It was cold and damp enough to make Dana tense, which made it even harder to ignore the fact that she really needed to relieve herself. Unfortunately, there weren't exactly any facilities available. She tried to hide her discomfort, but Malone noticed anyway. He eyed her, and frowned.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Just a little chilly."

He nodded. "I know the feeling. Plus..." he stopped, and looked at her a bit sheepishly. "Well, I suspect you're in the same boat I am. We've been drinking water, and it's... ah... about finished processing."

She felt her face heat from embarrassment, but the warmth actually felt good. She was tempted to put her icy fingers against her face to thaw. There was such a thing as a man being too perceptive, but, at least he was honest. She sighed. "Yeah, there's that, too."

He gestured to the graveled area. "There's a narrow area on either side of the shed that's kind of private. I know you're barefoot but the gravel is river rock and it shouldn't be too hard on your feet. The left side has some old wood piled up so you should take the other side so you don't get splint..." he stopped, a strange expression coming over his face. "I'm an idiot." he announced.


"There's wood outside, and the other thing he left me besides the aspirin was my lighter. Clearly I was supposed to figure out that we could build a fire. I'll go see if I can find dry wood underneath the rest. That should have been the first thing I did, before it started to rain!"

Muttering under his breath he stood up and disappeared around beside the shed. Dana took advantage of his absence to slip outside and make use of the other side of the shed for her own needs. Wrestling off what remained of her panty-hose one-handed was enough to convince her to leave them off, and as she pushed the wadded ball of nylon into her pocket she discovered the small packet of tissues she'd tucked in there before she'd boarded the plane the day before. They came in very handy. She was about to return to the shelter when she noticed that a weedy-looking bush had grown through the chain-link on her side. The branches were thin, spindly, and probably nearly dry.

She'd been on enough camping trips as a girl to know that it took more than wood and a lighter to start a fire, so she spent several minutes snapping off bits to use for kindling. As she worked, her mind cast back to those family camping trips. She smiled a little, remembering the fights over who got the "best" spot for their sleeping bag, singing around the campfire, making s'mores, and most of all, the reassuring presence of her parents when the owls called or the bushes rustled. How different these circumstances were. No comfort for her fears, which unlike owls or rustling brush were quite real, they could die out here.

Unexpectedly she found herself crying. Instantly she was furious that she'd let Jack get to her like that, she wiped away the tears and continued snapping off branches until she had herself under control again. With the kindling cradled carefully in her bad arm, she negotiated the slick pebbles to return to the shed. Bailey had stacked a bunch of weathered wood against one of the walls, and there was a smaller stack of what appeared to be the sawn-off ends of some fairly new two-by-fours. He saw what she was carrying and nodded approvingly.

"Smart. I'll take those," he added, relieving her of the awkward burden. "They'll dry off pretty quickly and help get it going. Check my coat pockets, would you? If we're lucky there may be some paper in one of them."

She started checking, and in an inner pocket she found some folded papers. Pulling them out, she realized she held a handful of unpaid parking tickets. She fanned them out and lifted amused eyes toward Bailey. He looked at what she was holding and his skin darkened slightly.

"I ah... " he began.

"I don't want to know. Really."

He nodded and squatted down, pulling a handful of rocks from his pocket with which he began to arrange a 'firewall' against the wood plank closest to the gap between the flooring and wall. Suddenly he stopped working and looked up at her, his gaze lingering on her face with obvious concern..

"Are you okay?"

Dana clenched her good fist. Damn the man. He'd noticed. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, and you're a crappy liar. What's wrong?"

"I said it was nothing!"

"No, you said you were fine. Talk to me."

She glared at him. "Are you always this pushy?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I am. Talk."

She sighed. "Fine. I was just mad."


She waved a hand at their cage. "This! What the hell else would I be mad about?"

"There's always the off chance that I did something to tick you off."

"Well, you didn't."

"So, what triggered it?"

"What are you, a psychiatrist?"

"Er... sort of. So, are you going to tell me or do I have to get out the rubber hose?"

