*NO ARCHIVE*   
      
   TITLE: The Pattern   
   RATING: R for strong language and adult themes   
   ARCHIVE: Ephemeral, Gossamer - yes. Others please ask.   
   AUTHOR: Joann Humby - jhumby@lineone.net   
      
   LEGALLY:   
   We all know the score. The characters are not mine, never will be.   
   They're owned by some combination of Fox, 1013 and CC.   
      
   =========   
      
   1988   
      
   The latest victim had been born just a few days before Mulder.   
   According to colleagues he'd been riding high. Praise, promotion,   
   pay raises and plenty of them. Seven years with the NYPD and a man   
   tipped to go far.   
      
   Until the day he put his carefully maintained Glock 9mm in his   
   mouth and pulled the trigger.   
      
   Mulder had expected resistance from the locals. Federal   
   interference would normally be seen as an insult. For once though,   
   a stronger force was at play. The instinctive desire to close ranks   
   and lock out the intruders faded as soon as Mulder started to   
   speak.   
      
   Friends and fellow cops alike were pleased to hear that the Bureau   
   considered Detective Paul Jennings a victim, not just another   
   tragic suicide. Absolved from failure to spot the danger signs,   
   they were free to talk.   
      
   "He had an attitude, you know?" they said, in various ways and with   
   differing degrees of comfort. "Not cruel, not arrogant, just sure   
   of himself. Rightly, most of the time."   
      
   Would Mulder's colleagues say the same of him?   
      
   "Escalation?" asked Hennessey as soon as the agents were alone in   
   the borrowed office.   
      
   A valid point. Was choosing a cop as a victim a mark of the   
   killer's rising sophistication or a mark of his lack of control?   
   Maybe it was just boring old coincidence? Perhaps the killer didn't   
   even care?   
      
   Mulder waved a hand to signal that he didn't know. "I think we need   
   to know more about Jennings."   
      
   "You mean apart from him being a workaholic caffeine addict with a   
   chip on his shoulder and no life?"   
      
   Mulder reloaded the coffee maker and rested his feet on the desk.   
   It was going to be a long night. "That's why he's so good for us. I   
   bet we can build a diary for the past month just based on his   
   timesheets and expense claims."   
      
   The paperwork pile grew as admin staff sought out the relevant   
   files and a steady procession of officers made their way into the   
   office to talk.   
      
   Six hours later, they relocated operations to a motel. Mulder   
   turned his collar up to keep the icy bite away as they covered the   
   short distance from the car. No leaves on the trees and the first   
   glimmers of silver frosting the branches.   
      
   The rooms themselves were only a little warmer and both men kept   
   their coats and gloves on as they waited for the inadequate heaters   
   to make an impact. Being realists, they ordered a couple of pizzas   
   and Hennessey used the delay to check out his own room and grab a   
   shower.   
      
   By the time he rejoined Mulder, the room was definitely getting   
   warmer and the dead detective's day planner was already starting to   
   look pretty detailed.   
      
   "Seventy hour weeks," noted Mulder.   
      
   "Lazy bastard," agreed Hennessey.   
      
   By midnight there weren't many gaps left. Mulder was tapping his   
   finger restlessly against the table. "There's hardly room for him   
   to breathe in there. I don't see where he'd even meet the guy,   
   unless it was while he was working. We're going to need more   
   details on the cases he was handling." He started to dig through   
   one of the piles of paper.   
      
   Hennessey groaned and Mulder offered to make another pot of coffee.   
      
   "Don't you have a bed to go to, kid?"   
      
   "You ever heard that story about the pot and the kettle?"   
      
   "Did the pot slip the kettle some sleeping pills and tie him to the   
   mattress?"   
      
   "Only in the X-rated version."   
      
   "I'm going." Hennessey rose, stretched, yawned, grabbed his coat   
   off the back of the chair. "Have fun." He paused in the motel room   
   doorway. "Did you eat anything tonight?"   
      
   "Good night, mom."   
      
   It was a relief when Hennessey left. So much so that Mulder almost   
   went running after him to get him back in here. Relieved was not   
   how he needed to feel. He frowned at the discarded pizza in the   
   trash and ignored the rumble in his stomach.   
      
   Cult 101. Private time is dangerous, gives new recruits too much   
   space to think.   
      
   Maybe he could call Diana; she'd stop him thinking. The smirk was   
   automatic: his brain summarizing an entire imaginary conversation   
   and its undignified yet satisfying conclusion in an instant.   
   Missing her already.   
      
   Disgusted with himself and more than a little resentful, he picked   
   up the phone and dialed his boss's home number. What he needed   
   right now was a carefully delivered blow to his self-esteem and a   
   midnight assault from Bill Patterson should cover the bases nicely.   
      
   ---------   
      
   2000   
      
   Scully was driving and Mulder had to concentrate to stop his foot   
   from stamping on the imaginary brake on the floor ahead of him. He   
   shouldn't have let her drive when she was so angry.   
      
   He smiled, despite the danger that she might catch him at it. He   
   probably only gave her the chance to drive when she got angry. When   
   he'd do anything to get one less mark against him on her scorecard.   
      
   She'd walked out after he'd abruptly terminated her slideshow. When   
   he called her cell phone a couple of hours later, he was relieved   
   that she'd replied, fantasized that he might have been forgiven. No   
   such luck. Not that he needed forgiveness - he was right and she   
   knew it, but there was no way that either of them was going to   
   mention it.   
      
   Baltimore PD had called this one in, responding to the general   
   alert that the Bureau had sent out the week before. Suicide plus   
   pictograms? Secure the scene and walk away. The man had died during   
   the night. His mother called 911 at 10 a.m. to report that she   
   couldn't rouse him, and that she knew he was willing to be roused   
   because today was the day when he was going to pick her up at the   
   home and take her to visit his father's grave.   
      
   The black and white patrol car the dispatcher sent round found a   
   neighbor with a key.   
      
   The suicide note was illustrated with a boldly geometrical pattern   
   that could have been a highly stylized bird or perhaps a bat -   
   difficult to tell from a fax. Either way, the image that got sent   
   through to Fox Mulder's office was part of the same family as those   
   in Scully's slideshow.   
      
   "You never found the master image that you say these things derive   
   from?"   
      
   Mulder tried not to react to her tone, but he was no better at   
   being treated like an amateur, than she was at being told that   
   sometimes his job was to protect her. He tried to keep the reaction   
   out of his voice. "Just lots of instances - no master image. At   
   least nothing explicit."   
      
   "Yet you're saying that he was using some kind of self-destructing   
   Magic Eye puzzle to send subliminal messages to his victims. That   
   the meetings and phone calls with the victims were redundant?"   
      
   "The meetings and phone calls got us the conviction." Mulder   
   paused, reconsidering. "No, actually they just got us to trial.   
   What got us the conviction was Props. He freaked everybody in the   
   courtroom out. He couldn't turn off the show even for long enough   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)