Summary: An ailing Mulder and a distracted Scully investigate 
serial killings with a paranormal bouquet in the Southern 
California Desert. Rated: R for Language. 

Disclaimer: Don't own em. Can't seem to make any money off of 
them. Wish I could. 

FYI: I live in the town of Llano in the Antelope Valley. Every 
place in this story really exists. I hardly even changed the 
names of local businesses. Highway 138 is locally known as 
Deathtrap Highway and Blood Alley. Every year we get funding to 
fix this Highway from Hell, and every year they manage to spend 
that money somewhere else. I dedicate this story to the hundred 
or so people who have died on this fifty mile stretch of road in 
the 10 years I've lived here. 

Special Thanks: To Donna, who I Emailed and asked for her aid in 
Beta reading, and though she didn't know me at all, graciously 
caught my few foibles and errors, probably saving me from future 
embarrassment. And thanks for the compliments too! 

Spoilers: Specifically "Anasazi", "Fire" and my favorite epidsode 
"Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose". Probably pieces of other shows 
too. 

Feedback: Please! What's the point of writing if no one reads it? 


DADeckert@prodigy.net. 




Blood Alley
By Deborah A. Deckert 

Pearblossom, California
August 2000
9:29 P.M. 

The fortune teller's sign was brightly lit by floodlights, but 
anyone could see the large splayed hand, covered with exaggerated 
lines, without the aid of the lights for the traffic on 
Pearblossom Highway was heavy with travelers from Los Angeles 
heading for Las Vegas for a weekend of fun in the sun. The sign 
proclaimed that fortunes and palm reading could be had for a 
reasonable price and a gold BMW was parked rather conspicuously 
next to a twenty year old beat up Toyota. 

Madame Chalise was a pretty woman, in her mid-thirties, with 
unusual silver hair, one black strand running from her temple. 
She puckered her brow in concentration as she looked at the palm 
of a young woman, who could not seem to sit still.





"So, I saw your sign and said to myself, 'Marilyn, you have got 
to stop! I need to know if I should really go to Las Vegas.' And 
I got all the way to the San Bernadino County line before I 
convinced myself to turn around and come back. Pearblossom. 
That's a funny name for a town that doesn't grow pears." The 
young, beautiful blonde woman stopped here for a breath, 
squinting down at her palm. "So, what do you see in my palm? 
Fortune? A happy marriage?" 

Madame Chalise looked up at the girl, then back at her palm. 
"There is money in your hand. Here." She pointed a long, 
perfectly manicured nail at the mound of flesh under Marilyn's 
index finger. "But I see no sudden windfalls." 

Marilyn giggled, squirming like a schoolgirl. "Yeah, well Daddy's 
a producer. Frank's got money too. He wants me to meet him in Las 
Vegas. So we can get married this weekend. Should I?" 

Chalise turned the girl's palm toward the bright light set up in 
a comfortable dining room to look more closely at her hand. Then 
she took the girl's other hand, looked at it carefully, drawing a 
deep breath. "How old are you?" 

"Can't you tell by looking at my hand?" 

"I would guess twenty-five." Chalise said, tracing a line with 
her fingernail. 

"Wow! Frank thinks I'm twenty-one! Hot damn! You are good!" 
Marilyn sighed. "So, should I marry him?" 

The silver haired woman furrowed her brow, searching for the 
right words to convey her message. She settled on bluntness. 
"Don't go to Las Vegas tonight. In fact, get back in your BMW and 
drive straight home to Beverly Hills." 

The blonde girl smiled. "Wow, you are good! How did you know I 
live in Beverly Hills?" 

"Lucky guess." Chalise said, grasping the girl's hands tightly. 
"Honey, don't go to Las Vegas. Don't hang around this town 
either. Get in your car and go straight home!" 

Marilyn shivered. "You're scaring me." She pulled her hands away 
and eyed them with trepidation. "What do you see in my hand?" 

Chalise shook her head emphatically. "Just go home." 

Marilyn nodded, opening her purse and laying a twenty on the 
table. "Frank can wait. For some reason I believe you." 

The young beauty got to her feet then, pulling her keys from her 
suede purse. "Thank you. I was expecting to hear a bunch of crap 
about tall, dark and handsome. Frank's all of five foot four. I 
will go home." Marilyn let herself out the door into the bright 
oncoming headlights of steady traffic. 

Chalise sat at the table a moment, then got up, going to the 
window and watching as the other woman got in her car and pulled 
out toward the highway. "Oh, Lord, when will it stop?"





Marilyn sat in her car watching the steady stream of headlights 
and fighting an inward battle with herself. She wanted to turn 
around and go straight home, but she found herself merging her 
vehicle into the eastern bound lane and accelerating out of the 
little town of Pearblossom toward Las Vegas. She snapped her cell 
phone open and hit the automatic dial. "Frank, I just had the 
weirdest conversation with a palm reader." She listened to his 
retort. "No, a fortune teller. She kinda freaked me out. Why 
can't we get married some other time? At home? A real wedding?" 
She hit the gas harder as she left the last vestiges of the small 
town. "I'm gonna turn the car around. Something bad is gonna 
happen. I just know it." 

In her rearview mirror, a red light appeared, flashing. Marilyn 
swore under her breath. "No, I didn't mean you, Frank." She 
sighed, slowing her car down and looking for a wide place to pull 
off the highway. "I've picked up the highway patrol. In a double 
fine zone. I'll call you back. No, Frank, I'm turning around 
right after I charm my way out of this speeding ticket." 

Marilyn disconnected her phone, brought her car to a stop and 
reached into her purse in search of her driver's license and 
proof of insurance. A bright light appeared through the driver's 
window as she rolled it down. She put her hand up to shield her 
eyes from the sudden glare. Her car door opened.. She screamed. 

************






Palmdale, California
Holiday Inn
4:38 A.M. 

White light from a muted television set cast a ghostly light over 
the typical motel room. Sudden pounding on the door caused the 
figure sleeping soundly to sit up groggily. Fox Mulder picked up 
the digital clock by the bed and eyed it, then reached over and 
turned on a light. Squinting from it's sudden glare, looking 
haggard, he sat on the side of the bed, running his hands through 
tousled, sweat soaked hair. The pounding began again. 

"Yeah, yeah, Scully. I'm coming!" Mulder yelled, reaching to the 
chair near the bed to retrieve his sweatpants and pull them over 
his boxer shorts. Slowly, the tall, lanky man picked his way over 
piles of papers spread out over the floor and reached the door, 
unlocking it and opening it. Then stepping away from the door, he 
leaned heavily against the wall. 

Agent Dana Scully entered the room, closing the door behind her. 
She looked completely fresh and well-rested, her auburn hair 
neatly in place, her outfit neatly pressed. Mulder felt annoyed. 
How could she do that? How could she get up in the middle of the 
night and put on such a professional attitude, when he, quite 
frankly, felt like garbage? He sagged against the wall.





"We have another victim." She said, carefully stepping over the 
papers on the floor. "Jeeesh, Mulder, you look like shit." 

What a way with words this petite woman had. And the truth of the 
matter was, he felt like shit. Why couldn't he get the flu in the 
middle of winter like other people? Why did he have to get it 
while profiling a case in the middle of the God awful Death 
Valley? Okay, it wasn't Death Valley, but it was the Mojave 
Desert. And it was August. And damn it was hot. Even at 
four-fucking-forty A.M. "I'm not feeling all that great." He 
admitted, bracing himself for the lecture sure to follow. 

"Well, I'm not surprised." The redhead said, glancing at the 
chaos around the room. "It's no wonder you got out of the violent 
crimes unit when you did. When you're profiling, you don't eat, 
you don't sleep..." 

"I WAS sleeping." He said as he brushed past her to sink heavily 
onto the bed. 

She gave him a smile, wading through the files and papers, 
bending to straighten up the mess. 

"Scully, DON'T!" He hollered, his voice gravelly. "It took me 
until two A.M. to get those in that order!" 

The pert redhead immediately restored the papers to their 
original condition. Carefully she picked up a pile from a chair 
and plopped down onto it. "Sorry, Mulder." But she wasn't really. 
That irked him about his partner sometimes. "Get dressed. We have 
to drive to the crime scene." She watched as he stood up and 
headed for the closet, pulling out his trousers and a clean 
shirt. "Some place called Llano. L-L-A-N-O, pronounced Yawn-O. 
They found the female victim in some ruins over there." 

Mulder went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. "Are you 
sure it's the same killer? The same M.O.?" 

Scully idly leafed through a pile of papers on the desk next to 
her. "Another absolutely stunning girl. Early twenties. Sexually 
assaulted and her heart was cut out. Eyes removed and stuffed in 
her mouth." She shifted in her seat. "Mulder, do you ever think 
we're getting too hardened in this job?" 

The water started running in the bathroom sink. "It's why I got 
out of VCU, Scully. If Skinner hadn't asked us to investigate, I 
sure as hell wouldn't be here." 

"This is so gruesome. Why would someone take out these women's 
eyes and put them in their mouths?" Scully asked, looking once 
again at the horrific photographs in a file next to her. 

"Shit!." Mulder exclaimed. 

"What?" His partner was on her feet in seconds. 

"Cut myself shaving! Dammit!" Mulder informed her through the 
half closed door. He couldn't admit to her that he was having 
trouble keeping his hands from shaking. 

Scully lowered herself back into her chair, crossing her little 
legs and leaning back. "Why do you think he takes out the eyes?" 

Mulder's voice echoed from the bathroom. "If thine eye offends 
thee, pluck it out?" 

She snickered. "And sticks them in their mouths?" 

Mulder exited the bathroom, shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose 
from his trouser that appeared a little too large. "I don't know 
Scully. I'm having a bitch of a time profiling this guy. Aside 
from the fact that he's murdered one woman a week on a Friday 
night for the last six weeks, I can't find any other connection. 
I know I'm missing something." He tucked in his shirt, dragging 
his tie off the chair. 

"Mulder, you're bleeding." Scully said, taking a piece of tissue 
from the desk and reaching up to blot at his latest wound. 

"Now we have another victim. I should have collared this guy by 
now." He pulled the tie around his neck, fumbling with it, then 
let it drop. "I'm missing something." 

Scully stood up, continuing to dab his chin. "It's not just you. 
The entire Sheriff's department can't make a connection either. 
Don't take it so personally." She reached up and grasped his tie. 
"Let me do that. You're shaking." (Damn, she noticed.) "Maybe you 
should take a day or two and just get some rest?" 

"It's just the flu. I'm okay." He said, bending over to pick up 
his shoes. 

"Your resistance is down. You aren't going to solve this case if 
you collapse." She told him, as he reached past her to grab a 
pair of socks and then returned to the bed, pulling them on and 
following up with his shoes. She picked up his suit jacket, 
offering it to him as he stood up. 

"You think I'll need my jacket today?" 

"Sure, Mulder, the news said it was going to be a cool day. Only 
95 degrees." 

"I hate the desert." Mulder announced. 

************ 

Llano, California
Highway 138
6:00 A.M.



They had no trouble finding the crime scene. The gold BMW was 
right on the side of the road, just four miles east of the town 
of Pearblossom. One of its tires was flat. Yellow tape surrounded 
the vehicle. Several sheriff's cars lined both sides of the busy 
highway. Scully pulled their rented vehicle in behind the tape, 
noting to her partner and herself that the frame around the BMW's 
license place read "Beverly Hills, Land of the Stars". As she 
turned off the car, Mulder got out of the passenger seat, 
immediately removing his jacket. 

"Six AM and already hotter than hell." He said, folding the 
jacket and laying it across the seat before slamming the car 
door. 

"Quit whining, Mulder." But she also removed her jacket, 
revealing her service weapon tucked into the back of her slacks. 
She smiled as a Sheriff's deputy approached them, carrying two 
styrofoam coffee cups. 

Brandon Hicks, a good looking man in his mid-thirties, handed 
Dana Scully a cup of coffee, then put the other cup on the top of 
the car for Mulder. Brandon took a moment to take in the sight of 
the beautiful redheaded FBI agent he'd been trying to date for 
the last two weeks. Mulder took a sip of his coffee. 

"Great. Diesel fuel for breakfast." 

Hicks laughed. "Sorry, Agent Mulder. If you like, I can get you 
some stale, taste like cardboard, donuts to go with your diesel 
fuel." He exchanged a glance with Dana. "I don't have any spare 
men to send over the mountain right now for designer coffee." 

"Got any sugar?" Mulder asked. 

Scully gave her partner an assessing look as Deputy Hicks dug a 
handful of small packets out of his pocket and handed them to 
Mulder. The agent put the coffee down on the roof of the rental, 
opened several sugars and poured them into the coffee. Taking a 
pen from his pocket, he stirred the coffee violently. 

Brandon took Scully by the elbow, waiting at the side of the road 
for a break in traffic to cross the street. "A local man found 
the body over there a three A.M." 

