From: To: Subject: [XFNC17ff] FIC: Splintered MSR 0-1/5 Date: Sunday, July 14, 2002 9:47 PM Title: Splinter Author: alee Rating: NC-17 for sexual content, MSR Spoilers: Very mild ones for "Clyde Bruckmans's Final Repose", "Quagmire", "Detour", and the cancer arc; "Requiem" never happened because I do not care to deal with Mulder's abduction, and I maintain that Mulder and Scully have been an item since "Never Again" (As to why, that's an entire discussion in and of itself! *w*) Disclaimer: *sigh* Mulder and Scully are not mine, they belong to 1013; the song lyrics are from "Ribbons" by Sisters of Mercy -- I have written two other (non X-Files) fics related to this song, and I just can't seem to get away from it! Take a listen to this dark, brooding sonic experience and I think you'll see why... *g* Summary: murder, mayhem, angst, and romance -- answer to Whispers of X July/August True Blue Challenge (complete list of required elements at end of story) Author's Note: I am currently experiencing chronic neck/shoulder aches from too many hours spent in front of the computer writing my dissertation, so I decided to share the misery -- sadly, I don't have the nice "therapy" that I provide for my character... *w* /I'm lying on my back now The stars look all to near Flowers on the razor wire I know you're here We are few And far between I was thinking about her skin Love is a many splintered thing Don't be afraid now Just walk on in/ Prologue Brooker, Florida June 8th, 2000 9:40 p.m. It was night. The humid darkness lay like a blanket, enshrouding the earth in a thick, cloying veil. Crickets chirped with lackluster enthusiasm, the heat of their native sauna too oppressive for even its native denizens. A bullfrog provided syncopated base, a rhythmic counterpart to the fading trill of his prey. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning sparked across the sky, but no cooling drops fell to relieve the oppressive heat that sparked the storm. The acrid scent of impending deluge filled the air, charged by ions and electricity. It was a night filled with sad promise, a night like too many before and too many to come. She sat alone on the porch steps, braced against an uneven railing that followed the zig-zagged path of the stairway leading from the chipped front door to the dusty yard, littered with random patches of weeds and bahaya, and the few strands of lush centipede grass that refused to succumb to the dry Florida summer. Whimpering softly, she lowered her face into the cradle of her arms, wrapped tightly about her updrawn knees. The faded denim of her worn jeans dampened, moistened by her tears, as silent sobs shook her frame. The images rolled through her mind, a brutal onslaught she was helpless to stop. The crimson spray painting the beige stucco walls in sanguine hues. A choked scream, the gurgling cries that supplanted it. Swift, careful blows, made all the more horrifying by their calm deliberation. The creeping chill of encroaching death that muted her vision as she lay on the ruined spread, patterned in jewel-tined paisley. The gentle pulling and tugging as her limbs were arranged in artful repose. A sharp lancing of pain, then another as the world went dark. *Tie a red, red ribbon. Tie a red, red ribbon. I'm thinking about your skin. Tie a red, red ribbon.* The voice whispered softly, the last sounds she heard as her heart slowed... and stooped. As abruptly as they had begun, the images ended. She bolted from the steps, retching as she fell to her knees. Pounding the ground with a weak fist, she cried. They were back, just like they always were. The visions that bound her, that cursed her days and haunted her nights. Somewhere not far away a young woman had been murdered, and Lee Holly had seen it happen. Chapter One The Hoover Building June 12th, 2000 4:30 p.m. Scully sat behind her desk, absently rubbing her finger over the slightly rough wood grain as she read the report in front of her. Pausing, she leaned her head over to the right, slowly rolling it down and to the left in an attempt to dislodge the knot of tension stretching tautly between her right shoulder and jaw. Sighing in frustration, she tried the maneuver one more time before conceding defeat, reaching up with her right hand to rub the sore muscles. This always happened when things were slow. Too many hours sitting at her desk, typing or staring at the computer screen, and her neck and upper back began to ache. She had tried adjusting her chair, the height of the keyboard, the monitor, all to no avail. No, this seemed to be her fate; she, Dana Scully, who could stand on a concrete autopsy bay floor, hunched over a corpse for hours at a time with nary a sore muscle, was done-in by her office furniture. It would have been funny, had her neck not ached quite so badly. With a soft moan of frustration, she returned her attention to the details on the pages in front of her, jumping slightly as a large, warm hand came to rest across the back of her neck. Turning her gaze to meet Mulder's as he bent over to her side, she smiled. "I didn't hear you walk over." "I'm not surprised. You were pretty busy trying not to be too loud as you groaned in agony." "Don't be melodramatic, Mulder, I was just stretching." "And rubbing your neck, and frowning, and clearly in pain." With a sigh, she raised her hand to rest atop his, pressing his fingers gently into her skin. "It's just a stiff neck. Too many hours sitting at this desk." "You should have said something sooner, Scully. I think I can help." Placing his other hand on her opposite shoulder, Mulder began to knead in a slow, firm rhythm. Allowing her neck to go limp and her head to loll forward Scully sighed in pleasure as the warmth and strength of his hands began to dissipate the discomfort in her neck. Humming softly, she closed her eyes as he continued the massage. "Ever consider this as a career?" "What? Touching the delectable Agent Scully?" "Delectable, huh? Well, much as I appreciate the compliment, I meant massage. You've got the magic touch." "Sure you're not biased?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and his breath fluttering in warm puffs against the skin if her temple as he leaned forward to brush a kiss against her forehead before releasing her neck with a final squeeze and standing upright. Opening her eyes and tilting her head back to meet his gaze, she reached to clasp his hand. "Possibly. But then, is it really bias if you've got the best?" Chuckling, Mulder disentangled their hands and walked back to his desk. "Scully, I'm sure there are a LOT of people who would question your assessment!" Joining in his mirth, she conceded his point. "Maybe, but then again they don't know you as well as I do... Which makes my opinion all the more remarkable!" she finished tartly. "You wound me." he gasped in mock outrage, clasping his hand over his heart. "I doubt I'll recover. The only way you can possibly make it up to me is to... come to Florida with me." Sobering, Scully returned her attention to the autopsy report once more. "Mulder, why on earth would you want to take this case? There's nothing remotely supernatural about it. This girl was murdered --" "In what appears to be ritualistic fashion." "They found her in her own home, there was clear evidence of forced entry, and some cryptic writing on the wall that sounds like your typical psychotic rambling --" "With occult undertones." "The discovery was routine; the police found her body when she failed to show up to work three days in a row --" "And following a phone tip from a local psychic." "And -- Wait a minute! Did you say 'psychic'? Is that what this is about, Mulder?" She asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised in arch inquiry. "You're telling me that you want to go to Florida in the middle of the hot, humid summer to investigate a homicide that is, by no stretch of the imagination, an X-File because you think there may be a psychic involved in the case? You're joking, right? Does the name 'The Stupendous Yappi' ring any bells?" "I don't know, Scully, does the name 'Clyde Bruckman' ring any bells for YOU?" he retorted. Snickering quietly, Scully returned his level gaze. "Are you telling me that you think kinky sex will be the end of you?" "Ha ha, Scully. Not unless you're involved..." he said with a suggestive leer. "What about Clyde's prediction that I wouldn't die? You