*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.   
      
   =========   
      
      
   He looked around the office but Dave Hennessey was nowhere to be   
   seen. It was still early but it wasn't that early. Everyone else   
   was at their desks. Was Dave out doing interviews or something? He   
   glanced up at the day planner but saw nothing to account for the   
   man's absence. The chart was an imperfect method but usually a good   
   place to start.   
      
   Swallowing hard, ignoring the uncomfortable looks on the faces of   
   the other profilers, he headed to Karen Gardiner's desk. "Do you   
   know where Dave is?"   
      
   She shrugged. "I was expecting him in by now. Team meeting at 9. I   
   guess something came up. Are you OK, Mulder?"   
      
   "When did you last talk to him? Who would have seen him last?"   
      
   "Yesterday. Is this about your latest memo on the suicide killer?   
   It's a bit late to consult him now, isn't it?"   
      
   "I need to see him."   
      
   "He's not here!" she said, sounding increasingly exasperated.   
      
   Mulder turned to face the other agents. "Does anyone know where   
   Dave Hennessey is?"   
      
   Blank looks and murmurs about Dave only being a few minutes late   
   followed. Mulder picked up the phone; got no reply from Hennessey's   
   home. No one over in VCU had seen him either. Reggie Purdue, the   
   SAC, assumed that he would be at the ISU team meeting. After all,   
   that was what he'd said would be his first job for today. Purdue   
   was expecting to see Dave at about midday, but promised Mulder that   
   if he showed up earlier then he'd let him know.   
      
   The other profilers went into their meeting. Patterson stood at the   
   door waiting for Mulder to join them but the agent headed to the   
   elevators instead.   
      
   There was nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong. Mulder knew that. He   
   repeated the statement as the elevator carried him up out of the   
   bowels of the Quantico building and towards daylight. Where the   
   hell was he going to go now?   
      
   Panic - raw and bloody, burning like acid in his throat, making his   
   breathing fail.   
      
   A security officer stepped forward, checked his badge so he could   
   address him by name. "Agent Mulder, everything OK? Do you need   
   medical assistance? Sit down a minute?"   
      
   "No, I've got to..."   
      
   "Give it a minute. I'll get you some water."   
      
   As soon as the guard left his side he was out through the door and   
   though he hadn't realized where he was going until he reached his   
   car suddenly he knew exactly what he had to do.   
      
   He scrambled back through his memory, finally recalling Hennessey's   
   address, or at least his apartment block - they'd stopped off there   
   one night to pick up a missing file. Why hadn't Hennessey's wife   
   protested about him arriving home that late and going straight back   
   out again?   
      
   Oh God, had they split up? Hennessey had had a wife, kids as well,   
   talked about them having a swing in the yard. Talked about a lot of   
   things that didn't seem to match the apartment block that Mulder   
   had seen him go into.   
      
   So Hennessey had been alone then? Mulder in San Diego. Was that why   
   Bill had sent him away? No wonder Patterson had looked so shocked   
   when Mulder suggested that the soft case was supposed to drive him   
   over the edge. What if it was Hennessey who was Bill's pick? What   
   if Hennessey was the man deemed best suited to seeing the art?   
      
   Christ. What if Mulder's return bearing memos and arguments had   
   twisted the knife a little deeper into Hennessey's gut. "Don't you   
   dare die, Dave. Don't you fucking dare."   
      
   On Patterson's orders the Quantico guards stopped him at the gate.   
      
   Ten furious minutes later and some kid from the VCU was driving Fox   
   Mulder and Karen Gardiner to the scene of a car accident.   
      
   "They got the driver out but they weren't hopeful," said the   
   traffic cop who was supervising the scene, and who took pity on the   
   distraught looking Feds, despite them being Feds.   
      
   Mulder looked at the driver's seat. The way the steering wheel had   
   bent under impact. The fold in the metalwork where the tree had   
   stopped the car in an instant.   
      
   "We'll be checking out the car of course. Tampering, mechanical   
   failure. Unless you want your people to do that. But." The man   
   shrugged.   
      
   Mulder tried to phrase it as carefully as he could. "You think this   
   is driver error?"   
      
   "Straight road, good weather, single vehicle accident, no skid   
   marks. Heart attack maybe?"   
      
   Maybe.   
      
   "There's some paperwork in the car," the cop added, "Bureau stuff.   
   I've got to bag it and book it in, but if you want to take a look   
   first. He waved vaguely at the car.   
      
   Mulder stepped forward, knowing exactly what he was going to see.   
   Blood. On the passenger's seat, a manila folder, FBI logo and   
   casefile number - the suicide killer's art in glorious technicolor   
   and tidy black and white. Blood. A postcard sized note fixed on the   
   dashboard - a freehand drawing of a bat or maybe a bird. Blood.   
      
   "I need a copy of that sketch. As soon as possible." He handed the   
   cop a business card.   
      
   "I'll get them to fax it through."   
      
   "Thanks, Officer," Mulder checked the badge, "Officer Denton.   
   Thanks."   
      
   The hospital doctors were surprised that Hennessey had made it as   
   far as their doors. Head, chest and spinal injuries. The fractured   
   femurs and other damage was hardly worth mentioning in the   
   circumstances.   
      
   If he made it through surgery. If he ever regained consciousness.   
   If he ever breathed for himself again. If he ever did those things   
   then maybe, Mulder shivered, the sick feeling all-pervasive now,   
   maybe Hennessey would wonder why he hadn't followed Detective Paul   
   Jennings example and shot himself.   
      
   Karen was crying. Mulder was too numb even to do that.   
      
   He vaguely recognized Hennessey's wife, or was it his ex-wife?   
   Anyway he'd seen her before, a smiling face by the basketball court   
   a couple of years back. "Mrs. Hennessey? I'm Fox Mulder. I work   
   with your husband."   
      
   She nodded, almost tumbling into his arms and Mulder held her as   
   her head sank down against his chest. The two of them locked   
   together in an awkward embrace, waiting it out in silence, rocking   
   slightly, leaving Mulder not quite sure if she was leaning on him   
   or if he was leaning on her.   
      
   The lull lasted for a couple of minutes before another man arrived   
   to take charge of Dave's ex. Mulder knew it for certain then, if   
   not yet an ex, then she would be soon. One way or another.   
      
   He'd have to check the insurance policies. Maybe they didn't pay   
   out against suicide? That would explain the car crash.   
      
   It explained nothing.   
      
   Why did you do it, Dave? What the hell were you thinking? Why   
   didn't you call me, you stupid bastard?   
      
   Did you solve the case, Dave?   
      
   Do you know who did this to you?   
      
   You could have left me a fucking note!   
      
   The wall was reassuringly solid, the blood decorating Mulder's   
   knuckles satisfyingly red.   
      
   Karen was holding his hand now. Dave's wife looked scared. Her   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)