Novels The Damascus Files In The Interest of Science Other Stories A Deafening Silence Finding Zuzu's Petals Into The Mystic Je T'aime Knockin' On Heaven's Door Knowing Korena, Korena Matthew 19:14 Nightwing Sweet Dreams Symbiosis A Texas History Lesson This Could Be Heaven,   or This Could Be Hell Timepieces Your Soul in My Heart Other Info About Kat Linkage Feedback   This Could Be Heaven, or This Could Be Hell Text Only Rating: A big, BIG fat NC-17 for bad language, violence, all kinds of stuff not for young minds. Categories: Story, Angst, X-File Spoilers: Clear up thru season six, at least to The Unnatural Summary: Set in the "Into the Mystic" universe. Mulder and Scully's manhunt for a body swapping serial killer leads them to El Cajon, California . Prologue Art Letourneau had killed 34 people by the time his spree ended. He felt he was immortal. He had harvested the energy of his 34 victims and believed that this power made him invincible. He was wrong. The person he planned to kill that night, the patient who was to be his 35th victim, had been in a coma for almost five years. Art gazed down at the man's wasted form and knew he was doing him a favor, freeing him from these mortal chains. He had no idea how big a favor it was going to be. Art had done his cleansing ritual of bathing the patient's twisted, emaciated body and injecting the potassium directly into the comatose man's carotid. His work done, Art cleared his mind, laid his hands upon the victim's head and waited for the moment of death so he could receive the wonderful, empowering jolt of life force he had come to crave. What passed through his hands at number thirty-five's moment of death was like nothing he'd ever experienced. At the last moment of cognitive thought poor Art ever had, he realized that he never had gotten anything from the other 34 people he'd killed. The rush he'd felt at their deaths must have simply been a rush of adrenaline, a warped pleasure his sick mind got from taking a human life. Nothing metaphysical about it. The classic serial killer's demented high. Number 35 stared down at his own body and smiled. That he had been rescued from the comatose limbo he'd existed in for half a decade, by a fellow serial killer, was perfect. More than that, it was hilarious. Karl Nix stood over his own body and laughed for a good half hour. Life was good. "Welcome To The Hotel California" "...welcome to the Hotel California..." Walter Skinner was not surprised that Fox Mulder knew serial killer Karl Nix was dead. The assistant director had expected his agent to stay current with news pertaining to past cases even while he was on medical leave. It was Mulder's way -- conscientious, efficient. Those were two personality traits he admired in the younger man and practically the only two he felt he shared with Mulder. No, dedication was probably a third. He had come to Mulder's apartment that muggy August morning, to ask for the man's help. Skinner wasn't sure if the agent had recovered enough to take on a case of this nature, but the AD planned on assigning Mulder's partner to it also. He figured he could send the young man with her on a consulting basis. If, a big if, he felt Fox was up to it. Skinner was pleasantly surprised to see that his agent and friend looked wonderful. Other than a slight limp, Mulder appeared to be the picture of health. Tanned, rested, hell, he looked better than he had the six months prior to his injuries. The man had amazing recuperative abilities. Only a little more than six months before, the agent had been at death's door, in a coma after being shot four times, including once in the head. It was a miracle. After handshakes and pleasantries, Skinner, as was his nature, got straight to the point. "There's a case I thought you might be interested in," he said, settling down on Mulder's well-used couch. "Scully's been assigned to it and I thought you'd want to go with her on a consulting basis -- to get your feet wet. If you're up to it." Mulder raised a questioning brow and tried to suppress a smile. Walter Skinner was not used to asking people for anything. He was used to telling. The assistant director continued. "There have been seven bodies found in and around San Diego. All the victims were residents of a suburb, El Cajon." "I've heard of it." "We've got one more connection regarding the seven," Skinner explained, "and it is a good one. They all attended the same church." Mulder listened attentively, but he felt there was something Skinner was holding back, or maybe, not quite ready to tell him about this case. He assumed his superior needed him for his profiling skills because from what he had heard so far, this was not an X-file. "What makes it 'strange'," Skinner continued, and the agent perked up at the word, strange, "is that the killer's signature is identical to one that you've dealt with before. But the perp in question is dead now." Alarms went off in Mulder's skull immediately and he spoke without thinking, "Karl Nix?" Skinner raised a brow, always amazed by the speed Mulder assimilated facts and the turns of reasoning his quicksilver mind could take. Mulder softly explained his deduction. "I read Nix died last month, I guess he's been on my mind." The AD paused for a moment, not quite sure what was missing from the younger man's explanation, then shrugged. He'd worked with Mulder for more than six years and was almost used to his odd, but usually right- on-the-money, leaps of insight into a case. Sometimes it didn't pay to fathom how. "Ah, yes, so you see we probably have a copycat, most likely a Nix groupie, and that's why we need you. Are you up to it?" Mulder was silent for a moment, his mind swimming with memories. He noticed Skinner was staring at him in anticipation of his answer so he quickly tried to compose himself. "Yeah, when do we leave?" His mouth was dry. The older man studied his friend reaction, trying to read him. "Are you ready for this?" Mulder had to give himself credit, for he covered beautifully, flashing a wonderfully game grin. "Yeah, guess I was kinda hoping my first case back would be a little easier. You know, a vampire, something like that. Serial killers are a bitch. But, yeah, I'm ready." Skinner allowed himself a slight smile and stood, offering his hand. "Good to have you back, Mulder," he said earnestly, as Mulder led him to the door. "Scully will be over later this evening with your travel plans and itinerary. She has it all arranged." "I'm sure she does," Mulder said with a rueful chuckle. She always did. Fox Mulder's smile vanished the moment he shut the door behind AD Walter Skinner and he slumped wearily against the wall, taking a few moments to collect himself. He hated feeling so weak. He knew his body was coming back, healing. But his mind, his emotions, well, Mulder was not sure if he'd ever feel 'normal' again. It wasn't that he'd lost anything in his brush with death, not anything physical at least. He'd lost nothing unless you counted innocence. Pushing away from the wall and limping to the couch, Mulder laughed at the thought of losing one's innocence at 38 years old. He shuddered. He knew too much. That was the plain and simple truth. He had crossed to the other side, gone to the gates of the hereafter, and returned remembering everything. A person wasn't supposed to do that -- not and keep their sanity. His long-dead Uncle Angus, that he'd met up with while he was "there," had told him the only other person who'd come to Earth with that knowledge had been crucified. Well, Fox Mulder didn't plan on taking that path. He knew how to keep a secret. It would probably have been easier though, if he hadn't kept having the dreams. Now, nightmares had always been a problem for him. That's why he'd been plagued with insomnia for most of his life -- no sleep, no dreams. But during his extended recovery, with the medication he was taking, he slept -- a lot. And thankfully, most of the time it was a zonked-out dreamless sleep. It was wonderful. However, on two occasions, he'd had what could only be described as, well, visions. The first had been short, and sweet. Mulder had dreamed of Amanda, a little girl he had befriended on the other side, who had appeared to tell him that she was happy. That had been a good dream. The other, however, was more disturbing. Uncle Angus had been in that one. The ex-marine had told him of Karl Nix's death, which should have been a good thing. But, no. His uncle then proceeded to warn him that Nix, evil SOB that he was, had not gone into the light. He had not gone before the Master Programmer to be judged. Angus wasn't exactly clear where the ex-serial killer had gone. Spirits like Angus were maddeningly vague, Mulder had discovered, but wherever Nix went, he was going to be up to no good. Of that, Uncle Angus had been certain. Now, Mulder had an idea where Nix had gone -- El Cajon, California. EL CAJON, CALIFORNIA Dana Scully busied herself by unpacking. She was worried about her partner, which, in itself, was actually quite normal. After seven years of working with the man, it seemed that fretting over Fox had become part of her job description. She wasn't even sure why she was worried. The flight had been uneventful and Mulder had slept most of the way -- both good things. He'd seemed rested on the rental car drive to the valley, so nothing wrong there. They had stopped by the El Cajon police station and he'd seemed his old, intense self as they went over the reports with the local law enforcement. He'd seemed fine on the trip to the motel. He unpacked quickly and offered to grab a bite to eat for them at a market across the street. Normal Mulder behavior. He always unpacked faster, and messier than she. He had an appetite, and that was one more good thing. Scully sat on the bed to ponder just what it was that was bothering her. It had been bothering her off and on since Mulder had been released from the hospital. It finally hit her. He was keeping something from her -- something big, something important. Little secrets in a partnership were okay, sometimes even necessary. But this was wrong, and she needed to find a way to fix it -- soon, before it ruined the most important relationship in her life. Mulder held the bag of tea, soda, chips and sandwiches to his chest as he crossed Second Street, hurrying back to the motel. He knew he had Scully worried. He'd spent the better part of a decade under her watchful, blue gaze and reading her had become second nature to him. Oh sure, sometimes he was totally mystified by the woman. He still couldn't figure out what had happened during his pilgrimage to Graceland and the matter with the desk. But for the most part, he knew his partner. He was almost positive that she knew he was keeping something from her and that it bothered her. He just didn't know what to do about it. "Mulder?" Scully answered, hearing a kick at the door. She jumped from the bed realizing his hands must be full. Sure enough, his arms were laden down with dinner. She smiled, instantly pulled from her worried mood by his cockeyed grin. "Welcome to the Hotel California," he said laying the feast on the bed. "Such a lovely place," she replied with a grin. Mulder put a hand on her cheek, happy that they were once more together on a case. It had been a long time. He stared into her crystal blue eyes and felt his chest tighten with joy. "What a lovely face." Scully blushed and laughed, breaking the moment. "What'd you get us?" she asked, almost shyly. Mulder was momentarily disappointed that the connection had severed, but he smiled and went on with the program. "Kaolin's Valley Market specials. I got a ham and Swiss with everything