear and again on his cheek, and Mulder knew Ray could probably see the tears in his eyes.

Mulder swallowed hard and forced his anguish back, folding it into a dark corner. There was work to be done. Ray was right. Later. Later when they alone again, taking comfort from each other, then Mulder would let go, tell all to this lean, shy-smiling stranger with arms strong enough to hold him together. He looked into Ray's pale blue eyes, seeing a similar pain pushed aside, and he suddenly leaned in and kissed the sharp little mouth hard and softly withdrew to inhale Ray's exhale.

"Later," he said against Ray's lips.

Ray's fingers brushed passed Mulders' ears. "Yes," he answered. Then he stepped away and left the room.

xx

Ray shut off the water and brushed his fingers over his head, smoothing down his wet hair. After waiting two hours in his car for Rick Wilcox, the errant trucker, to arrive home, Ray was so chilled that his lips were slightly blue. Taking a hot shower as soon as he arrived back at his hotel was probably the best decision he could have made.

His mind still on the case, Ray stepped from the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist.

Rick Wilcox was definitely not their man. He had pulled up to the cement warehouse at four a.m. and left at four-thirty. That would have been several hours before the killer showed up at the docks. Besides, Wilcox had just traveled a route in from Ohio, the exact opposite direction that the trail of bodies led.

Ray tried to see through the steam to his reflection above the sink. He was still a mess, but with the stitches out, he didn't look like a freak.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Ray hurried out of the bathroom with one hand holding the towel.

"Yeah?" he said as he tucked the phone on his shoulder and grabbed underwear out of his bag.

"Ray? It's Stella."

Ray froze with one leg in his gray boxer-briefs and one leg lifted.

"Stella? Hey," he said softly, his heart pounding away faster and faster.

"Are you all right? I-I hadn't heard from you, and well, I know how you can get. You aren't in trouble, are you?" Oh, God! How he loved her petal-soft voice, so light, like music, like flutes. He missed her so much!

"Yeah, I'm okay, Stella. I'm, uh, I'm okay." I love you. I miss you. I'm so happy to hear your voice!

"Oh. Well, I got your message. That was a few days ago. I never heard of this hotel before. Will you be staying there?"

No! I wanna come home, Stella! I wanna be home with you, together like we belong. I miss you. Please, let me come home?

"Ray?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'll be here. You can reach me here."

"Okay. Ray? I heard about the fight. Please don't fight anymore, Ray."

"Yeah. Don't worry, Stella. I-I uh, no fights. Swear. No drinking either."

Ray listened intently for her reply. "Stella? You there?"

She sighed. "Don't lie to me, Ray. You don't need to lie to me. I know you drink now when you're upset."

"No. I mean it, Stella. I haven't had nothin' to drink in a couple of days. I'm on a case."

"You're working? I heard that Joe was working with another detective."

"Yeah. Well, I'm on a special case."

"A special case? Ray—Ray really, you don't need to make things up."

Make things up? Ray straightened up and squinted his eyes at the blank wall in front of him. Make things up? When have I ever lied to her? I've never hidden anything from Stella. I'm an open book. She knows everything!

Well, not everything. Does she Ray? Ever tell her about Tony? Ever tell her you dig guys? Think you'll ever tell her about the F.B.I. agent reaming your ass last night?

"I ain't makin' things up!" he answered angrily.

"Fine. If you're really on a case, then maybe you could tell me about it."

"No. I can't. It's-"

"Police business. Yes, I know, Ray. It's always a big secret, isn't it?"

"No, Stella, it ain't like that." I don't want you involved. This is bad stuff, a nightmare maker. I won't do that to you. I won't let this kind of dirt touch you.

"It is like that, Ray. It always has been."

"No, no, it's not. It's complicated."

"Well, then, explain it to me, Ray."

Explain it to you? Explain why some madman is goin' around kidnapping and torturing little boys and then dumping their bodies for parents and friends to grieve over? I don't understand that myself! How can I explain it to you?

"I-I can't."

"I didn't think so. Well, when you're ready to face the truth, Ray, then call me back. I'll, uh, I'll make sure you get some help."

"Wait! Stella! Don't go," Ray pleaded.

She sighed. "What is it, Ray?" He cringed at the sadness in her voice. That was pity. Stella was real big on pity, but he didn't care. He'd take it if it meant he could be with her.

"W-What about us?" he asked.

"What about us??" she answered, "Ray I think you need to worry about you for now. There can't be an us unless you straighten out yourself first."

He hated himself for asking. It felt like begging, like she had him down on his knees, but he couldn't help it. He hated being away from her. "Will *you* help me, Stella? If I came back home, then you could help me?"

She was silent, and Ray could hear his heavy heart swinging on a fragile thread of hope.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she said and Ray's hope snapped. "I don't want to take a step backwards."

Backwards! Ray clutched his hand to his chest and crouched down on his heels. He crushed his eyes shut against the pain.

Rock bottom. This was definitely rock bottom of the barrel. Stella thinks I'm scum, like I'm too low for her to stoop down and touch. And she's right! She's so right!

Ray, what were you thinking? She doesn't deserve to be pulled into the mud with you!

All the pain he had been bottling up for weeks, all the hurt that he had covered over was now oozing over his heart like acid.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I really am, but it's over."

Ray shoved his fist into his mouth and bent forward, landing on his knees. His eyes burned. He fought for control.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you want, Stella," he said raggedly.

"You'll be okay?"

No.

"Want me to call Joe?" God! She really knew him, knew he was about to cry his eyes out.

"No. I'm okay, really. I'll be okay. I'll call you when I can, when the case is over."

"Sure. Okay, Ray. Call your mother too. She's worried."

"Yeah, okay. I will."

"Bye, Ray."

"Bye," he said and he let the phone drop to the floor. He laid his head on the carpet. His heavy gasps echoed harshly in his ears.

Now was not the time to cry. It just was not a good time. Why did Stella call now?

He missed her so much! But she wanted nothing to do with him. She didn't want him back. She thought he was a major fuck-up. She was right too. Ray turned his head and felt the first few tears roll down his face.

Not now. Not now.

He heaved a few breaths, fighting for control. Then he quickly wiped away his tears and scrambled to his feet. Mulder was on his way. They were going to dinner.

Oh, yeah, quick recovery, huh, Kowalski? Here ya are cryin' away for The Stella and at the same time yer gettin' ready to go on a date!

But it's not a date—not really. I'm on a case and so is Mulder and we're gonna discuss the case and we're were both guys, law enforcement, and it's gonna be a totally innocent dinner, yeah, and then we're gonna have some totally innocent dessert, uh-huh, and then we're gonna come back up here and fuck til dawn. Yup.

Oh, yeah, yer real fucked-up Ray.

Still fighting back the tears, Ray grabbed the rest of his clothes and slipped them on. He looked in the mirror above the dresser. His hair was almost dry, fluffing out every which way. Ray rearranged it into a spikier look with some gel.

Okay. Ready. Wait. Nope. Somethin's missin'. Oh. Bracelet. Where the hell did I put it? Ray glanced around the room. Bathroom maybe. He turned to the bathroom, but then there was a knock on his door.

He's here. Mulder's here. Okay. Get a hold of yerself, Ray. Do not think about The Stella. Okay? Okay.

Ray opened the door.

xx

Mulder looked up as Ray opened the door. The man looked sexy as hell—bare feet, tight worn jeans, white t-shirt clinging to his damp skin, and his hair was drying into those crazy haphazard spikes. Ray had showered—probably for him. And before he realized what he was doing, Mulder crowded into Ray's personal space and had his nose in Ray's soft, blond hair. Mmm. Clean. Fresh.

He heard Ray's gasp of surprise and then the spare frame leaned into him. Mulder wrapped his arms around the detective. He had a feeling that dinner was going to wait.

His suspicions were confirmed when Ray snuggled back, bent his head, and licked along his jaw. He hadn't intended to do this, to come on so strong, but Ray smelled so good. He felt even better—all lean muscle and warm skin. He was so willing.

Mulder shoved one hand into Ray's hair, encouraging the oral exploration of his throat, and the other hand skimmed over Ray's back, feeling the smooth muscles shift under the thin t-shirt.

Ray had worked his way up to his ear and Mulder groaned as sparks tingled right down to his feet. Ray's spine twisted like a snake under his hand as he wriggled closer, so pliant. Mulder was still chilled from the wind outside and Ray felt so warm, so hot. His kisses were like burning coals. Then his mouth was on his, taking possession, thrusting his tongue in, voracious, demanding. Mulder moaned, sucking on Ray's tongue, not letting go, wanting more. Ray willingly gave in, offered everything.

