From: cybill@pacbell.net   
      
   XXXXXXXXXX   
   CHAPTER 1   
   XXXXXXXXXX   
      
   HOOVER BUILDING   
   BASEMENT OFFICE   
   WASHINGTON, D.C.   
   MAY 27, 1997   
   TUESDAY - 8:00 AM   
      
   "Morning, Scully," I greeted.   
      
   "Morning," she said, her voice subdued.   
      
   I watched as she set down her briefcase and opened up her laptop   
   on the table. She wouldn't look directly at me, but she looked   
   awfully pale. Her movements were swift and to the point. There   
   was no easy glide to her walk, no softly sweeping her hair back as   
   she dug into her briefcase. It didn't take a genius to figure out   
   that something was very, very wrong.  "Scully, what's wrong?"   
      
   She cleared her throat and turned to me, wetness pooling in her   
   eyes. "I have something to discuss with you. Give me a minute to   
   get set up here."   
      
   "Okay. Are you all right?" I asked. It was rare to see Scully near   
   tears. When she was in pain, I was in pain. It had been that way for   
   a long time now.   
      
   "I'm fine," she said, giving her standard response.   
      
   I waited patiently while she booted up her computer, printed out a   
   couple of e-mails and opened her briefcase, extracting a manila   
   folder. She came over to my desk and stood next to me. "What's   
   up?"   
      
   "I want to investigate a case."   
      
   My eyebrows rose. Scully rarely took the initiative to investigate a   
   case. I usually picked them, or A.D. Skinner assigned them to us.   
   "What have you got?"   
      
   She took a deep breath and set the folder in front of me. I opened   
   it and began to read while she stood there quietly. Her unnatural   
   stillness was unnerving me a bit. I read two police reports and two   
   autopsy reports on women that had been murdered in Kent,   
   Connecticut.   
      
   One, Rebecca Stowe, was a 22-year old that had been raped and   
   stabbed to death. There were no suspects.  The second one was a   
   35 year-old pediatrician who had also been raped and murdered.   
   Her name was Christina Fuller. Her boyfriend, Brad Crane, was   
   being held for questioning.   
      
   I looked up at Scully after skimming the contents.  "I don't get it.   
   Where's the X-File?" I asked.   
      
   She shook her head slightly. "There isn't one."   
      
   "Then why do you want to investigate these deaths?"   
      
   She then laid the two e-mails that she had printed in front of me.   
   One was from a nurse, Maggie O'Connor, at New Milford Hospital   
   informing Scully of Christina Fuller's death including the details   
   of her obituary. The other was from a Brad Crane, telling her nearly   
   the same thing.   
      
   "Dr. Fuller was raped and stabbed to death. I knew her, Mulder.   
   We went to med school together.  Her family was from Danbury,   
   so after she graduated, she moved back to Connecticut. We didn't   
   keep in contact constantly, but we still sent each other birthday   
   and Christmas cards every year and gave each other updates on our   
   lives. She started dating Brad around Christmas time. She'd   
   mentioned it in her Christmas card. He's a male nurse at New   
   Milford Hospital. She had her own pediatric practice, but was   
   affiliated with the hospital there."   
      
   "She lived in Kent, though?" I asked.   
      
   "Yeah," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I want to know what   
   happened. If it's the same killer, it doesn't make sense."   
      
   "Do you think Brad killed Christina?"   
      
   "I just don't know. I only met him once a few months ago when   
   she came down for a medical conference.  We had dinner together   
   while they were in town. That's the point. If he did, was he also   
   responsible for killing the other young woman just three days   
   earlier?"   
      
   Now I understood. It was personal. It was rare that Scully asked   
   anything of me, let alone to investigate a case for personal   
   reasons. We didn't have anything else pertinent going on right now   
   and I had no reason or desire to say no. In fact, it might be good   
   to get out of town. I was getting restless doing paperwork and going   
   over old, unsolved cases. Scully didn't need to say anything more   
   for me to see how important it was to her. It was written all over   
   her face. A friend of hers had been murdered.  "Let's talk to   
   Skinner."   
      
   She nodded and gave me a close-lipped smile that let me know she   
   appreciated me not arguing with her about it. I grabbed my suit   
   jacket and pulled it on, grabbing up the little information she had.   
   I   
   followed her out the door with my hand on her lower back.   
      
   My attraction for my partner had grown over the years. I knew it   
   wasn't a one-sided thing.  Somehow, we'd managed to ignore the   
   sexual tension between us for about four years now. It had started   
   shortly after she was returned from her abduction. Although she   
   drove me to distraction sometimes, I was unwilling to risk doing   
   anything that might send her running for the hills. She was too   
   important to me.  If I could help her solve the murder of her   
   friend, maybe in some small way, that would atone for all the shit   
   I felt I'd put her through over the last six years.   
      
   XXXXXXXXXX   
      
   A.D. SKINNER'S OFFICE   
   HOOVER BUILDING - 3RD FLOOR   
   WASHINGTON, D.C.   
   MAY 27, 1997   
   TUESDAY - 8:30 AM   
      
   Skinner was surprisingly amenable to the investigation. I think he   
   felt that we could use a break from the weird stuff as well. A good   
   old-fashioned investigation might be just the thing we needed.   
      
   He signed off on the 302 and the travel plans. He even made a call   
   to the local Bureau in Hartford, Connecticut, letting them know   
   that we would be coming into the state and asking permission to   
   use their facilities if they were needed. They quickly agreed.   
      
   Permission in hand, we rose to go. Skinner stopped us. "Agent   
   Scully."   
      
   "Yes, sir?"   
      
   "Good luck. I hope you find out what happened to your friend."   
      
   "Me too, sir. Me too. Thanks for being so understanding about   
   this."   
      
   "You're welcome. Go find this bastard."   
      
   She smiled gently at him. "We'll do our best, sir."   
      
   "I know you will; you always do."   
      
   With that we left and went downstairs to pack up whatever   
   supplies we might need. While she did that, I called the Travel   
   Department and booked our airline reservations. We were soon   
   booked on a flight for Bradley International leaving in three hours.   
      
   We went home separately and packed. I had a feeling there was   
   more here than met the eye and it wasn't going to be a quickie   
   investigation. With that in mind, I packed a week's worth of suits   
   and plenty of casual clothes.   
      
   I picked her up and we headed for the airport. She didn't say a   
   word during the entire trip. Once boarded, she turned to me and   
   said, "There's more to this."   
      
   "What's that?" I asked.   
      
   "I didn't mention this to Skinner because I have no idea if it's   
   related.  It's probably not, but my friend also sent me a scan of a   
   recent newspaper article about a recent population boom in that   
   area."   
      
   "That's odd," I remarked.   
      
   She opened her carry-on and handed me a copy of the article. I   
   skimmed through it, noting that the boom had started several   
   months ago. Women in Kent, Cornwall, Warren and a couple of   
   other small surrounding towns were turning up with a remarkable   
   number of pregnancies. The ratio of births to the population was   
   too high to ignore. One obstetrician had mentioned it to a patient   
   that was a reporter. Very soon, it was front-page news.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)