Live For A Reason To Die
Alex Krycek looked down at the counter, upon which his
right hand rested. The dimly lit DC diner he was in had been
deserted fifteen minutes ago, except for the waitress at the cash
register. He had been there for almost an hour, waiting for
everyone to clear out. The woman working the register was the
daughter of a senator who'd managed to get himself on the
syndicate's bad side. "And so they sent me to knock her off,"
Krycek finished in a bitter mumble. The woman looked over at him,
and, ignoring her, Krycek let his hand slide down to his jacket,
slipping it inside.
He felt the cool caress of metal against his skin, and
closed his fingers around the butt of his gun. Gently, silently, he
slid the gun out, and rested it against his thigh. Looking over to
the woman, he called, "Uh, can I get some coffee?"
"Sure," she replied, knowing how he took it, from his
previous three orders. After a couple of minutes, she brought it
over, and set it down in front of Krycek. The woman stood there for
a second, and he knew it was his chance.
Bringing his gun off his thigh and raising it to her
forehead, he pressed the muzzle between her eyes. Knocked by
his prosthetic, the mug of coffee fell to the floor, smashing. The
woman's eyes focused on the gun, its cool touch, and the fact the
man behind it was glaring at her. "Don't. Fucking. Move," he
growled. She obeyed, apparently trying to keep her anxiety under
control, but beginning to shake. Neither moved for two full minutes,
until Krycek continued, "You can thank Daddy for this one." He
punctuated his sentence by pulling the trigger. The gun sounded,
and the woman dropped to the floor, head slumping to the side, a
perfect hole between her eyes.
Krycek slipped his gun back inside his jacket, and
smiled coldly. Turning around, he walked out the door of the diner,
the doors swinging shut behind him, leaving everything silent.
Frank Black was woken by the ringing of the phone. He
rolled over and fumbled in the dark for a minute, before finding the
receiver. Frank brought it up to his ear. "Frank Black," he said into
it, slurring the words into one.
"Frank? We got a dead body."
"Giebelhouse?" Frank replied incredulously. He sank
back down onto the pillow. "What time is it?"
There was a pause while Giebelhouse checked his
watch. "Five thirty. Look, you might want to get down here."
Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, he replied, "Where
are you?"
"The Socket Diner, downtown. You know, electric food,
we promise..."
"I know it. Be there in twenty minutes."
"See ya, Frank."
Frank hung up the phone, and looked at the ceiling. That
automatically cancelled his plans for the day. He was supposed to
take Jordan shopping for Catherine's birthday... he sighed. It was
too early to call and cancel. He made a mental note to call on the
cellphone later, and got up. After getting dressed, Frank grabbed
the phone and the keys, and left for the diner.
As Frank pushed open the door to the diner, exactly
eighteen minutes later, Giebelhouse looked over from where he
was standing, beside the counter. "Frank. Take a look at this."
Frank walked over to where the detective was standing, and
caught his first glimpse of the body. She was obviously young,
and fairly pretty, with blonde hair splayed out on the floor, in all
directions. "Her name's Brooke McLain..."
"McLain?" Frank frowned. "As in..."
"As in Senator McLain. Yeah. Anyway, we ain't got no
pathologist to look at her yet. I thought I'd call you first."
"No pathologists are up at this hour," Frank rubbed his
eyes again, blinking in an attempt to wake up. "I wasn't awake.
You know, I was supposed to spend the day with Jordan."
Giebelhouse sighed. "Sorry. I care, Frank. However,
assassins don't care."
"Assassins? You think this was a professional hit?"
"I don't know. It could be. It don't feel like no drive-by,
random thing."
Frank nodded, walking around the end of the counter and
walking up to the girl's body. He knelt down next to it, and
examined the bullet hole. After a minute of looking and carefully
avoiding touching anything, he moved to the floor beside the body,
where there were the shards of a shattered coffee cup. Without
touching the sharpened edges, he picked a piece up.
//cold muzzle pushed hard onto the bridge of her nose//
//brush of a leather jacketed stiff elbow// //shattering mug coffee
splashing everywhere// //fear as she crossed her eyes to look at
the gun//
Snapping out of it, Frank shook his head, dispelling the
images, and stood up. He glanced at Giebelhouse. "Can you get
someone in here who will be able to determine if the gun wound
was with contact? And we need to know what sort of a weapon
was used. Call the FBI for that."