can't tell me you buy into THAT nonsense." Sobering instantly, Mulder stared at her unblinking, his eyes fixed on hers. "That most of all," he said somberly, "that most of all." Returning his gaze with concern, Scully frowned slightly at the determination she read there. "Everyone dies. You and I know that more than anyone. You've courted death many times, and we both know that I--" "But you didn't!" he interjected fiercely. "You didn't die, and you won't as long as I can..." Trailing off, he turned his head to face the wall, a muscle jumping along his jaw. Though they had been through this countless times, discussed it in countless ways, the thought of losing her was simply... unbearable. And what could not be borne, must be denied. With that thought echoing mirthlessly through his mind he returned his gaze to her. "Look, I just want to go take a look. Supernatural or not, it's still a crime, and one that we may be able to help solve. The local law enforcement has already said they wouldn't mind a little extra help on this one -- small town, big crime and all that. We have nothing better to do than sit around here, getting stiff necks, so why not go and see what we can find out?" With a sigh, she conceded defeat. "OK, I'll go. But I'm warning you in advance: no swamps, no alligators, and definitely no night-time campouts -- sleeping bag or no, you're not getting lucky in a mosquito infested bog." "Ahh, Scully, who needs to get lucky when they're already the luckiest man alive? I'll go get the travel requisition forms." Bounding up from his chair, Mulder headed out of the office. Smiling ruefully after him, she wondered, not for the first time, how one person could spark such an infuriating mix of irritation and adoration, and why it had taken her so long to admit her feelings. She returned her attention once more to the photos and crime report of the Florida homicide victim, and was struck by one phrase: *Body was found in bedroom. Room was filled with balloons.* Very odd, very odd indeed. Further reading revealed that all the balloons had been inflated with helium, and were dark blue in color. The body had been draped in a red scarf post-mortem. The writing on the mirror was, not surprisingly, done in the victim's blood, but the lines that formed the letters were very fine; clearly something other than the perpetrators finger had been used to create the message. The wording itself was odd as well, almost lyrical yet strangely abstract. *cobalt red, cobalt blue, no purple light out of you* Strange. What could it possibly mean? Shaken out of her reverie by Mulder's return, she noted with resignation the pleased grin on his face and the glee with which he clasped his hands together. "What?" she asked. "The paperwork's already approved -- we leave tomorrow morning." Glancing at the office clock that read 5:15 then back at him, she let a grin of her own emerge. "In that case, we'd better go home and... get ready." "I concur. The best way to solve a case is to be completely prepared. Perhaps I should assist you in your... preparations." he punned, his left hand on the curve of her spine as he ushered her out of the office ahead of him, case file clasped in her arms, jacket slung carelessly over his right shoulder. Lowering his hand to close the door behind them, he quickly completed the task before returning his hand to its rightful resting place. As they made their way to the parking deck, more than a few speculative glances were thrown their way. Then again, that was nothing new. Reaching the garage, both settled into Scully's car; Mulder driving as usual. Reaching over to link their hands, Scully leaned her head against the headrest and turned to gaze out of the passenger window as Mulder navigated his way onto the street. Already planning what to take on the trip, she lost track of time and soon they were parking on the street in front of her apartment. Mulder turned off the engine, then got out and came around to open her door. There was no question as to where he would be sleeping tonight. It had begun as a ritual of desperation; Mulder started spending intermittent nights on her sofa when she was ill, terrified that something dire would happen to her in the intervening hours between the end of one workday and the beginning of the next. It evolved into a habit of practicality; he slept over the night before they left on a case so they need not waste time picking one or the other up on the way to the airport for an early flight. Now, this habit was so much more. It was a pledge between lovers, an affirmation of commitment. Apartment 42 was still leased to Fox Mulder, and a collection of ever more dusty personal effects were stored there, but Mulder, and all that really mattered, were firmly entrenched in the home of Dana Scully. Stepping over the threshold, Scully flipped the light switch, bathing the foyer in a soft glow. Mulder followed close behind, closing the door and sliding the deadbolt in place with the ease of long familiarity. Walking into the bedroom, she removed her heels, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. Gathering up the fallen fabric, she shrugged her suit jacket from her shoulders, carefully hanging both garments on the hangers left vacated on the bed and returning them to the closet. Unbuttoning the cuffs and first three buttons of her blouse, she lifted the garment over her head, bending to deposit it in the clothes hamper. Straightening, she raised her hands to the straps of her bra, intending to remove it, when another pair of hands stopped her. Smoothing his palms down her arms, Mulder snaked his hands around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. The soft fabric of his undershirt rubbed pleasantly against her bare back as they swayed together slowly. "I thought you might need some help." He murmured against her neck, nibbling softly at her skin before trailing a slow, open-mouthed kiss along her jaw. He suckled gently on her earlobe, nuzzling the sensitive hollow in front of her ear with his nose. Scully shuddered, tingling arousal hardening her nipples and raising goose pimples on her flesh. "Mmmmmm" she replied indistinctly, guiding his palms to cup her breasts and holding them in place with her own. Moving his head, he began to nuzzle through the hair at her temple, blowing short puffs of breath against her scalp. She moaned as her arousal heightened. Her head had always been exquisitely sensitive, so much so that merely having her hair brushed sent pleasure shooting through her veins, but with Mulder... with Mulder, her scalp became a study in eroticism. He had quickly discovered that a well placed caress or breath could drive her wild, and he took full advantage of that knowledge now. Extricating his hands from her grasp, he brought them up to cradle her head, spearing his elegant fingers though her hair. Kneading with his fingertips, he worked his way across her scalp from front to back until she was leaning bonelessly back against him, quivering with desire. Walking backwards, he made his way to the bed, her body still flush against his. Removing his hands from her hair with one last lingering stroke, he sat on the edge of the mattress facing the vanity mirror and pulled her back onto his lap. Resting his head on the curve of her shoulder and his hands on her thighs, still encased in nylon, he stared at their reflection. "Open your eyes." he whispered. "See what I see." Scully lifted heavy lids and stared into their reflection, illuminated in the muted light filtering from the shaded windows. Her hair was tousled from Mulder's sensual play, and her lips were flushed, waiting for his kiss, thirsting for his mouth. As she watched, his hand rose from her thighs, lifting to cup her breasts. He enveloped them in his palms, the heat a delightful stimuli to her swollen nipples. Runching the fabric back and forth with his thumbs, he leaned farther forward, bringing his lips to her cheek. "You are so beautiful like this. I wish..." here he paused, lowering his head to kiss her neck and licking slowly at the hollow of her throat before nudging her head over to the side to bare more of her skin. "I wish I could paint you this way, capture this exquisite loveliness on canvas." Unfastening the front clasp, he slid the straps down her shoulder, guiding each one over her hand before dropping the bra onto the floor. Scully moaned, the