"The Poe Mountain Horror" 
X Files Tale by WestShore
THE SUMMARY: While a little Tennessee Mountain town 
revels in its new-found celebrity status as an alien abduction 
site, Mulder and Scully try to tell them that they are ignoring 
the real danger and are caught in the snare of an evil serial 
killer.
THE DISCLAIMER: I gratefully acknowledge that Chris 
Carter, 1013 Productions and 20th Century Fox *really* own 
the two action figures that I am playing with here. The X Files 
Universe is ruled and owned by the man above.
     No. Not Him. The man in the above paragraph... 
     I will not profit from their use (believe me!). Characters 
other than Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are sprung from my 
head (I admit with some trepidation) with some help from the 
pages of the Palm Beach Post... 
X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X
"The Poe Mountain Horror" 
by WestShore westshor1@earthlink.net
     
     Sheriff's Office Early December Berrien, Tennessee
     The din of voices seemed to rattle the windows in the 
crowded office of the sheriff. FBI Agent Dana Scully scanned 
the room quickly for her partner, Fox Mulder. 
     Reporters. Politicians. Curiosity seekers. Cops. 
     No sign of any tall, forlorn-looking FBI agent.
     Scully sighed and shook off the chill she had acquired 
dashing without a coat between the two tiny municipal 
buildings that made up the whole of the government offices of 
Berrien, Tennessee. The weather was changing fast outside, a 
snowstorm threatening overhead, unnoticed by the throng of 
people inside.
     She had left the noisy claustrophobic atmosphere of the 
office to gather the last of her faxes from the Washington D.C. 
labs, reports of special tissue and toxicological screens she had 
requested on specimens taken from the body of Roy Earl 
Destin, a former favorite son of this tiny town, now known as 
"Victim Number Five" of alleged alien visitations.
     An abduction about every six to eight weeks since early 
spring. Young men, ranging in age from 27 to 15. Four locals -- 
and one out-of-towner unlucky enough to be up on Poe 
Mountain when the third "alien visitation" took place. Each had 
been returned as a lifeless corpse, without hands and with odd 
scarring that prompted the first speculations about abductions 
and experimentation. 
     In the frenzy that followed the discovery of the fourth 
body, the mythology of alien abduction had taken hold firmly. 
In the hysteria that accompanied the discovery of the latest 
victim, a media circus had been born out a few fragile facts and 
a number of tall tales. And two major facts were relegated to 
minor status: Each corpse was returned minus its hands and 
minus the vehicle the victim had last been seen in.
     The involvement of the FBI's obscure X Files division had 
come when the Office of the Governor of Tennessee made a 
request of the Bureau to put the case to rest and end the two 
week long media blitz that was taking away from the 
governor's embattled bid for budget reforms and tax proposals.
     As Scully scanned the office again, she ruefully recalled that 
Mulder had been four-square against coming here at first. A 
quick review of the information sent to them made the alien 
abduction theory seem unlikely. In fact, Mulder had laughed 
outright in Assistant Director Walter Skinner's office during the 
initial case review and assignment.
     Skinner had glowered as Mulder squawked about the 
negligible statistical probabilities that the "Poe Mountain 
Aliens" had any "need of antique human technology requiring 
complex, fossil fuel- burning, pollution-creating, gravity-
challenged engines in late model autos such as those owned 
and driven by the five victims." 
     The Assistant Director had merely dangled Governor 
Menkin's official seal in front of Mulder. It was attached to a 
formal request for assistance from the FBI.
     Scully's partner had still balked at getting involved, 
expecting another set-up designed to discredit their X Files 
Division within the FBI. 
     His complaints had fallen on deaf ears.
     They were on the road to Berrien within eight hours of 
receipt of the governor's request.
     The glamour of a story as sensational as alien abductions 
focused in one tiny community had garnered lots of attention 
for the area. The news had been picked up internationally. 
Radio and television stories had been highlighting the tiny 
mountain burgh for the last two months. The governor's office 
had insisted on the FBI's involvement as the media circus 
threatened to become more unmanageable. 
     The town of Berrien was basking in its glory, however. 
There were lots of visitors arriving. And with them, lots of 
money. The one motel and one aging inn were filled to capacity 
for the whole week, an event unparalleled in Berrien history. 
     When the two federal agents had arrived, the day after the 
body was found, the small town was full of fables about alien 
kidnappings that had plagued this otherwise peaceful 
community for the past six months.
     At the conclusion of just three interviews of citizens 
claiming to have witnessed strange lights and an oddball 
assortment of "phenomena" that seemed to accompany each 
disappearance, Mulder was seething. In the spotlight of their 
newfound celebrity, the locals had begun weaving "yarns", 
each story more fantastic than the first and each story less 
worthy of Mulder's attention than the last. 
     Scully smiled as she remembered her partner muttering 
under his breath, dismissing the trio as "one sorry alcoholic; a 
half-blind old geezer; and one woman who, in the previous 
year, had seen Jesus' face in the rusty water stains in the walls 
of her molded plastic shower stall..."
     Mulder's face had taken on a set, grim affect by the time 
they had been led to Destin's body on that first day. Stored in 
the meat locker of the town's only grocery store, it had waited 
for the FBI's forensic specialist, Dr. Dana Scully, to render 
facts and opinion as she gleaned them from the youth's ruined, 
pitiful corpse through a careful autopsy.
     Mulder had not said a word. Scully knew he would be 
tightly wound, despite whatever he already believed about the 
preposterous "alien abduction" theory, until he heard and saw 
the reality of the tale that Destin's mangled body was going to 
tell his partner. 
     Even as he had stood nearby, not watching the autopsy, she 
had known he was listening to her every word, each sterile, 
detached description of all the horrors that had been inflicted 
on the once- handsome youth. 
     Had aliens possibly done this?
     No, she had concluded.
     They both had known she would find no evidence of 
treachery from off-world marauders this time. The surgical 
incisions had been remarkably precise, probably done with a 
scalpel, but too random. Some wounds had shown clear 
evidence of stitches and healing as if the young man had been 
kept alive through an extended period of torture until his 
eventual death in the clutches of the ghoul who had held him. 
And four other victims before him.
     The hands had been removed after death had occurred. 
Tissue and tox screens overnighted to the Washington labs 
would confirm most of her immediate impressions in a few 
days while they continued to sift for truth among the 
townsfolk. 
     It had been absurdly simple, she remembered thinking at the 
time. So obvious. The pattern of neatly inflicted surgical 
incisions did not make any sense, that is, if one were to cut up a 
body in the interest of science and to further the cause of alien 
visitations on this planet. 
     She had looked up from her recorder as she stated the 
obvious: young Roy Earl had met his death cruelly at the hands 
of a very real, very human, madman.
     She remembered the way Mulder's broad shoulders had 
relaxed then, almost imperceptibly. He had been facing away 
from the improvised autopsy table, leaning his head against the 
frigid wall of the meat locker, rolling his forehead against cold 
metal as he listened to Dana describe a young man's brief life 
and torturous death to a tape recorder.
     The tiny slump of shoulders had been a silent gesture of 
relief, one of the many bits of the unspoken language of Fox 
Mulder. Dana Scully marveled at how easily she had learned 
that language. Being so finely attuned to her partner had 
certainly helped her survive four extraordinary years with the 
tall, darkly handsome agent that had eschewed almost every 
other attempt at 'hitching him into the harness' of partnership. 
     She had pulled the paper drape over the victim's body, 
signaling the end of the procedure to her partner. 
     Despite his squeamishness, he had insisted on staying with 
her in this odd, hastily arranged autopsy room. She knew he 
hadn't wanted her to feel uncomfortable and alone in the cold 
windowless vault, hung with a few animal carcasses as mute 
witnesses to her work. 
     "So. Mulder."
     He had already turned to face her, letting his dark eyes 
skitter down to the draped corpse and then quickly back to her 
face. 
     She had smiled grimly. "No aliens in the mountains." 
     "Right. No aliens. Should have known." His voice had been 
soft.
     She knew why he had been relieved to know that this 
wasn't the handiwork of aliens. He wouldn't have to dream 
about this death. He wouldn't have to let his mind replay all his 
own half-remembered horrors, nor imagine that his young 
sister, abducted decades earlier while he helplessly looked on, 
might have suffered the same fate as Roy Earl Destin at the 
hands of her abductors.
     His face had held a new grimness and preoccupation, 
though. 
     Scully recognized it. Mulder, the self-appointed warrior for 
truth, was also a hunter for justice. If this death, and the others, 
were not the end products of alien abductions, then that meant 
that there was a beast loose out there. 
     A killer. 
     A human with a taste for the blood of his fellow humans. 
     And Fox Mulder was as instinctual about hunting predators 
as a well trained, thoroughbred hound. 
     In his world, a dark world wallpapered with ghostly images 
of foreign beings, the intrusion of a human monster was an 
insult; a deviation that he knew he had the power to conquer, 
unlike his ineffectual grasping at the alien denizens of his 
nightmares.
     Fox Mulder needed to hunt human monsters. He needed to 
find them and conquer them. Because for every battle fought 
and won in his waking hours, he took more inner strength into 
the subconscious battle of the young Fox Mulder versus the 
monsters that tore his little sister -- and his life -- away from 
him 
     There was little he had to fear from human monsters: He 
knew what they looked like; he knew what they did; he 
understood why they did it. He was unafraid to face them, to 
transform himself into their hunter by transforming his thoughts 
into copies of theirs. 
     He had sensed the killer of Roy Earl Destin and four other 
young men was going to be different.
     **********************************
     Part 2/24
     Scully finally caught a glimpse of Mulder's familiar form out 
of the corner of her eye. He stood at the back of the room, 
looking out a small window, seemingly oblivious to the carnival 
atmosphere in the little office.
     She squeezed past Ed Swift, Berrien's part-time mayor and 
full time owner and operator of the Dew Drop Inn. He was 
standing belly-to-belly with Sheriff Pete Zames. Their animated 
discussion had been about only one thing every day since the 
Destin boy's body had been found: which one of them was to 
talk to the reporters calling in from all over the world and just 
what "facts" on Berrien's Alien Invasion were going to be 
released for publication? 
     Scully didn't bother to interrupt their heated discussion. 
Both men had neatly avoided the FBI's presence and advice 
since the two agents had arrived several days before. She 
dropped a copy of her report on the sherrif's desk, on top of the 
open file that also contained the neatly typed copies of their 
notes and Mulder's most recent profile and warnings about a 
serial killer lurking on Poe Mountain.
     Fingering through the reports one last time, she sighed. 
These warnings were being ignored. Mulder was taking his 
usual rounds of abuse for his "theories". Ironically, she thought, 
he's sticking to *earthly* facts, and he was still meeting 
resistance.
     Well, they had completed their end of the assignment. They 
had turned in their conclusion and tried to make some headway 
with the local law enforcement agency. It wasn't likely 
Assistant Director Skinner would let them spend any more time 
on this local issue when the letter of their involvement had been 
satisfied.
     That would be fine with her, she mused. It was close to the 
holidays; she was tired; and fed up with dealing with people 
who would not listen to reason.
     Mulder. She smiled. He was getting a taste of his own 
medicine for a change. She doubted he even noticed. His mind 
was already on the "hunt" for a serial killer. He was probably 
feeling frustrated, and she knew that wouldn't bode well for 
her wish to get out of this little town as soon as possible.
     As Scully shouldered her way through the rest of the crowd 
toward her partner, clutching a thermos, two paper cups and 
her own carefully collated reports, she was approached by a 
thin, sickly- looking fellow with thick glasses perched 
precariously on the bridge of his beak-like nose. He had four or 
five expensive cameras swinging from his chest and shoulders.
     The FBI agent groaned inwardly. Another self-important 
member of the press, eagerly riding the wave of sensationalism 
engulfing the tiny town of Berrien.
     "Excuse me, miss, I'm with a paper from Illinois. Do you 
suppose you could get me a quick interview with your boss? 
I'm running late on my deadline times..." 
     "Perhaps you should ask that question of a secretary." 
Scully's voice was colder than the wind stirring outside. 
     "But I thought...," the man began to whine. Scully had 
already turned her back on him. After a moment's 
consideration, he called after her, " Hey. Hey, wait a minute! 
You hear anything about the FBI being here? Do you know a 
... a... let's see... his name is Mulder. 'Spooky' Mulder? Is he 
here?"
     Scully could feel the blood pounding in her ears as she 
pushed her way to the back of the room. She ignored the 
annoying little man. "Spooky Mulder, indeed," she grumbled 
under her breath. 
     <I'm going to be so glad to get out of this circus,> she 
thought angrily.
     "Heads up. A member of the noble press is looking for you," 
Scully growled as she glided up behind Fox Mulder. He was 
still gazing out the window at the gathering storm.
     He shrugged but did not turn around. "Yeah...I thought I 
heard my name being taken in vain." He leaned forward, 
squinting as he peered up at the iron gray snow clouds outside. 
"Looks like a storm. Maybe we should stay another..." 
     Scully wouldn't let him finish. She didn't want to hear it. 
She hurriedly pressed a paper cup into his hand, ignoring his 
astonished stare as she uncapped the thermos. "I took the 
opportunity to run across the street to our inn while the clerk 
collated our report, Mulder. I am packed and ready to leave. 
Here..." She poured a generous amount of hot, sweet-smelling 
coffee into the cup Mulder held. "Our saintly innkeeper, little 
ol' Miss Etta, sent this coffee and hot chocolate mix back with 
me. She made it pretty clear it was for you, but..." She filled 
and lifted her cup in a toast to Mulder. "...she's letting me have 
some, too. Here's to the love you inspire in genteel little ladies  
-- and here's to our quick getaway."
     "Scully?" His voice was already plaintive.
     "Don't. Don't even ask me."
     He had heard that tone in her voice before. It was a 
warning; she would brook no argument. He pursed his lips, 
shook his head and stared stonily out the window again.
     Scully watched the muscle in his angular jaw twitch as it 
always did when he was tense. She suddenly regretted cutting 
him off. She should have heard him out. This messy case had 
evolved into something else for her partner. Looking back at 
the crowded room, she saw cops and politicians, reporters and 
gawkers.  Everyone was talking; no one was listening.
     She sighed with resignation. She could see what her partner 
saw with that "spooky" sense that his fine-tuned perception 
gave him: Roy Earl Destin was going to be forever remembered 
as one of the five 'alien abductees' by this conflagration of 
fractured facts.
     The only other person, beside she and Mulder, who knew 
the true horror of what those boys went through was free and 
possibly planning how to catch another victim in his web. 
     The truth was vulnerable in Berrien today. All the 
distortions of facts were being jotted down, quoted, recorded, 
or broadcast in the confusion of sensational circumstances. 
Even the normally cooler heads of the law enforcement officers 
were being influenced. 
     Under these circumstances, facts were held hostage. Scully's 
autopsy, Mulder's serial killer theory, his pin-point-narrow 
profile, their procedural recommendations -- all would be 
ignored. 
     And the Destin family would bury their hopes for a young 
man's life in the coffin with their son.
     And the killer would be safe to hunt again. 
     Scully turned back to Mulder. The silence between them 
was palpable. She hated this part of the negotiation process 
between them. She would have to be the first to cut through it. 
     "Did you call Skinner?"
     He stiffened slightly and tilted his head sharply away from 
her. A sign of defeat. That little gesture told her Skinner had 
agreed with her.
     "Yes, I did. He thinks this has been a colossal waste of time. 
He says we should cover our asses regarding procedure, turn it 
over to the 'ringmasters' there..." He motioned over his shoulder 
at the sheriff and mayor. "... and head home."
     He looked as if he was going to continue but had thought 
the better of it.
     Scully waited, watching him sip his coffee. She rolled her 
eyes. He was bound to be moody about this for a long time, 
and she dreaded his moodiness more than his manic turns of 
excitement when he was on the threshold of solving a case. 
     He wanted to solve this one. He wanted to be let off the 
leash to pursue the madman he sensed was out there. While 
everyone else had their eyes on the skies, Mulder would be 
nose to the ground, hunting the real killer.
     And Scully knew she would be his partner in the hunt, too. 
     She leaned against the window frame and could feel fingers 
of an icy draft slither up her back. As she faced her partner, she 
mentally kissed her vision of herself lulling in a hot, soapy bath, 
safe and warm at home, good-bye.
     "What is it, Mulder? I'll listen.... Promise." 
     He moved his hazel eyes to her. He seemed suspicious of 
this extended offer of solace. She was used to that, too. She 
waited, careful to keep her face impassive. He was like a 
skittish colt when he was feeling emotional about a case. She 
watched, looking for the hard edge in his eyes to soften up.
     There.
     "They're not listening, Scully."
     "That was apparent from the day we arrived, Mulder." 
     "It flies in the face of reason! Aliens? How...." He was 
sputtering, tripping over his own tongue in his eagerness to get 
all his stormy thoughts and feelings unloaded onto a 
sympathetic ear. 
     Scully smiled. "I recall saying something very much like that 
to you on some of our more famous cases."
     He looked exasperated at first, then smiled back. "Zing. 
Right to my heart." He laid one hand over his chest, covering 
an imaginary wound, and his serious expression returned. "Roy 
Earl Destin's ghost is screaming, Scully. And I haven't done 
anything to stop that screaming..."
     Scully gently pulled his hand off his chest. "We, Mulder... 
*We* haven't done anything to stop the screaming. Don't 
forget, I seem to have a martyr complex that rivals yours," she 
sighed in resignation. 
     She looked over her shoulder at the threatening dark sky. 
"Looks like a storm, Mulder. Maybe we should tell Skinner it's 
not possible to head back today."
     She could feel the radiance of his smile without even 
looking at him. "So how do you propose we spend our precious 
time here?" 
     This time Mulder was eager; he was free of the leash. He 
could start the hunt.
     "We know the killer's profile, Scully, and this 'ain't' New 
York... A person like him should stick out like a sore thumb in 
an area like this. I'm pretty sure he's not a local -- maybe living 
here now -- but not raised here. He's educated. He's a neat 
freak and he has some medical knowledge, but just more than 
rudimentary, right? That much you can tell from the wounds 
inflicted on the bodies. I don't think his primary motivations 
are driven by sexual fantasies despite the male - only selection 
of victims. I think the odd pattern of wounds indicate a search. 
He's looking for something he needs from the bodies of these 
young men..."
     He shook his head absently for a moment. That last 
statement pulled him back into his thoughts again.
     "Needs something?" Scully echoed. "You mean like a 
substance? A bodily fluid? An organ? There wasn't anything 
else missing in or on the body except the hands..."
     "Missing... The killer's missing something -- something of his 
own. But it may not even *be* physical, Scully. I mean... what 
if he feels he's missed his youth, for instance? Maybe that's an 
element of the reason he picks young males."
     Scully shuddered. "Well, I, for one, am glad he isn't 
'missing' his mother, if that's the case."
     Mulder nodded somberly. "But there's something else about 
him. I just can't quite... It's the hands. What is it about the 
hands?" He paused again for a moment. "I've been thinking 
that perhaps this guy has some sort of physical 
deformity...maybe that's why he takes the hands. They are 
more than a trophy; I'm almost sure of that ...I'll need to add 
that bit to the profile."
     Scully gawked at him. "Well, I'm afraid I don't quite follow 
you on that leap of logic, Mulder. What makes you suspect a 
deformity?"
     "During the autopsy, I remembered you remarking about the 
incisions on the body. About how precise - how carefully made 
they were. I wondered if that kind of precision comes from 
skill or from extreme cautiousness. Slowness. Maybe because 
the killer has a hard time cutting into a live specimen. He was 
being slow deliberately. Why? Bad eyesight? Weakness from 
some old injury or disease? A deformity which prevents him 
from being swift. A deformity that may make him envious of 
young men." 
     Mulder fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. 
     "Well,  if that's true, perhaps he fantasizes about 'fixing' this 
deformity," Scully interjected.  "Maybe that's what he used 
them for: he fantasizes about fixing his own deformity, 
possibly his own hand ... or hands. Assuming the deformity, 
again, it might be a plausible explanation for his level of 
apparent medical knowledge. If he grew up with a congenital 
birth defect, he may have had numerous hospitalizations and/or 
surgeries in his past."
     Mulder grinned, pleased that his partner was now more 
interested in his hunt. Scully knew better than to smile back 
and encourage any kind of smug attitude from him.
     "What about the missing cars and trucks, Mulder? 
Nationwide searches for all of the vehicles have yielded 
nothing. Those are pretty large clues to hide -- even for 'alien' 
perps" Scully reminded him. 
     He pulled his full, lower lip in and gazed thoughtfully out 
the window again.
     "Those vehicles are the biggest puzzle, in more ways than 
one. While it may not be unusual that a search for the cars has 
turned up 'zip', what is unusual is that at least one of them 
would not be considered *desirable* in the stolen car market 
because of its age... And what use would this guy have for five 
vehicles that he may not even be able to drive?" 
     His voice trailed off as something outside caught his 
attention. Scully turned to follow his gaze. 
     ********************************** Part 3/24
     Outside, a few snowflakes had begun to fall. The parking 
lot below the window was full. One bright green BMW was 
illegally parked. 
     In the midst of the small sea of cars was an aged tow truck, 
its paint job long gone. Its owner was bent over the truck's 
aging winch, tugging clumsily at rusted chains that he was 
trying to fasten to the front of the new-looking BMW.
     Scully saw the skinny, offensive reporter that had bothered 
her earlier running toward the tow truck. He seemed to be 
shouting. His hands were waving wildly, and the expensive 
cameras he had had around his neck were bouncing and 
banging against his thin chest as he ran.
     "What's the problem?" Scully asked, watching as the two 
men outside began arguing.
     Mulder laughed. "Looks like the mountain man there is 
trying to hook that dude's front-wheel drive Beemer." 
     Scully was puzzled. "So? It looks like the fool was parked 
where he shouldn't be. Maybe Mr. Mountain Man is just doing 
his job..." 
     "Not with that antiquated tow truck!" her partner said. " If 
he hooks the Beemer up the way I think he's trying to, he could 
really screw up the front end and..." Mulder went quiet so 
suddenly that Scully turned around to see what had happened 
to him. 
     He stood silently, suddenly regarding the little scene outside 
with more intensity. He moved his hand past Scully's shoulder 
to open the windows blinds a bit wider, leaning over her to get 
a better view of the truck.
     "Tow truck. Scully. That's got to be it!" he whispered, 
almost as if to himself. "These kids' vehicles were taken away 
by a tow truck, not the Mother Ship." 
     "C'mon, Mulder. My mom still has my brother's set of toy 
Tonka Trucks from the seventies that look stronger than that 
one. I mean, it's ancient and you just implied that a truck like 
that could never haul a..." 
     "Right. Right. Not this truck," he agreed excitedly. " But a 
truck... a big one. A new state-of-the-art tow truck -- you've 
seen them -- with the platform that the cars ride on. It would be 
so simple! Wouldn't leave a lot of evidence around, either. The 
cars could be transported virtually anywhere under wraps, 
stripped and then sold for parts."
     "So, we are now looking for a deformed truck driver with a 
brand new tow truck, a cross country stolen car business and a 
taste for torture??" Scully gaped at her partner then rolled her 
eyes, incredulous of Mulder's leap of logic. "I think you're 
right, Mulder -- a person by that description *would* stick out 
like a sore thumb."
     Mulder ignored her sarcasm, watching the scene outside in 
silence for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth again. 
     "No. No... The killer, if I'm right about my profile, wouldn't 
-- *couldn't*  -- do it. Even if it weren't impossible for him 
physically, it would definately be too 'menial', too messy for 
him. I'm beginning to think our killer has an accomplice!" 
     Scully turned back to the window, mulling that over. It fit.
     She watched the scene outside with renewed interest. The 
tow truck driver was a powerfully built man, in his late fifties. 
He could make a good suspect in Mulder's newest theory. He 
looked cruel, Scully mused as she watched the bigger man 
lunge at the skinny reporter. She saw him suddenly grab the 
small man by the nape of his neck and shake him roughly.
     "Oh-oh. Time to call the cavalry," Mulder sighed. He called 
back into the crowded room, "Deputy Merrill! I think you've 
got a situation in the back parking lot that's going to need your 
attention."
     A young uniformed man pushed his way through the mob 
and hurried to the window to peer out. "Shit! It's Hodd," he 
hissed.  Pulling on his coat and hat, the officer rushed to the 
back door, muttering, "I'd better catch him before he gets 
violent. He's probably been drinkin'... Damn! Who called him in 
the first place? Sheriff Zames! Outside! It's Hodd Arlik, 
again." 
     The room seemed to empty within seconds, leaving Scully 
and Mulder to watch in astonishment as the crowd followed to 
watch the melee in the parking lot.
     "Hell, if I'd known 'Hodd Arlik' were the magic words, I'd 
have yelled sooner," Mulder said, shrugging. "It was getting a 
bit close in here, don't you think?"
     ************************
     The back door of the office swung open violently, bringing 
a blast of cold wind and snowflakes in. The two parking lots 
combatants were shoved ahead of Sheriff Zames and his 
deputy. The reporter was complaining in high, squeaky whines, 
and the tow truck driver was snarling in low, bear-like rumbles.
     Scully wrinkled her nose at the stench of stale whiskey and 
cigarettes that wafted up from Hodd Arlik as he was pushed 
into a chair near where she stood. She moved to the other side 
of the small room. Mulder, however, stayed where he was, 
arms crossed over his chest, studying the scene before him. 
     "Hodd! For Chrissakes, man! What the hell did you think 
you were doin' out there?!" Sheriff Zames shouted. His face 
was red with anger. It was clear he and Arlik had had these 
encounters before. 
     "I'll tell you what the idiot was doing!" the skinny stranger 
screeched. "He just about destroyed my BMW! After he'd have 
gotten through with it, I couldn't have sold it for parts! How is 
it a moron like him has a license to operate one of those..." 
     "Shut up!" Zames roared at the reporter, showing the first 
real sign of backbone that the FBI agents witnessed from the 
sheriff. "Matt!" 
     Deputy Merrill straightened when he heard his name. 
     "Issue this gentleman his parking ticket, and drag him over 
to the clerk's office. Tell Mabel he's willing to pay our new 
*upgraded* rate for his fine. She'll know what I mean."
     Deputy Merrill escorted the reporter from the building amid 
the man's sputter of protests and threats to sue. Sheriff Zames 
turned back to the big man swaying in the chair in front of him. 
     Mulder drew closer to watch the man, but Scully kept her 
distance. 
     From where she stood, the man looked unhealthy. Aside 
from being intoxicated, he was wheezing and panting. She had 
seen how strong he seemed when he went after the reporter 
outside, but she could tell he soon wouldn't have whatever 
strength he had had in his prime. His eyes were rheumy and his 
stomach was distended, the classic symptom of someone 
suffering from chronic liver disease. His skin color was dusky 
and his hands mottled with purple blotches. 
     Scully shuddered. She had seen enough of these symptoms 
in med school textbooks and hospital wards. But in Hodd 
Arlik, this look of impending death seemed to make him more a 
character to be feared than to be sympathized. His eyes, even 
as they were glazed with alcoholic stupor, were steely with 
meanness. His heavy jowled face was grizzled with two days 
growth of beard. His hair, if he had any, was hidden under a 
frayed winter hat, trimmed in dirty fur. 
     Even Sheriff Zames seemed to be cautious of him, sitting 
behind his desk, putting a few feet of wood, paperwork and 
safe space between himself and Arlik.
     "You hit him first, Hodd. Assault and Battery. That's gettin' 
to be your middle name in these parts, mister. I oughta lock you 
up." 
     Arlik's meaty fist came down with a crash on the desktop. 
Sheriff Zames nervously reached for his service revolver. 
     "Goddamn fool asked for it! Ya seen his fancy car! I was 
gonna pick up some extra bucks towin' him away for ya!!" 
     "It ain't proper procedure, Hodd! We'd have called if we 
needed your help. You and that ol' truck could of done a lot of 
damage to that city fella's car, and then we'd of had a real mess 
on our hands." 
     "Fuckin' city people," Arlik growled drunkenly. His eyes 
caught on the polished dark shoes of the other stranger in the 
room, traveled up the neat creases of a dark, pressed pair of 
pants, wandered over the silky dress shirt and dark suit coat 
and settled on the handsome face.
     "Another one," he sneered at Fox Mulder. "Are we being 
invaded or somethin'?"
     "Mr. Arlik, do you own the tow truck outside?" Mulder 
asked quietly.
     "You a lawyer, Fancy Pants?"
     "No, I'm not. I'd just like to ask you a few questions about 
tow trucks and your whereabouts on the day Roy Earl Destin 
disappeared."
     Scully tensed as she watched the sheriff jump up from his 
chair and head toward Mulder. Arlik glared at Mulder for a 
long moment and then addressed the local lawman. "Who the 
fuck is Roy Earl Destin?"
     "Dennis Destin's boy... lived in the holler below you. He's 
the latest one of the five that's believed to been taken by them 
strange lights we been havin' over the past months." The sheriff 
answered in a more civil tone than Arlik deserved. 
