REVELATIONS 1: DAWN (9/30)
by Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)
Begun 7/95, completed 6/98

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 9

Saturday, October 20, 1993
2 a.m.

     It was like coming up through black water into the air.
Like fighting into the light from the darkness. Like finding a
welcoming smile which was only for you when there are been none
for a long, long time.

     When Scully had marched into the conference room for the
first time, chin set stiff and defensive, Mulder had
involuntarily shrunk deeper into the shadows, wanting to be
smaller, smaller, smaller. Wanting to disappear. But he
couldn't. He had not been able to do that even when he was
fourteen and felt like an awkward giant with the bony clumsiness
that came with six new inches added in too short a time. Armor
then. Walls. Stone and mortar thick as a castle keep's. Shields
down, he had come to the table. Unreaching and unreachable. Only
at the end, when she crouched beside him so near that he could
feel the heat of her body, the smell of her shampoo, the
lightest breath of her cologne in the stale air, had his
defenses begun to crack. When she had taken his cold hand in her
warm one, however, that was when he came undone.

     In the hours that followed Mulder had gone through the
actions of a living man - walk, eat, shower, sleep. It had taken
him that long to assemble again the scattered garments of his
public face - the cocky attitude, the bone-dry wit, the ghostly
smile, the alert way he held his head, the assured saunter of
his long stride. A good disguise for the formless, rolling
darkness within. It was so good a disguise that from time to
time he almost believed it himself.

     The dream was behind him now; of the knife in the belly, of
the thin blade flashing up to his heart, of the serpent sting of
the whip. He stretched and brought out the smile. But Dana
Scully was not so easily won over. From across the room, she
studied him closely... and said nothing. For some unexplainable
reason, she would take him as he was. Her acceptance quieted the
boiling caldron at his breast. He felt - almost - whole.

     Finally she spoke answering the question asked a long
thirty seconds or more before. "You want my opinion about the
case? Now? I wish there was more to go on. The evidence seems a
little sparse considering the number of victims."

     He didn't flinch. "More than I've seen on other cases.
Maybe too much. So much that the pattern is hard to find. Two
types of torture both of which lead to death - the beatings and
the evisceration. We have the colorful jogging suit connection
which the press just loves. The washing - which has done such a
good job of removing trace evidence - may or may not have been
done for that purpose. Our man is cold-blooded enough to have
done it for just that reason. With most serial killers, the
washing would have been a symbol that the killer wants to
distance himself from his crime, to cleanse himself of his
guilt. His victims are removed to be killed elsewhere but where
and why? For privacy? In response to some inner need? For
practicality? Does he need some tools, some space? I think this
is most likely. Is the one who kidnaps the same as the one who
kills? Of all this, which points to the critical behavioral
elements that will help us find this devil? What sets him off as
unique."

     "You're profiling," Dana frowned. "We shouldn't be
discussing this. My ban on your working on this case for
eighteen hours was for you as well as for them."

     "I've given you eight."

     Her response was the same expression of extreme annoyance
she used on her godson when he tried to convince her that his
parents let him stay up to watch the late movie on a school
night.

     "I'm going to think about it anyway," he countered, leaning
forward. "Do you want to help me think this out - out in the
open - or do you want me to sink back into my own head? In that
case you might just have to get out the whip and chair again."

     "I don't think that's very funny."

     "Neither do I," and in truth he was grimly serious now.

     "It's blackmail."

     "Blackmail's illegal. I know these things. I'm a Federal
Officer."

     "Hasn't stopped you from breaking into high level security
facilities."

     "True." Other than that confession, he sat quietly, waiting
for her.

     Scully hesitated, considering. He knew she wouldn't dismiss
what he was offering out of hand. Her addiction to knowledge -
to grasp it and hold it in her hand - was different and yet as
strong as his own.

     She sighed, surrendering to the work and to her own
curiosity. "Just tell me why," she asked. "Why is this case so
bad?"

     Slightly baffled, he replied, "But it's not," then realized
within two seconds by the look of dismay on his partner's face,
that those were not the most reassuring words he could have
used. Now he would have to provide some kind of an explanation,
something he hadn't planned on doing, now or ever.

     "If the case is a really bad one, or if children are
involved, or the presentation of the bodies is really sick -
sexual perversions perpetrated after death, the bodies hacked to
pieces, burned, scarred with acid, covered with filth, partially
decomposed - or if the perp was into playing serious head games
with the investigation team - mine specifically which often
happens - then I wouldn't be sitting here now and calmly talking
to you. I'd be - " His voice trailed off. "I don't think I want
to go into that."

     Dana pulled the afghan closer as if the room were suddenly
very cold. It was the tone of his voice. So matter of fact about
something so... A dozen words, all more disturbing that the ones
before, seemed to come to her mind. Dana decided that 'alarming'
would have to do for now.