How did things get so out of control? He was thinking about the case on the way up, but now his brain was suddenly on vacation. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak, and he was hard, so hard, aching, wanting. He shifted his hands to Ray's ass and squeezed. He pulled them together, rubbing their cocks.

Ray pulled his mouth away. "Oh, fuck," he whispered.

Mulder took his mouth again. He did not want to stop. He did not want to talk. He wanted to feel good. He wanted to hear Ray moan. He wanted Ray. He wanted to fuck Ray, hard, as hard as he could.

"Yeah, oh, yeah," Ray gasped into his mouth. Ray's hands grasped at his clothes, frantically trying to rip them off without moving away enough for even air to pass between them. He was a tornado of energy, writhing, twisting, struggling to get them both naked.

Mulder could not wait any longer. He walked them backwards until Ray fell onto the bed, wantonly sprawled, pants half-way down, cock jutting up, slippery and wet. "Yeah, yeah, come on," Ray taunted. Mulder read challenge in the darkened blue eyes. They sparked with gold flecks of defiance and his teeth flashed at him.

Mulder stripped his own shirt off and then bent forward and grabbed Ray's hips. He sucked on the head of Ray's dick, sucked hard.

"Oh, fuck!" Ray groaned, "Fuck! Fuck! Oh, yeah, Fox! Please! Fox!"

God! Ray's begging! It sounds so good. To be wanted so badly. Needed.

Mulder looked up at the flushed face, licking away Ray's salty flavor from his lips. Ray's head was tilted back. Mulder could see one blue eye staring glassily back at him beneath heavy lashes.

"Please, Fox," he rasped, "Do it. You wanna take me. I can feel it. Do it now."

His cock screamed in agreement. Mulder's grip tightened on Ray's hips. He closed his eyes as a wave of lust washed over him. Swiftly, he flipped Ray over.

"Yeah, yeah, oh, yeah, do it, do it," Ray chanted as he shimmied out of his pants.

Mulder fumbled for his jacket. In the pocket was condoms and lube.

"Come on, Fox. Come on."

Jesus! Ray was an impatient little fuck! Doesn't he know that I want it just as bad? Doesn't he hear me taking deep breaths just so I won't come from putting the condom on? Doesn't he know that it's taking all my self-control to stop and prepare him, watch him writhe and fuck himself on my fingers?

"Uhn, oh, come on, take me. Fuck me. I want yer cock so bad. Come on."

Alex had talked during sex, but not like this, not this dialog of shameless begging. Mulder absolutely loved it.

Mulder yanked his fingers out and straddled the lean golden body. His belt buckle slapped down onto Ray's back. It must have been cold, because Ray gasped. Mulder brushed it aside along with the flap of his pants. He grabbed his cock and pushed into Ray.

There was some resistance, but Ray spread his legs further and Mulder felt him consciously relax. "Fox, come on. Do it. Do me. Hard. Now. Please."

Ray's lust-roughened voice snapped the last bit of any restraint he had left. Mulder sank into velvet heat.

He groaned. Tight. Oh, Jesus, so tight. So good.

Ray was panting beneath him, moaning, tossing his head back. "Yeah, oh, yeah, god, yer cock feels so good. So fuckin' big."

Mulder shifted his weight, leaning into his arms on either side of Ray for leverage. He licked at the sweat forming on Ray's smooth back, content to drown in the smell, the sight, the warmth of Ray, but then the man wiggled beneath him. Mulder pulled back and then slammed back into the body beneath him.

"Oh, FUCK!" Ray yelled and before he could draw breath, Mulder thrust into him again, harder, again and again. Ray grunted with each impact of their sweat-slick bodies. Mulder wanted more.

He pulled out. "No!" Ray wailed. Then Mulder pulled him by his hips until his legs slid off the bed and he rested on his toes. With his ass up in the air, most of Ray's weight was on his elbows. He quickly adjusted and Mulder slid into him again.

Mulder was overwhelmed with the power Ray would give him. He had Ray in a submissive position, one that Alex would never have allowed—he was sure of that. He gripped Ray's hips harder, hard enough to bruise. Then he set a brutal rhythm—quick, rough—and Ray only encouraged him to give more.

"F-fuck...yes..oh..hard..er..f-f-oh.." Then Mulder shifted angles and Ray almost leaped out of his hands.

"Oh, GOD, YEAH! OH! FUCK!"

Ray bucked back with every thrust. His hands gripped the blankets, his head whipped back and forth, his whole body was devoted to impaling himself on Mulder's cock, and Mulder felt fantastic.

He felt strong, invincible. Ray was a strange wild creature, but *he* could hold on. He leaned over the wiry back and reached around holding tight, his shoulders slippery against Ray's back. For the first time, he could hear his own groans as he slammed in and out of Ray's perfect, tight, little hole. He reached forward and twisted Ray's already hardened nipples, and then Ray was coming, shouting, gripping down. Mulder groaned, raised his head, felt sound and heard light. Time stopped. Then his hips were jerking wildly as he spilled his seed deep into Ray. Finally, his grip loosened, relaxed and they both slid forward into the bed.

Mulder lay on Ray for a moment, then he leaned up and holding the condom on, he slipped out. Ray grunted, but didn't move.

He couldn't believe he'd done that. No 'hello'. No 'are you still interested'? He'd just attacked Ray, demanded, and took. He wasn't sure if he should feel shame or worry. Ray definitely enjoyed being tossed around, but he *was* pretty rough. Mulder reached down with a soft caress along Ray's shoulder.

"Are you okay, Ray?"

"Ooh, yeah. Much better," he answered groggily.

Much better? Better than what?

"Are you sure? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Mulder asked as he gently pet Ray's back. His hand skimmed down to Ray's hip and he noticed small bruises forming where his fingertips must have pressed too hard. Mulder frowned. What the hell did I do?

"Hey," Ray whispered as he rolled over and took Mulder's hand in his own. "Don't freak out. I never done it like that before, that crazy-wild like, but man, it was great, better than great. So don't flip out. And don't look at me them puppy-dog eyes. Yer killin' me."

Mulder smiled and ducked his head.

"Dinner's gonna havta wait. I don't think I can stand right now anyway. I just wanna lay here fer a little while with you, okay?"

Mulder nodded. If Ray wanted to sleep, then Mulder would oblige him.

xx

Ray awoke snuggled back into Mulder's arms. Warm. Safe. Wanted. Mulder had wanted him big time, and that felt real good after getting dumped on by The Stella. Not like Stella hadn't ever wanted sex. Hell, sex was always great between them, perfect, but this was different—maybe cause that's all I'm lookin' ta give right now. Maybe that's was all Mulder's expectin'.

No, that does not sound right. Ray opened his eyes and stared at the wrinkled sheets.

If all he wanted was sex, then the guy could get that anywhere. Yeah, they did hook up at a bar, but now they were working together, getting to know each other. Mulder acted like a friend today, and now he's cuddled up behind ya, pettin' yer hair. Ya don't do that if it's just about sex.

"Mulder? Fox?" Ray swallowed past his scratchy throat. "Is it okay if I call ya Fox? I mean, I saw ya weren't too keen on it at first, but we are naked an' all. Feel kinda funny callin' ya by yer last name."

"It's okay. I don't usually like it, but I don't mind too much with you."

Ray nodded and pursed his lips. Okay, there's an issue there, but I ain't gonna touch it. "Okay, Fox, so I been thinkin', wonderin' actually."

"Wondering what?" Mulder mumbled as he nuzzled the back of Ray's neck.

"What ya see in me. I mean, what made ya interested? I mean, if I wasn't involved in the case now, would ya still have called me?"

Mulder lifted his head and set it on Ray's shoulder. "Yes. I was excited that you left your number."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well, um, where you wanna go wid this? I can't..I mean...I don't..." Ray stopped in frustration. He sighed. How do I say this without makin' him feel bad? How do ya say ta somebody that yer lovin' the whole sex thing, but a romance is outta the question? Can't drag this guy down inta my problems. Ray sighed again.

Mulder had stilled behind him. "Ray, I don't know where to take this. I can't really think about it. I..Jesus, Ray I'm still recovering from my last relationship."

Oh. Yeah. Thank God, Mulder's on the same page. "Hey, that's okay. That's what I mean. I'm married, remember? And I'm real mixed up about Stella. I'm real mixed up anyway. Fucked-up. I don't want ya ta get mixed up in it too."

"You're not fucked-up Ray. Confused. Lonely. Me too. I know how it is." Mulder slipped his arm around Ray's chest and let his fingers sweep across Ray's skin.