Scully frowned, looking across the road at what appeared to be 
stone ruins. "What was a local doing out here at three A.M.?" 

The deputy laughed. "Believe it or not, he owns an ostrich farm 
right over there..." Hicks motioned to the west. "One of his 
ostriches got out and he and his dog were out here looking for 
it. Apparently he stumbled on a coyote which had found the body. 
Damned scavenger. Well, it's not a pretty sight." 

Mulder took a sip of the coffee, made a face and stirred it some 
more.





Scully frowned in concentration. "So what do you think happened?" 


"What do I think?" Hicks scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "I 
think the girl had a flat tire and the killer was either stalking 
her, or just happened to be driving by, and boom...another 
homicide. There's an extra set of tire tread marks behind the 
BMW. We'll make a mold." 

Scully nodded. Mulder came around the car to join them. "The 
stalking would be more plausible, considering the killer has only 
been killing on Friday nights." 

"So you think he was stalking her and got lucky when she had a 
flat tire?" Hicks asked the FBI agent. 

"That would be awfully convenient, don't you think?" Mulder said, 
sipping the coffee carefully. "I don't think she had a flat tire. 
Check that tire and see if there was a puncture or if someone 
just let the air out after the fact. I think she was pulled over. 
By someone impersonating a cop. Or by a cop." 

"That won't be a very popular theory around here." Deputy Hicks 
stated the obvious. 

"I've never been voted Mr. Popularity." He looked across the 
road. "Where's the body?" 

Hicks motioned across the highway. "Over there. In the ruins of 
what used to be a Russian Commune back in 1912." 

They all stood, watching traffic flow past them. "Busy highway." 
Scully said. 

"Yeah, and deadly." Brandon said, taking her elbow more securely 
to dash across the two lane road. Mulder beat them across and 
headed toward the yellow tape at a trot. "Where'd your partner 
come up with that theory? It's kind of a leap." 

She shrugged. "He does that a lot. You get used to it. He's right 
a lot of the time." 

"Are we still on for dinner tonight, Dana?" Brandon stopped, 
turning to look at her. 

"Sure, if this new murder doesn't tie us up." Scully said, 
glancing toward the taped off area and her partner scanning the 
area carefully. 

Hicks frowned. "You still have to eat." 

"I know, but if Mulder has a lead to pursue...." 

"That partner of yours doesn't let you have much of a life, does 
he?" Brandon asked, frustration creeping into his voice.





Dana Scully furrowed her brow, glancing at the attractive man in 
front of her. "Listen, Brandon, we're not out here on vacation. 
I've enjoyed the dinners we've had together, but the case comes 
first." She hoped she'd been firm enough. Sometimes this deputy 
reminded her of the overeager Saint Bernard her best friend had 
owned years ago. 

He shrugged good naturedly. "I know. I'm a jerk. It's just that I 
really like you, Dana." 

Scully smiled. It was nice getting some attention from this 
handsome devil. "I like you too." 

With an apologetic look, she left the deputy to walk over and 
stand by her partner who was crouching on the ground by a pile of 
ostrich dung. "Mulder, what is that?" 

Mulder took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. "I think it's bird 
excrement. Big bird." 

Scully took an involuntary step back. "Ugh." 

"Probably tastes better than this coffee." He announced, tossing 
the foul tasting stuff into the desert behind him. 

"You'll hurt Deputy Hicks feelings the way you insult his 
coffee." Scully chided gently. 

"I can't believe you can drink that stuff, Scully." He said. "It 
must be love." 

Scully chose to ignore that snide remark. "So, why are we looking 
at ostrich...er...manure?" 

Mulder stood up, a little shaky. "I think that's a partial 
footprint, Scully. Guess the ostrich was out here before the 
murder took place. Too bad ostriches can't talk." 

"Like big bird." 

"So can you get a casting out of that so we can get a shoe size?" 


"You want me to take a casting out of bird crap?" 

Mulder gave her a quick smile. "Well, it's the only thing soft 
enough around her for miles. I'd say we got a break." 

"You're gonna owe me big time for this." Scully informed him. 

"Tell you what. I won't mess up your "big" date with Hicks 
tonight. How's that?" 

"It's a start, Gman." 

Mulder looked down at the partial footprint again. "Hey, Scully?" 


"Yeah?" 

"How many euphemisms are there for "shit" anyway?" 

She stared at him for a long moment. "I'll get a casting after we 
take a look at the body." 

He grinned at her, then took her by the arm and walked with her 
over to where a group of law enforcement officers stood around 
the body, sipping coffee, eating donuts, laughing and talking. 
Hicks came to join the pair as they knelt by the victim. Mulder 
put his arm up to his mouth. Even Scully made a face. 

"I have a whole new respect for coyotes." Mulder stated. 

Scully pulled on some gloves. "What a mess. I'll have to deal 
with this during the autopsy." 

Mulder stood, unsteadily. Scully pulled the gloves off 
immediately. "I'm going to stay here until the Medical Examiner 
arrives." She eyed her partner. "You feeling okay?" 

"I'll survive." 

Scully sighed. The man would survive up until the moment he 
keeled over. Oh well, there was nothing she could do about his 
pig-headed behavior. "Why don't you talk with the man who found 
the body?" 

Hicks nodded. "I'll take you over there. Not that you'll get 
anything outta him that we didn't already get." 

The ostrich farm was set up on twenty acres. Ten pipe corrals 
formed two rows. There were two ostriches per corral, each one 
standing eight to twelve feet tall. John Ranklin, a man in his 
mid-thirties was walking with a bucket past each corral, plopping 
a mixture of corn, lettuce and raw meat into the feeder. A 
raunchy looking dog trailed behind. 

The sheriff's vehicle pulled up and Hicks and Mulder got out, 
approaching the bird man, who wore bib overalls and hadn't shaved 
in a few days. "Deputy Hicks." John said by way of greeting. 
"Long time no see." 

Hicks gave him a smile. "John, this is Special Agent Mulder with 
the FBI. He wants to ask you some questions." 

Ranklin held out his hand and Mulder eyed it a moment before 
shaking the hand that was doling out an unsavory looking snack 
for the huge birds. "Well, not much to tell. I was at the bar 
until about closing. I came home and came out here to check on 
the birds and discovered one of the birds was missing. Our "pet" 
ostrich, if you will. So I took my dog, Fox, and we went out to 
look for her." He pointed to the dog sitting at his feet. 

"Your dog's name is Fox?" Hicks asked, smiling broadly. Mulder 
glared at him.





"Yeah, " John continued. "Anyway, Fox heads off toward the ruins 
and I follow him and we chase off a coyote that's feeding off 
that poor girl. I come right back home and called the cops. And 
that's pretty much the whole story." 

Mulder walked over to look at an ostrich that stared back at him 
with eyes bigger than its brain. "Did you find the missing bird?" 


An unrestrained ostrich walked up behind John. Mulder and Hicks 
stepped back a few feet instinctively. John fed this bird the 
remainder of the food. 

"It's okay. 'Brat' is the family pet. She found me and followed 
me back to the ranch." 

"I didn't realize ostriches could be tamed." Mulder said. 

"It's unusual, but not unheard of. I hand raised her. She pretty 
much follows me everywhere. Her and Fox." The dog jumped up on 
the farmer when he heard his name. "Fox, DOWN! Fox, STAY!" 

Mulder gives the dog a thoughtful look. "Thanks for your time, 
Mr. Ranklin." 

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help." Ranklin said. 

Mulder started toward the car, then turned to look back. "You can 
see the highway from here at night? Did you see anything 
unusual?" 

"Like I said I was at the bar in Pearblossom from around 9 to 
closing." 

"Right. You did say that." Mulder nodded to the man and headed 
for the car, Hicks catching up with him. 

Hicks shivered. "Those birds give me the creeps. They're like 
dinosaurs." He paused to open his door. "You get anything out of 
him that we missed?" 

Mulder shook his head, opening his own door. 

"Isn't your first name Fox?" Hicks asked innocently. Mulder 
glared at him a moment, then got into the car, slamming the door. 


************* 

Lancaster, California
Lancaster Sheriff's Station
10:00 A.M.



The conference room was cluttered with crime photos, maps and 
notes plastered all over the walls. Mulder was seated in a chair, 
his feet on the large table, looking at the photos. Scully 
entered the room carrying a fast food bag, which she handed to 
Mulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. 

"Eat Mulder. I know you haven't today." 

He eyed the bag suspiciously. 

"It's a breakfast burrito. It's full of things that will clog 
your arteries. Eggs... sausage... hashed browns..." 

He grinned at her, taking the bag and opening it. "You're a life 
saver." 

"Tell me that when you have your first bypass surgery." 

Hicks entered with coffee, setting one in front of Mulder and 
then handing one to Scully. He pulled out a stack of sugar 
packets and tossed them on the table. Mulder glanced over at 
Scully who sipped the coffee casually. "The M.E. called and said 
the autopsy is set for 2 P.M." Mulder said, taking a bite of the 
burrito, nodding his approval to his partner. Sometimes she could 
save the day. Then he sipped the coffee, made a face and started 
pouring sugar into it as he filled them in. 

"I've been reviewing this case. I still can't come up with a 
common link. Aside from the fact that every woman was drop dead 
gorgeous. And if that's the key, we're in deep shit, because the 
world is full of beautiful women. And Southern California has 
more than its fair share. He has his pick." He stood up suddenly, 
taking the coffee with him, crossing over to a photo on the wall. 


"So what do we do?" Hicks asks, sitting down and stretching out 
his legs. 

Mulder sighed. "I know I'm missing something. Let me go over it 
again." 

Mulder pointed to a picture of a beautiful, young redhead. "First 
victim. Delia Thomas. Age 19. Worked at a local movie theater 
nights, going to the community college during the day. Body found 
near her home in Rosamond, along Avenue "D". 

"Her eyes weren't cut out though. I'm not so sure she was one of 
his victims." Scully went to the map, took a push pin and marked 
the location of the site of the crime. 

"I'm pretty sure she was. Friday night. Beautiful girl." He 
turned to another picture of a gorgeous brunette. "Second victim. 
Felicity Morgan. The reason we're on this case. She's the 
daughter of an old marine buddy of Skinner's. Age 22." 

Scully looked down at a file. "Worked as a receptionist at an 
Insurance Agency. Engaged to be married. Lived in Hesperia." She 
looks back at the map.





"About 70 miles from where the first victim was found." Mulder 
walked over and pointed at the map. Scully pushed in another pin. 


Brandon leaned his elbows on the table. "Third victim. Roberta 
Howley, aged 26, mother of three. On her way up to Mountain High 
for a girls night out. Her body was found not far from her car." 
He got up and went to stand beside Dana. "Here." He pointed, then 
glanced at the picture of an adorable blonde woman. 

Scully put yet a push pin into the map. Mulder strolled over to 
take another bite of the burrito, then focused on a picture of a 
stunning redhead. He looked at the picture a moment. 

"Janna Rich, model, age 24. On her way from San Francisco to Big 
Bear for her sister's wedding. She's the only non-local girl 
aside from this new victim. Body was found in Phelan." Scully 
pushed in another pin. 

"Fifth victim, pretty lady." Mulder indicated a photo of a 
brunette. "Nadine Hart, lived in Littlerock. California, not 
Arkansas. Worked in Los Angeles as an accountant." He looked at 
the map a moment. "Hell of a commute." 

Hicks shrugged. "Since the aerospace business went under, about 
eighty percent of the people who live here commute down to Los 
Angeles everyday. Three hours a day on the freeway. If they're 
lucky and no one has an accident." 

Mulder coughed, turning slightly green. "Excuse me a moment." He 
said, setting down his burrito and coffee, leaving the room 
quickly. Scully pushed in a pin. "And today's victim was found 
here." She pushed in the final pin, then reached down, picking up 
a coffee cup. 

"That's Mulder's coffee, Dana. Yours is over there. You're sweet 
enough without all that sugar." Hicks said, winking at the 
attractive lady. 

Scully picked up her own coffee. "Brandon, when we were driving 
back from the scene today, I noticed a couple billboards calling 
Highway 138 'Deathtrap Highway'." 

He nodded, wandering back over to his chair and straddling it. 
"Highway 138 has the most fatalities of any highway in 
California. I think it's rated fourth most dangerous highway in 
the United States. They call it Blood Alley and Deadman's Road 
too." 

Mulder re-entered the room, tie loosened, shirt opened a few 
buttons, dabbing a paper towel to his face. 

"Mulder, I have a theory that's almost as weird as one of yours." 
Scully announced. 

Mulder grinned, walking over to join her while she stared at the 
map. "You're turning me on."





Scully laughed once. "Every victim was on Highway 138. Avenue "D" 
is considered Highway 138, right, Brandon?" At his nod. "All the 
victims drove this highway daily. They call it Deathtrap Highway 
and Blood Alley." She glanced at Mulder to see him grinning at 
her. 