She couldn't help a laugh at that, and she sighed and pointed at the kindling. "I was breaking off branches and I got to remembering all times I'd done that as a kid. All the camping trips we went on, and how much fun they were. Then suddenly I was here and stuck and scared... and I just lost it for a minute."

He studied her for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I understand. It's funny, as I was out there I was remembering all the times I've brought in wood for a fire when I lived back in Virginia, when I was still with..." he stopped suddenly, and shook his head. "Never mind, suffice it to say I understand."

Dana shook her head. "Oh no, you're not getting away with that. If I have to spill my guts, so do you. What were you about to say?"

He sighed and moved to the doorway, staring out at the sky. "I was going to say 'back when I was still with my family, when we still were a family. It's funny how you think you've come to terms with something but when you're faced with a situation like we're in, it all comes back to haunt you."

"I don't believe in ghosts." Dana said firmly, not quite lying as she went over and put her hand on his arm. "So you can't be haunted, right? But missing your family sounds pretty normal to me. You have kids?"

He nodded. "Two girls. My wife and I split up six years ago. She has custody, because she has a life that's halfway normal. This job is hell on relationships."

Dana grimaced wryly. "Hey, at least you had relationships. That's more than I get."

Malone lifted an eyebrow in patent disbelief.

"I'm serious!" she insisted.

"Then there's something wrong with the men you know."

"About the only men I know are Mulder, my boss, and Agent Pendrell. He's sweet, but frankly I just can't handle all that... earnestness."

Bailey chuckled. "I think I know the type."

They stood for a moment in silence, looking at each other, and suddenly at a loss for conversation. Things had grown a little too intimate. Dana was relieved when Malone moved back to the firewall he'd started and began placing more rocks.

"I think he intended for us to do this," he said as he worked. "Why else would he have left us a stack of wood, and a gap here that exposed a non-flammable surface? Not to mention my lighter."

"You could very well be right. You know, what scares me is how long he must have been planning this... for someone, if not for us. The barbed wire has been here long enough to start rusting. And the planking in here, though relatively new, is showing signs of weathering where they're closest to the outside. The bush I broke the kindling off of had grown through the wire when the weather was still warm. That was months ago."

He nodded thoughtfully. "We have to remember to tell Sam all this. It may help with the profile."

"Sam, and Mulder." Scully corrected him.

Bailey stopped and looked up at her. "Sorry. Of course." He finished with the rocks and stood up, brushing his hands off on his pants. "There. The wood's a little damp in a couple of spots so it'll have to dry before I can try to light it, but it shouldn't be too long."

Dana looked at him ironically. "In this weather? It may be tomorrow."

"Don't be such a pessimist."

She sighed. "I'll try, but I'm not sure I can."

"I can't imagine why not. I mean, really, just because we're trapped in a cage in the middle of nowhere by some maniac, it's cold, and damp, and your arm is probably killing you. Why wouldn't you be optimistic?"

She smiled, but there wasn't much humor in it. He was right about her arm, too. The aspirin had worn off and her hand, wrist, and forearm were throbbing with each heartbeat. The adventure in outdoor plumbing and fuel collection hadn't helped, either.

"Would a splint be better than the sling?" Malone asked.

She nodded. "Probably, but I haven't got anything to use."

"I'll go check the woodpile again and see if there's anything useable out there. I guess we'll have to sacrifice the sling if I do find something, since we haven't got much in the way of disposable fabric."

It suddenly occurred to Dana that what was left of her hosiery might make a decent elastic bandage, and she dragged them out of her pocket. "Actually, I do have something that might work, if you can find something to use for splints."

He nodded and stepped back out into the rain. It occurred to her she should have offered him the coat, but it was too late now. A few minutes later he was back, holding a pair of paint- stirring sticks in his hand. He handed them to her.

"These work?" he asked, handing them to her as he stepped away and shook his head, flinging water from his hair. He reminded her of someone all the sudden, but she couldn't quite put her finger on who it was. She turned the sticks over in her hand, noticing that one had been used in black paint, and the other in white After a moment she nodded.

"These should work pretty well, but you'll have to help me fasten them in place."

"I'd be honored. What have you got to bind them with?"