The comforting touch made Ray's heart ache. He didn't deserve such tenderness. "Yeah? I don't think so," he mumbled.

"You tell me your fuck-ups and I'll tell you mine."

Ray shook his head silently. No way. No way am I gonna tell you what a loser you picked up.

"Okay. Can you tell me about Stella? You love her, right?"

Oh, God! Yeah, I love her. I miss her so much! Oh sure, Ray, that's why yer laying here naked with some guy you just met. No! I do love her! I do! We were perfect together and I wanna be with her, but I can't be alone. I don't wanna be alone! "I don't wanna be alone," he choked out.

"Me either," Mulder whispered.

Ray swiftly clamped his hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that aloud! He squeezed his eyes shut.

Stella! Stella! Oh, Christ! I'm cheatin' on Stella! No wonder she's leavin' me. Been outta the house six days and yer already beggin' for it. I'm so sorry, Stella! So sorry!

A second later, he felt tears slip down his face, wetting his mouth and the pillow. Ferget it, Kowalski! Ya blew it! He's gonna run now. He's gonna freak out when he sees ya cryin'!

His body started to tremble. His shoulders hunched in. He felt Mulder shift and then one long elegant hand brushed away his tears. "It's okay to cry, Ray."

Ray shuddered as he spoke. "You must think I'm some kind a freak that cries every time I fool around."

Mulder held him tighter back against his chest. "No. I think you're badly hurt. I think we have a lot in common."

Ray sniffed. "Maybe, but it ain't Stella. It's me. I've been slippin' on the job, too...gettin' inta fights...drinking. Drinkin' a whole lot." Ray's voice cracked.

"I haven't seen that. I think you're a good cop, Ray. One of the best I've ever worked with."

"Being a cop is the only thing I've ever been good at, I guess. It's the rest of my life that so messed up and now I can't hide it no more." Ray sniffed again and wiped at his face. His cheeks felt hot and his eyes were probably bloodshot. Beautiful. Great.

"God, Ray, what does she say to you?"

"Nothin. It ain't Stella. She's great, perfect. I never deserved a girl like her."

Mulder kissed the back of his shoulder and softly rubbed his arm. "I've only known you two days, Ray, but I see a lot of qualities inherent about you that you're overlooking."

"I've never been good at the whole talking thing. That's my biggest problem. I know that. I mean, I talk, but I don't really say anything, Fox."

"You're talking to me now."

"Yeah. Pretty amazin', two guys talkin' about their feelins."

Mulder chuckled.

"Why can't I talk like this ta Stella?" he whispered.

"Maybe you care about her too much."

"Maybe I'm just chickenshit." Ray curled further in on himself, disgusted with his fear, with his lonely, aching, needing self.

"That isn't true, Ray. You're a brave man. Smart and sweet and sexy. Maybe it isn't that you aren't talking, maybe it's that she isn't listening."

Ray continued staring off across the rumbled sheets under his cheek. He couldn't put the blame on Stella, he just couldn't.

"You are a fine detective, Ray. Two minutes on the job with you and I could see that. And you're a wonderful person. I wish I wasn't so fucked up myself. I might be able to take advantage of Stella's absence."

Ray managed a small smile and turned in Mulder's arms to face him.

"Ya mean yer not already taking advantage?"

Mulder smiled and blushed. "That isn't what I meant. I just wish I met you before, before, uh, A-Alex."

"You wanna talk about him? He hurt ya real bad, but that's all I know." Ray reached up to pet the soft, golden-brown hair back from Mulder's face. He could feel Mulder's hand sweeping absently across his hip.

Mulder sighed heavily. "He was my partner."

Ray stayed silent. He had wondered about Mulder's absent partner. Mulder kept his eyes downcast between them as he spoke.

"There's a lot I can't explain, but I don't normally work as a profiler anymore. This is just a favor for Kyle, and really it's a break for me. I work in a division called the X-Files. I investigate cases with a paranormal slant to them."

"Ya mean like aliens and physic stuff? That's why ya were at the um, the uh, givin' the lecture?"

"Yes. But it's my belief that certain forces within the government would like to keep silent some of the unsolved cases that I work on."

"Ya mean a cover-up? Fer what?"

Mulder sighed. "I-I believe, Ray. I believe there is life out there," he said and waved his hand towards the ceiling. "And I believe the government has a lot to cover up and I don't exactly know what it is yet, but I know the X-Files are the key."

Ray could feel himself staring, but he could not help it. He had thought that Mulder and himself had a lot in common, but this was way out there. This was weird. Mulder was turning into some hippy freak right in front of his eyes.

"Anyway, six months ago, I was called in to consult on a case. It was a hostage situation and the perpetrator believed he was regularly abducted by aliens. I was called in to negotiate the hostage exchange. But I believed him, Ray. I believed Duane Barry and as a result, my partner is now missing. Scully trusted me and I let her down."

Ray squinted his eyes. "Scully? Who's that? That Alex?"

Mulder looked back at him. "No. No, Scully is my real partner. Alex was..not who I thought he was."

Ray tried to wrap his mind around the facts, but they just were not piecing together.

Mulder sighed and slid his arms around him, pulling him closer. "Settle in Ray. It's a long story."

So Ray snuggled down and listened to Mulder pour out his past in his steady monotone. Ray drifted during most of the government conspiracy and alien abduction scenarios, but he made an effort to listen whenever the names Alex or Scully were mentioned. Finally, Mulder quieted.

"Geez. Yer life is crazier than mine." Ray leaned up on his elbow and looked down into Mulder's face. His chest tightened as, for the first time, he noticed the wet tracks down Mulder's cheeks and the tears still held back in his eyes.

"This Alex guy is a total asshole, Mulder. He played ya. He played ya good and that really sucks cause you don't deserve that shit."

Mulder turned his head into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut tight, but tears still spilled out through his lashes. His voice quivered, thick and raw. "I love him," he gasped. His breath hitched and he covered his eyes with his hand. "I hate him," he said tightly, "Oh, God, I hate him so much. I love him. I don't know what to do." Then he broke down completely and cried into his hand.

Ray hovered uncertainly. Should I hold him? Should I go away? He lightly swept his fingers through Mulder's hair and leaned forward to kiss along his hairline. He folded Mulder into his arms and rubbed his back. "It's not yer fault—none of it. Yer one of the good guys and he, he, he is not worth breakin' yer heart over."

"It's too late for that," he whispered hoarsely into Ray's neck, "It's broken. I gave it to him and he used me. He used me!" He hugged himself tighter to Ray, sobbing loudly.

Ray bit down on his lip as tears flowed over his own eyes and dripped into Mulder's hair. Geez, we're both a mess. Two sad broken thirty-somethings holdin' on to each other in a dark nowhere hotel room. What a wreck.

Ray held Mulder until his body stopped shaking. Mulder's grip loosened and he relaxed into the bed, looking up at Ray leaning over him again. Ray kissed his lips softly. Then he murmured into his ear,"I'm sorry, Fox. I'm real sorry fer what's happened to both of us."

Mulder pulled him close again and Ray relaxed into the embrace like a cat laying in the sun, warm and comfortable.

"It's okay, Ray. I'm glad your here. I'm glad I'm not alone tonight," Mulder said hoarsely.

Ray breathed in deeply, smelling Mulder's skin and their sweat and the taint of their hurried tryst, and he had to agree with Mulder—being alone was ten times worse. "Ya ever been married?" Ray asked softly.

"Once, but it didn't work out. We had our different goals. Besides, working in Violent Crimes, doesn't exactly inspire one to bring your work home and I think she resented that."

"Like Stella. She hates that I don't talk ta her about the cases, but I just don't want her to know about the kinda filth crawlin' around in the world. Ya know?" "Hm. Yes."

"She know that ya swing both ways?"

Mulder nodded as he answered. "Yes. Maybe she even thought I was having an affair. I did keep long hours at the office, but my mind was always occupied with a case. I was barely interested enough to have sex with her, and that probably only added to her frustration. In the end, I gave her whatever she wanted. The divorce was a brief exercise of judicial mercy for both of us."

"Ya ever think about her?"

"Sometimes. Not often. Why?"

Ray shrugged. "No reason." Ray cleared his throat. "I'm thirsty. Hungry too. Weren't we supposed to go to dinner?"

Mulder smiled. "Yes. But..if you don't mind, I really don't feel like going anywhere tonight."

Ray smiled back. "Me neither. No room service in this crappy hotel though. Pizza okay?"

"Mm-hm."

Ray sat up and reached into the night stand for the phonebook. "With pineapple and ham?"

Mulder made a face.

"What? Ya don't like pineapple on yer pizza?"