"So you think the highway has something to do with these 
killings? Murder by freeway? Road Rage with a twist? I'm sure 
some of the commuters in this valley would agree with you." 

Scully mentally counted to ten. "What I'm saying is whoever is 
doing the killing is picking his victims on Highway 138." Mulder 
nodded, grinning like a goon. "Mulder, you look like hell. Are 
you all right?" 

"I think I have the flu." 

Scully reached up, putting her hand to his forehead. "Only you 
could get the flu in August. You do have a fever though. Why 
don't you take the rental and go back to the motel? Brandon can 
take me over for the autopsy." 

Mulder was already reaching for his jacket. "Good idea, Mom." 

Scully tossed him the keys, which he managed to catch after a 
slight fumble. "Take a couple aspirin and get some sleep." 

He headed for the door. "Nag, nag, nag..." 

Scully scrunched her brow. "I heard that Mulder." 

He closed the door behind him. Scully looked after him in 
concern. Brandon looked confused. "What's wrong, Dana?" 

"Mulder never takes my advice. He must be really sick." 

"He's a big boy." Hicks said. "Now about this theory the victims 
are being selected on Highway 138. I think you might be on to 
something." 

Scully nodded, but concern was evident in her face. 

***********



Palmdale, California
Holiday Inn
1:00 P.M.




Mulder stumbled from the shower into the freshly made bed. He was 
furious with himself for not putting out the "Do Not Disturb" 
sign when he'd left this morning, hence all his hard work sorting 
papers now lay in one pile on the desk. His stomach felt like it 
had been looking at microfiche for hours. He needed dramamine and 
he needed it now. He fell face first onto the crisp linens and 
buried his face in the pillow. Why did motels always have such 
flat pillows, anyway? He took the other pillow and put it on top 
of the first one. 

When he'd come in, he'd stripped off his clothes, turned the air 
conditioning unit down to sixty-five and hopped into a lukewarm 
shower. God, it was hot outside. The news may have predicted 96 
degrees, but it had already hit 106 according to the local radio 
station. One of two as far as he could ascertain. One played 
country and western and the other seemed fond of "Smash Mouth" 
and "BareNaked Ladies". He'd settled on that one. 

Now, lying naked on the bed, the sheets cool beneath him, he let 
his mind drift over the events of the day. Scully smiling up at 
that slobbering puppy of a deputy. He grimaced. Why shouldn't she 
date the man? Not like it would stick anyway. They'd catch this 
perp sooner or later and head home to D.C. At least she was 
eating for free. 

Food. His stomach roiled. That burrito had tasted pretty damn 
good after that coffee from hell. Too bad it didn't stay down 
very long. Mulder hated the flu almost as much as he hated the 
desert. He reached down and pulled a sheet up over his still damp 
body. 

Sleep came quickly.





His alarm clock was blaring! He reached over and hit it several 
times, but it didn't stop. Mulder forced an eye open. The clock 
read 1:30 P.M. He'd had a whole half hours sleep. Better than 
nothing, but not by much. He reached over and picked up the 
phone. The horrible noise stopped. 

"Hello?" 

"Agent Mulder? My name is Chalise Gillette. I got your number 
from a friend over at the Sheriff's Station. The girl who died 
last night... Marilyn? I think I might have been the last person 
to see her alive. Aside from the killer, of course." 

Mulder sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Have you reported this to 
the Sheriff's department?" 

There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the phone. "In 
all honesty, I'm hesitant to talk to local authorities. There's 
some bad blood between us." 

Mulder sighed, pulling on fresh boxers. "Where are you?" 

"I can meet you at "The Cactus", in Pearblossom. It's the local 
dance hall and saloon. It's air conditioned too, which I like on 
days like this." 

"I saw it this morning." Mulder responded, "I'm on my way."





"You can't miss me." The feminine voice on the other end said. "I 
have silver hair." 

Mulder hung up the phone, picked up his discarded trousers and 
stared at them. Damned if he was going to put a suit back on. He 
went to a drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans. 

********* 

Lancaster Morgue
Autopsy Bay
2:45 P.M. 

Scully, wearing scrubs and protective glasses, was elbow deep in 
the middle of an autopsy. Brandon Hicks entered, gagged, then 
managed to control himself. 

"How's it going?" He asked from a distance. 

Scully placed a lung on the scale. "It's going okay. Nothing 
different. We have semen traces, but without a suspect we're 
still in the dark. Can't do a DNA match without a suspect. But if 
we catch the guy, we have enough evidence to put him away for 
good." 

Hicks inspected the ceiling. "Why do you suppose he cuts out 
their eyes and puts them in their mouths?" 

Scully made a note on a piece of paper and removed the lung from 
the scale. "I don't know. Mulder would come up with some bizarre 
idea about keeping her mouth shut about what she saw." 

"Just how close are you and Mulder?" He asked, finally getting to 
the question he most wanted to ask her. 

Scully paused a minute, wondering where the hell that came from? 
Men could be so insecure. She smiled. "He's been my partner for 
seven years. Pretty close, I guess." 

"Have you two ever dated?" 

'Ah, now I get it!' Scully thought. "In my own way I care very 
much about Mulder. But I can tell you right now, I couldn't live 
with the man. I'd shoot him inside of a week." At Hicks relieved 
look. "So, I'm famished. Where are we going for dinner?" 

Hicks looked at Scully and the cadaver, swallowing hard. Food was 
the last thing on his mind right now. "Italian?" 

Scully put the intestines on the scale. "Hmmm, I love Italian 
sausage."





Hicks could take no more, dashing from the room. Scully smiled to 
herself. "Men can be such wimps." She reached up to turn the 
recorder on. "Intestines weigh....." 

********** 

Pearblossom, California
The Cactus Saloon & Dance Hall
2:45 P.M. 

Mulder pulled the rental into a parking space behind the bar. 
There were a lot of cars there for a Saturday afternoon. 
'Everyone in town must want to get out of the heat' he thought to 
himself, entering the bar. 

The bar was smokey, despite the State wide ordinance banning 
cigarette smoking in restaurants and bars in California. The 
walls were covered with photographs of old western stars. There 
was a shuffle board lining one wall, a dart board, and a pool 
table. All in use. Country Music blasted from the juke box. 
Mulder paused in the doorway, scanning the crowd. He spotted a 
woman with silver hair in the corner by the wall, nursing a glass 
of wine, and approached her. 

"Agent Mulder?" 

"Chalise Gillette?" At her nod he slid onto the barstool beside 
her. The bartender, a tall, lanky man, stopped in front of 
Mulder. 

"What'll it be?" 

Chalise eyed him a moment. "They make great iced tea here. Plain, 
no booze." 

Mulder felt immediate relief. Iced tea would sooth his sore 
throat. "I love iced tea. It's like a furnace outside." 

"Yeah, but it's a dry heat." At his look of confusion. "Sorry, 
desert humor." 

Mulder settled a little, glancing around the room. "So what can 
you tell me about Marilyn Zachar?" 

Chalise sipped her wine, eyeing the man next to her. (What a 
hunk. Probably taken.) "Not much really. She was going to Vegas 
to get married. Her lifeline ended abruptly. I tried to convince 
her to turn around and go home to Beverly Hills, but she didn't 
listen." 

Mulder stared at her. "Her lifeline?" 

"Oh, I'm the local fortune teller. You passed my place driving 
through town. You probably saw it." Chalise informed him.





Mulder nodded as the bartender puts an iced tea in front of him. 
Chalise pushed a dollar toward the bartender who took the money 
and left. "How did you know she lived in Beverly Hills?" 

Chalise shrugged. "It was on the license frame of her BMW. A lot 
of fortune telling is just plain old observation. And anyone can 
learn Palmistry by reading a book on it. I just happen to be very 
good at it, and a little empathetic, which helps a lot." 

"So her lifeline ended abruptly?" (Maybe this was an X-file?) 

"Yes, on her right hand. But on her left hand it was a nice, long 
line." She shivered. "Then I just suddenly knew that she would 
die very soon." 

"So on the basis of a lifeline, you called me out here." (Hell, 
Mulder, you've gone off on tangents on less evidence than this... 
you must be feeling like shit.) 

"Hardly, Agent Mulder." Chalise was genuinely insulted. "On the 
basis of SIX lifelines I called you out here. This wasn't the 
first time. I had met all the victims. Three of them were regular 
customers." 

Maybe this was finally the connection he was looking for. Mulder 
leaned towards her, arms against the bar. "You knew all six 
victims?" 

Chalise nodded. "Agent Mulder, I'm not a strong believer in 
coincidence. Something horrible is going on, and I think the 
killer is picking his victims because they came to me." 

"Why do you think he would do that?" 

"Oh, Lord, I'm a fortune teller, not a mind reader!" 

*********




Littlerock, California
Highway 138
4:15 P.M. 

Brandon was at the wheel of his civilian automobile, Scully 
sitting beside him. Both had changed into casual clothing and 
Scully was enjoying her chance to get out on the town. She gazed 
at Brandon's profile through her lashes. He was a good looking 
man. God, it had been a long time since she'd spent any time with 
a man. 'Well', she shrugged, 'Mulder doesn't count.' 

"It's a bit of a drive to this Italian place, but the food is 
great. But it doesn't open for another two hours. I thought we'd 
stop at this saloon up ahead and get a cool one, and I'll teach 
you how to play darts." He glanced at her anxiously, hoping she'd 
approve his plans.





'Well, why not?' thought Dana Scully, 'Mulder is sick and needs 
to rest. I deserve a little time off.' Okay, her conscious was 
appeased. "Sure, that sounds like fun." 

Brandon smiled. 'She likes me.' he thought. 'She really really 
likes me.' 

*********** 

The Cactus
4:25 P.M. 

In the background, the song "You Dun Stomped On My Heart" played 
on the juke box. Mulder was relaxing with a fresh iced tea. The 
tea and the lemon actually seemed to be helping his throat. 

"So the hair just turned silver almost overnight. I was, what, 
about twenty-two when it happened. Maybe it was the horror of 
seeing my two best friends killed at twin bridges. I would have 
died too if I hadn't insisted on driving my own car. After that I 
tried coloring it. First red, then brunette, then I bleached it 
blonde, but I gave up doing that about five years ago. I'm used 
to it now. And my clients think it makes me "spooky". " 

Mulder gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Spooky. Been called that 
myself. " He sipped his iced tea. Man it was nice to be in an air 
conditioned bar sucking up caffeine. "So tell me about the 
victims?" 

"Those poor women." Chalise hugged herself. "They all had abrupt 
lifelines. But see, that's what was so strange. On my three 
regular clients they'd always had NORMAL lifelines when I'd seen 
them before. That really spooked me. Lifelines don't change 
suddenly." She pauses, reaching for her wine glass. "At least, 
I'd never seen it happen before." She downed what was left of her 
wine and put the glass out to indicate she wanted another drink.. 


(Ah, an X-file, back on familiar footing.) "So that's pretty 
weird, right?" 

"Yeah, it's weird. Give me your hand." Chalise held her own hands 
out. Mulder gave her his left hand and she traced his lifeline. 

"So that's my lifeline?" 

"Yours is pretty normal, I suppose, for an FBI agent. Looks like 
you've had some close calls. But theirs... theirs all cut off 
around here." She made a slashing motion with her fingernail. 
Mulder retrieved his hand. 

"So, you believe this stuff?" He asked. 

"Well yeah, and according to your hand, you do too." She paused 
as the bartender put down a fresh drink. "But I'm the town witch, 
ask anyone."





Mulder pushed a couple dollars at the bartender, who took them. 
"More like the town bitch." He said, giving Mulder a wink before 
going about his business. 

Chalise took a sip of her wine and shrugged. "Small town 
mentality." She traced the top of the wine glass with sensual 
fingers. "So anyway, Delia loved having her fortune told. She 
came to see me about once a month." She took the napkin from 
under her glass and dabbed at her eyes. "The second girl, 
Felicity, she stopped to see me every week. I was on her way home 
from work. I read her cards. The third one...." Chalise waved her 
hands around in the air. 

"Roberta Howley." Mulder supplied. 

"Yeah, man, you have a good memory. Anyway, she was on her way up 
to Wrightwood to meet some girlfriends and was running early, so 
she just stopped in to see me to kill a half hour. Pardon the 
expression. She had a short lifeline too." 

"At this point, weren't you getting just a tad suspicious?" he 
asked. 

"Not really. Local news sucks hind tit. They really didn't start 
covering it until that model got killed. Janna Rich." Chalise 
stared long and hard into her glass, almost as if dredging up 
visions in a crystal ball. 

"And she stopped at your place too?" 

"She came to see me as a total lark. Said she'd been driving for 
hours and just wanted to get out of the car for a bit. Poor kid." 
Chalise sniffed back a tear. "That's when I started to worry. 
When the news started talking serial killer." 

Mulder handed her a fresh napkin from the pile in front of him. 
"And the fifth victim?" 

