TITLE: "TO KEEP EDEN SAFE" AUTHOR: Char Chaffin CATEGORY: Mulder/Scully Marriage, babies, M&S/Skinner friendship, Angst, some torture RATING: NC-17, for sexual situations, language and disturbing imagery WARNING: This story deals with subject matter that may be unsuitable for some readers; please proceed at your own risk… SPOILERS: All together now…"Spoilers? We Don't Need no Stinkin' Spoilers…" DISCLAIMER: I want them, but I can't have them… FEEDBACK: GOD, yes! I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please please) WITH THANKS TO: The following amazing authors: My so-dedicated Beta-Muse, Hillary (Foxsong), Shoshana and Cat (Emania), who have read everything I have sent them and actually asked quite willingly for more; offered me plot angles, questioned my judgement, offered advice, ideas, encouragement and support during the entire process of writing "Eden"… not to mention overflowing my email server with wonderful friendship. Also to Sister Moon and to Hester (Stormlantern) who have stuck this series out with me, and have egged me on shamelessly… and Alison, one fantastic artist whose ideas and support are just awesome…Once again…you guys are the best! AUTHOR'S NOTE: At one point I promised "Eden" would end in Part two… then it became Part three… and now Part four - and I don't know how to tell everyone that I just couldn't end it, not yet… so, I'm afraid there'll be more, after this part is posted. The story just won't die; it has a life of its own, now, thanks to all the amazing ideas I keep getting tossed my way… I thank everyone who has stayed with it; I guess you must be enjoying what you've been reading, otherwise I wouldn't still be writing! SUMMARY: Upon the receipt of yet more threatening notes, and the enforced protection of our Agents' only child… Mulder and Scully must face the evidence at hand, and find a way to trap a monster… "To Keep Eden Safe" ** Prologue** The crib stood in the center of a brightly painted nursery; its windowless walls belied by the amount of indirect lighting scattered in each corner. Every effort had been made to provide a cheery haven which would appeal to a baby - and, judging by the excited look on Will Mulder's face when his grandmother carried him into the room and set him down on the floor… the results were a success. His wide blue gaze tried to look everywhere at once; his chubby little body almost spinning in circles as he twisted every which way in his effort to see it all. The colors on the walls and the furniture especially caught his attention, and he immediately began crawling toward a red dresser, which had been placed next to the white wicker rocking chair. Maggie Scully smiled wearily as she watched her grandson scoot over the carpeted floor, then bent to open up the first box that Agent Halliday had carried in. As she pulled out some of Will's clothes and shoes, Halliday brought in the last few boxes and Will, spotting the young agent, chortled in baby glee and took off in his direction, moving like a small tornado. Halliday squatted down, hands outstretched, then scooped Will into a mid-air toss as the child reached him. Will shrieked with laughter and his giggles echoed through the large room. Maggie smiled again at the sound of it, and paused in her unpacking to watch the young agent alternately toss and tickle Will. She spoke, loud enough to be heard over the giggles, "You really have a way with children, Agent Halliday - would you and Jenny like children someday?" Halliday hung the screeching child upside down in his secure grasp, loving the sound of Will's glee, and thought for a moment before replying. "I would, yes - very much. Jenny and I have talked about it… even decided she'd stop taking the pill, just to see what would develop…" He set Will on his rear again, there on the floor, and the excited baby immediately crawled off to find some trouble to get himself into. Halliday brushed off his suit jacket and watched Will's antics for a moment longer, before returning his gaze to Maggie. "But, when all this started to go down, with little Will, and Agent Mulder and your daughter being threatened… well, we had second thoughts. This is a dangerous job, Mrs. Scully - guess I don't have to tell you that. If we had a child, and something happened to our baby because some lunatic somewhere was taking revenge on me…" He shuddered to a stop, blinking rapidly to clear the unbidden moisture from his eyes. Maggie nodded and reached out a hand to press his shoulder reassuringly, then sighed as her thoughts went drifting yet again - unable to control the flashes of a past when her children were threatened in much the same way; oh, it didn't matter if they were fully grown when it happened… they were still her babies, and they'd been dealt a most unfair hand, by the Fates - Melissa, and Dana. One dead and the other having to hide her own child away to protect him… to keep him safe. Their little 'Eden'… that's what Mulder had nicknamed young Will, right after his birth. Conceived in the most unorthodox place, during a time of terror and danger for both of them - this little baby had been delivered and had survived under the worst possible conditions; had thrived since that terrible day of pain and wonder, deep in that tangle of moss and palms. Against all odds - her darling boy had made it. A miracle he was, and a miracle he would always remain, for all of them. And so, his father had chosen to remember the island in all its terror, and beauty; because he'd found his Scully on that white, deserted beach; and together they'd created their love, and in doing so they'd created little Will. And now, in light of all that had happened to them, and would continue to happen - they, and a hand-picked team of agents, and Maggie Scully herself, had joined forces to take back their lives… to bring down whatever force threatened them yet again… To keep Eden safe. ** Chapter One ** He awoke with a dry throat; must have been snoring again. Sitting up slowly in bed, Mulder rose unsteadily, on sleep-soaked limbs, and dragged himself to the bathroom to guzzle some water. As he stood there, swaying on his feet , eyes closed, forcing himself to swallow past the pain in his throat… he heard the thrashing about in the bedroom behind him… heard her gasping cries, which snapped him out of any residual exhaustion he'd been experiencing; he dropped the glass back onto the sink and hurried into the bedroom, climbing into bed and pulling his flailing wife into his arms, not even feeling the sharp poke of her elbow in his ribs as she tossed and moaned, still in the throes of yet another nightmare. He feathered gentle fingers through her damp hair, lips pressed against her overly-warm cheek, as he rocked her and soothed her with nonsense words, waiting patiently for his body heat and scent to reach her, and calm her out of whatever nasty place she was currently inhabiting. And he felt her give one last shiver, as she finally began coming out of it, as the familiar warmth and strength of him seeped into her bones, and she burrowed deep into his embrace, and tears ran silent and hot down her chilled face, there against his shoulder. Mulder held her tightly, let her work it all out of her system, until with one last sniffle she raised wet eyes to gaze up, into his concerned face, his worried eyes… and she whispered in a tiny, broken voice, "I had that dream again, Mulder… six nights in a row. It was the same as every other night…" He snuggled her down under the comforter, wound his arms and legs around her shivering frame, and laid a large comforting palm over her heart, soothing her, as he murmured, "Tell me…" She closed her eyes and sniffed again, resting against him like a weary child, and pressed her aching forehead to his neck. "I see everything through a plastic haze… images are unclear but yet I know who's in front of me, holding the needle… that