heavy dragging sensation that always accompanied the first moments after she shed the supportive garment intensified by the swollen arousal of her breasts. Swaying slightly, she reveled in the heady sensations that radiated from her taut nipples, caressed by the open air. Arching her back, she hissed with pleasure as Mulder's hands returned to cup her flesh once more. He gripped her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pulling gently but firmly in a steady rhythm. "Your skin is softest thing I've ever touched, and the taste... God, Scully, the way you taste!" Nudging her head to the other side, he traced the same path he'd traveled on the left, tracing the line of her throat with the tip of his tongue. Nibbling softly down the exposed tendon, his tongue came to rest once more on the hollow of her throat, lapping hungrily. Scully began to undulate, small rocking motions that pressed her thighs against the growing ache between them. With a sudden motion that drew a gasp of surprise from her, Mulder reached down and grasped her thighs, curving his hands around their inner surface, lifting and spreading her legs so that they rested atop and outside his. She reached up to grasp his shoulders with her own hands, desperately trying to maintain her balance in the precarious position. With no hesitation, Mulder traced a path up her inner thighs, his fingertips rasping slightly along her hosiery, and the nerve endings just below. As he reached the juncture of her legs, his left hand coursed back up her abdomen to clasp her left breast as his right cupped her sex. "Look at us, Scully" he entreated, "look at how perfect we are together, how lovely you are." Fixing her gaze on the mirror once more, she blushed slightly at the wanton sprawl of her limbs. The slim swaths of white that marked the presence of his undershirt on the broad shoulders peeking around the clasp of her hands, and the dark wool covering the legs beneath hers created perfect foils for one another, and stunning contrasts to the ivory skin they framed. The sight of his hand, covering her mound completely and pumping up and down in perfect synchrony with the feeling of his stroking along the lips of her sex heightened her pleasure. Mulder had taught her the value of visual erotica, and there was nothing more stimulating than watching her lover love her. Her clit swelled under his touch, and dampness invaded the cotton crotch of her hose. Pausing, Mulder changed his caresses, now tracing the opening to her sheath with ever smaller concentric circles. Probing with his middle finger, he pressed the damp cloth into her, creating an extra level of friction as he rocked his fingertip just inside the mouth of her font. "You're not planning on wearing these again tomorrow, are you?" he questioned in a voice gone smoky with his own desire as his cock swelled against her buttocks. "N-no." she breathed, jerking and moaning sharply as his hand shifted, pressing the bones of his wrist against her clit. "Good." Angling his hand more deeply between her thighs, he continued rimming her sex as he began flicking his thumb up and down against the focus of her arousal. Increasing the rate and force of his strokes, he shifted his body forward, forcing Scully into firmer contact with his hand and firmer pressure on her clit. Pressing down into his touch, she ground herself into him, the muscles in her thighs trembling with the tension of impending orgasm. Clutching and releasing his shoulders rhythmically, she whimpered as release beckoned, but danced out of her reach. "Mulder... I can't... I can't..." She twisted frantically, quivering. "Easy. You can, you can. Just let it happen." Punctuating his words with short, hard kisses against her throat, he kneaded her breast, rolling her nipple and pinching it lightly. No matter how many times they came together, she was always amazed at the strength of her arousal, the force of her passion. Mulder brought out feelings that were so intense, so overwhelming, it was almost too much. Too much sensation, too much stimulation -- it was sometimes difficult to find release, to relax enough to allow her nerve endings to achieve orgasm. This was one of those times. She was close, so close, but she couldn't go over. She was empty, aching, her inner walls quivering with want. "Please! Mulder, I can't-- please!" She writhed atop his lap, trying in vain to twist free, to turn around. She let go of his shoulders, too frantic to worry about petty things like balance, and shoved her hand behind her waist, fumbling with his belt, his zipper. So engrossed was she in her task, she barely noticed when he slid her to the side, evading her grasping hands long enough to rise and dispose of the remainder of his clothing. The haze of arousal lifted enough for her to register the absence of that much needed hand, the lack of stimulation on her aching sex, and she moaned with frustration, past the ability to speak. She ran her tongue over parched lips, attempting to gather her thoughts enough to ask for what she wanted, but there was no need. Mulder bent forward to grasp the waist band of her pantyhose, sliding the sheer fabric carefully down her legs and tossing them carelessly across the room. Stretching out beside her on the bed he slid his left arm under her shoulders and pulled her close. The feeling of his warm skin pressed seamlessly against her side was a balm to her overtaxed nerves, as was the soft skim of his right hand brushing over her brow, her nose, her lips before smoothing the sticky strands of her hair away from her damp face. Murmuring wordlessly against her cheek, he curved his right arm around her waist, shifting her until she lay on her side facing him. Sliding that same hand down her flank, he urged her thigh over his waist, shifting downwards until the crown of his erection nestled against her. "Look at me." he crooned softly as he rocked against her, nudging the mouth of her sex with his own until her dazed eyes met his. "I love the way your eyes look when we're like this." he continued, "So blue, so full of passion, so full of promise. When I see your eyes and they... God! Scully--" he gasped, closing his own eyes as she, impatient, reached down and grasped his cock, holding it in place as she swiftly flexed her hips, embedding him halfway. Grasping her waist, he flexed his hips, sliding into her in a slow glide of fulfillment. He gritted his teeth at the pleasure, the warm fluttering liquid velvet delight, as she clenched around him. He began a slow syncopation, a short-short-long tango for two, punctuating each thrust with hard kisses against her lips. He felt her muscles tighten further, the tension in her spine, and watched as her eyes fluttered in an attempt to hold his gaze. Straining forward far enough to kiss her lids, he pressed them closed one at a time as his thrusts became ragged, less measured. The hand at her waist trailed down and back and he gripped the resilient flesh of her buttock before sliding his middle finger into the crease of her ass. He traced the crevice slowly, rimming her rosette once, twice before pressing against her perineum, stretched taught by her position and his cock. The added stimulation was all she needed, and she came with a gasp, held rigid by pleasure. He froze within her, letting her ride out her orgasm. Short seconds later she opened her eyes once more and met his hungry gaze with one of repletion. "I love you." she whispered, reaching up to cradle his cheek and draw him forward for a kiss. Tightening her leg around his waist, she urged him to thrust, tracing his lips with her tongue. He grimaced with effort, trying to find his own satisfaction. "I love you, Mulder." she whispered again, and he stiffened inside her. She hummed in contentment as she felt the wash of his seed and cuddled his spent form closer. A kiss on her shoulder signaled the return of thought, and he rose up enough to return her tired smile with one of his own. "I love you, too" he murmured, rising on shaking limbs and extending his hand to her. They went into the bathroom together and he started the shower, adjusting the temperature while she took out towels and washcloths. They bathed together, then packed for the upcoming trip in companionable silence. After a quick dinner of sandwiches and salads, and a few minutes of catching up on the day's current events via CNN, they went