and roast beef and cheddar with onions." "Ham," Scully said, plopping down on the bed. "Did you call Saint Elizabeth's?" Mulder asked through a mouthful of sandwich. "Nope," she mumbled, her mouth also full. "I will after dinner. How's elevenish sound for an appointment? Mulder gave a thumbs up, too busy chewing to answer. They finished their meal in silence, then Scully called the rectory and set up an interview with the victim's priest, Father Wolfe, at 11 a.m. the following morning. "How 'bout we just stay in and go over the reports, maybe order in a video and a pizza when we get hungry again?" Mulder asked, picking up the trash from their afternoon feeding frenzy. Scully watched him with a puzzled eye. Cleaning up after himself had never been a Fox Mulder character trait. "Mulder," she murmured, stilling his hand from wiping down the bedside table, "is that really you in there? Are you possessed?" "What?" Fox stopped short his cleaning, a stunned look on his face. She felt a bit embarrassed by his reaction to her heavy-handed humor. "Mulder," she repeated and held his hand while she tried to explain. "It's just that you haven't been yourself since the shooting. I mean Fox Mulder cleaning..." Mulder studied her worried gaze and offered her a sheepish grin. He sat down on the bed and pulled her down next to him. Dana was surprised by his action and his grin broadened. They had spoken of how they would handle returning to work together after having been intimate. They had decided that the one time would be the only time, and they would allow their relationship to go back to normal -- or as normal as it had been in the prior six years. She wasn't sure if physical contact should be in the picture. Mulder had other ideas. He threw both arms around her and hugged her tightly. After an initial stiffening, she melted into his warm hug. It felt wonderful to be wrapped in his loving embrace. After a long moment of luxuriating in the tender touch of his hands smoothing her back, she pushed away to look up at him. "Thank you," she said almost shyly, a demure smile tilting the corners of her lovely lips. "Guess I'm not a slob anymore." he whispered softly. "Maybe getting shot in the head was a good thing, huh?" "Don't say that," her eyes grew wide, "not even kidding." "Sorry. I know you're worried and I don't know what to tell you." Mulder apologized quickly, putting a warm hand on her cheek. "Sometimes I feel like myself, but sometimes..." He moved away from her to sit down on the bed. He didn't feel comfortable talking about what had happened, didn't like thinking about it himself. But he felt he owed her some kind of explanation. If it was not the entire truth, it was only a little lie of omission. And it would help her not to worry. "Scully, I'm sure almost dying changed me, but I'm not really sure how -- or why." There, he'd said it and he watched her face, trying to see if she believed his half-truth. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm different. I don't know what to do about it. I don't know how to change back." These words were entirely true, and the tears that sprang to his eyes were honest and heartfelt. "I just don't know who I am anymore, or what I want." Scully's eye's misted and she cupped his face in her hands to make him look at her. "I'm sorry." She knew there had to be scars from his injuries. It was still hard to believe that he'd survived at all. Six months was not long at all, not long enough to come to terms with what had happened to him. Hell, she was still recovering from the ordeal. She softly kissed his cheek, and made a promise to herself to stop pressing him so much. He would talk to her about what was on his mind when he felt able. Mulder sat on the side of the bed, popping sunflower seeds and sipping tea, engrossed in the movie Scully had picked out. He had been disappointed in her choice. It was a drama about a doctor who had lost his license after accidentally killing a patient by operating while strung out on drugs. She sheepishly admitted that she had rented it because she found the man who played the doctor attractive. Initially, he had complained about her choice, but the story began to interest him. Now, Scully was asleep and he was hooked. As the final credits rolled, the phone rang and he jumped up to answer it, but was too late as Scully rolled over and grabbed the receiver first. "Scully," she mumbled, pushing up on one arm, sleepily wiping at her face. Mulder stood over her, watching her expression as she listened to the caller. "Okay, thank you. Be there in five minutes," Scully said, standing. She hung up and turned to her partner, already reaching for her jacket. "They've found two more." Mulder flipped off the VCR and grabbed his coat on the way out the door. They made it to the El Cajon police station in under five minutes, traffic being light at the late hour. Slipping inside the modern complex, the agents made their way down to homicide Detective Laura Kirchman's office. Kirchman, of course, was already on the scene, but the young man she left to brief them on the new development led them out to his car, bringing them up to date as they hurried back out into the stifling hot night. SScully allowed her partner the shotgun seat as she noticed him favoring his bad knee, knowing the front seat would allow him more chance to stretch out his long legs. She hoped it was not too soon for Mulder to be returning to work. This sort of case took a lot out of him, and she silently prayed he had healed enough to handle what looked to be a rough road ahead. "Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light..." The car made its way down the twisting highway, its headlights cutting through the warm, smothering darkness. Detective Kirchman's emissary briefed the two agents on what he knew so far about the latest victims of the "El Cajon Slasher." "Hiker found the two bodies this afternoon," the young detective, Alex Kolb, explained as he guided the car to follow the dark, twisting road. Kolb looked to be twenty if he was a day. "Took him four hours to get to a phone, so in this heat, they oughta just be getting ripe," Alex quipped. Mulder rolled his eyes and focused on the dim shadows that passed his window. It seemed as if they had been driving for hours. He shifted in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position for his aching knee. Scully stirred behind him, and he knew she was well aware that his leg was paining him tonight, so he turned and offered her a smile of reassurance that he would be fine. "I know Otay is near the border, but is it much further?" Scully asked, hoping they'd soon make it to the scene so her partner could stretch his leg some. "Almost there," Alex replied peering ahead, "look we can see the scene now... up ahead in the distance." "I saw a shimmering light..." Mulder murmured to himself. "Yeah they do got a lot of candle power there." The detective nodded, indicating the large klieg lights used to do night investigations. Mulder sighed and shook his head. God, he felt old. They pulled off, parking beside the road. Alex led the way as they walked over to the site where the victims had been dumped. A forty square foot area had been cordoned off. Mulder and Scully looked around, searching for a familiar face among the thirty or so people milling busily about the outskirts of the area. "We get a lotta bodies dumped here," Detective Kolb informed the partners. "It's right on the border. Spend a lotta time up here, don't we, John?" The young man appeared to be talking to a sheriff who was standing nearby. The older uniformed officer seemed to consider the over-eager detective a pain and continued to watch the milling crowd, allowing Alex only a disinterested nod. Kolb took the brush off with a grain of salt, and continued to rattle on. "Oh, lord, back in Otay again," he quipped. "That's Lodi, Junior," Sheriff John Stone muttered in disgust at Alex's misquotation of the classic lyric. "Whatever," the young detective shrugged. "I wasn't even born yet." Mulder sighed, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. It was going to be a long night. Mulder asked to have the back seat on the long ride north to El Cajon, in order to be able to stretch out and attempt to get some sleep. Scully agreed, and by the time the sun cut through the early morning fog, she was asleep. Mulder used the time to study the notes he had taken at the scene. It was clear from the dry, desiccated look of the bodies, that these were not slasher victims 8 and 9, more like 1 and 2. Several things puzzled Mulder as he had stood beside Scully and the ME and watched them do a cursory examination of the bodies. The people had been killed by someone knowing Nix's methods and wanting to broadcast this fact. Tentative IDs had been established for the couple through a search of the male victim's wallet, which had been left on his body. His Virginia driver's license showed he was Art Letourneau. A quick check of missing persons in the El Cajon area had ascertained that while Art's name was not listed, the person he had written as next of kin, his mother, was listed as missing. So it appeared, barring dental records ruling them out, that Ruby Letourneau and her son Art were laying dead at the scene. Mulder speculated that Ruby was killed first. Even with decomposition and near mummification, her body showed clear signs that she had been tied hand and foot with nylon rope. The slit on the stomach where Nix made his incision, as was his mode, was hideously apparent, as was the dried-out strand of intestines that had been brought up around Ruby's neck and tied in a bow. The woman's ears and ring finger were missing, still staying with Nix's habit of removing his victims' jewelry. The amputated finger was found near the body but not the ears. All classic Nix mutilations. He kept the ears. He had a fixation with body piercing, but only wanted the rings, not the fingers they were placed on. Mulder noticed one oddity that he mentioned to Detective Kirchman at the scene. Nix, a huge, strong monster of a man, had always pulled the fingers out of joint, making amputation easier. Ruby's fingers had been cut off by sawing through the bone. Art, at first glance, was defiled in much the same way, but Mulder knew he had been killed in an entirely different manner. Art's skull had been cracked open by a blunt object, which appeared to be the cause of death. Mulder speculated that the mutilations were post mortem. Someone had deliberately cut up a dead man to make it look like Nix had done it. It was Mulder's guess that Art had surprised the killer in the act of murdering Ruby and had been killed in a struggle, perhaps trying to stop the madman. He thought he knew who was doing this, and he thought he knew why. Somehow, Nix had found a way to take possession of another body and was killing again, using the exact same signature to lure Mulder to him. *Well, so far it's working,* Mulder thought with a sigh. *He's here, he's killing and now, I'm here.* The problem was, Nix knew what Mulder looked like. The agent reckoned, if Nix had switched bodies, he could be anyone. The desk clerk at the motel, the cashier at Kaolin's Market; he could even be Alex Kolb. Mulder looked at the bowed head of his sleeping partner. *The only ones I can be sure of are me -- and thee...