     Arlik assumed a look of mock pity. "Aw, that's too bad 
'bout the boy." He stood, weaving, and returned his glare to 
Mulder. "You wouldn't be thinkin' I'm workin' for them alien 
monsters, are ya, Fancy?"
     Mulder's tone hardened, but his face remained calm. "You 
may call me Special Agent Mulder. FBI. It's more probable that 
the young men have been abducted by human monsters, Mr. 
Arlik. And the killer would need a tow truck to..."
     "Now see here, Agent Mulder." This time it was Sheriff 
Zames protesting. "Hodd's old truck spends more time broken 
down by Grady's Bar than it does on the road. If he was hi-
jackin' them kids' cars, someone around here would have 
noticed... And, besides, Hodd, here is hardly a rocket scientist! 
Look at 'im!" 
     The sheriff snorted. "You're supposed to be the expert here, 
Agent Mulder. I read your new theory on these 'abductions'... 
Now if you're goin' to tell this town there aren't any UFO's to 
worry about and then turn around and point the finger at one 
of our locals here -- Well, I gotta tell ya, people are going to 
have a harder time believin' in that than aliens."
     Mulder pushed on. "You have a bigger problem than aliens, 
sheriff. You've got a killer. And he may be working with 
outside help. The missing vehicles are an important part of 
completing this puzzle and a tow truck is an important part of 
the answer to what's been done with those vehicles."
     "Hodd's truck couldn't safely handle any vehicle less than 
twenty years old, Agent Mulder," Zames snorted.
     "That's right, Sheriff, but perhaps Mr. Arlik knows if there 
are there any other tow truck operators or newer model tow 
trucks in the area?" Mulder turned his eyes back to the big man. 
     The sheriff didn't wait for Arlik to answer the question. He 
quickly responded, "Neddy Collins has one of the newer ones, 
but he's over 100 miles west o' here! Besides, he was with his 
wife at County General the night that the Pittman boy 
disappeared. They were havin' their baby. An' I know all this 
'cause Neddy's my brother-in-law and not likely to be in 
cahoots with a serial killer like you describe in your profile!"
     The answer was meant to show the two feds that Ed Zames 
was a man who was on top of things: he knew this area inside 
out, and if there was a killer and a car thief teaming up around 
Poe Mountain and the little county seat of Berrien for over half 
a year, he was going to damn well be aware of it before the 
FBI. 
     The sheriff was angry. He didn't like outsiders, and he 
didn't like outsiders who tried to make his town look stupid. If 
there was a killer on or near Poe Mountain, he could find him 
without the help of the FBI. This pair had been forced on him 
by the governor's people, trying to polish up the governor for 
the voting public. 
     Scully came forward. "Sir, we're just looking for possibilities 
for our theory..."
     "I am up to my ass in theories, if you'll pardon the 
expression, ma'am!" Sheriff Zames shouted, throwing his hands 
up in the air. "I've had it! I've had it with the phone calls! The 
questions! The reporters! Star-struck mayors who want to keep 
their hotel rooms full of alien hunters... I'm fed up! Y'hear?" 
     Scully reddened, swallowed and nodded. Mulder remained 
quiet in the face of Zames' anger.
     Hodd Arlik chortled in the heavy silence that followed 
Zames' outburst. The sheriff whirled on him. "Get your ugly ass 
outta my office, Hodd! Go crawl back in the hole you slithered 
out of up there on that mountain! When this storm seals you in 
up there tonight, I'm gonna pray to the Beneficent God that 
those roads shut down and don't open up again until sometime 
in May!" 
     Arlik rolled a wad of spit onto his lips and shot it down at 
the feet of the sheriff.
     "Get out, you S. O. B.! I've got enough cause to lock you up 
here and now -- but I want you back up on that mountain when 
this storm moves in to shut your road down. Then I know I 
won't have to deal with you for another six months! Get!"
     Arlik moved slowly, brushing himself up against Mulder 
with deliberateness. "See ya, Fancy... Maybe you wanna ride in 
my tow truck? Jus' you 'n me... We can go alien huntin', eh?" 
     Mulder locked eyes with the man. Scully watched 
nervously. Even as disease-ridden as he appeared, Arlik was a 
big man. As tall as Mulder was, Arlik still seemed to loom over 
him. 
     "Hodd." Sheriff Zames warned. "Don't fuck with him. He's 
a federal agent. Now, I said, get out! It's time you moved on. 
Count yourself lucky that I didn't bring charges against you." 
     Arlik raked his eyes over Mulder again and left without 
further argument.
     Sheriff Zames returned to his desk and picked up the file 
full of the reports and recommendations authored by the two 
federal agents. He suddenly looked tired. 
     Waving the copy of the profile in the air, he said, "This town 
can get more 'mileage' out of our aliens than I can get out of 
your killer, folks. That's my only truth... My mayor's happy. The 
business people are happy. Our town is finally on the map. I 
won't ignore your report. Right now, I just can't dedicate the 
kind of time and man- power a hunt like this should get. And I 
know your time here is limited, too. Everyone's got a budget to 
answer to."
     He dropped the report back onto the desk and sighed. 
     "Look. This ain't the city. If a serial killer is out there, we'd 
have known it. There would have been signs, neighbor gossip, 
rumors... Some one like the monster you describe in this very 
fine report, Mr. Mulder, would have been noticed. No one -- 
nothing - - fits your profile around here. And as for the tow 
truck theory, it has some sense to it, but again -- someone 
would have noticed around here." 
     Mulder dropped his head back, silently regarding the ceiling 
of the little office, lost in thought. He lifted his head and 
looked back at Zames. "We have been ordered back to D.C., 
Sheriff. What you do with our report and recommendations 
from this point on is your business, but Roy Earl Destin's killer 
is out there. He's gotten five. He'll get more while you let 
everyone run in the hills looking for spaceships. Maybe you can 
hope winter will put your killer into hibernation, but I can 
assure you, he will kill again." 
     Zames' jaw worked anxiously as he glared at Mulder. "Like 
I said, Mr. Mulder, I won't ignore your report. Thank you both 
for your time." Sheriff Zames dropped himself wearily into his 
chair and nodded a quick, rigid good-bye to the federal agents. 
     Mulder helped Scully into her heavy coat and draped his 
over his arm as they headed out the door. They left silently, 
dismissed by the embattled sheriff of Carrolton County. 
     ********************************** Part 4/24
     Deputy Matt Merrill rose respectfully to his feet when 
Special Agent Dana Scully came through the front door and 
into the large parlor of the old home known as The Berrien Bed 
& Breakfast. Merrill smiled shyly and dipped his head in a 
quick greeting. He nodded and smiled again at Scully's partner, 
Mulder, who had followed her through the door and had 
paused to fight the rising winter winds which threatened to pull 
the heavy oak door away from him. 
     Dana Scully returned the smile as she slipped her coat off. 
The parlor was welcoming, with a hot fire burning brightly in 
the hearth. Their stay at this inn had been the only bright spot 
in an otherwise dismal trip.
     "Deputy Merrill. Done with your out-of-town rabble rouser 
so soon?" Scully asked as she walked over to him.
     "Sheriff Zames just finished with *his* out-of-town rabble 
rousers," Mulder commented wryly as he combed his fingers 
through his wind- swept hair. He looked at Merrill. "That 
would be us, of course."
     Merrill fidgeted uncomfortably with his hat. "Well, sir, I 
guess you just gotta understand where Sheriff Zames is comin' 
from..." 
     Mulder leaned in to look Merrill directly in the eyes and 
countered, "I *understand* where the killer of five young men 
is coming from, Deputy Merrill. Sheriff Zames does not."
     Mulder slid into a chair near the fireplace and looked back 
up at the deputy, who seemed just a bit intimidated by him. He 
waved a hand in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry. I'm just a bit 
tired. Agent Scully and I have been told to leave."
     "Oh no...You and Dana aren't going anywhere, Fox 
Mulder!" 
     The entire group turned toward the diminutive old woman 
that swept into the room with a tray of sandwiches. She put the 
tray on the coffee table and motioned Dana to the couch, next 
to Matt Merrill. 
     "This storm that's heading in is going to hold you hostage 
here, my dear," Etta Deems said. "If you leave, you could only 
make it as far as the next town. And I couldn't bear to think of 
you two suffering at the hands of strangers instead of allowing 
me another day or two of pampering you here at my inn."
     Mulder threw his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender 
and looked at his partner. "Scully was just saying how she'd 
just *love* to stay in your little town another few days, Etta. 
The level of cooperation and communication with the local law 
enforcement here has been unparalleled in our experience..." He 
glanced quickly over at Deputy Merrill who was blushing at 
Mulder's sarcasm. "Sorry, again. Present company excepted, 
deputy."
     "Matt understands, Fox," Etta sighed as she settled into the 
easy- chair next to him. "Now, come on, Matt. Tell these two 
what you came here for."
     Merrill blushed again and ducked his eyes down to his feet. 
"I... well, I just didn't want you to leave thinking we were *all* 
total idiots up here on this mountain." He glanced up at Scully, 
eyes lingering for a moment. "I...uh... I read your report on the 
Destin kid, and your conclusions on the others. Way back when 
we found Darryl Dean ... uh, victim number three... I wondered 
if we had Satan running loose up here."
     He relaxed, sitting back on the couch. "I've been watching 
how the sheriff and Mayor Swift's been treating you. I have to 
apologize for them. You have to understand they are both good 
men, but I don't think they are prepared to handle the concept 
of a killer that might have come from within our community."
     "And yet they *can* accept an unsubstantiated theory of 
alien abduction?" Scully broke in, incredulous. 
     "Well, yes, ma'am. I figure it's the easier thing for them to 
accept." He turned to Mulder. " But I wanted you to know... 
both of you... that I'd like to keep on this, using your profile as 
a guide, Agent Mulder. It seems to be a real fine piece of 
work!" He smiled enthusiastically. "I'd give my right arm to be 
able to walk inside a killer's head like that."
     Scully saw Mulder stiffen a bit and noticed a flicker of 
despair flash in his eyes. 
     He never invited admiration on his talent for the hunt: his 
blessing was also his curse. In the cut-throat office politics back 
at the Bureau in D.C., Mulder's talent had been the fodder for 
a lot of back-stabbing and mean-spirited name-calling among 
the few agents who were more concerned with career ladder-
climbing than actual law enforcement. He had his admirers, 
too, Scully knew, but they had largely been a silent majority on 
Mulder's behalf, especially after he deliberately chose to take 
on the "verboten" X Files. 
     Merrill must have noticed Mulder's sudden discomfort, too, 
because he hastened to add, "I mean, the ability to profile a 
killer like that... Well, I've read how it makes it so much easier 
to narrow the field and catch these monsters. That's a great 
service." 
     Mulder nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment but 
did not say anything. Merrill continued, "I'd like to carry on 
this investigation in your absence, sir... and, ma'am... and I 
wanted to get briefed on this case before you left and ask your 
permission to keep in touch if anything comes up."
     Mulder shifted forward in his chair, his arms resting on his 
knees, his hands clasped in front of him. He seemed relieved. 
"It would make me feel better to know someone is keeping 
watch, Matt. I think I'd have rather found aliens here than to 
leave behind a killer like this on the loose."
     ************************* 
     The next hour was spent reviewing case facts and suspicions 
with the one person willing to take on the monster Mulder was 
dreading leaving behind. Deputy Merrill listened wide-eyed, 
taking notes, asking questions.
     Mulder had gotten to the floor and start drawing sketches 
and diagrams of his theory on hastily grabbed napkins. Merrill 
crouched beside him. Both looked to Scully for medical facts 
and opinions and then bent over the ten bits of paper Mulder 
had filled with his scrawled logic.
     "Looks like he's learning at the feet of the master," Etta 
whispered in Scully's ear as she cleared away half-eaten 
sandwiches. "I hope he's near the end. I'm running out of 
napkins." 
     As if on cue, Matt Merrill got to his feet, gathered the notes 
and reached for his hat.
     "Thank you both," he said, nodding respectfully at each of 
them. "You know, about this killer... It's funny how it 
reminded me... When I was a kid, one of the local legends we 
all used to scare ourselves silly with was about the 'Poe 
Mountain Horror'. It was rumored to be an old civil war vet -- a 
yank, of course. We'd have never made a monster outta one of 
our own rebs -- Story goes: the yank got caught up on the 
mountain in a god-awful snowstorm and nearly died. Some 
locals found him, took him in, barely alive. His hands were so 
frostbit, they had to be cut off. The yank, he didn't like it much 
when he woke up to find his hands gone -- never mind that 
those good folks saved his life by stopping the gangrene from 
growing up his arms 'til the poisons woulda killed 'im... 
     "Anyway, story goes on that this yank awakes in a horrible 
fit in the middle o' the night and kicks all of the logs lit in the 
fireplace out into the room and burns down the house and all 
the family in it. It was also said he caught fire himself and 
died, running and screaming into the woods up there in Spirit 
Pass -- real close to where Roy Earl and them other kids were 
found, by the way . The legend goes on to say the Poe 
Mountain Horror is this crazed yank hauntin' the woods up 
there, still looking for his hands..." 
     He paused and shook his head. "Ironic, ain't it, and kinda 
spooky, I suppose, what with those kids turnin' up without 
their hands?" 
     He dipped his head in thanks to Miss Etta and headed for 
the door. He hesitated before he opened it, looking out at the 
gray skies. "Probably a good idea to stay over tonight. I don't 
have a good feeling about this storm," he advised. "Thanks for 
everything. I'll get to work on these possible leads, Agent 
Mulder. I can get a list of auto salvage shops, body shops and 
tow trucks and drivers for a two hundred mile radius. If you're 
both still in town tomorrow, stop by and I'll show you what 
results I might have by then. And don't worry about Sheriff 
Zames. His bark is worse than his bite." 
     The howling wind rose and fell as the door was opened and 
shut for Deputy Merrill's departure. Scully watched the young 
man run back across the road toward his little office building. 
She felt a flood of relief that the hunt for the serial killer would 
not be abandoned. Deputy Merrill seemed like a man of 
conviction; he would see to it that justice was done. Maybe 
now Mulder would be more comfortable about leaving this case 
behind. 
     She looked back over her shoulder at her partner, seated, 
slumped in his fireside chair again, chin propped on his hand 
and staring hard into the heart of the fire. His left leg was 
bouncing impatiently, as if it had a life of its own.
     <Oh-Oh.> Scully thought. <He hasn't let go of this yet.> 
     "Mulder," she called softly.
     No response.
     "Mulder!" A little louder this time, more forcefully. 
     His leg stopped bouncing, and he swung his eyes toward 
her. "Did you say something?" he asked, almost apologetically.
     "No. I didn't. You seem a little pre-occupied," Scully 
responded, walking over to stand in front of him. "You need to 
let go of this case. Let's just do it now. We have Skinner's 
blessing. We have the sheriff's 'invitation' to get out of town. 
And Miss Etta's in the kitchen willing to feed and pamper you -
- and me, I hope -- through our last memorable night here in 
Berrien. Give yourself a break, Mulder."
     "Deputy Matt mentioned Spirit Pass, Scully," Mulder began 
enthusiastically. Scully groaned as he continued, "That's just a 
mile or two beyond the site we visited the other day. And that 
'Poe Mountain Horror' myth is a bit intriguing, don't you think? 
I'd like to go up and..."
     "NOW?" Scully heard her own voice squeak in astonishment 
at his suggestion.
     "It's just about an hour, there and back. It's early afternoon 
and broad daylight -- sort of." He began to make his argument. 
"We'd be back before anything got dicey, weather-wise. Now 
that I think I know what signs and type of tracks we are 
looking for, I'd like to make a quick survey of that area before 
the snow flies tonight." 
     Scully groaned. "Mulder, don't make me do this!" 
     "Well... Well, okay," he stammered. "You don't have to. I'll 
take the car, and I'll be back before the..." 
     "Oh, no, you don't!" Scully countered. "If you go, I go. It's 
as simple as that. Still feel like going, knowing you'll be 
dragging me out into that cold again?"
     He smiled and cocked his head over to the side. His leg was 
bouncing impatiently again. " Scully, play fair. I *offered* to 
go alone. I won't be gone long. Maybe you could go keep Etta 
company in the kitchen and, if you're real good, she'll teach you 
how to make a proper pie crust." 
     His smile grew into a grin. He knew the pie crust remark 
would push her buttons. He saw her mouth drop open as if to 
hurtle a snappish insult at him, but to his surprise, she quickly 
switched her expression to smug. "Let's, at least, change into 
jeans and hiking boots. You know -- real outdoor wear, not 
these monkey suits." 
     She turned on her heel and headed toward the stairs, then 
suddenly turned back to him. "And, Mulder?"
     He arched an eyebrow at her, still waiting for the snappish 
insult to be hurtled at him.
     "You may *never* know how proper my pie crusts are." 
And she was gone from sight.
     ***************************************
     Poe Mountain Spirit Pass
     Scully watched her partner struggle against the cold wind to 
get back to their car. He dipped his head, trying to avoid the 
slashes of icy snow that had begun to fall. Huddled into his 
parka, with the hood thrown up over his dark, thick hair and his 
gloved hands shoved deep into his pockets, he stumbled 
blindly against the front bumper and fumbled for the door 
handle.
     His partner leaned over from the passenger seat and popped 
open the door for him.
     He hurtled himself into the car and slammed the door 
behind him, sealing out the murderous winds. "Damn!," he 
gasped. "That wind! I've never felt anything like it! With no 
exceptions made for the Arctic Circle, either!"
     "Hardly surprising, Mulder. This pass is like a wind tunnel. 
Did you find anything?"
     "Unfortunately, yes. There is a partial track of the size I'm 
looking for and tracks that might fix the make and model of 
the Destin kid's Toyota. It's old and it's faint, but I'm sure it's 
what we've been looking for. Do you suppose our phones will 
work up here?" 
     He was already keying numbers into his. After a few 
moments, a disgusted look crossed his face, and he tossed the 
phone angrily over his shoulder. "Useless."
     "I'll try mine," Scully offered reaching into the pockets of 
her parka. "Are you trying to call Matt Merrill?"
     Mulder nodded, glaring angrily out the front windshield at 
the trees bending and battling each other, fueled by the furious 
winter winds. Snow had begun to fall in earnest. 
     "How stupid could I have been, Scully? We need plaster 
casts of these tracks and I didn't bring a thing with us!" He 
struck the steering wheel in frustration. "This storm will bury 
everything unless we can get Matt up here."
     "My phone's dead, too," Scully said quietly."The 
mountains." 
     Mulder shook his head, silently cursing himself. Scully 
waited. There was nothing she could offer to distract him when 
he was angry with himself. He just needed some time to 
wallow in it, and then the hunter in him would come up with an 
alternative. 
     "The camera!" he whispered suddenly. He turned wide hazel 
eyes on Scully. "Did we bring it?"
     "I thought I brought it back to my room, but you made 
another site visit after that. If you put it in the trunk..." 
     She hadn't even finished her sentence before he had bolted 
out the door and to the rear of the car. She could hear his 
triumphant shout over the whistling of the winds.
     Scully got out of the car as he slammed the trunk shut and 
ran to the area where he had spotted the tracks.
     "Let's hurry, Mulder!" she shouted above the din of the 
gathering storm. "We're losing our light, and we're losing our 
safety factor up here!" She watched the sky fearfully as the 
camera flash strobed. 
     Lights and the straining groan of an old engine struggling up 
the mountainside caught her attention. Mulder ignored all else 
but the task before him: preserving some precious evidence. 
     Scully's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the ancient 
truck of Hodd Arlik roll slowly past their car, pause and then 
roll slowly past them. She could barely see Arlik through the 
driven sheets of snow that had begun to fall, but she could feel 
his steely eyes on them. She shuddered and felt for her service 
revolver. The man gave her the creeps.
     Suddenly, he gunned the complaining engine of the old tow 
truck and disappeared into the storm, heading higher into the 
mountain. 
     Scully relaxed, watching as the lone red light visible on the 
back of the truck winked out of sight. She waited patiently for 
her partner to finish his task, but when the storm winds seemed 
to pick up a new fierceness, she pulled anxiously on Mulder's 
sleeve. "That's it! We are out of here, Mulder."
     He followed her, happy to have gotten some trace of 
possible evidence preserved on film for later analysis.
     ********************************** Part 5/24
     They had only gotten a mile or two down before their pace 
had become a crawl. Snow blinded them, and the dropside of 
the mountain road no longer seemed to exist. 
     "Maybe *this* is the Poe Mountain Horror," Mulder 
breathed between gritted teeth as he inched the car forward. 
Scully stayed silent, straining to watch for the road edge. 
     A loud pop, followed by another louder bang startled them 
both. The car jerked, shuddered and tilted sharply to the right. 
Scully swallowed a scream and instinctually reached out, 
burying her fingers in a death-grip on her partner's arm. 
     The car, which had not been going fast, skidded a bit, but 
Mulder had no trouble bringing it to a stop. Silence. Only the 
purring of the still-running engine and the heavy, ragged 
breathing of two frightened people filled the interior of the car. 
     "What *was* that?" Mulder asked in a far shakier voice than 
he expected. He could feel cold sweat trickle down his back. 
     "We seem to be at an angle," Scully offered, her voice 
extraordinarily quiet. "A blown tire, maybe?" 
     "Well, sure. Of course. What *else* could happen to us at 
this point?" Mulder was quickly making the transition from 
scared to incredulous to exasperated. "Stay here and keep 
warm. I'll get the tire changing gear out of the back."
     He pulled and tugged with a strength born of frustration at 
the new tire and the tire jack. As he set the tire down on the 
road, he heard the front car door open. The car seemed to 
bounce violently for a moment, and then he heard the door shut 
again. 
     Puzzled, he looked up, but the open trunk lid prevented him 
from seeing into the car where Scully sat. What was she doing? 
The shard-like snowflakes stung his eyes as he tried to look 
around the edge of the car for his partner. He blinked painfully 
and turned back.
     "Scully! Just stay in there! Keep warm... I can handle this. 
Scully?" 
     He saw a dark form to his right, just a brief second before 
he felt a hand snake into his hair, pull viciously, and slam his 
entire body to the pavement. He felt a knee push his legs open 
and pin him down painfully. His cry was strangled in his throat 
when another meaty hand caught him under his jaw and 
brought him face to face with Hodd Arlik.
     "Fancy! 'magine my happiness when I realized you and yer 
cutie- pie had come up here on my mountain to pay me a visit!" 
     He leaned forward, increasing the pressure on Mulder's 
groin. The young man gasped and clawed helplessly at the big 
man above him, twisting under his bulk.
     Arlik snorted and leaned back, yanking Mulder up to a 
sitting position. The back of the agent's head ached at the point 
his skull had met the cold pavement. A wave of dizziness 
disoriented him for a moment, but he struggled and pushed at 
his captor when he realized Arlik was reaching inside of his 
parka for the gun he carried. 
     "You're a spunky l'il bastard, ain't ya, Fancy?" Arlik 
grunted, grinning as he struggled to keep a grip on Mulder. The 
agent's gun popped free from its holster into the man's hand. 
     Mulder went stock still, pressing himself against the bumper 
of the car when Arlik successfully pulled the gun up, switched 
off the safety and leveled it at his heart.
     Arlik's laughter rose above the screaming winds of the 
storm. 
     "Where's my partner? What did you do to Scully?!" Mulder 
demanded harshly when he got his breath back. 
     "She's sleepin', boy. She's gonna need her rest. So are you." 
The man smiled, revealing dirty teeth set in a face lined with 
hardness. 
     Arlik crouched, the gun still pointed at his prisoner. He 
seemed to be evaluating Mulder, drawing long, appreciative 
looks over the young man's body. The agent felt a cold feeling 
in his gut, an icy certainty that Arlik had had something to do 
with the deaths of five young men in the hidden hills of Poe 
Mountain.
     "Yer pretty strong for a city feller, Fancy! I'll be puttin' you 
to work directly, I 'spect. And as for yer cutie-pie, well, I ain't 
never brought home no girl..." He scratched his grizzled chin. 
"Maybe Edie'll like some help 'round the kitchen. I don' usually 
bring her any gifts, but that l'il red-head o' yers jus' might be 
the ticket, ya know."
     He smirked. "An' if she don' like it, maybe I'll get rid of 
Edie and keep yer cutie-pie. Gets cold up there on that 
mountain top come winter." He suddenly waved the gun at 
Mulder, and the agent jumped a bit, pressing himself further 
back against the car. 
     "Nervous type, are ya, Fancy?" Arlik chortled. "Take them 
gloves off, boy. Let me look at yer hands..."
     Hands. 
     Mulder felt sick. 
     Visions seared into his perfect memory. Pictures of corpses. 
Young men. Hands severed from their bodies. 
     <No>, he told himself silently, as he obediently pulled his 
leather gloves off. <This guy doesn't fit the profile. It *can't* 
be him! It can't be him.>
     Hodd Arlik's big hand felt cold and scaly as it tugged at 
Mulder's hands. The odd man was examining them carefully in 
the half- light of the dying day and the car's red parking lights. 
     Arlik's own hands were ugly: Big, sausage-like fingers, 
cracked and rough with calluses and grease and dirt. His palm 
was broad and huge, almost dwarfing Mulder's long elegant 
hand as he held it. 
     "City-pretty, ain't they? Those hands o' yers...Real fine. 
Fancy, even. Jus' like the rest of ya, eh? Maybe... jus' maybe, 
you'd be worth somethin'..." He paused. "Jus' maybe I could 
trade you for..." Arlik seemed lost in thought for a moment.
     Mulder tried to move to gain a better advantage, but his 
captor swung the gun up quickly. Mulder froze, sucking in a 
frosty breath. 
     "How old are you, boy?"
     <What?> Mulder was momentarily caught off guard by the 
unexpected question.
     "Uh... I... thirty-five," he stammered.
     Arlik frowned. "Too old. Don' look it, though. Life's a bit 
easier on the body in the city, is it, Fancy?"
     Mulder didn't know if Arlik wanted an answer or not. The 
man wasn't making any sense.
     "If ya got those handcuffs on yer person -- an' I know ya do 
-- get 'em out and put one around yer right wrist. Keep one of 
those pretty hands right out where I can see it an' move real 
slow- like."
     Silently, Mulder did as he was told, his mind racing over the 
possibilities for rescue from this madness. Had they told 
anyone where they were going? Had anyone seen them leave? 
How soon before they would be missed? And how much time 
had Hodd Arlik ever needed to snare his victims over the last 
several months? 
     Mulder fought a wave of despair as he snapped the cold 
metal bracelet of his own handcuffs over his right wrist. He 
grimly replayed the conversations with Scully in his mind. He 
had insisted on this. He had wanted to stay; he had wanted to 
explore more possibilities. And she had deferred to him -- 
again. 
     And now she lay, probably unconscious, in the front seat of 
their car.
     "Now, stand up, boy!" Arlik shouted at him. "You've got a 
tire to change. Then we'll be on our way."
     ************************ 
     Mulder leaned over the window by the passenger's side of 
the car, straining to see Scully. He brushed away the snow that 
had begun to accumulate in the fury of the storm.
     Scully lay slumped over in the front seat, her red hair draped 
over her face. An oily rag lay near her shoulder. Mulder looked 
back at Hodd Arlik who was leaning against the back bumper 
of the car, grinning maliciously at him.
     "Better get a move on, Fancy. Can't wait all day for ya." 
     Mulder knelt in the snow, throwing himself furiously into 
the task of fixing the ruined tire. As he pulled it free, he could 
see the vicious tear in the rubber. He knew, suddenly, how their 
"accident" had happened.
     "You shot out our tire, didn't you?" he asked Arlik hotly, 
not really needing an answer. He was angry with himself for 
allowing himself and Scully to fall into such an easy trap. 
     Arlik's laughter bit into him more than the frigid cold.
     "Squirrel gun's just over there," the older man snorted, 
waving at a tree, barely visible through the sheets of driving 
snow several yards up the road. "It's old, but it's useful when I 
go trappin' squirrels like yerself." He laughed loudly again at his 
own joke. 
     Mulder set his jaw and slammed the new tire into place, 
spinning the lug nuts on with a strength renewed in fury. 
     "Aaw...whassa matter, boy? Bit pissed off 'bout ol' Hodd 
gettin' the jump on ya? Fat lot o' good all them badges 'n papers 
'n degrees are gonna do ya up here in Spirit Pass, huh?" Arlik 
snarled. He leaned in toward Mulder, grabbing his dark, damp 
hair again and pulling his head back so he could look down in 
the agent's face. "Yer mine now, Fancy. I cain't let ya go. Yer 
city smarts are gonna put ideas in that dumbfuck sheriff's pea-
sized brain." 
     Despite the numbing cold in his fingers, Mulder suddenly 
tightened his grip on the tire iron he held and thrust it upward, 
hoping to reach a spot on Arlik's massive body with a blow that 
would cripple the bastard long enough to enable the federal 
agent to grab for the gun. 
     Arlik roared in pain as the edge of the metal bar caught him 
sharply under the ribs.