"You think this guy held the gun to her head and pulled
the trigger? It'd be more likely suicide if that."
"I know. Can you get someone?"
Giebelhouse nodded, walking over to the phone by the
register. He picked it up and dialled a number, apparently from
memory. "Yeah, operator..."
A member of the crime scene team tapped Frank on the
shoulder. "Uh, Mr Black, why do you think it's a contact entry?"
He looked at the man for a minute, then frowned. "Just a
hunch."
"I've heard about your hunches. I say we trust it."
Frank smiled a little, then went over to one of the booths,
sitting down. He laid his head on the table. It was going to be a
long day.
"Frank. Yo, Frank."
A hand was shaking his shoulder, and Frank opened his
eyes to see Giebelhouse, smiling wryly at him. "Was I asleep?"
"Yeah. When I was on the phone, you just came over
here and dropped off. Welcome to five hours later."
Frank stood up, out of the booth. "What did I miss?"
"The Fibbie woman came, and she's taken the bullet out,
back to the Hoover. I got a pathologist in, who took a look at the
body and said yeah it's contact shot. She's taken the body away,
also. The team's collecting up stuff, evidence, you know. You've
missed a fair bit."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
Giebelhouse shrugged. "I didn't want to disturb you. And
anyway, we didn't need you."
Nodding, Frank looked at his watch. Almost eleven
o'clock. His eyes widened instantly. "I've got to call Catherine." He
walked over to the far end of the diner, and got out his cellphone,
dialling her number from memory.
"Hello?"
"Catherine, I..."
"Frank? Where are you?"
At her accusational tone, Frank cringed slightly. "Look,
I'm at a scene..."
"You were supposed to come take Jordan for the day."
"I know, I meant to call, but I fell asleep here, and..."
"I don't want to hear your excuses!" Catherine's voice
rose, and she went on. "All I know is that our daughter is upstairs,
crying, because her father didn't show up today. Your life isn't just
profiling, you know."
"Look, I'm sorry..."
"I had to cancel my plans for the day, and you have no
idea of how upset Jordan is. Can't you just neglect your job, for
once, instead of your family?"
He sighed. That one stung. "I didn't have a choice.
Giebelhouse rang me at five-thirty this morning..."
"Maybe you should have married Giebelhouse, you
spend more time with him than you ever did with me."
"Catherine, I'll make it up to Jordan. And you. It's just,
we have this case..."
"Yeah. There's always a case, Frank. Always."
Frank, frustrated, leaned against the wall. "Can I talk to
Jordan?"
"No. I'm not having you hurt her again with your
excuses."
Opening his mouth to answer, Frank found himself
talking to the dialtone. He sighed, hanging the phone up, and
slipping it back in his jacket pocket. Giebelhouse looked down the
diner at him. "Problems?"
Frank nodded, not answering. Problems. The same
problems that had split them up, were happening over again, the
only difference being it was the police department, not the Group.
He sighed again, and walked past Giebelhouse, out the door. He
needed to find the results of the forensics, and he had to go to the
Bureau for that. Guilt over Catherine and Jordan nagging at him, he
started up the Jeep, and drove off.
The woman from forensics was tall, with her dark hair
pulled back in an extreme bun. Plastic glasses were pushed up on
her head, and earmuffs rested around her neck. She walked over
to Frank, carrying the bullet. "Well, the weapon used was a nine
-millimetre, standard FBI issue... I'm sorry that I can't narrow it
down at all for you."
"It could be an agent's gun?"
"Possibly. Again, it doesn't really narrow anything down,
sir. I'm sorry." She paused, looking past him. "Is that the detective
you're working with?"
Frank followed her line of vision, to see Giebelhouse
motioning to him. He nodded. "Excuse me."
"Sure," the woman replied, going back to her table as
Frank left the room. He walked over to the detective.
"Giebelhouse. You got something?"
"Sort of." he waved the tape that he held. "Surveillance.
It don't give us much, but we do have a suspect. There's one guy
who went into the diner and didn't come out."
"Was he sitting at the counter?" Frank took the tape,
watching Giebelhouse's face.
Giebelhouse shrugged. "Nah, that's the thing. He wasn't.
Assumably, he was sitting off to the left of the camera, in one of
the booths."