Feeling a little silly, she held out the wadded bundle of sheer nylon. "These."

He took them from her, realized what they were, and lifted his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Well, I guess under the circumstances it's the next best thing to an Ace bandage."

She nodded. "They're relatively strong, and flexible. They should work fine."

His gaze slid to her legs for just a moment, then immediately returned to her wrist. She wondered if he were speculating on whether she had on anything under her skirt, and her face got very hot. She had no business thinking things like that. He'd been a perfect gentleman, unfortunately. Dana sighed and decided she needed to get out more.

Malone gently moved her arm out of the sling and wrapped the pantyhose around it, waist- end first, creating a slight cushion for the splints. Taking the stir-sticks from her he positioned them as she instructed, then continued to wrap the hose around her arm. He worked efficiently, and Dana could tell immediately that he'd had some decent first-aid training. The resulting bandage was wrapped in the classic crossover fashion and was snug without being too tight. Her arm started to feel better almost before he finished. After tying off the ends, he settled her arm carefully back in the sling and got out the aspirin tin again, handing her two and then holding the water for her. After taking them, Dana sat back with a sigh, and shivered a little.

"Is it getting colder or is it just me?"

"It is." He looked at the sky and frowned. "And it's going to get even worse."

She followed his gaze. "How can you tell?"

"The clouds are getting darker." He stood up and went to check the wood, clearly looking for pieces dry enough to burn.

Dana studied him again, still trying to remember who it was he reminded her of. Suddenly it came to her. "You know, you remind me of..." she began.

Bailey cut her off with a groan. "Oh, God, and me without my gun!"

Dana stared at him, eyebrows lifted, trying to figure out what had prompted his exclamation. "What?" she finally asked.

"You were about to compare me to your father, weren't you?" he asked with a longsuffering look. "I figured I might as well just shoot myself right now and get it over with."

She stared at him a moment longer, then started to laugh, shaking her head. "You're about as different from my father as it's possible to be. He was kind of short, a little round, red-haired and thought a glass of wine with dinner was daring."

Malone gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Thank God. So, who were you about to compare me to?"

Dana shook her head. "I'm not about to tell you after that outburst."

"Why? Is it bad?" he asked, curious now.

She shook her head.

"I promise I won't be offended, unless it's some lowlife."

Dana gave up, realizing he wouldn't rest until he got it out of her. "Oh, all right. You remind me of Dakota."

"North or South?" he asked without missing a beat.

She grinned. "Rottweiler, actually. He belongs to one of my brothers."

He stared at her for a moment, clearly not sure how to take her comment, then a slow smile worked its way up from the depths. "A Rottweiler? Well, I can think of worse things to be compared to. What is it about me that reminds you of a Rottweiler? And please don't tell me it's my teeth."

She grinned. "Well, they're big, loyal, smart, and very dangerous under the right circumstances."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are these the right circumstances?"

Instead of dismissing his patently silly question with a laugh or a roll of her eyes, she just looked at him for a long, quiet moment, her eyes steady. Finally she spoke. "I'm not sure yet."

* * *

There were cop cars everywhere, their multicolored lights pulsing eerily through the gray midmorning overcast. Mulder watched Samantha Waters as she stood staring glassily at Bailey Malone's sport utility vehicle. It sat just as the cops had found it, though the way it was festooned with crime-scene tape it looked as if it had been T.P.'d by a bunch of mischievous kids. Between the lights and the tape, the scene had a surreally festive air. He found himself looking past Waters to the beige jacket on the passenger seat. It was Scully's. She'd been wearing it last night when she and Malone had left. The feeling of unease he'd experienced the night before was now fully justified. His fists clenched, but he forced his attention back to Agent Waters. John Grant had been watching her too, and apparently he thought she'd seen enough. He reached over and touched her shoulder.


She turned to face him, blinking as if she'd been awakened from a trance. "Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I just..." she stopped, a helpless expression on her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them the helplessness had vanished behind a professional mask. Mulder found that very interesting. Clearly, Jack had gotten to her with this. He surreptitiously glanced around the parking lot, looking for anyone who might seem inordinately interested in Agent Waters. No one was. Most people were pointedly disinterested, seeming completely focused on getting into the store for their Slurpees and microwave burritos. It was a nice, upscale neighborhood. Apparently it wasn't genteel to stare.