"Sounds revolting."

"Oh, well, ya gotta trust me on this one. I-" Ray was interrupted a tinny ringing sound.

"That's my cellphone," Mulder said as he rolled over and grabbed for his suit jacket on the floor. Ray waited and watched.

"Mulder.....Who is this?....Who are you?....Wait—" Then Mulder pressed the end button and swung his legs over to the side of the bed.

"Hey, Fox? What's goin' on?"

Mulder turned wide eyes to him, glanced away, and then faced him again. "I have to go out for a little while."

"Why? What's goin' on?"

"An informant just called. He wants me to meet him down by the waterfront."

"Informant? About the case? You want back-up?" Ray asked as he stood and grabbed his pants from the floor.

"No, Ray. I need to go alone."

"That ain't a good idea."

"It has to be that way. It isn't about the current case. It's about...the work, the X-Files," he explained as he dressed, "My informants are always paranoid. If they see you, then they'll run. Don't worry, I'll be okay. Oh, and hey, I'll pick up the pizza on the way back, okay."

Mulder smiled, but Ray wasn't reassured. Ya don't go walkin' inta dark alleys without a partner.

Then he remembered that Mulder did not have a partner and he probably would not trust anyone to back him up ever again. "I don't like it."

"Ray, please, just wait for me." Mulder ran his hand through Ray's hair and then kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

Then he *was* gone and Ray felt his absence immediately. He stood with his back to the rumpled bed, staring at the door with his t-shirt dangling from his hand. The silence in the room was deafening.

Then he heard a noise. He cocked his head. It was gone.

It was a soft sound like, like cloth on cloth.

Then he heard a scuff. Behind him.

He turned.

PAIN! Blackness.

The last thing he saw was his own metal link bracelet clenched in thick, blunt fingers.

xx

Mulder checked his watch. 7PM. The docks were pitch black and a fog was crawling in on thick smokey fingers. No moon. No stars. The security lights on the surrounding warehouses kept their eery glow close to the walls.

Mulder was so tired. He had not slept when Ray did. He had thought about Scully. He had thought about the X-Files and the bureau and how going back without her would be so hard.

No wonder he had broken down in front of Ray. He had told the detective everything and he would probably regret that. He had even cried. Mulder ruefully shook his head.

He startled at the sound of a raspy voice.

"You're alone?" the man asked.

"Yes. As you instructed. Who are you? You said you had information on my partner." Mulder peered into the gloom, but he could not see further than ten feet in front of him and the man's voice seemed to come from all around.

"She's to be returned to you very soon."

"How do you know that? Where is she? Who are you? Show yourself!"

Footsteps echoed. Then a tall man of Mulder's own height stepped from behind several stacks of old truck tires.

"You're the man we chased this morning, aren't you? Why were you at the crime scene? Are you following me? What information do you have?" Mulder's heart pounded and he could feel the adrenaline pumping into his body, heightening his senses, making him edgy and impatient.

"Mulder..." the man rasped and he took a step forward with his hand raised. The fog cleared between them and Mulder finally saw his face.

Mulder gasped and stepped back. His heart stopped. He could not breathe. He clutched his chest and stared in horror.

Alex. It was Alex. He barely recognised him—standing before him with the same softly-angled face, but his green eyes burned with feverish intensity.

Mulder felt his gorge rise and pain twisted his face in a grimace. "You...you.." he croaked.

Alex came closer, close enough for his raised hand to brush along Mulder's cheek. Mulder cried out at the searing touch, the contact sparking an answering flame deep in his soul, a response of joy and hate, love and anger.

Alex leaned closer, then recoiled. "You smell like him," he accused with a sneer.

Mulder stared back. He could suddenly breathe again, harsh panting that fueled the growing anger within. He shoved Alex away.

"You fucking rat-bastard," he growled, "How *dare* you?"

Alex stared back at him, his wide green eyes filled with pain. But the innocence that was once there as well was now gone. This was no junior agent standing before him. This man wore leather and denim, he held himself with confidence and grace, and by his carriage, Mulder knew he still carried a gun.

"I did what I had to do, what I was sent to do," Alex answered.

"To betray me? To sleep with me? How much did they pay you to be their whore?"

Alex flinched at each viciously thrown question, and Mulder's heart ached to see him hurting, but he could not stop his attack. He wanted Alex to feel his pain. He took a step forward, not knowing his intention.

"That wasn't supposed to happen. I was only there to watch you and update them on the progress of your cases."

"Well, I bet you got a nice pat on the head for going the extra mile. Did you tell them everything? Did you tell them how stupid I was? How easy it was for me to fall for you?"

"No, Fox, I didn't tell them any of that," Alex pleaded, his face in a twisted grimace, his hands held in supplication.

"Fuck you!" Mulder pushed him back. "FUCK YOU!" He push him again, harder, until his back pressed up against a stack of tires. "I don't believe a fucking word you say. You're a liar, Krycek!"

He took hold of the open leather jacket. It was butter-soft and pliable in his hands. Mulder looked down at the jacket, so representative of the change in the man before him, and yet, oddly better matched to the man who had shared his bed. This was the mask removed, this was the real Alex Krycek, the clever liar, the dangerous traitor, the unforgettable lover.

"I hate you," Mulder whispered. He raised his head, glaring with teeth bared. "I *hate* you," he growled and leaned into Alex's space, so close he could feel Alex's quick breaths upon his face, and he could smell the warm scent of his hair clashing with the noxious odor of the tires. He could see that each of Alex's thick eyelashes were coated with moisture, tears held back. He wanted to tenderly wipe them away. He wanted to slap the mirage. He wanted to punch and beat Alex until the man no longer resembled the lover he remembered.

Mulder heard him take a shaky breath. "I love you," Alex whispered, "Please, please don't hate me for what I've done. I had to do it. There's so much you don't know."

He felt Alex's fingertips tentatively brush his shoulders and he shrugged them off. His hands gripped tighter into the supple leather as he backed away, bending at the waist and leaning his head into Alex's chest. With his face turned down, he bit into his lip to keep from crying. "Why are you doing this?" Mulder moaned, "What could you possibly want? There's nothing left."

"I want you to love me. I want to reassure you."

A bark of a laugh preceded the tears that finally slid down Mulder's face.

"Please, Fox."

Mulder wrestled with his confused emotions. Part of him craved for what Alex was offering, begged for it like a stray dog for scraps. Part of him cowered, vainly trying to protect his ravaged heart. His anger slipped away. He raised his head and discovered Alex crying silent tears as well.

"Reassure me then. Come back. There aren't any charges against you. Nothing can be proven. Come back to me. Explain it all to me. I'll try to understand. I want you back. I want to believe you." He leaned softly into Alex, closed his eyes and whispered against his cheek. "I still love you."

Alex embraced him gently. His fingers combed through Mulder's hair and he rubbed his back. Then his hands slowly dropped back.

"I can't," Alex said.

Mulder froze. His hands had felt so good, so warm and gentle. It seemed as if the cold biting wind off the lake was diverted from them, but Mulder suddenly felt the icy air all around. "What?" he asked.

"I can't come back. There are things I must do."

Mulder released him and moved back. "What do you mean?"

"The men I work for are powerful, Fox. They know secrets that need to be acted upon."

"Secrets?"

Alex stepped close to him again. "I can't explain it to you. I'm on the inside now, working beyond the limits of the law."

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand."

"I know. And I may be ordered to do things that will make you hate me even more."

"What things?"

"I don't know, yet. But I want you to know that I'll never do anything that will hurt you, Fox. They can't make me hurt *you*. I'll protect you, any way that I can."

Mulder looked off into the dark night. The fog was thick here on the docks. He could not even see the water lapping into the concrete pillars of the pier.

"Why did you call me tonight?" he asked tonelessly.

"I've been watching you."

Mulder whipped his eyes back to Alex's face. "You saw me then, with him? Do you blame me?" he asked.

Alex lowered his eyes and swallowed. "It hurts, but no, I can't be angry that you sought comfort after what I did. Just...just don't love him. Please, Fox, just...please." He met Mulder's eyes and held them. Alex's fingers grasped his arms. "I love you. Tell me you'll always be mine. Please tell me that."

Mulder wanted nothing more than to fall into his lover's arms and tell him whatever he wished. He saw his soul in Alex's eyes, his greatest happiness. And his greatest pain.

"I can't say that," he whispered. And then he saw something break in Alex's eyes, something fragile and beautiful. The warm fingers withdrew from their hold on his arms and Alex stepped back.

A cold mask of arrogance and indifference settled over his lover's face—erasing all memories of easy, guileless smiles. Mulder squelched the urge to reach out and grab them back together in a sun-warmth embrace.