     "But if the case isn't that bad... then why... " How could
she possibly come up with words to explain what she had
witnessed at the meeting the day before? "Then what was I seeing
yesterday at the briefing?"

     Mulder chewed nervously on his lower lip for a few seconds
as he choose his words. "I didn't say it wasn't bad, it was, but
our current devil is more violent than psychotic. That makes him
if anything harder to catch. Means he can more easily fit into
his local community when he's not indulging in his favorite
pastime. And I do take the threat seriously or I wouldn't have
agreed to do this. People are dying and will continue to die.
But it's not only the Hunter's victims which get to me. It's the
long dead. It's not just the pattern in the current case I see,
it's all the others. And some have been - " he paused his face
graying noticeably " - very bad. I also have to - turn myself
inside out to do this. That's the real 'Spooky' part.
'Submergence of the analyst's personality - it is the only
way'," he said, the last spoken in a really bad German accent.
It sounded like a quote from one of his professors or perhaps
one of the Bureau-assigned psychologists which they all saw
plenty of - Mulder more than most. Rest assured, there were
those around the Bureau who had already pointed that tidbit out
to Agent Scully.

     Dana felt small, nasty, cold fingers touch every ridge on
his backbone on their way down. No wonder he had fled from the
Behavioral Science Unit and the VCS. Six years worth of sick
violence and all the ones before and since.

     "What you're saying is that you sacrifice yourself...
voluntarily. 'Here, I'm an empty vessel. Fill me up with all
your ugliness and I'll make sense of it all for you.'"

     Mulder frowned. "You make it sound crazy when you put it
that way."

     Scully drew the edges of the afghan closer as if she sensed
the dark and scary place where he'd spent most of the last five
days. "Mulder, what do I know? Psychology's not my field. But
this - technique - has to be self-destructive. If you feel
talking it out helps keep it manageable, then we'll try it your
way - for a little while. But if I see signs of stress then in
my medical opinion you'll just have to stop working on the case
for a few days."

     "And how would you propose that I do that?" he said nearly
smiling. "I work on the case when I'm in the shower. I work on
the case when I sleep - when I actually do sleep. I work on the
case when I go to the john."

     "Then you'd better look for a better distraction."

     Dana realized by the spark of humor in his eyes and the way
his mouth twitched that she'd gotten very close to walking into
someplace she hadn't intended. "For your MIND, Mulder."

     "What would you suggest? Chess? Miniature golf? You should
know by now that I have barely a passing acquaintance with
alcohol."

     Dana hesitated with her next suggestion. "There are - other
means."

     Anger leaped into Mulder's eyes which had been pleasantly
bantering through most the last few minutes. He had been so
pleased just to have someone sensible to TALK to. Was she
threatening to turn on him also? "I don't do drugs."

     "*Medication*," she said quite distinctly.

     Scully sighed as if she'd expected the resistance which, of
course, she had. As his partner, she had access to his personnel
file. Even the official one, which had been edited skillfully in
his favor, was damning enough.

     "Medication exists..." but the iron gates had already
dropped. There was no room for discussion here. She surrendered,
or at least hid her ammunition for a more critical time. This
emotional flip-flop from the day before disturbed her, but
improvement was improvement.

     "Just as long as you know that there's help available, if
you should ever need something."

     A stubbornly set jaw and a curt nod indicated that her
suggestion had been duly noted and rejected. "Are you interested
in discussing the *case* now?"

     Dana found she was. Hard to imagine, but it was the safer
subject. She began. "We discussed this topic at the meeting but
you were pretty quiet at the time. What's your explanation for
why the causes of death are so different? With victim Eight we
may be talking about three M.O.'s. Why not just one? You've
ruled out there being more than one killer."

     He visibly relaxed as the subject became less personal.
"That is a very intriguing question. I agree, the victims don't
seem to be different enough to explain it. There are male and
female,  large and small in both groups. Most were in pretty
good condition."

     "Is that significant? You don't have to be a pin-up girl or
appear in GQ to wear one of these outfits. The sights I've seen
on my way to work... Maybe wearing a jogging suit is not the
perpetrator's only selection criteria for his next victim."

     Mulder nodded slowly. "Maybe..." A long moment passed
before Mulder realized that he was being scrutinized closely
again. He had phased out; he'd let his disguise slip and dropped
briefly into his own little shop of horrors. But he was
functioning, at least for the time being. It was a self-
preservation skill he'd acquired after too many days on too many
cases where none of his colleagues would meet his eyes. He just
hoped his current tattered disguise of normalcy would hold
together long enough to let him slip her leash. In his mind he
groped for the end of the string that would lead him back to the
current discussion.