smell again; the smell of the serum… and I watch the needle coming toward me, toward my arm, which is tied down so I can't move… and that smell is making me so sick… and I'm so afraid but yet I realize the inevitability of being pierced again, with that needle. "So I wait, and wait… the needle is coming to me so very slowly… but I'm ready for it… resigned to it… knowing my loved ones will be safe, if I take the hit for them. Then suddenly the needle swerves away from me, from my arm… and I stare so hard through all the haze, trying to see why it wasn't meant for me, after all - and that's when I start to scream and fight against the restraints, and inside I am bursting into small sharp pieces as I see who's been chosen to get the needle… and God, Mulder, it's Will, it's our sweet little baby who's tied down next to me behind another plastic haze, and the needle's heading straight for him…!" She broke off her words on a sob of terror and shook violently in Mulder's arms; he fought back his own panic, his own tears, and tightened his hold on her, whispering desperately to her, trying to calm her, to reassure her… "Shhh, baby, I know, it's alright, it's gonna be okay, don't cry, oh honey, don't… Will is safe, honey, he's safe, with Mom and Halliday and all those other agents watching over them, you know he's safe! Please, Sweetheart… listen to me! He's safe… just like you are, baby… safe. No one's going to hurt either of you, understand me? No one! I won't let them…" His tears overfilled his eyes and ran down his cheeks in twin streams as he held her close and pressed tiny sweet kisses over her face and hair, trying to get through to her, past her fright and terror… Some of his frantic reassurances must have finally reached her consciousness, because she slowly raised her head and wiped at her eyes, and saw his tears… and she became his comfort, kissing away his tears, all over his face and down the strong column of his neck, until they both felt warm again… felt whole again. She raised her wet face and locked eyes with her husband, whispering to him in a still-shaken voice. "He's safe, isn't he, Mulder? He's safe, and hidden some place where no one can find him… and he's happy with Mom, and doing all right, isn't he? And he's got all his toys and his favorite clothes and I can't remember if I packed his blanket, Mulder, you know the one with the teddy bears on it that he likes to sleep with, Mulder, he needs his blanket and I think it's still in the laundry I can't believe I blew off doing laundry and now he doesn't have anything warm to sleep with we have to get that blanket to him Mulder we have to find out where he is and take him his blanket, Mul…-!" He cut off her panicked monologue with a hard, deep kiss on her lips; swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, and felt her shudder with her body's reaction to his sudden passion… And he sighed into her open mouth in relief, as she moaned sweetly and returned his passion, fiercely… At least she'd forgotten about that nightmare. ** Chapter Two ** The woman in black sat late into the night, drinking bitter coffee and planning her strategy; her next move. At her feet, a white Persian cat lounged on a blue velvet pillow, purring deep in its throat; a new acquisition for her and a small bit of leftover rebellion from her youth. Cats had been forbidden when she was a child; she'd never known why. Her father had not allowed her any warm-blooded pets, such as dogs or cats, or even a bird. Her only pets were aquarium fish, as they served a soothing purpose with their endless, graceful floating - and they did not shed, or piddle on the expensive woolen rugs which covered the floors in the elegant house she could never quite think of as home. She had always longed for another companion, since children her age refused to play with her and in her excessively introverted mind, she was too undesirable to bother with. Her own mother had taken her own life, to be rid of her - had overdosed on barbiturates and vodka, leaving behind a letter which stated in cold terms her dissatisfaction with her life in general, and her insipid, weak daughter in particular. The child she'd been had sobbed copious, brokenhearted tears during her mother's wake, trying to cling to her father, who had pushed her away in distaste and had later shown her the letter, even reading it to her in a clipped, emotionless monotone. Later that night, after the expensively-dressed mourners had gone home, after the house was dark and the graceful fish floating in the sparkling aquarium had been fed, her father found a small heap of spilled fish flakes on the glass cover of the aquarium… and had walked with measured steps up the winding staircase, and into the pink and frilly bedroom of his daughter; his six-year old daughter - and had beaten her almost unconscious, with a leather whip. She had not known why, had not been able to grasp the reasoning behind such agonizing punishment, could only scream wildly and sob in her high-pitched little girl's voice, as he whipped her - then scream even louder when the beating finally ceased, and the true nature of his discipline made itself known to her… the handcuffs which fastened her to the bedstead, and the tugging down of her little flowered pajamas… and that first, terrible encounter with her father's other instrument of control. During those minutes of indescribable pain and degradation, her father recited the letter to her, word for word; with every push of his body he seared her soul with the guilt of causing her mother's suicide, in that same flat monotone of a voice. And when it was over, when he'd dressed her again, after tenderly washing her wounds and all the blood from her little body, he cradled her in his arms and forgave her for murdering his wife. It would be many, many years later before she would discover that he'd written that letter himself - and had used it as a controlling measure for her complete submission to his will. It would be another year or two later when she would discover how her mother really died - but by that time, her father was dead as well, and her rage, her inability to make him suffer for his crimes was only overshadowed by her still-unhealthy need to achieve his approval… even from the grave. The woman sat, and re-read the lab notes over and over, planning and planning… jotting down notes in a neat, precise hand, as she drank more of the dark, thick coffee and absently stroked the luxurious fur of her cat as it wound itself around her legs, purring louder. Although the notes were written in German, two words appeared over and over, scattered throughout the journal pages, words which could not be translated into any language… Mulder and Scully. ** Chapter Three ** Mulder knew their house had never looked so clean, so neat… and so unlike both of them. He walked through the quiet rooms, the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer the only accompanying sound, and took due note of the spotless furniture, the high polish of the tiled floors and the glittering windows. Everything in its place, looking like something out of "House Beautiful"… and scary as all get-out. Scully had been scrubbing for days now, and Mulder couldn't seem to get her to stop. Inside surfaces gleamed and shone; the garden was perfectly groomed, and both vehicles had been practically spit-shined. Every day she tackled a different room; a room which had already been cleaned thoroughly only a few days before. Mulder knew she did it to keep from going mad with worry… but she was really worrying him, and he didn't know what to do. They had been getting steady reports from Halliday, and they knew their little Will and Mom Scully were doing just fine - but that knowledge didn't seem to ease Scully's mind one little bit. At first, Mulder had let it alone, knowing she needed this as a kind of therapy. When it