     Mulder felt the grip on his hair loosen. Blindly, he pushed 
himself up from the ground into Arlik's chest, groping for the 
gun that he could only guess his captor still held.
     At almost that same instant, he felt cold steel slam against 
his left ear. There was an explosion of sound and pain that 
burned itself into his head. Another sting of pain, like a hot 
poker on his flesh, touched the back of his left shoulder.
     He felt the strength leave his muscles. He felt himself 
sliding down along the length of Arlik's heaving bulk. Arlik 
was screaming, but he couldn't make sense of the words. He 
felt as though he was submerged under water; everything was 
muffled. 
     Except the pain.
     He lay listlessly against Arlik's thigh, wishing for blissful 
sleep. Waves of dizziness passed through him as the pain in his 
left ear intensified, but he was denied unconsciousness, even as 
he felt Arlik grab his hair again and shove him face first onto 
the snowy ground. He was dimly aware of his arms being 
twisted behind his back and the other handcuff bracelet closing 
tightly over his left wrist. Too tight. But it didn't matter. 
Nothing mattered.
     Except the pain.
     Arlik was still screaming. The words came to Mulder in bits 
and pieces through the roar he heard inside his head. 
     "Stupid... pay for...bastard...kill ya...sonofa..." 
     He closed his eyes and felt the wet warmth of something 
slide from his left ear and travel along his jaw. He felt the salty, 
metallic taste of blood tickle at the back of his throat and 
gagged. The waves of dizziness turned into a vicious nausea. 
He gagged again, nearly choking as his stomach lurched. 
     Almost lost in the pain, Mulder was startled to feel himself 
suddenly weightless. <Being lifted,> he thought dully. Just as 
suddenly, he felt himself being hurled into the back seat of his 
own rental car.
     A new shock of pain rattled his head and the burning 
sensation on the back of his shoulder briefly flared again. 
Amidst the agony, he felt the warmth of the interior of the car 
and was tearfully grateful for it.
     The cloying sweet smell of chloroform was everywhere. His 
nausea was renewed in earnest, and he rolled forward, pulling 
his knees up, trying to stop his stomach from heaving.  He 
could no longer hear Arlik's screaming, he realized. He couldn't 
seem to hear anything but the noise inside his head. He could 
feel the shift in temperatures and the pressure of air stabbing 
sharply against his injured ear drum as the car's doors were 
opened and closed. 
     His own moans echoed in his head.
     He felt the subtle vibration of the car's engine die and felt 
the wintry cold slowly seep into the warm interior. He hurt too 
much to try to move himself even when he thought of Scully 
again, wondering if she was okay.
     Everything was so deadly silent. He could see out of the car 
windows; he could see the shards of blizzard-driven ice 
slamming against the glass; he could vaguely see the tops of tall 
evergreens twisting in furious winds. But the storm's 
cacophony escaped him. He closed his eyes, listening to the ebb 
and push of his own heart just below the whine and roar in his 
ears. It was all he could hear. 
     His eyes popped open with a start. Had he dozed off, he 
wondered? What had startled him?
     He jumped again when he felt the car move. He felt it being 
lifted. Bright lights flooded the whole scene, obliterating the 
storm outside. He squeezed his eyes against the brightness. It 
was too painful to look at, too disorientating.
     And for one giddy moment, Mulder thought of the 
imaginary aliens of Poe Mountain.
     The car rocked and rolled violently and the nausea returned. 
Motion sickness -- an old friend. He wished again for 
unconsciousness.
     The car's interior suddenly went dark. He opened his eyes 
long enough to see something being drawn over the car. A 
tarp? The last of the light was snatched away, and he lay for a 
moment in the chilly blackness, trying to make sense of what 
had happened. 
     Then he felt another vibration, coming from beneath the car 
he and Scully were trapped in. There were several lurching 
motions and then Mulder realized they were moving, probably 
perched atop a brand new state-of-the-art tow truck.
     He had been right in his suspicions, but that thought was 
hardly a consolation.Hodd Arlik was drawing his snare up, 
with him, Scully and their new rental car in it. 
     How easy it had been. 
     A new wave of pain in his ear joined his nausea and 
dizziness in a symphony of agony. Agent Fox Mulder gave in 
to the darkness and let himself be pulled into the sweet 
numbing waters of unconsciousness, his last thoughts damning 
himself and begging Scully's forgiveness.
     ********************************** by West Shore 
Part 6/24
     Poe Mountain Unknown Location
     Scully's first thought was to get away from the smell. It was 
everywhere, as if it had gotten under her skin. It made her feel 
sick. Her mouth felt cottony and there was a odd, painful 
heaviness around her left ankle. Her body felt leaden, and 
distantly, she was aware of her medically trained senses telling 
her she had been drugged. 
     She tried to move her ankle, testing the heaviness. Dull 
clanking of metal startled her into wakefulness. Her eyes 
opened, and she found herself staring at a low, vaulted ceiling 
of wood. Old timbers criss- crossed overhead. Ancient ceramic 
crocks, dusty animal skins, and rusted tools littered them, far 
out of her reach. 
     The storm was still raging. She could hear its eerie almost-
human wailing and moaning. The wooden eaves joined the 
chorus, adding creaking and groaning of their own as the winds 
outside pushed and pulled at the roof.
     Scully turned her head slowly to take in the rest of the room 
she found herself in.
     It was the large room of a roughly-built wooden structure, 
possibly a log cabin, but Scully couldn't be sure in the dim 
light. Curtains of yellowed lace were strung over the windows 
as if someone had tried to hide their awkward ugliness.
     A large fireplace of fieldstone dominated one wall. The 
fieldstone had been inexpertly laid and there were some small 
cracks and holes evident where some stones had worked 
themselves free over time. The fire burning in the hearth was 
large, though, and it flooded the area with heat and a butter-
yellow light, even if it did little else to dispel the lifeless feeling 
the room had about it. 
     Scully felt grateful for the heat. She could feel the chill melt 
away from her body. She was no longer in her parka, but her 
clothes were all neatly in tact, she realized with relief. She 
glimpsed the fur of her jacket's hood just above her head. 
Twisting to get a better view, she found she was laid out on an 
odd-looking wooden bedstead with a thin mattress beneath 
her. Her parka was hung on one of the upper posts.
     She picked her head up a bit to look down at her ankle, 
ignoring a slight feeling of wooziness. The heaviness annoyed 
her. What was wrong with her ankle?
     Her eyes widened when she realized a length of chain kept 
her fastened to the bed's lower end. The chain looked long 
enough for her to get up and walk a distance, but it was 
obviously meant to keep her from going out the door.
     Scully carefully propped herself up on her elbows and 
scanned the room again. A heavy door with a beveled, heavily 
glazed window in it, was at the far end of the room. Scully 
could see that there was still some daylight outside, despite the 
storm, and she thought she could see someone moving outside. 
But the sheets of snow obliterated any further sightings, so she 
returned to her investigation of the room. 
     A battered old couch, an easy chair with an ottoman that 
listed to the side and a rocking chair were scattered in a semi-
circle near the fireplace. Behind the couch was a homemade 
table with an unlit oil lamp sitting on its center. Two 
mismatched chairs stood at either end.
     There was little else to distinguish the room. It seemed 
carefully kept despite its ratty contents. The floor was covered 
with a few faded, threadbare carpets, but they looked swept 
and clean. 
     Near her cot-sized bed, Scully could see a narrow door 
leading to another room, but she could not see into it from 
where she was. The smell of food poured from the direction of 
that doorway though, so she surmised that the kitchen, and 
perhaps other rooms, were that way.
     There were soft scuffing sounds coming from that room, 
too, and Scully wondered if she should call out, but decided 
against it. 
     She had no memory of anything beyond her car door 
opening as Mulder had prepared to change a blown tire. She 
remembered thinking that it was Mulder opening her door. She 
remembered being puzzled about why he would do that. She 
remembered turning toward him... and nothing more.
     <Where am I?> she thought angrily. She shook the chain on 
her leg. It was a sure sign that, wherever she was, it wasn't 
friendly to strangers.
     <And where is Mulder?> This time her thoughts became 
anxious. Something was dreadfully wrong.
     The was a noisy banging and scraping coming from just 
outside the front door. Scully dropped back to her thin pillow 
and feigned sleeping when she saw the huge hulking shadow 
looming in the doorway.
     The door flew open, letting in wind and cold. The hot fire 
shuddered under the onslaught of winter invading the room. 
     Scully watched secretly through nearly closed eyelids. She 
felt weak with horror as she recognized Hodd Arlik, looking 
like a demon in the flickering firelight. His face was purpled 
over with exertion as he dragged something long and dark over 
the threshold, leaving a trail of snow and ice in its wake.
     He heaved the limp form further into the room and let it fall, 
turning back to the door.
     "Edie! Damn ya, woman!! Get out here and clean up this l'il 
bastard's mess... Goddamn blood an' puke all over the place!" 
He shoved at the still form with his foot, rolling it over. 
     Scully's heart leapt into her throat. <Mulder!> 
     "Edie! Do it NOW!" The bear-like man weaved his way 
back to the front door. "I'm takin' the truck to the pole barn 
way back. When I come in, I want my food. I want my 
whiskey. I want my feet warmed. An' I don' wanna see no sign 
of mess from Pretty Boy here... Are you lissenin'!?"
     "I heared ya, Hodd. Ya needn'ta shouted." The voice from 
the other doorway was meek.
     "Jus' see to it!" Hodd Arlik's words hung in the air as he 
stalked out the front door. The rafters shuddered when he 
slammed the heavy door shut.
     The room fell quiet and the fire struggled furiously to regain 
its former strength. Scully started to sit up, intent on going to 
Mulder's side, but she stopped when she saw a wraith-like 
woman moving toward him. Holding her breath, Scully 
watched from her bed. 
     The little woman moved slowly. She walked with an 
evident limp. Her plain face was harshly-lined and made her 
age hard to guess. She had long, coal-black hair , streaked with 
dusty gray, pulled back in a tight braid that fell to the middle 
of her back. She was shabbily dressed in an thin flowered 
dress, with a thick, long cardigan pulled protectively around 
her. 
     Scully would have spoken out, but there was something 
about the look on the woman's face that told her she should 
keep quiet just then.
     The woman stopped, just inches away from Scully's 
unconscious partner. Her mouth dropped open and she drew a 
shaky, thin hand over it as if stifling a cry.
     Scully watched the woman drop down to her knees and 
edge quietly to Mulder's side. Tears were now falling freely 
from her eyes. She moved her trembling hand to Fox Mulder's 
face, touching it softly at first and then stroking it.
     "Sugar? Is it really you, Sugar Boy? Did he bring you back 
to mamma after all this time?" The words were mixed with 
gentle sobs.
     Scully watched, astounded, as the strange little woman 
reached under Mulder's shoulders and hugged him to her, 
rocking slightly back and forth, crying quietly. His head lulled 
back, and in the firelight, Scully could suddenly see that the 
left side of his face was bloody.
     She sucked in a breath, involuntarily, catching the attention 
of the woman.
     "H-he's hurt!" Scully said weakly as the woman stared at 
her. There was no reply; the woman kept rocking Mulder's limp 
body and staring at Scully.
     The red-headed federal agent sensed she should be gentle 
with this woman. She was the wife or live-in mate of Hodd 
Arlik, and Scully didn't know if that meant Edie Arlik was as 
crazy as her husband seemed to be. She obviously had mistaken 
Mulder for someone she called "Sugar Boy", and Scully 
couldn't be sure about the woman's state of mind. If she was 
deluded, it was possible she didn't even realize Mulder was 
hurt.
     "Mulder. That's my partner, Mulder," Scully said as she 
slowly sat up. "He's hurt."
     The woman pulled the man in her arms more tightly to her, 
as if protecting him from Scully. Wide, gray eyes stared back at 
the female agent without a word.
     "I want to help him. He's hurt," Scully offered, slowly 
extending a hand. "Mulder. His name is Fox Mulder, and he -- 
*we* --are agents of the..."
     "This is Sugar Boy!" the woman insisted, holding her own 
hand out as if warning Scully away.
     Scully looked at the deathly pale face of her partner. She 
could see that the blood seemed to have come from his ear. She 
silently prayed it wasn't a head injury. She had to get the 
woman to let her examine him.
     "All right, then. All right, uh...Sugar Boy he is," Scully 
responded, nodding reassuringly.
     Whatever it took; she had to get to Mulder. 
     "But...look. He's hurt. I can see blood on this side of his 
face. Please let me look at him. I'm a doctor. I'd like to help." 
She inched off the bed to her knees, slowly approaching the 
pair in front of the fire. The chain on her ankle followed noisily. 
     **********************************
     Poe Mountain Horror by WestShore Part 7/24
     The woman shifted the young man in her arms, looking 
carefully at his head. She gasped audibly when she saw the 
blood. "Dear God in Heaven! Did he beat you again, Sugar?!" 
she cried. 
     She looked up at Scully who was just inches away, her eyes 
brimming with tears. "He don' never do nothin' to deserve this. 
Hodd oughtn't beat him like this. He jus' oughtn't! Sugar'll go 
away ag'in. I don' want him to go away no more." 
     Scully had her hands on Mulder. She pulled gently, 
persuading the woman silently to lower him to the floor. A low 
moan escaped his lips, startling both women.
     "He needs help," Scully said hopelessly.
     "I - I got bandages... an' my medics...an' I'll get some water 
heated... an'... an'..." The tiny lady struggled to her feet, looking 
wildly around the room. "an' I gotta get this cleaned up 'fore 
Hodd gets back or he'll..."
     Scully could hear the genuine fear in the woman's voice. <It 
seems we are not Hodd Arlik's only prisoners,> she thought 
ruefully. 
     What was her name? What had Arlik called her? 
     "Miss Edie?" Scully tried, hopefully adding the southern 
term of respect to get her attention.
     The woman looked down at her, wringing her hands 
nervously. 
     "We have time, Miss Edie, if you let me help. Go get the 
bandages and water ready. If you'll let me, I'll examine Mul -- 
Sugar -- to see how badly he's hurt. And I'll help you clean the 
mess on the floor, too, ma'am, if you like."
     Edie Arlik was transfixed by Scully for a moment. No one 
had ever treated her so respectfully. She had seen Hodd carry 
this pretty little woman into her home and had worried about 
what he was up to. 
     But when Hodd had put that old chain on her leg, she knew 
that this young lady would be a prisoner, too. Edie had no 
chains, but in twenty years on the mountain, a day never went 
by that she did not feel held captive.
     The sudden kinship between them was apparent. 
     Edie knelt again with difficulty and put a tiny, rough hand 
to Scully's face, smiling. "Thank you, child. 'Tis a generous 
offer. I forgot myself, worryin' 'bout Hodd and the Sugar 
Boy." She drew her hand tenderly over Mulder's wet hair. "If 
you can see to the boy for me, I'll be able to work on cleanin' 
up 'fore Hodd gets home. I'll be back presently."
     Scully helped the little woman stand up and watched her 
limp toward the kitchen, wondering who the real "Sugar Boy" 
was to this woman.
     Mulder moaned softly again, turning Scully's attention back 
to him. She gingerly lifted him, pulling his bulky parka away 
from his body.
     He jerked away from her as she gripped his left shoulder. 
Her fingers slipped on more sticky wetness. She held her 
breath, pulling him gently forward so that she could examine 
his back. His blue pullover sweater looked black in a large 
damp patch high on his back, near the top of his shoulder. His 
hands were still cuffed behind his back, making removal of his 
clothing impossible. 
     "Miss Edie! I need your help!" Scully called out as she tried 
to keep Mulder sitting up.
     Edie hurried into the room, already carrying a bucket of 
warm water that reeked of some kind of antiseptic. She had 
rolls of bandages, towels and a sponge in her other hand. 
Setting the supplies down quickly, she helped Scully pull the 
young man's sweater up over his head and slip it back on his 
arms as far as they could. 
     "That's a bad tear," she commented while Scully sponged 
off the wounded shoulder. A bloody, raw patch of skin had 
been neatly torn over the top of his shoulder.
     "It looks a lot worse than it is," Scully replied, relieved to 
see that it was only a superficial wound. She frowned. "It looks 
as if it's a glancing wound from a bullet."
     She moved Mulder's head gently so that she could look 
more closely at his injured left ear. "I think Hodd must have hit 
him on the side of the head with a gun and it went off, just 
missing him." 
     Just missed him. It could have been worse. 
     At least he was alive. She was happy for that much. 
     She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder sympathetically. Edie's 
gray eyes were sad. "Hodd is so terrible mean to the boy. Don' 
worry, honey, I got medics for this tear. It'll heal up fast. Sugar 
always did heal fast."
     Scully held Mulder, watching while the strange little woman 
expertly closed the wound, slathered a pungent dark gel over 
the injury and wove a secure bandage over his shoulder. 
     "You have a gift, Miss Edie," Scully said sincerely as she 
watched the other woman work. "Where did you learn your 
medicine?" 
     Edie Arlik flushed with pleasure at the compliment. "Years 
ago, child. As a girl, following my Nonny up every mountain 
and down into every holler between here and North Carolina's 
big waters. She prided herself on her knowin' of plants and 
why God put 'em here for us to use. I like workin' with my 
plants..." She dried Mulder off gently. "See here... He's catchin' 
chill. Let's pull this shirt and sweater back over 'im."
     He began squirming, struggling against them. 
     "He'll be comin' to, soon," Edie sighed. She looked fearfully 
toward the front door. "It'd be better if he slept. We gotta keep 
him quiet... If we can keep him quiet, Hodd won't be bothered 
to be thinkin' 'bout 'im. If Hodd gets bothered by his cryin' out, 
he's likely to get mad ag'in."
     Mulder was twisting in Scully's arms, muttering. Scully 
slowly lowered him back to the floor and rolled him onto his 
uninjured side, pillowing his head on a towel. She softly 
cleaned the blood away from his left ear and his face. He 
moved restlessly and whimpered, but his eyes did not open.
     "I think he's had an eardrum rupture. Maybe from getting hit 
or, more likely, from the gun going off so close to his ear," 
Scully said. "There's little to do except keep it clean and dry. 
I'll put a small bandage over it. But it must be bothering him. 
He's starting to come around."
     Edie got up, heading for the kitchen. "I've got some herbs 
that'll settle him down, hon. Get his hair cleaned up while I fix 
a potion up for 'im. While yer helpin' him get it down, I'll clean 
up the rest of this mess."
     That proved to be easier aid than done. Half-conscious, 
Mulder fought Scully's efforts to spoon Edie's lukewarm 
"potion" into his mouth. 
     His partner persisted, with Edie's help, but it was clear 
Mulder was having trouble swallowing. He gagged and fought 
taking the medicine. Time and effort won out, and with nearly 
three-quarters of the drink gone, Mulder finally seemed to be 
resting more quietly.
     Edie Hurriedly scrubbed the floor as she had ben ordered 
ordered and by the time she had finished, Mulder appeared to 
be asleep.
     Scully sighed with relief. "What was it that you gave him, 
Miss Edie? It smelled suspisciously like something my parents 
used to call a 'Georgia Babysitter' -- a good dose of whiskey 
and honey."
     "Well, it do have some 'spirits' in it, child, but *good* stuff! 
Not that rot-gut still-piss Hodd makes. And I do sweeten it 
some for the boy. But there's willow bark in there for his pain 
and chamomile flowers for his sleep and a few of my secrets..." 
Edie smiled down at the sleeping man. "As long as he don' 
need any medicine stronger than what I jus' give 'im, he'll rest 
quiet now. He won' be no bother to Hodd. Hodd always hates 
hearin' the boy cry at night-- puts 'im in a frightful mood all the 
nex' day..." 
     Edie's face was suddenly set with bitterness. She stooped 
over Mulder and brushed her fingers through his hair like a 
mother fussing over a child. "I'll set some o' his old blankets up 
for 'im against that wall by yer bed. It's dark in that corner. If 
yer both quiet, maybe Hodd'll forgit 'bout y'all tonight and 
stick to his damned drinkin'." 
     Her face hardened again suddenly as she mentioned her 
husband. "Jus' let him keep drinkin' -- His drinkin' will be my 
freedom." With that cryptic remark, she turned to get blankets 
for the makeshift bed. She paused at the door and looked back 
at Scully. 
     "What's yer name, girl?"
     "Dana, Miss Edie."
     "Dana," Edie repeated wistfully. "Pretty name. I'da liked to 
name my daughter that... Dana... But Hodd, he says ya don' 
name a corpse goin' from the womb to the tomb. Said it jus' like 
that. A dead baby is a dead baby. It ain't no daughter an' it 
ain't no livin' person an' so, it ain't got a name." Edie looked 
away and added so softly that Scully almost didn't hear her, 
"But Dana woulda been a real pretty name for her..."
     Scully watched the doorway long after Edie disappeared 
from it. There was something dreadful about this place. 
Sadness and death hung heavily in the air here. It was a perfect 
breeding ground for cruelty and evil. 
     Scully watched her partner's handsome face in the firelight. 
Free of pain, sleeping a dreamless sleep, he looked much 
younger than she knew he was.
     Childlike.
     The Sugar Boy.
     ********************************** Part 8/24
     Darkness had already settled outside, making the fury of the 
winter storm seem fiercer.
     Scully turned toward the wall where Mulder lay sleeping. 
She wanted to keep watch over him and to avoid facing Arlik 
when he came back.
     The dancing light from the fire allowed her to see her 
partner. Edie had seen to it that he was comfortable. An old 
feather ticking, folded twice, made a soft mattress for him and 
she had brought a pillow covered with handmade lace for his 
head. 
     It was "his", Edie had said. The Sugar Boy's. She had made 
it herself and had kept it for him. For the phantom she thought 
Mulder was.
     Scully sighed as she listened to his deep breathing. She 
replayed the odd conversation she had had with Edie Arlik just 
before the woman rushed out of the room. 
     The older woman had settled Mulder's head onto the pillow. 
She was silent for several minutes, kneeling by Scully's partner, 
stroking his hair, lost in thought. She had seemed to rouse out 
of her reflection long enough to reach over to the handcuffs 
that still pinned Mulder's arms behind his back. She clucked 
angrily as she touched them. "Why does that man have to be so 
damn mean to this boy?" Scully had heard her mutter.
     "I'll bring you the keys to these handchains," Edie had 
promised Scully. "An' I 'spect yer hungry, too, ain't ya, girl?" 
She had draped a blanket over the other woman's shoulders 
and smiled. "Soon as the ol' man is asleep with his poison in his 
belly, I'll bring ya some stew."
     Scully had felt emboldened by the woman's kindness. She 
lay her hand over Edie's as the older woman began to get up 
from her bedside. "A gun, Miss Edie... Can you get me a gun?" 
     The look of shock on Edie Arlik's face had surprised Scully. 
The little woman had spoken bitterly about her husband. Surely 
she understood what he was doing was wrong? Certainly she 
would help the two federal agents escape?
     "A... a gun? Dana! Whatever for?"
     Scully had had a sinking feeling in her stomach. This 
woman, for all her help and kindness, was still in a world of her 
own, half- filled with fantasy.
     "Miss Edie, Hodd has committed a crime by bringing us 
here. He has committed a crime by hurting Mulder. And it's 
clear he may have committed other crimes -- like the murders of 
five young men. He has to be brought in to the authorities!" 
     "Oh child, you jus' don' know. You cain't possibly know the 
truth of it," Edie whispered, shaking her head as if Scully were 
the deluded one. "Besides, there ain't ' no 'authorities' on this 
mountain, 'cept Hodd hisself. It don' even seem like the good 
Lord hisself is watchin' over this patch of earth...Don' ya see 
that? I cain't git you no gun... I cain't do that... He's my man an' 
there'd be no eternal rest for me if I... No woman can let her 
man... I cain't... I cain't... Don't ask..."
     Edie Arlik had looked nearly hysterical by the time she 
shoved herself away from Scully and fled from the room. 
Scully was left wondering about what she had just witnessed. 
     ************************ 
     It seemed like hours had passed.
     The thunderous bang of the old door and the icy wind that 
seized the room signaled Hodd Arlik's return.
     Scully, startled from a doze, forced herself to keep her eyes 
shut as she heard the door creak shut and heavy, staggering 
steps approach her bed.
     The steps stopped, and she could hear the snorting, labored 
breathing of the big man nearby. Too close. He seemed to be 
standing between her and the place where Mulder lay. She 
could hear the rustle of fabric, but dared not open her eyes. 
     She bit down an angry scream as she felt a meaty, heavy 
hand on her leg, squeezing through the layers of blankets for a 
feel of the woman beneath them. Her thoughts turned 
murderous as she felt Arlik's hand travel upward to rest low on 
her bottom, and she debated furiously with herself about the 
wisdom of striking out at the bastard while chained to a bed.
     Hodd Arlik's breathing had a sickly, wet rasp to it. She 
could smell his dirty, oily clothes and stale liquor as he leaned 
against her. She could feel the icy drip of melting snow on the 
back of her neck and the hot, moist touch of his stinking breath 
moving her hair. He was moving his hand again, groping, and 
Scully could feel her heart twisting in a new-found fear.
     She was biting her lip, tasting her own blood in her mouth, 
not breathing, trying not to scream.
     "Move away from her."
     Cobwebs of fear and anger dissolved as Scully listened to 
the low, warning growl of Fox Mulder's voice. 
     Like a knife sheathed in velvet.
     Scully felt a shock of surprise run through the man leaning 
over her. She opened her eyes as Arlik straightened up. Mulder 
was sitting, braced against the wall, eyes dark and seething 
with rage, glaring at their captor.
     Arlik's surprise was short-lived. He began to laugh, deep 
and throaty, and he rose up, away from Scully. 
     "Fancy Pants! Yer awake!" he chortled. "Whassa matter, 
boy? You want at her first? I can let ya have a..." 
     "Move away from her."
     Mulder simply repeated his order. The volume and tone of 
his voice had not changed. But Scully recognized the subtle 
tang of danger in it. She slowly moved to a sitting position, 
readying herself. 
     Four years as Mulder's partner had honed her skills. She 
began running the mental calculation of the odds, the chances 
for success against this brute if this scene escalated. She ran the 
checklist of her strengths against Arlik's weaknesses and 
prayed. Mulder had drawn Arlik's attention off of Scully, but 
he was hardly in a position to defend himself from the bigger 
man's aggression. 
     Scully felt Arlik's weight move off the bed and saw him 
squat before Mulder. He snapped his hand outward at the 
handcuffed agent in a mock punch. Mulder flinched 
instinctively but kept his eyes locked on the man in front of 
him.
     The man's face clouded over with rage. He moved in closer 
to his prisoner and slid his hand up under the man's jaw. "It's 
yer arrogance, ya l'il bastard," he hissed in Mulder's face. "Yer 
goddamn arrogance makes me wanna break you, Fancy. Yer 
gonna learn. Yer gonna treat me with respect. Yer gonna keep 
them goddamn eyes of yers down when you talk to me. Yer 
gonna jump when I say so! An' when I want yer woman, yer 
gonna..." 
     "Hodd!"
     Hodd Arlik turned toward the shrill sound of his wife's 
voice. 
     Edie Arlik stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wringing 
her hands nervously. She was shaking her head, eyes large and 
desperate. "Hodd! Let him go. You promised. Hodd. You 
promised me! You said you wouldn' hurt Sugar anymore!!" Her 
voice was rising with hysteria.
     Arlik's face screwed up quizzically. "What you talkin' 'bout, 
woman?!" he snapped.
     Edie's hand-wringing became frantic. She inched toward her 
husband, cowering but clearly intending to interfere with 
Arlik's aggression upon his prisoner.
     "Leave him be, Hodd. Don't hurt him, Hodd. Leave him. 
Don't. Just stop hurting him..." She knelt, her frightened, 
beggar's litany spilling from her mouth, repeating herself as she 
pried Hodd's fingers away from Mulder's throat.
     "What in the *hell* are you talkin' 'bout?!" Arlik roared, 
shoving his wife away from him.
     Scully, who had been watching the whole scene in helpless 
horror bolted forward to prevent the woman from being tossed 
face first into the wall. Edie braced herself on the young 
woman, but Scully could see the terror in her eyes; she moved 
as if she was acting out a nightmare, struggling in Scully's hold 
with the single-minded intent of putting herself between her 
husband and someone she knew as "Sugar Boy".
     "Edie. Edie, no," Scully whispered into her ear. "He'll hurt 
both of you... calm down. Please. Stop."
     Edie Arlik didn't even seem aware of Scully. She wriggled 
and clawed, jaw set and wet eyes burning with hatred for her 
course husband. 
     Hodd Arlik was standing now, gripping Mulder by one arm. 
     Scully saw the bewilderment on her partner's face. He 
seemed to be having a problem comprehending what was 
happening or the sudden appearance of the tiny woman who 
was fighting so hard on his behalf.
     "Addle-brained fool!" Hodd was shouting at her. He thrust 
Mulder forward as if to show his wife a rag doll, pulling 
Mulder's head back so Edie could see the young man's face 
clearly. "This ain't yer boy! He ain' no 'Sugar Boy'! He's the 
smart ass city boy who wants to put me behin' bars, Edie! 