     "Surprisingly," he began, forcing his voice into an
analytical calm as if he had never 'checked out', "more men were
eviscerated than women, but then it's a small sampling. What
troubles me most is the uniformity of the crimes in all aspects
*but* the dramatic climax we've all been concentrating on."

     "As was said at the meeting. I thought that's what made
serial killers 'serial'?"

     "True, but until they hit their stride and begin displaying
their formula, there's usually a period of experimentation. I
expected more variation in the early cases though there is some.
For example, he didn't wash the first one."

     "So you think there were others? Earlier ones?"

     "Almost certainly. Maybe not murder but assaults. With all
the resources of the FBI, however, we haven't found any pattern
of previous arrests and complaints that matches."

     At that moment a soft beeping came from the bedroom. Mulder
raised his eyes questioningly.

     "My computer," Scully explained getting quickly to her
feet. As she trotted on bare feet into her bedroom she called
over her shoulder, "l left instructions for the lab to e-mail me
the results on the material in the chest wound as soon as they
came in."

     As she waited for the monitor screen to brighten, Dana was
keenly aware that Mulder had followed her into her bedroom. He
loomed over her shoulder as she sat at her desk in front of her
PC. Dana felt more than a little uncomfortable. A woman's
bedroom was a private place. To begin with there was the bed -
unmade, rumpled, vulnerable, suggestive - as well as the cast
off clothes she had lived and sweated in the day before. Mulder,
however, clearly had eyes only for the screen.

     "It is the lab," Dana whispered.

     "Give," Mulder urged, trying not to lean too close though
they were already almost touching, "I'm dying here."

     Dana read, changed the screen to scan chromatography bands,
then flipped the screen back to the report. As she worked, her
expression changed from questioning, to bafflement, to
triumphant understanding within seconds.

     "Shit," Dana breathed as the impact of what she was reading
became clear.

     "Agent Scully, what language."

     "But I'm serious, Mulder. Manure!" Dana exclaimed. "And not
canine or porcine but bovine."

     She could feel the warmth of Mulder's breath on the back of
her neck as he leaned over her. She could almost feel his heart
pick up its beat as the case heated up; or was that hers?

     "Cow dung, Mulder, and from the degree of breakdown of the
proteins at least six months old. Whatever this monster was
using as a prod to open the wound, he set the point down in a
section of old cow paddy first."

     Her partner's voice sounded brighter than she'd heard for
a while. "I don't see any cows in your back yard, Scully.
Obviously, we're not working with your boy next door."

     Dana's face suddenly lit. "Mulder, that may be it! The
reason your perp is so neat with a knife and knowledgeable about
anatomy... His skill may not come from dressing game or from
practicing on dozens of unknown victims, but from butchering his
own livestock!"

     Mulder's palm came down sharply on the top of her desk. "We
knew the killings were done elsewhere, we just didn't realize
how far. Manure used for fertilizer is aged longer than six
months and I don't know of any cows within the beltway except
for the University of Maryland Agricultural Research Center and
that would be too obvious. Not a frustrated urban weekend hunter
then but a rural - farmer?"

     Dana's fingers were flying over the keys. "Luckily, there
was plain old dirt mixed in with the sample, too, but the system
needs another hour to come up with the probability distribution
on the soil composition for the mid-Atlantic Region. There's
also the water analysis coming. Those should help us narrow it
down." Dana sighed as she checked a zoning map of the greater
Washington area. "Oh, but there are still a lot of farms out
there."

     Above her Dana sensed the slight puff of air that served
Mulder as a chuckle. "I'll take what I can get. This is what I
needed. This is what *we* needed," he corrected, easily.
"Something new."

     At the 'we', Dana felt a surge of emotion she could not
describe. To hide the heat that was coloring her face, she
rapidly scanned through her other mail. Thankfully, it was a
significant list. "You still have to revise your profile," she
reminded him, apologetically as she worked.

     He shrugged. Not at all his reaction from the briefing.
"That doesn't matter. It will be closer this time because we
finally have something to work with."

     "Why would a rural avenger want to take out expensively
clad joggers?" Dana asked to no one in particular. "What's he
avenging? Is he anti-technology? That's old. That's sixties
stuff."

     Mulder began pacing back and forth behind the chair where
Dana worked. "It doesn't make it any less possible. Our man may
not be connected very snugly with the here and now," he said,
adding wryly, "unlike some of the rest of us."

     Dana turned in her seat to give her pacing partner one of
her looks. Besides, it was distracting just to know he was back
there. Too much like a panther gliding behind her chair. "I
think we should expand our 'Why'," she said. "This is more than
mere technology backlash, otherwise he'd be dropping rocks off
of overpasses onto cars or blowing up electrical substations."