didn't lessen up, and seemed to intensify… he knew he'd have to do something to stop it; knew it couldn't be healthy for either of them - her obsessive behavior was so unlike her, so foreign to her inherent personality, which was what made it so very frightening. Mulder slowly climbed the stairs, heading for the master bathroom, where he could hear water running in the tub. Maybe she was taking a bath… he felt a moment of relief, thinking to himself this would be a very normal occurrence for Scully, to be having a bath in the late afternoon… but then, he heard it - distinct sounds of scrubbing - and he groaned under his breath, shoulders tensing. She'd scrubbed the bathroom early that morning, still in her nightgown; he'd been half-awake, and the scrape of the bristled scrubber against the porcelain tiles had been loud enough to wake him the rest of the way… Mulder took a deep breath, and opened the bedroom door; it was time for a little confrontation, with his suddenly-Type "A" wife… Inside the bathroom, Scully rinsed the last of the cleanser down the drain and sat back on her heels to view the results. The tub was spotless; the tiles glistened, not a speck of buildup on the white grout… and she was not satisfied… it wasn't done yet. She just knew she'd forgotten to clean something… she began searching all over the tub and shower enclosure, sliding the glass door back and forth, looking for a missed speck of something… her worry about the cleanliness of the bath took on epic proportions as she reached under the sink and pulled out a flashlight, then proceeded to shine it over every surface, still searching for dirt - Only to squawk in breathless surprise when she was grasped around the middle and lifted into the air and away from her kneeling position on the floor, then spun around in a pair of strong arms, to confront her husband… who wore a dangerously ominous scowl upon his handsome face. She squirmed in his arms, pushing against his solid shoulders, muttering, "Mulder, put me down! Haven't got time for goofing off right now, I have to get the dirt out of this bathroom before I gag from the smell…" All her wriggling and pushing did nothing to get her released, and everything to arouse Mulder, who kept her pressed tightly to him as he spoke low and urgently into her little ear. "Scully, for Christ's sake… there isn't a single spot of dirt anywhere in this house, the yard, the garage or in a three-mile radius… because you've cleaned it all at least a dozen times! Enough, already… you knock it off, or so help me I'm taking you to the hospital and checking you in for observation…" Her eyes, focused over his head as he'd been speaking, still looking for dirt, snapped to his grim face and her mouth dropped open in shock at his words; she struggled harder to get free, as he held her easily, not letting even one foot touch the floor. She suddenly dug in all ten nails, in his bare arms; he ignored the pain of it and latched on tighter. She growled in fury and glared at him. "Dammit, Mulder… let go! There's nothing wrong with me… maybe you can live in a filthy hovel, but I sure can't… I have work to do! You're not taking me to the hospital; why the fuck would you want to do that to me… I think you've got serious problems, Mulder… now let go! I can't let Willy come home to this god-awful mess…" At the mention of their child's name, Mulder swallowed a groan of helpless frustration and wound her into his embrace hard, pushing her head down into his neck and holding her there despite her attempts to break free. He fought to keep the tears out of his voice; she was killing him with worry but he couldn't let it show; he had to be tough on her, right now, to snap her out of it. "Scully… Willy is with Mom right now, and with Halliday, remember? He's not coming home, not yet. It's not safe for him here, you know that… didn't we just get another letter, just the other day? Didn't we find this one in his little bed, propped up against his pillow? While we were out; while we were away from the house and gone shopping… someone came in, got in here… and they left that note for you and me to find… can't you remember that? A note, from the people who did this to us, Scully - from that organization, it hasn't died out yet, someone is keeping things alive within that torture chamber… and Willy is safe, as long as we keep him away from here… can't you see that?" He stared into her red-rimmed eyes, begging her to comprehend what he was saying to her; she was as vacant as a china doll, hanging suddenly limp in his grasp, eyes staring, unfocused, pale face and mussed, tangled hair… then her cheeks flushed hotly red, as red as her hair, and she twisted herself hard within his arms, and managed to break free, and she stood defiant and tense before him, hands balled into little fists… and her voice erupted from her throat in a raw burst of hoarse anger, scalding him. "I want my boy back, Mulder… right now! How do we know he's safe? Halliday could be lying to us, Mulder - he could be one of THEM, for all you know! They could all be lying to us, how would we be able to tell? And Mom, why would she want to be away from the family for so long anyhow, did you ever stop to think about that? Well, I have… and I'd just bet they got to her, too! I'd bet they got to her, and I'd bet she's in on it, and they're all keeping us from seeing our son, protecting our son! Maybe…" Her glittering eyes caught on his horrified gaze, as she took a step closer and pushed her face right up into his… "Maybe you're in on it, too, Mulder… Is that why you're trying to stop me from getting my baby? Huh? How do I know they didn't finally get to you!" With those ugly words between them, she raised an open hand to slap at his face… and something snapped, deep within him; he actually felt the !PING! of it in his aching head; he caught the hand before it could connect against his cheek, and he spun her around until he had her, back to front, arms pinned across her middle, underneath both of his… and he carried her spitting, wriggling body into the bedroom and flung her down onto their bed and pushed himself down on her to hold her there. His anger at her words, and his blinding worry about her state of mind, her sanity, caused him to leave bruises upon her soft skin as he pinned her down into the soft mattress, and fought to find the words to reassure her, to yell at her for the pain she'd inflicted on him… but the words wouldn't come. He suddenly couldn't remember what words were; he was beyond them; beyond the concept of vowels and consonants as the blood pounded through his veins and throbbed inside his head; as he found himself pressed into a warm, struggling body which rubbed him into a state of incomprehensible frenzy which made him tug and pull at the odd things covering her, hiding her from him. He felt them on his body as well, not bugs, nothing like that, but something he'd never known before, and he didn't like it, couldn't stand it, had to rip them off, rip all of them off, from her as well as from him; his fingers tore at the stuff, until they were both freed, and now he felt only her hot skin, there in the soft grass, hot soft skin underneath him and she'd ceased to struggle and her little face was turned toward him, mouth gasping for breath as he searched with hard fingers for her open place, finally finding it and moving his body until he managed to slip between her legs, and push himself home. And once inside, the feeling came back to his numbed body, the knowledge of the good which only she could give him, filling his mind… and he moved, hard and deep within her, wanting to get there, wanting her to join him there; he slid a hand underneath her shuddering frame and found her soft center, and tugged at her, until she sent a muffled scream into the grass below her, until she turned her head, enough to reach his mouth and bite at his