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.
"Why?"
"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."
"About?"
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.
"Sam?"
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."
* * *