"Nadine. Nadine and I went to school together. She just dropped 
in to say "Hi" and I glanced at her lifeline and I totally 
freaked! I told her to be careful for a few days, but she just 
laughed at me." The seer looked up and saw Brandon Hicks and Dana 
Scully entering the bar. "Oh, Lordy, my Ex-Boyfriend just came 
in!" 

Mulder glanced over at the door, hunching down. "Brandon Hicks is 
your ex-boyfriend?" 

"That's why I didn't go to the Sheriff's department with this 
information!" She whispered. 

Mulder nodded. "Yeah, well, he's with my partner." 

Chalise sighed dramatically. "I hate small towns. Oh my god, they 
saw us!"





Scully walked into the blissfully air conditioned barroom with 
Brandon anticipating nothing more than a cold mug of beer and a 
little dart throwing. Seeing her partner upon entering, she found 
she was angry. Angry that he was sitting with a beautiful woman 
with incredible silver hair, drinking what looked like a 
high-ball, when he should be home in bed feeling like crap. 
Schooling her features into what she hoped was a pleasant 
expression, she approached the pair keeping pace with Brandon. 
Brandon surprised her by speaking to the woman, venom in his icy 
tone. 

"Hello, Lisa. Fancy meeting you here." 

"Get lost, Brandon." Short and to the point.. 

Mulder and Scully exchanged surprised glances. Hicks now pinned 
down Mulder with his furious gaze. "Hello Agent Mulder... feeling 
better?" 

Scully could get into this. "Yes, Mulder. Feeling better?" 

Scully slid onto the barstool next to Mulder. Mulder attempted to 
save the situation, not quite sure why Hicks was suddenly acting 
like a bull in a prize fight. "Scully, this is Chalise Gillette. 
Chalise, this is my partner, Dana Scully." 

'Things aren't going so well.' he thought as the two women eyed 
each other warily. "She has information on the case." That should 
get him out of hot water. He hoped. 

Hicks laughed, but he didn't sound amused. "I wouldn't take 
anything Lisa has to say very seriously. She's the town joke. Not 
to mention the local tramp." 

(That does it. I knew he was a jerk!) Mulder stood up quickly. 

Chalise put her hand on his arm. "It's not worth it." 

Mulder shrugged off her hand. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't 
insult the lady in my presence." 

Hicks pointedly looked straight at Chalise. "I don't see any 
lady." 

'Okay, that's enough', Scully thought. 'I sure know how to pick 
them.' She put her hand on Hick's arm. "Brandon..." 

Chalise grabbed Mulder's arm again, more forcefully. "Let's just 
get out of here." She collected her purse and got up. 

"You know Hicks, " Mulder says, "I've been trying to like you for 
Scully's sake. But I think you need to apologize to the lady 
right now. That was uncalled for." 

"I agree." Chimed in Scully. 

(Yikes, how did we get back on the same side again?) 

The bartender approached cautiously. "I think you gents had 
better take it outside." 

Hicks ignored the bartender. "I won't apologize to that bitch in 
heat!" 

Mulder threw the first punch. (Those knuckles are gonna hurt like 
a bear real soon.) He ducked as Brandon tossed a punch back at 
him, catching him in the jaw. 'What am I doing? This guy is at 
least five years younger and has thirty pounds on me easy?' and 
Mulder landed another one. 

The bartender came out from behind the bar, hoping to break it 
up. He looked at Chalise in dismay. "Should I call the cops?" 

Chalise sighed. "Hell, Charlie. They ARE the cops." 

Scully stepped off to one side, watching the bar fight progress 
with a perplexed expression on her face. She watched as Mulder 
took a blow to the ribs. 'Oh, that's gonna feel good when he's 
puking up his guts later.' She picked up Mulder's drink. 
'Drinking what?' She sniffed it, then tasted it. 'Iced tea?' 
Okay, maybe he really was working on the case. 'Oh, nice one, 
Mulder, Brandon is gonna have a shiner from that fist.' 

The bartender waded in with a couple big fellows who had been 
playing pool and together they pulled the fighters apart. Mulder 
was more than happy to quit. 'Way too old for this.' The men 
dragged Brandon out the front door. Scully took Mulder's arm and 
propelled him out the back. Once outside, Mulder sank down on the 
ground, placing his back against the wall. Scully took his face 
in her hands and inspected his split lower lip. 

"Honestly Mulder." 

Scully went back into the building. Chalise came out the back 
door. "You okay?" 

"Compared to what?" He mumbled, already feeling his lip swell. 

Man, that was it. Scully was gonna kill him. Speaking of whom, 
she was bending beside him with a bowl and a towel, once again 
examining his face. "Well, Mulder, you got off pretty lightly. 
You only broke one chair and one table. Fifty dollars from you 
and fifty dollars from Brandon and the owner is willing to forget 
all about your little bar fight." She dabbed the towel in the 
bowl and then patted his lip with the towel. 

"Owwww!" 

"Tough it out, He-Man. Of all the lame things to do!" Scully 
said. 

Chalise stood a few feet away, wringing her blouse in her hands. 
"I thought it was kind of nice, defending my honor and all..." 

Mulder glanced around. "How's Hicks?" 

Scully cracked a slight smile. "I think you broke his nose. Not 
that he didn't deserve it." 

Mulder tried to smile, wincing from the pain. "Honeymoon over so 
soon?" 

Scully dipped the towel again and applied it none to gently. 
Mulder cringed. "So, I was a bad judge of character." (Wasn't the 
first time, won't be the last, probably.) 

Chalise looked around the parking lot and then glanced inside the 
bar. "Where is Brandon, anyway?" 

"I shoved him in his car and sent him home. I think you're going 
to need me to drive you anyway, Mulder." She stood up, tossing 
the bloodied towel into the bowl. "Let me return these things and 
then I'll take you back to the motel so you can lick your 
wounds." She took the bowl and went into the bar. 

Chalise approached Mulder slowly. She bent down next to him, 
taking his right hand. "I'm sorry I got you into this." 

He shrugged. (Man, even shrugging hurts.) "You didn't do 
anything. That creep needed a lesson in manners." 

Chalise glanced down at his hand, then put her hand gently on his 
face. "How about I make you dinner tomorrow night? Try and make 
up for it?" 

Mulder rubbed his jaw with his left hand. "I doubt I'll be eating 
solid food for a few days. I'll be in touch with you if I have 
any more questions. At least I understand now why you didn't want 
to talk to the Sheriff's office." 

Mulder stood up slowly, letting Chalise help him find his 
balance. She took his hand once again. Scully came out of the 
building in time to witness this touching little scene. 

"There's something wrong here..." Chalise said. 

Scully approached them. "Come on Mulder, let's get you home 
before you stiffen up too badly. Don't you think you're getting a 
little OLD for barroom brawls?" She went to the rental, opening 
the passenger door. Mulder walked unsteadily to the door, getting 
in. "By the way, you owe me fifty dollars." She slammed the door.





**********



Palmdale, California
Holiday Inn
7:00 P.M.



Mulder had just fallen onto the bed. Scully had forced him to sit 
down in a local chain restaurant called Carrow's that actually 
had pretty good food and he'd managed to eat some beef stew that 
seemed to actually be settling safely on his stomach. He was 
pulling off his tennis shoes when the phone ran. 

"Mulder." He answered, tugging at a sock. 'Please don't let it be 
another emergency. I'm way too tired.' 

"Agent Mulder, I was just calling to get an update on this case." 
Assistant Director Skinner's voice was loud and clear. 

'Shit', Mulder thought, glancing at his watch. Did the man never 
rest? It was ten o'clock on a Saturday night in Washington D.C. 
"Well, Sir, we may have had a break in the case today?" 

"As well as a break in some barroom furniture?" 

He'd kill her. How dare Scully report his little lapse into 
juvenile behavior to their superior? "Well, Sir. That's been 
taken care of. I'm rather surprised Scully mentioned that." 

"Oh, she never said a word. I called the Sheriff's department 
first and apparently everyone thinks it's rather a big joke. No 
one particularly likes the Deputy that you're assigned to work 
with. This Brandon Hicks. Did you know that?" Skinner enquired. 

'Hell,' Mulder sighed, 'Some profiler I am if I didn't even 
notice.' He laid back on the bed, propping the flat pillows up 
behind him. "Well Sir, it doesn't surprise me, considering the 
man is a jackass." He heard laughter on the other end of the 
line. "But, I believe we do have a lead. Hopefully we'll be able 
to catch the killer before he strikes again." 

"I did speak with Agent Scully on a matter other than your 
barroom brawl. She says you have the flu and she thinks it might 
be affecting your judgement." His voice was neutral. Scully 
immediately went back on Mulder's hit list. "It's true I haven't 
been feeling well, Sir, but it's just a stomach bug. I feel 
confident we can solve this case and be home by next weekend." 
Mulder said, hoping he wasn't slitting his own throat. 

"All right then. Please keep me informed. Roberta Howley's father 
wants results. I want my old friend to know we did all we could 
to catch his daughter's killer." Walter Skinner hung up. 

Mulder stared at the phone. Great, now Skinner was hanging up on 
him just like Scully did. Well come to think of it, he hung up on 
Scully all the time too. He replaced the phone in its cradle and 
sat up to pull off his shirt. He was getting WAY too old to be 
fighting. Mulder tossed the shirt aside, standing up to remove 
his jeans. He glanced in the mirror over the desk. What a nice 
bruise he had on his right ribs. He crossed to the mirror, 
turning on the light on the desk. What a nice swollen lip he had 
too. Mulder shrugged, again noting that shrugging hurt and 
crawled into bed wearing just his boxer's. 





At least it wasn't hot anymore. He'd left the air conditioning on 
all day and the room was a frosty 65 degrees when he'd returned. 
He punched the pillows a couple times, grabbed the remote to turn 
on the television, pushed the mute button and was out cold. 

Holiday Inn
9:13 (the writer's birthday) P.M. 

Hard knocking on the motel room door woke him from a sound sleep. 
Mulder pushed himself off the bed, groaning from his various 
bruises and sore muscles and groped around for his discarded 
jeans. More knocking. "I'm OKAY, Scully. If you would *can* the 
mother hen impressions I might actually get some sleep." He 
yelled as he pulled on his jeans. Then he crossed to the door, 
unlocked it, and flung it open. 

A sheepish looking Brandon Hicks stood on the other side of the 
door, a bakery box in one hand, a bottle of something in a brown, 
paper bag. He has a tape across his nose and two black eyes. 
Mulder attempted to shut the door in his face, but Brandon 
managed to get his foot in the doorway. 

"Hear me out first, Mulder." Hicks said, grimacing as Mulder 
pushed harder on his foot. "I know I was a total ass. I'm sorry. 
We have to work together." He took a breath, his foot was being 
smashed rather forcefully. "Can I come in and state my case? I 
brought some rum cake and some rum to wash it down with. Peace?" 

Mulder wanted nothing more than to amputate Hick's foot, but on 
the other hand, they did have to work together. He gave the door 
one more hard shove, then opened it. "Okay, but no more punches. 
I'm feeling old and decrepit right now." 

Hicks entered the room, setting the box and the bag on the desk. 
"I don't know what you're complaining about. You probably have 
five years on me and you beat my sorry ass." 

Mulder went back to sit on the bed. Hicks handed him a slice of 
rum cake on a motel washcloth. "Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" 

'Like he really cares.' Mulder thought, taking a bite out of the 
rum cake and making a face. 

"Bitter, eh?" Hicks asked. "It's the booze. It'll taste better 
after the second bite." 

Hicks poured a couple fingers of rum from the bottle into a motel 
glass and handed it to Mulder. "Look, I know I didn't make any 
points with you today and I totally ruined any chance I had with 
Dana, but I need to explain." 

Hicks poured himself a glass of rum, straddled a chair across 
from Mulder, pulling a piece out from the opposite side of the 
cake. 

Mulder took a sip of the alcohol. "Haven't had rum straight since 
I was in high school, raiding my dad's liquor cabinet. It's still 
pretty putrid." 

Hicks laughed. "Ah, but it numbs the pain." 

Mulder raised his glass. "To numbing the pain." 

"Here here." Hicks raised his as well, then took a healthy slug. 
He poured himself another and topped off Mulder's glass. "You 
ever been madly in love, Fox?" 

Mulder set down the drink and applied himself to the rum cake. 
"Mulder." 

"Sorry." Hicks said. "Have you?" 

Mulder nodded slightly. 

Hicks settled himself more comfortably on the chair. "I was 
twenty-one years old. Lisa was twenty-two." At Mulder's look he 
elaborated. "Lisa. Chalise. She changed her name for her hocus 
pocus business." Hicks took another slug of rum. "I met her when 
two of her friends were killed out on 138, at the twin bridges." 
He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the past. "I was brand 
spanking new out of the academy. I'd been on patrol two whole 
weeks. It was a horrendous accident with a decapitation. Lisa had 
been following behind her friends. She was first on the scene." 
He looked at Mulder. "She had the most spectacular raven hair. I 
just fell head over in love." 

