"I do desire we may be better strangers."

~ Wm. Shakespeare

Part 3: Act of Hope
by J. Morningstar

She sat quietly in the dark stillness, gazing out at the nighttime Washington skyscape. A faint light from the half-closed bathroom door and the comforting hum of the room fan were the only stimuli she allowed. She needed a quiet place to regroup after the emotional cacophony of the past hour.

In the past, she would have indulged in a long, comforting bath. Sometimes, she would slip beneath the surface of the scented water, and allow the eerie stillness of the underwater world to seduce her unquiet mind.

//"Girly-girl. I'm going to run you a bath."//

It was a solemn oath she promised herself that first weekend in therapy; *He* would not win. She would reclaim the guilty pleasure that allowed her to both find, and lose herself in the same moment.

Not tonight; not yet. But soon.

The voice was fading.

Instead, she would enjoy the tranquil splendor of the city lights and craft a framework to move her one step further toward recovery.

//"You're the one that got away."//

"I will get away." It was a promise she whispered into the quiet of the room. "I will."

She sighed and kicked off her shoes, curling up in the soft embrace of the arm chair. She wound the beads of her rosary between her fingers, and took comfort in it's familiar weight.

She worried at her lower lip as she ran her fingertips over the beads. As pleased as she was by new understanding between she and Skinner, she couldn't escape the undeniable feeling that something wasn't quite right.

She recalled the time when, as an undergraduate student, she had turned in the same paper for two different classes. Her roommates told her it was common practice; that the instructors expected it. But she never got beyond the feeling that she had been dishonest. At times, it still nagged at her. Even all these years later, she still felt as though she had gotten away with something.

And it wasn't a feeling of triumph. It was a feeling of guilt.

Was this was what was bothering her? The feeling that she had "gotten away" with something tonight. That Skinner had capitulated too easily? That she hadn't done appropriate penance?

A memory teased. What had the Priest in Silver Spring told her about penance?

//"Through this sacrament, He restores wholeness where there was division, he communicates light where darkness reigned, and he gives a hope and joy which the world could never give."//

She felt a strange and poignant yearning for something more; something just beyond the reach of her consciousness. A need to mend all divisions, to restore hope. To find joy.

Skinner. Walter Sergei Skinner. What did he have to do with this? Why did he command such a dominate place in her thoughts?

Why did her yearning for reconciliation with herself and with her faith so often conjure thoughts of him? Was he the answer to a question she hadn't yet learned to ask? Was he...?

The ringing of the phone startled her, and she jumped, dropping her rosary beads. "Damn!" She fumbled in the dark for her phone, and barked into the mouthpiece, "Scully."

"Scully, it's me, Mulder."

"Mulder, where are you?"

"Hey, Scully - what's black and white and red all over?"

"Mulder..."

"Come on Scully, work with me."

"Alright, Mulder. I give up. What's black and white and red all over?"

"Well, in this zip code it's either a mutilated Holstein or the local priest who ex-sanguinated under a statute of St Michael."

"Mulder, I'm no authority on this, but sometimes I think you're going straight to hell."

"Seriously Scully, I need you to get out here right away."

"No way Mulder, I'm not doing any more bovine autopsies for you. One was enough."

"Not for the cow Scully, for the Priest. A Father Raiford Munz."

"Mulder, you just told me the man bleed to death. I'm assuming he was either shot or stabbed."

"His throat was slashed, Scully."

"Well, it seems the cause of death will be fairly easy to determine. Why can't the local medical examiner do the autopsy?"

"It's not the cause of death I'm interested in, but what *caused* his death."

"Huh? You mean who slit his throat?"

"No Scully, I mean what slit his throat." Mulder cleared his throat. "Look Scully, I've got you booked on an 8:45 out of National Airport. I'll pick you up in Madison and we can have lunch while I fill you in on the particulars."

"Mulder, you can't be serious. Mulder?"

"I need your help on this Scully."

She sighed. "Alright Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow. Mulder? Are you there?"

"Yeah. I'm still here Scully. I'm just relieved and kind of surprised that you didn't go postal on me."

"Very funny."

"Well, you know, you've been PMSing a lot lately."

"Keep it up Mulder, and I'll hurt you like that La Femme Nikita Video Goddess."

"Geez Scully, you know how sensitive I am about getting my ass kicked by a woman. Twist it a little harder why don't ya?"

She smiled. "Mulder? What's the credit limit on your Visa?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"No reason. I'll see you tomorrow Mulder. Mulder? You're cutting out. Where are you?"

"Scully? Sorry, I must be between towers. Are you there?"

"Yeah." She paused. "One more thing. Does the phrase " Operation Rex 84" mean anything to you?"

"Jesus Scully! How did you hear about that? Scully? Can you hear me? Damn. Listen, we'll talk tomorrow, Okay? And Scully? If you can still hear me...you don't really think I'm going to hell, do you?"

"Mulder?" Damn. The line was dead.

As she set the phone back on the bedside table, a huge yawn caught her unaware. She turned and studied her ghostly reflection in the mirror. "Something cold to drink, then off to bed, I think."

She grabbed a handful of change and her room key, and padded in stocking feet to the vending machines.

She was unaware that someone was stalking her. She didn't hear his footfalls, muffled by the hallway carpet, as he followed small form back to the suite. She didn't notice him slip into her room while the heavy door slowly swung shut behind her. She was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. So there in her darkened room, she never knew an intruder was near until the moment a hand slid over her mouth, and she found herself brutally slammed against a hard, masculine body.

//"Now, be good girly-girl. Don't cause me any problems."//

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