"I called to tell you, I'm not the only one watching you, or rather that detective you're with. I didn't get a good look, but he's an older man. Maybe this detective has an ex-lover he hasn't shaken off all the way." Alex stepped back. "Anyway, I thought you should know," he said and then he disappeared into the fog.

Mulder stood, confused, his thoughts in turmoil. He staggered a few steps forward, then caught himself before running after his beloved Alex.

His lover was gone.

But what was he to expect?

I couldn't do it. I couldn't trust him again. I couldn't just believe that he would be there for me, that he was working towards some greater good, that he wasn't using me. Again.

But for what purpose? I still love him. I still want him. Oh God! Oh God! What's wrong with me?

I'll always belong to him. That's all he wanted to know. That's all he asked for and he's already got it. I'm yours, Alex! Always. Always yours.

But I can't tell you that. I can't give you that power over me. I can't throw everything into your hands and expect you not to rip my heart, my life, my soul apart and cast it to raving rabid dogs.

Mulder sank to his knees, oblivious to the cold wind and the damp muddy boards of the dock. Hot tears streamed down his face as he choked back cries of anguish and loss and regret. He covered his face with his hands, the scent of leather still lingering on his fingertips.

He rocked sideways, catching his weight on his arm and sprawled carelessly back against the stacked tires. He pressed his hands closer, breathing in the last traces of a lover he was sure to never see again. He gazed at the long fingers.

How many things have these hands touched and right now I can only remember how it felt to hold him? How can anything replace that? And how can I abandon all the tasks that these hands might accomplish so that I might retain the tiniest memory imprinted here?

He licked two fingers of his right hand, imagining the salt there to be taken from Alex.

Should I eat my hands then? Should I devour and keep forever the last traces of my other half? That would certainly erase all temptation to wash him from my life.

A shrill ring interrupted his thoughts. Mulder shook his head.

Why do I think things like that?

The ringing continued.

Mulder sighed. He slumped back and pulled the cellphone from his pocket. "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, this is Agent Miller. We've got him. We've got the son of a bitch."

xx

They got me. They got me again. Ray's heart pounded furiously. It's the dream, the one he's had since he was ten, the one that makes him awaken screaming and twisted in the sweaty sheets.

Bright lights, just like always. Bright lights that make his eyes water, because they shined directly into his face and they reflected harshly back from the polished metal walls all around. The table was cold and hard against his naked skin as he lay there in terror. Always the same. Always.

Ray waited for the moment that makes him wake up, the moment he never remembers until the next time he finds himself lying here, the moment when he sees one. It always makes him scream.

He waited and his heart slammed harder in his constricted chest. He shivered. His head hurt, a dull throbbing pain that flared when he moved even the slightest bit. He laid still.

There was no sound, but his harsh breathing echoed back from the mirror-like walls. He squinted, trying to see past the lights, trying to clear his blurry vision, trying to anticipate seeing that awful face.

Too late.

He sucked in to scream, but his body froze. He saw the dark ridged face out of the corner of his eye. It came closer. Closer still. Ray could hear the raspy echoing breaths all around and he suddenly realized why, as a boy, he had always been terrified of the movie Star Wars. Darth Vader was a creature right out of his nightmares, right out of his memories.

Its shiny flat eyes stared at him, expressionless, reflecting the blazing lights. The long round snout. No mouth!

Ray whimpered. He clenched his fists. He felt a light touch on his bare thigh.

Now he would wake up.

But he did not.

His eyes rolled up into his head. Why was he not waking up? Then Ray remembered something else, a memory buried deep inside. And even though this time he was a grown man on the icy table, he still felt like the scared little ten year old boy who had rejected this memory so violently.

Ray's body shook. His whimpers took form in words.

"Please. Please, don't."

Tears squeezed out from his eyes shut tight against the intruding lights, against a memory flaring out brighter than the sun. That...that...thing had touched him, was touching him now. A bad kind of touch. No one was supposed to touch you there. Only a doctor, that was okay. But this was bad, very bad.

Ray choked on his tears. He couldn't move then. He couldn't move now. He could only tremble and turn away, turn his mind away from the lights to a nice safe dark place. The dark was good. No one could find you there. Not even monsters. Not aliens either.

xx

"Where is he?" Mulder demanded.

Agent Vaughn turned on her heel when he entered and tossed a manilla folder onto the long dark table between them. "Here," she answered.

Mulder picked up the file as she explained further.

"I was going over the information Detective Kowalski and Agent Miller collected yesterday in the neighborhood by the pier, and it occurred to me to check the routes of every truck dropping off a shipment that morning."

Mulder nodded. He knew someone would be doing that.

"Well, there he was, Terrance Banks, picks up gravel in Moline, Iowa, trucks it down Route 80, makes a stop in Rock Falls, Illinois and then continues on down to Chicago. It's his regular route and he's had plenty of opportunity to stalk out his victims." Vaughn patted back her short hair and waited.

"Does he fit the profile?" Mulder asked.

Miller sighed. "Yes. Perfectly. Forty-two years old, wedded, no children. His wife works at the local supermarket. And now we know where he takes the kids to do his dirty work."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and Miller continued, his forlorn voice echoing in the near bare room.

"The truck. I went inside it. It's a big cab, a place to sleep and some storage. Unfortunately, I didn't think to check the trailer. On this last trip, Mr. Banks only carried a half load, leaving plenty of room to tie down a nine year old and do whatever he wanted to do."

Miller rubbed his hands over his face.

"Wait. You said you were inside it??" Mulder looked up from the open file.

"Augh! Why didn't I see it?" Miller pounded his fist onto the table and squeezed his eyes shut.

Vaughn's posture softened and she looked at her partner with compassion. "It isn't your fault, Kyle. No one would have known."

Mulder looked from one agent to the other. "He was one of the people you talked to yesterday morning," he stated.

"I can't believe I talked to him and I didn't suspect a thing! He just struck me as an honest guy. I didn't think to question him further."

Mulder opened the file again and looked at the driver's license. "Isn't this the driver parked on the corner in front of the cement company? But he'd only been there twenty minutes lo-" Mulder remembered now.

He flashed back and saw the perfect view of the pier the killer would have had from that corner. They had all commented on it, but none of them had stopped to consider the man parked right there, right then.

Mulder should have known. He always had before. Some inner sense never failed to point out every hidden criminal he'd ever come across.

Now he recalled where his attention had truly been focused. He remembered the shy moment when Ray had worn a secret smile just for him as he leaned against the grill of the truck. Mulder remembered the warm feeling in his chest.

And the frost on the truck—pretty light-scattering crystals that would not be on a vehicle just parked twenty minutes ago. It was so obvious. And he had actually taken notice! But Ray's smile prevented his brain from making the connection.

The trucker had lied, so easily, so openly, and if he hadn't been listening to his dick, he would have seen through the ruse immediately.

Mulder sank into a metal chair and hung his head. Oh, God! I hope we're not too late. Oh, please don't let another child be dead, because I can't keep my lust under control.

"Do we have an address?" Mulder asked.

"He gave a hotel address down on Bleeker Street, but like I said, he can sleep in his truck..." Miller's voice faded out as Mulder retreated into the whirlwind whipping up in his thoughts.

Bleeker. Bleeker. Ray's hotel is on Bleeker. Alex said Ray was being watched. An older man. A lover, but no, he was wrong. What if it isn't an old flame? An iron chill gripped his spine.

Mulder focused back on the gray-green room again. Vaughn was still reassuring her partner. Mulder spoke softly, but the other agents sensed his disquiet and stilled. "Have you notified Detective Kowalski?"

Agent Miller cocked his head at him from his hunched seat, his wide brown eyes perplexed over Mulder's suddenly tight voice. "I tried to, but he isn't answering his cell. I thought he was probably in the shower."

Part of Mulder's brain agreed to that reasonable assumption, but part of him, the part that always had him chasing down the most obscure unrealistic theories, *that* part was still clicking away, looking at the facts, putting together clues he hadn't even noticed before.

The frost on the truck was one.

The feeling of being watched on the pier, or, no, even later, in the diner. The diner right near Ray's hotel. The diner where truckers and traveling salesmen ate their breakfast in companionable, but non-intrusive chatter. The diner that Ray had retreated to six months ago to escape the questions and looks of his fellow officers. Six months ago. Six months.

June.

The first little boy, Micheal Hart, disappeared in June, taken from his back yard not far from a working gravel pit. He was the first of five so far. Five blond-haired, blue-eyed boys, all so very similar, all looking very much the way Ray probably had looked when he was about ten years old.