* Mulder mused with a grin and closed his eyes, glad that there was at least something left in life he could be sure of. Dana Scully met Laura Kirchman at the station and accompanied the woman to the San Diego coroner's office. She left her partner the keys to the rental, with the hope that he would return to the motel and try to catch up on some much needed sleep, but she was almost positive she was hoping in vain. Mulder never slept. At least not when they were on a case. The medical examiner, Naham Tate, was a small, dark-haired man not much taller than Scully, but like her, did not let his size keep him from doing any of the often strenuous tasks his job required. At times, there was a lot of grunt work involved with the art of doing an autopsy on a body and forcing it to give up its clues. While the tether of life seemed often gossamer thin, the bones and sinew that make up a human corpse are strong. Tate struggled with the mummified remains of Art Letourneau, trying to get the man's legs, which had drawn up in death, down in order to examine his abdomen. "The stomach wound was definitely post mortem; no blood flowed from that baby. I'd say death came almost instantly with the skull fracture. All the other mutilations were just window dressing." Scully kept her questions in check until the examiner, flicking the overhead microphone back on, made his comments for the official report. The ME confirmed the initial findings they made at the scene. Scully had developed a paranoia that was second nature after seven years on the X-Files. She felt sure, and was disturbed, that someone was mimicking the signature M.O. of a serial killer that her partner had apprehended. Whoever killed Art Letourneau and his mother went to quite a bit of trouble to make sure it looked like Karl Nix had done it. What worried her most was why. Detective Kirchman dropped Scully off in front of Saint Elizabeth's a scant five minutes before her 11 a.m. appointment with the priest. Mulder was already waiting for her, sitting in the rental, which he'd parked in front on the pepper tree-lined street. She stood waiting on the sidewalk near the entrance as her partner unfolded himself from the economy-sized vehicle. Scully knew he had not even tried to rest and his leg, which had been shattered by a bullet six months before, was troubling him even more than when she'd seen him last. He strolled up to her with a lurching limp that resembled the walk of a drunken sailor. "Sleep, huh? Sure!" Scully muttered to him as they made their way out of the bright sun. "I rested," he lied. Scully shook her head, but chose not to pursue the matter. They had other things to do and he was a big boy. Saint Elizabeth's was a typical suburban church, having been built during the fifties when the denizens of the inner cities flocked to bedroom communities, because housing was plentiful, gas was cheap and there was a car in every garage. The building's design lacked the charm and grace of older cathedrals, opting instead for modern lines and serviceable designs. Making their way through the brightly-lit chapel, the agents knocked on the door behind, and to the right of, the altar that bore a placard with Father Wolfe's name. They entered at hearing a muffled, "Come in." Father Melvin Wolfe was a huge bear of a man, at least six foot five and well over three hundred pounds of squarely built, hard-packed muscle. Scully watched her hand disappear into his massive paw as they shook hands in greeting. Mulder was surprised as the man purposefully met his eye while they shook hands. He could see that the man's smile was not genuine and studying the priest closely, he was stunned into a realization. Karl Nix was inside Father Melvin Wolfe. Nix had made sure the agent knew this. Scully eased into her chair, puzzled by the silent exchange that passed between her partner and the priest. "Now, what exactly is this supposed to be about?" Wolfe asked, settling back in his chair behind a large, oak desk. "I've talked to everyone from commissioner to meter maid since these crimes have been happening. There's not much more that I can tell you. I've given you a list of all our parishioners. What do you need now?" Scully was taken aback by the man's hostile attitude, and cast a quick glance at her partner to see if he might see a way to get a handle on the priest's anger so the questioning could be more productive. Mulder seemed lost in thought, silently perusing Wolfe, a frown puckering his forehead. "Well, Father Wolfe, two more bodies have been found. This brings the total up to nine. The local police, as you know, are getting desperate. That's why we were called in to help. We were hoping that you might think of something that could connect all the victims together. Did you know them very well? The two we found this morning were Ruby Letourneau and her son, Art." Scully tried to keep the nervous tension she felt out of her voice. Wolfe's expression didn't change throughout Scully's plea for help and good will, although his eyes never left her. He studied her with such scrutiny, it was beginning to make her shaky. She was already past irritation from the penetrating gaze. "I knew Ruby. I don't think anybody even knew Art was home. If I remember right, I believe he lived back east... in Virginia." Scully was relieved when Wolfe finally stopped staring at her and directed his gaze to Mulder. Mulder did not say a word, nor did he for the rest of the interview, much to Scully's frustration. At the end of the hour of non-productive questioning, she felt Father Wolfe gave them what almost seemed like a bum's rush out the door. The partners were silent until they reached their car and pulled away from the church. "Mulder," Scully finally exploded, unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer. "That man is the poorest excuse for a priest I've ever met." Mulder smiled at her heated remark. "So you don't think he's really a priest?" "Huh? No, I just said he isn't a good one. What do you mean he's not a priest?' Scully asked, confused by his question. "Hey, I'm no expert on priests, but I agree with you. He wasn't very priest-like." "Well, I am an expert... and there's something wrong with that man. We need to get a hold of the bishop and find more about about Father Wolfe." Mulder grinned at his partner indignation, "Yeah, why don't we do that?" Scully stopped and blushed, realizing how she might have overreacted a tad. "Sorry, but it's kind of like when you find a bad cop. But with a bad priest, it's not only dangerous and insulting to the whole profession -- it's -- well, a sin." Mulder chuckled at the comparison. "Does the priesthood have an internal affairs department?" Scully laughed. "Well, we can start with the bishop. I'll call and see if we can get an appointment with him." Mulder nodded and mulled over what he had discovered. He was not quite ready to announce his theory to Scully. He had to admit that there was very little hard proof that Father Wolfe had somehow become possessed by Karl Nix. The agent wasn't even sure if that was what this was. Was there a guideline that defined possession? They had investigated a couple of cases that were similar to this one, earlier when the X-Files first started, but Mulder still didn't know whether there were any hard and fast rules to follow in classifying matters such as this. Nix was evil, but demon possession didn't really fit. Could they perform an exorcism on Father Wolfe? Could he even convince anyone that Father Wolfe was no longer Father Wolfe, but a dead serial killer named Karl Nix? Mulder knew he had his work cut out for him. "...some dance to remember, some dance to forget..." The soonest Scully could set up an appointment with the bishop's representative was 9 a.m. the next morning when they were to meet with a Monsignor Robert Kieran. Oddly enough, the monsignor requested the meeting be held at their motel room. She agreed. That bit of business done, the pair set about finding a spot to grab a bite to eat. The agents stopped at a small restaurant in a fifties-style strip mall, down Second Street from the motel. The Boll Weevil was a little hole in the wall, much closer to Mulder's taste than Scully's. Both partners were surprised by the food, which was tasty, and the service, which was friendly but non-intrusive. They took a table off in a corner and waited for their barbecue burgers to arrive, sharing a pitcher of iced tea between them. The topic of discussion was what to do with the rest of the day until they could walk through the murder scene, Ruby Letourneau's home. The valley had been under a Santa Ana condition, a heat wave in which temperatures stayed near 100 degrees, for a month. Short of leaving town and heading for the cooler weather of the coast, there wasn't much left to do in the sweltering suburb. "Hey, we can always go visit Rocky," Mulder suggested, around his first bite of the monster-sized burger. "Whmm?" Scully's question was muffled by her mouthful, which she hastily swallowed down with a sip of tea. "Who?" "Scully, don't tell me you've forgotten Rocky? The late, great Jose Chung stated in his last book, that Rocky settled in El Cajon. I thought you read it?" "I thought you didn't." Scully replied, with a raised brow. "Never mind," Mulder groused. "Why don't we just go back to the motel and watch that movie you rented? That guy whose butt you like isn't too bad an actor." Scully was too busy eating to do anything but nod. Ruby Letourneau's house on Wintergardens had been built in the early thirties. The property had once been on the outskirts of town but now, one burg in Southern California ran into another and the dividing lines showed up nowhere except on maps. El Cajon ran into Lakeside ran into Santee and so on throughout that part of the state. The house was ramshackle, but Fox Mulder knew that with the price of land in California, he was standing at a place that was worth half a million dollars. It was hard to believe the poor widow who lay on the slab at the coroner's office had spent her declining years pinching every penny to survive on her Social Security. She had been living on what was essentially a gold mine. Dana Scully had preceded Mulder up the steps and had already broken the yellow tape seal to gain entrance to the house. No one had entered the residence for a month, except law enforcement and others needing to investigate the murders. The thick fetid smell of the crime that had been committed in the place was overpowering. Upon getting a whiff of the sickly sweet, acrid odor Mulder quickly switched to breathing through his mouth, but it was too late -- his stomach rebelled and he fled back out to the porch to lose his lunch. As he leaned over the side railing, spots appeared in front of his eyes from the violent retching. He was secretly grateful that Scully was the only person to see his weakness. He felt her cool hand on the back of his neck and turned to see that she was offering him a towelette. With a nod, he took it and wiped his face. The cool moisture helped, and with a groan he pushed himself up, then sank down to sit on the railing, fighting another wave of dizziness. "Just take it slow, Mulder," Scully soothed, using another towelette to wipe his brow. "Just, it's been a while" he apologized, taking deep breaths, trying to calm his quaking belly and ease the shakes that made his hands tremble like he was infirm. "And it's so hot," Scully agreed, offering her own reasons for his weakness. "We can come back tonight, when it's cooler." "Nah, let's try; what have I got to lose? Got nothing left to puke," Mulder said, pushing up to stand. "You are so gross," Scully said leading the way back into the stifling house. "Wow, Scully, you're talking like a native, now, huh? Bitchin.'" Mulder teased. Scully ignored the barb and her partner, but she was glad that he felt better. He must, if he was able to tease her about her Southern California upbringing. She peered about in the dimly lit room. Every surface had