lips with sharp teeth, sobbing under her breath, until her body tightened with it, and she pushed up against him, opening herself even wider beneath him… and her sudden climax forced a keening wail from her raw throat, as he felt himself fly above their joined bodies, and one final thrust sent him almost straight through her… and he collapsed, spent, pressing her down into the sweet grass… into the soft mattress. Before he fell into an exhausted sleep, before he let his mind shut down and his body go limp… he wound his fingers through hers, still covering her like a blanket, still connected to her… his last conscious thought one of concern, for the rains that were coming, and would drench them to the bone if they didn't take shelter beneath the palmettos, away from the pond… but he was too sleepy to move, and she felt so good. He never felt her wriggle out from underneath him, tears of remorse stinging her eyes, as she brushed the hair out of his face and pressed kisses all over his skin, murmuring brokenly to him, "I'm sorry, Mulder, oh God… so sorry… I love you so… I love you…" Until, with those words still echoing in her head, knowing he couldn't understand them, as long as he was in that other place, that other time… she curled into a little ball beside him, and slept. ** Chapter Four ** "Scully, for the last time… I don't remember!" Mulder paced back and forth in their bedroom, still nude, hair standing on end, faint reddened scratches on his shoulders and down both arms. On the bed, Scully sat with her knees pressed up against her bare breasts, watching him with worried eyes. She knew what he was going through… it had happened to her, several times already in the past year, although this was Mulder's first flashback experience. She'd been afraid he wouldn't snap out of it at all, but they'd both awoken at roughly the same time, and the sudden, human awareness in his eyes as he'd gazed at her curled next to him in bed, a gaze bordering on panic instead of sleepy love… well, she was worried, and still furious at herself for her deplorable behavior… for it had obviously triggered a reaction within him which had escalated into one serious hallucination. He stopped pacing and stood in front of her; she held out a hand for him, and tugged him down onto the bed, until she could wrap herself around his chilled skin. He shuddered and clung to her, then his face blanched anew as he saw the bruises scattered down each arm and across her pale breasts… his indrawn breath of contrition tore at her heart. "Jesus Christ, Scully… what have I done to you, this time?" AD Walter Skinner paced back and forth, in front of the two agents sitting next to each other in his office; paced, and glared, and then paced some more… until he finally stopped dead center between them, and demanded, "Well? What have you two got to say for yourselves, this time? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you going to suffer in silence for a few days longer, until one of you kills the other, hmmm?" Neither agent would meet his hard stare; one pair of eyes looked unseeingly out the window while the other pair watched in morbid fascination as her hands picked at a ragged cuticle on her thumb. Skinner blew out one sharply frustrated breath, and grabbed at the offending hand, stilling its movements with a growled, "Stop that, Agent! And answer the goddamed question…" His voice trailed off when he felt the wet plop of a warm tear on his hand, and bent down lower, to see her face crumpled, wet eyes overflowing; with a distressed sigh, he knelt in front of her, and folded her little body into his embrace, just holding onto her and offering some belated comfort; with another sigh, he grasped Mulder's hand, there on the armrest next to her, and pressed hard. Scully sobbed as Mulder fought to hold it together, and Skinner just waited patiently for both of them to calm themselves, before he reamed them any further… He finally let loose, of both of them; gave Mulder's hand one more squeeze, and pressed a gentle kiss upon Scully's damp cheek, before sitting back on his heels and regarding them, slumped in his office chairs. He cleared his throat, worried as hell about them - but unwilling to let them off the hook, yet. "Look, you two… not giving that letter to me immediately upon receipt of it was not the smartest move you've ever made, but I guess I can understand why you didn't; and I can appreciate your distress and fear, when you first found it. I mean, whoever placed it just walked into your house as if they owned it, for Christ's sake! I know you always lock your doors, even when you're home, but anyone can pick a lock, and worm their way past a security system. I worry about the significance of placing that letter on Will's pillow - and the possible connotations of that action. "I spoke to Halliday this morning, before you arrived here, and he assured me that everyone is fine. Scully… I also spoke to your mother." At those words, Scully's head jerked up, a hopeful look lighting her face; Skinner smiled reassuringly at her and patted her hand. "She's fine, Agent; she and Will both. I even listened to Will jabbering away in the background. I assure you, by now I know the sound of his voice, as well as Maggie Scully's - and they are fine. Halliday is doing a great job, taking care of them." Scully's eyes teared up again, and she pressed her face into Mulder' shoulder and wailed, in relief. Mulder held her very gently, rocking her a little, and whispered hoarsely, "Thanks, Sir - from both of us. We've been so worried…" Skinner nodded, once, and stood up, coming around to his desk and seating himself again. His fond gaze, directed at both his agents, became tinged with an implacable sternness, as he spoke again, to both of them. "Now, about these flashbacks… Mulder, was this the first time for you?" Mulder nodded, wiping at his eyes wearily. "Yeah… the first one. Took me by complete surprise… Scully, too." He looked down at his wife, still huddled in his arms, and smiled wryly when her indignant, muffled voice floated up to his ears. "By 'surprise', Mulder? As usual you are the King of the understatement…" Her eyes peeped up at him, all vestiges of tears gone, lit with the same wry humor. She glanced at Skinner, and blushed a little, as she said, "He thought he was in the grasses, next to the pond, where we used to… um… never mind…" Hot-cheeked now, she pinched her husband when he laughed outright, and squeezed her to him. Skinner grinned in sudden understanding, then sobered a bit when he realized how easily she could have been physically hurt. Mulder's realization of the same thing came at the same moment, and he locked tense gazes with his boss. Mulder spoke their combined thoughts aloud. "I could have hurt her, Sir… you're right to think that way. And if I have another one… very possible since we don't know what really triggered this one… if I have another one, anything could happen… I could really lose it, in the most dangerous way." He loosed his hold on Scully, but retained her hand, as he gave voice to his biggest concerns. "We have to find a way to get more information on the Isarius Project… the original plans, or something. Surely not everything was burned in that fire…" he broke off, as another thought came to him. "What about the log books that Simpson found, the ones he found with all those tapes? What did they have in them, besides all that clinical shit about our interrogation? Any formulas, codes… anything like that?" Skinner shook his head, and reached behind him on the desk to pull out a folder. He opened it and flipped through the sheets, then slid the folder across the desk to Mulder, who picked it up and began looking through it, with Scully over his shoulder he opened a thin notebook, bound in brown leather; they both scanned the neatly-written script. Mulder was puzzled. "Written in