Suddenly, Mulder realized just how little he knew about Ray, and how he needed to know more, because that voice so reliable at tracking down killers like Eugene Tooms and making guesses about alien conspiracies, was now certain that Ray Kowalski was the key to the Little Boy Blue case.

And that his friend Ray with the sweet smile and strong wiry body was in very deep trouble.

xx

Ray blearily opened his eyes to blessedly soft darkness. He was alone.

He relaxed in relief, and although his body trembled with nerves, he knew he could think straight now. Flickering pictures from the last few hours kept cropping into his mind, making it difficult to calmly think about the trouble he was in and how to get out of it.

He rested his head against the metal wall. Cool metal walls, shiny with light, bright light. Ray shook off the image.

Okay. So, I'm not tied down to a table anymore. That's good, right? Can move around?

He struggled a bit, trying to lift his arms.

Ow. Oh. Nope. Can't move. Tied up. Hurts too. What is this? Wire? Where am I? How did I get here? Panic started setting in again. A light touch on his naked thigh, feather light like a big hairy tarantula crawling up, up, stroking one furry spidery leg along his penis. He started hyperventilating.

Deep breaths, buddy. Don't lose it. Come on. Deep breaths. Yeah. Okay. That's better. His head cleared, and for the first time, Ray was able to figure clearly on his location.

I'm in the back of a truck, I think. He chuckled to himself. Ah, Jesus. Aliens. Yeah, right. Then he sobered quickly.

If this ain't aliens, then who's got me?

Refusing to consider the events from earlier, Ray racked his brain to think of any convicts who would want to get back him. He could think of a few, but none that would go beyond a rough beating in a dark alley somewhere. No one he knew would resort to this weird get-up.

He looked at his situation more closely, skirting the horrible memories. He was sitting in the corner, naked. It was cold. Really cold, actually. Ray shivered and he scanned the space around him for a blanket, a jacket, anything to keep him warm, because shock was sure to set in anytime now (if it hadn't already) and it was not the time to become dependant on others. Especially when the other happens to be some freak with a fetish for naked blond cops tied up with chicken wire.

Chicken wire? Yeah, that's what this is. Same stuff that psycho is tying up those kids with before he dumps the— OH SHIT!

Ray slammed his head back against the metal wall with a dull boom. His body stiffened and he looked even closer around the room. There was the table, right in front of him, an old fashioned gurney with the wheels snapped off and the legs patched with duct tape. Everything shined and gleamed even in the half-light cast by an emergency flashlight left on in the opposite corner. Ray could just barely make out the red plastic handle poking out from where the light was wedged between a stack of cardboard boxes and the metal of the truck wall.

Next to Ray and against the wall that butted up to the cab, stood a sturdy workbench with four thick wooden legs. The two front legs each sported a hook for hanging tools. On the surface, sat two big emergency spotlights rigged up to a battery pack and they pointed directly at the gurney. Ray remembered their eye-watering brightness. On the other side of the table, in the other corner, was a bale of chicken wire.

Ray's police training was kicking in now. The only exit was beyond cardboard boxes stacked to make this small space seperate from the rest of the truck. He needed to get to the door and that was probably locked. He needed a weapon too or maybe he could catch the guy by surprise. First though, he needed to get untied.

The wire was tight and cut into his shoulders and arms from when he had struggled earlier. He felt a line of itching and burning up his back and concluded that the wire was twisted together up along his spine. The sharp snipped egdes were probaby scratching the hell out of his skin.

He wiggled to try and turn the metal net wrap, but he only succeed in digging tiny furrows into his chilled skin up along his backbone.

Damn, that hurt! Stings. Okay, so it won't turn. Maybe I can get it off like a shirt over my head. Yeah. That could work.

Ray shifted to his knees and laborously waddled over in front of the workbench. He crouched in front of the right leg and managed to loop the chicken wire onto the blunt, rusty, tool hook. The icy cold hook nudged just below his shoulder blades and sent shivers racing through his already cold body.

Okay. This is gonna hurt. You know it is. No way is this wire coming off like silk.

Ray held his breath and shoved his whole body down. The wire bent and then held and the entire net constricted as it was pulled from that one point. Ray wiggled and pushed down harder. He felt a small give and the entire sheath inched up, scraping his skin. Suddenly he was hot. He pushed harder. The tiny twists forming each hole in the net bit into his skin and held on, but Ray knew he almost had it.

He struggled up again and then caught the wire on the hook at a lower hole. He pushed down. The wire snapped and Ray tumbled, smacking his face into the floor.

Oww! Dammit! He grimaced and straightened back up again. Pain flared along his cheekbone, but Ray ignored it as he turned around and looped the hook in by his chest.

The wire mesh moved up a few inches this time as he pushed down. Encouraged, Ray rehooked again by his chest and yanked his body down.

Mistake!! The snipped ends along his back caught into his skin again and ripped trails of burning agony as the wire was forced higher. Ray bit back a yelp and gritted his teeth against the pain as he continued pushing down and the sharp wire needles dragged along his back.

He could feel blood trickling out of the deep scratches. The sticky warmth felt perversely comforting on his chilled body.

He stopped and lifted to his feet again. The wire bound him too tightly around his arms now. Maybe a little side to side action was needed. Hooking the wire near first one arm, then the other, Ray managed another few inches and now he could squeeze his arms out.

In another moment he was free, but exhausted. Shock was definitely taking hold now. Ray was thirsty and cold and tired and his head felt muzzy and his whole body felt dirty, filmy, disgusting. His heart hammered in his chest, but it was a distant feeling like he was swimming under water and his Mom was calling him for lunch.

Grilled cheese and a pickle on the side. Mom made the best grilled cheese. She always used that really stringy cheese—um, munster, yeah, mmm, that was good. With chocolate milk. Perfect. A perfect meal after swimming in the pool for a while.

Ray furrowed his brow. They never had a pool. Oh, but Uncle Herb did. He lived out in Iowa, near the Mississippi River. Sometimes, the heat of summer in Chicago was too much to bear and the whole family would pack up for the weekend and take the three hour drive out to go visit Uncle Herb and his dog Charlie. The big man was always happy to see them. He would open up the pool and invite all the neighborhood kids for a swim. Everyone loved Uncle Herb, but no one more than Ray. He smiled at the memory.

He felt so comfortable just lying there, thinking about the good times he had on those hot summer days. Swimming and playing fetch with the dog. He always wanted a dog, but he couldn't have one in the city.

He remembered drinking lemonade on the back porch while his dad and uncle fired up the barbecue. And when they made trips into town, Ray always sat in the back of the pick-up holding the dog and watching the farms whiz by in colors of green corn stalks and warm brown cow.

Yeah. Those were good days. Ray sighed. Geez. I miss my Uncle Herb.

Ray was jolted back to the present by a noise close to his face. He opened his eyes and stared across the metal floor. Boots.

He was back.

The psycho was back and now all of Ray's efforts were gone to waste, because now he could barely lift his head, let alone get up and kick some ass.

The boots stepped closer. They were work boots, the kind you could order through a catalog, because they came in special sizes like 13EEE for big guys with big feet who worked hard in the fields or on construction sites. The leather was scuffed and the heel worn down from years of wear. Ray thought they would really hurt if he suddenly got kicked in the face, what with him so conveniently laid out on the floor right now.

So he was surprised when a kick didn't land and instead, the man with the big heavy shoes knelt by his side. Now Ray could see all the way up to the guy's red and blue, plaid, flannel shirt. He couldn't see his face, though, because the man was leaning over him, looking at him, looking at his back and not saying a word.

Ray waited nervously. What's this psycho thinkin'? What's he gonna do? Oh, Geez. Oh God, I wish I had some clothes. I wish I had a gun. I wish-

Suddenly Ray felt calloused fingers on his right shoulder blade caressing his skin, and he cringed away, plastering himself to the cold metal floor. The hand skimmed down his side, and Ray whimpered and tried to crawl away, but he only was able to lift his arms a bit before one large palm clamped onto the back of his head and pushed Ray's face into the floor. The other hand continued stroking Ray's back and eventually ghosted over the deep, self-inflicted, scratches there. Ray yelped and the fingers pressed harder, rougher into the cuts. Ray struggled to no avail, his arms flailing. The man was strong and pinned Ray easily, and worse, Ray's efforts seemed to excite him. He could feel the man's breath near his ear, hot and rapid.

Then the man stepped away and when he came back, he quickly tied Ray's hands together and lifted him off the floor with frighteningly little effort.

Ray found himself face down on the metal gurney. His body shook uncontrollably from the cold and from fear and from anger.