been dusted. The marks on the floor pointed to where each bit of evidence had lain. The carpet had been removed in patches, even one section of the hardwood floor had been cut away. Flipping through the report, using her penlight to read by, Scully followed the path that the murderer and the investigators before her had walked. When she looked up from her examination, she noticed Mulder had left, and hearing his movements on the porch, she figured the stench had gotten to him once again. This time, she let him get sick in peace. Like he had told her, there was little left in his stomach to vomit, and she believed he really didn't want her hovering about him. She toured the back of the house first, slowly working her way to the front. Walking into what must have been a formal dining room in the large house's glory days, the agent spotted a large area where the carpet had been removed in one wide 4 X 4 patch. The report placed this as the spot where the murderer had gutted Ruby. The odor of death was strongest here and Scully remembered her partner. A check of her watch showed twenty minutes had passed since she'd last seen him on the porch, so she left her walk-through to search him out and make sure he was not sicker than she'd thought. She ambled out into the hot, still afternoon and was relieved to spot him, sitting half in the rental, elbows resting on his knees, studying something. As she neared she saw it was an identification badge of some kind. "What have you got?" she questioned gently. Mulder still looked a bit pale. She knew he'd had no sleep since the nap on the plane the day before, and between the heat and the nausea, he had to have been drained dry. "Some dance to remember, some dance to forget." He laughed, holding the laminated card out to her. It was an ID badge, with the name and picture of Art Letourneau on the front. It announced the murder victim as having been an employee of Valley View Nursing Home in Arlington, Virginia. The name of the nursing facility rang a bell. "Where Nix was?" Scully asked in surprise. Mulder nodded. "Where'd you find it?" She quizzed, almost afraid to ask. "Remember Nix's number -- 23?" Scully remembered it well. It was in 1993, the end of their first year as partners. Mulder and the entire Violent Crimes Unit had been tracking Nix for two years. The man was a lunatic; he was a genius, and he had a way about him that made a young, brilliant agent named Fox Mulder feel like he was being toyed with. Nix had enjoyed their dance during Mulder's time in the VCU and was offended when he'd left. He had left his driver's license behind the mailbox at victim number 23's house along with a note that asked, in so many words, for Fox to come out and play. Scully was just beginning to realize her partner's manic intensity, and had been angry that he had complied with the madman's request. It all ended up with Mulder almost eviscerated and Nix in a coma, a bullet in his head. "It was behind the mail box," Scully stated. Mulder nodded once again. "No note requesting another whirl on the dance floor, but I get the connection." "So Art Letourneau has brought the "El Cajon Slasher" home with him." Scully announced, everything coming together in her mind. Mulder paused to see if she was ready for his theory and decided he was too tired for a debate. "That's one way of putting it," he said dryly, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Let's close up and head back to the motel." Scully nodded, knowing this was the closest she would ever get Mulder to admitting he was tired. They returned to the house, resealed the place and left to make an early night of it. It was 10 p.m. and Fox Mulder had yet to go to sleep. He knew what part of the problem was. He had begun to wean himself from even the light pain medication that had been prescribed for his injuries. He assumed this wakefulness was a bit of a rebound effect from the drugs that had made him so sleepy. Most of the problem was that he was back at work, on a case. He always had problems sleeping when his mind was fully occupied and in overdrive.. He placated himself with the knowledge that at least he was resting and off his feet. The throbbing of his knee was now down to a dull ache. He was spread out, his long, lanky form stretched across the queen sized bed, his laptop resting upon his chest, glasses perched on the end of his nose in order to read the tiny screen. His thoughts and ideas were racing as he surfed from site to site. There were thousands of places on the web that touched on possession. Some were for people interested in satanic cults. These he skipped or quickly skimmed for he tended to find them naively mystical and utterly laced with hyperbole. Others were too dry and scholarly, treating the subject with disdainful disbelief. He searched for a happy medium, where he could find information not laced with myths or hidden by narrow minds. His main problem was he felt possession was too broad a subject to be searching. He wasn't sure what had happened to Nix. Was it possession, transmigration of the soul, body swapping? Should he search for an Anne Rice web page? He chuckled to himself, wishing it was that easy, and secretly wondered where the writer did her research. "In her imagination." He laughed to himself and realized he was too tired to make any headway. He needed sleep. Mulder reached over and set his laptop beside the bed, then switched off the light, hitting the TV remote to give him the necessary white noise he needed to sleep. The agent tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the too firm mattress, wishing to himself he could bring his old form-fitting couch with him when he traveled. "Crawling in next to Scully would put me to sleep," he thought, then quickly changed his mind. Even imagining the feel of her warm, soft, silky skin against his flesh had the opposite effect, and he banished the troublesome images from his mind. He decided he needed to clear his thoughts. To push away all the troubles, all the worries, the hassles, the puzzles. To get everything out of his head, to make his mind a blank, and relax. He was standing on a baseball diamond that was very familiar. It was the one where he had given Scully her birthday gift earlier that year -- the gift that had led to their first night together. He had taught her how to hit a ball. Hips, then hands, he told her -- hips, then hands. "You gonna teach me how to play?" A small voice asked from behind him. Mulder whirled and was surprised to see Amanda, the child he had befriended when he had been stuck on the "other side." She strode up to him, dressed in a miniature uniform. It was just like the one he was wearing. The Grays logo announced their team. Mulder grinned broadly at the child and bent to give her a hug. She gazed up at him, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. She looked happy. "Hi, 'Manda," he smiled, surprised to realize how warm and real she felt. "I'm real, Mulder," she explained knowingly. "But this is the only way I'll come to you -- in a dream. Believe it or not, you really don't want to see me when you're awake. Mulder thought about her statement and decided it was the truth. His adventures in the netherworld during his coma were the closest he ever wanted to get to the other side, at least in this lifetime. What he remembered from his visit was already too much for him to face. "Ahh, you worry too much, Mulder," Amanda told him. "Mr. Dales was right. You need to loosen up and enjoy life. That's why HE let you remember everything when you went back. HE wanted you to know that life is short, you need to enjoy it while you can." Mulder wondered where this dream was leading. Was the child there to warn him of his impending doom? Talk of enjoying life while he could made him nervous. "Holy cow, it doesn't matter where this is leading. Don't you see? All that's happening is that you needed to see me. Seeing me makes you feel better, right?" Mulder nodded. "That's all there is to it. HE wants you to be happy. I want you to be happy. You need to quit fighting being happy. You deserve it. You're a good man, Mulder. You deserve to be happy. Really. I'm an excellent judge of people, so I know." Mulder laughed at the precocious child's words. He loved her so much. He wanted to believe her. She had meant so much to him during the time they'd spent together. She had been his lifeline, and had kept him sane until he had returned to the real world. "Listen to me NOW, Fox Mulder!" Amanda chided, wrapping her arms around him and looking up at him to grin. "You helped me. You helped my mama. When you went back, you watched over her. You're a nice man. I love you. You deserve a little love, don't ya think?" Mulder felt his eyes fill as he accepted her statement. He nodded, wiping at his face. Amanda tilted her head to study him and laughed when she saw he'd finally accepted what she'd told him as truth. "Now, you can teach me to hit, okay?" she laughed and held up a round piece of cowhide and a stick. Mulder saw a movement from the corner of his eye and realized there was a figure standing there on the pitcher's mound. A tall, gangly black man. The man grinned broadly at the agent and gave him a sly wink. "You ready?" Amanda smiled, pleased that Mulder liked her gift. "Play ball," Mulder laughed. The game lasted all night. "We are all just prisoners here of our own device..." Mulder overslept and Scully had to wake him. The monsignor was due to arrive in 20 minutes. Through the open, connecting doorway between their rooms, she could hear him singing in the shower along with VH1. He was crooning, oddly enough, "Only the Good Die Young." She remembered that song. She hated it. "You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation You got a brand new soul and a cross of gold But Virginia they didn't give you quite enough information You didn't count on me When you were counting on your rosary..." She barely had time to smother her smile when she heard the soft pad of his feet on the carpet. Clad only in a towel, he was standing at the door, a devilish gleam in his eye. Water dripped from his wet hair, running in rivulets down his bare chest. "They say there's a heaven for those who will wait. Some say it's better but I say it ain't. I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, Sinners are much more fun, And only the good die young." "Don't give up your day job," Scully retorted, keeping her face impassive and trying to ignore the way the droplets clung to his skin, making it glisten. "You need to get dressed; the monsignor will be here any minute. This doesn't exactly look professional." Mulder offered her his largest grin. "Okay, Virginia." He laughed and closed the door behind him singing loud enough for her to hear, "Come on Virginia show me a sign. Send up a signal, I'll throw you a line. The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind Never lets in the sun. And only the good die young." Her muffled laugh was the sign he'd been looking for and he dressed with a satisfied smile. The monsignor arrived promptly at 9 a.m. Scully's smile of greeting was returned by the tall, gray-haired man. Monsignor Robert Kieran was a tanned, fit 65-year-old; a transplanted Bostonian, who had embraced California's warmth with his entire being. "Fox Mulder!" Kieran exclaimed, pumping the agent's arm with exuberance, "I can't believe I'm finally getting to meet you! I've followed your work for years!" Mulder cast an embarrassed eye at his partner and thought he heard a soft under the breath, "Your work?" muttered softly under her breath, but he wasn't sure. "So, what have you discovered that makes you think it's