"The car was running, right?" he heard Waters ask.

Grant nodded. "Yep. Doors locked, engine on."

"Does anyone have any idea how long it has been here?

Brubaker checked his notepad, and spoke. "The clerk said he first noticed it around nine- thirty, because by that time most of the commuter traffic has let up and things had quieted down enough for him to go outside for a cigarette. He couldn't say how long it had been there, but he's sure it wasn't there when he arrived this morning for work at five."

She nodded. "Okay, sometime between five and nine a.m. Damn! That gives us a lot of time to work with." She sighed, and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I don't suppose they have a camera on the parking lot?"

Grant shook his head. "No. This is a pretty low crime area, they have a camera on the register and one on the ATM, but nothing on the grounds."

Waters nodded distractedly and began to circle the car. She stopped suddenly, and moved back around to the driver's side, bending close to look at the door handle. "Grace, would you take a look at this?"

Alvarez hurried forward and bent to examine whatever it was Waters had found. She looked up, her eyes narrowed. "Tape residue, and what looks like a small amount of blood."

Waters moved away as if once found, the evidence held no interest for her. She started walking again as Alvarez got out her kit and started to work on the door handle. Mulder followed her slowly, still periodically scanning the people in the area for any unusual interest. She moved to the passenger side before stopping again.

"Have we got pictures yet?"

Nathan nodded. "That's all been done already."

"Has it been checked for explosives?" she asked.

"The dogs didn't seem interested, and there were no obvious signs of tampering." Grant supplied.

"I need to see inside," she stated firmly.

Nathan moved forward and inspected the handle carefully, then used a slim-jim to pop the lock. He pulled on a pair of gloves and gingerly lifted the handle. The door swung open and there was a collective sigh of relief when nothing blew up, fell out, or did anything else startling. Waters reached a gloved hand into the interior of the car and gently lifted the jacket off the seat. Mulder almost protested her touch on it, but got himself under control in time. He watched as she slowly unfolded the garment to reveal that the left sleeve was torn at the shoulder. She frowned and traced the ragged fabric with a forefinger, refolded the garment, replaced it on the seat, then leaned into the car and reached across to turn the keys in the ignition and shut off the engine. Everyone tensed as her fingers touched the keys, and then relaxed as the engine shut off without incident. Nervous bunch, Mulder noted.

Waters looked around the interior of the vehicle for several moments, and then finally picked up the note with the rose pinned to it. Her name had been printed using a stencil. The pin was long, lethal-looking, with an ornately decorated head. Her fingers lingered on the glittering black and gold surface, and she turned the whole thing into the light, examining it minutely, her expression thoughtful. Was that recognition he saw in her eyes? Slowly she withdrew the pin from the paper.

Once that was done, Mulder could see that the stem of the rose had been deliberately broken, only the pin had held it straight on the paper. The rose fell free, and she caught it, letting out a soft curse as the flower's thorns pierced her glove, and skin. She gently placed the rose on top of Malone's car and unfolded the heavy ivory paper. Mulder fixed on that for a moment. The paper might be traceable, it certainly wasn't generic. He watched her face as she studied the note, then saw her mouth quirk to one side in an unmistakable expression of annoyance. She looked up.

"Someone bring over the black light."

Brubaker ran over with it, holding it over the apparently blank paper, everyone looking on expectantly. From where he stood, Mulder could see that it hadn't made any difference. The paper still looked blank, save for some faint purplish blotches. Waters and Brubaker looked at each other in dismay. Brubaker turned the light off, and back on again, as if it were possibly at fault. Still nothing. Waters frowned.

"Why leave me a note that says nothing?"

"We don't know it says nothing," Mulder said. "May I see it?"