"Git yer slimy paws off me," he croaked. Thirst made his voice scratchy and his tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth.

The killer said nothing.

Creeps me out. Why don't he say something? Ray listened to the silence as he was strapped down and he berated himself for not kicking out when his ankles were grabbed, but then he realized he couldn't move them anyway.

He was tied down tight now, and Ray had a side view of the truck. The red flashlight in the corner was fully visible now. That could have been a weapon—something to bash the psycho's head in, if Ray could have lifted it.

The rough hands were back on him now, tracing the scratches on his back. "Git yer hands off of me," Ray demanded.

Silence.

The hands left, but that made Ray even more nervous. He turned his head as far around as possible and caught a glimpse of the killer putting on some sort of mask. It was a gas mask, an old one from maybe World War II. The mask made the killer's breath echo loudly off the metal walls. Ray turned his head back to face the flashlight.

"That's a good look on ya, freak."

Brave words, but Ray was scared. He was helpless, words were his only defense. Then a hand in his hair wrenched his head up and duct tape was slapped over his mouth.

No, no, no, no, no! Not that! Let me talk. Give me something. I need to do something!

Ray twisted and turned in his bonds, but they were secure. He panicked and thrashed his weight around until finally he slumped onto the table, all energy gone. He felt empty. He felt like a dirty, used, tin can waiting to be crushed under someone's bootheel.

The room filled with bright light cast from the workbench. This is it. I'm gonna die now. Mulder's gonna find my body tomorrow floating in Lake Michigan. The hands were back on him again, possessive and horribly gentle.

No, not again. Ray prayed. Please. No. Just kill me. Just git it over with.

He could hear the man's breathing speed up. Ray could do nothing to prevent his fate. His throat knotted up and it was relief when the tears finally spilled over.

xx

An APB was out on the truck. There were police staked out down by the warehouse and by the hotel where Ray was checked in. Local police back in Iowa were on the lookout for Terrance Banks and a search warrant at his house had turned up a bale of chicken wire in the backyard down next to an old chicken coop.

Down in the cellar, a space had been recently cleared, and Mrs. Banks informed the police that an old workbench used to sit there. When Banks' father was alive, the old man would slaughter and hang the chickens down there and use the workbench to chop up the birds. The sheriff wondered how the man was able to maneuver in the small space. The rest of the cellar was taken up by hospital bedframes, bedpans, and an old shower apparatus. Apparently, Banks' mother was once head nurse at the old infirmary when it was still standing and she didn't believe in throwing things away.

With all the routes and areas covered, Mulder was sure they would find him soon. He only hoped they weren't too late.

But he couldn't think like that, because now he had volunteered for the hardest task. He had contacted Ray's supervisor, Lieutenant Briggs and obtained Ray's home address. Stella, Ray's wife, had to be told what was happening.

They owned a small house in the suburbs, white with black shutters. Mulder parked out front and walked up the brick path. There was a brand new, blue Honda Civic in the driveway, and Mulder recalled Ray's comments, "Told her not ta buy some foreign peice of crap. If she gets in an accident, ferget it! Dead. She'll be dead. I hate that car."

Mulder rang the doorbell and moments later he heard the click of heels behind the door. A slim, blond woman dressed smartly in a pale lavender suit greeted him.

"Mrs. Kowalski? I'm Fox Mulder from the F.B.I."

"Oh, God. Is Ray in trouble?" Her blue eyes flew open in shock.

"I'm afraid so. May I come in?"

Stella bit her lip and nodded.

"Is he alright?" she asked as she led him into the living room and sat down on a light gray couch.

Mulder remained standing. He felt awkward and ashamed. I had an affair with this woman's husband. Thank God I showered before coming here. Any trace of him on me is gone now and there's nothing to suggest that I know Ray much better than your average colleague.

"Ray's been involved in a very high-profile case, working with the F.B.I. very closely." Mulder cleared his throat and almost blushed.

"Really? Oh. He- he said that to me, but well, anyway, what's happened? Is he hurt? Is he- Oh, God. He's not-"

"No." Mulder reached out and took her hand. "Well, we don't know. He's missing. We're almost certain he's been kidnapped."

Stella gasped. "Oh, Ray. Oh, no. By who?"

Mulder squeezed her hand and sat down. "Are you familiar with the Little Boy Blue murders?"

"The ones in the paper? That's the case? Oh, God. Oh, God. That man has Ray? Oh, my God." Stella covered her mouth with one polished hand and her eyes flicked about the room, seeming to search for the answers from the walls around them. She started to shake and so, Mulder reached out and took her in his arms. He could do this for Ray at least. He could comfort the only woman Ray ever loved.

"Are you a friend of his? I'm surprised Joe, that's his partner, isn't here."

"All available units are on the street searching for the suspect's vehicle. I volunteered to come talk to you. I am a friend of Ray, even though we only recently met. He's a fine officer. You should be proud of him."

Stella nodded, but she didn't look at Mulder, and so, he couldn't see what she was feeling. He hoped she still cared for Ray. He saw now how Ray's heart had been captured by this lovely, delicate creature, and he hoped that when this was all over, then the two of them could work out their differences, because they made a stunning couple and he didn't think Ray's fragile sweet smiles would survive her leaving him.

Mulder cleared his throat again. He wasn't sent here to ask her questions, but he had a feeling that Terrance Banks had been watching Ray Kowalski for some time, that the killings had started because of Ray somehow, and something Stella could tell him might be a clue as to where the killer would take Ray.

"Stella? I think Ray was singled out for a reason, and I don't think it was because he was part of the investigation."

"What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"I think he knows Ray somehow. Has Ray ever been to Iowa?"

"Iowa? Um, I don't think so. I...wait. I think he had an uncle there once, but he passed away when Ray was about fifteen. He hasn't been there recently."

Mulder nodded to himself. Stella looked at him curiously. "Does that help?" she asked. "His parents could tell you more."

"Do they live around here?"

She shook her head and her hair swayed around her face. For a second, she reminded him of Scully. "Not anymore. They bought a motor home last year and are staying out at Yavinee Park until the house is sold. I can take you out there. It isn't far."

"Actually, I'll drive, but I would appreciate it if you would introduce me."

Stella nodded and stood. "Let me get my purse."

Mulder admired her courage. This kind of news wasn't easy to take, and Stella was obviously upset, but she was keeping it together bravely. As she walked back into the room, an idea sprang into his mind.

"You said their house is for sale? Is anyone watching it for them?"

"Not really, but it's a quiet neighborhood. No one would bother breaking into an empty house around there."

No one but a killer with an obsession. "May I use your phone?"

"Sure." Stella gestured to a small table near the doorway.

"I need directions to the house."

"Do you think that's where Ray is?" She grabbed his arm, anxiety written plain on her face. Yes. She still loved Ray.

"It's just a theory. I'll check it out and if I'm wrong, then I'll still need to talk to his parents."

Fifteen minutes later, he was parked down the street from the Kowalski house—a little yellow bungalow with a maple tree out front and a backyard surrounded by hedges. Stella told him that Ray's parents had bought the house shortly after Ray and she were married. A big black truck cab sat in the driveway. The trailer was missing, but that didn't mean that Terrance Banks wasn't still here or Ray either.

Mulder crept up to the house from the back, the bushes hiding his presence from anyone inside. It took only a minute to get to the back door which showed evidence of a previous break-in. Quickly and quietly Mulder canvassed the house, but there was no one here. Then he made his way outside to the truck.

No one was there either, but someone had been, recently. And it wasn't Terrance Banks.

xx

Ray hadn't been raped. Yet. But the touching and the licking and the probing were enough to make him scream. If he could. But all he could do was wail inside his mind, and cry hot tears of shame and fear on the outside.

He even tried to imagine it was Mulder touching him or even Tony Sanchez, his first male lover, but he could hear that god-awful breathing all around and he was freezing everywhere but where the monster touched him. It was hopeless. He was lost. He was dying.

The hated touches suddenly stopped. Oh, no. Here it comes. He's worked up the nerve to finally do it.

Ray believed there was no fight left in him, but he surged against his bonds at the thought of being used that way. Strangely enough, he didn't feel the hands again. Actually, the heavy breathing was gone too.

Ray lifted his head and tried to look around. Nothing and what he could see was blurry. His head dropped back with a thunk and he turned on his cheek. He could hear those big boots stomping towards the back of the trailer. The big door squealed as it opened slowly and then instantly slammed shut again. Ray listened as a sound like thunder filled the air, a heavy rattle of metal on metal.