Mulder nodded, finishing off the rum cake. Hicks finished off his 
drink then poured himself another. "Anyway, at first she wouldn't 
have anything to do with me. She was pretty tore up about the 
accident. So tore up her hair actually turned the color it is 
now." Hicks glanced at Mulder for a reaction. "Freaky, huh?" 
Mulder gave him a slight nod. "But I wore her down and pretty 
soon we started dating, every Wednesday and Saturday. I mean, we 
did it everywhere..." 

"Brandon..." Mulder really didn't want to hear about this man's 
sex life, especially since he had none. 

Hicks waved down his concerns. "No, I'm not trying to be crude. 
Really. Heck, she once grabbed me in a graveyard, can you believe 
that? On a headstone! I was so in love I would have done it with 
her on the freeway at rush hour." 

Mulder stared at Hicks for a long time. 

Hicks finally nodded. "You think the graveyard thing is pretty 
weird, don't you?" 

Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, no.... I can see how 
that might happen."





"Well, she was wild, okay? And I would have followed her to the 
ends of the earth. And to top it off she kept changing her hair 
color, red, then brunette, then finally blonde, so it was like 
being with different women, but not..." Brandon sipped his drink 
a moment. "Then I found out she was sleeping with the CEO at her 
office to get a raise. He had Thursdays. Can you imagine?" Mulder 
nodded his head in commiseration. "She toyed with me. You have 
any idea what that feels like, Mulder?" 

"Actually I do." The agent admitted. 

"Then one day she just stopped seeing me, no explanation, no 
nothing. I think she just got TIRED of me. Anyway, we shouldn't 
be allowed in the same town, let alone the same bar. It's been 
ten years and I still lose my head every time I see her." Hicks 
downed more drink. 

"You need to get over it Hicks." Mulder told him. 

"I know. I know. And I can't expect you to understand. But thanks 
for letting me spout off." 

"I might understand more than you know. But hurling insults isn't 
really the answer." Mulder reminded him. 

Hicks nodded. "Well I came to offer up the white flag. I'm 
completely at fault and I don't want this to get in the way of 
the investigation. We have a complete lunatic out there killing 
women and the FBI sent us you because they said you were the best 
when it came to profiling unusual killers." 

Mulder reached for another piece of rum cake. That beef stew 
seemed to have settled his stomach. Hicks snagged him another 
piece and handed it to him. "I'm sure they didn't use the word 
unusual." Mulder responded. 

"I think they said weird." 

Mulder raised his glass to Hicks. "That sounds more like it." 

"Anyway, if you feel you can't work with me, just speak up, and 
I'll bow out." Hicks offered magnanimously. 

Mulder shrugged. (Have to stop doing that.) "I think at this 
point it's Scully you might want to worry about." 

There was a knock at the door. Mulder raised an eyebrow. 
"Sometimes I think she's psychic." 

Mulder got up stiffly, limping over to the door. He opened the 
door and Scully charged in, wearing a white robe, facial mask 
applied, gun in hand. "I heard voices!" She stopped short and 
glared at Hicks. "What are you doing here?" 

"Burying the hatchet." Hicks said as Scully eyed him doubtfully. 
"I came to apologize." 

Mulder closed the door behind her. "All is forgiven. Have some 
rum cake, Scully." He motioned to the cake on the desk. 

Scully reached for the cake, but Hicks snagged her a piece, 
pulling it out gallantly, putting it on a bathroom hand towel. 
"Allow me. Dana, I have to apologize for that ugly scene at the 
bar. I lost my head." 

Scully took a bite of cake and eyed him for a long moment 'He's a 
jerk, but we've got to work with this jerk.' She capitulated. 
"Hey, if Mulder accepts your apology, that's good enough for me. 
What's in the bottle?" 

"Rum." Hicks replied. 

"Oh oh." Mulder said. 

Scully turned on her partner. "Mulder, you know better than to be 
drinking alcohol after a head injury!" 

Mulder rubbed his lower lip gingerly. "It's hardly a HEAD 
injury." 

Scully took the glass from Mulder's hand and took a sip. Then she 
took another. 

"You might get the flu, Scully." He reminded her. 

"Nonsense, the alcohol content would kill any germs." She turned 
on Hicks. "By the way, nice shiner, Brandon. And you owe me fifty 
bucks." Scully opened the door. "Well this little pajama party is 
all very well and good, but Mulder needs his beauty rest. 
Brandon, get yourself home to bed." As Brandon stood up. "Mulder, 
turn off the TV and get some sleep." 

"Mother hen syndrome." Mulder informed Hicks. 

"I don't envy you one bit." Hicks said, collecting the box and 
the bottle and leaving through the door Scully held open. 

Scully watched his retreating back. She turned around as Mulder 
lowered himself stiffly down on the bed. "Men. One minute tearing 
each other into little pieces...the next all chummy, drinking 
buddies." 

"We're from Mars, remember?" 

Scully sighed. "Really Mulder, you look like ostrich shit. Get 
some sleep." 

"You have such a way with words, Scully." Mulder said as Scully 
left, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

Mulder sighed, looking up at the ceiling, then stretched his neck 
left and right. He fell back into the bed with a groan.





Holiday Inn
11:44 P.M. 

The television was the only light in the room. There was a knock 
at the door and Mulder groaned loudly, pulling the pillow over 
his head. As the knocking continued, Mulder dragged himself out 
of the bed in his boxers and padded over to the door. 

"This had better be good, Scully." 

He opened the door. Chalise stood in the doorway, wearing the 
same clothes she wore earlier that day. She brushed past him, 
entering the room. "I couldn't sleep. I had to see you again. 
How's your face?" She raised a hand gently to his face. Mulder 
brushed her hand away abruptly. 

"Couldn't this wait until morning? I'm really feeling lousy." 

Chalise pushed Mulder down on the bed, then turned on a light, 
sitting down beside him. "Give me your hand." He offered her his 
left hand. "No, your right hand. Give me your right hand." 

Mulder started to stand up. "I'm not in the mood for this 
nonsense right now." 

Chalise grabbed his right hand, dragging him back down beside 
her. Thrusting his hand under the light, she examined it closely. 
"What the hell is that?" 

"What? Are you trying to frighten me?" Mulder asked, bile rising 
in his throat. "I'm too stiff and sore for this bullshit." 

Chalise gave Mulder a hard look. "Why would I want to frighten 
you?" She returned her gaze to his hand, then looked at his 
fingernails. Mulder forcefully pulled his hand away from her. 
"Cut it out." 

"There is something very wrong here." 

Mulder's guts were churning. "What? That I'm not falling under 
your spell?" 

Chalise suddenly pressed her lips to Mulder's forehead, then to 
his lips. Mulder froze a moment, then put his hands on both of 
her shoulders and pushed her away. 

"I can't put my finger on it." She said. 

"Apparently you want to do more than put your finger on it." 
Mulder stood up quickly, feeling slightly faint. "I think it's 
time you left." He took her by the arm, walked her to the door 
and opened it. He pushed her firmly into the hallway. At the same 
time, Scully opened the door next to his.





Chalise touched her own lips. "Be warned, Agent Mulder. You taste 
of death. Death is in your future." Chalise turned then and ran 
down the hallway. 

Scully came out of her room and watched Chalise flee. "What was 
that all about?" 

"I think she just cursed me. Did that sound like a curse to you?" 
Mulder leaned heavily against the door jam. 

"It sounded like a woman scorned." Scully ran a professional 
medical eye over her partner and concluded he looked sicker than 
a dog. "Get some sleep, Mulder. You look like death warmed over." 


Scully turned and re-entered her room, shutting the door quietly 
behind her. Mulder looked down the hallway for a moment, then 
looked at his palm. Something in it made him suddenly look 
harder. He stepped back into his motel room and shut the door. 

Moments later he was curled around the toilet in the stark, motel 
bathroom The beef stew didn't taste half as good coming back up. 

*********** 

Lancaster, California
Lancaster Sheriff's Department
9:28 A.M. 

Mulder sat at the conference table, staring at the photographs on 
the wall, trying to grasp what his subconscious was trying to 
tell him. The piece was there. He just couldn't quite focus on 
it. Hell, he couldn't focus on anything. He'd spent the rest of 
the night on the cold bathroom floor vomiting first the rum, then 
the rum cake and finally his dinner. Around dawn he thought he 
puked up his own toes. He felt vile and he knew he looked awful. 
He hadn't shaved, his sleeves were rolled up and he hadn't even 
bother with a tie. 'Oh well, casual Sunday.' he thought. He was 
idly stirring the diesel fuel that Brandon had handed him when he 
walked in the door. He needed the caffeine, but the stuff was 
awful. How Scully could drink it with just a little milk was 
beyond his understanding. At that moment, Scully entered, looking 
more rested and attractive than any person of his acquaintance 
had a right to. She carried a box of donuts. She opened the box 
and offered him one. He felt himself turning green, but simply 
shook his head. 

"Mulder, you okay? You're not letting that curse thing get to 
you, are you?" She asked. 

Curse thing? What curse thing? Mulder's brow wrinkled in 
consternation. Oh, yeah, the thing with Chalise last night. He 
couldn't believe she thought he might actually be *thinking* 
himself sick. (Well yeah, he could believe that.) "Of course not. 
It's just the flu." 

"Maybe I should get someone to drive you back to the motel. You 
won't be any good to us dead on your feet." Scully suggested. The 
man was impossible. He was obviously very ill, yet he just sat 
there trying to ignore it. 

"I'm FINE!" He snapped. God, he needed a new line. How many times 
had he said that to Scully over the last seven or so years? 
"Sorry, I didn't sleep well. I was up most of the night making 
love to the porcelain goddess." 

Brandon entered the room, his black eyes even worse, carrying 
some files. Mulder headed his partner off at the pass. "Good, 
Hicks, you're back. I know you said we couldn't trust any of 
Chalise's testimony, but frankly, it seems to me that if she 
actually DID see all six women before their deaths, that could be 
the constant we've been looking for. Perhaps another scorned 
lover? Or just some flake that targets fortune tellers." He 
glanced at Scully. "We've seen that before." Mulder suddenly 
swayed in his chair. 

Scully reached for a donut. "Mulder..." 

"I'm FINE." He said again. Hell he should just write that phrase 
on his forehead and point to it every now and then. Problem was, 
he wasn't fine. His vision was fading in and out. He was shaky. 
He felt feverish. And it was about 150 degrees outside. "I just 
felt a little dizzy." He looks back at Hicks. "So I got to 
thinking, if the killer is targeting Chalise's clients, then he's 
got to be watching Chalise's business, right?" 

Hicks nodded. "That makes sense. So we need to assign a man to 
stake out her place." 

Mulder nodded, then wished he hadn't moved his head. "What about 
the tire? Was it punctured?" 

"No, it wasn't." Hicks informed him. "You were right. There was 
nothing wrong with it. Someone just let the air out. You really 
think it's a cop?" 

"It could be." Mulder responded. "Scully, what about that partial 
footprint?" 

"It didn't get to the L.A. lab in one piece. I think it dried too 
fast and the plaster just crumbled." Scully said, taking a bite 
of her donut. Suddenly she started coughing, and reached for 
Mulder's coffee which was right next to her. She took a swallow 
to help the donut go down. Scully made a face. 

"I know. Too much sugar." Mulder admitted. 

Scully looked at the coffee a moment, then sipped it again, 
spitting it back into the cup. She put down the coffee and pulled 
her gun, aiming it directly at Brandon. Brandon slowly raised his 
hands. 

"Don't move Brandon. Don't move an inch or I'll gladly neuter 
you." Scully aimed a little lower. 

Mulder was confused through the haze in his mind. "Scully? What 
are you doing?" 

"Get his gun, Mulder."





Mulder got to his feet, unsteadily, and went over to take Hick's 
weapon. "What's going on?" He took the weapon and placed it in 
his waistband, stepping back a few paces. He leaned heavily 
against the table, the room spinning around him. 

"Mulder. Listen to me. I want you to pick up the phone and call 
911. We need an ambulance now!" 

Her voice sounded a little funny through the pounding in his 
ears, but he really couldn't believe that Scully was really going 
to shoot Brandon. "You planning on shooting him?" 

"Not for Hicks, you idiot! For you!" She pointed the gun at Hicks 
as he let his arms lower a little. He corrected his error. 
"Mulder how could you drink that stuff?" 

Mulder was a little behind in the conversation. "I don't need an 
ambulance." He sat down heavily on a wood chair. 

Scully moved closer to Mulder, placing a hand on his shoulder. 
"What's in the coffee, Brandon? What have you been doing to my 
partner?" 

Brandon gave her his best puppy dog look. "Just a little Jimson 
weed. A little dried jimson weed." 