Melvin Wolfe that's killing these people?" the monsignor questioned bluntly. Scully motioned for him to sit, surprised by the man's penchant for getting right to the point. "We don't really consider him a suspect," she began to explain. "But something about him bothers you?" Kieran's blue gaze cut intensely into her and she could only nod. "Monsignor, Father Wolfe's response to questioning, his demeanor, drew our concern," Mulder replied quickly. Scully nodded, agreeing with his answer. Kieran studied the partners, silently sizing up the situation. When he spoke again his eyes had softened. "I'll take your word for it. You believe something isn't right with Melvin?" The two agents nodded in unison. "Father Wolfe would be the last person I'd think capable of a crime like this. St. Elizabeth's was my parish. I knew him for five years before I left. Melvin is what you might call "a gentle giant." He's one of the most soft-hearted people I've ever met." Again the partners exchanged glances, remembering the surly, belligerent man they'd encountered. "I take it that wasn't the impression he left you with," The monsignor smiled, reading the partners' expressions. "Sir, his eyes never left my chest," Scully exclaimed quickly, shocking both the priest and her partner. She seemed somewhat embarrassed by her hastily uttered statement, and cast her eyes to the floor, angry that her cheeks betrayed her feelings. "Agent Scully, something is wrong then," Kieran agreed with a faint smile. "The Father Wolfe I know never had a problem resisting the sins of the flesh." "He seemed very agitated, distracted during our talk," Scully offered. "Again, that's not Melvin," the priest chuckled. "Maybe I should go see what I think." "Monsignor, what are your views on possession?" Mulder interrupted. The room grew quiet. At first, both pairs of eyes focused on Mulder. He returned their gazes with a calm, if somewhat curious, stare. Kieran glanced to Scully and she found herself looking at the floor, wishing that suddenly a hole would appear and she would be swallowed up. She could not believe Mulder had asked that of a priest. The rite of exorcism, especially after the handling of the film industry, had become an embarrassment for the Church. The priest's shock turned to amusement. "Okay, what else would I expect from Agent Fox Mulder of the X-Files? I can't believe I'm sitting here talking to you. I can't wait to get on the Internet tonight. No one's gonna believe this." It was Mulder's turn to blush and look for a safe crevice to crawl into. Before he was able to find one, however, the monsignor continued. "So, you believe that Melvin Wolfe is possessed?" Her partner's answer interested Scully greatly, though she now realized what it was going to be. Scully silently prayed Mulder would save her this shame and lie to Monsignor Kieran. That, of course, was not going to happen. "I don't know if this even would be classified as possession, Sir," Mulder admitted, totally oblivious to his partner's chagrin. "I just know that the priest we met yesterday might look like Father Wolfe, but there is somebody else inside." Scully felt like running and hiding at Mulder's absurd pronouncement. She thought about covering for him, of telling the monsignor that he had been shot in the head and had not been himself. She did neither. "How can you know this?" Kieran asked, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "You don't know Father Wolfe." "I know Karl Nix," Mulder replied bluntly. If Scully could have covered her head, without calling attention to herself she would have. Instead, she sat in stony silence, cursing the bureau for pushing her friend back into the field too soon after his injuries. Mulder had always had these strange leaps of logic. It was part of his charm and success, but usually he had the sense to keep his theories to himself until he had proof, or at least, he had learned to do that out of self-defense. "The serial killer?" the monsignor was saying, as Scully struggled guiltily with her thoughts. "I know he died last month. You think he's taken over Father Wolfe? I don't know -- is that really possible?" Mulder chuckled, "I was hoping you could tell me." The monsignor laughed heartily, "Believe it or not, Agent Mulder, the Church does not supply priests with a book titled 'Exorcism for Dummies.' Why do you think Karl Nix has taken over Father Wolfe?" Scully was interested in his answer, too. She had watched in awe at the monsignor's gracious acceptance of Mulder's claim. Scully was interested in his answer, too. She had watched in awe at the monsignor's gracious acceptance of Mulder's claim. "You know about Karl Nix. You know that I've seen inside him. Do you really doubt I wouldn't know him if I saw him again?" Her partner surprised Scully because the reply was directed at her. She was the one he wanted most to convince. With his answer she realized Mulder was right, he would know Nix. There was no reason, no other evidence for his beliefs but that one fact, but it couldn't be denied. The truth was chilling. She shivered. "Oh, my God. Father Wolfe! That poor man," Scully murmured, horrified. "Is he alive? Does he know what's happening? The murders, my God..." "We need to go see him." Mulder responded bluntly. "Then what?" Monsignor Kieran asked. He had followed the exchange between the partners, silently wondering where it would finally lead them. "You go over, bring in Father Wolfe. I'm sure there's evidence that'll lead back to his committing the murders. Sooner or later, somebody would've found it. But, if what you say is true, Melvin didn't do this. But, who else is going to pay?" "I don't know what we can do for Father Wolfe," Mulder answered. "All I know is as long as Karl Nix is free, people are going to die. If we brought him to you, could you do an exorcism? I mean, do you know how?" Before Scully could object, Kieran answered. "I've studied it." Blushing a bit, the monsignor admitted, "I'm a bit of a loose cannon. I have always been interested in the metaphysical, but I'm afraid I've only seen the rite done. I know the church requires a certain established criteria be performed in order to assure this is a true possession, but I'm not sure we have the time." The priest frowned, quickly analyzing their options. "We may have to go ahead without the church's blessing. I'm not even sure it would work. Hey, why don't you two sit tight, let me do a little research, and I'll get back to you? Maybe I can figure out if there's precedence for what we're dealing with here. Then, maybe we can all go over and see if we can help Father Wolfe." "This evening?" Mulder suggested as the older man rose and offered his hand. "I promise," The monsignor smiled and shut the door behind himself as he left. Fox Mulder hated waiting. Patience was not one of his virtues. He paused in his pacing to watch Scully with wonder. His diminutive partner sat at the table by the window, quietly playing cards. How could she be so calm? She had said no more than five sentences in the five hours since the monsignor had left. One of them had been to place their lunch order when he'd asked her if she was hungry. Since he'd gotten back from the market/deli with their meal and they'd consumed it, she hadn't spoken at all. She'd simply sat in that chair and silently played solitaire for three hours. "Red queen on black king," Mulder instructed, standing over her. Scully cut him a sour glance and made the suggested move. "Mulder, why don't you watch ESPN or something," she pleaded, as he reached over and checked the cards that were face down in her last pile. "Ow," he cried when she slapped his hand. "Cheater," she hissed, her eyes hard and glittering. Mulder shrugged off her rebuke with a slight smile, and threw himself across the bed, flipping on the TV with a bored sigh. "Hey, Scully," he called, checking out the preview channel, "wanna watch the 'Exorcist?'" Scully raised an eyebrow, continuing with her game. "No. Are they showing that one with Denzel Washington, 'Falling, Fallen?" "Fallen," Mulder replied, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth. "How about 'All of Me?'" Scully teased, getting into the flow of the conversation. It was silly but at least it kept him somewhat occupied. "That doesn't count, that was transmigration of the soul," Mulder countered. "Well, we don't know that's not what we're dealing with, do we?" she replied saltily. She stopped playing for a moment. Her brow was puckered and a slight smile flickered across her face. "Mulder, sometimes it just astounds me. I wonder what I would have said if someone had told me 10 years ago I would be sitting in a motel room, waiting on a priest to call to tell me I was going to an exorcism, and discussing transmigration of the soul." "I know, it don't get no better than this, huh?" he quipped. She laughed, shaking her head, "I missed it, Mulder," she confessed. Mulder stopped his channel surfing and eyed her, searching her face at the sudden seriousness of her tone. She stopped dealing out her cards and turned to him. She stopped dealing out her cards and turned to him. "Mulder, are we getting in over our heads, here? Do you really think this is possession? How could Karl Nix get from a nursing home in Virginia to a priest in Southern California?" Mulder rose from his seat on the bed and walked behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and bending over, rested his chin on her shoulder. "Hey, we got it all under control; we even got the cavalry coming in." He reached a hand out and placed the ace of spades in its spot on her tableau. "We've got heavy duty players for backup on this one, Scully." She stayed silent as she felt his lips brush her cheek. He straightened and limped over to the other chair, across the small table from her. "The leg hurting again?" she asked, restarting her game, trying to keep her concern in check. He rubbed his knee and offered a crooked grin. "Just tweaked it a little getting off the bed. I'm getting old, Scully." There was a moment's silence between the friends. "Hey," he complained, leaning across the table and catching her gaze. "That's where you're supposed to say -- 'No, you're not, Mulder.'" "No, you're not, Mulder," she said obligingly, and chuckled softly. "Better. We all have to play our parts here," he mumbled, leaning back in his chair," We're all just prisoners here of our own device," he whispered softly to himself. "What's my part, Mulder -- faithful companion?" she asked. "No, Wonder Woman. You always save my ass," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "Not that last time -- not soon enough," she said bitterly, keeping her eyes on the cards. The memory of four bullets shattering his body, and his life spilling out across that basement floor would never leave her. "Scully, it was me; you know how I am," Mulder stated vehemently. "We didn't know he'd flanked us." She nodded, to quiet him. Nothing he could ever say would convince her that she hadn't failed him. It would NOT happen again. That was a promise she planned on keeping. It was 6 p.m. when Fox Mulder's patience wore completely out. He had finally thrown himself across the bed an hour before and flipped on the Classic Sports network. She thought he'd fallen asleep, having already watched John Elway's Greatest Comebacks countless times on tape. It had been her birthday gift to him last year. She jumped in surprise when he sprang from the bed and grabbed the phone to call the number Kieran gave them. Apparently, the monsignor did not have his answering machine on, because her partner hung up with a sharp curse. "Let's go," Mulder muttered, nodding to the door. "You've got to be kidding," Scully said, frowning in disbelief. "No way." "Scully," he said, opening the door. "Just a little recon, no confrontation. We'll wait for the cavalry. I just can't sit here any more. I can't take it." She nodded to the TV and asked, "Not even for highlights of Super Bowl XXXII?" Scully knew the battle was lost. He'd won. He smiled at her, whether it was because of her quip or his victory, she didn't know. She followed him out the door. The air was a hot, heavy blanket over the valley. It would cool a bit when the sun finally gave up its hold on the day, but Scully knew that during a Santa Anna, the normally cool desert nights didn't come. Mulder fidgeted beside her, but up to this point, he'd kept his promise. They had not confronted Father Wolfe/Karl Nix without hearing from Monsignor Kieran. "Fuckin' car is for midgets," Mulder hissed, trying to find a comfortable place for his long legs. Scully sighed. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Mulder, let's go get some dinner. The church'll be here when we get back." He shook his head; his mood was growing as gloomy as the fading light. Scully checked the battery on her cell phone and stared at the machine, willing it to ring. Where was Kieran? She knew she couldn't reign in her restless partner much longer. Sure enough, as the last oranges and pinks faded into the darkening sky, Mulder unfolded himself from the compact and without a word, trudged across the street. He was going to walk through the front door and confront the beast. With a heavy heart and a silent prayer, Dana Scully followed. "...mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice..." Fox Mulder tried the front door. It was locked. Even the churches were locked these days. He hurried around to the back entrance as quickly as his throbbing knee would allow, and was surprised to find it open. It was a portal that led to the choir room. Pulling his flashlight out, he debated going back for his partner. Wolfe was probably not even at the church. It was after 8:00 p.m. and the door was locked. Flipping the switch on his flashlight, the high powered beam cut through the darkness, settling his nerves a bit. As he made his way across the wide linoleum floor, he tried to keep calm. Spotting a set of stairs, the agent limped over to them. He guessed they led up to the choir loft. He thought of his last case, of a similar trek up another set of stairs, and the feel of four bullets shattering his body. Mulder instinctively reached for his weapon. He was struck from the side. Memories of attempting to play football in high school danced across his mind at the feel of 300 pounds slamming into him. Football had not been his sport. Bright flashes of light teased his vision as his head made contact with the floor. Flashlight and weapon flew from numbed fingers, skittering noisily across the room. In the splintered glow, Mulder saw a hulking shape looming above him. It was Father Wolfe, but the eyes -- the eyes seemed to glitter in the near darkness. They were Karl Nix's eyes. "Stop!" The shout was clear and loud in the acoustically perfect room. Both he and the huge man/beast that hovered over him turned. "Drop your weapon!" *Too late,* Mulder mused numbly, *I already dropped it.* "I said Halt!! I'll Shoot!" Mulder wanted to call out, "Just shoot him!" as he tried to make it to his feet. Tendrils of darkness plagued the corners of his sight, and the agent tumbled back down to the floor, his aching knee cracking hard against the tile covered concrete. As he clutched at his leg in agony, he heard the first shot. Then, there was a muffled swear and another blast. He heard a third shot, and the sound of something crashing to the ground -- then nothing. "Scully!" Mulder called, trying once more to stand. Slumping against the painted brick wall, struggling against a wave of sudden nausea, he spotted his flashlight, its bright beacon still shining into the corner. With a weary heave, the agent lurched over to retrieve it. "Scully!" She was sitting on the floor, next to Father Wolfe. Blood and brain matter oozed from the priest's shattered skull. Mulder lumbered to her side. He hurriedly examined her, looking for signs of injury. "He's dead," she whispered, looking at her blood-covered hands. "Are you hit?" Mulder asked, his voice a croak. He slid a hand under her chin, making her meet his eyes. His stomach sank at seeing two pools of pain. They sparkled like sapphires, shiny with tears, when she finally recognized him. "Help me." Scully's voice was a small cry in the dim church. He held her. His tears fell, unabated. It was a long time before her tears would come. Fox Mulder suffered through the ministrations of the EMTs at the scene, but refused to go with them to the hospital. He made sure they examined his partner, and it appeared there was nothing physically wrong with her. The agent was relieved to hear Scully angrily refuse their offer of further assistance. At least her ire gave a little color to her face. He met with the medics again before they left and was assured that Scully checked out fine. Mulder glanced over to her, sitting listlessly in a folding chair, her head down, hair hanging limply about her face. He hated that word – `fine.' It was almost 3 a.m. before they were allowed to leave. Mulder knew Detective Laura Kirchman was cutting them a break even then. The detective and everyone else would be on the scene throughout the day, piecing together the capture and death of the "El Cajon Slasher" -- Father Melvin Wolfe. Monsignor Robert Kieran had come and gone, leaving a number where he could be reached if they needed him. He seemed almost as concerned as Mulder at Scully's grief, but he reminded the agent of her words when she realized who was destined to be the slasher's final victim -- Father Wolfe. Scully knew that dead or alive, the priest's life had been over the moment Karl Nix had taken control of his body. Kieran explained he'd be in town until after Father Wolfe's funeral if they still needed him. Mulder placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up to him, but refused to meet his eye. "Let's go, okay?" he whispered softly, helping her to her feet. She rose and wordlessly allowed him to usher her to the car. "I'll drive," he announced. Scully simply walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. With a sigh, Mulder compressed himself behind the wheel, stifling a groan when he bent his leg. They drove in silence through the still, hot night. "Mulder," Scully spoke, not more than a block from the motel. Fox could see her eyes glittering with excitement, reflecting the morning light. "Take me to Ruby Letourneau's place." "What?" he asked in confusion. "I know where he kept the ears," she exclaimed. "They're not at the church; take me to the house. "Mulder paused for a moment, cutting his eyes to her in concern as he drove through the sparse pre-dawn traffic. At the last minute, he passed their motel and continued down Second, heading toward Wintergardens and Ruby Letourneau's home. Mulder lagged behind, willing his aching leg to move, watching his partner race ahead up the steps. All of her lethargy had disappeared. Scully seemed to almost be panting with anticipation while she impatiently waited for him to catch up. Using her key, she opened the door and entered, ripping the yellow crime scene tape as she passed. Mulder followed, trailing behind 'til she stopped before a door at the very back of the house. "Here," she smiled shyly, ducking her head. "Go see." Mulder's brow wrinkled in a dark, worried frown. What was happening to her? He paused a moment as she backed away, allowing him to enter first. "Go on," she whispered, standing behind him. He felt as if she were pushing, though her hands never touched him. With a shrug, Mulder grasped the glass knob, only to let go at seeing a swift movement out the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he brought his arm up. The harsh crack of his bones splintering reverberated in his ears a split second before the baseball bat continued its arc and connected with his jaw. Mulder crumpled in a heap on the hardwood floor. Dana Scully smiled and let the bat drop. When he first awoke, Mulder thought he was at home, in his own apartment. He could see himself, reflected there in the marbled glass overhead. "Not my bed," he murmured, not recognizing the black silk comforter that lay crumpled beneath him. His jaw ached. He was afraid to move it, to see if it was broken. Hearing the sickening crack of his wrist breaking had been enough grisly sound effects for one day. He realized his wrists were handcuffed to the bed frame. Trying to move his legs, he found his ankles were likewise bound. "Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice," he murmured, attempting to force the grogginess from his brain. "Why do you keep quoting that fucking song, Mulder?" It was Scully. She moved to stand over him so he could see her. As his eyes focused, at first he feared she had nothing on but her bra. He scanned down and witnessed, with relief, she was still clad in her skirt. In her hand was her weapon. Her wide pupils seemed to glitter in the candlelight. "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder?" she grinned. Fox Mulder watched in amazement as his partner brought a hand smoothly up to slowly caress her own breast. "Nix?" She smiled down at him. It was not Scully's smile. "You know, if I'd been born a woman, I'd never get anything done. I'd spend too much time playing with these." Nix grinned, rhythmically stroking Scully's flesh. "Aren't they nice? So sweet and perky. I'm a firm believer more than a handful's a waste." Mulder struggled against the bile that threatened to spew from behind his clenched teeth. It didn't help his jaw. The sight of Scully, her face a mask of eerie pleasure as she gently swayed, touching herself, the flickering candles casting macabre shadows; it all seemed some kind of hedonistic nightmare. "Nix." Mulder had to call him that. That was who stood before him, raping his partner. "How did you do it?" It hurt to talk. The side of his face, the top of his head, felt as though they were exploding. But maybe, if Nix was talking, he wouldn't be touching her. Mulder couldn't stand it, that Nix was touching her. "How are you switching bodies?" Mulder asked, trying to get the man's attention. Flashing blue eyes focused on his face. *That's it Mulder, keep him talking,* he thought. "Do what?" The voice was a purr, a free hand slipped downward, fumbling at the zipper to the modest, dark skirt. "How the fuck did you manage to escape from there, where we were, and wind up in a priest's body, for God's sake?" The words tumbled out, running together. Mulder felt his control slipping. He knew he was babbling. He knew he could not take watching, witnessing anymore -- not without it driving him insane. He tugged again at the cuffs on his arm. The pain made him gasp. Hot fire ripped from fingertip to shoulder as broken bones ground together. But it was better than the agony of seeing what Nix was doing to Scully. Was she still there? Did she know what was happening to her? He remembered her plaintive, pitiful call for help at the church. Looking into those soulful, hurting blue eyes. It had been her -- then. "Scully," Mulder choked, searching the face he no longer knew for some sign. "Oh, she's here." Nix chuckled. It wasn't even her voice anymore. "She's pissed, Mulder. What a little spitfire. I bet she's great in the sack." He paused and his face grew pensive, as though he was searching for something. "You have fucked her, haven't you? Isn't that against regulations?" Mulder