Goddamn it, Edie! He an' his little girlfriend are here to try to 
take the bread from yer mouth, ... the roof o'er yer head... 
gone!"
     He shook Mulder savagely. "He's a cop! But this time, I got 
the cop 'fore he got me!! An' this time, I'm gonna make it 
count, y'hear? This time I'm gonna have some fun!" 
     "No, Hodd. You said... You said..." Edie was sobbing and 
still struggling in Scully's arms.
     "He *ain'* yer Sugar!!" Hodd shrieked. "Christ! What the 
hell is wrong with yer head, old woman?!
     He was so enraged now that Scully shrunk back, pulling 
Edie with her.
     Arlik kept shouting, "He's dead! Y'hear that, Edie?! Your l'il 
Sugar's dead! Dead all these years! An' this here boy is full- 
growed! He ain't no ten year old kid! An' I'll damn well do 
with him as I please!"
     Disgusted, he shoved Mulder toward the two women. The 
federal agent fell, hitting the floor at their feet with a groan. 
     Arlik leaned forward and wrenched Edie from Scully's 
grasp. "Get me my food, woman! An' don' you *ever* presume 
to tell me my business, 'specially in my own house!" He pushed 
his wife toward the kitchen.
     Edie hobbled to the doorway, pausing to look back at 
Mulder. Bowing her head, she disappeared from the room. 
     Arlik was huffing and breathing with difficulty from the 
exertion of the struggle. It did little to improve his mood. His 
face was dusky colored and the dark circles under his eyes 
seemed to deepen. 
     He clenched one large fist and shook it at Mulder. "If you 
want to live, Fancy, you'll learn my rules! Yer the prisoner now 
an' I'm gonna have special rules for you. Yer gonna forget yer 
cocky city- bred ways... an' as fer yer girlfriend..." He raised his 
yellowing eyes to Scully's face, scowled and turned to leave 
the room, his threat unspoken.
     Scully shuddered. Hodd Arlik's meanness had a sick, evil 
quality to it. She wondered again if those five murdered young 
men had suffered Arlik's torments before they met their deaths.
     ********************************** Part 9/24
     She knelt to help her partner sit up. He looked ill and leaned 
heavily into her.
     "I'm so dizzy... I can't ... The room won't stop spinning...," 
he gasped.
     The realization that something was very wrong settled 
slowly on Scully. Mulder was acting oddly.
     "It's your ear, Mulder. I think your eardrum was broken. It's 
probably affecting your balance. I'm sure it didn't help to have 
that son of a bitch shaking you..." She tried to keep her voice 
low, out of Hood Arlik's hearing range.
     "Scully... What's going on? What's happening to me?" He 
spoke before she had finished, looking up at her anxiously, 
questions in his eyes, as if he hadn't heard a word she had said. 
     "Mulder, hush!," Scully whispered as loudly as she dared. "I 
said: your ear is injured..."
     She jumped when Arlik's shouting started up again from 
another room, somewhere in the cabin. The sharp report of a 
hand against flesh made her cringe inwardly.
     Miss Edie was going to pay for her interference. 
     When Scully looked back at Mulder, his eyes were searching 
her face, curiously.
     "What is it? Did you hear something?" he asked, turning in 
the direction Scully had been looking. He looked back at her 
again but groaned when the simple act of moving his head sent 
his world tilting and his stomach rolling again..
     "Scully, what's going on?!" he asked again, a bit more 
desperately this time.
     <Oh god, he can't hear me! > Scully laid her hands on either 
side of his face, turning his head to make sure he was looking 
directly at her. "Mulder? Didn't you hear me?"
     He seemed to stare at her lips for a long moment. She saw 
the horrible realization settle on him
     "Mulder?"
     Another long moment passed. He drew his eyes slowly up 
to hers. "Scully... I - I couldn't hear you... I can only hear... 
noise... like wind... high-pitched. It hurts, it really hurts. Am I 
going to lose my...?" His voice began to rise in panic, but Scully 
gripped his arm and shook her head at him, signaling "quiet" by 
touching a finger to his lips, and nodding her head toward the 
other room where she could still hear Hodd Arlik bellowing at 
his wife. 
     Mulder glanced over his shoulder again, and slowly settling 
his eyes back on Scully, he gave an answering nod of his head 
that he understood the need to be quiet. He had no wish to 
have another encounter with their captor tonight.
     Scully gently pushed him back toward the soft mattress 
Edie had arranged for him by the wall and helped him lay 
down. He groaned again, rocking himself when the change in 
orientation sent waves of dizziness and nausea through him 
again.
     "Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Mulder," Scully muttered 
uselessly as she rubbed her partner's back and neck. She could 
see beads of perspiration on his face, and wondered if Arlik's 
manhandling had aggravated his injury. He gagged, losing the 
battle with the vertigo. 
     The shouting and noise in the other room suddenly stopped, 
and Scully shot a hopeful glance toward the doorway, praying 
that Miss Edie was all right. And praying that Miss Edie would 
come through that doorway with more of her mysterious 
concoctions, something that would relieve her partner's misery. 
     She felt Mulder slowly maneuvering his head into her lap. 
His eyes were closed, but he was still panting, open-mouthed 
and noisy. Slipping her hip closer to him, she settled into a 
comfortable position, sitting up against the wall, cradling his 
head on her thigh and smoothing damp locks of his dark hair 
away from his forehead. 
     Small, useless gestures. Scully felt so helpless. Escape from 
this mountain may be impossible for days after the fury of the 
storm outside was spent. But it was imperative that they escape 
Hodd Arlik's sadistic prison. Mulder's ear injury could easily 
get worse if unattended, or if Arlik stepped up his campaign of 
violence against the federal agents.
     Scully morbidly cataloged the potential problems of a 
ruptured eardrum : loss of balance, permanent loss of hearing, 
infection, possibly spreading to surrounding bone -- maybe 
even to the brain if it were severe enough.
     She blinked back tears of frustration. They might as well 
have been abducted by the imaginary "aliens" of Poe Mountain. 
Their isolation here made the chance of rescue seem remote. 
And Hodd Arlik's penchant for outrage, coupled with his sick 
fascination with Mulder, added to her feelings of fear and 
hopelessness. 
     Visions of the scarred and tortured body of Roy Earl Destin 
rose up before her. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away 
the haunting image of her partner, his body pale and cold, 
resting on the autopsy table, waiting for her last touch... 
     X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X
     Dana Scully shifted uncomfortably. Her neck hurt. Her 
ankle hurt. 
     She woke slowly to the smell of food, somewhere close by, 
and almost simultaneously, her stomach growled, aching from 
emptiness.
     Edie Arlik was kneeling in front of her, shaking Scully's 
shoulder gently.
     "I must have fallen asleep," Scully said unhappily. 
     She quickly looked around for her partner. His head was 
still cradled in her lap, but if he was sleeping, it was a restless, 
pain- filled sleep. He was still panting heavily, occasionally 
rocking himself against the onslaught of spells of vertigo. 
     "Eat, child," Edie commanded, pressing a warm bowl, filled 
with stew, into Scully's hands. Scully needed no further 
encouragement. She ate wolfishly, one eye on the little woman 
in front of her. 
     The right side of Edie's face looked odd. Scully realized she 
was looking at the purpling imprint of Hodd Arlik's palm on his 
wife's face. Her lower lip was grotesquely swollen. 
     The little woman avoided the red-headed agent's eyes. Edie 
was not looking for sympathy. She busied herself, tending to 
Mulder. 
     Scully watched, wondering, as Edie pulled her partner 
forward a bit and reached behind him. Scully's eyes widened as 
she heard the whisper of metal cuffs uncoupling.
     The key! Edie had gotten the key from her husband. Scully 
was sure it wasn't given up voluntarily by Hodd. 
     Gulping the last bit of stew, Scully set aside the bowl hastily 
to help Edie roll Mulder onto his back, gently easing his sore 
arms out from under him.
     His eyelids fluttered, but he did not open them. He was 
conscious, Scully realized, but opening his eyes would probably 
send his visual world into a wild tilt again.
     Edie slowly worked his jacket and sweater off and pulled a 
soft flannel blanket over him. She looked up at Scully for the 
first time, revealing a blackened, puffy eye. "Can you reach the 
woodpile by the fireplace, child? Put more wood on that fire. 
We need to keep this room warm for him."
     She quickly turned back to her charge, and Scully mutely 
did as she was asked, knowing that Edie didn't want to talk 
about her injuries. Returning to Edie's side when the fire had 
been renewed, Scully silently helped the woman prepare to 
change bandages and attempt to get some food and medicine 
into her partner. 
     Mulder held remarkably still as his simple shoulder wound 
was re- bandaged. But when Edie softly, tugged at the 
makeshift bandage over his injured ear, he sent up a keening 
wail and shoved her hands away.
     "Hush him!" Edie whispered desperately, quickly glancing 
back at the kitchen doorway. Scully pressed a hand quickly 
over Mulder's mouth, muffling his cries. He struggled against 
her, gripping her wrist.
     His eyes were open, glaring at her, wild with pain. 
     Scully's heart sank. She didn't want to hurt him, but Hodd 
Arlik was a bigger threat to Mulder should he come into this 
room right now. She quickly signaled to her partner that he 
must be quiet and pointed significantly toward the doorway. 
     Mulder's hazel eyes wandered between Scully's face and 
Edie's face, wordlessly begging to be left alone. It was clear his 
pain and discomfort were worsening.
     Edie lifted a finger to her lips, shushing him, and then 
quickly brushed his cheek, letting him know she sympathized 
with him. 
     "I'll work quick," she advised Scully. "Keep yer hand over 
Sugar's mouth -- Hodd's asleep and I aim to see he stays that 
way t'night..." 
     She pulled the rest of the bandage from Mulder's ear. He 
arched his back, a scream of pain smothered against Scully's 
hand. Scully lay her other hand over his sweat-drenched chest, 
trying to calm him. He was panting heavily again, each breath a 
halting grunt of pain. 
     "This ain't right," Edie said worriedly. She showed Scully 
the bandage, mottled with bloody drainage. "Smells of 
infection settin' in..."
     She felt gently around Mulder's jaw and neck, sending him 
into renewed paroxysms of agony. He twisted away from both 
of them, his arms pushing weakly and ineffectually at them. 
     Scully was filled with dread as she fought to keep her 
partner's cries muted. An infection. Out here in a part of the 
earth that God and modern medicine had never paid attention 
to. How was she going to protect him from this?
     "He's outta of his head with the pain... and probably fever," 
the little woman was saying worriedly."We'll never get his 
medicine down him when he's like this."
     Edie was getting to her feet, her face grim and determined. 
"I'll be back, Dana. Keep Sugar warm. He's got to be made to 
sleep, or we'll never be able to pull that infection outta him..." 
     When the tiny woman left the room, Scully drew closer to 
her partner. "Oh dear God, Mulder... I am so sorry. So sorry." 
He kept struggling against her.
     Scully was relieved to see Edie return moments later. 
     The old woman held a leathery bag with what looked like a 
long nipple on it. "This'll be the only way to get this medicine in 
him the way he's fightin' us, Dana. It's my nanny goat bag. I 
use it for nursin' some of my baby goats -- runts that been 
kicked away by their mammas," she explained as she took 
Mulder's jaw firmly in her hand.
     She forced the soft nipple into his mouth before he had a 
chance to react and gently squeezed the top of the artificial 
teat. 
     "Hold him tight, girl!" Edie commanded. "Swallowin' is 
gonna cause him a lot more frettin'..."
     ********************************** Part 10/24
     Mulder could feel the panic explode in him as soon as he 
felt the firm grip on his lower jaw and the soft leather being 
forced hurriedly into his mouth. Already half-mad with pain, 
he felt like someone was trying to suffocate him. 
     The sweet, milky fluid dripping into his throat was forcing 
him to swallow reflexively, sending knife-like pains through his 
head, as the internal pressure touched his torn eardrum. 
Through blurred eyes, he was aware of the familiar face of his 
partner bending over him.
     He was aware that she was holding him down, trapping him. 
How could she do this to him? He could see her lips moving 
but could only hear the whine, whistle and roar of the agony in 
his head. Didn't she know how much she was hurting him? He 
had to tell her she was hurting him!
     <Scully!> Was he screaming her name? <Scully! Please 
don't...!> Couldn't she hear him screaming her name? 
     He felt himself strangling, unable to breathe. 
     His head was pounding, and he was struggling for oxygen. 
     Suddenly, a delicious breath of air and then the ugly 
intrusion of that soft leather inside his mouth again. Sweet milk 
again. The struggle against the searing pain of swallowing 
again. 
     Sweet milk.
     Distantly, he could feel the pain loosening its grip on him. 
His head was swimming. He saw Scully's face waver before 
him through the fluttering fringe of his eyelashes. Her lips were 
moving. She looked concerned, her blue eyes full of... tears? 
     More sweet milk. And blue eyes.
     He could feel Scully's cool hand against his face. So cool 
when his skin felt so hot. He could feel his surrender. He could 
feel the struggle leave him. If the pain had left, too, he could 
not tell. He knew he didn't care about it any more.
     More sweet milk. Blue eyes with tears. And cool hands. 
     He was vaguely aware of the soft cloth against his lips 
again. A gentle nudge. A subtle invitation, not force. This time 
he suckled, pulling in sweet warm milk, and swallowed, 
mindless of any pain. He watched sleepily as a smile spread 
over Scully's lips. He marveled at its warmth.
     More sweet milk. Blue eyes with tears. Cool hands on his 
hot skin. And her warm smile...
     ************************
     "There. I think he's asleep now," Scully whispered. She 
pulled the nipple away from his lips. They were wet with the 
milky narcotic Edie had fixed for him. His breathing had 
slowed, and he looked peaceful.
     Dana Scully wiped her eyes. Holding her partner while he 
fought against the pain had filled her again with a sense of 
impotence. She had to reject her own training in the medicines 
of her modern world and submit her helpless partner to the 
mysterious ministrations and potions of their captor's wife.
     She looked over at the tiny woman who was now intent on 
laving Mulder's ear. She was being slow and careful. Scully 
watched in silent awe as the woman expertly rinsed away thick 
drainage from the injury, applied another of her folk medicines 
and tenderly bandaged the ear again.
     Edie paused, watching the young man sleep. She turned her 
ruined face to Scully and attempted to smile. "I think he'll be 
okay. He'll be fightin' this infection, but don' you worry none. I 
always pull him through."
     Scully struggled against the nagging feeling of despair: the 
only person she could count on to help her and Mulder was 
very probably delusional. As long as Edie Arlik kept Mulder in 
her tiny dream world as a perpetual ten year old boy, there was 
little chance of Scully getting her to understand the reality of 
their situation. 
     She forced herself to smile at the tiny woman. "Yes, Miss 
Edie. You always pull him through..."
     She watched in depressed silence as Edie Arlik happily 
bathed her Sugar Boy, dressed him and laid him back down on 
his makeshift bed. The odd little woman gently kissed his 
forehead, attempted another smile for Scully and got up from 
the floor. 
     "He's feverish, but he'll be okay, you'll see," she said again, 
noticing the worried look on Scully's face. "There's plenty in 
my plant medicines to help him fight this off."
     She carefully gathered her bandages and water pails. 
Looking about, she patted the pockets of her thin cardigan. Her 
left pocket jingled with the handcuffs, and she looked relieved. 
     "I'll sneak these back into Hodd's pockets tonight," she said. 
"Don' you say nothin' 'bout what you saw or what we did, 
Dana!" 
     Scully was speechless for a moment. If the woman could 
smuggle handcuff keys off her drunken husband's body, she 
could surely get them a gun or help them escape or disable her 
husband while they... 
     No use. She knew the argument would be lost on Miss Edie. 
     "No, Ma'am, I sure won't tell him anything," Scully 
answered sincerely. She watched Edie leave, then rolled back 
onto her little bed, watching Mulder sleep and running 
possibilities for escape through her head once again.
     Despair pulled her into a restless sleep. 
     * * * * * * * * * *
     Skin on fire.
     Skin so sensitive that he dreaded the weight of cloth against 
it. 
     Must be sick. Must have a fever.
     <Can't go to school today, Mom.>
     Did he hear her answer? Did he feel the touch of her lips on 
his forehead? His head hurt. His throat felt raw. And, 
ohgodohgod, did his ear ever hurt this badly before...? 
Something must be wrong... 
     <Have to miss basketball practice... Mom?...> 
     No answer.
     Alone in his bed. Alone in the house. Alone in his life. 
     Alone.
     <Mom?>
     No answer. 
     <Something is wrong...>
     He became aware of the sound of his heart, the sound of his 
breathing. Shouting. Somewhere, an angry voice raised. He felt 
like he was being held underwater. Rushing water sounds 
roaring in his ears. Faraway, muffled shouting. He began to feel 
dread. 
     <Dad?>
     Why was he shouting? What was he saying? Mom said it 
would be okay. Just wanted to stay home -- just for today. So 
tired. Skin on fire. Why was he shouting so much? Why is he 
always so angry? What's wrong?
     *************
     "I *said* GET UP, BOY!!"
     Mulder became aware that he was being pulled to his feet, 
pinned against the wall. He was wrenched from a world of 
half-dreams back into the nightmare Arlik had imprisoned him 
in. The room tilted and whirled, and the federal agent had to 
clamp his eyes shut again to try to settle his reeling brain. 
     He felt Arlik let go of him, so he struggled to brace himself 
against the wall in order to remain standing. He could hear 
more muffled shouting, but the roar and pain in his injured ear 
had started again, and he was unable to concentrate. He 
brought his hands to his face, as if the gesture could stop the 
spinning. 
     He felt a rough hand encircle one of his sore wrists, and he 
was pulled forward brutally. His knees buckled, and he felt 
himself falling. The soft edge of the dusty old footrest caught 
him in the ribs. It was solid and unmoving under him. Mulder 
clung to it like a drowning man clinging to a lifesaver.
     He dared to lift his head and to open his eyes again. Nausea 
rolled through him, making him feel weak and shaky, but the 
room had seemed to stop spinning. He saw Scully standing, her 
face red with anger. She seemed to be shouting at Hodd Arlik. 
And he was shouting back at her, waving a pair of handcuffs in 
the air. 
     Was Arlik threatening Scully?! Mulder struggled to 
straighten himself. He couldn't make sense of the muffled 
noises he was hearing. He willed himself to get up, and stood 
unsteadily next to the fireplace, gripping the old mantelpiece 
for balance. 
     The tiny, bird-like woman was staring at him from across the 
room; who was she? He remembered her from last night. Hodd 
Arlik's wife? It was then he became aware of the bruises and 
swollen lip disfiguring her little face. 
     Yeah, Mulder thought ruefully, she's Hodd Arlik's wife, all 
right.
     Why was she staring at him like that?
     Suddenly Hodd Arlik's bloated, ugly visage was in front of 
him. Mulder reared back, startled. Arlik was still shouting at 
him. Mulder forced himself to concentrate, to try to figure out 
what the man was saying to him.
     Arlik was pushing the agent's own parka at him. Okay. So, 
he wanted him to put it on...?
     Arlik was gesturing wildly at the woodpile near the fireplace 
and toward the front door.
     <?>
     Did he want him to go out into that storm for wood? 
     Whatever he had said certainly served to animate Scully. 
Mulder saw her come at Arlik again, her face furious, her 
mouth moving as if she were shouting at the top of her lungs. 
He was horrified to see Arlik grab his red-headed partner by 
her arm and shake her roughly. 
     Mulder moved to wedge himself in between the big man 
and his petite partner. He gently pushed Scully away from their 
captor and, careful to keep his eyes down and away from Arlik, 
slid into his parka, a silent gesture of submission to whatever it 
was that the man had ordered him to do.
     Hodd Arlik curled his lip in a sneering smile. He gripped 
Mulder by the arm and pulled him toward the door. The young 
man stole a glance back at his partner before being propelled 
through the doorway, out into the cold.
     ********************************** Part 11/24
     Dana Scully stood, fists clenched, still shaking in anger and 
frustration, staring after her partner. She could hear Edie Arlik 
move near her. She saw the little woman bend down and a 
moment later, she felt the ankle chain fall away.
     Scully could not look at her, could not bring herself to be 
thankful to her. The woman's passivity in the face of her 
husband's madness was dumbfounding!
     "C'mon. child," Edie said in a too-soft voice. "There's a 
bathroom to the back o' the house. You can get ..." 
     "How could you let him do that?! How can you keep letting 
Hodd hurt your... your... 'Sugar Boy'?!" Scully spat the words 
at Edie Arlik in a furious rush, feeling some satisfaction when 
she saw the little woman cringe and turn away.
     "I'll get yer breakfas'," Edie was nearly whispering now. She 
was limping toward the kitchen.
     "How do you think he's going to be able to do what Hodd is 
making him do out there, Edie?" Scully challenged. "How is 
your 'Sugar' going to be able to chop wood? Haul wood? 
How's he going to keep Hodd happy, Edie? Hodd's looking for 
another excuse to hurt him, Edie! That's how Hodd gets his 
kicks, isn't it, Edie?"
     The tiny woman was visibly cringing. Scully kept up her 
verbal attack, needing the release. "Is that why you're so glad 
to have your Sugar Boy back? Is it, Edie? So Hodd has 
someone else to punch around beside you?"
     Scully was nearly screaming in the midst of her fury. She 
wanted to hit something, someone. Edie stood silently at the 
door, her back to Scully.
     "He's not going to be able to keep Hodd happy, Edie! He's 
too sick, and your Hodd is too goddamn crazy. Then what 
happens, Edie? Is he going to start cutting him up? Is he going 
to murder your 'Sugar Boy' -- just like the other boys? How 
many 'Sugar Boys' have you seen Hodd kill, Edie? How many? 
Answer me!" 
     Edie slowly turned back to Scully. Under her bruises, her 
face was ashen white.
     "It t'weren't Hodd done them killin's, Dana. He only 
killed..." She paused, fighting tears back. "He only killed our 
own. He only killed my babies. Tol' me he cain't be feedin' 
other mouths... An' Sugar Boy weren't even ours..." Edie 
clutched at her thin chest, tears now freely streaming down her 
face.
     Scully stood in stunned silence, trying to make sense of 
what Edie was confessing to her. When the tiny woman 
suddenly appeared to collapse, the federal agent rushed 
forward to catch her in her arms, easing her to the floor.
     Edie Arlik stared up at Scully through her tears. She ran her 
hand gently over the other woman's face. "Always wanted my 
children. Hodd buried three of 'em. Tol' me they was all born 
dead. Tol' me I wasn' capable o' ever bringin' somethin' pretty 
into this worl' an' carin' for it ... but I don' think so... I have 
dreams every night, hearin' them babies cry when they was 
took from me. He'd get me drunk on his whiskey when the 
birthin' pains come upon me..." 
     Scully listened in undisguised horror to the story unraveling 
before her. A simple, terrified woman giving birth in the 
backwoods. Her children taken from her by the monster who 
had gotten her pregnant. Forced to lay with that same monster 
in a marriage bed. Forced to stay by ancient morals and sheer 
intimidation. 
     "An' my leg...my hip...," Edie was sobbing now. "I walk the 
way I do 'cause my las' child was too big for my birthin' it... the 
next mornin', the baby was gone and I couldn' walk. I knew 
somethin' had broke in me... but Hodd wasn' about to take me 
to no city doctors who'da asked 'bout me birthin' a baby that 
weren' around no more. I didn' much care 'bout nothin' after 
that. I think I'da liked to died 'bout then... Kinda knew I 
weren' gonna have a baby o' my own no more... Too old, too 
tired an' things were jus' too messed up... That's why I was so 
happy to have Sugar Boy with us. The child made my life so 
full of colors and happiness for all o' that fall an' winter..."
     She stared at the front door and forced herself to stop 
crying. "He was a runaway, Hodd said. He showed up with the 
boy one day; said mebbe the boy would get my mind off 
myself. The child looked so scared, and he couldn' talk... 
wouldn' never say a word -- but he didn' hafta 'round me. He 
always spoke in smiles to me." 
     She paused, lost in a memory, then sighed, "An' then, 
months later when Sugar went missin' on me, Hodd said that 
he done run away ag'in one day that spring, but I always 
thought he'd never woulda lef' me... An' for a long time, I 
thought mebbe Hodd..." She didn't finish; the accusation was 
left unsaid.
     Scully watched the woman's face change suddenly, like a 
veil had settled over her. "But he come back. My Sugar Boy. 
He come back."
     Dropping her head to her chest in resignation, Scully said 
sadly, "Maybe he did, Edie. Maybe your 'Sugar' *is* back... 
But are you going to let Hodd hurt him again? Don't you see? 
If Hodd is capable of murdering your babies, and if he's 
capable of torturing and killing five young men, then he'll kill 
your 'Sugar Boy', too." 
     Edie looked up sharply. "No. I'm tellin' you! Hodd ain' been 
killin' them boys. It's that other one, the devil-man." She 
shuddered. "He's truly unnatural. I'm sure he be the devil 
hisself. Hodd traps them boys and that man pays for 'em, like 
they was wild game or somethin'... Hodd uses that devil-man's 
fancy trucks when he goes trappin' for him. An' he lets him 
keep the cars, an' he buys the boys from Hodd. That's the 
barg'in they struck. Hodd an' Satan hisself!"
     "What?!" Scully breathed. She was in shock. Hodd's evil 
was eclipsed by another, more gruesome monster? Or was this 
another of Edie Arlik's elaborate fantasies? Was she seeing 
'devils' as a way of justifying her husband's evil?
     Or was the real serial killer still out there? Hodd Arlik didn't 
quite fit Mulder's profile, she realized, and yet the other 
possibilities seemed so ...
     <"Open yourself up to extreme possibilities, Scully."> 
     If the actual murderer was still out there, could Hodd Arlik 
simply be his toady? Mulder had said he thought there was an 
accomplice; Arlik could fit that bill. The federal agent's 
thoughts were racing. Could a whole new danger be lurking 
around them? 
     "Does this *devil-man* know about us? Does he know that 
Hodd kidnapped us?"
     "He's pretty smart. He can usually tell when Hodd is up to 
somethin'. He watches, " she said cryptically. 
     Scully remained skeptical, but decided to use this possible 
figment of the little woman's imagination to her advantage. She 
would appeal to her delusional need to safeguard the child she 
thought Mulder was.
     "Edie! Listen to me. What do you think will happen if that 
man finds out 'Sugar Boy' is here? Do you think your 'Sugar' 
would be safe from him?"
     Edie's eyes widened. Her fear of her husband may have 
kept her imprisoned in her very tiny world, but it was clear that 
she had never considered that any outside evils might impact 
on her and her warped fantasy life.
     In her world, "Sugar Boy" had suddenly come 'home' again 
and she viewed Hodd's abuse of the boy -- and her-- as a 
'normal' part of that tiny world.
     More danger, more cruelty? It was too much to contemplate. 
     Edie struggled to her feet with Scully's help. She was 
suddenly very nervous and distracted. "I cain't think 'bout 
that... I cain't... The devil cain't take Sugar away... He cain't 
have him... and Hodd had better not..."
     She pushed away from Scully and fled into her kitchen.
     ********************************** Part 12/24
     If only he didn't feel so lousy, he could do this... 
     If only the thudding of his own blood in his ears would 
stop, he could do this...
     If only the goddamn planet would hold still for him, he 
could do this...
     He didn't need his damned hearing to sense that Hodd 
Arlik, standing on the front porch of the dilapidated cabin, was 
laughing at his efforts to split the length of cordwood in front 
of him. He gripped the rough ax handle again. His growing 
fury and frustration was fueling his determination.
     The ax handle stung his hands. The grip was wet with snow 
and it had slipped several times as Mulder tried desperately to 
swing it effectively at the wood. When his balance shifted 
again, his swing went wide and the ax head became buried in 
the snow and hard ground, just inches away from his left foot. 
     Seeing how narrowly he had missed putting the ax through 
his own leg, Mulder went weak-kneed for a moment. He 
paused, panting, trying to slow his racing heart. He could see 
Arlik leaning against the porch, his face red with laughter.
     Hatred and anger washed through the weary federal agent, 
giving him a renewed strength. Ignoring the complaints from 
his body, he wrenched the ax from the ground and hefted it up 
once more. This time he swung it downward with a vicious 
resolve. 
     The cordwood splintered cleanly into two pieces under the 
force of the blow and fell away. Mulder rolled his head back, 
closing his eyes, reveling in the feeling of triumph. The feel of 
the wood giving way under his hands was briefly liberating. 
Suddenly he didn't feel as helpless. But he still felt the bite of 
self- recrimination, anger he directed at himself for falling into 
this trap. 
     He bent to pick up another piece of wood, consciously 
fighting the stabbing pain in his ear. He moved slowly, with 
determination, concentrating, focusing on small movements, 
trying to control a slippery hold on his balance.
     He began doing what he had always done to get through the 
tests put to him in his life. He set his own challenges. Picking 
up a piece of wood. Positioning it. Fighting off the pain. 
Swinging the ax. Pushing away the nausea. Feeling the 
satisfaction as he watched the wood fly away from his weapon. 