"That grows wild out here, doesn't it?" 

Mulder was beginning to realize his partner was very pissed. And 
for a change, not at him. "What is it, Scully?" 

"Pick up the phone and call for an ambulance. It's nightshade. 
How long, Brandon? How long have you been poisoning Mulder?" 
Scully was furious. 

Hicks shrugged. "Nine days. Not enough to kill him. Just enough 
so he'd stop dragging you around so we could go out together." 

Mulder laughed. "I've heard about desperate measures to get a 
date..." 

Scully grabbed Mulder's shoulder hard. He winced. "This isn't 
funny." 

A dim light went on in Mulder's cloudy mind. "You mean your 
coffee didn't taste really bad?" 

Scully pointed her gun at Mulder. Not only was Jimson weed 
poison, but it could also cause hallucinations. No wonder he 
hadn't been able to concentrate on the case. Mulder saw the gun 
pointed at him and reached over to pick up the phone. 

"We need an ambulance right now. In the conference room." He hung 
up the phone.





Scully re-aimed the gun at Hicks. "Mulder, cuff him, will you? I 
think he's our killer too." 

Hicks looked panicked. "I'm not! I never met any of those women!" 


Mulder stood up slowly, finding his balance and pulling the cuffs 
from his belt. He went over to Hicks and slipped the cuffs on 
hard. "The rum cake last night?" He asked. 

Hicks sighed, defeated. "Yeah." 

Mulder shoved Hicks up against the wall. "I spent the night 
puking my guts up because of you. If I felt better I'd pull your 
lungs out through your fucking nostrils!" He released the bigger 
man, returning to his chair. He hunched over, cradling his 
stomach, stabbing pains engulfing him. 

Scully put her hand to Mulder's damp, feverish neck. "Mulder, the 
next time you feel like you're dying, mention it, okay? Your 
pulse is racing....thready... You shouldn't even be conscious." 

Mulder thought that was the first thing she'd said that really 
made sense. "Okay." 

And he slipped from the chair in a dead faint. 

Scully watched as her partner slowly started to slide. She 
dropped the gun and got under him, taking most of his weight and 
easing him onto the floor. Hicks leaned against the wall. Scully 
glared at him. 

"I'm half tempted to shoot you, just for the fun of it." She 
snapped at him. 

"Whatever. Listen, you could have avoided all this if you'd just 
told me the truth from the start." Hicks said. 

"What truth?" Scully cradled Mulder's head in her lap, smoothing 
his damp hair off his fevered brow. 

"The truth about you and him." He gave a harsh laugh at her blank 
look. "You really don't know, do you?" 

The sound of an ambulance siren blared in the background. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." She stated. Maybe Hicks 
was on drugs? 

"Yeah. That's obvious."





*************




Lancaster, California
Antelope Valley Hospital
Tuesday 4:26 P.M. 

Fox Mulder recognized the sounds and smells of the hospital room 
before he could force himself to open his eyes. He shifted his 
weight, taking stock of his condition, which was weak and sore. 
He could feel the I.V. in his left arm, the clip on his finger, 
and the dreaded Foley catheter. When he opened his eyes would 
there be an angry redhead glaring at him? What had he done now? 
He let his mind drift back over his memories, which seemed hazy, 
an unusual feeling for someone with an eidetic memory. The last 
time he'd felt this fuzzy, he'd been drinking water laced with 
L.S.D. and had tried to punch Skinner out in an F.B.I. hallway. 

Oh, yes. He remembered. That lovesick puppy Brandon Hicks had 
been poisoning him. The coffee from hell. His stomach roiled at 
the thought. Well the redhead *shouldn't* be angry at him. But 
then, Scully was always surprising him. 'Oh, well. Better open my 
eyes and take it like a man.' He thought, and forced his eyelids 
to open. 

Scully was bald. When had that happened? Then he focused his eyes 
and realized he was looking into the concerned face of Assistant 
Director Walter Skinner. 

"Welcome back to the living, Mulder." Skinner said, standing up 
from the chair he'd been sitting in beside the younger agent's 
hospital bed. "You gave us a scare." 

Mulder tried to talk, coughed and tried again and managed to say 
one whispered word. "Water." 

Skinner nodded, taking a plastic pitcher and pouring water into a 
plastic drinking glass. He placed a straw in the glass and fed 
the other end between Mulder's blistered, dry lips. "Just a sip, 
Mulder. You've been out of it a couple days. Take it easy." 

Skinner needn't have worried. Mulder was barely able to draw two 
sips before he gave up, exhausted. "Scully?" He whispered. 

Skinner pulled the chair up closer to the bedside and sat back 
down. "I ordered her back to the motel to get some rest. She 
stayed here with you all Sunday and all day yesterday. She'd 
still be here. Which is why I got on a plane and came out here. I 
don't need two of my best agents in the hospital." 

Best agents. Mulder grimaced. Hell, he couldn't even tell when he 
was being poisoned. Or that he was working with a psychotic 
deputy sheriff. And the man had given him plenty of signs too. 
Unreasonable jealousy. Uncontrollable temper. Mood swings. His 
mind focused on Skinner's words. "I've been out cold two days? 
It's Tuesday?" His words were barely audible.





Skinner rested a hand on Mulder's forearm. "Take it easy. You've 
been through quite a bit." At Mulder's raised eyebrows, the older 
man continued. "They were worried about renal failure. But the 
last test came back all right. There was some damage to your 
stomach lining, but they seem to think that will correct itself 
with time and a bland diet." 

Mulder cringed, licking his lips. "Hicks?" 

"He's off the force. He's been charged with assaulting a Federal 
Agent. They've got him under observation in the psych ward. I'm 
guessing the plea will be insanity." Skinner said. 

"There's something important." Mulder whispered. "Something about 
the case." God, he felt weak. "I just can't remember." 

"Take it easy, Mulder." Skinner said, pushing the nurse call 
button. "You've been in intensive care for two days. You were 
under the effects of an hallucinogen. No one even knows how you 
continued to function, let alone get involved in a barroom brawl 
and come out on top." The nurse entered the room. "Agent Mulder 
is awake. Perhaps you should tell his doctor?" 

"I'll do that. Thank you Sir." The nurse glanced at the machinery 
next to Mulder to assure herself everything was in order, then 
left the room. 

"But there's something I need to tell you. About the case." 
Mulder struggled with his cotton filled brain. 

"Just rest, Mulder." Skinner said, patting his arm 
sympathetically. "The DNA reports should be back tomorrow. Then 
they can put Hicks right into the penal system, crazy or not." 

Mulder furrowed his brow. Whatever it was, it sure wasn't coming 
to him. He closed his eyes and let his exhaustion overtake him. 

Skinner heaved a sigh of relief as his agent fell into a healing 
sleep. There had been some concern that he wouldn't wake up at 
all. He had arrived mid-afternoon yesterday and had listened as 
Scully and the doctor had discussed treatments, most of which had 
quite frankly gone over his head. What he had understood had 
scared him. Mulder had been fed enough poison to possibly shut 
down his vital organs. They had pumped the agent full of drugs 
he'd never heard of, placed him on a dialysis machine to remove 
impurities from his blood. All the while, Mulder hadn't moved an 
eyelid. Hadn't flexed a finger. Hadn't twitched a muscle. Skinner 
had been very worried. He felt professionally responsible for 
Mulder. And now that Mulder was completely alone except for 
Scully, he felt an unreasonable responsibility on a personal 
level as well. 

And Scully, talk about guilt. She was racked with it. As they 
both sat in silent vigil at Mulder's bedside, tears suddenly 
began streaming silently down her face. When her boss had 
questioned her she'd broken into sobs saying that all the signs 
had been there and she'd been so busy thinking about the case, 
and when she wasn't thinking about the case, thinking about 
Brandon Hicks, that it was entirely her fault that Mulder was as 
sick as he was. Normally she "mothered" Mulder and now, the one 
time she hadn't, he'd actually needed the attention.





Walter Skinner had held Scully, letting her cry herself dry, then 
watched as she managed to compose herself long enough to discuss 
even more treatment and drugs with Mulder's doctor. She had 
refused to leave Mulder's side Monday night and would undoubtably 
still be here had not Skinner insisted she go back to the motel 
and not return for at least eight hours. Then he remembered his 
promise that he would call her if there was any change in 
Mulder's condition. 

Skinner reassured himself with another glance that Mulder was 
sleeping soundly, then went out to find a pay phone. 

******* 

Scully had tossed and turned when she'd returned to the motel 
room. She'd showered, forced herself to eat a sandwich from a 
vending machine and then crawled into the bed. She couldn't stop 
thinking about all the signs she'd seen, but ignored. How ill 
Mulder had been. Then she flushed remembering the way she'd cried 
in her bosses arms like some sniveling baby. Finally around ten 
in the morning she'd fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

Scully woke to the phone ringing. She sat up, reaching for the 
phone and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She felt a deep sense 
of dread, hoping the news on the other end would not be bad news. 
She really didn't feel like she could live with herself if it 
was. 

"Hello?" 

"Agent Scully. Walter Skinner here." The deep voice informed her. 
"He woke up. He seemed a little disoriented, but he asked for 
you." 

She threw back the covers. "I'm on my way." 

"No. No Scully. Get a little more rest. He went back to sleep." 



"I need to be there when he wakes up again." 

"I spoke with the doctor in the hallway not five minutes ago. He 
said he was sure that Mulder would sleep through the night. There 
is no point in your being here." He could hear her objection 
before she even formed it. "Agent Scully. You still have a case. 
Until it's concluded, I expect you to do as I say." 

Scully sighed. "Yes Sir. But I want you to call me if there's any 
change." A thought occurred to her. "You will be staying there, 
won't you? You won't leave him alone?" 

"I'm not going anywhere." Skinner lied, knowing full well he was 
going to go across the street to that coffee shop he'd seen and 
feed his growling stomach. "I'll stay here with him." 

"All right then." Scully said. "Thank you, Sir." She hung up the 
phone.





Skinner hung the phone. Apparently neither of his agents knew how 
to say 'Goodbye' at the end of a phone conversation. He checked 
the change compartment out of habit, knowing there would be no 
change, and found a dime. His lucky day. He walked out the door 
into the sweltering August afternoon heat and headed for the 
coffee shop.




Antelope Valley Hospital 
Wednesday, 9:08 A.M. 

Mulder lay back in his bed, exhausted. It was amazing how tired 
he was just from being moved from intensive care into a regular 
hospital room. And he hadn't done anything at all. Skinner was 
putting his personal belongings away while the nurse re-attached 
the finger thingey and hung his I.V. up on the stand. 

Skinner glanced over at the pale agent on the bed. "How you 
feeling, Mulder?" 

"Tired." He admitted. "I hate feeling this way." 

"Just take it easy. Give your body a break." Skinner said, 
pulling a paperback he'd bought at the hospital gift shop out of 
his jacket pocket. 

Mulder watched the door to his room. "Where's Scully?" 

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I sent her down to Los Angeles. I 
wanted her to double check the DNA results." Skinner said, 
seating himself in a plastic hospital chair, crossing his legs 
and opening the book. 

DNA. Mulder gave that some concentration. His brain was still 
barely connecting electrons. What was it he was trying to 
remember? "You don't have to baby sit me, Sir. I'm fine." (Yes, 
etch that on my forehead.) 

'Good', Skinner thought, 'Even if Scully kills me. I'm not as 
young as I used to be, and I need some sleep.' Skinner nodded, 
standing up. "You're sure?" 

"All I'm going to do is sleep anyway." Mulder lied, fighting back 
an unreasonable panic at being left alone. 

"I'm going to use your motel room, Mulder. No point in costing 
the taxpayer's more than we have too." Skinner informed him. "If 
you don't mind?" 

Mulder shrugged. "I have nothing to hide." He was pretty sure he 
had left Miss July at the bottom of his suitcase. 

Skinner picked up the book and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. 
"If you need anything, you call me." And he left. 

Mulder pushed his head back into yet another flat pillow. He felt 
tired, but also alone. And there was something about the case 
that was making him crazy. Well, maybe if he slept on it. 

So he did. 

********** 

Antelope Valley Hospital
Thursday - 4:00 P.M. 

Mulder was bored stiff. He sat up in bed playing with the remote 
control, annoyed with the local cable company. When the petite 
redhead walked into his room he gave her a big, goofy grin. "Hey, 
Scully, where you been? I've been bored silly." 

Scully smiled. He must be feeling better. And that goofy grin 
lightened her guilt-ridden heart. "Trying to tie up this case. 
How are you feeling?" 

"Lots better." (Hey, I didn't say, "fine"!) "They're going to 
spring me tomorrow." 

Scully's forehead crinkled. "So, soon?" Maybe she could bribe 
them to keep him a couple more days? "Well, at least that's good 
news." She sat down on the hard, plastic chair. 