German… did anyone try translating this?" "Oh, yeah… I gave it to Schwitzer, and he read it through and did a translation… poetry, mostly, he said, hard to tell if the author is male or female. But, just poetry…" Mulder turned the notebook over in his hands, fingering the smooth leather, and wondering why on earth it would feel familiar to him. Weird… Scully caught his pensive look, and arched a questioning brow. He shook his head with a little smile, and laid the notebook on Skinner's desk, inquiring, "If I want to look at this notebook again… can I get access to it?" Skinner nodded and scooped up the entire file, standing with the thick folder in hand; the agents rose as well, knowing they were being politely dismissed, and eager to get home as well. "The folder will be in the usual secure place, Agents… should you need it." ** Chapter Five * "Where is it, Otto? It was the only one that did not burn up in the fire… the only one. The most important of them all, and I can't find it anywhere… which means that you forgot to replace it in the vault, with the rest of them… so, where is it?" "Dearest, I assure you… it is in a safe place. I couldn't get to it in time; don't you think I tried? There were agents everywhere, my love, swarming over all the tapes, all the folders and the files - and I was caught up in their search, and assigned a partner as well… I couldn't get away! I didn't see who grabbed it… but I know where it is… I've seen it…" his voice faded off as she grasped his upper arm with painful, curved fingers, nails digging into his skin. "You saw it? You could have taken it at any time, and you didn't? Why the hell not, Otto? Answer me! Whose camp holds your loyalties, anyway?" He rushed to placate her, to calm her fury, before it could erupt in his face and flay him alive. He'd seen just what the woman was capable of doing… "My love… I couldn't take it! It's under heavy lock and key, in a guarded area! But, fear not - I was the one asked to translate… I said it was full of poetry… a pure stroke of genius on my part, don't you agree? No one will care what the pages have to say… who reads German poetry?" He smiled triumphantly at her… then his eyes widened, and he paled, whiter than milk… as he noticed, for the first time, what she held in her hands… the smell of it odd and metallic in the small room; the glowing look of it… and he began to gibber in terror, gasping in fright, "What are you doing, I just said it's safe, God Almighty who would think to look in a book of poetry for anything, please dearest… don't do this to us… I love you, DO YOU HEAR? I love you, please…" And into his frightened, panic-filled eyes… she smiled sweetly at him… and slid the needle home… and watched with sadness as the serum began to work on him… then walked slowly to the door, not bothering to turn around as he began to scream with the pain and anguish of loss - "Oh, I am sure you do love me, Otto… after all, I could have been your first real solved case, couldn't I? And you would have had one under your belt, and perhaps a promotion, all the way up to Special Agent… what a nice ring that would have had to it… 'Special Agent Otto Schwitzer'…" She gently shut the door behind her, thinking once again of how sad she would be, to lose him… remembering with fondness the way he'd held her, and made love to her, whispering those endearments in his smooth voice, those German endearments… He had even known exactly how hard to ram it to her, as she'd hung there, handcuffed to the bedposts… so much like her father… so much. What was it those vulgar Americans were fond of saying, in their stupid 'pop' culture? Oh yes… she remembered now… "A hard man is good to find…" How very true. And were they not also the very ones who coined the phrase, "My heart belongs to Daddy…" She smiled again, and locked the door behind her; stepped out into the cool evening mist. Maybe she would take white roses to her father's grave, later on tonight. ** Chapter Six ** "I don't like this one little bit, Mulder… I don't want you to do it. What good will it do? Please… there's got to be a better way!" Scully was fighting so hard to keep her voice even and her panic controlled… but her eyes were huge with worry in her pale face, and she had a death grip on his hand. Mulder sighed, and squeezed her fingers gently, then carefully pried them loose from his hand, and led her to the sofa, pushing her down into the cushions and kneeling in front of her to look into her concerned face. He slid cool fingers through her hair, underneath the heavy silk of it, rubbing at her neck tenderly, as he tried to gather the words needed to make her understand the necessity of what he was about to do. "Listen to me, Scully… I have got to do this. It's the only lead we have left! No fingerprints on the notes, the doorknobs, or anywhere in the house; no clue as to the author of these notes; our agents have come up with zip on this… Skinner's about at the end of his rope, and so are we. Our evidence consists of four notes and a handful of VHS tapes… and I'm convinced there must be something on those tapes, something which was missed the first time they were viewed… can't you see I've got to watch the tapes for myself…" Her low sob stopped his placating attempt, and she covered her face with her shaking hands and cried into his shoulder, soaking his shirt. Mulder closed his tired eyes and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet fragrance and wondering, yet again, just when the hell their lives were going to be anything besides weird. He missed his son; he missed his mother-in-law, and he missed the wondrous brilliance of Scully's smile; something he'd not seen in entirely too long. Their nerves were just about at the breaking point - they'd been waiting for over a month now; a month, to see if the monsters behind those little notes would make themselves known, would come out of hiding, and attempt something, anything… Mulder was positive the bastards knew exactly what this game was costing him, and Scully, in sanity. He sighed into her soft skin, and slid warm lips over the delicate collarbone and up to her tiny ear, kissing it gently before he pulled back, enough to look into her wet face. "Scully… you know I don't have a choice… please don't make this any harder. Let me go, baby… let me get this over with, OK? Skinner will be there, with me, and Simpson… I'm going to ask them today, to help me; and I'll be fine, really I will… let me go now, and let it be done… maybe I can find some missing link within one of those tapes, and we'll go after this piece of shit and take him down, once and for all…" He started to move back and away from her, but she wouldn't let him go; her arms tightened around his neck, and she pulled her face from its hiding place against his shoulder, and her eyes, still damp, blazed into his with determination. He stared at her, suddenly thinking he didn't like the look in those blue orbs of hers, not one bit… and she spoke low and evenly, into his ear. "For the last time, Mulder… no! No, you're not going to do this; I don't care how many frigging FBI agents are in the room with you… no!" He started to protest, and she slammed a hand over his mouth and effectively gagged him, as she continued, "You're not doing this… not without me, there with you. And no, you won't be trying to change my mind… not this time. I'm going with you; it's final - we will watch those godamned tapes together… and we will either sink, or fly, together… and whatever answers are in those tapes… we'll find them together. You got me, Mulder? Together. No more ditching… no more singular heroics. I'm your partner… your official FBI partner. You have to include me… or else, you can kiss your 'husbandly rights' goodbye… for a very long time…" His wide-eyed look of almost comical surprise had her fighting to keep a straight face. He sputtered indignantly, finally