Picking up another piece of wood. 
     Pushing himself. Testing himself. Again and again. 
     Until he felt himself become an automaton, void of feeling, 
immune to pain, resistant to the outside world clawing to get at 
his soul. 
     Fuck Hodd Arlik.
     Fuck little town sheriffs who had political agendas to fill. 
     Fuck the FBI.
     Fuck his almighty doctorate degree in psychology. 
     Fuck his bastard father.
     Fuck all those people who patted him on the head when his 
sister Samantha disappeared and yet stared at him with 
suspicion. 
     Fuck everyone who wouldn't listen.
     His demons were free, and they wanted his soul, too. 
     He couldn't quite hear it, but he could feel the murderous 
bite of the ax slicing into wood. He was smart enough to know 
why he enjoyed feeling this right now.
     This task had become important to him. He had turned it 
into his punishment. Self-imposed. He would rise to his own 
challenge, ignoring the screaming in his head, the ache in his 
shoulder, and the cold nipping of snow and wind on his face. It 
would be his temporary salvation, a fight he could feel 
effective in. 
     Log after log split evenly and flew from the chopping block. 
     Mulder could tell Arlik was no longer laughing. The man's 
face had turned morose again.
     Mulder didn't care. He had lost himself in his personal 
penalty. He swung the ax with a frightening, mindless rhythm. 
He didn't even notice Arlik leave.
     ************************
     Scully followed Edie Arlik into another part of the 
ramshackle cabin. She couldn't give up on trying to get the 
woman to listen to reason.
     The agent stopped in momentary awe in the doorway of the 
kitchen. While the front room had an eerie desolate sense about 
it, this room was full of life.
     Potted herbs and plants were everywhere. Hanging, 
crowding little makeshift shelves, lined up along the old 
doorless cupboards. A harvest of autumn vegetables, squash, 
potatoes, and root plants were stored in organized bins near the 
cooler end of the room, far from the ancient wood-burning 
stove.
     A huge, heavy table dominated the middle of the room. 
     Pots and pans were neatly hung by the stove. 
     Scully automatically began scanning the room for weapons; 
knives, kitchen cleaver, tools. They were curiously absent. 
     Edie Arlik stood quietly at the far end, still looking a bit 
shaken by Scully's verbal barrage. She nervously avoided 
looking at the red- headed agent, but she knew what the other 
woman was looking for. 
     "Won' do no good, lookin' for somethin' to attack him 
with...." she said softly without looking up. "He locks up 
everythin' 'at might do him harm -- Done it fer years. He hides 
'em from me. He 'spects some night, when he's in one of his 
stupors, I'll kill him. Funny thing is..." The little woman lifted 
her eyes to Scully. "...he's right to be scared o' me. I woulda 
killed him... many a night I lay under his stinkin' flesh an' 
wished him cold dead... Not so long ago, I woulda killed him 
for sure."
     Scully listened, nearly breathless. If Edie Arlik could get in 
touch with her hatred of her husband, maybe she *would* help 
them! Scully couldn't understand why she refused to help. 
     "What's different now, Edie?" Scully asked 
     "Cause I seen I don't have to take a knife to his fat belly!" 
Edie hissed, immersed suddenly in a fantasy that she'd 
obviously spent much time on. "I seen he is dyin' by his own 
damned hand..." 
     "What are you saying?" Scully didn't understand the little 
woman's odd talk.
     "His still," Edie said simply. "He been poisonin' hisself for a 
long time now. Got hisself some ol' pipes and the damnable 
fool don' even know he is killin' hisself making his still-piss in 
lead pipes." 
     Scully recalled how sickly Arlik had appeared despite his 
massive size. He was brewing his own liquor in a still with old 
lead pipes? IS that why he looked so ill? An advanced case of 
lead poisoning? Edie had known for a long time. She was 
patiently awaiting the day that her prayers would be answered 
in a manner that wouldn't have her facing murder charges.
     "But, Miss Edie, cases of lead poisoning can be very 
prolonged," Scully started to say.
     Edie smiled and opened the only cabinet with doors on it. It 
was large and deep and filled with a multitude of jars and 
boxes, all carefully labeled, not with words, but a carefully 
drawn picture of the plant that was contained inside each of 
them. The actual name and uses of each precious container 
must be cataloged in the little woman's brain, Scully realized in 
awe. 
     Edie's Secret Pharmacy. 
     Scully recognized a few common plants -- feverfew, 
peppermint, dandelion. But the sheer number of containers she 
saw before her was overwhelming! And yet, Edie Arlik seemed 
to know each of them well.
     In one corner, she had mixes and ointments she had 
prepared and marked with a curious code of her own design 
Scully recognized one that she had seen Edie use on Mulder's 
shoulder wound. The agent guessed that the little woman did 
not read or write and that her drawings and her mysterious 
little code was her way of keeping her work organized and safe 
from her husband's interference. 
     "I been 'helpin' Hodd's affliction along," Edie admitted 
quietly. "May God forgive my damned soul," she added in a 
whisper."I ain't got the guts to hand him a killin' dose. I'm 
fearin' that the law might figure it out..." She looked up at 
Scully. "Hodd said you was one o' them?"
     Scully nodded, not knowing what to say. Edie was 
confessing attempted murder to her! Even though Hodd Arlik's 
demise would be a boon to her and her partner right now, she 
knew what the rulebook said, and she knew what the 'Good 
Book' preached. Each woman understood the facts of one and 
feared the judgment of the other.
     Breaking the long silence, Scully put her hand over Edie's 
and said, "That's why I need the gun, Edie. I'm a federal agent. 
I can put a stop to Hodd's madness; you don't have to bear that 
responsibility. And there's not much time! I have to get Mulder 
back to..." 
     Edie paled suddenly and wrenched her hand away from 
Scully. She turned and strode over to the stove, not facing the 
other woman. "No. No. No! You can't take him away from 
me... You can't have Sugar! He can't leave me again!"
     "Edie!" Scully was frantic. She followed the little old 
woman to the other side of the room. "He *can't* stay here! 
Hodd will kill him... either with his own hands or working him 
to death like this. Or what if Hodd decides he's had enough 
and turns him over to that 'devil-man' you keep talking 
about...." 
     Edie pushed away again, wringing her hands in a maddened 
frenzy of new fear. "No. No. No! He won't. He promised me! I 
cain't lose that boy ag'in. I promised him I'd never, never... I 
think it'd be the end o' me if... I jus' cain't...ever ag'in." 
     "He's a federal agent, Edie! His name is Mulder. Fox 
Mulder!" Scully was shouting now. "He isn't 'Sugar Boy'. And 
if you don't help him, Edie, he's going to die here! And you'll 
end up losing your Sugar Boy again just like you did last time 
because you let Hodd beat him..."
     The slap from Edie's hand caught Scully squarely on her left 
cheek. For a long time, the two women just glared at each 
other. 
     The bang of the front door brought both of them out of their 
standoff. Edie rushed to pull some pots from their hangers and 
pushed one at Scully. "Make yourself busy, girl. Hodd's back 
in," she snapped. " I'll need a mess o' potatoes cleaned and 
scraped for t'night's dinner."
     Scully took the pot and grudgingly did as she was told, 
mindful of the sting lingering on her cheek.
     **********************************
     Poe Mountain Horror by WestShore Part 13/24
     It wasn't until much later, when he felt the ax handle 
slipping greasily in his hands, that he let it drop into the snow. 
He stared at it for a long time, sweat trickling under his shirt, 
chest heaving with the exertion of breathing. Looking down at 
the ax, he felt oddly detached, as if in a trance, unable to 
comprehend why he had been stopped.
     The handle glistened red against the white snow. He stared 
stupidly at it for another long moment, still unable to 
understand what had made him stop.
     He lifted his hands. Trembling. Blistered. Torn. 
     Streaked with his blood.
     His own body had set a limit on his self-punishment. 
     He started to laugh, but just as suddenly fell quiet, a shock 
of fright riveting him to the spot. He could feel eyes upon him. 
He could sense a darker evil reaching out to touch him. 
     He looked up to see someone -- or something -- across the 
deeply drifted yard, glaring at him through the sheets of wind-
driven snow.
     The creature's body was indistinct in the blinding whiteness 
of the storm, but Mulder was sure he could see its eyes. 
Almond shaped and sinister. They seemed to glitter hungrily at 
him. He felt those eyes evaluating him and a chill run up his 
spine. 
     Was this a fever-fueled dream?
     It moved, manlike. Not closer, but sideways, slowly, as if 
trying to evaluate the federal agent from another angle. 
     If it was a man, his features were largely lost in the blur of 
the storm. Mulder blinked, trying to get a clearer view, but 
when he looked again, it was gone. He panicked. His chest felt 
tight, and the dizziness he had held off by the sheer force of 
will threatened again.
     The agent backed up against what remained of the 
woodpile, instinctively protecting his blindside as he anxiously 
peered back into the snowstorm for a glimpse of the creature. 
     His hearing loss made him feel vulnerable. In his mind's eye, 
he visualized the creature moving closer to him, unseen and 
unheard. He felt helpless again. The hairs on the back of his 
neck were raising up, prickling at him; a leftover ancient 
instinct against danger.
     And Mulder had always depended on his instincts, ancient 
or otherwise.
     He edged forward again, cautiously, and picked up the ax. 
His hands sang out in pain. He gritted his teeth and searched 
through the blizzard again.
     Nothing.
     Had he imagined it? Had it been a fever dream? A figment 
born of his exhaustion? But remembering the cold evil he saw 
in those dark eyes, he didn't think so.
     Perhaps it was the fabled Poe Mountain Horror? 
     One more sweep of the area, and he finally dropped the ax. 
He couldn't feel the evil's presence anymore. It was gone. He 
forced himself to start picking up firewood, steeling himself for 
the struggle of pushing through snow drifts to get the wood to 
the porch and then into the house.
     The house.
     Scully was in the house.
     There was warmth in the house. Possibly food for him. He 
wanted to be safe. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to sleep. 
And he didn't want to see the eyes of the Poe Mountain Horror 
looking for him in his dreams...
     ***************************************
     Hodd Arlik belched and rubbed his hand over the top of his 
swollen belly. He hadn't been feeling well for some time now 
and it was beginning to worry him that his stomach pains were 
almost constant these days. And there was that bit of numbness 
in his legs that was becoming more of a bother. He took a final 
drag on his cigarette and flicked the stub of it into the fire in 
the hearth in front of him. 
     He belched again and silently cursed his wife. <Damn 
woman's cookin'... nothin' tastes the same anymore... her and 
her goddamn plants and potions...stupid bitch... an' now, to top 
all her other foolishness off, she's taken a shine to the city 
boy.> 
     Stretching lazily, his lip curled into a sneer as his thoughts 
turned to Mulder. Damn pretty boy. Maybe he'd better take it 
easy on him, though, or the cocky bastard would end up useless 
to him. 
     Arlik shifted on the couch so he could watch his prisoner 
from the front window. He could see the man staggering 
through the snow drifts toward the porch. Hodd scratched his 
chin and smiled. It would have taken him hours to do that 
cordwood up. Kind of nice to have this fed doing it for him.
     <My tax dollars at work> he snickered to himself. <If I ever 
paid taxes, that is.>
     He'd have Fancy Pants clean out the old goat shed next. 
     He frowned as he watched the agent stumble. The armload 
of cordwood crashed and banged against the front door, 
rattling the glass. He patted the gun at his belt and headed for 
the door. Stupid city boy.
     "What was that noise...? Oh god, Mulder!" The red headed 
female agent had rushed out of the kitchen with Edie. Seeing 
her partner sprawled on the drifted front porch, she ran for the 
door, shoving Arlik aside.
     "Hold on, there, lassie!" Hodd growled, catching her up 
under her arm and pushing her away from the door. "Fancy's 
gonna do this all by hisself... un'erstan'?"
     Scully slunk back, rubbing the sore spot on her arm and 
glaring at her captor. "He's sick! He shouldn't be out there 
much less doing *your* work!"
     "I'm not gonna tell ya twice to keep your damn mouth shut, 
woman!" Hodd snapped at her, showing her the gun. "I can 
add to Fancy's troubles right now, if you like." 
     Scully shook her head vigorously and stepped back again. 
She felt Miss Edie's hand, in a comforting gesture, on her back. 
She ignored it, watching through the door as Mulder slowly 
struggled to his feet and began picking up the scattered wood 
again. He didn't look well. 
     "Welcome back, Fancy!" Hodd chortled as he threw open 
the door for the other man. Mulder sidestepped into the 
warmth of the cabin, careful to keep out of Arlik's reach. The 
door slammed behind him. 
     He stood for a moment, just grateful for the heat in the 
room. He hurt so badly. His head. His ear. His hands. 
     He moved unsteadily toward the fireplace, forcing one foot 
in front of the other. He sank down to his knees by the 
woodpile and let the armload of firewood tumble the rest of 
the way to the floor. 
     "Yer awful noisy, Fancy... Is that how you do it in the city?" 
Hodd prodded him in the back with his foot.
     Mulder, still unable to clearly hear what was being said to 
him, swung his eyes around to meet Arlik's. He was sick and 
irritable. The prodding sent shocks along his fevered skin. 
When he looked up at Arlik, it was with hate-filled eyes. 
     But Hodd Arlik only saw the arrogance he so detested in 
the young man. "Keep them goddamned eyes down from me, 
boy!" he roared and sent a fleshy open palm hurtling at 
Mulder's face. 
     Scully gasped audibly as she watched in horror; the blow 
sent her partner reeling backward and sprawling into the front 
of the room. He lay dazed and unmoving.
     Arlik leaned over and caught the agent up by his coat. "Get 
the message now, Fancy?? Un'erstan', boy?!"
     The room was rolling viciously. Mulder felt sick. He 
couldn't quite hear Arlik's diatribe, but he knew what mistake 
he had made. He kept his eyes diverted. And prayed that Arlik 
would let him go. 
     He just wanted to be safe again. Warm again. Sleep again. 
     Please.
     Sleep. Warm. In his bed.
     <Please, dad... I can't go today... I don't feel good.> 
     His eyes rolled back, and he didn't even feel it when Hodd 
Arlik answered his prayer: The big man dropped the 
unconscious federal agent to the floor again.
     "Useless piece of crap," Arlik snarled as he straightened up. 
     His wife was glaring at him from the shadows of the room. 
Arlik rubbed at the sharp stab of pain in his belly. "He's a 
useless tit, jus' like yer 'Sugar Boy'," he snapped at her. She 
didn't move, just kept glaring.
     Damned spooky woman. Arlik rubbed again at his belly. 
"Get me my whiskey! An' wake this bastard up to finish his 
chores. I want his bitch back in her leg iron. I want my dinner 
early an' I don' want any further word from neither o' ya!!!" He 
was screaming now. The belly pain was like fire in him. 
     He waved at Scully with the gun and watched carefully as 
the petite red-head moved reluctantly to the old bedstead on 
the other end of the room. She bent down and snapped the 
cumbersome chain around her ankle. Sitting back on the bed, 
the agent watched her partner, pointedly ignoring the other two 
people in the room. 
     The room fell silent. Only the howling winds outside and 
the pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard. 
     "Well...?" Arlik hissed at his wife who had not moved. "Are 
ya deaf, too, or do ya want me to put a bullet hole in your boy's 
leg while you jus' stand there and stare at me?!" 
     "You'll have yer whiskey, Hodd," Edie said in a voice that 
was barely audible. "An' yer early dinner..." She stole another 
glance at her "Sugar Boy" and left the room.
     "More like it...." Arlik grumbled.
     He turned back to Scully. "An' you...," he hissed, waving 
the gun as he approached the bed. "Mouthy women don' last 
here. I'll keep Pretty Boy over there as long as his back is strong 
an' I have a use fer 'im... but, you..." He brought the barrel of 
the gun up under her chin, forcing her face up until she had to 
look at him. "...If *you* want to survive, you better be thinkin' 
'bout ways you can make yerself useful to me, hear?"
     He dragged the barrel of the gun down her neck to her 
breasts, smirked, and walked away, heading for the kitchen. 
     Scully sat, eyes closed, waiting until she could no longer 
hear him in the room. Then she slowly eased herself off the old 
bed, taking the length of chain with her to keep it from ringing 
out noisily as she made her way to Mulder.
     Close enough that she could hear his ragged, noisy 
breathing, Scully reached for him but stopped when something 
at the window to the left of her partner caught her eye. Seized 
by fright, it took Scully several moments to realize that the 
thing outside was a human face. 
     It was staring at the stricken agent, who was beginning to 
move groggily on the floor near the window. Its eyes were 
studying the injured man, ignoring her.
     Was it a man? She couldn't be sure; its features seemed to 
defy characterization.
     Its face was thin with sharp points defining its chin and 
bony nose. Its mouth seemed disfigured, and it took Scully 
another moment to realize that it was scarred, as if resulting 
from a repair of a cleft palate, a birth deformity.
     It must have grown weary of her staring, because suddenly 
the sinister dark eyes turned on her, returning the stare. Scully 
felt an icy fear in her gut. It was a man, or a man-thing, she 
felt... but she still didn't feel that it was human. 
     It was the personification of evil. 
     Was it the murderer that Edie had described to her? The 
devil-man? 
     And, just as suddenly it was gone into the storm. 
     Mulder's soft groaning and muttering snapped her out of her 
trance. She moved quickly to his side. Whomever the ghostly 
figure outside was, Scully was certain he was going to change 
this nightmare she and her partner were in for the worse.
     ********************************** Part 14/24
     Mulder was rolling to his side and trying to sit up. He was 
slipping pathetically, his arms seeming to buckle under his 
weight. 
     Scully had gotten her arms around his chest and helped him 
to a sitting position.
     "They really hurt... really hurt bad...," he was whispering. He 
leaned against her. He had his teeth clenched and his eyes 
squeezed shut as he squirmed against her shoulder. 
     "What hurts, Mulder? Your ear? Let me see."
     "My...hands. Sweet Jesus, they hurt! Feels like fire in my 
bones..." 
     She noticed he had buried his hands between his legs. She 
reached for them, gently pulling them free.
     They were bruised and torn where blisters had been raised 
up and then ripped away by the rubbing of the rough ax handle 
on unprotected flesh.
     Scully also felt the tell-tale ice-cube texture of his fingertips. 
Hard, unyielding and colored deadly shades of white and blue: 
frost- bitten. She prayed there wasn't tissue damage yet as she 
quickly pulled up her sweater and eased Mulder's sore hands to 
her own warm skin. His frozen fingers needed to thaw slowly, 
and her body temperature was all she could offer him right 
now. 
     He winced and bit down on his lip briefly, closing his eyes. 
     She held his hands a little tighter to her belly. "Just let them 
warm up, Mulder. I know they're hurting. It's probably going to 
get worse as they thaw out..."
     Instinctively, she stroked his damp hair. She could feel the 
heat of his fever and saw it in his eyes when he looked up at 
her. He glanced down at her small hands, pressed over his 
against her bare flesh and attempted a light-hearted smile. 
"Above and beyond the call of duty, Agent Scully?"
     His smile faded too fast for her to respond to his weak 
attempt at a joke. A wave of dizziness forced him to drop his 
head to her shoulder. He remained still, groaning softly again. 
She could feel his icy fingers twitch against her warm torso. 
     "Sorry, Scully..." She heard his voice, soft and ragged. "I'm 
so sorry I got you ... us... into this."
     Scully shook her head against his, hoping he would 
understand the gesture if he couldn't hear her. "Stop, Mulder. 
If we were a team of federally-paid *psychics* maybe we'd 
never have to leave the office to solve these cases."
     Whether he heard or understood her, she couldn't tell. He 
lifted his head just then and fixed his glassy hazel eyes on her. 
"Scully. Hear me out while I'm having a lucid moment here. 
You've got to promise me..." His voice was begging. "Promise 
me you'll try to get out of here. Escape. By yourself."
     She started to shake her head again, but his eyes darkened, 
and he became angrily more insistent. "Scully, don't! You've 
got to listen to me. Please!" He searched her eyes, but she 
avoided looking at him, knowing what he was going to ask of 
her. 
     He nudged her a bit with his sore hands, gasping with the 
shock of fresh pain it caused him. She had to look at him now, 
ashamed to show him that her eyes were brimming with tears. 
She knew why he was going to ask this of her.
     Pain and fever were crippling him.
     Even if Hodd Arlik were to suddenly be struck down by an 
avenging angel or drop dead from Miss Edie's slow poisons, 
Scully thought dismally, they still wouldn't have a chance at 
escape from this damnable place together. She doubted if there 
was enough of Mulder's famous stamina or strength left to 
handle an attempt to get off this mountain and, in his clear-
headed moments, he knew it, too. 
     Leaving him behind with a delusional woman who feared 
losing her imaginary "Sugar Boy" wasn't an comfortable option, 
either. 
     Blinking back the tears, she forced herself to meet his eyes. 
The dark and changeable eyes of Fox Mulder. Eyes that could 
be so easy for her to read one moment and so closed up and 
distant in the next. They were pleading with her now.
     <Please, Mulder, don't ask me to leave you...> 
     She gave him a tiny shake of her head, her lower lip 
quivering. She couldn't -- wouldn't -- do it.
     Dropping his head in resignation, he shook his own head 
and looked up at her again. "You never did tell me who you 
pissed off at the bureau to pull this assignment with me, Doctor 
Scully. Four years of punishment is a long time for any official 
indiscretion you may have committed." Sad smile. He didn't 
make her promise.
     "Hush," she said, laying a finger against his lips. She gently 
pulled his head back down to her shoulder and laid her hands 
over his again.
     Looking over the top of his head, she made another vigilant 
scan of the frosty windows.
     Nothing there. The ghost was gone.
     Only the dimming light of an early winter day and the moan 
of winds that were waiting for darkness to usher in another 
onslaught of snow and cold, making prisoners of all the living 
things on this mountainside.
     All the *living* things. Scully shuddered, remembering the 
face at the window and the black depths of those peculiar eyes 
when they had turned on her. And the hungry eagerness they 
held when they had watched Mulder.
     What human would want to be out there now? Maybe she 
had imagined the whole thing.
     The crackle of a floor board behind her startled Scully and 
in turn roused Mulder to lift his head up quickly when he felt 
her jump. Edie stood about six feet away. Scully sensed that 
she had been standing there a while, regarding the two 
partners. 
     Mulder felt Scully tense up with irritation as Edie 
approached. His eyes wandered between the two women. The 
look of anger on Scully's face told him she must have been 
having an on-going argument with Hodd Arlik's wife.
     He still couldn't fathom Edie Arlik's kindness toward him in 
defiance of her husband's cruelty. He sensed her concern for 
him, but he didn't understand it. Scully seemed to, though, and 
now Scully was being impatient with the woman. 
     What was the disagreement? Had she expected something 
of the woman? Perhaps it was only natural to expect help with 
an escape from the one person who had shown them any 
kindness, he reasoned. But Mulder could tell by the woman's 
very demeanor that she was battered and fearful. Did Scully 
really expect this frail woman to take on her brute of a husband 
on their behalf? 
     "I have medicine for... for him." Edie's voice was soft. 
     Scully registered a small shock of surprise. Edie hadn't 
referred to Mulder as "Sugar Boy". Did that mean the woman 
was beginning to get a grip on the reality of their situation? She 
nodded to the little woman and nudged her bewildered partner 
up to a full sitting position.
     Edie extended a cup filled with the milky white fluid she 
had given him before. Scully reached for it and, when she put it 
to Mulder's mouth, he reached up to take it from her. 
     "No." Scully shook her head at him and pushed his hand 
back down. "Be careful of your fingers." He may not have 
heard her, but he understood her message.
     "His hands," Edie commented. "They need lookin' after?" 
She was still being deferential to Scully.
     "Yeah, Miss Edie," Scully said wearily. "They need looking 
after." 
     Mulder drank the medicine, grimacing sharply at each 
swallow. But he smiled gratefully at the little woman when he 
had finished. She smiled back, her eyes beginning to brim with 
tears. He watched, puzzled, as she knelt down beside him and 
impulsively reached out to touch his face.
     Edie ran the back of her fingers over the stubble of beard 
that had grown over Fox Mulder's jaw. "I don't believe I ever 
felt whiskers on Sugar's face," she said, a tear rolling down her 
cheek.
     "No, ma'am," Scully responded gently. "Your Sugar was 
only a ten year old boy." She could see how hard it was on the 
old woman to surrender this delusion.
     "Fox. You say his name is Fox?" Edie asked Scully without 
letting her eyes leave Mulder's face.
     "Yes, Miss Edie. Fox Mulder."
     "Suppose my 'Sugar Boy' coulda growed up as fine as this 
one?" Edie asked.
     "I suppose he could have, Miss Edie, if he'd have been given 
the chance," Scully answered somberly.
     Mulder watched the exchange between the two women 
silently. He thought he could make out the familiar timbre of 
Scully's voice, but the words were indistinct. He was having 
trouble concentrating on their faces. He began to feel the soft 
lull of the pain-killer. 
     "He's getting groggy," Scully observed as she glimpsed 
Mulder's head began to nod sleepily.
     "We have to be quick, Dana," Edie said, standing up and 
taking one of the young man's arms. "I only gave him enough 
to keep him quiet for a little bit. When he comes around ag'in, I 
got some food an' drink an' fever medicine I want you to try to 
get in 'im." 
     She looked back at the kitchen doorway, apprehensively. 
"Hodd's gone out the back to the goat shed where his still's at. 
No tellin' how long he'll be gone, but he's sure to come back in 
a bad temper. Let's get Fox to your bed for now. I can redo his 
shoulder bandage and get more medicine in his ear. You can 
bandage his hands. And I think I'll have time to fetch up the 
rest of the firewood from the yard."
     Edie Arlik spoke in an excited rush as the two women 
steered Mulder to the small bed on the other side of the room. 
     "Miss Edie, maybe you shouldn't go..."
     The little woman cut Scully's worried complaint off. "I got a 
whole lot o' 'shouldn't's' in my life, child. We ain't got time fer 
the arguin'. Slip his coat off and that sweater. I'll get my 
medics." 
     She was gone from the room before Scully had Mulder out 
of one sleeve of his parka. He was moaning, but Scully could 
tell he was soon going to be oblivious to the discomfort and 
said a silent prayer of thanks for the backwoods pharmaceutical 
genius of Edie Arlik. 
     When the woman returned with water, her medicines and 
clean supplies, Scully had already removed the bandages from 
her partner's shoulder and ear.
     "You're a wonder, Miss Edie. His shoulder wound is healing 
nicely. His ear looks a bit better, too. I'd give my eye teeth to 
know what's in those magic potions of yours." 
     Edie smiled as she handed Scully a pot of dark amber-
colored ointment. "Years of love an' attention from my Nonny 
an' lots of my own recipes -- that's what goes into 'em. Oh... an' 
prayers, o' course. I ain't no church-goer, but I sure do believe 
there's someone out there watchin' after me an' lovin' me..." 
     <Yeah, I expect in a life like Edie's, beliefs and fantasies are 
all that keep her alive,> Scully thought.
     "See here, Dana, spread that ointment over his poor hands 
'fore you cover 'em. It'll keep infection from settin' in an' they'll 
heal up jus' fine."
     Edie paused to smooth away a dark lock of hair from 
Mulder's forehead. "He'll heal up so fine all he'll have is a 
memory... an' if I had a medicine to take these bad memories 
away, I'd give that to him, too."
     The little woman felt his forehead and frowned. "Fool 
Hodd! Didn' do this young fella's fever any good to be out 
there in that cold," Edie grumbled. "I'll bring tea 'fore I go out, 
Dana. You have to get him to drink."
     Scully nodded. She understood the concept well enough. 
     Scant minutes later, Mulder was bandaged and resting 
quietly. Edie pulled the blankets up and over his chest. "Dana. 
Put some more wood on the fire. I'll be back as soon as I can 
gather more of the wood he cut."
     "Miss Edie, wait!" Scully called to her before she 
disappeared from the room.
     The little woman looked back questioningly. 
     "Is the key to this leg iron still here?" Scully asked. "If you 
free me, we can go out there together and get the chore done 
twice as fast." 
     Edie chewed her lip with worry for a moment and then 
hurried into the kitchen, returning with the key Scully had 
asked for. As the agent unlocked the chain and reached for her 
parka, she noticed the thin flannel coat Edie was putting on.
     "Wear my coat. I'll take Mulder's, and I won't have to worry 
about losing you to pneumonia in a day or so." 
     Edie accepted the warm coat gratefully. "Sweet child. It's 
been a long time since *anyone* worried about me, an' I thank 
ya for it." She smiled affectionately at Scully and then 
motioned her toward the front door. "Let's hurry. He'll be back 
soon. We only need to bring the wood as far as the stack on the 
front porch. Most times, I hafta do this anyway. Hodd's always 
too drunk by the time he's cut half a cord."
     Between the two women, it only took three trips to gather 
the wood Mulder had cut, picking it up from the snowdrifts 
around the woodpile. Scully surreptitiously looked for the ax 
that her partner had to have used, but it was nowhere to be 
seen. She wondered where it could have gone, but did not 
linger too long before following the other woman back to the 
house. 