"What's the bad news?" Mulder asked, pushing himself up to a more 
comfortable sitting position, thrilled to be rid of catheters and 
I.V.'s. Now if they'd just let him have a hamburger. 

"Brandon Hicks didn't do it. I mean, yeah, he did poison you. But 
he'll probably get off on insanity." 

"I don't think it's insane that a man might want a date with 
you." Mulder teased. "Brave maybe, the way you wave that gun 
around." 

Scully gave him a look of mild annoyance. "Funny." She continued, 
"But anyway, we just confirmed the DNA results and the semen and 
Brandon's DNA are not a match. He's not our killer." 

"I could have told you that days ago." Mulder stated. 

"If you'd been conscious." 

"Ha." Mulder said, sometimes she was a real riot. "The guy doing 
this has got a pattern. I just couldn't see it. Friday. Friday is 
the key. Hicks said he had Wednesdays and Saturdays with Chalise. 
That some other guy had Thursdays." 

"Apparently she hasn't heard of AIDS." Scully mumbled. 





"You need to go see Chalise. Now. Find out who had Fridays. 
That's our killer." Mulder insisted. 

"Mulder, you've been very sick. You haven't been thinking 
clearly." 

"Tell me about it." He said. "But you need to get over there. 
He's going to strike again tomorrow night!" 

Scully stood up. "Okay, I'll drive out there and see her. Be glad 
you're in here, Mulder. It's about 110 degrees outside." 

"Yeah, but it's a dry heat." 

Scully sighed and left the room. Mulder picked up the remote, 
turning the sound up and began channel surfing. The television 
announcer's voice caught his attention. 

"Stay tuned. In a moment the Discovery Channel spotlights the 
ostrich." 

Mulder clicked past that station, hesitated, then switched the 
channel back. Nothing like a little educational TV in a world 
full of soap operas. 

*********** 

Pearblossom, California
Fortune Teller's Residence/Business
Thursday 8:00 P.M. 

Chalise was happy to see the female agent, ushering her into a 
still warm house, every ceiling fan running on high. Scully had 
thought she had had some nerve cursing Mulder and then playing 
happy hostess to his partner. She had so informed Lisa Gillette. 

Chalise had laughed. "I wasn't cursing him! And I wasn't coming 
on to him, either! I TASTED something on his skin. Probably the 
poison coming out his pores. And his hand was off color. His 
fingernails had a bluish tint to them." Chalise offered Scully a 
seat at her dining room table, taking the seat across from her 
and picking up a deck of tarot cards. 

Scully was suddenly furious with herself. Fingernail color was an 
obvious and indicative sign of poisoning and she, a medical 
doctor, had missed it while this... this... floozy fortune teller 
had spotted it. "Why didn't you say something to Mulder?" 

"I did. But he was pretty unreasonable. Probably the drug, eh? I 
hear it can mess with your mind." 

Scully simply nodded. Just because this woman was the town tramp 
was no reason to be angry with her now. She HAD been trying to 
warn her partner, after all. 

Chalise idly shuffled the cards. "Now, what brings you here?" 

"Mulder thinks that whoever you dated on Friday nights is our 
killer." 

Chalise looked blank. 

"You had Brandon on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and some other guy 
on Thursdays." Scully prompted. 

Chalise got wide eyed. "Man, you must think I'm the slut of the 
century." She giggled. "That was a long time ago. Ten years. I 
was a basket case after watching my two best friends die. I 
drowned my sorrows in sex, pure and simple. I get a blood test 
every six months. You want to talk regrets? I've got them." 

"I'm not here to judge you." Scully said uncomfortably, 
remembering the adage about walking a mile in the other man's 
moccasins. "Fridays." 

"You're partner is wrong. I spent Fridays in Los Angeles with my 
father. I can guarantee he's not the killer unless he's doing it 
from the other side of the grave. He's been dead for seven 
years." Chalise informed her. "He had cancer. I wasn't just 
screwed up because my friends were killed." 

"I'm sorry." Scully said, her brain racing ahead. Then who was 
the killer? How could they possibly find him before tomorrow 
night? 

Chalise handed the cards to Scully. "Cut them, four times." 

Scully cut the cards four times. "Look, I don't really believe in 
this stuff." 

"Neither do I." Chalise laughed at her look of disbelief. "Not 
really. I believe in the palm reading, but not the fortune 
telling. But it makes for some fun, and this one's on the house." 
She took back the cards and dealt them out. 

Scully watched, interested in spite of her beliefs. 

"Anyone can learn to do this. But it really is all 
interpretation." Chalise looked at the cards. "This is the Queen 
of Swords... I don't know if it's you, or someone in your life. 
She's a perfectionist. Someone who has suffered greatly. A 
logical thinker." 

"Just how much did Mulder tell you about me?" Scully asked.





"Honey, if I could have gotten your partner off the subject of 
the case, I sure as hell wouldn't have been talking to him about 
you. I've given up my wanton ways, but I could have a relapse for 
someone as good looking as your partner." Chalise turned a card, 
ignoring the other woman's shocked expression. "Page of Swords. 
Hmmm, this is a warning of peril. Peril to the Queen of Swords? 
Or Peril to...." She turned another card. "The Knight of Wands. 
The Knight of Wands would be your partner, I think." 

"The Knight Of Wands?" Scully asked, finding herself fascinated. 

Chalise handed Scully a book on tarot cards. "Read it for 
yourself. Don't believe me." 

Scully flipped through the pages finding the Wands section. "A 
man in his 30's. One who is always in a hurry. Much nervous 
energy. Women are attracted to him." Scully looked over at 
Chalise. "God, that could be Mulder! How bizarre!" She closed the 
book. "Well, as enlightening as this has been, I'd better get 
back to the hospital and see if Mulder has any other brilliant 
ideas." Scully stood up. "Thanks for the reading." 

"I hope you catch this guy." Chalise said, standing as well. 

"We'll continue the surveillance on you until we do." Scully 
reassured her, opening the door and letting herself out. 

Chalise sat back down at the table. She flipped over another 
card, catching her breath. It was the devil. Then she flipped the 
last card. Death. 

************* 

Blood Alley - Highway 138
Thursday - 8:30 P.M. 

Scully drove along the two lane highway, amazed at the maniac 
drivers that passed her defying the speed limit blatantly. She 
wasn't surprised that this was such a dangerous road, considering 
the travelers disregard for the speed limit signs and the fact 
that they totally ignored double yellow lines, passing at whim. A 
red light appeared in her rear view mirror. She glanced down at 
her speedometer. Crud, she was going 60 in a 55 MPH zone. Why 
didn't the jerk get one of those people passing her doing 80? 
Well, she'd flash her badge and get off with a warning. 

She pulled the rental over to the side of the road and fished her 
ID out of her pocket. She turned off the car engine, pulling her 
drivers license out of her purse as well. Oh yes, insurance. 
Californian's had to have proof of insurance. 

She started to roll down her window when a glaring white light 
was suddenly shined in her eyes. Scully raised her hand to shield 
her eyes from the sudden glare and her car door was opened from 
the outside. She felt a hand on her arm. Scully sensed more than 
saw the heavy duty flashlight swinging toward her head. 

******* 

Lancaster, California
Antelope Valley Hospital 
Thursday - 9:15 P.M. 

Mulder got out of the bed, telephone receiver against his ear. 
"You were supposed to be watching her! You didn't see anyone 
follow her when she left Chalise's?" 

The deputy on the other end of the phone felt awful. He'd been 
told to watch the fortune teller. Not the F.B.I agent. "I'm 
staking out the fortune teller. Not your partner." 

"Well I can't reach her!" He yelled, feeling the scab on his 
lower lip pop. "Get out there on that highway and look for her 
rental car. You do have the license number, don't you?" 

The deputy assured him that he'd written it down when she'd 
pulled into Chalise's driveway. 

"Go find her! According to Chalise she left an hour ago! I can't 
reach her on her cell! Get out there and look for her!" 

"What about Miss Gillette?" The deputy asked, torn between the 
urgency of this agents tone and his assignment. 

"The guy isn't targeting Chalise! He's after her clientele! Go 
FIND Scully!" Mulder slammed down the phone. Damn, if Scully had 
just stopped off somewhere for dinner he'd bloody well rip her 
heart out himself. Mulder sat down on the bed. His little tirade 
had left him exhausted. 

Well, no help for it. He forced himself back on his feet and went 
to the closet, retrieving his rumpled clothing. A nurse entered 
the room, apparently coming in to wake him up to give him a 
sleeping pill. 

"What are you doing, Mr. Mulder?" She asked in alarm. 

Mulder tossed his clothing back on the bed and turned away from 
her, giving her an excellent view of his bare ass, which she 
enjoyed even though she was old enough to be his mother. "I'm 
getting dressed." 

"You haven't been released." The nurse said. 

The phone rang. Mulder was on it in an instant. "Scully?" He 
asked. It was the deputy on the other end of the phone. He'd 
found the vehicle not two miles down the road. Emergency lights 
were on. No sign of Scully. Her cell phone and purse were still 
on the front seat. "It shouldn't be tonight!" Mulder exclaimed. 
"It's only Thursday! Send someone over to pick me up!" He slammed 
down the phone. 

He dragged his trousers up over his legs. The nurse went over and 
grabbed his shirt away from him. "You haven't been released!"





Mulder snatched his shirt back. He didn't have time for Mrs. 
Doubtfire right now. "The doctor said tomorrow. It's almost 
tomorrow." He jammed his arm into his shirt. 

"The doctor said 'maybe' tomorrow. And I'm sure he was going to 
recommend bed rest for at least another few days." The obviously 
agitated nurse said. 

Mulder shoved his other arm into the shirt. "I'll check myself 
out." 

"I'm calling the doctor. I think he's still in the hospital." The 
nurse stormed out of the room. Mulder bent over to pull on his 
socks and the room began to spin. He leaned against the bed, 
willing the motion to stop. 

Walter Skinner entered the room quickly, having seen the upset 
nurse retreating at a pretty fast lope for someone pushing sixty. 
He paused a moment, taking in Mulder's partially dressed state 
and then rushed forward to catch Mulder as he started sliding 
slowly to the ground. 

"What the hell are you doing, Mulder?" 

"The killer has Scully! And it's all my fault. I sent her to 
Chalise's!" Mulder said as Skinner pulled him upright and sat him 
on the bed. "He wants a redhead this time! They found her rental 
not two miles from Chalise's house!" Mulder pulled on his socks, 
closing his eyes against the spinning room. 

"You can't be certain he has Scully." Skinner said, trying to 
calm the near hysterical agent. 

"I can be. It was slapping me in the face and I missed it!" 
Mulder fumbled with his shoes, dropping them. "His first victim 
was a redhead, second brunette, third blonde, then the cycle 
started over again. Just like the hair colors Chalise had before 
she let her natural color grow out." 

Skinner bent over and grabbed Mulder's shoes, putting them on his 
feet and tying them. "I'm not following you." 

"You don't have to follow me, but I need you to drive me to 
Pearblossom." Mulder said, watching as his boss tied his shoes 
for him. Man, that's a weird feeling. 

"Against doctor's orders? Mulder..." 

"Damn it, Skinner! Now!" Mulder yelled. "Have you seen what this 
guy DOES to these women?" 

Skinner nodded, helping Mulder to his feet and heading them both 
toward the door. 

*********** 

Juniper Hills, California
Thursday - 9:30 P.M. 

John Ranklin, more commonly known as 'Birdman John' drove the car 
slowly up the winding road. Scully moaned once, opened her eyes 
slowly and sat up straight. Her hands were tied in front of her. 
She looked over at her assailant for the first time. 

"Man, you had to be F.B.I. That just screws everything up!" He 
said, rubbing his unshaven jaw in annoyance. 

"It's not Friday night. It's the WRONG night." Well, that was 
brilliant Scully. Must be the blow to the head. 

"Yeah, well, change of plans." He said dryly. "Sue me." 

'I'll do more than sue you, fella.' Scully tested the bonds of 
the ropes. Maybe. "Where are you taking me?" 

"Devil's Punchbowl. Lisa and I went there on our seventh date." 

Hmmm, Mulder had been onto something. "But you didn't date her on 
Fridays." 

"Naw, I had Tuesdays. But I can't get away from the ranch except 
on Fridays. I have a beer at the bar, make sure people see me, 
then leave, then come back just before closing. Buncha drunks 
just remember I was there. That's all I need." He was actually 
bragging to her. 

"But tonight it's Thursday." She said, insistently. 

John shrugged.




Highway 138 
Thursday 10:05 P.M. 

Skinner drove the car, glancing occasionally with a worried 
expression at Mulder who sat in the passenger seat, his head 
against the cool car window. "I thought we were going to 
Pearblossom, but you just made me drive through it." 

Mulder forced his head to sit upright on his neck. "I lied. We're 
going to the Nuclear Poultry Farm." 

"The what?" Skinner thought maybe that Jimson weed had done some 
permanent damage after all. 