gasping out, "You'd cut me off, Scully… me? You can't do that; it's illegal! You took vows, woman… you can't cut me off…"! She laughed suddenly, right in his panicked face, and purred, "Yeah, we both took vows, 'lover' - for better or for worse… remember? Well, here's looking at worse…" and she kissed his mouth shut, when he would have protested some more… and she felt the moment he gave in, with a shudder and a hard sigh, into her mouth; he pulled away, just enough to murmur, in defeat, against her lips. "Okay, you win… together. God help us…" Dr. Marianne Wallace knocked once on AD Skinner's door, then not waiting for an answer, opened it and walked in, shutting the door firmly and marching right up to the desk; planting both hands upon the polished surface, she waited just long enough for his head to raise and his surprised gaze to register her presence before she pushed her face into his and demanded, "Are you completely off your rocker, Sir!" Taken aback, Skinner opened his mouth to speak, and Marianne raised one imperative finger and pointed it straight at him, admonishing with a hard, "Don't even say it… don't try to justify this, Walter! You cannot, cannot let Dana and Fox view those tapes! They are by no means ready for that… God! Think of it… still having flashbacks, both of them… yes, I know Dana hasn't had any lately, but her last one was the worst; look what havoc that one wrought upon them! And Fox… he just had one lately; I had to twist his arm to get him to talk about it! Now you want to put them in a room with those tapes, knowing what's on them, knowing it could destroy the grasp they have on their sanity to see them…" She paused, to suck in a huge breath, ready to let fly again, and Skinner slapped a hand over her arm, and yanked her down into the armchair facing his desk, leaning over her, his expression resolute. "Hold it right there, Dr. Wallace… this is not my decision to make. I have no control over what my agents decide to do about those tapes, surely you know that by now. No, I don't want them to see what's on those tapes… God, never that! I watched all of them, Annie… I know what those scenes are going to do to Dana, and to Mulder, when they see for themselves the horrors they had to endure!" He let go of her arm, and sunk into the chair next to hers, holding his head tiredly; he'd not been able to sleep decently ever since his agents had made the request - no, the demand - to have the tapes released to their possession. He'd tried to talk them out of it - then he'd tried to pull rank, and had tried ordering them away from it - they'd just stared at him with identical looks of determination, and had politely requested the surrender of "the evidence", as they'd worded it… and his hands had been tied. But then, they'd requested his presence in the room , during the viewing… and two sets of eyes had gazed into his, with the barest tinge of pleading, behind the determination… and he'd acquiesced. Now, Skinner watched Marianne Wallace struggle with the inevitability of her two favorite patients having to go through so much to glean what she was certain would be just a tiny bit of evidence… and her worry was there in her face, for all to see. He reached out a hand, and squeezed her cold fingers, and murmured, "I'm worried as hell, Annie - and I'll be right there with them, I promise you…" She nodded, once, and stood up, abruptly, walked to the door; as she opened it, she turned and spoke softly. "Let me know when this viewing's taking place, Walter… because I'm going to be there, too…" ** Chapter Seven ** By the time Scully and Mulder arrived in the small meeting room, everything had been set up and was ready to go. Mulder had tried talking her out of going with him… it hadn't worked. If anything, his attempt at persuasion had resulted in an even stronger determined lift to the stubborn 'Scully chin' - she'd stared him down, not saying a word, and he'd finally sighed in defeat and had helped her on with her jacket… then he'd pulled her hard, into his arms, and they'd held each other close, there in the hallway of their home. He'd kissed her eyes, and her soft cheeks, her mouth; whispered to her of his love for her, of his pride in her courage… and she'd tried very hard not to weep at the sweet words. Now, in the darkened room, sitting side by side in comfortable chairs, holding hands - with Skinner on one side and Dr. Wallace on the other… they were ready to begin. Agent Simpson had selected the first tape in the series and had popped it in… then paused, before hitting the 'play' button, and spoke for the first time since arriving with the VHS unit. "Agents… are you sure about this? I saw these tapes… and it about killed me. I can't begin to tell you, how terrible… can't even find the words…" he couldn't finish the sentence, just shook his head and took a shuddery breath, caught in the throes of remembering. Scully rose swiftly, out of the chair and moving over to Simpson, standing there next to the unit; she grasped his hand and squeezed it, then gave him a quick, hard hug. The gesture surprised him; Scully the Ice Queen, hugging him… and he suddenly realized just how much she meant to the Bureau, and how much strength and courage was contained in her small frame. He hugged her back, a little awkwardly, and patted her back, as she let him go and whispered, "Thank you for your worry, and your concern, Agent - but we have to do this. We have to know… so please continue; we'll be fine. We're always fine…" And she turned back to her chair, scooting it a little closer to Mulder's, affording him the ability to slip an arm about her shoulders and cuddle her close. The unit whirred; the TV screen came alive with the image of a large room, windowless, bare except for a metal table, several straight-backed chairs, fitted with restraints, and two padded armchairs, nestled side by side. The silence on the tape was unnerving; dead white noise, enough to make a body antsy - then suddenly, a door burst open, flung back by a booted foot kicking at it… and the agents watched with wide eyes as first Scully, then Mulder was dragged into the room by white-clad, expressionless men, and pushed down into the hard chairs; leather restraints were cinched over their wrists and around each ankle; the chairs then maneuvered around until they faced each other. A man had followed them into the room; short and stocky, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a white lab coat; he wore round spectacles on his rather bulbous nose and his pale blue eyes held no expression whatsoever, as he entered the room and locked the door behind him. He approached Scully first, placing a pudgy, soft-looking hand upon her cheek; she never moved, nor did she acknowledge in any way the man's presence. The lab-coated man hummed a little, in his throat, then turned to face the camera head-on, a faint semblance of a smile bending up one side of his thin mouth; the Scully sitting outside the camera, watching this, jumped a little, and muttered, under her breath, "Pell…" And Mulder nodded slowly, eyes glued to the screen; his arms tightened around his wife protectively. Still silent, Dr. Pell Friedrictoph turned away from the camera, and again approached Scully; she stared straight ahead, sitting stone-still, unmoving. He sidled in closer to her, again reaching out a hand to touch her cheek, his lips moved but there was no sound; Skinner had mentioned the first tape or two had no sound; they'd been prepared for this, and the silent observers in the room watched very carefully the scene unfolding in front of them. The doctor's hand laid against her cheek, almost lover-like; the head cocked slightly in her direction… the earnest expression on his face, radiating a sort of concern for her. He squatted down, on his heels, now eye level with her, more words, difficult to lip-read; Mulder motioned to