to bed. Curled up in Mulder's arms, listening to his soft snores as they rumbled against her ear, Scully drifted off to sleep. Chapter Two Gainesville Regional Airport June 13th, 2000 11:46 a.m. They arrived at the airport and stepped off the plane, a 36 passenger commuter jet connecting from Atlanta, and into the humid heat typical of a Florida summer. On approach, the pilot had announced the weather as "sunny 98 degrees", and the beads of sweat that formed instantly on their foreheads and trickled down their necks on the short walk across the tarmac supported his prediction. Pausing inside the airport door, Scully reached into her purse and retrieved a stack of folded napkins. After blotting the moisture from her face and throat, she handed the remaining towelettes to Mulder for similar ablutions, and they walked to the row of rental vendors and secured a car. Fortunately, it was a short walk to the vehicle and they were soon pulling out onto the road, air conditioner at full blast. Following the directions Scully obtained from the internet they left the university city and headed north towards Brooker, passing through mile after mile of planted timber, and pasture land filled with grazing cattle. "So, Scully, what do you think of the bucolic scenery?" "I think it's lovely", she replied, then frowned as a house came into view, separated by at least two miles from the preceding dwelling, "but a little too isolated for my tastes." "Oh, come on, haven't you ever had a desire to play Old McScully? Can't you just smell the clean country air?" "That 'clean country air' would be filled with the smell of animal manure and ammonia-based fertilizer, and countless pollens from germinating plants. No thank you." "Yeah, but just think about the potential for cattle mutilations and crop circles..." he joked, glancing at her and chuckling at the expression of disgusted amusement on her face. "Only you, Mulder, only you." They drove in companionable silence for a few minutes more. Mulder slowed as they crested a hill in the road, the "Brooker City Limits" sign announcing their arrival. Turning into the lone store, a Handy Way, they pulled up next to the Bradford County sheriff's vehicle parked in front waiting to meet them as expected. Before Mulder could turn off the ignition, the driver's door of the deputy's car opened, and a uniformed man stepped out. Walking over to Mulder's door, he motioned for him to put down the window. "You the FBI agents?" he asked, pulling off his sunglasses and squinting against the sun's glare. "Yes" Mulder replied, pulling out his badge. "I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully." "I'm Deputy Randall, pleased to meet you both. Sheriff Andrews said you'd want to see the crime scene before going on to the station. If you'll follow me, I'll take you out to the old Jones place." Walking back to his car, he started the engine and pulled to the edge of the parking lot and waited for them to follow. The drive to the house was short; a few twists and turns down narrow country roads and the structure came into view. It was a one story building, yellow vinyl siding with white window facings and trim. Crossing the yard, Randall pulled the barrier tape aside, holding the door with its ruined lock open for the agents. Inside, the house was nondescript. Stucco walls and beige carpeting were accented with modest furniture and the occasional picture. Crossing the living room and turning down a short hallway they entered the bedroom. Most of the room was spattered in blood, with the greatest staining on the floor at the foot of the bed. The bedspread was missing, having been removed and shipped off for forensic analysis, but the beige cotton sheets underneath bore the marks of the blood that had seeped through before the body was found. Balloons bobbed about the room, some wilting and hanging halfway to the floor as their buoyant filling slowly leaked away. The writing on the mirror was still in place, sections of the letters missing at random intervals where they had been swabbed, the blood also sent for analysis. Mulder knelt by the edge of the carpet stain, staring at it intently for a moment before looking up at Scully and Randall, standing a few paces to his right. "Her name was Sally Crawford." Randall announced. "She was a local girl, but she'd just moved back from Tallahassee; she'd been going to school there. Her folks are dead, got killed in a car accident a few years back, but her aunt lives just up the road. Terrible thing, just terrible." "Any idea about the murder weapon?" Mulder asked. Randall shook his head. "No. Something hard, not all that sharp -- the wounds were tears more than they were cuts -- and fairly short. The wounds were shallow, the deepest puncture was only three inches. As far as we can tell, she bled out from a combination of several severed arteries and veins. Both wrists were impaled, and one of her carotids had a substantial lesion. There was also some bruising at the temple. Looks like someone hit her pretty hard. And then... well, then there were the eyes. Gouged out. Probably by the same weapon." Rising, Mulder walked over to examine the mirror writing more closely as Scully followed the deputy to the window. "Is there anything missing from the house?" she asked. "Not so as we can tell, but then we don't have a complete inventory. The tv and vcr are still here, and so are the toaster and microwave. We found several pieces of jewelry in her dresser, and money in her purse -- it was left on the kitchen counter. Robbery doesn't seem to have been the motive." "What about sexual assault?" "No ma'am, we didn't find anything to suggest that she was sexually assaulted." Mulder rejoined them, folding a notepad and replacing it in his jacket. "Any idea what the writing means?" "No. I figured it was just some crazy rambling. But I don't really have a lot of experience with this sort of thing." "This sort of thing?" Mulder asked. "This kind of murder. Sure, I've seen dead bodies before - it's a small town, but it's not THAT small, if you know what I mean - but it's usually not this... bizarre. Drunken brawls that turn ugly, the occasional shooting over money, or drugs, or passion, but not this. Not somebody carved up in their own house, wrapped up in a scarf, and left in a room filled with balloons. Balloons! For crying out loud, what kind of nut would fill up a room with balloons?" "Any idea where the killer obtained the balloons?" "The lab report said they were common latex, the kind used in most florists. The color was a dead end, too; it's the color they use for "Gator blue" around here, and with the university... well, it's always in stock and always in demand. We're in the process of going through the sales records for all the balloon vendors in the surrounding towns for the last week, but a lot of their purchases are fairly small, and paid in cash." "What about the psychic?" Scully asked, "When can we speak to Ms. Holly?" "She's working today, but she's going to come by the station tomorrow to talk with you folks. I don't think she'll be much help, though." "Why not?" she asked, somewhat sharply. "Lee's given us some tips before; I can't explain it, and don't know how I can believe it, but she's always been right. We were suspicious at first, investigated her to see if she might have some "inside" connections with the crimes -- a couple of robberies and a kidnapping -- but nothing ever panned out. As far as we can tell, she's on the up and up. She tells us what she "sees", and that's all she has to say." With a final look around the room, Mulder turned to Scully. "Anything else you wanted to see?" he asked. Shaking her head no, she moved past him and exited the room. Mulder and Randall filed after her, and Randall re-secured the barrier tape after they cleared the front door. "If you folks will follow me, I'll take you to the Sheriff's office in Starke, and then we'll see about getting you checked into a hotel." As they pulled out of the driveway, Scully shifted in her seat to face Mulder. "Mulder, why WOULD someone fill the room with balloons?" "I don't know. A message, maybe? A comment on themselves, or on Sally Crawford? I'd be a lot happier if we knew what the murder weapon was." "Maybe we'll know more when we talk to the medical examiner. They shipped the body out for forensic analysis, but the report indicates that the local