     ********************************** byWestShore 
Part 15/24
     Something was wrong.
     Before she was even through the door, Scully could see that 
Mulder wasn't in the bed at the far side of the room. The 
blankets were scattered and the thin mattress hung limply over 
the side of the bed. She heard Edie begin a whispered litany of 
prayers. 
     "Dear God, don't let Hodd've found him... Please, God..." 
     "Ladies!" Hodd Arlik's drunken roar came from the kitchen. 
"C'mon in!"
     They dropped their armloads of wood at the door and 
followed the sound of Arlik's voice with dread.
     Hodd Arlik was leaning against a cupboard, supporting 
himself because he was clearly too drunk to stand. His face was 
an ugly mask of viciousness. In his right fist he clutched a thin 
leather strap, which he tapped against his thigh while he waited 
for the two women to come into the room.
     " Me an' Fancy was jus' havin' a talk." Arlik was grinning. 
"Well, I guess, in truth, he hasn't had too much to say fer 
hisself..." 
     "Where is he, you bastard?" Scully's voice was quaking. She 
didn't see her partner anywhere.
     "Bastard, is it?!" Hodd rasped angrily. "You got some kinda 
mouth on you, bitch! Edie sure ain't been doin' a job o' 
educatin' you 'bout the rules o' *my* house. O' course, she been 
so busy doin' all her 'Sugar Boy's' chores, I'm surprised she has 
time fer anythin' else! Right, Edie?"
     Edie Arlik looked as if she wasn't breathing, sculpted stiff 
with fear. Her eyes searched the room wildly. "Wh-where is he, 
Hodd? What'd ya do to the boy?"
     Hodd wagged his head drunkenly at her and snarled 
sarcastically, "Now what's a man to do when his orders ain't 
been obeyed, Edie? You know what the punishment is, 
doncha, Edie? He's 'posed to get a whippin'... This happened to 
your 'Sugar' before, didn' it?! Ya 'member? You an' yer 
damned interferin'... Huh? 'Member?" 
     Edie bit her quivering lip and looked down at the strap he 
clutched. "It weren't his doin', Hodd. He was outta his head 
with fever... jus' like las' time... You didn' beat him?... Please. 
Tell me you didn't take the strap to my baby ag'in..." Her voice 
was rising with panic. "Sugar? Sugar, are ya here?" 
     Scully felt frozen in place. 
     Edie was gone, reverted into her tiny  fantasy world again, 
sucked in by terror and memories and the tauntings of her 
sadistic husband. She had been in a scene like this before, 
perhaps many times.
     "He ain't yer goddamned 'baby', Edie!" Hodd screamed at 
her. He suddenly became animated, kicking out at something in 
the shadows on the other side of the table.
     Scully heard the sickening thud of boot against flesh and a 
low groan. Before she could even react, she saw Hodd Arlik 
begin to raise the strap and bring it down. A sharp crack of 
leather against bare skin animated her. She leapt across the 
table, but was met by Arlik's broad fist, catching her under her 
ribs. 
     The female agent rolled to the floor, clutching her abdomen, 
unable to pull a breath in. She could only watch helplessly as 
Arlik renewed his attack on her partner, who was huddled at 
the big man's feet. 
     Mulder's ear bandage had been ripped away and part of his 
shoulder bandage was gone as well. Raised welts showed 
flame- red against the pale skin on his back. Some had begun to 
bleed. 
     Mulder was conscious, Scully realized. She could see him 
still struggling, weakly trying to move away from the painful 
bite of the strap, hobbled by the effects of the drug Edie had 
given to him earlier.
     Scully had just begun to push herself up again, when she 
saw, to her dismay, Edie Arlik drop her thin body protectively 
over Mulder's naked back. The gesture did little to abate Arlik's 
ire. 
     Scully knew she had to do something quickly; Hodd was 
drunk enough and angry enough to kill his wife and probably 
her partner. But her opportunity was stolen from her. 
     From the corner of her eye she caught a movement from the 
doorway. She turned to see the ax she had been looking for 
tumble onto the table with a noisy crash. Hodd Arlik stopped, 
and for the first time, Scully saw raw fear in the man's eyes. 
     "Hodd? Have you been keeping a little secret from me?" 
purred a cultured, male voice.
     The room was deathly quiet except for the steady click of 
well- heeled expensive shoes on the worn linoleum floor. Scully 
couldn't see the face belonging to this stranger's voice from 
where she sat. She did see Edie pick up her head and stare 
hatefully at the newcomer.
     Scully was filled with dread. Far from being a new chance 
at rescue, this person seemed to represent a new level of 
hopelessness for the two agents.
     The man stopped abruptly, short of her sight at the opposite 
end of the table. She could tell he was oddly dressed, 
immaculate-looking in an ice-cream colored suit , white shirt 
and tie, and white highly polished shoes. If he had been out in 
that storm, there was little evidence of it.
     His hands, however, were hidden in black leather gloves. It 
looked peculiar against the stark creaminess of the rest of his 
attire. 
     "Remove this creature from my way, Hodd." The voice was 
full of derision as the man waved a dismissive gesture toward 
Edie. 
     Hodd moved like a man startled out of a deep sleep. He 
grabbed his wife roughly by one arm, attempting to pull her 
away from Mulder. Edie, however, clung tightly to the young 
man. 
     "Don't do this, Hodd! Dear God, don't let him do this... 
Hodd, you'll burn in the hottest fires of hell if you let him 
touch Sugar Boy...No, No, No!"
     Arlik seized her, pulling her tiny body over the floor and 
dropping her next to Scully. "Shut the fuck up, woman," he 
hissed, shaking a fist in her face. "This ain't yer say-so!" 
     Edie Arlik cowered up against Scully, who had reached out 
, putting a protective arm around the little woman's thin 
shoulders. 
     "Sugar Boy, is it?" purred the voice again, seemingly 
amused. 
     Scully watched as the figure moved closer to Mulder and 
crouched, gracefully slow and cat-like, near her partner's 
huddled form. She sucked in a noisy, startled breath when she 
got her first glimpse of the stranger's face.
     He paused to send a perfunctory glance her way when he 
heard the gasp. His face, framed in wild, graying strands of 
long curling hair was the face of the phantasm she had seen at 
the window. His scarred and bizarre visage and unkempt hair 
seemed at odds with his otherwise impeccable appearance.
     The man quickly turned back to the object of his curiousity, 
ignoring the two women.
     "Turn him over, Hodd," the man ordered gruffly. He looked 
reluctant to touch Mulder, as if repelled by the agent's bruised 
and bloodied flesh.
     Arlik placed a boot under Mulder's shoulder and pushed. 
     Scully had hoped Mulder was oblivious to the discomfort, 
safe in the sleep of unconsciousness. But she could see him 
clench his jaw and arch his back against the jarring pain. His 
eyes were tightly shut, and he was breathing in fast, punctuated 
breaths. 
     "Oh my...," the strange man said in a delighted stage 
whisper. 
     He passed his glove hands over the planes of Mulder's body, 
as if anxious to touch it, yet he stayed well away from any 
actual contact. 
     He made a frustrated noise and stood up to face Hodd 
Arlik. "I cannot look at him like this. Nor can I bear to touch 
him. He is filthy and unshaven. Clean him and bring him into 
the front room. I will be waiting. Then we will need to discuss 
why you went out 'hunting' without orders from me..."
     "It weren't planned!" Arlik rushed to explain. It was clear he 
feared this man even though the other man was only half his 
size. "They's cops! City cops. F.B.I. agents. An'... An' this 
one..." He pointed at Mulder accusingly. "He was close to 
figgerin' my part in the killin' of them boys you took! He'd 
figgered out 'bout you, ya know! He was tellin' the sheriff..."
     "Shut up, Hodd. You know I can't bear to listen to your 
histrionics, especially in your slaughtered version of the English 
language." The other man's voice was calm. He renewed his 
interest in Mulder, more fascinated than before. "So, an FBI 
agent? Profiling me?" 
     He glanced back at Scully, this time his dark eyes lingering 
and evaluating.
     His misshapen lips twitched in a curious imitation of a smile. 
"You. What is this one's name?" He pointed down to the man 
at his feet. 
     "Special Agent Fox Mulder," Dana began. She could feel 
the anger creeping into her voice, the resentment of a prisoner 
in a hopeless hell with only a shred of dignity left. "And I 
am..." 
     "I did not ask *your* name." The arch reply cut her off. 
     He directed the rest of his speech pointedly to Hodd Arlik. 
"You may tell her I do not care what *her* name is. If she must 
be part of this little comedy that you have so clumsily arranged, 
then see to it that she keeps me happy by doing as she is told 
and keeping her mouth shut." He turned back to Scully briefly. 
"This will be the last time I address you directly, unclean 
creature. You are not worth further bother."
     Then he turned away from her dismissively. Scully felt cold 
shock. The man's manner oozed of pure contempt for women. 
Worse, he was clearly accustomed to being deferred to. Out in 
the 'real' world, this strange and evil man would have been a 
scorned, impotent outcast at the very least, or the sociopathic 
inmate of an asylum for the criminally insane. Here, in the 
isolated vacuum of Hodd and Edie's warped lives, he was used 
to ruling like a tyrant king. 
     Scully could feel her anger gathering, but a tight warning 
squeeze of Edie Arlik's hand on her thigh aborted any further 
comment she might have made.
     "I am tired and hungry, Hodd. Make sure a proper table is 
set for our dinner. I want this fellow seated at our dinner table 
where I can observe him as I eat. I will wait for no longer than 
twenty minutes for him to be brought to me and no longer than 
forty minutes for our dinner, understood?"
     Hodd Arlik's head was bobbing moronically in agreement. 
The man turned to leave the room, pausing to place a hand on 
the ax he had thrown to the table. "And put this in a safe place, 
Hodd." He glanced significantly at Scully. "I fear there are 
others who may have dreamed of other uses for it."
     When he had gone, Hodd grabbed up the ax, scowling at 
the two women still huddled on the floor. "Get moving. Dinner 
in forty minutes -- and get Fancy cleaned up for company." 
     His voice was venomous. He stalked out the back door, 
clutching the ax as if he, too, had dreamed of other uses for it. 
     Edie was too quiet for a long moment, staring back at the 
prone figure of Mulder. She moved to get up from the cold 
floor, pushing herself to her feet with Scully's help. "We have 
our orders, girl. The bathroom is just down the hall. If you can 
help Sug..." She paused, obviously struggling with herself.
     "Please help... him -- your partner -- clean up. I'll get supper 
finished, and you can help me while the men..." Again a 
struggle and this time a small tear from her eye. Her voice got 
quieter. "...while they strike a bargain over the boy."
     She moved quickly, not daring to look over at Mulder. 
     Scully went to her partner's side. His eyes were opening, 
dully searching the new surroundings in confusion, as if just 
waking up. He winced and ducked his head protectively when 
he was startled by her shadow.
     "Shhh. Shhhh. It's okay, Mulder... It's just me." 
     She had whispered, not expecting him to respond to her 
voice.He did seem, however, to relax at the touch of her hand 
on his arm. He looked at her questioningly as she wordlessly 
urged him to his feet and led him down the dim hallway 
nearby. 
     He followed her meekly.
     She looked back at him as he stumbled awkwardly after her. 
Eyes wide and dark, scanning the unfamiliar hall and settling 
on her, bewildered but trusting.
     Like leading a lamb to slaughter, Scully thought, her gut 
twisting in on itself.
     He was clearly lost in a haze of pain, fever and drugs; there 
was no way she could make him realize what horror awaited 
him in the other room.
     Perhaps it was a blessing. He had profiled this monster. He 
had seen the bodies. Perhaps there was a certain amount of 
bliss in this forced ignorance.
     And she was being compelled to push him along into the 
maw of the monster that waited now... for him.
     ********************************** Part 16/24
     Mulder stopped to brace himself in the doorway of an old 
bathroom, fighting a wave of dizziness and watching Scully 
turn on water taps in an old rust-stained tub. What was she 
doing? Why wouldn't she look at him? Had something 
happened?
     He closed his eyes and dream-like visions of rough hands 
reaching for him rose up, unbidden.
     Pulling him violently from his warm bed. 
     <Dad?> Drugged confusion. <This isn't my room...?> 
     The stinging bite of something slicing into his feverish skin. 
A black snake striking at him. Again and again.
     He forced his eyes back open. His skin was twitching and 
he could feel the slither of sweat -- or perhaps it was blood -- 
slide down his back and the front of his chest like the thin, 
sharp points of icicles drawn over his body.
     Scully was pulling out a shaving kit. Who did that belong 
to? What was she doing? She had paused, considering the razor 
carefully. Mulder smiled lopsidedly at the sudden picture he 
had of her: ever the little flame-haired warrior, testing all 
manner of things for their battle-worthiness.
     Far from feeling battle-worthy himself, though, he felt 
battle-weary. 
     He leaned into the doorway and felt himself slipping along 
the rough wood. The beating had left him feeling dazed. 
Perhaps it was his fever. He just wanted to close his eyes and 
rest right now. It was hard to think...
     "Mulder!"
     Was that Scully's voice he heard?
     Yes! He *had* heard her! He had heard her call out his 
name! His hearing was returning; a small victory ... meaning 
little or nothing in view of the greater conflict they were in the 
midst of. 
     "I think I heard you."
     His voice sounded too loud in his own head, he thought 
fuzzily. And slurred, like he was drunk. Scully's face swam a 
bit in front of his eyes, but he had seen her small, relieved 
smile. 
     He smiled in return, and slowly realized he was caught up in 
his partner's arms. How did that happen? He forced himself to 
smile. He had done it for her as a reassurance. 
     She liked it when he smiled, didn't she? It was one of their 
little signals; the non-verbal "I'm fine." Would she feel better 
now and not look so worried?
     He had dreams about that worried look: His partner's face 
framed against backgrounds made up of sterile hospital walls; 
or dim waterfront warehouses; or deep woods dappled with 
bright alien lights...
     The frigid feel of lather against his face startled him from 
slipping back into haunted visions. He felt the tug of a razor 
pulling gently at his face; he heard the ragged scrape of razor 
on beard and skin. His head ached, and his skin felt too 
sensitive. 
     He must have struggled, because he felt Scully's cool hand 
on his forehead, holding him still.
     "Shhhh. Shhhh."
     He thought he heard her again, the sound distant and 
echoing. His ear ached and his jaw flamed with renewed pain 
as he felt that annoying razor being drawn near his injury. 
     He must have struggled some more, because Scully's grip on 
him was a bit more insistent. He was getting upset with her. 
What did she think she was doing anyway? He dared to open 
his eyes, sending her a glare of annoyance.
     He wasn't so drugged that he couldn't recognize how upset 
his partner was, though. She looked frightened for him, and so 
he determined to be still while she finished shaving him. 
     But, what, he wondered, was going on? He imagined he 
heard himself asking her -- repeatedly -- but she just kept 
shushing him. 
     The drawn bath was slowly warming the air in the dingy 
room, and he felt drowsy again. Scully was gently toweling off 
his face. He smiled for her again.
     Thank you, Scully, he tried to tell her. 
     He was puzzled when she seemed to get sadder. 
     What's wrong, Scully?, he tried to ask. Or did he ask? 
Could she hear him? Did she know he was beginning to hear 
her again? She was wiping hurriedly at her eyes and telling him 
"shush" again.
     Scully? What's wrong? Are you okay? Scully? Scully? 
     "Shhhhh!"
     He felt so sleepy.
     He heard the distant echo of a door slamming somewhere 
and a ghostly draft of wintry air slipped into the room. Its 
frigid touch made him realize he was half-naked. He felt the 
floor under him shudder with the vibration of a heavy tread 
and noticed Scully stiffen with fear.
     He followed her gaze to the face of Hodd Arlik. 
     His gut wrenched. The vision of Arlik's rough, violent hands 
pulling at him struggled with his conscious mind, threatening to 
push him into the safety of a dead faint where Hodd and his 
ugly hands could not harm him.
     His skin was crawling, and he found himself obsessively 
watching Hodd Arlik's hands. He was looking for that thin 
black strip of leather that he remembered in his drugged dream. 
Remembering it alive, disengaged from Arlik's control, beating 
him, biting him, hungry for his blood. The black snake.
     "Get out!" He heard Arlik order Scully. "...taking too long. 
I'll do it!" Bits and pieces of an angry exchange echoed in his 
head, and he saw Arlik push his partner from the room. 
     Things were happening too fast.
     Where did Scully go? He felt helpless panic. Those rough 
hands were reaching for him again. This nightmare was too real. 
Would it never end?
     He felt himself being plunged roughly into deep, overly-
warm waters. Plunged under water. Unable to breathe, unable 
to fight. 
     The old nightmare: Drowning, defenseless, powerless, 
scared, and his father nowhere in sight.
     <Dad! Where are you?>
     He was sure he was going to die...
     *************************************** 
     Fox Mulder was wide awake now.
     Adrenaline was coursing like jet fuel through his veins. 
Nothing like near-death to rev one's motor. Drugs, pain, dreams 
-- all were purged in the singular effort needed to breathe, to 
live... to kill Hodd Arlik.
     But his body betrayed his mind. He struggled to raise his 
head above water and felt his damaged hands slide uselessly 
over the porcelain edge of the ancient tub. He kicked with his 
legs, churning and heaving water over the slick sides of the tub. 
His legs were still strong, but the slippery surface mocked their 
effort. 
     Full of terror and challenge, Mulder blindly swung his arms 
upward and was rewarded with a painful sensation that told 
him he had connected with part of Hodd Arlik's face. 
     He was instantly free of those ugly hands. Pushing himself 
upward, he broke the surface of the water, sucking warm, 
sweet air into his lungs and coughing water out.
     Hodd Arlik was roaring in pain. His dusky face was awash 
in a new color -- blood red. Streaming from his squat nose, 
staining his yellowed teeth.
     "I'll kill ya, Fancy!" Hodd's voice echoed clearly and 
painfully in his head.
     Hodd Arlik's face was twisted with hatred when he leaned 
in over the tub. Mulder pressed back as far as he could, but 
there would be no escape from this attack, either. He saw those 
rough hands reaching for him and closed his eyes tightly, 
willing himself to be elsewhere.
     A theatrical sigh. "You'll do nothing of the sort, Hodd." 
     Mulder eased his eyes open. He had heard a low, strange 
voice. Had he really heard someone? Was it real? 
     It was real enough to stop Hodd Arlik's attack on him. 
     The agent blinked away rivulets of water streaming off his 
wet hair. There was someone else here? Had he heard someone 
else? For a long moment all he could hear was his own labored 
panting and all he could see was Hodd's bloody face hovering 
over him, looking frustrated.
     Arlik moved back reluctantly as if pulled away. A new face 
came into view and Mulder felt his heart suddenly begin to 
trip-hammer noisily in his chest. It was the face he had seen in 
the storm; he couldn't be sure it was human then, and he wasn't 
sure it was human now.
     It leaned over him. "Hello, Fox."
     ********************************** Part 17/24
     It was a man, Mulder realized. 
     The realization did not make him feel any less alarmed. The 
stranger had a malignant aura about him, but something was 
familiar, too. 
     Something was familiar... 
     The man was leering at him, and suddenly Mulder felt 
humiliated and vulnerable. The man was too slight to be a 
physical threat, but there was an air of malevolence about him 
that seemed overpowering.
     "Who are you?" Mulder wanted his question to sound a bit 
braver than it did.
     The man turned his odd almond-shaped eyes away from his 
lingering evaluation of the young man's lean body and looked 
directly into Mulder's eyes. His eyes narrowed, and he touched 
Mulder's face with one gloved hand.
     "So much nicer shaved...," the man mused, disregarding 
Mulder's question.
     "Who are you?" Mulder's voice was raised and steady this 
time, made braver with indignation.
     The man ignored him. He gently pushed the agent's head to 
the side and probed along the agent's neck and jaw. Mulder 
had tried to move away, but when the man touched his injured 
ear, the hostage struck out, grabbing his hand.
     The stranger hissed in surprise and pulled away. The black 
leather glove slid off easily and hung limply in the Mulder's 
wet hand. 
     The captive federal agent stared. The man's hand 
was...what? Something was odd, that much was certain. 
     Mulder struggled to understand what he was looking at. 
     The hand, papery white and thin, had long skeletal fingers 
that ended in peculiarly pointed fingernails. 
     But there was something else...
     Wasn't there?
     Mulder's eyes widened. There were only four digits on this 
man's hand! They were oddly grouped; two on either side of a 
space where Mother Nature had blithely omitted a middle 
finger, giving the hand an alien, claw-like appearance.
     Malformed. From birth.
     Mulder knew then. Suddenly, he felt light-headed. He knew 
who this was. It was becoming harder to breathe; there was a 
tightening in his chest, a rolling lurch of his stomach. 
     The killer of five young men. The *real* Poe Mountain 
Horror. 
     He watched with morbid fascination as that frightening 
hand slowly pulled the other glove off, revealing a twin, a 
misshapen partner. And one of them was gesturing to him.
     "I believe that is my glove, Fox."
     Mulder placed the leather glove in the grotesque hand 
extended to him and looked up into the malevolent eyes. 
     The man smiled at him, like a patient, indulgent uncle. "I 
like you, Fox." The smile got wider and colder. He stroked the 
agent's cheek. "You *know* who I am, don't you?" 
     Mulder cringed at the feel. Dead. Cold and dry. He tilted 
his head away, with a half measure of repugnance and a half 
measure of defiance.
     He heard high, thin laughter ringing painfully in his sensitive 
ears. 
     "What a delight this one is going to be! Darling Fox. Hodd, 
who would have dreamed that your ignorant fumbling would 
have netted such a wonderful treasure for me?"
     The big, bear-like man standing nearby looked perplexed, 
not understanding the other man's joke.
     "Finish his bath, Hodd. I warn you: no more rough stuff 
with Fox. I won't tell you again. And I want those bandages 
off of his hands. I must see if they are as exquisite as the rest of 
him. See to it that he is decently dressed for dinner." Having 
issued his commands, the odd man turned abruptly and left the 
room. 
     Hodd scowled and slowly began unraveling the bandages 
from his prisoner's hands. Mulder watched, feeling detached, 
numb. His mind was reeling. 
     There were fewer and fewer differences between his 
sleeping nightmares and his waking nightmares. 
     ************************
     Scully glared as the man in the ice cream colored suit 
walked past her through the kitchen. He gave no indication that 
he was aware of either woman as he continued on into the front 
room. 
     Once the ugly stranger had gone by, Scully started for the 
hallway to the bathroom. It had gotten too quiet in there. She 
had to know if Mulder was all right.
     "No, child." A small hand kept her back. Dana looked down 
at Miss Edie, but the woman had already gone back to her 
cooking as if unmindful of all the terrifying commotion they 
had heard from down that hallway just a few moments earlier. 
     "I have to see him, Miss Edie!" she whispered harshly at the 
other woman. "I need to know if he's okay!"
     "He's jus' fine. Don' fret." Edie Arlik never looked up. "Set 
the table fer three. Jus' the menfolk. We're not allowed at 
table." 
     Scully gaped at her. What was going on here? Edie was 
acting as if she were in some kind of trance. And the arrival of 
the Poe Mountain serial killer had added a sicker twist to all the 
bizarreness of the Arlik household.
     "He is not *fine*, Miss Edie!" Scully hissed. "He's about to 
be sacrificed to that human monster! Don't you care?" 
     No answer.
     "What's wrong with you? Don't you see what will happen? 
Please, we need your help. *He* needs your help!" The 
prodding seemed to have no effect. "Miss Edie, if it weren't for 
you, Hodd would have killed my partner by now. You helped 
him. He really needs you now. We both do. They have the 
guns; we have nothing to defend ourselves with! Don't you 
understand?"
     Edie Arlik acted as if she hadn't heard a word that Scully 
had said. 
     "Please, Miss Edie? Don't do this. Please." Scully was 
surprised to hear herself pleading. It was as if this tiny woman 
were the thin thread of hope she had clung to throughout this 
ordeal she and Mulder were being dragged through, and now 
the thread seemed to be dissolving in her grasp.
     "Don't you care about him any more? Don't you *know* 
what that man in the other room is going to do to him? I've 
seen the other bodies, Miss Edie! Do you want me to describe 
how that man tortured those boys?" Her voice was tight and 
emotional, and she could feel tears of rage and fear starting to 
burn in her eyes. "Do you want to know what he's going to do 
to your 'Sugar Boy'?" 
     A tiny hesitation. But the woman did not look up. 
     "Set the table, child," was the only reply. 
     Scully slumped against the oven in a gesture of defeat and 
disbelief. She stared incredulously as Edie began humming to 
herself. The tune seemed oddly light and sweet, out of place in 
this atmosphere of terror.
     <She's over the edge!> Scully thought.
     She watched as Edie began frying fragrant onions and wild 
mushrooms. Edie glanced slyly at Scully and smiled for a brief 
second.
     The red-headed agent was puzzled. Following Edie with her 
eyes as the little woman glided over to her to her herb cabinet, 
Scully wondered what it was that she was looking for. She was 
digging through boxes and jars, reaching deep into the back of 
the cabinet. 
     Edie never looked up as Hodd pushed his charge into the 
room, prodding him toward the front room doorway. Mulder 
was looking wildly around the room and seemed relieved when 
he found Scully. 
     "Are you all right?" he asked.
     "Shut up, Fancy!" Arlik growled. "Keep movin'!" 
     Scully nodded quickly at her partner before Arlik took a 
handful of the overly-large white shirt that Mulder now wore 
and shoved him forward. He looked back at her but did not 
offer a reassuring smile. 
     Edie was back at the stove, acting as if there were nothing 
else going on in the house except the ordinary ritual of 
preparing a dinner. She still didn't look up as she spoke, as if to 
no-one in particular. "Pan- fried rabbit, mashed potatoes and 
parsnip, and a favorite treat: seasoned mushrooms... It's the mix 
that's the secret, child." 
     She was smiling to herself as she uncapped a jar of 
preserved mushrooms, murky black and watery. They sizzled 
and hissed as Edie added them to the large panful of fragrant 
mushrooms she had already prepared.
     Scully watched in renewed wonder. Edie was acting very 
oddly. 
     "Child! Wake up! I told you to set that table. They'll soon be 
in here fer their dinner!" Edie looked directly at Scully, 
scolding her with a bright smile on her face.
     <She's up to something,> Scully thought and moved to 
obey, her mind racing. 
     Time was growing short.
     ********************************** Part 18/24
     The black leather gloves were off, neatly placed on the 
table, next to an old-fashioned medical bag. They made an 
ominous picture, and Mulder couldn't prevent himself from 
staring at them as his captor tugged him toward the fireplace.
     He knew what was in that bag. He knew because he had 
seen inside this monster's head; he had seen his handiwork; he 
had imagined the atrocities in progress.
     Arlik was pushing him onto a rickety ladder back chair, 
pinning him tightly down by clutching the back of the big shirt 
he wore. 
     Mulder found himself face to face with the killer he had 
profiled just a few days ago. When the federal agent had been 
in this brute's head, when he had dreamed of the man's 
damaged psyche and speculated about his deformities and 
abnormal hungers, he had been safe.
     Mulder had been safe when he had first conjectured about 
this monster. His own mind had separated him from the reality 
of the horror as it always had. His own reality protected him, 
allowing him to view monsters through the veil of imagination. 
He had been sleepless, yet still safe, in his soft bed at Miss 
Etta's inn; he had been in the watchful company of his trusted 
partner; he had been in the protective swarm of his own kind, 
law enforcers all. 
     And no one but him had a clue to this horror. 
     They were all normal people who could never imagine 
another human so unlike them. People who were more willing 
to search for aliens from outer space than to look among 
themselves for such a deviant.
     Mulder knew that was why Scully was often so skeptical. 
She wanted life to be less brutal than he knew it really was. She 
wanted to fight against the existence of the monstrous side of 
life that was so easy for him to comprehend. That was why she 
anchored his storm-tossed soul; he wanted to believe, too. But 
he had seen too much, and understood the horrors too easily. 
     Now, the thin, safe veil between his imagination and this 
monster was gone. He was isolated in his nightmare. It was 
reaching for him as if contact with his flesh would make it 
corporeal. 
     His nightmare was about to become *real*. 
     Mulder flinched and shut his eyes when he felt the cold 
touch of the killer's hideous hands on his face. Sliding over his 
neck. Pushing the folds of Hodd Arlik's shirt away, baring his 
shoulder and chest. 
     Touching. Cold, dry, dead.
     The points of those oddly-shaped fingers brushed 
deliberately over the raised welts on his back. He shuddered, 
gooseflesh raising up painfully. The spidery touch of those 
fingers traced the curve of welts over his shoulders, pausing to 
probe his shallow wound. 
     Mulder sucked in a quick breath at the sharp burning 
sensation, but did not open his eyes. He could imagine how 
much this man was enjoying this play; he did not have to see 
him. 