realized the killer could search her memories, that he had access to her memories. The thought chilled him, sickened him even more. Nix could rape Scully's mind as well as her body. The agent groaned. "That arm's gotta hurt. If you'd quit wiggling, it might help." Nix laughed, watching Fox quirm. "Nix, I know you're going to wind up killing me, but you have to let me know how this happened," Mulder asked once more. Nix studied his prisoner, trying to read him, attempting to gauge if his plea was a trick of some kind. "Say, that's right. That's what you do now. You're some kinda ghostbuster aren't you?" He laughed at this sudden insight. "Wow, this case was right up your alley, then. I'll have Little Red write it up for your files. Okay, I'll tell you everything. Guess how I got out of the hell that you put me in, Mulder?" Mulder breathed a sigh of relief that Nix had finally stopped focusing on his new body. The killer had stopped touching her. She was safe. A sharp prod of a gun barrel against his ribs brought the agent out of his thoughts. "I told you! Guess!" "Sorry, I thought it was a rhetorical question." Mulder muttered. biting cuffs, laughing at the scream that escaped from Mulder's lips. "You don't impress me with your fifty dollar words, asshole. Do you wanna hear what happened or not?" Fox groaned and nodded, fighting to stay conscious, not wanting to leave his partner alone with the madman. "Tell me. Please." "Art Letourneau killed me. Can you believe it? The little wimp had killed 34 people, all over the country. He was a serial killer. How's that for perfect?" The laugh was Scully's, but yet it wasn't. Mulder shuddered. "Ironic," he murmured. "No shit," Nix chuckled. "Art was a real wacko. He thought he got some kinda 'force' from his victims -- thought it made him immortal. He didn't know what hit him. He put his hands on me and I just slid into him. I didn't even know what had happened. This light came and next thing I know I'm looking down at myself. He was still here, in me. But the little wimp just kinda went off the deep end. Didn't even fight. Just let me control him. Not like Red, here. She's scared, upset. But she's a fighter. She wants you. She wants you to help her." Mulder watched in horror as Scully's face seemed to shift in the flickering light. The eyes softened. They filled with sudden, frightened tears. "Mulder?" she whispered. Instantly, Scully disappeared. Nix looked at Mulder, a puzzled frown etching his face. "She's strong, Mulder." He shook his head to clear it. He seemed dazed. "How did you get into Wolfe?" Mulder choked, straining to keep his emotions in check. *Keep him talking Mulder, that's it.* "He caught me killing Mom," Nix replied. He paused a moment, struggling to regain his train of thought. The memory of killing Ruby Letourneau helped the killer find himself. "I'd gone home to El Cajon. Figured if I started doin' my number again, sooner or later you'd show up. Mom was a bitch, so I decided she'd be my first. She was like a bag lady, kinda nutty -- like her son. The priest showed up 'cause she was a shut-in. Caught me right when I was gettin' her ears. Old Father Wolfe was a big mother, wasn't he?" Mulder numbly nodded, both fascinated and repulsed by the story. "He killed me. Came in, caught me doin' Mom and killed me with that bat. Mom kept it by the front door to beat up prowlers, I guess. I was so pissed. I mean I thought, shit, here I go again. Back to that fucking limbo, brain-dead place. That poor priest started giving me the last rites. He was bawling like a baby. That's when I saw the light. I reached up, grabbed the priest's hand and presto, I'm looking down at old Art. God, it worked out perfect. I don't think I coulda done my thing, not in that little runt's body." "That's why Ruby's fingers were sawed. Art couldn't dislocate them," Mulder muttered. "That's why Ruby's fingers were sawed. Art couldn't dislocate them." Mulder muttered. "You got it. I didn't think it'd take a month, though, for them to find their bodies. Jesus. Otay was a little far out, but it all worked out. You found me." Nix chuckled, sitting down on the bed. "And when Red, here, killed the priest, I thought it was over again. Then she checked to see if he was dead. I knew what to do. And now... Mulder's stomach sank at the word. Now? "What?" Nix muttered. He seemed confused, dazed. Mulder watched with horror as Nix stood up suddenly and with a grin, removed the black skirt. "Now, we have some fun." "They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill beast" "Are you ready for this, Fox?" Karl Nix asked, warmly smoothing Dana Scully's skin. The hand strayed down to the wine colored lace panties, and gently cupped the soft springy triangle of curls that lay beneath the silk. "She wants to call you Fox. Now, why don't you let her?' * Stall! Think! DO SOMETHING! * "No-o-o?" Nix peeled the silky briefs down, moving to flash the auburn curls close to her partners face. "You know you want this." "I only want to touch it," Mulder replied, straining against the cuffs. "Just free the hands. That's all. Just one hand." His voice had become a tortured plea that made Nix smile. "Only one." The voice that answered him was low and husky and Mulder wet his lips in anticipation. Nix grabbed the keys to the handcuffs and quickly released the agent's uninjured wrist, clipping the now-empty ring back to the brass frame. Nix stood, peeled the lacy silk under things down and moved to the bed, lithely sliding up and slinging a leg over to straddle the prone man. A greedy smiled played across her full sensual lips only to stop when Mulder's fist connected against her sculpted jaw. Scully's body tumbled off the bed as if axed, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. Mulder gasped in pain as he half slid along with the woman off the bed. Stretching, he grabbed the handcuff keys and quickly freed himself. His wrist throbbed with a steady ache, and his fingertips tingled as blood flowed back into them. Panting, the agent hoisted himself up to free his bound ankles, then slumped down to sit beside the still form of his partner. He felt he was wasting precious moments resting, but knew if he attempted to move before he got his bearings he most likely would wind up on the floor beside Scully, unconscious. Mulder spotted Scully's suit jacket tossed casually by the foot of the bed, and cautiously reaching over his fallen friend, he grabbed it, breaking into a slight grin at finding her cell phone. With a bit of maneuvering, he hitched around to pluck the phone number Monsignor Kieran had given him from his pants pocket and quickly requested the priest's company. With a sigh, he let the machine clatter to the floor, then spread the jacket across Dana's naked flesh. With a protective hand resting on her hip, he propped up against the side of the bed to wait for the cavalry. "MULDER!" The voice, was Monsignor Kieran's. Mulder struggled to his feet and lurched to the door. "In here," he yelled, not wanting to take his eyes or the gun off his partner. Kieran burst into the room. A few seconds passed as he took in the scene -- the flickering candles, Scully's still, half nude form, and Mulder. The priest let a low whistle pass between his teeth. "I thought you looked rough at the church. She did all this to you?" Mulder's smile died before it reached his eyes. His jaw throbbed in time to his heart. "I taught her to swing a bat," he murmured through clenched teeth. "You did a damn fine job of it, too," Kieran said wryly, wincing at the younger man's swollen, discolored face. A low moan from the floor spurred the two into action. "You get the cuffs, I wanna dress her, okay?" Mulder croaked, picking up the woman's strewn clothing. The monsignor nodded and followed the younger man's request, dropping the silver metal 'jewelry' atop his worn, red and blue ECVHS Braves duffle bag once he had complied. The monsignor nodded and followed the younger man's request, dropping the silver metal 'jewelry' atop his worn, red and blue ECVHS Braves duffle bag. "Where should we do it?" Kieran asked, leaning against the hallway wall, keeping his eyes averted in order to afford the couple a bit of privacy. "Don't you guys normally do them in a bedroom?" Mulder asked, finishing his chore, then bending to gather up his partner. The priest slipped over to him and quickly hefted Scully's limp body into his strong arms, knowing Mulder would be unable to carry her with his injuries. He was given a tight smile of thanks. "Not with those, we don't." Kieran nodded toward the reflective surface of the ceiling. "It's supposed to be a place familiar to the possessed. Looks like we're out of luck, there. I want her restrained, how about if we 'cuff her to the kitchen table? I remember Ruby had one." Mulder shook his head, "I don't think the kitchen... Ever see 'Carrie?"" Another moan issued from the possessed and the monsignor cut a pleading eye to his assistant. "Okay, let's use the dining room table," Mulder quickly suggested. The exorcist and his assistant moved on to the large ornate dining area. Mulder secured Scully's hands with the cuffs while the monsignor readied his supplies and blessings, then placed each item on the buffet server -- the crucifix, a candle on each side, a vial of holy water and a prayer book. The agent returned from the kitchen with a knife, and removing his tie, fashioned bonds to secure Scully's ankles. It pained him to see her -- it was her, now -- half asleep like she was, trussed spread- eagle to the huge mahogany table. She was so small, so defenseless. Mulder moved to smooth her damp hair from her face, but jumped away when he was met by two hard, glittering orbs, full of dark malevolence. "They stab it with their steely knives but they just can't kill the beast." Nix struggled angrily against the restraints. "I'm gonna get that knife and cut your fucking tongue out, you mother fucker, if you don't STOP with that FUCKING SONG!" "Yeah, and your mother sews socks that smell," Mulder muttered, leaving the prisoner to find Monsignor Kieran. He discovered the priest kneeling in the hallway, now fully attired in his vestments. He stayed silent until the man beckoned him to his side. "Give me a hand here, Mulder," Kieran chuckled. Fox complied and aided him in getting to his feet. "That's why we pray so much when we get old. We get down, but we can't get up. Got a bad case of genuflector's knee." "Okay," the exorcist murmured, flipping through a small spiral notebook. He looked up to spot the incredulous expression on his assistant's face and sheepishly explained. "Made up a few cheat sheets." Mulder blanched in surprise, "Say what?" "Mulder, I told you. I've never done one of these." "I know but..." The younger man's voice grew thin with fear, "God help us." Kieran smiled, "Let's hope so." Mulder peered through the open door at his partner's thrashing form; the sweet flavor of wine still lingered in his mouth. He had just made his first confession; his only confession in 38 years. The monsignor had wisely insisted that he keep it general and to only hit the 'highlights' in a matter of speaking. The agent was amazed to find he did feel different after partaking of the communion and the absolvement. It was not his faith, but he felt a certain peace. Like someone had looked into his heart and knew --that he wanted, no, that he had to believe. Nix was screaming blue curses for any and all to hear, writhing against the bonds that held him. The two men stood at the wide portal, dreading the coming confrontation. "Listen close, Mulder, okay?" Kieran announced, scanning his notes. "This is really important. There are three cardinal rules: 1) Do everything I tell you to do, no questions -- okay? Even if you think it's wrong, DO IT! OKAY?!" Mulder nodded, his face solemn, his hazel eyes wide. "2) Don't take the initiative. Do only what I tell you. And 3) Don't speak to the possessed. Don't get caught up in his mind games, Fox. He has her mind; he knows you. He'll use it." The monsignor flipped the pages frantically, searching for anything else that could help them. "We're supposed to have at least three people here. You should be a priest. I'm supposed to go through proper channels and have the Church's blessing." Mulder swallowed hard, meeting Monsignor Robert Kieran's troubled blue gaze. "Monsignor ..." His voice broke and he attempted to get enough moisture in order to speak, but his mouth stayed dry. "Sir, how many of these not sanctioned by the Church have worked?" Kieran grabbed his helper's elbow and led him from the open doorway to whisper in his ear. "None. But Nix doesn't know that. Let's keep it our secret, okay?" Mulder mutely nodded and followed the exorcist into the battle. Four hours had passed. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." "Amen." Nix stirred on the table, casting icy blue heat at the monsignor as he repeated the prayer in Latin. "Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spirtui Sanctos..." "Mulder...Mulder..." It was Scully. He knew it was Scully. "Amen, Mulder. Just say 'Amen,'" the monsignor prodded. "Amen." "Mulder, you know it's me. Your mother's name is Teena. Look at me, Mulder. Look at me. You cock-sucker -- look at me!" *Don't listen,* Mulder told himself over and over as Nix babbled on. The monsignor began the Ave Maria. *There she stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell, and I was thinking to myself, this could be heaven or this could be hell.* The lyrics spiraled out of control inside his head, making him dizzy but fortunately drowning out Nix's voice. "Amen!" He almost howled the word. Between the chanting priest, the loud, lurid angry outburst that spewed from his partner and the confused, rambling thoughts whirling through his brain he felt his sanity slipping. "Amen." " I COMMAND YOU! SHOW YOURSELF! SAY YOUR NAME!!" "Here's a blast from the past, Mulder -- 'you know my name, look up my number.' No, how 'bout, 'Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name.'" "SAY YOUR NAME!" "What is this, exorcism by the numbers, Kieran? You already know my name. Turn the page!" "YOUR NAME!" " Dana Katherine Scully...I live at..." "YOUR NAME!" "Melvin Wolfe. Hey, Bob! I'm in hell. She put me here. Fuck her, Bob!" "YOUR NAME!" "ART LETOURNEAU...YOU HAPPY?! MY NAME IS ART...Le...NO! My name is...NO-O-o-o, I'm, I'm...Karl. Karl Nix..." the possessed writhed, the face a contorted mask of agony in the dim, flickering candlelight. "KARL NIX, LEAVE! IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE!" "Gloria Patri, et Filio," Mulder softly whispered, not knowing from where the words came, only that they brought him comfort. The monsignor grabbed the handcuff keys off the buffet and released Nix's arms. He pulled Scully's body upright, shaking it till her head lolled. "IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, LEAVE!" Scully screamed in wild panic, tearing at her hair as Kieran stumbled back, crashing to the floor. The young woman saw her partner standing beside her, his face colorless in shock, and held out her arms to him. "Mulder?" The small cry spurred him over to her and the agents fell into each other's arms. Mulder held her close, rocking side to side as he whispered soft words of comfort while smoothing her hair. She clung to him; her sobs painful gasps. "It's okay, you're okay," he cooed. "It's okay, you're okay," he cooed. Out the corner of his eye he saw a swift movement. Turning, Mulder spotted Monsignor Robert Kieran, standing by the door, Scully's weapon under his chin. The man did not hesitate. He pulled the trigger, then crumpled to the hardwood floor with a thud. Fox Mulder closed his eyes and prayed. TWO DAYS LATER -- EL CAJON VALLEY HOSPITAL Mulder breathed a weary sigh as the doctor left the room. Scully could leave this afternoon. Her blood pressure was fine. All the tests showed her body's chemistry had returned to normal, and she was no longer almost comatose and unresponsive. She was just sleeping so much. Mulder gingerly pushed himself up from his own bed and ambled over to her side. Her face was so calm and peaceful now. He decided to let her sleep. Being possessed did tend to be rough on one's body. Having one's partner possessed was rough on one's body too. He'd had a slight concussion. How many more he could take he didn't know, but this one didn't hurt too bad -- today. He knew he had set his knee back months -- it might even need more surgery. Mulder shoved the thought away. Time enough to worry about that when they went home to DC. The entire side of his face was a mottled palette of black, blue and purple. His jaw was swollen to half again its normal size. Luckily, it wasn't broken, only dinged a little like an old baseball. Mulder strained to smile, then remembered, he wouldn't be eating anything that couldn't fit through a straw for a month. His arm had been set and put in a cast. It had been broken in two places. Added to all those injuries were countless bumps, bruises and muscle strains. It seemed every cell in his body hurt. But there was only one place he could be, that was here, with her. They'd put them together; he'd given them no choice. Just like today, when he'd given the young physician notice that HE was leaving this afternoon, along with Scully. The doctor didn't like it, but Mulder felt he could heal and be bored at the motel just as easily as at the hospital. Scully could sleep and recover at the motel. Alone together, they could both get over what had happened to them. Mulder stiffly eased himself into the chair beside his partner's bed. She was sleeping the sleep of the drugged. That was good. She remembered little to nothing of what happened. That, too, was very good. For maybe the second time in their long partnership, he was grateful that Scully had missed all the fun. She'd blocked out her abduction and apparently blocked out this latest nightmare as well. He had, after his own journey to the netherworld, decided perhaps it was best if she never remembered. Hopefully, this memory would seem like nothing more than a fantasy, born of stress. A fractured recollection that might haunt her from time to time, one that might pop up now and then, one she would worry like a painful tooth. But with any luck, it was one that would stay safe, locked in that special place, where it might not hurt her. He hoped, no, he prayed, that was how it was going to be. Mulder studied her and smiled ruefully at noticing the brownish- yellow bruise on her chin, where he'd hit her. That, she'd remembered. Her first lucid words had been, "Mulder, you slugged me? Why?" Questions. There had been a million of them. The agent was truly surprised there wasn't someone in the room right that moment, grilling him over the mysterious happenings at the house on Wintergardens. Just when he'd thought they'd stopped, Laura Kirchman would be calling on him, wanting him to explain this or that. At least she gave him the chance to explain. His story was thin -- too thin. Mulder knew they didn't really believe him. But once they'd cleared the two agents of any wrongdoing, law enforcement stepped back, content to let him explain how a monsignor, dressed in full vestments had overpowered two trained FBI agents and used one of their guns to shoot himself. He did come up with a story of sorts about a monsignor tormented by the deaths in his flock, his priest friend gone astray. He told them about the attempted cleansing of an evil house and that the priest was too overcome by grief to go on living. Tabloid fodder, it was indeed. Mulder replayed the events of that night in his mind. He had sat holding Scully for at least an hour, or so it seemed. He didn't want to let her go -- ever. Nor did he wish to touch the monsignor's body. Not after hearing from Nix how easily he'd leapt from person to person. He finally disengaged Scully's arms from around his neck and was surprised to see she'd fallen asleep. Cutting Kieran's form a wide swath, he began the cleanup. His investigative experience served him well. He knew what to do to at least make the scene look somewhat like the story he planned to tell -- somewhat. After his mad dash through the house, and when he gathered enough courage to approach him, he was surprised to find that the priest was not dead. The discovery chilled him, and the rest of his cover-up plans were put aside as he used Scully's cell to phone 911. Monsignor Robert Kieran lay in the ICU unit of this very hospital -- in a coma. Mulder shivered at the thought, then with a shuffling limp, moved to his bedside tray for some water. Where was Karl Nix? He knew that had to have been the reason for the priest's attempted suicide. Karl Nix had entered him. But was he still there? Was the good Father now trapped in the limbo netherworld of coma patients with Nix? The thought brought tears to Mulder's eyes. He sat beside his partner and rested his forehead on her hand, loving the warmth and strength the touch gave him. She calmed him. She always had. Mulder opened his eyes to see a baseball diamond. Knowing this dream he quickly scanned the setting, wondering who was waiting for him this time. He laughed at seeing Monsignor Robert Kieran striding up. The priest was dressed in a San Diego Padre's uniform. "Hey, your dream, my choice. Go, Pads!" the man laughed, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. "How are you here? I didn't think the coma people could be seen, only the souls," Mulder asked, puzzled. "Hey, that should give you a clue. I went into the light. Pays to have connections in high places, you know?" Kieran confided with a grin. "Then you're okay? You're happy?", the agent asked hopefully. The priest nodded. "And Nix is trapped in your body?" Another nod. They both smiled at the thought. Epilogue LATER THAT WEEK ICU -- EL CAJON VALLEY HOSPITAL Scully hated seeing the monsignor this way. It seemed there were no winners in this case -- none. They were due to return home today. She couldn't wait. She planned on spending the entire two remaining weeks of her leave sleeping -- with Mulder by her side. She and Mulder decided that the complications of an interoffice relationship didn't seem quite so hard to deal with -- not after dealing with a body swapping serial killer. She shuddered. Mulder placed a comforting hand on his partner's back. She'd felt a chill. Probably because the still form of Kieran's body brought back too many images of when he was injured. "I'll make it quick," he reassured her. The agent strode over to the bed, and bent to whisper into Karl Nix's ear, softly so no one else could hear. "Nix -- You can check out anytime you like, but You can never leave." With a grin, he rejoined Scully and with his casted arm ushered her out the door. "What was that about?" she asked, responding to his broad, triumphant smile, "Private joke?" "No," Mulder laughed as they strolled out into the bright Southern California sunlight, "Just singing him a song he liked." THE END DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" and its characters are owned by FOX and its related entities. All rights reserved. This website, its operators and any content on this site relating to "The X-Files" are not authorized by Fox. No copyright infringement is intended. This site created and maintained by Wasatch Design and Consulting.