     There came another mechanical beep from the computer. Dana
swiveled towards the screen again and found another new message.
From the subject line, however, this one was for Mulder. Via her
address?

     "Here's one for you," she said baffled, rising to let him
sit down. Mulder slid into place. "From Bull," he reported. "You
must have put the fear of the almighty into them. They obviously
wanted to get this to me but not badly enough to risk of wrath
of Agent Scully by phoning."

     Dana's head cocked to the side. "The problem is they know
you're here. I didn't tell anyone where I was taking you. There
will be talk."

     "People will invariably do that."

     Vexed, Scully's lip went out in a pout. She didn't like
this. "Why does the fact that it's my place make a difference?"

     Obviously, she hadn't been expecting an answer so Mulder
took his time responding. "It makes a difference because, in
case you haven't noticed, I'm male and you're female. We're both
single and we're both work-aholics. Believe me, it's been noted
that we keep long hours and keep them together."

     "It's unfair!" Dana snapped, then pushed down the emotion.
She knew as well as Mulder how futile it was to try to find
fairness in a business situation. "Okay, they don't like where
you are now. By the way, where did you sleep the last few
nights? Will people talk about that?"

     Mulder's eyes half closed. His face went a little blank as
if it really was an effort to think back that far. "I don't
really remember," he admitted.

     "I thought you remembered everything?" she asked, more
roughly than she had intended.

     "I don't remember because I don't," he hissed back. "It
wasn't -" he searched for the word " - important." Not as
important as the puzzle, was what he meant. "With whoever drew
the short straw, I suppose. Hotel rooms usually. Fewer
interruptions and room service is handy. Sometimes their place
if my keeper for the night is single but never if they have
kids."

     "Do people talk about that?" Dana asked. "I'd imagine that
would be even more tantalizing."

     "Not in the way you're inferring. Just the normal 'Spooky
has run after one-too-many little green men' stories."

     "Then why should they talk about us?"

     "Because they will." Mulder noticed how Scully's eyes
flickered over the unmade bed. "Does my being here bother you?"
he asked, unexpectedly.

     Clearly, she didn't want to answer and her light skin was
flushed and slightly damp as if the room was too warm.

     "You're with Spooky Mulder now, Dr. Scully. This will be
fuel for the rumor mill for months. It could hurt your career.
If you can't risk that maybe it would be best if you walked
away. No one would fault you. Me, least of all."  His eyes were
suddenly so bleak that it hurt just to look at him.

     Dana raised her chin, at that moment looking as invincible
as a person clad in sky blue pajamas and a flowered afghan can
look.

     "Do you want me to?"

     "No," came so quickly that he almost stumbled over the
simple word.

     "It could hurt your career as well as mine."

     He shook his head. "I can survive. Double standard. Besides
I've done much worse things than sleep with my partner. If I
had, and being male, that would be a sign to the gang that I was
almost normal."

     "Heaven forbid you would be thought that." She looked at
him hard and captured his eyes in hers so that he wouldn't fail
to hear the next part. "I don't intend to quit. I've made a
commitment. Besides, I don't scare that easily."

     He nearly grinned in his relief. "So I've noticed."

     A moment stirred between them like the signing of a pact or
invisible hands clasped. The moment passed and yet lingered,
like the beginning threads of a bond were being woven between
them.

     Mulder bent over the keyboard, his fingers moving quickly
to pull up the message Bull Hennessy had sent to his attention.
"Now that that's settled, let's see what's so new and important
that couldn't wait until morning."

     Dana had nearly forgotten about the message. Almost
guiltily, she bent to try to read around Mulder's shoulders
though that wasn't easy as his shoulders were by far the widest
part of her partner.

     Mulder read the message silently though his lips moved. His
eyes widened. "They've identified your victim Eight. That was
quick. Twenty-six hours."

     "Not so surprising," Dana said. "He was a healthy, good
looking man. Someone would have missed him."

     "Colonel Matthew Borderbank, US Army, recently retired."

     Dana whistled. "That helps to explain his excellent
physical condition."

     "He was a chaplin. Episcopal."

     Dana straightened at the same time Mulder turned, first to
look into her face, then to rise. The whites were showing all
the way around the forest green, hazel centers of his eyes. The
energy surging through him was almost visible as he paced the
length of her bedroom. With his long legs he could do it in
three strides. Not like a panther now, more like a soldier.
Neither needed to talk for the moment. Dana sensed her own mind
begin shuffling what they knew with this new information. She
wondered whether, if she concentrated, she could see smoke
rising from Mulder's straining cranium.

     "Are you tired?" he asked abruptly.

     Dana started. That wasn't the first thing she expected him
to say. "If I was, I'm not now."

     "Then before we do anything about this, can we pull out the
rest of that Chinese. I'm starving."

End of Chapter 9