Simpson, who rewound and let it play again; trying to read the lips, but he only caught a few words: "Tell me who… purpose of it… how many, Agent… consequences…" His lips were so thin, and that made reading them difficult. The doctor was patient, kept asking questions, the same lip movement over and over again; Mulder caught a few more words, nothing major… Scully never moved one inch; hardly appeared to be breathing… the Mulder on the screen also staring dead-on, expressionless… and Pell Friedrictoph turned a little, in his direction… and his thoughtful gaze focused there, on Mulder's face… and he rose to his feet, stretching a little, as if to ease cramped muscles… then he suddenly swung out with both hands clasped together, fingers interlaced, like a double fist… and this fist caught Scully on the side of the head, and snapped her sideways, breaking the delicate skin of her upper cheek, and her mouth; she crumpled into her chair but she never closed her eyes, never acknowledged the pain. Her eyes locked with Mulder's, and they stared deeply within each other as the doctor, expressionless and merciless, hit her twice more, with his fisted hands; once on the other side of her face, and once across her shoulder and breastbone. She slumped in the chair… but her eyes were open. And in the viewing room, seated next to the real Scully… Mulder moaned, deep in his throat, and held onto his wife tightly, shaking from what he'd witnessed, only twenty minutes into the first tape… and there were at least six more to go… and he knew without a doubt, that what he'd witness on the other tapes would be far, far worse than what he'd just seen. He didn't think he could stand it, but he had to stand it, because he just knew there was something vital on those tapes, something so easy to miss… and so necessary. For that reason… he would have to swallow his pain and agony at having to watch the woman he loved, the woman he lived for, being tortured and beaten - the same as what she would go through, when it happened to him, however far into the tape that footage would be. Mulder hoped their combined strength would be enough for them, to get them through it, when that time came. ** Chapter Eight ** When the door opened, there on the screen, in the middle of the third tape… Scully tensed in her husband's arms, and drew a hissing breath, between her teeth. This tape did have sound, and for the last hour, they'd watched Pell Friedrictoph grilling Scully, hearing the almost sing-song quality of his voice, with its thick German accent, ask her the same questions over and over; hitting her about the face and shoulders when she didn't respond. She hadn't moved so much as a muscle, in hours, on those tapes; the only time her body changed position at all was the result of being slapped, punched or shoved, there in her chair. The doctor seemed to be tiring of the game, for he leaned down and whispered into her ear, so low the words barely carried, "Agent Scully… Dana. One way or another, you will tell me what I need to know… even if I have to fuck it out of you…" And his face pressed against hers, almost like a lover, and his thick pink tongue crept out of his thin mouth, and slid over her cheek and down her jawline; her entire body tensed, but she didn't move. One of his hands found a small breast, and squeezed her obscenely, one eye watching Mulder for his reaction to this violation of his partner… he never looked, never moved. In the viewing room, Mulder groaned at the sight of this monster gripping Scully's breast, the camera showing in awful detain the pressure his hand was exerting, the bruising which had to be happening, beneath the soft knit of her sweater… the dead look on her face; only her eyes showing any life, any intensity, as they remained locked with Mulder's. Their communication with each other, the silent strength they sent to flow between them, was never more evident than in that moment on the screen, right before the door opened… when Friedrictoph, visibly frustrated from the lack of response he'd gotten from either of the agents, sent a swift, hard punch right into Scully's face, breaking her little nose… again, no reaction, from either of them… not a sound. Beside him, Mulder felt Skinner tensing, heard the curse he spat under his breath… and laid a hand on his arm, pressing lightly; Skinner let out one huge shuddery breath, and dropped his face in one hand. Seeing this little scene the second go-round hadn't been any easier; in fact it had been worse, because Skinner had known what to expect… had cringed anew at the sight of Scully's delicate nose being smashed. And,, on the other side of Mulder… Scully had taken one audible, gasping breath… and her eyes welled up with tears of remembered pain, as she watched herself being pummeled by the sadistic doctor… And as she continued to monitor her image on the screen, watched the way her image kept eye contact throughout the ordeal of having her body mangled by Friedrictoph; almost congratulating herself on being able to sit through it without falling apart on Mulder… the door opened in the middle of the third tape, and a woman entered the bare, darkened room… and Scully hissed in her throat, and a moan slipped out through her gritted teeth; she remembered… remembered the woman. Big-boned, dressed in black… the woman moved with a soundless step, to stand in front of Mulder… and she bent down, close to his face, and her questions started out so softly, almost sweetly, spoken low into his ear. "Tell me, Mr. Mulder… when did you first plan your little escapade into our business, hmmm? How many agents were involved? Their names, Mr. Mulder? How many…" Her voice softer, and softer, against his cheek now, face to face, trying to force him to look her in the eyes, but he kept his gaze locked on Scully. It angered the woman, his lack of response… and she stepped back from him, and reached behind her on the table, for the bag she'd dropped there when she'd first entered; pulled open the drawstring and took out a pair of black gloves. And she slid them on her large hands, the fit very tight; as she tugged them into place, the very tips of these gloves glittered in the overhead lights… slivers of metal in the tips, pointed and deadly sharp… and Scully gasped, sitting there next to Mulder, held by his warm arms; she paled and shook as the light from above the camera caught the little knives sewn into the gloves, and sparkled as the woman extended her hands toward Mulder's bare chest, and one hand raked lightly across his biceps… and left a thin, four-fingered trail of blood behind it. And in the chair next to her husband, Scully cried out at the sight of all that blood, and moaned almost soundlessly, almost incoherently, " No no no nonononononooooo…" Tears blinding her, she stumbled to her feet, and ran for the door; Mulder jumped up to follow her, when another movement on the screen caught his eye, and he turned to look… then his jaw dropped, and the feeling of being trapped in a chair bound with leather restraints, of being in indeterminable pain and despair swept over him once again… as he stared at the screen and watched the woman in black turn back around to face him again, still wearing the metal-tipped glove on one hand… while the other held a slim brown leather-bound notebook… and she flipped it open, and began jotting down notes, while walking a circle around the on-screen Mulder… occasionally swiping out a gloved hand to tear at his skin and leave more dripping blood… Mulder was almost incoherent by the time he was able to force his numbed lips to speak. "Holy shit… holy… shit! The notebook, in her hands, Sir - that's the notebook I saw the other day - the one you said had been translated as nothing more than a bunch of poetry… by Schwitzer; Agent Otto Schwitzer…" Skinner had risen to his feet, staring in mounting horror at that little brown book, and his whispered condemnation echoed around the now-silent room… "Oh, Christ… oh, hell… Schwitzer. He was our 'mouth' to the organization, Mulder… not Baratelle; at least not just him… but Schwitzer, as well. He lied to me about the contents of that book, Jesus Christ… he lied. All this time…" Skinner couldn't believe it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open and stabbed in some numbers, then waited one or two seconds before barking into the receiver, "This is Skinner… go get Schwitzer… now! What… hell yes, arrest him! I'll explain later; just get him and make it damn quick!" He closed the phone, and shoved it back into his pocket, as Mulder ran to the door and flung it open, calling over his shoulder, "I want to see the rest of it, Sir… but for now I have to find Scully; make sure she's all right…" And he tore down the hallway, calling out, "Scully! Where the hell are you!" Running down to the elevator, pushing at the buttons…the doors finally opened, and there she was, sitting huddled in the corner of the elevator, arms clasped around her knees… crying tears silent and endless down her white cheeks. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and holding her pressed so tightly to him, hoarsely reaffirming to her that it was okay, everything was okay now, he was safe and so was she… and her tears fell even harder, as she pressed her trembling lips to the strong pulse in his neck, and her shaky whisper wound itself down into his heart and exploded into his soul - "Mulder… she's alive, we thought she'd died in that fire, Mulder… but she's alive, that woman Leonie… alive! Mulder…" She pushed at him, enough to be able to raise her frightened eyes and gaze into his worried face, "Mulder… she's his daughter… I remember now! His daughter, Mulder… Leonie is Pell Friedrictoph's daughter..." ** Chapter Nine ** "Are you sure, Agent? We were told that five people died in the fire, and one body was completely unidentifiable…" Simpson sat, facing a much-calmed Scully, in Skinner's large office; Mulder, sitting next to her on the small sofa, still had hold of her hand. She was still too pale… but she looked composed, which was better than he was doing. Simpson, consulting the report in his hands, read pieces of it aloud. "Five bodies. Four proven to be male… three burned beyond recognition. Das Gruber, a lab technician, Heinrich Schnell, another assistant of some kind, and Brunot Fledernous, again unsure of his position… all burned beyond recognition. We were able to find dental records which matched; these men all had police records. Pell Friedrictoph… identifiable visually; but the fifth body was so crispy it was just about ash, including the teeth. Could have been male, could have been female… and we ran down every lead we could think of, on the woman called Leonie… why do I have a feeling Dr. Doom in there was yukking it up in our faces, every time he spoke to the woman and called her by name? Maybe because he knew that for official purposes, she'd never even existed." Skinner, perched on the corner of his desk, was puzzled. "Are you trying to say the knowledge of her birth had been withheld from the world since the day of her birth, Simpson? How can that be possible?" Simpson shook his head dismissively, and gulped at a can of pop. "It can be done, easier than you think… the kid is born, at home. Educated, at home. Locked inside every night, not allowed friends, probably not even pets… always alone. Maybe she had a mother, once… maybe our mad doctor buddy killed off the mother, for reasons unknown. He obviously seemed to have his own little agenda… and from the few reports we were able to obtain, he was a frigging genius… IQ off the charts. So, the girl grows up, with nobody but Dr. Insane, to pal around with; maybe he abuses her, definitely he teaches her everything he knows, everything he's working on… she was his assistant, his second in command. That much was obvious from the way they interacted, however subtly, on those tapes…" Mulder, who'd been listening attentively during Simpson's brainstorming, suddenly smiled at the agent, and commented, "That's some damn fine profiling you just came up with, Agent… why have you been wasted at that boring desk job of yours, all this time? So what if it pays more…" His little aside to Simpson served to break some of the tension in the room, and even Scully smiled, though she was still too pale. Simpson actually blushed, and harrumphed deep in his throat, before he closed the report and handed it to Mulder, replying, "If you and Agent Scully hadn't been 'bedridden' in the hospital at the time this report was being compiled… I'm sure you would have been able to come up with a lot of the same details listed here… and your profile would be much more dead-on than mine…" Mulder opened his mouth to retort, but was halted by Skinner's bark of, "Enough of this "My inferiority complex is better than your inferiority complex" bullshit, Agents… we have a lot of work to do. "Simpson… go back to the crime scene, please… don't worry about the expense report; this one's on me. Don't come back until you find something we overlooked. Mulder, are you and Scully up to watching any more of the tapes, or would you -" his query was interrupted by their combined, determined "Yes!" He nodded, and sent a glance to the fifth occupant of the room, who had been quiet throughout this meeting. "Annie - how about you? Can you handle it?" Dr. Wallace nodded, and smiled reassuringly at Scully and Mulder, then rose and headed to the door. "Just let me cancel my last appointment for the day, Sir - she's due in an hour, and if I call her cell phone I can probably reach her before she leaves work. I'll meet you back in the viewing room." Opening the door, she grabbed a quick elevator down two levels, to her office, unlocked the door and headed for the phone, punching in a number and waiting a bit before it was picked up and she could speak. "Miss Shaw… this is Marianne Wallace… oh, fine, and you? Well, good! Listen, dear, I have to re-schedule your appointment… what's that? Oh, I'm fine, no emergency, really! Something came up, another case in which my help is required… oh yes, never a dull moment! Now, how about 6:00 PM tomorrow; will that work? What… no, not at all; well, I usually leave at 5:00 but I don't mind staying a little late, since you have a hard time leaving early on Fridays… no it's fine, really. See you then…" Marianne hung up the phone and forwarded her calls to Mona, her receptionist… then turned out the lights and headed back to the elevators… And, in the sleek, gunmetal gray BMW, one gloved hand left the wheel, long enough to flip the cell phone closed, and the woman in black eased up, just a little on the gas pedal, and smiled a bit into the rear mirror… and her thoughts were easy and clear, for the first time that day… very easy, and very clear. She adjusted the huge sunglasses she always wore when driving; the ones that covered so much of her face they made her look quite eccentric, rather than quite mad, which she was… quite, quite mad. She was looking forward to her session with Dr. Wallace… yes, indeed. She and Dr. Wallace had become fast friends, beyond the doctor-patient relationship… she and Dr. Wallace had some mutual acquaintances. Dr. Wallace had a lot of very useful information, concerning a lot of useful people… and it was time to allow her to 'help' in the woman's quest for continuation of her father's work. Leonie Friedrictoph smiled again, and drove at a sedate pace… thinking of the lovely information which the good doctor would provide, to her… right before she would become shot full of serum... Ah, science... such a comfort. Thanks so much for reading, and look for the final installment (I know, you've heard it all before!), "Regaining Eden", coming soon! Feedback treasured more than chocolate kisses, at char@chaffin.com !!!