Then a man screamed and suddenly Ray's captor barreled through the cardboard box aisle towards the gurney. Now Ray could see his face for the first time, and he could see that his tormentor was not a monster at all. He was an aging, balding, ordinary-looking guy with white hair and watery blue eyes. Nothing remarkable or repulsive. And he did not seem as big before, especially with the look of pure terror on his face. The man had his right hand clamped under his left armpit and Ray could see blood seeping out and staining the flannel shirt.

What's happening? What's he afraid of?

His answer arrived directly after, but stood on the other side of the gurney where Ray couldn't see. The old man shook his head emphatically.

"Please," he whimpered, "please don't kill me."

Oh, shit! That ain't the cops. Is it worse? Is this guy gonna snuff us both? Actually that wouldn't be so bad. Ray wished he could speak. He would urge the hidden aggressor to attack and kill.

Then a deafening shot rang out and Ray watched his kidnapper clutch a spreading bloom of dark red on his chest. He could see now that the right hand had been slashed open with a very sharp edge. The man gurgled as he hunched forward and then collapsed into a heap. Ray closed his eyes.

The monster was dead.

A rough wool blanket was thrown over Ray's body and his arms and legs were released. Ray didn't have the strength to move. His savior was giving him warmth and freedom, and as far as Ray was concerned, he could do or have whatever else he wanted. Finally, the tape on his mouth was removed and Ray gasped. The glue on the tape was strong and it hurt to be ripped off, but he was so glad, so happy. He actually smiled.

Ray was gently turned and lifted into a pair of strong arms. Mulder? He tried to see, to open his eyes and know who had saved him, but he was so tired and he felt safe now. No one would hurt him here.

He swallowed, trying to moisten his throat enough to speak and when he finally did, he could barely hear himself. "Thank you," he rasped and then he dropped into oblivion.

xx

Mulder found a sheaf of information about Ray Kowalski in the cab of the truck. Terrance Banks had done his homework. And on the front seat was a picture of a sixteen or seventeen year old Ray standing with his dad in front of repair garage adjacent to a huge junkyard. A phone call back to Stella gained him the address and he drove there at top speed, simultaneously calling in back-up. He just knew this was the place.

He spotted the trailer right away. The back doors were open and blood tarnished the edge of one door. Mulder rushed in with his gun drawn only to find that the Little Boy Blue killer was sprawled on his back dead with a bullet hole through his chest.

Two black and whites pulled up as he stepped back into the sunshine. Looking around, he noticed the side door to the garage was wide open. There inside, lying on a cot, was Ray Kowalski.

"Ray? Ray?" Mulder called softly, "Can you hear me?"

The detective groaned, but didn't open his eyes.

Alright. Unconscious but alive.

Ray was dressed in a blue shirt and pants with the garage name sown on the right breast pocket. A glass of water sat on the floor. It was chill to the touch and clear of debris.

Mulder searched the garage for any other people, but it was empty. Whoever had helped Ray, had left without a trace.

A few days later, Mulder walked into Lieutenant Briggs' office at the 31st precinct to find Miller and Vaughn already seated in front of the Lieutenant's desk while Ray Kowalski paced off to the side.

"How many times do I gotta say it? I don't remember! All I know is that that psycho-freak, Banks, was about to get his jollies by wrapping me in chicken wire again, and then, all of the sudden BAM! this guy, six feet tall, dark hair, came crashing in and popped Banks in the heart. That's it. That's all. Wrap it up, stick it in a box marked done."

"And you never saw his face?" Briggs asked.

"No. I couldn't make it out. I told you. I couldn't see straight."

Vaughn held up her hand, stopping the argument from progressing. "It's okay detective. You were severely dehydrated and in shock. I'm surprised you saw as much as you did."

Miller looked at his partner in surprise at defending the cop. Then she shocked him further by standing and holding her hand out to the detective.

"We're ready to wrap this case up. I wanted to thank you for working with us. I'm sorry that you had to become so personally involved," she said.

Ray shook her hands and said nothing, but nodded as he stared at the floor.

The agents took their leave and thanked Mulder as well. Kyle Miller would see to it that Mulder's profile was noted as being right on target and helped in identifying the killer.

Ray shuffled and continued staring at the floor, and then he swept by Mulder without a glance and hurried down the hall. Mulder followed.

"Ray. Ray. Ray!"

"What?!" Ray turned and stared down a challenge into Mulder's wistful eyes.

"I need to talk to you before I leave back to Washington."

Ray shifted on his feet again and looked at the floor, the ceiling, the walls, anywhere, but at Mulder directly. "Yeah, okay. In here." He gestured into an empty interrogation room.

Mulder closed the door after them as Ray slumped down into a chair and stared at the scratched and pitted surface of the table. Mulder took the chair across from him.

"Ray, I know you omitted certain facts from your report."

"Yeah? What facts are those?"

"That you were kidnapped when you where ten years old by Terrence Banks. That was the reason he took you again. In fact, you may have been the impetus that started him to kill again."

"You want me to say it's my fault those little kids got killed?"

"God, no, Ray!"

"Then why didn't ya put that in yer report? Why didn't ya call me out on it? Huh?"

"Because Ray, I care about you. You're my friend. Terrance Banks is dead, and maybe all the facts would help to analyze his behavior, but I think you facing up to reality is the real problem here."

"You think I'm not facing reality? You think I'm dreaming away what happened? I can't even sleep, and I sure as hell can't dream! Nothin' but nightmares. That's what I got."

"That's what I'm talking about, Ray. Banks was a delusional psychotic with a twenty year obsession centered on *you*. These repressed memories from when you were a child are going to come crashing out if you keep them buried. And, Ray," Mulder said as he reached for Ray's hand, "I think that Banks did more to you than just tie you up in the dark for a little while. Am I right?"

Ray continued staring intently at the tabletop, but Mulder could feel his hands trembling.

"Ray? Where you sexually assaulted?"

Ray bowed his head further and leaned over until his forehead touched the table. His hands shook harder as he fought to control his breathing.

"It's okay," Mulder whispered.

"I don't— I don't wanna talk to you. About it." Ray turned his head further away and pulled his hands in so that Mulder was forced to come around the table to see his face again.

"You have to talk to someone," Mulder said as he crouched and reached to comfort Ray in his arms. Ray violently jerked away, causing the chair to squeak against the floor, and Mulder let his hands drop to his sides.

Ray was nodding. "Briggs tells me I gotta talk to the department shrink. I'll tell her. I'll talk about it. Just not with you okay? I'm sorry. I just can't with you."

Mulder nodded. He was hurt, but he realized that he himself might only contribute to the problem considering their tenuous relationship. "I understand. As long as you don't try to hide from it."

Ray still wouldn't look at him, and Mulder suspected that Terrance Banks wasn't the only reason.

"I saw Stella at the hospital," Mulder prompted, and Ray did look at him then. Mulder could see the guilt written plainly in his eyes. "Are you getting back together?"

Ray shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe. Don't know. I'm movin' back inta the house though."

"That's good, Ray. I'm glad. She really loves you. I could see it on her face when I told her you were missing."

Ray rocked in his chair a bit and grimaced, then looked back up as Mulder stood.

"It's okay," Mulder reassured, "You and I are friends. You're in love with Stella, and I'm in love with Alex. I'm glad its working out for you."

"And you? What about Alex? Think you'll ever see him again?"

Mulder thought back over the past few days to the horrible dreams inspired by Alex's betrayal, and to the sudden appearance of his lover on the docks and their subsequent argument, and lastly, to Ray's unidentified savior. Was it Alex? Why would he help Mulder's new lover?

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think I'll ever be free of him."

Ray stood and slowly took Mulder in his arms. His warm wiry body felt so solid and real in Mulder's returned embrace. Then he pulled back slightly and Mulder met his electric blue eyes with hesitation. Ray took Mulder's face in his hands and gently kissed his mouth.

"If ya even need anything in Chicago, you just give me a call, okay?"

Mulder raised his eyebrows.

"Friends first, before anything," Ray answered. "You can call me whether I'm wid Stella or not."

Mulder nodded. "Same here, Ray"

Ray's mouth curled in a smile. "Greatness. You better git goin' or you'll miss yer flight."

Mulder stepped away and with his hand on the door, paused to turn back. "It's been a pleasure working with you Detective."

And Ray's sweet, shy smile that Mulder was so crazy about emerged like the sun, keeping away every dark thought for the rest of Mulder's trip home.

xx

saba27@optonline.net

Interlude I: Temptation

Date: June 2000
Rating: NC-17
Note: You need to read Part I to understand fully understand the story. Also, special thanks to Hiro for fabulous beta. Any mistakes you find are all mine.
I treasure every scrap of feedback.
saba27@optonline.net

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