M.E. took a look at the body when it arrived at the morgue." "Maybe. Scully, what do you make of the writing?" "I'm not sure. There's something about it..." "What?" "Well, I thought the first time I read it, when I was looking at the report back at the office, it's almost... I don't know, lyrical or something." "I know. I think it's the rhyme: "blue/you"... but it also has this strange symmetry -- the thing with the colors, "red", "blue", "purple"... and the balloons and scarf -- blue and red again. I think they mean something. I think it all means something." "The question is, what?" "I don't know", he sighed. "Whatever it means, I hope this isn't the start of something, I hope he doesn't kill again." "Me too", she said, reaching over to twine the fingers of her left hand with those of his right, laying lax against his thigh, "me too." Arriving at the station, they split up: Mulder going to speak with Sheriff Andrews and Scully tracking down the M.E., a local mortician who did double duty. Drawing blanks on all fronts, they left the station at 4:00 and headed up the road to the newly renovated Holiday Inn having made plans to meet Deputy Randall in the morning so they could follow him to the church where Sally's memorial was being held. Securing adjoining rooms, they carried their suitcases inside. It seemed a prudent idea to turn in bills for two rooms to the bureau, and the extra space was nice when they needed to spread out case notes and files. As luck, or rather the lack of it, would have it the thermostat in Mulder's room was broken; the fan was blowing but the air was hot. Poking his head into Scully's room to ask if her climate control was working any better, he was confronted by two things at once; a chill blast of air from her fully functioning air conditioner, and the sight of Scully in her skirt and bra, her blouse, jacket, and hose draped over the chair. "Hot, Scully?" he asked innocently. "Try melted." she retorted. "According to the Weather Channel it's going to be even hotter tomorrow. I hope the church is air conditioned, or I may not make it through the funeral without passing out." "Speaking of air conditioning... the one in my room's not working." "Well, come on over. I'm going to take a quick shower." Ripping off his own shirt and tie, Mulder sprawled across the bed and flipped through the channels while the sound of running water filtered through the background. "No Way Out" was starting on HBO, and he was engrossed in the action when Scully emerged towel draped from the bathroom. Rustling through her toiletry bag, she grabbed a bottle of lotion before joining Mulder, sitting on the side of the bed. Smoothing the cream onto her legs, she was distracted by the sounds coming from the television, and looked up to find Kevin Costner and Sean Young in a heated embrace in the back of a limousine. "Oh, come on!" she scoffed. "What?" asked Mulder, eyes not leaving the screen. "Well who would actually do something like that? Have sex in the back of a limousine?" "Why not?" "Please! Well for one thing, the driver might see you, and for another... well, it's just tacky, Mulder." "Tacky?" he chuckled, turning to face her. "Yes, tacky. It's like... I don't know... making out in the back of a taxi, or the backseat of a car. It's just too adolescent." "Yeah, but that's what makes it fun!" he retorted, eyebrows wagging lecherously. "Regardless of your assessment, I don't think that would constitute 'fun' at all. It would be cramped, and uncomfortable, and just plain... tacky." "Oh, I don't know, the thought of making love to you in the back of a taxi has a certain appeal. I can just imagine it..." "Well, 'imagining' is all you're going to get, Mulder, because there is NO WAY I'm ever having sex with you in the back of a taxi." "Ah, but who said anything about sex? I distinctly remember suggesting 'making love'. Two entirely different things, I assure you." With that, he laid the remote aside rolling across the bed to wrap an arm about her waist and pillow his head on her lap. Sliding his arm up her back, he gripped her damp hair and pulled her face down for a passionate kiss. "Mulder, what are you --" "Shh." His tongue snaked out to trace the outline of her lips, probing gently until they parted. He breathed into her mouth, a moist exhalation that paved the way for his exploring tongue. He licked slowly around her teeth, stroking the surface of her tongue with his before thrusting deep within, probing the depths of her mouth. He moaned as her tongue joined in, and the kiss heated in intensity and ardor. Turning swiftly, he rolled onto his back and pulled her atop him, her towel dislodging in the process. He traced her spine, grasping and kneading her buttocks as the kiss continued. Her nipples hardened, pressing into his chest through the thin fabric of his undershirt. Impatient with the cloth, she raised up, tugging at the garment until it came free from the waist band of his pants. Trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses up his stomach, she bunched the undershirt beneath his arms and attacked his nipples. Mulder shuddered as she swirled her tongue around the rigid flesh, random nips soothed with warm laps of her tongue. Pulling the undershirt further up, she guided his hands above his head, leaving the material bunched around his wrists. "Don't move" she whispered softly. "I want you to stay just. like. that." Each word was punctuated with a kiss, her teeth nibbling at his lips. Not waiting for an answer, she kissed her way back down his body until she reached his erection, swelling and pressing against the zipper of his pants. Placing her palm atop him, she massaged the rigid flesh, trailing her other hand across his smooth chest and dragging her nails across his ribs. Mulder sucked in his breath sharply, the tickling from his ribs battling the ache in his loins, creating a surfeit of sensation. Stopping her sensual torment, Scully moved both hands to his waist, quickly disposing of his belt and lowering his zipper. Urging his hips up, she drew his slacks off, leaving him clad only in jersey boxers. Mulder sighed with relief, but quickly tensed as she swooped down, her breath scalding him through the thin fabric of his shorts. It was all he could do to lie passive, hands above his head when she began licking him. Her tongue left damps trails on the jersey weave that turned to chill in the cool room as soon as her lips moved to another target. She suckled just below the head, hot puffs of air leaving her nose to tickle the crown of his penis, and he let out a strangled moan when she reached through the opening and drew him out. She traced the veins with her tongue, pausing every few moments to lick the ridged edge surrounding the head. Scraping her nails lightly down his shaft, she grasped the base and held him firmly as she scooted up, straddling his waist and lowering herself onto him. Gritting his teeth, Mulder twisted his undershirt between his hands as she began to move, her breasts undulating with each stroke. He slammed his hips up to meet hers, and whimpered when the action caused her to still. "I told you not to move", she taunted in a voice grown husky with passion. "Scully, please!" he gasped, trying desperately to shift her, his hips writhing beneath her in the short, abortive movements that were all he could manage without her help. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the lips. "Anything for you, Mulder", she breathed against his lips, straightening and thrusting her hips down once more, bracing her torso against his with one hand as the other trailed down her abdomen and began to rub her clit. The sight of her like that, head thrown back, breasts swaying, thin film of sweat dotting her flesh as her hand worked furiously between her thighs, sent Mulder over the edge, the spasms of his ejaculation wracking his limbs. Scully followed his, the pressure on her clit combining with the warmth of his seed to fling her into orgasm. Lying winded beneath her, Mulder freed his hand from its bindings and brought it to rest on her back as she lay slumped atop him. "Guess that was a wasted shower, huh?" he asked, chuckling. Scully lightly pinched him on the arm, turning her head to press a kiss against his throat. "Shut up", she murmured, rising from the bed to rinse off once more. He followed, showering as she dressed, and they headed out to find something to eat. Chapter Three St. Paul's Methodist Church June 14th, 2000 10:00 a.m. The services for Sally Crawford were well attended. It seemed that many in the community knew her, or her family, and were filled with sorrow over her death. Muted sobs could be heard throughout the eulogy, and the deceased's aunt, Myrna Loy, sat in the front row, her shoulders visibly shaking. When the last hymn ended, Mulder and scully filed out of the building with the rest of the mourners. Waiting patiently as Mrs. Loy received condolences from the attendees, Scully took the opportunity to scan the crowd. Finding on one that stood out, she returned her attention to Sally's aunt only to find she was approaching them. "You must be the FBI agents", she said in a voice made husky by crying. "I'm Myrna, Myrna Loy, Sally's a-aunt." She paused, sniffing delicately into a hankerchief before continuing. "Do you have any idea who could h-have done th-this?" "We're sorry for your loss, Mrs. Loy", Mulder said. "We don't have anything definite on your niece's case yet, but we are following every possibility. Would you mind if we came by your house later today?" "Not at all. In fact, you could follow me there now, if you like. I don't think I really want to be alone right now, anyway." "If you're sure." Scully answered. "Quite sure. Just follow me." Turning, she walked to her car. Following Mrs. Loy's black Lincoln, they retraced their path from the previous day, winding back through the same country roads past Sally Crawford's house. The Loy residence was larger than Sally's home, but in poorer repair. The white asbestos shingles were stained with mildew around the foundation, and dirt splashed up from the empty flower bed stained the lower half of the structure. The black paint was peeling on the shutters, and the front door was slightly askew on its hinges. A young woman came out to meet them as they drove into the yard. Dressed in a paint spattered smock, she stood behind the screen door as they approached. Waiting for Mulder and Scully at the threshold, Mrs. Loy held the door open and invited them in. The young woman stepped back enough to allow entry, but stayed close as the entered. "Agents, this is my daughter Susan. Susan, these are the agents investigating Sally's death. Agents--" here she trailed off, waiting for them to finish the introduction. "Agent Scully", Scully identified herself, realizing they had never given Myrna their names, "and this is Agent Mulder" with a nod in his direction. "A pleasure to meet you." Susan replied, extending a hand that was as stained as her smock. Mulder grasped her hand, shaking firmly, then stepped aside to allow Scully the same privilege. It was then that he noticed the partially draped canvas in the corner of the room, a sheet spread on the floor beneath it. "Is that the painting you're working on now?" he asked, nodding in its direction. "Yes", Susan replied, offering nothing further. "May I see it?" After a brief hesitation, Susan nodded. "Of course, Agent Mulder, just allow me to work on it a bit more." So saying, she walked over to the canvas and picked up her brush, resuming her work. "Well, " Myrna said, smiling awkwardly, "please have a seat." She sat in the rocking chair, gesturing for them to sit on the loveseat opposite. "What can I do to help you?" she asked, settling into the chair. Taking the indicated seat, Mulder looked around the room briefly before returning his attention to Myrna. "Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your niece?" Mulder asked. "Anyone who disliked her?" "No", she sighed sadly, "I can't imagine who would want to do that to my Sally." "Any idea about the people she knew in Tallahassee? Could someone who knew her from there have done this?" Scully queried. "Not that I know of, but then... well, I really didn't know her friends from Tallhassee very well. I only met one of them -- a boy she brought home for Christmas last year -- the rest of them I only knew from her conversations, but I can't imagine anyone who knew her wanting to hurt her like that. She was such a sweet g-girl." Mrs. Loy paused, wiping her watery eyes with a kleenex as with a final stroke of her brush, Susan stopped painting and came to stand behind her mother, rubbing her shoulder reassuringly. "Of course, what my mother won't tell you is that we really didn't know Sally that well anymore. In fact, since she --" "Susan! Don't be ridiculous! Why --" "No, mother, they need to hear this." With a final squeeze, Susan drew a shuddering breath, seeming to steel herself for some unpleasant task. "When Sally left for school, she hated to leave us behind. We were the only family she had left, and she and I... well, we were more like sisters than cousins. Those first few months she called every week, sometimes twice or three times, and then... Then she just stopped. She came home for the occasional holiday, called on Mother's birthday, and that was it. She stopped going to church, stopped caring about her family, just STOPPED. She moved back here about six months ago, and in that time I've seen her three times." Myrna sat weeping quietly, shoulders hunched under a heavy weight. She had opened her mouth a time or two when Susan started speaking, but quickly subsided, sitting silently with a look of stricken acknowledgement on her face. Now that Susan had finished speaking, Myrna buried her face in her hands. Susan leaned forward, smoothing her hand up and down her mother's back and pressing a quick kiss against her crown before facing them once more. "So you see, neither my mother or I will be of much help to you." Waiting for Mrs. Loy to compose herself, Scully reached forward and placed her hand atop Myrna's, clenched tightly around a now-sodden hankerchief. "Is that true, Mrs. Loy? Have you not been in close contact with Ms. Crawford since she returned?" "Y-yes", she whispered, then cleared her throat. "Yes", she repeated in a firmer voice. "What my daughter says is true. Sally moved back almost six months ago, and in that time I've seen her twice: once at the grocery store, and once at the post office." Nodding, Mulder rose to his feet, Scully following suit. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Loy, Susan." he nodded at each in turn. "We'll contact you if we have any more questions." Turning he started for the door ushering Scully ahead of him. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning to face Susan and her mother once more. "May I see your painting now?" Somewhat taken aback, Susan nodded hesitantly. "Of course..." leading the way, she stepped in front of him and turned the canvas to face him. The colors were chaotic, a swirling mix of black and amethyst that lightened to lavendar around the focal point, a russet unicorn, it's eyes blazing and nostrils flared around the fiery breath it exhaled. Mulder turned from the painting and smiled tightly. "Very interesting. Thank you." "You're welcome." "Good day Mrs. Loy, Susan." With a final nod in their direction, Mulder joined Scully by the door, and they walked out to the car together. "What was that all about?" she asked him as he cranked the ignition. "I think she did it, Scully." "Who?" she asked, somewhat incredulously. "Susan." "What makes you think that?" "The painting, it's too violent, too chaotic. And the subject matter... very strange. 