     He felt the paper-dry touch on his face again and then a 
more insistent touch on his chest, fingers pulling at still-damp 
hair and scraping roughly over a nipple, shocking it into 
hardening. 
     "He's so responsive," the man whispered reverently. The 
voice sounded tinny and painful in the captive's injured ear. He 
wasn't sure the return of his hearing was such a blessing any 
more. 
     Mulder shuddered again and shifted uncomfortably when 
the hands slid down his chest and pressed onto the flat plane of 
his stomach. He felt a flame of anger grow in his gut. He was 
feeling violated. 
     But the touching stopped. Mulder realized he had been 
holding his breath and let out a silent sigh of relief. He opened 
his eyes only to meet the leering gaze of the killer.
     "Give me your hands, Fox."
     Mulder stared at him, dumfounded. What did he think he 
was asking for?
     The misshapen lips twisted into an imitation of a grin and 
the man extended his two malformed hands. "I simply meant 
for you to put your hands in mine. I must see them."
     Mulder hesitated.
     "Now. Fox." The simple order dripped with threat. 
     Still he did not move. Hodd Arlik leaned forward with a 
grunt of impatience and grabbed his prisoner's sore hands, 
pushing back the long shirt sleeves that covered all but the 
fingertips, and forced them into the other's hold.
     "Quit yer goddamned arrogant games, Fancy!" he growled. 
     Annoyed, he said to the other man, "So, get on with this! If 
you like him so damn much, pay me the thousand dollars for 
'im and take 'im outta here. He ain't been nothin' but trouble 
since I laid eyes on 'im in Berrien..."
     The other man ignored Arlik. He was turning Mulder's 
hands over and back again, examining them closely. He did not 
look pleased. 
     "You've ruined him, Hodd!" he exclaimed, dropping 
Mulder's hands back onto his lap in disgust. "His hands are a 
mess. How am I supposed to determine whether they are what 
I want...what I need? And he's ... how old?"
     Arlik shoved Mulder. "Answer 'im, fool! Or ya been struck 
*dumb*, too?"
     "Older than any of your other victims," Mulder snapped, 
rubbing his sore shoulder where Hodd had struck it. He met the 
killer's glare, and for a long moment, nothing was said. 
     "Lower your eyes, ya l'il fucker!" Hodd barked. He lifted 
his hand to backslap his prisoner. Mulder cringed, but the blow 
never came. 
     "Don't do that, Hodd... and please, curb your vulgar 
tongue." The order that stopped Arlik was delivered smoothly. 
The stranger looked back to Mulder, his odd eyes crinkling at 
the edges with amusement.
     "Well, so you are, Fox. You *are* older than those silly boys 
-- children, really. I don't know why I didn't think about this 
before, but -- thank you -- you've made something very clear 
for me..." The killer leaned closer and began stroking his 
captive's cheek. 
     "Perhaps I should have been choosier. Maybe simple youth 
is not the answer to what I am looking for..."
     Mulder swallowed. He hated the touch of this freak's hands. 
He despised the man himself, yet he needed to know for sure. 
He needed to understand for himself, even if it turned out that 
this profile was to be his last; the hunter done in by the hunted. 
     "Why did you torture them? What are you looking for?"
     The other man feigned surprise at the question. "Why, Fox! 
I thought you were the one who knew me so well," he chortled. 
     "I can only look so far into the darkness," Mulder responded 
softly. 
     "And you see farther into that darkness than most, don't 
you?" added the man, lifting the agent's face so that he could 
look directly into his eyes.
     "I need -- how shall I say this -- revivification. I need to 
consume whatever it is that makes one whole and beautiful, 
Fox, so that I might be renewed. And possibly made whole 
myself? Just like you? Just like everyone else?"
     Was he describing a kind of vampirism? Mulder shifted 
uncomfortably in the chair. Is he taking -- and drinking -- the 
blood of his victims under the delusion that their "essence" is 
what makes their bodies fully formed while his is lacking? He 
barely concealed a shiver as the other man circled, drawing a 
bony finger over Mulder's shoulders.
     "I've needed it for a long time, but the need is never 
satisfied. My wholeness is never quite replete! I gorge myself 
on their youth, their beauty, their lives... and then...I wait. I 
wait for my skin to change. For my face, my hands... I wait for 
nature to finish whatever it is *she* couldn't bring herself to 
finish on me before she spat me out into this barren existence!"
     His voice was full of bitterness now. "I wait. And I wait. 
But... nothing! Nothing happens. Nothing changes. And the 
need grows again."
     His eyes grew a little darker, and he moved his face closer, 
holding Mulder's head between his claw-like hands. "But you 
have made me think, sweet Fox. You have made me wonder if 
perhaps *your* essence would serve me best. I may have 
wasted time and resources thinking I needed only the very 
young ones. I mean, you and I seem to be so well matched! 
So... familiar!"
     He drew his crabbed fingers admiringly through Mulder's 
thick dark hair, his eyes glittering in the firelight. "After all, 
clever Fox, are you not the man who 'profiled' me -- isn't that 
the term they use? Profiled? How flattering."
     He leaned toward his captive. 
"How...absolutely...intoxicating." 
     He tightened his grip suddenly and pressed his grotesque 
lips to Mulder's mouth. Surprised, the young man struggled 
against their repulsive feel. Dry, cold lips. The killer tightened 
his grip again, painfully, and bit down, viciously sinking his 
teeth into the soft flesh of the agent's full, lower lip.
     Mulder was electrified with shocks of pain. His lip, his ear, 
his head! The agony was explosive. He yelped, instinctively 
pushing the nightmare away from him. Arlik's heavy hands 
were instantly on his shoulders pinning him to the chair, to 
prevent any attempt at escape, but his brain was still reeling 
with the memory of the pain. 
     He pressed the back of his hand to his bloody mouth and 
glared at the man who lay sprawled on the floor before him, 
laughing maniacly. 
     Mulder watched warily as the man picked himself up and 
carefully brushed himself off with exaggerated dignity. "Well, 
I won't make that mistake again, Fox. You do taste delicious, 
though... as expected."
     The odd little man straightened himself and with an 
extravagant sweep of his arm, announced to Arlik. " Sold, 
Hodd! I'll take this delight! But *I* will set the price... You've 
used him rather badly, and I'm not pleased about getting 
damaged goods." 
     He pulled out a long European-fashioned wallet from the 
inside of his immaculate suit coat and extracted two crisp 
hundred dollar bills from it. His face was a malicious mask as 
he neared Mulder. He leaned over with deliberate slowness and 
insolently tucked the bills into the waistband of Mulder's jeans.
     "You are *mine* now, Fox!" he hissed, "And you will never 
touch me like that again. Understood?"
     Mulder did not answer except to lock eyes with the killer, 
grimacing when Hodd Arlik roughly pulled at him, searching 
for the money. 
     "Two hunnert?" the big man croaked. "Hey!" 
     "You'll take it and like it, Hodd. Oh, he's worth more, I'll 
grant you. Just consider it my punishment for your stupid stunt 
and your bad handling of him. You should have offered him to 
me first, you insipid idiot."
     The killer smiled again as he looked back into Mulder's 
angry eyes. 
     "Gentlemen. Our business is concluded. Let's have dinner, 
shall we?"
     **********************************
     Poe Mountain Horror by WestShore Part 19/24
     Hodd smirked at the two women as he brought the prisoner 
into the kitchen.
     "Looks like we'll be breakin' up the set, Edie," he growled. 
"Fancy's leavin' and good riddance!"
     He shoved Mulder into a chair and looked sidelong at 
Scully before seating himself at the end of the table across from 
where the women were seated against the far wall. "How 'bout 
that, Red? Take a good long look at yer 'Mr. City Pretty' over 
here. Mebbe you'll wanna be thinkin' of some sweet departin' 
words fer yer boyfr'en' while we're eatin'. You know -- 'fore he 
leaves us." He pulled Mulder's service revolver from the waist 
of his pants and waved it warningly at her.
     "Remains to be seen what I'm gonna do 'bout you." He 
placed the gun to his right, away from his prisoner but within 
quick reach. 
     Scully blanched and looked at her partner. Mulder sat 
silently , staring down at the place setting in front of him. She 
could tell he was seething. She could tell he was scared, too. 
The hopelessness and helplessness were taking their toll; the 
monster had him now.
     "Please shut up, Hodd," said the newcomer as he sat down 
directly across the table from Mulder. "You really do weary me 
with your prattle. I don't want to encourage any interaction 
with those two creatures over there."
     Arlik snorted and began reaching hungrily for the hot dishes 
of food in front of them.
     "Fox, will you need to be restrained in your chair ?" The 
question was put to him casually, like a parent speaking to an 
errant child in a restaurant. Mulder shook his head, but did not 
look up from his study of the chipped china.
     "Perhaps I should begin our dinner with a proper 
introduction of myself?" the odd man offered conversationally 
as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began 
polishing each utensil next to his plate.
     There was no answer. Only the noisy clatter of Hodd Arlik's 
eating as he ignored all else at the table but the plateful of food 
he had gotten for himself.
     "Come, come, Fox. Be pleasant. We are, after all, at the 
dinner table." The little man smiled with artificial brightness at 
the sullen young man across from him.
     Still, there was no answer.
     "Well, then, forgive me if I proceed with my introduction 
anyway," the killer laughed lightly. "I thought you should like 
to know in the interest of completing that 'profile' of me in your 
lovely head." 
     He reached for his cup and carefully wiped it as he 
continued. "My name is Darrius *Job* Ottman. I had the name 
'Job' added years ago when I was of an age to do it legally. 
Amusing story, actually: I had recalled that that was the pitiful 
little moniker given me by my own mother when in many of her 
drunken stupors." 
     He paused and cocked his head to the side dramatically as if 
being thoughtful. "I suppose it was by way of an apology from 
her -- you know, naming me after that upstanding fellow in the 
Bible who had been so sorely tested in his life by his Creator. 
Anyway, the idiotic little name stuck! Through two of the 
homes she gave me up to. By age eight, I was rescued from 
some of my trials by my mother's family who rightfully 
disowned her and saw to my -- How do I put this? -- Well, let's 
call it 'normalization'." 
     He leaned forward, looking at his prisoner earnestly. 
"Becoming 'normal' was its own trial, of course. As you can 
well imagine, dear Fox. The numerous useless surgeries. The 
hospitals. The pain. The taunts. The lessons. The endless cruelty 
of children. The endless cruelty of adults. How to speak. How 
to behave. How to be 'normal' -- in a world that wasn't ever, 
ever going to let me be 'normal' nor was it ever going to accept 
me as I was, either." 
     Mulder couldn't help his own fascination. He brought his 
darkened eyes up slowly to study the man as he spoke, painting 
a portrait of a disturbed life.
     While he carefully wiped the clean plate in front of him 
several times, Darrius Job Ottman smiled pleasantly at the 
federal agent. 
     "That's better, Fox. I don't know why, but it's important that 
you hear and understand me. It's as if... as if..." He paused and 
smiled again, staring hungrily at Mulder. "It's as if I'm pouring 
a bit of *my* essence back into you, Fox! If you can know 
about me and understand what I need and why I need it, then 
what you give to me tonight will be all the sweeter..."
     He paused again and closed his eyes, shivering, as if in the 
excitement of anticipation. Mulder's stomach roiled, and he 
forced himself to look down, away from the monster, not 
wanting to give him any further satisfaction.
     In her chair against the far wall, Scully was listening with 
evident abhorrence. She squirmed as she watched the man rake 
his eyes over her partner. The details of Roy Earl Destin's 
autopsy swum back to her. She couldn't let this beast feed on 
Mulder. Her fists clenched unconsciously where she held them 
in her lap. The gentle touch of Edie Arlik's hand over hers 
startled her. 
     "Patience, child, patience," the tiny woman muttered, not 
looking at her.
     The killer reached across the table as he talked, picking up 
each of Mulder's utensils, polishing them and carefully 
replacing them. "Now there you go again, Fox! You are being 
impossible! But perhaps *my* manners are in question! I've 
been monopolizing this entire discourse. Why don't you tell me 
something of yourself? Unlike those silly youngsters that I 
owned in the past, I'm quite interested in getting to know more 
about you before I..."
     Hodd Arlik began a curious, choking cough that drew 
peevish looks from Ottman. Arlik covered his greasy mouth 
with his fist and coughed again with a peculiar, strangling 
sound. 
     Scully noticed Edie stiffen alertly at her side. Something 
was happening.
     "Tarnation, woman!" Arlik roared. "Get me my... whiskey 
to... wash this... crap down!" His skin was looking duskier. 
Edie hastened to pour him a glass of murky amber liquid from 
one of his still jars and meekly returned to her seat. 
     Ottman pointedly ignored the others, turning the full force 
of his attention on Mulder. "You seem to be an educated man, 
Fox. Have you a college degree?"
     Mulder maintained his sullen silence.
     Ottman's clawed hand slid over to the gun next to Hodd, 
who was now breathing noisily. With a dexterity that belied his 
handicap, Ottman picked up the gun and rested it casually in 
the crook of his arm.
     It was no accident that the gun now pointed in Scully's 
direction, Mulder knew. The threat did not need to be spoken. 
     The agent drew himself up in the chair and met Ottman's 
eyes. "I have a degree... in psychology," he answered hastily. 
     "Marvelous!" the other man remarked with mock joy. He 
laid the gun back down. "From where, Fox?" 
     "Oxford," Mulder answered.
     "Oxford? England? Dear God! What a prize you are turning 
out to be!" Ottman brought his misshapen hands together in a 
muffled clap and seemed to shiver in excitement again. "I can't 
wait... but wait I must! Tell me no more just yet. I want to 
prolong this discovery of you. I want to draw this out and 
enjoy it. So, first, we must eat! I'm so sorry I delayed us with 
talk!"
     Mulder recoiled at the sight of the food as the weird little 
man began portioning out food for himself and his prisoner. His 
stomach was churning anxiously, and he didn't feel the 
slightest bit hungry. 
     Hodd Arlik was gulping his whiskey and groaning. 
     Ottman shot him a venomous look of disapproval as he 
began his own meal. "Of course, never let it be said that our 
Mr. Arlik was hampered by common manners. Serves you right 
for wolfing your food!" he snapped, turning to his own plate 
and delicately picking at his food. 
     It was several minutes before he noticed that Mulder wasn't 
eating. He motioned to his prisoner. "Eat now, Fox! Just ignore 
the crudities of our ersatz host." He returned to his meal. 
     Mulder had noticed a flicker of body language from his 
partner, however. He glanced over at her. She was warning him 
with her eyes and an almost imperceptible nod in the direction 
of Hodd Arlik.
     Shifting his attention to the big man at the end of the table, 
Mulder realized there was something wrong. The man's 
normally dusky color had deepened to a deathly blue-gray. His 
eyes seemed bulge, and his coughing had evolved into a 
struggle for breath. 
     Seeing Mulder's expression, Ottman also turned his 
attention to the man at the end of the table. Heaving a sigh, the 
little man rose and began to slap Arlik on the back. "Fool!" he 
barked at the struggling man. "Suffocation would serve you 
right! You eat like a wild pig!" 
     Mulder shuddered. Something peculiar was happening. He 
could feel it. This was no simple case of choking. He looked at 
Hodd's nearly empty plate. His eyes wandered over the table, 
resting for a moment on the bowl of hot mushrooms. 
     There was something about mushrooms he should 
remember... 
     He gazed quizzically at the same mushrooms where Ottman 
had put them on his plate. 
     Realization crept over him like ghostly fingers sliding up his 
spine.  
********************************** Part 20/24
     He quickly looked over at Miss Edie and his partner. Edie 
Arlik sat ramrod straight in her chair, staring at her husband as 
he struggled for air. 
     One glance at Scully was all he needed. Her leaden 
expression was no mask for the inner fight she was going 
through. 
     Her lower lip was pinched and her eyes were too bright. But 
she did not move, nor would she meet her partner's eyes. Nor 
would she look at the man who had suddenly pitched forward 
to the floor and lay there in the throes of a convulsion. 
     <Poison mushrooms,> Mulder thought numbly.<Edie. Edie 
poisoned her own husband! And Scully must have 
suspected...> 
     He felt a precipitous drop in his gut. This would have been 
the depths of horror for his partner, as a doctor, as an agent and 
as the woman he knew her to be.
     The drumming of the stricken man's heels convulsing on the 
floor echoed in his ears. Mulder pulled in his lower lip and 
lowered his head. Would it never stop?! How long would this 
death throe last? 
     And then silence. 
     He dared not look up. He could not hear Hodd Arlik's 
tortured breathing any more.
     "Poison?" It was Ottman's voice, light and amused. "You've 
poisoned him? Was it the drink?"
     There was no answer from Edie. She stared resolutely at the 
place where her husband had been sitting. Scully did not move, 
either. She said a silent prayer asking forgiveness from her God 
and began calculating the distance between her and Mulder's 
gun; the distance between Mulder's gun and Mulder...
     Ottman's laughter was thin. "No, then. Not the drink..." He 
paused, his face shadowing over with his own realization and 
then murderous rage. "It wasn't supposed to be just him, was 
it? Not just Hodd, but perhaps me, too, filthy creatures?!" 
     More stony silence. A sweep of Ottman's hands sent bowls 
of food flying toward the women, crashing against a cupboard 
and shattering at their feet. They did not move but, in that 
instant, Mulder sprung like a waiting cat for the gun.
     Ottman saw him coming and snatched the weapon off the 
table in time. Mulder stopped himself, backing slowly into his 
chair. Ottman was smiling wickedly as he stepped over Hodd's 
body and moved toward Mulder.
     "So what was it? Which food?"
     He spoke at the women but did not look at them. Instead he 
eased up behind Mulder and slid his arm around his prisoner's 
neck, serpent-like, pulling the young man's head up sharply 
against his thin chest. He pressed the cold metal barrel 
alongside the agent's injured ear with purpose.
     Mulder closed his eyes against the sizzle of pain that started 
up along his jawline. He swallowed a whimper. The 
discomforting pressure on his torn eardrum was touching off 
the vertigo and the clinch of the killer's arm around his throat 
was tightening. It was becoming harder to think. He clawed at 
the arm around his throat. 
     "No answer?" Ottman's voice sounded a little strange. It 
was high and tense. "What have I eaten, you beastly bitches??" 
     Mulder could feel him shaking, but his hold did not loosen 
and the agent had to redouble his weakening efforts to break 
free, to breathe.
     "Tell me! Or I'll make sure your 'Sugar' is next!" 
     Scully twitched but Miss Edie again laid a gentle hand on 
the other woman, stalling her.
     "All right... All right, then!" the little man began puffing 
breathlessly. "Then perhaps I should share! Maybe... you'd like 
to see your... Sugar Boy... die like... your husband!" He 
released Mulder and shoved him forward to the table. "Pick up 
your fork, Fox. Edie has made a special treat for you!" 
     Mulder hesitated. The barrel of the gun rammed painfully 
into his back. "Do it!" the killer shrieked.
     Mulder lifted the fork obediently.
     "Eat!" Ottman screamed at him. He pressed the gun to the 
back of his head. Mulder looked at Scully. Her eyes were wet 
and one hand was held tightly to her mouth. She began shaking 
her head violently.
     "No! No, don't make him eat. It was the mushrooms. The 
mushrooms!" she shouted at Ottman. "Please. Don't let him die 
like that..." She dropped her head to her lap. 
     Mulder's fork clattered noisily to the table. He felt weak, 
hot and cold.
     "Don' matter none, now," Edie said quietly. "You may be 
dead in minutes. Nothin' you can do..."
     Ottman began muttering frantically. He was frightened. The 
situation was clearly reeling out of his control. So much had 
changed in the scant space of five minutes. 
     Mulder wasn't even surprised when Ottman turned on him, 
his eyes transformed and steely with madness. "But there *is* 
something I can do!" he hissed.
     The killer scrambled to the body of Hodd Arlik, patting the 
dead man's pockets, looking for something, all the while 
glancing nervously between his three captives. He pulled a set 
of handcuffs from Arlik's back pocket and grinned at Mulder. 
     "I'll need you *now*, dear Fox. I'll need your blood. Your 
untainted,un-poisoned blood...It will keep me safe from their 
treachery, boy...You're my talisman, Fox..." The man was 
babbling, not making sense. The spectre of his own death had 
loosed his last tenuous hold on what remained of his sanity. 
     And his total insanity made him even more dangerous. 
Mulder was certain they would all be dead within minutes if 
one wrong move was made now, but he could feel his own 
reality slipping with the pain and weariness of his body.
     He didn't even offer any resistance when he felt his arms 
being jerked to his back and secured to the chair with 
handcuffs taken from Hodd Arlik's body.
     He felt surreal. 
     The altar was being prepared; he was going to be forced to 
give his sacrifice to this insane "priest" now. 
     Yet, all he could really focus on were Scully's soft sobs. He 
just wanted to comfort her, plead with her to stop crying. This 
had all been too much for her, he thought, too much for both of 
us... 
     "Stop your hysterics!," Ottman bellowed at her. He waved 
the gun at Edie. "You! Husband-killer! Get up!"
     Edie visibly cringed at the name. She looked haunted 
suddenly. It was the name she expected at her Judgment Day. 
It was the name she hoped the good Lord was going to 
overlook on her behalf... 
     "Get my medical bag from the front room! Get it now!" 
     Edie moved woodenly around the table. Mulder watched 
dully as she moved past them. There was some kind of 
transformation going on; he could sense it through the fog of 
pain and dizziness that was beginning to claim him.
     He looked up startled at the strangled angry noise coming 
from the direction of his partner. She was vaulting to her feet 
and coming straight at Ottman.
     Mulder's heart froze. What was she doing!? She was 
unarmed!! 
     <No, Scully, please...>
     From the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw the flash of 
the gun discharge. The noise seemed to register late on his 
shattered ear drum, sending new paroxysms of pain through 
him. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. 
     He did not see his partner go down. He only knew that 
when he was able to open his eyes again, Scully was nowhere 
to be seen. Had Ottman shot her? Was she on the floor on other 
side of the table, out of sight? Was she alive? 
     He began to fight his restraints. He had to get to her. 
     "Scully!" he cried out.
     He began to stand, bringing the chair up with him, only to 
be pulled roughly back to the floor by claw-like hands. Those 
grotesque hands were ripping and tearing at his shirt. 
     Ottman's face had become gargoyle-like in his madness. 
     "*You* must save me, Fox, my boy!" the man gasped and 
wheezed as he pulled shreds of the shirt away from Mulder's 
body. "If they've poisoned me... If there was enough to kill 
me... *your* blood will cleanse me...!"
     Mulder twisted angrily away from the cold feel of the 
madman's deformed hands on him. 
     "Scully!" he shouted. No answer. 
     He felt faint, and he could feel his adrenaline-driven 
strength beginning to ebb.
     Ottman was tugging at him. The Poe Mountain Horror 
meant to start his blood-letting now. No ceremony. No 
preamble. Only the crazed frenzy of a killer with an insane 
obsession. 
     "Scully!" Mulder's cries were full of despair. No answer. 
     Edie Arlik returned to the room, her face and demeanor 
unchanged. She passed by the body of her husband without 
giving it a glance. She put the medical bag on the table and 
opened it, stepping back to a respectful distance, seemingly 
unaware of Mulder's struggles. 
     Ottman was sweating, grunting as he wrestled with the 
younger man to keep him seated in the chair he was bound to. 
Perhaps the cramping had started? Mulder held out hope; 
perhaps what little of the mushrooms the monster had eaten 
would be enough to do in a man of his size. 
     If only there were more time. If only he could put up a fight 
long enough...
     But Mulder was stunned into momentary stillness at the 
sight of all the gleaming scalpels and small suture sets in the 
open bag. There were syringes, unmarked vials of drugs. A 
killer's Little Portable Shop of Horrors.
     Ottman grabbed carelessly at a scalpel. He was acting like a 
desperate man now. He came at the stricken agent hungrily. 
Mulder squirmed and rocked the chair to the side, away from 
the bite of that scalpel.
     "No! Fox, *NO*!!" Ottman shrieked at him. "Be still! You 
must be still! I need this! I need you!"
     He pulled the chair around viciously and locked it up 
against a cupboard. Mulder writhed, but it made little 
difference. The scalpel plunged into the breast muscle below 
his collarbone, cutting deep and unevenly.
     Fox Mulder was too shocked to scream, to protest, to plead. 
It was the final insult.
     His body went limp and his head rolled back. 
     He never saw Miss Edie descending on the Darius Job 
Ottman like an avenging angel, weilding a scalpel she had 
concealed in her sweater. 
     He never heard her scream for her "Sugar Boy"... 
     ..and he never heard the one shot that rang out just before 
Ottman dropped dead at his feet. 
     ********************************** 
Part 21/24
     The friendly snap and pop of a warm fire tempted him 
through the last veil of unconsciousness.
     He slowly opened his eyes and watched soft-edged 
shadows dance against the wooden wall, struggling to sort out 
the ghostly images. He sensed dull whispers of pain and panic 
kept at bay by whatever drugs were coursing through him right 
now. There was a dim memory of restless dreaming...
     <Still in the cabin> he realized finally with some surprise. 
     But now he felt no panic, no fear. He felt... safe. And warm. 
     He cautiously shifted and felt the stiff pull of bandages on 
his chest, over his shoulder and on his ear. Careful not to tempt 
the vertigo back, he drew his eyes slowly toward the buttery 
yellow light spilling from the fire in the fireplace.
     He smiled gratefully at the vision of his partner, Dana 
Scully, sitting huddled before the fire, arms wrapped around 
her legs, chin resting on her knees, gazing into the flames. He 
watched her for a long time, just thankful she was alive and 
seemingly unharmed. 
     In that unspoken language between them, it wasn't too hard 
to figure out that his partner was engrossed in some soul-
searching. Being isolated in this cage full of demons had given 
her plenty of opportunity to find her own personal demons as 
well. 
     Mulder knew.
     He had seen a few of his own in the past several days. 
     His eyes wandered the room that had been a prison to them 
both. It didn't feel like a prison any more. The aura of death 
and hate was gone, passed on like the winter storm. It was 
quiet outside and it was quiet in here, save for the crackling 
fire. 
     When he looked toward his partner again, two bright blue 
eyes looked back, crinkling up in a relieved smile. 
     "Hey," Dana said softly.
     "Hey," Mulder answered.
     There was a sweet comfortable silence between them for a 
long moment. Then Fox Mulder wriggled his hand free of the 
soft blankets she had tucked around him and reached out for 
her. 
     Scully smiled sadly and scooted over to the bedside. He 
folded her into a half-embrace, pressing her soft red hair to his 
chest. She struggled. "Mulder! Your bandages..."
     "Would you hush?" he asked seriously. "I just wanted to...I 
needed this right now."
     She relaxed, drawing her arm up to encircle his and waited. 
He would have questions, she knew. He always had questions. 
She just didn't know how long this shock would consume him. 
She couldn't predict when he would be ready to ask his 
questions. She knew her own deep shock was going to take a 
long time to heal.
     He held her head firmly to his sore chest. He didn't want her 
to look up just then and see the tears of gratitude sliding from 
his eyes. She was alive.
     There was too much to say and too little control on his 
feelings to say it any of it now. He took a deep breath and took 
another tact, something safer and less emotionally loaded. 
     "I always seem to miss out on the... uh... climax." 
     He felt her smile against his skin. "Just as long as you're 
always around for the 'denouement', Mulder," she laughed 
gently. Then she sighed. "This time, we both seem to have 
missed the climax." 
     "Mmmm..." She heard the sleepy hum of his voice deep in 
his chest. He yawned. "I can think of some situations in which 
that wouldn't be much fun..."
     She groaned and sat up. "Yes. Of course you can, Agent 
Mulder. And *that * loaded statement marks the official point 
at which I know you will be a completely healed... heel." She 
smiled primly at him and tucked his arm back under the 
blankets. 
     He smiled back. For one moment she thought he was ready 
to ask. She thought she saw it in his eyes. 
     "So. We're still here..."
     Scully nodded, smoothing the blankets around him. "The 
storm just let up at dawn. I ventured out for a bit at noon, but 
..." She shrugged sheepishly. "I haven't a clue as to where we 
are, Mulder. We just have to have faith that there'll be people 
out looking for us now that the storm's let up. It's been over 
five days." 
     Mulder's hazel eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he gasped. 
"How long have I been..."
     "Out of it?" Scully finished for him. "Two days, give or take 
a few hours." She rubbed her arms as if warming herself against 
some inner chill. Her face looked suddenly drawn and tired. 
     She shuddered, remembering how she had picked her way 
unsteadily over three corpses, making her way toward the too- 
still, too-pale body of her partner, blood streaming bright and 
wet over his chest and stomach.
     "I wasn't sure...," she said quietly, as she reached over and 
pushed a lock of dark away hair from her partner's brow. "I 
wasn't sure you were going to make it, Mulder. By the time I 
came to, you had lost quite a bit of blood..."
     "What happened to you?!" he asked, wide-eyed. 