She nodded and extended it toward him. He started to take it, then realized he wasn't gloved. He grabbed a pair from the box in Grace's forensic kit and snapped them on, then took the paper. He had been right. The paper was far from generic. It was thick, marbled, and had an irregularly deckled edge. It looked hand-made. The stenciling on the front had been done in gold ink in an ornate Gothic style. He turned the paper over several times, examining it in detail.

Finally, closing his eyes, he ran his fingertips over it, as well as he could through the latex gloves. He stopped. There were slight irregularities in the paper that felt as if they might be scratch impressions. He looked more closely, and a slight whiff of something citrus wafted past his nose. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. Nothing. He sniffed the paper again. Citrus. Slowly he began to smile.

"Lemon juice."

Agent Waters frowned. "What?"

"There's writing here, we just need a heat source to bring it out. He used lemon juice, just like we used to on our secret notes when we were kids."

"We?" she queried.

"My sist..." he stopped, unwilling to bring that up right now. It was bad enough that Agent Waters name was Samantha. "You know, kids in general. Vinegar, or lemon juice, on paper is invisible until you heat it, gently, like over a light bulb. Then it turns brown and you can read it."

Grace Alvarez smiled, her gaze faraway. "I remember that. We always wrote the names of the boys we had crushes on in 'invisible ink' like that. You may just be right. I can check it pretty easily as soon as we get back to the lab."

Mulder surrendered the paper to Alvarez, who tucked it carefully into an evidence bag. He turned back to Waters.

"The pin, you recognize it, don't you?"

She nodded, slowly. "I... think so. I was in a play, a musical, actually, in ninth grade. 'My Fair Lady.' Some of the costumes had these wonderful hats, and we had to use hatpins to hold them on. This one looks very much like the one I used. I remember thinking it was terribly elegant, and I was going to ask the teacher if I could have it after the play was over, but I lost it two nights before closing."

Mulder's gaze sharpened. "You lost it?"

She nodded. "I was so mad at myself. I must not have pinned it securely into the hat that night, because when I went to get dressed the next night, it was gone."

Mulder remembered details from the files on Jack. He remembered the photographs of a christening gown hanging in a church belfry, a baby picture in an ornate frame, a man's wedding ring tied to a bunch of roses left on a pillow. Now this. This was more than meticulous research. Jack had things that had actually belonged to Samantha Waters, things that would be tremendously difficult to come by today. Could Jack have been fixated on her so long ago? Could that pin have been an early 'trophy?' One of Jack's victims had been the doctor who delivered Samantha Waters, another a childhood friend, yet another her bookmobile volunteer. Things were starting to make a certain warped sense. Jack might not just be obsessed with trying to become part of her life, but perhaps he actually had been part of it! He thought again about the victims. His mind made a connection. Bookmobile. Books.

"Agent Waters?"

She turned from where she stood staring at the car again. "Yes?"

"At the scene of Jack's first murder. What was it that made you suspect the 'golden rule' book had been left by Jack, not one of the family?"

She stared at him, bit her lip, then finally replied. "The book was too old. It was printed in 1964. All the other children's books in the house were much newer."

"What made you look at the print date?"

"I... don't know. I just did."

"Did you ever own a book like that one?"

She frowned, and her gaze went distant as she tried to remember. Finally she nodded, slowly. "Yes, actually, I had one very much like that one."

Mulder felt a surge of excitement. "Think back. Could it have been the same book?" She shook her head, looking horrified, but he kept at it. "Was there any kind of identifying mark that you might remember? A torn page, a name, a scrawl, anything?"

"I don't remember!"

"What happened to it?"

"I don't know! How should I know?"

"What did your family usually do with your books once you'd outgrown them?

"We gave them to the librar..." she stopped, and he saw her expression change as the same idea that had hit him, took her. "Oh my god... the library. They could have ended up in the bookmobile! But how could Jack have gotten it after all these years?"

Mulder stared at her, unspeaking, willing her to acknowledge what he knew she knew. She was the first one to look away. She turned to the others and spoke authoritatively.

"Okay, let's get all this stuff back to the office and get to work. We need to find Bailey fast."

"And Scully." Mulder prompted, annoyed.

She looked at him, and he saw anger in her gaze, but she nodded. "And Agent Scully."

* * *