'Unicorn as Menace'. It's off, somehow. And I think she did it." "Why, Mulder? What possible motive could she have? And the way Sally Crawford was murdered... do you really think Susan Loy is strong enough to do that?" "She wouldn't have had to be as strong if she'd had the element of surprise. Plus, the autopsy report noted a blow to the temple, maybe Sally was dazed, somehow incapacitated." "Yes, but why was the door forced? Wouldn't Sally have let her in?" "Not necessarily, Scully. You heard Susan; they had only seen each other three times in six months. Even less contact before that. No, there was a problem there, a rift of some sort. Find out what that was, and we'll be halfway to solving this case. I think the answer is in the painting, I just can't put my finger on it. Let's head back to the station and see if Lee Holly can shed some light on things." "The psychic?" she asked with a snort. "Don't be such a skeptic." he chided. "Besides, maybe she knows more about Sally Crawford personally. She is from the same area, and this strikes me as the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else, at least in passing." Arriving at the station, they parked the car in the last parcel of shade and walked inside. Deputy Randall, met them just inside the entrance, ushering them into a small conference room where a woman sat by the window, staring our the blinds. "Lee?" Randall called softly, waiting for her head to turn before he continued. "These folks are the agents I told you about, the ones that want to talk with you about Sally's murder. This is Agent Mulder, and his partner Agent Scully." With a small smile in her directions, he gestured Mulder and Scully inside before closing the door, leaving the three of them alone. "Hello, Ms. Holly." Scully began, "We'd like to talk with you about what you... reported to the police." "Well, it should all be in the official report." Lee said, her serious gaze locked with Scully's. "I was sitting on my porch last Thursday night. I could feel it in the air, there was a...menace, for lack of a better word. The feeling that something bad was about to happen. Then the vision started..." "The 'vision'?" Mulder prompted, leaning forward eagerly. "Yes. I see things, images, bits and pieces of something happening. It's like watching a series of still photographs, shown in close proximity so that they almost seem animated, but still incomplete. I hear things, too. Snatches of conversation, a voice, a scream... her screams." Here she broke off, looking down at her lap and swallowing heavily. "I heard her screams", she repeated in a softer voice. "Ms. Holly," Scully interjected, "did you know the deceased?" "Not personally, no, but I knew who she was." "How so?" "I work at a local bookstore. Ms. Crawford was a frequent customer." "Did you ever see Ms. Crawford in the company of someone with whom she was having a disagreement? Or a fight?" "Not exactly, but... she came into the store a couple of weeks ago, she was buying a large stack of books. She had laid them on the counter, and I was coming from the back of the store to check her out when another lady walked in. She walked over to Ms. Crawford, and started talking to her. They didn't seem happy to see one another, and after a few moments the other lade walked out of the store. When I got behind the counter, it looked like Ms. Crawford was about to cry." "Did you know the other woman?" Scully asked. "No." "Just out of curiosity, do you remember what Ms. Crawford was buying that day?" Mulder queried. Blushing slightly, Lee glanced down at her hands then back up to meet his gaze. "Erotic books, sexy things... the Kama Sutra, the Joy of Sex, a book on sensual massage -- You get the idea." "Thank you, Ms. Holly." "Yes, thank you for your time." Scully seconded. Rising from her seat, Lee gathered her purse and started for the door. Turning abruptly to face them once more, she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it once more. Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders and met their gaze. "I didn't say anything about this earlier, because... well, frankly because it sounded too far-fetched, even for me, but... strange as it sounds, I think you're looking for a unicorn." Sharing a startled look with Scully, Mulder raised his eyebrows in question. "A unicorn?" "Yes. I know how crazy it sounds! But every since I called the police about what I'd seen, I keep getting these flashes of a horn. Only one, always the same... I can't think of anything else that has one horn, so... unicorn." "Thank you for your help." Scully said firmly, clearly skeptical of this latest information. Smiling in rueful understanding, Lee turned to go once more. "Good luck", she called over her shoulder, "I hope you solve this; no-one deserves to die like that." She closed the door behind her and left them alone. "A unicorn, Mulder? Are you actually buying this?" "I told you Scully, it's Susan. She did it, and the proof is in the painting." "Well, I doubt the local law enforcement is going to arrest her based solely on Ms. Holly's statement and your reaction to a picture!" she retorted. "I know. I think we need to pay Ms. Loy another visit." Chapter Four Loy Residence June 14th, 2000 3:00 p.m. They drove into Mrs. Loy's yard, and a surprised Myrna Loy came out to greet them. The overcast sky began to release its first pellets of rain, and they dashed through the open door just as the heavens began to flood. Stepping in and closing the door, Mulder turned to face Myrna. "Mrs. Loy, may we speak with Susan?" "Susan's not here, she's gone into town to get some more paint. Can I help you?" "Well, we thought of a few more questions that Susan might be able to help us with", Scully said, guiding Mrs. Loy over to the loveseat. "Do you mind if we wait for her?" "Not at all. I'll go put on some coffee. You two make yourselves at home." Mulder paced around the room as she bustled about the kitchen, his gaze darting from the array of family pictures to the cross-stitch samplers mounted on the wall. Walking over to the curio cabinet in the far corner, he suddenly froze. "Come here, Scully." he called softly. Joining him, she looked curiously at the knick-knacks displayed behind the glass, then stilled, her attention captured by the same thing that had caught his eye moments earlier. "Oh, my God", she breathed, "you were right." On the second shelf from the top there was a row of unicorn statues, each made of a dark, granite-like material. All were posed in action: rearing, running, striding... and each one had a single horn, two to three inches long. Most damning of all, there was an empty space in the row. One of the figurines was missing. "Here you go", Myrna said returning with two mugs of coffee, "there's cream and sugar on the table if you want it." "Thank you", Mulder said, accepting the coffee, "Mrs. Loy, who do these unicorn statues belong to?" "Oh, those are Susan's. She's been collecting them for years. In fact, Sally gave her the first one." "It looks like one is missing, do you know anything about that?" Scully asked. "One's missing, you say? That's odd", walking over to the cabinet, Myrna pulled her glasses from the neckline of her dress and put them one. "You're right, one IS missing... it's the one Sally gave her. I wonder where it could be! Let me see if she's moved it." Leaving them by the cabinet, Myrna walked to the back of the house returning with the statue in hand moments later. "Here it is. Looks like she must have taken it to the bathroom to clean it." Chuckling, she handed the sculpture to Mulder. "Though from the looks of it, she's going to have to have another go at it. It's still dirty." He took the figure carefully, going completely still as he moved it into the light. Caking the grooves in the horn and trailing down the frozen flanks was a dried red substance. He handed the unicorn to Scully, drawing a deep breath. "Mrs. Loy, I'm afraid that--" "What are you doing?!?" a voice shrieked from the doorway. Turning, Mulder saw Susan Loy, tendrils of hair dripping from her quick dash in the pouring rain and fury in every trembling inch of her body. "Susan!" Myrna gasped, horrified, "Where are your manners?" "My 'manners'? You want to talk about MY manners? What about their manners? Handling my things, nosing into things that aren't their business!" "Susan, they were just admiring your unicorns. Agent Scully noticed one was missing, and I found it in the bathroom when I went looking. They just wanted to see it, that's all." An ugly laugh broke from Susan's throat, and she stalked into the room. "That's not all they wanted, mother dear, not by a longshot. Am I right, Agent Scully?" she sneered. "Susan," Scully began, inching her right hand towards her weapon holster, "let's sit down and talk. I'm sure --" "Talk about what?" she laughed wildly, "The weather? The economy? The way I killed Sally?" "The way you killed... my God, what are you talking about?" her mother asked, eyes widened with horror. "Oh, please!" Susan spat, giving her mother a condescending sneer, "You were the one who couldn't stop talking about how Sally had "fallen away", about how she was living a life of sin. I saw her, you know, I saw her buying those Satan-spawned books, I knew what she was planning! It wasn't bad enough that she brought that boy home with her, oh no!, she had to screw him right in our own house! Your house! And then she moved