     She pulled back a lock of her red hair, revealing a small 
white bandage near the top of her right temple. "I deserved 
this, in a way. I reacted emotionally in a situation that could 
have used some clearer thinking... I'm sorry. I was so scared 
that he..." 
     She paused and shook her head. "Just stupid. But someone 
up there likes me, Mulder. It was close enough to knock me out 
cold. When I woke up -- everything was so still. And then I 
saw you... Mulder, I was sure you were dead. And when I 
found that you weren't, I was sure you were dying...And, at 
that point, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to help you." 
     Mulder could tell how much that meant to her. "But you 
*did*, Scully. I'm probably just a little worse for wear, but here 
I am, alive to make you rue another assignment with me." 
     "Well, you have Miss Edie's little 'wildflower pharmacy' to 
thank for helping you through these last few days," Scully 
informed him. She looked away from him, suddenly awash in 
memories of the the little woman.
     "Miss Edie... she's dead?" Mulder asked gently, seeing the 
distress on his partner's face.
     Scully sighed and nodded. "From the way the bodies 
looked, I think it's a pretty safe assumption that Miss Edie 
attacked Ottman when he went after you. You must have 
passed out. Ottman's throat had been slashed and there was a 
bloody scalpel in Miss Edie's hand. She died of a gunshot -- 
struck her right in the heart. Probably a fluke shot squeezed off 
by that bastard before he fell over dead..." 
     Mulder looked surprised. So much had happened. He 
glanced toward the kitchen doorway. "Where are all the bodies, 
Agent Scully?"
     "Well, I had to be practical, Mulder. After getting you 
stitched up and stabilized, I made journal notes about the crime 
scene, bagged what evidence I could, and disposed of the 
bodies, dragging Arlik and Ottman outside, just beside the 
house. It was as far as I could go..." She paused, and Mulder 
squirmed a hand free to lay over hers.
     "God, Scully, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for..." 
     Scully shook her head quickly. "No! You know, Mulder, I 
had so much pent up rage and hate and frustration, that 
dragging their dead carcasses outside into the cold -- like so 
much unwanted garbage -- was really like a catharsis for me! 
Really! But..." Her eyes moistened. "Miss Edie's little broken 
body..." 
     Scully began to cry openly. Mulder reached up and pulled 
her gently back down to rest on his chest while she sobbed. 
"Her... her body... I just couldn't... I took the little lace pillow 
she had given you and some of those blankets -- she told me 
she made them for her 'Sugar' -- and I wrapped her little body 
in them and ... and carried her back to the shed where she said 
she kept her goats. She'll be safe there 'til someone comes for 
us. Then I want to give her a proper burial -- here -- Mulder."
     Mulder nodded for her, stroking her hair to comfort her, but 
he remained silent, pondering the impossible mix of fate and 
happenstance that had brought them both to this living 
nightmare. And he wondered again about the curious little 
woman who had watched over him so faithfully.
     "She did it for you, Mulder," Scully said, lifting her head 
and looking into his eyes with a sad smile as if reading his 
perplexed thoughts. "And she did it for someone she loved 
once. For her 'Sugar Boy'. This must have been like a re-
enactment of the nightmare she carried around in her head for 
*years*!" 
     "What do you mean?" He had missed so much! 
     "Edie's 'Sugar Boy' was a little kid. I think Arlik had 
kidnapped him and brought him up here to snap Edie out of a 
depression over losing her third baby. Turns out, *he* was the 
bastard murdering them as they were born. The third and last 
birth had been particularly hard, leaving her crippled. So that 
creep kidnaps someone else's kid and hands him to Edie like 
giving someone a puppy because their dog died!!" 
     Scully was shaking with outrage she had kept locked up for 
days. 
     "When Hodd dragged you in that night, Mulder, Edie fell 
deep into a delusion that must have been brewing in her for 
years! It was like that kidnapping all over again! She fixated on 
you as her 'Sugar Boy'. I'm not sure, but I suspect Hodd killed 
that boy, too. I got the feeling he had abused the boy badly 
and that maybe he had died during or after one of those 
beatings. Seeing Hodd torture you was replaying the nightmare 
for her..."
     Mulder nodded in agreement, finally understanding the old 
woman's need to protect him.
     "I'm so grateful it's over, Scully," he said softly after a few 
moments of silence.
     "Well, it's not over yet, mister," she responded wearily, 
patting his covers, trying to steer the subject away from 
thoughts of Edie. "You've definitely had damage to that 
eardrum. That's an automatic ticket into a hospital bed when 
we get back to civilization. And you still have a fever. Your 
blood count has got to be..." 
     "Bleeding, broken, bruised and beaten," Mulder sing-
songed, trying to lighten her mood. "No wonder the bureau 
pushed me into the harness with you! It was either you and 
your medical bag or Harkins in Accounting-- you know, to 
keep me in line with all those 'X'-traordinary 'X'-pense reports."
     "Harkins would have been dead by now! Of a heart attack! 
Dropped over on his desk, face first in expense reports that 
rival NASA's and requisition sheets that resemble something 
out of a production of a Wes Craven movie." Scully jibed in 
response to his playful remark. 
     Mulder smiled broadly and settled back, closing his eyes. 
Scully watched his smile fade. She knew what he was thinking. 
     "He's really dead, isn't he?" he asked quietly, not seeking an 
answer. He opened his eyes and stared at the wooden rafters 
overhead. "The murderous, soulless bastard that was just a 
dream on eleven neatly typed pages of paper five days ago. He 
became *real* for me -- and now he's dead." 
     His brow furrowed, and Scully could sense the 
transformation in him. She was familiar with it. Mulder's eyes 
were lit with the fire of the hunt again. His need to fit all the 
pieces of the puzzle together. 
     The questions had begun.
     They spent the next several hours reviewing the case that 
had become their personal hell. They talked, conjectured and 
philosophized over cups of tea, bowls of broth, and stale 
biscuits. 
     Outside, heavy cloud cover ushered night in earlier than 
usual. But without the steady moan of storm winds, the snow-
muffled silence made the house seem as quiet as a tomb.
     Mulder had stopped asking questions. He seemed lost in 
thought. 
     Noticing her partner's characteristic enthusiasm fade earlier 
than it would ordinarily, Scully ended the discussion. 
"Medicine rounds, partner. Two for you... one for me, I think. 
My headache is back, and you look exhausted."
     "But I just slept for two days, Scully!" Mulder protested. He 
did feel tired, but he knew the thought of going back to sleep 
bothered him. He told himself he was just hungry for more of 
the details he had missed, victimized by injuries and his 
captors. 
     "No...you 'repaired'," Scully was lecturing. "But you did not 
'rest'. Rest is something you do *voluntarily*!!" 
     He nodded with some evident reluctance. "Right again. 
Doctor. I don't even have the energy to fight about it. Bad 
sign, huh?" He settled deeper into the warm blankets. "Let's 
hope the new day dawns on a fleet of emergency personnel 
outside that front door," he sighed, half-asleep already.
     But behind his closed eyelids, he could sense deadly images 
lurking, waiting for him, wanting him to return to 
unconsciousness, where they could reek havoc with him again. 
He looked quickly at his partner.
     "Hey, Scully?" he added quietly. "Whatever medicine you 
give me? Make sure I won't 'dream'... Okay?"
     "Understood," she answered simply.
     **************************************** 
Part 22/24
     Scully awoke with a start. The fire was blazing, recently fed. 
She looked over to Mulder's bed. Blankets thrown back. 
Empty. 
     The red-headed agent bolted upright, spurred by a sharp 
pang of panic.
     "Hey, Scully. I'm right here... It's okay." His voice, soft and 
quick to reassure, came from the direction of front door. 
     Scully whirled, heart pounding, still half-awake. "Mulder! 
Damn it!!"
     "Hey!" he said again, sounding a bit defensive. "I'm okay!" 
He added sheepishly, "I just couldn't sleep." 
     Scully relaxed and brushed strands of hair from her face. He 
*did* look okay. He was too thin, of course. And he still 
looked a bit feverish.
     But standing there, barefoot, his jeans hanging loosely on 
his hips, a blanket draped protectively over his bare shoulders 
and chest, dark hair mussed and tumbling over his forehead -- 
he looked better than "okay".
     Scully fought a slow smile that began creeping over her lips. 
     Mulder cocked his head at her, quizzically. "What...?!" 
     Before she could answer sensibly though, he suddenly 
turned to look out the glass of the front door. "I hear 
something!" he said excitedly.
     As she drew up beside him, Scully could here the distant 
buzz and whine of engines. A snow mobile? No. Several snow 
mobiles! 
     Scully looked up at her partner. He drew her into a tight 
embrace, smiling.
     X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X 
     Hospital Room 506 Emory University Atlanta, Georgia
     Fox Mulder craned his neck to the side and wriggled his 
shoulder for the fifth time in as many minutes. The itch in his 
jaw and throat were deep, no place that he could scratch. And 
the pain was becoming more than a nuisance. 
     He glanced at the nurse call button. He could ask...
     He shook the thought off. The price of being without the 
pain was a bit more than he was willing to pay right now. He 
forced himself to think of other things.
     On morning rounds, that good-looking intern had taken a 
few minutes extra out of her schedule to explain that the 
delicate surgery on his eardrum had gone better than expected 
yesterday. His infection had not spread, she said, despite the 
beating his body and his immune system must have taken. 
     He looked ruefully at the trail of IV tubing running from his 
arm, over the bed, to several bags of fluids hanging on a pole 
with an automatic dose meter attached and yawned. He felt 
exhausted. It had not been a restful night.
     The little machine blinked red numbers and codes at him. 
     Like he cared. Damn, he hated IV's.
     And then he smiled to himself.
     Well, it had garnished him enough attention from that 
intern, hadn't it?. She was going to come back. She promised. 
She would bring charts, pictures, articles, she said. She wanted 
to show him just how well he was doing.
     Did he know how complicated the workings of the inner ear 
were, she had asked in a far-too-eager voice. Well, yes, his 
partner had told him. 
     But he didn't tell the beautiful young intern that. 
     Did he appreciate how delicate his surgery was? Well, 
actually, Scully had speculated with him about what they might 
do. But he failed to mention that, too. 
     It couldn't hurt to get a second opinion, could it?
     Was he curious about the procedure? Did he know it would 
save his job with the FBI? Well, that's why Scully said she had 
insisted on the best doctors as she put him in the ambulance 
headed down to Atlanta within two hours of their rescue 
     No "ifs". No "ands". No "statements". Everything could 
wait until he was better, Scully had ordered.
     He sighed and rolled onto his side, staring at the door and 
yawning again. Damn. That hurt his ear.
     ESPN was playing, muted, on his television set, but he 
wasn't interested. <X Games, indeed>, he snorted to himself. 
     He was bored. And tired and sore and...
     That intern. Titian-colored hair. Ringlets, though. Not 
straight and tamed like Scully's. And eyes. Mmmmm. Too 
green, though. Colored contacts; he was sure of it. He had 
noticed the shiny telltale edge of them in her eyes.
     He huffed and tossed himself onto his back again, wincing 
at the pinching sensation that crawled over his back, over the 
healing cuts and welts.
     <Bastard Hodd Arlik> And then: <Don't go there, 
Mulder...> He warned himself away from another dangerous 
train of thought. 
     He began flipping through channels on the muted television. 
Twice through and nothing . Televangelists, shopping channels, 
and dolphins at sexual play on the Discovery Channel. He 
paused and watched. Thank heaven for the Discovery Channel. 
Thank heaven for dolphins. Thank heaven for...
     Did he find out that intern's name? 
     She had a soft southern drawl. Probably a local southern 
belle. She wore make-up. Lightly done and pretty. Did she 
have freckles? It was a wonder how Scully's freckles appeared 
or disappeared depending on whether she chose to bother with 
make-up or not...
     He sighed again and glanced toward the door. 
     There was a lot to be said for the post-surgical fog of 
anesthesia; he hadn't been this restless yesterday.
     He vaguely recalled a phone call from Assistant Director 
Skinner. He couldn't even remember what had been said, but 
when Esther, one of his two favorite nurses, had awakened him 
a while later, he found the receiver of the phone tucked 
painfully under his neck. He doubted that the conversation 
with his boss had ended with the proper decorum.
     <Oh well...>
     If it had been anything more important than the platitudes 
and niceties given to a hospital-bound agent, he was sure 
Skinner would have gotten a message through somehow. 
     He closed his eyes out of sheer tedium.
     "I know you're not sleeping."
     <Finally!>
     He smiled but did not open his eyes. This was no soft 
southern drawl. It was the familiar voice of his partner. 
     "Did you forget you shot me off to Atlanta, Scully? Made 
me a bed-ridden patient for three days while you stayed behind 
and got to play FBI Agent-In-Charge?"
     "Well, it's apparent you're well enough to be cranky," he 
heard her say wearily. He heard the squeak of leather as she sat 
in the chair nearest to the bed. "You've had enough time to 
make up a long list of complaints."
     "I'm not *cranky*! And I'm not complaining!" he continued 
to complain, popping his eyes open to look at her. "I've been 
bored." 
     Two pretty dark-haired, dark eyed nurses leaned into the 
doorway. "Shift change, Fox. We'll stop by later." 
     He looked over and smiled brightly. "Hi Esther! Hi Pat! I'll 
be waiting."
     "They're cute, Mulder. So, you were telling me about being 
bored?" Scully prompted, trying to keep the smile out of her 
voice. 
     Mulder blushed a deep red, and Scully was unable to keep 
herself from laughing. "Don't worry, Mulder. I'll promise not to 
watch when they take your... blood pressure. Here. I got this. 
Just for you."
     A bright helium balloon with the cartoon caricature of 
"Tigger" floated into view with a big red "Get Well" greeting 
scrawled across the top.
     "Tigger, Scully?" He squinched up his face. 
     "The gift shop was all out of those anatomically-correct 3-D 
'Playmate of the Month' balloons, Mulder," his partner intoned 
in a playful growl as she anchored the balloon to his IV pole. 
     "Yeah, well, I hear they're all the rage in the cardiac unit," 
he growled back.
     She laughed and dropped a heavy manila envelope on his 
stomach. "That's just Phase One of the wind-up of our case in 
Berrien, Tennessee. Oh... and Miss Etta sends her love in the 
form of an all-butter, old-fashioned, made-from-scratch pound 
cake that I left in the car just now. Sorry. I'll bring it up later." 
     "It can wait, Scully. I don't think I can handle any more 
'watching over' by little old ladies."
     <Oh-oh.>
     He looked up quickly at Scully. She was smiling sadly. 
     "So," he said softly. "You still had to walk through the fires 
of hell while I was here, enjoying legally administered drugs. 
Are you okay? Did it go well?"
     "Well, on the 'bright' side -- Sheriff Zames is busy answering 
phone calls from all over the world again. He's having to 
explain how a serial killer was able to lurk all around Poe 
Mountain while everyone else was out hunting for aliens. And, 
of course, Washington is doing 'handstands' over the fact that a 
team of its 'brightest & finest' had had the foresight into the 
problem *before* anyone else was killed. They are waving your 
profile around like a standard going into battle..."
     She watched Mulder wince and shake his head in disgust. 
"But there were more people killed, weren't there?" he 
whispered, flicking a corner of the envelope, but making no 
move to open it . 
     Scully bowed her head for a moment. "Yes... Yes, there 
were." She watched the freezing winter rain pelt the window 
before continuing. "Matt Merrill --the deputy?--has been most 
helpful. He's personally overseeing Edie's burial today." She 
glanced at her watch. "In about an hour, I guess."
     ********************************** 
Part 23/24
     She fell quiet. Mulder could tell there was more, but he just 
decided to wait for her.
     "They found the skeletons of three infants yesterday, when 
they had started the extensive search of the property. 
Newborns, they said. Buried in shallow graves in Edie's herb 
garden area. Probably buried about twenty to twenty five years 
ago, it would seem." Scully shook her head, as if brushing away 
a thought. "Edie'll be buried in that garden, and when the 
coroner is done with the remains of the infants, Matt has 
promised to put them to rest beside Edie." 
     Mulder just nodded. There didn't seem much to say for a 
moment. 
     "Funny thing is -- We found out that that property is 
technically owned by the National Park. Hodd had been 
squatting on it for years, unchallenged! Burying Edie and her 
children on it could have been a legal nightmare, but the 
governor heard about the case, heard about what she did for 
you and me, and interceded with the Parks Service Division. 
I'd heard Attorney General Reno, at the suggestion of our 
Director Freeh, made phone calls as well. I'm sure Skinner 
started that ball rolling... Anyway, the rest of the property will 
be razed next spring, but she'll be safe there." 
     "And what happens with..." Mulder paused, his voice laden 
with hints of bitterness. He took a deep breath. "...Arlik?" 
     He was having difficulty, Scully noted. She briefly 
wondered if it was too soon to talk about all this with him. So 
much had been uncovered, and there was so much else to tell 
him. 
     She glanced at the envelope still laying in his stomach, 
untouched. 
     "Arlik was a time bomb, Mulder. When Matt Merrill began 
checking out some of the leads you had suggested, he was able 
to find out all sorts of interesting facts about that man. Given 
time, Arlik would have destroyed himself and Ottman."
     Mulder's face looked set and remote. She could tell part of 
him was needing to pull away, to distance him from this 
discussion. The memories were too fresh. But Fox Mulder, 
'Special Agent for the FBI', insisted on staying in the 
conversation. 
     "No," Mulder asserted in a low voice. "Arlik wouldn't 
have... couldn't have... brought Ottman down. The bastard was 
too clever for the likes of Hodd. That's why Hodd made the 
perfect foot soldier for him."
     He looked back at Scully. "What did they find out about the 
connection between the two of them?"
     "Well, it looks pretty clear that Ottman and Arlik began 
their unholy alliance about ten months ago. Matt Merrill isn't 
sure about all the facts yet, but he thinks that they first met at a 
bar in Chattanooga. It would seem that Ottman was probably 
on the prowl -- looking for a rube like Arlik."
     Scully shook her head in wonder. "It can't have been chance 
that they just 'met', Mulder. Those two were so... parasiticly 
perfect for each other. They needed each other. But perhaps, 
without witnesses or statements from the criminals themselves, 
we'll never know how they got together. Ottman was 
independently wealthy, had been back in the States about a 
year, and was traveling -- supposedly -- when he met up with 
Arlik. He offered to set Arlik up with tow trucks, business 
contacts in auto salvage -- Matt Merrill tracked that info down 
just on the suggestions you gave him -- and, of course, Ottman 
also offered money in exchange for Arlik's help kidnapping 
young men.
     "The five young men from Poe Mountain aren't the first set 
of victims, Mulder..." She looked over at her partner to gauge 
his reaction.
     Nothing. No surprise. He might have predicted this. 
     "There are two missing persons cases in Atlanta that may fit 
Arlik's MO -- no bodies have been found, yet, though. There'll 
be a lot of digging going on at the Arlik homestead over the 
next few months, I suppose. Arlik hid the trucks and stolen 
vehicles in pole barns at the far end of the property. It was in 
one of those barns that Ottman had set up his... uh... quarters, I 
guess you'd call them. Very sterile. Very lab-like. Very weird. 
And full of incriminating evidence including a freezer full of 
severed hands." 
     She watched Mulder shudder. She really didn't want to 
continue, but there would never be a "good" time to tell him 
either. 
     "That answers some of the 'how'; the 'why' is easier to 
answer in a way. Darrius Ottman didn't lie to us: He is the 
illegitimate child of the daughter of a wealthy family -- Hudson 
River Valley pedigree, old money -- they took him in, 
disowned his mother, and promptly put their 'foundling' 
through upper class training. There is at least one unfounded 
rumor that his mother had been a runaway -- left home 
pregnant by her own father, Darrius' grandfather, a pillar of the 
community. Once the family had him, they tried to correct a 
myriad of birth defects that he had been born with as well as a 
myriad of personality defects he had seemed to acquire in his 
early life on the streets with his mother.
     "Reports I had faxed to me yesterday show that he was 
institutionalized once as a young teen. All very hush, hush. He 
was held for about eighteen months, released and promptly 
sent off to schools in Gstaad, Switzerland. It seems his release 
was 'forced' -- bought out by his relatives who feared having 
him 'discovered' in an institution by the media when the family 
patriarch was about to make a run for a senate position."
     Mulder was watching her with bright eyed interest. "Let me 
guess," he sighed wearily. "The institutionalization was 
probably after some bloodletting incident -- probably carried 
out on a fellow student. And I'm sure if you read the entire 
record, young Darrius probably had several incidents of similar 
ilk with family pets, neighborhood animals. Sacrifices, 
experimentation..." He fell silent, his hand on the envelope, 
brooding. "It didn't stop did it? He got older and bolder, I'll 
bet. Any suspicious incidents in Europe?" 
     "Well, uh... yes," Scully affirmed. She wasn't really 
surprised: Her partner's uncanny ability to profile killers like 
Ottman grew from the deep understanding of their warped 
psyches. Without ever having met them, he could predict nearly 
every aspect of their tangled lives. 
     "There have been several reports of similar mutilation cases 
in parts of Europe that coincide with Ottman's whereabouts at 
the time. The reports are sporadic. Ottman was given a job in 
the diplomatic corps for several years. Apparently he was good 
at what he did, if not well liked. He frequently requested -- and 
got - - third world assignments."
     "Perfect victims, " Mulder mumbled. "He preyed on them. 
Countries where people have to sell their children to stay alive." 
He pushed the envelope off his stomach; it was beginning to 
feel too heavy, and he felt nauseous. He shut his eyes. Damn! 
His ear hurt! 
     He rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about Ottman 
any more. Not now. He didn't want to think about how many 
victims the sick bastard may have fed on over the years.
     Scully watched him twitch his shoulders. He was feeling the 
faint echoes of his nightmare, she knew, in every pinch and 
pang of his healing body. His eyes had lost the playful 
eagerness they had when she walked in a few moments ago. 
They were coloring darker, losing their green-gold glitter.
     ********************************** 
Westshore Part 24/24
     "What about Arlik? What happens with him?" he asked 
harshly. 
     Scully noticed the abrupt shift in topic, but did not refer to 
it. She answered his question. There would be time enough to 
tell him, she hoped.
     "His body is destined for a pauper's grave. A potter's field 
somewhere outside of Berrien. No relatives, apparently. At 
least, no one came forward."
     "Go figure," Mulder snorted caustically. 
     "Well, Hodd Arlik was destined for a grave this winter, one 
way or the other, Mulder. His autopsy showed an advanced 
case of lead poisoning," Scully added, shifting her eyes to gaze 
out the window for a moment.
     Mulder looked at her, surprised. "Lead poisoning?" he 
echoed. 
     "Yes. Edie had told me. She knew he was poisoning himself 
with the old piping in his still... She knew, but she never told 
him. And, bless her, for as much as she hated that man, for as 
much as he used and abused her, she still felt as though she had 
sold herself to the devil for not telling that bastard he was 
killing himself." 
     Mulder pushed himself back into his pillows and stared at 
the ceiling. "Then poisoning him at the dinner table that night 
must have really cost her."
     "Yes, it did," his partner admitted, then added quietly. "It 
cost us all, I suppose."
     Mulder glanced over at her quickly. To have knowingly 
allowed a man to die was a betrayal of Scully's very soul. He 
knew that the choice to sit still while Hodd Arlik choked and 
convulsed on the floor that night would haunt her for a long 
time. 
     "He was a sadistic killer, Scully." His voice was soft but 
firm. 
     Scully pursed her lips for a second and nodded. "I know, 
Mulder, I know. It wouldn't be so frightening to me if I hadn't 
*wanted* it so badly. Every time he even looked your way, I 
wanted to kill him with my own hands, and whenever he 
touched you..." She sighed, letting her shoulders slump.
     Silence again.
     Mulder swung his long legs over the edge of the bed to sit 
up. His back was really beginning to bother him, and the biting 
pain in his ear was becoming unbearable. It was as if all this 
talk was conjuring the nightmare to life again. He rolled his 
shoulders and craned his neck over again, trying to move the 
discomfort out of his head. 
     "Why don't you ask for a pain med, Mulder? Knowing you, 
you're probably long overdue." Scully started to reach for the 
nurse call button, but Mulder stayed her hand.
     "No, don't. Please," he said too quickly. Scully searched his 
eyes, but he avoided her.
     "Mulder? Why are you being such an extraordinary martyr?" 
she inquired peevishly.
     "I'm not!" he snapped at her. "Pat checked on my 
medications for me over an hour ago. It's just... um, the doctor 
hasn't changed my pain med orders, yet." 
     "And...?" Scully prompted him when he fell silent. No 
answer. "What is the problem, Mulder?"
     Her partner groaned. "He's still got me on some kind of IM 
narcotic, Scully, and I don't want it. I didn't tell Pat." 
     "But, Mulder, your injuries...," Scully began to protest. 
     "No. Wait. Listen to me, Scully!" He held up one cut and 
bruised hand in an impatient signal. "It... the drug. I -- I don't 
want it because... it makes me dream."
     There. He said it.
     He sighed. "I've been having nightmares, Scully." His voice 
got very quiet. "When I dream, I'm in that cabin. I've never 
gotten out of it... and you're gone. I look for you, but I can't 
find you anywhere. I'm alone, but I can see..."
     He swallowed convulsively. "I can see him, Scully. Ottman. 
His face at the window. It doesn't matter where I try to hide... 
He's at a window, watching. And then I run toward that front 
room, thinking: I'll be safe if I can just make it out into the 
storm. That he won't see me in time to catch me, but..."
     Mulder stopped, breathless. He hung his head. 
     Scully moved up to the bed and sat beside him. "I'm sorry, 
Mulder. I should have known." She squeezed his shoulder 
gently. "I'll go see about getting your meds changed to 
something else a bit less powerful." She moved the envelope 
from his bed and slipped it into his bedside stand. "Let's talk 
about the rest of this later, okay?" 
     She couldn't tell him. Not now.
     When she returned with two tablets and a glass of water, 
her partner was gone from his bed. The reports, pictures and 
memos from the manila envelope were scattered over the 
blankets. IV pole and patient had disappeared. Scully felt a 
twinge of panic and searched the room for him.
     The sounds of retching and running water from the 
bathroom startled her. She threw open the door and was 
heartstricken to see her partner sitting in the corner of the tiled 
shower, head bowed to his knees, letting cold water stream 
over him and his IV pole. 
     Scully snapped the water off and started toweling him dry 
without a word. She should have told him earlier. <Damn you, 
Mulder.> He would not tolerate anything held back. She 
silently berated herself: of course, he would have known if she 
held anything back. Yet, how could she have told him 
everything?
     He looked up at her, expectantly, accusingly. "Where's the 
report on Ottman's corpse, Scully?" His voice was deep and 
hoarse with emotion.
     She cringed. "I was trying to... I wasn't sure you should... 
you didn't need to hear this just yet."
     "Where's the corpse, Scully?" His voice was raised and 
trembling. 
     She looked away. She couldn't answer, and that would *be* 
all the answer he needed.
     "They didn't find a corpse, did they?" His voice was a 
horrified whisper now.
     She looked back at him, blue eyes laden with guilt and grief. 
"No. No, they didn't. It was gone the day that they found us, 
Mulder." 
     He looked as if he was going to be sick again. 
     "There are wolves in the area, Matt Merrill said. And 
wildcats, bears," she said hastily. "They're tracking now -- 
looking for animal sign. Matt Merrill said it wouldn't be 
unusual ... and the corpse wasn't very big -- something could 
have dragged it off. Mulder?" 
     Her partner had leaned his head against the cool, wet tiles 
and closed his eyes. "I know, Scully, I know," he said quietly. 
"There's a logical explanation."
     "They are looking, Mulder. Matt said he wouldn't let it go." 
     Her partner sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yes. I'm sure he'll 
keep looking." He sighed and started, unsteadily, to get to his 
feet. He waved Scully's gesture of help away, but gently not 
angrily. 
     "Could you get me some dry scrubs, Scully?" he asked 
meekly. 
     By the time she returned to the room, the papers on his bed 
had been shuffled into some semblance of order and placed 
carefully on the bedside stand. Her partner had thrown a 
flannel blanket over his shoulders and was standing at the 
window, staring out into the sleet storm.
     He smiled at her when she pressed the dry clothes into his 
hands. 
     "I'll be okay, Scully," he answered her unspoken question. "I 
just need some time to sort everything out in my head. I haven't 
been facing up to what happened to us -- to me -- up there in 
that cabin." 
     He fingered his damp clothes self-consciously. "I was just 
remembering the dream I've been having... You know, I'm 
hiding and running in that dream, too. I'm keeping myself 
trapped in that cabin, I think. Maybe I need to make a break for 
that front door the next time that dream comes to me, meet the 
monster head on." 
     Scully impulsively circled her arms around him and pressed 
herself to his damp body. "Don't let him win, Mulder. Don't 
ever let any of the monsters win. Please. I'm counting on you." 
     He held her close and returned to staring out into the gray 
rain. 
     Fox Mulder knew he could win against monsters. He'd done 
it before. He would do it again.

===XXXXX=====FINIS=====XXXXX===
"The Poe Mountain Horror"
by West Shore