"It's an ostrich ranch. Did you know that ostriches are very 
territorial? They rarely wander out of their marked territory 
without a partner?"





"Are you delirious, Mulder?" Skinner was close to stopping the 
car and checking Mulder's vitals. 

"No. The last victim was found by a man who owns this ostrich 
farm. He SAID he was out at three A.M. looking for an ostrich 
that got loose." Mulder thought that made perfect sense. 

"So?" Skinner felt absolutely lost and was ready to stop and ask 
directions. 

"So, there was this special on Discovery about ostriches today 
and it pretty much stated that an ostrich by itself wouldn't 
wander five FEET away from its marked territory, let alone about 
half a mile like this guy said his ostrich did." Mulder felt very 
good about getting that out coherently. "So first thing I want to 
do is see if this guy, John Ranklin, is minding the ranch 
tonight." Mulder motioned to the front window. "It's just up 
here. Turn left." 

Skinner made the turn, following the rutted dirt road for a good 
half mile. Every bump he hit made Mulder's teeth hurt. He parked 
the car next to a beat up old Chevy Truck and got out, going to 
give Mulder a hand out of the passenger seat. Then they headed 
toward a floodlit area, where they found a woman in her sixties, 
hosing down the big birds. 

"Can I help you?" She asked, squirting an ostrich in its open 
mouth. 

Skinner flashed his ID at her. Mulder dove right in. "Where's 
John Ranklin?" 

"Why I imagine he's down at the bar. That's normally where he 
goes the one night I come ranch sit for him." The woman looked at 
Skinner. "Has my son done something wrong?" 

"Do you normally ranch sit on Thursdays?" Mulder asked. 

"No, normally on Fridays, but I have a late doctors appointment 
in Los Angeles tomorrow, so I changed it to Thursday this week." 

Skinner was eyeing the humongous birds with something close to 
awe. "Mrs. Ranklin?" 

"Yes?" 

"Does your son know a woman named Chalise Gillette?" 

She turned the hose off. "That tramp! She broke his heart about 
ten years ago. He never got over it. I was hoping for grand 
babies by now." She turned the hose on again, turning it toward 
the other pen and hitting the dog in the process. The dog yelped. 
"Dammit Fox, git away from there!" 

Mulder turned and headed back to the car. Skinner eyed the dog a 
moment. "Thank you Ma'am." He followed Mulder back to the car. As 
he got in he asked Mulder. "The dog. Is its name..." 

Mulder slammed the door. "Don't! Don't even..." 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Walter Skinner smiled. 

********** 

Devil's Punchbowl
Thursday - 10:15 P.M. 

The Devil's Punchbowl was dark and foreboding, natural rock 
formations jutting at unnatural angles straight up from the 
ground forming a circular structure. The moonlight glowing down 
on it did indeed remind the casual visitor of a punch bowl. To 
Scully's eye, it looked like Hell. John Ranklin, dragged Scully 
behind him toward a rocky precipice. Scully worked diligently, 
feeling the ropes around her wrist loosen somewhat. 

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" She asked, hoping to stall 
for time, but knowing that there would be no Calvary this time, 
she had to save herself. 

"John Ranklin." He said, stopping to catch his breath. "To get 
even with Lisa." 

'Ranklin. Ranklin.' Scully ran the name over her memories 
valiantly, a bell going off loudly in her thoughts. "You FOUND 
the last victim. You own the ostrich farm. Your alibi checked 
out!" 

"Told you they were a bunch of drunks." Ranklin smiled. "You're a 
bright lady. It won't save you though." He scratched at his chin. 


'Probably has lice.' Scully thought, her scalp itching. 

"I wasn't planning on finding the body, but my damned pet bird 
musta smelled me, or heard my car, or god knows what, and came 
out to be with me. Right after I made love to that pretty thing. 
Walking all around, leaving ostrich tracks. Following me. So I 
decided to "find" the body to explain my bird being there and my 
footprints all over the area." He reached out and stroked 
Scully's face gently. "I made a mistake taking her so close to 
home. Forgot about that damned bird. But that won't happen 
tonight." 

He grabbed her upper arm, propelling her toward an incline. 
Scully stumbled. "Their hearts, John, why do you cut out their 
hearts?" 

He turned to look at her, sadness in his expression. "Cuz Lisa 
tore my heart out." He looked like he might cry, then suddenly 
his expression became gleeful. "I grind up the hearts and mix 
them with lettuce and corn and feed them to the birds. The birds 
think it's a real treat. I fed that last girl's heart to my birds 
right in front of Hicks and that other Fibbie." 

Scully shuddered. "And the eyes? Why do you do that with their 
eyes?" She felt the ropes give way and let out a deep breath she 
didn't know she was holding. She eyed her gun, casually stuck in 
Ranklin's waistband.





"Cuz Lisa has that damned second sight. And one day she looked at 
my palm and told me I was the Devil and she didn't want to see me 
anymore. So I put em in their mouths to shut them up. But I can 
still hear them. I can hear them screaming in my head. All of 
them." He shivered. "Enough talk. We have to go up there. That's 
where Lisa and I made love." 

Ranklin started to drag Scully toward the incline once again.




Pearblossom, California
Thursday - 10:20 P.M. 

Mulder sat at Chalise's dining room table, his head in his hands. 
"Think, Chalise. John Ranklin. Tuesdays. The victims were all 
killed somewhere along Highway 138. Did you cruise the highway 
with him?" 

Chalise hugged herself, glancing at Walter Skinner who remained 
quiet by the window. "After my friends were killed on that 
highway? Hardly." She stared at the crystal ball she used only as 
a centerpiece. "I'm trying to remember." She closed her eyes, 
concentrating. "Wait! I kept a journal! Let me go get it." She 
left the room. 

Skinner gave Mulder a concerned look. "How you holding up?" 

Mulder laid his head on the table. "I'll make it." 

"Right." His superior said dryly. 

Chalise came back into the room, carrying a diary. "My therapist 
had me keep this." She sat down, flipping through the pages. 
"First date. We went to the car races in Rosamond." She thumbed 
the pages again. "Second date. Visited his mother in Hesperia. 
That was fun." She said sarcastically. "Third date, up to 
Wrightwood. The local snow resort." 

Mulder stifled a groan. "It's too HOT for skiing." 

"Not in the winter. Fourth date, we hung around town." Chalise 
sighed. "At least Brandon was inventive. Crazy, but inventive." 

Mulder sat up suddenly. "I see the connection. Just skip to the 
seventh date! Do it!" 

Chalise fanned the pages quickly. "Devil's Punchbowl." 

"Where is that?" Mulder got to his feet unsteadily. 

"In the dark you'd never find it. I'll take you. I'll get my 
purse." Chalise ran from the room. 

Skinner went over to Mulder, taking his arm. "You gonna make it." 


Mulder simply nodded.



Devil's Punchbowl 
10:25 P.M. 

Finally reaching the ledge where he'd had carnal knowledge of 
Lisa ten years before, John stopped, breathing heavily, and 
forced Scully down in front of him. He reached for his belt, 
going to unbuckle it, noticing the gun is in the way. He took it 
from his waistband and flung it down the slope.. Scully freed her 
hands completely of the rope, taking a handful of loose dirt and 
sand, and flung it into her attacker's face. John yelled, 
reaching up to wipe his eyes but Scully was on him in a 
heartbeat, placing a well aimed kick to his groin, then another 
to his head. John hovered for a moment, trying to regain his 
balance, then fell off the ledge, screaming. Scully felt only 
relief when the screams cut off suddenly and only soft night 
sounds surrounded her. She sank to her knees, breathing hard.



Devil's Punchbowl
10:35 P.M. 

The car came to a screeching halt, spewing dirt and gravel into 
the air. Mulder, Skinner and Chalise bailed out of the car, 
Chalise taking the lead to guide them to the ledge she remembered 
almost fondly up until this night. She stopped, pointing upward. 
Mulder stumbled up behind her, took a deep breath, his side 
hitching painfully. 

"Sculleeeeeee!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. 

"I'm all right!" Came the wonderful sound of Scully's voice, 
echoing off the bizarre rock formations. 

Mulder fell to his knees. Chalise sank down next to him, giving 
him much needed support. Skinner glanced at Mulder, then started 
off in Scully's direction. 

"Do you need any help, Dana?" Skinner called out into the 
darkness. 

Scully appeared, scrambling down the incline, dirt covered, the 
knees of her pantsuit torn, but unhurt. (Unless she counted that 
pounding headache.) "I could have used your help, but you were a 
little late. We do need the Medical Examiner though. I'm afraid I 
killed Mr. Ranklin." 

Skinner smiled. She didn't sound all that remorseful. "Think of 
the money you saved the local taxpayers." He said. 

Chalise was being pulled over by Mulder's almost dead weight. "I 
could use some help over here."





Skinner and Scully went to her aid at once, helping lower Mulder 
to the ground. "I'm fine." Mulder said, pointing foolishly to his 
forehead. 

"Sure you are, Mulder." Scully said, exchanging concerned glances 
with her boss. She put her hand on his forehead. "You're burning 
up." She looked at Skinner who was pulling out his cell phone. 
"Better get an ambulance up here too." 

"No Sculleeeee. I'm all right. Realleeeee." Mulder whined. 

Skinner mopped his head with a handkerchief. "Are you sure he's 
burning up? It's so bloody hot out here, how can you tell?" 

Mulder giggled. "It's a dry heat." 

Scully rolled her eyes. The man was impossible. "He's delirious. 

"Deliriously happy you're okay." Mulder informed her, still 
giggling. 

Scully just stared at him.



*************
Lancaster, California
Antelope Valley Hospital
Saturday - 11:00 A.M. 

Mulder sat back in the bed. Once again attached to an I.V. 
Chalise held Skinner's hand and was stroking the lines with a 
pink fingernail. 

"So, it's a powerful hand, with a long lifeline, but there's this 
thing I can't figure out. Like some kind of threat... health 
wise..." She shrugged. "Anyway, that about covers it. I sure 
wouldn't want to see you lose your temper." 

Skinner took his hand back, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "And 
people pay you to do this?" 

Chalise nodded. "Sure, cross my palm with gold. Or buy me a 
drink." She winked at Skinner. "Actually I just do it so I can 
hold big, handsome men's hands." 

Skinner blushed. "Have you read Mulder's hand?" 

Chalise nodded. "Briefly, the night he thought I was coming on to 
him. By the way, I was trying to taste you, Mulder, not sleep 
with you. The poison tasted bitter. Deadly." 

"You're breaking my heart. I thought you were after my body." 
Mulder dead panned.





"So what did you see in Mulder's hand?" Skinner asked. 

"A major trauma in his early teens. Some near misses with death. 
And a strange headline. I don't think Agent Mulder thinks the 
same way most people do." 

Skinner looked at Mulder's shocked expression and started 
laughing. Mulder glared at him. Scully entered the room, carrying 
coffee cups. She handed one to Chalise, one to Skinner and popped 
her own lid of her styrofoam cup, taking a sip. 

"What's so funny?" She asked. 

"Chalise read Mulder's palm and saw that he has a different way 
of thinking than most people." Skinner filled her in. 

Scully shrugged. "She's been around him long enough to have 
figured that out." 

"Chalise, read Scully's palm. Let her Scully." Mulder implored. 

Scully shook her head. "I'd rather not." 

"Oh, come on. I can't have caffeine. I can't eat real food. Humor 
me." 

Scully sighed, holding her hand out. "Okay, but forgive me if I 
give off negative energy." 

Chalise took her hand, looking at it a moment. "You have a strong 
head line. Very methodical, scientific thinking. Logical. It's a 
no nonsense hand." Chalise glanced up at her. "You have had a 
very serious illness and survived it. You have such a long 
lifeline I find it difficult to believe that you'll ever die." 
She took a deep breath, not noticing that Scully looked slightly 
alarmed. "You have strong family ties. And you have loved but 
once in your life." She folded Scully's hand and returned it. 
"It's a good hand. It's the hand of a beautiful, highly religious 
person." 

Scully stared at her a moment. "You really got all that from my 
hand?" At her nod. "I'm impressed. I don't know how you do it, 
but I'm very impressed." 

"Someday, Scully." Mulder said. "Someday I'll make a believer out 
of you. It's only a matter of time." 

"Not in this lifeline, Mulder." 

He grinned at her.







The End





Feedback Welcome DADeckert@prodigy.net 

Special Thanks: To Birdman Mike, who at first was insulted when I 
told him I'd made him into a serial killer but now seems to be 
warming enough to the idea that I'm actually a little frightened 
that I've created a monster. And to his mom and dad and everyone 
at the Atomic Chicken Farm for teaching me more than I ever 
really wanted to know about those huge, prehistoric birds. Pretty 
much everything stated about Ostriches is correct, except they 
aren't real big on raw meat. And to my dog, Fox, who investigated 
the Trash Truck too closely and now resides in dog heaven.