back, and kept living in sin. She even bought a bunch of how-to manuals so she could be a better whore! After all you did for her, all WE did for her after Aunt Sarah and Uncle Jack died, and she still turned into a slut! Well, I couldn't let her get away with that, now could I?" Calming suddenly, her voice going eerily flat, she turned her attention to Scully. "Don't you see? I couldn't let her keep doing it, she was killing her innocence, killing the unicorn... so the unicorn killed her." Giggling softly, she fell to the floor, rocking back and forth. "Such pretty skin, such pretty eyes... but they were bad, corrupt... saw the face of sin, had to close it out, had to close it out... had to gouge it out. So pretty in ribbons, hair in ribbons... sweet little girl, no more... lips of sin, eyes of sin... red and blue, purple... color of lust, color of despair..." Singing softly, Susan began to sway "tie a red, red ribbon... tie a red, red ribbon... love is a many splintered thing. I love you Sally, love you, love you..." Whimpering, Susan curled into a ball onto the floor. Myrna collapsed next to her daughter, weeping as she took her in her arms. Mulder kept a watchful eye on both of them as Scully placed the call for an ambulance, but it was clear that neither was a threat. Mrs. Loy was lost in grief, and Susan was lost within herself. It was a somber Deputy Randall that accompanied the emergency techs, helping Mrs. Loy into the ambulance with her daughter before sending them on their way. "I never would have thought it" he said, shaking his head sadly, "never in a million years." Walking back to his patrol car, he headed after the ambulance leaving Mulder and Scully alone in the deserted yard. "Poor Mrs. Loy," Scully said sadly, "and poor Susan. Why do you think she did it?" "I don't know, Scully. Jealousy? Misplaced zealotry? I'm not sure we'll ever know for certain. But from the way she draped Sally's body in the scarf... I'm guessing that she saw Sally with someone, that the balloons were part of something that she didn't approve of, and that she killed Sally to "save" her. I'm not sure that it really matters. Sally Crawford is dead, Susan Loy and her mother will never get over this, and Lee Holly is the real thing. I don't really need to know anything else." "Wait just a minute!" she exclaimed as they got back into their rental. "What do you mean, 'Lee Holly is the real thing'? She's just a very perceptive woman! She saw the altercation between Sally and Susan, and it played on her mind more than she will admit. Those feelings of unease spilled over into her dreams, where she imagined this elaborate scenario in which Sally was killed. End of story." "Oh, come on!" Mulder scoffed as he pulled out onto the road. "She wasn't asleep when she had the vision! And how do you explain her comment about the unicorn?" "She was clearly embarrassed by Sally's reading material, and consciously or subconsciously she was relating to the fact that the unicorn is the metaphorical symbol of sexual purity. Whenever she thought about Sally Crawford, she remembered her purchases that day, and transferred her feelings of repression into images of the mythological beast that personified sexual repression." Glancing at her in amused amazement, Mulder laughed. "You know, Scully, I thought I had the degree in psychology, but I have never heard such convoluted rationalization in my entire life, not even from you." With a grin in his direction, Scully sniffed in elaborately feigned offense "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Chapter Five Scully's Apartment June 14th, 2000 10:30 p.m. Scully staggered into the foyer, dropping her suitcase at the door and shrugging out of her coat and shoes. Mulder followed close behind, equally weary after the late evening flight they reserved after wrapping up the Crawford case at 5:30. Groaning, she clumped against the wall as Mulder fastened the door. "Come on" he urged, looping one long arm around her waist and urging her towards the bedroom. Sitting her on the bed, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the water, stopping the tub and adding a handful of bath salts when he deemed the temperature just right. He returned to the bathroom to find Scully, still clothed, sprawled on the bed and half asleep. "Oh, no you don't" he scolded gently, drawing her to an upright position while he unbuttoned her blouse and removed her shoes. Pulling her to her feet, he removed her skirt and hose before shedding his own clothes. Her bra was the last to go, and he led her into the bathroom. Seating her on a folded towel atop the toilet seat, he brushed her hair thoroughly before pinning it loosely atop her head. He raised her to her feet once more, and helped her into the tub before sliding in behind her and drawing her back against his chest. Scooping up the bar of soap, he lathered the rag and began to wash her. "Feel good?" he asked, a wordless sigh his only response as he trailed the cloth down one arm from shoulder to wrist. He lifted her hand, running the fabric between each of her fingers before moving to the other arm. He stroked her throat, dipping the cloth into the water to warm its chill before circling her breasts. The slightly rough terrycloth abraded her nipples, causing them to pebble as he circled the sudsy material round and round her aureolas, teasing their peaks to further attention. He moved down her abdomen next, prodding at her navel and eliciting a giggle that quickly turned to something darker, more erotic, as he ruffled the thatch at the apex of her thighs. Urging her legs apart, he pressed the cloth between them, cleansing between the folds of her labia. Her breasts began to ache, and she shifted restlessly as the accidental brush of the cloth stimulated her swelling clit. Tossing the rag into the water, he replaced it with his hand as he fingered her folds, making sure all the soap was washed away. Her skin felt tight, swollen, and she could feel the slippery fluid pooling at the mouth of her sex. Mulder could, too, and he dipped his finger into her as he stroked back and forth, slicking the proof of her arousal across water dampened tissues. Lifting her leg out of the water, she hooked it over the edge of the tub, raising her sex out of the water and granting him greater access. His hand intensified its efforts, fondling her with greater pressure as his other hand snaked beneath her spine, giving his shaft a few rough strokes with his freshly-soaped palm. She felt the jostling beneath her, the shift as he hurriedly rinsed his erection, and grew impatient. "Now, Mulder" she breathed against his neck, licking at his skin when she turned her head. "Inside me, now." Mulder obeyed, shifting her forward to get a better angle as he slid into her, inch by inch. Collapsing back against him, she gasped as the tip of his cock bumped against the front of her walls, hitting the spot with every thrust. It didn't take long for her to orgasm, the climax rippling through her veins. Mulder didn't let her rest, continuing to thrust while his hand worried her clit with greater fervor. She cringed, the pleasure almost painful as he urged her up and over again. Finally they rested, his softening member nestled inside her as the still-warm water lapped against them, the slight stinging in her over-stimulated clit mingling with the haze of completion. She shifted, and the movement sloshed more water against her, drawing a whimper. "Sore?" he asked against her cheek, stroking her fingers with his own. She nodded, shifting again as the water slapped against her. He reached down, cupping her sex with his hand, shielding her nerve endings. "Better?" he murmured, kissing her cheek once more as she relaxed against him. "Mmmmm", she replied, snuggling back into him as her eyes sealed shut. Soon the water would grow cold, soon they would have to leave this haven... but for now, she was in heaven. The End Challenge Elements: 1. A unicorn (we had the figurines and the painting) 2. One of your characters painting (Susan painted, and Mulder talked about painting Scully) 3. Fooling around in a Taxi Cab (fudged this one a bit -- I'm counting the limousine scene in "No Way Out", and Mulder and Scully's discussion of taxi sex) 4. A funeral (Sally's memorial) 5. A crying stranger (Lee Holly, the psychic) 6. A psychic (see above) 7. A room full of balloons (the murder site)