Pausing, Frank thought for an instant. "He sat there until
everyone cleared out, and surveillance was turned off, then moved
around to the counter."
"The surveillance was off because they were shutting up
for the night. I'm surprised the girl didn't tell the guy to get out."
//a shy smile as she poured coffee for him//
"No, because she was charmed by him." Frank
collected his thoughts. "He's probably very good looking, and she
thought he was nice. Perhaps he even offered to take her home
after her shift. Anyway, she trusted him, and didn't want to tell him
to leave."
Thinking about this, Giebelhouse nodded. "Yeah.
Maybe. The guy sure didn't look like a charmer when I saw him on
the video."
"So you have a picture of him?"
"Nah. He wouldn't look at the camera, kept his face well
hidden. The guy has a leather jacket on, and is all hunched over,
depressed-looking. I don't know about you, but I don't find that
type attractive." He looked up at Frank, who happened to be
slouching, and wearing his leather jacket. "Present company
excluded."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Frank asked, "What
did hair and fibers turn up?"
"Oh, a bit. Nothing really incriminating. Black hairs, I
guess from the jacket. The only weird thing was, we found slivers
of a plastic material in the wood along the side of the counter."
//stiff leather jacketed arm dragging along at the
counter// //hitting the coffee mug//
"Those slivers... could they be from an artificial limb?"
Giebelhouse gave him a strange look. "Yeah, they could
be. Why, you know somethin' I don't?"
"Just a thought." Frank walked off down the hall, leaving
the detective to jog to catch up. "It's all so carefully planned.
Clever. The killer's done this before."
"I said it didn't feel like no random thing."
"Completely pre-meditated. He may have been a regular
customer." Both men stopped, Frank turning to Giebelhouse. "Did
you check tapes from previous days?"
Giebelhouse shook his head. "There ain't none to check.
They throw them out daily."
Frowning, the other man thought about it for a minute. "I
need you to get an image of this guy off the tape." Frank pressed
the tape into Giebelhouse's hand. "Send it out with a note to
everyone in the Bureau, and the Department. This guy's got to
have a record somewhere. Mention the possibility of an artificial
limb. And then get twenty-four hour surveillance on Senator
McLain."
"The senator?" Giebelhouse echoed, taking the tape.
"I think he may be the target here."
Frank walked off, leaving Giebelhouse staring after him.
"I did it," Krycek stated simply, staring blankly at the
opposite wall. His superiors exchanged glances. "I killed that girl."
"Yes," the old English man said. "But you're not finished."
"I'm not?" Krycek frowned, looking at the man's face. "That
isn't what our deal says. You said just the girl. That's all."
"You do what you're instructed," the man replied. "It
doesn't matter what I said. Now you've got someone else." He
handed the younger man a file. Krycek opened it and scanned the
front paper.
"Christine McLain? You're kidding me." He looked at the
man's uncompromising face, then back down. "What the hell did
this guy do to you, anyway?"
"You have no need to know." There was a pause, as the
old man looked at the rest of them. "But you may want to be a bit
more careful with this one. They're investigating the girl's death."
Krycek snorted. "Who is, Mulder? Like he'd ever catch
me."
"This isn't the FBI's case. I assume you've heard of Frank
Black?"
Frowning in thought, Krycek didn't say anything for a
minute. Then, "Yeah. He's a profiler. Used to be with the Bureau.
They teach some of his cases at Quantico." He grinned a little.
"Spooky Senior, so to speak."
"He's investigating this case." The man watched his young
companion's face contort,
"You're fucking kidding me. He's retired. He should be,
anyway."
The man sighed. "No. He works with the Richmond Police
Department. You're familiar with his record, I assume."
"Yeah." Krycek looked at everyone in turn. "It doesn't
matter. Makes no difference. I'll kill the woman tonight, before they
can get surveillance into action."
The English man smiled. "Good."
Mulder looked at the file in his hands, and groaned. He had
to write Skinner a report on their last case, when quite frankly he
had less of an idea than the AD as to what had happened. To add
to his grief, he'd misplaced his gun. Sometimes Mulder wondered
if the universe wasn't just sitting around laughing at him. Scully
was watching him. "Mulder, moaning about it to yourself isn't
going to get the report written."
"Can you write it for me?" he replied somewhat hopefully.
She smiled wryly at him.
"Tough luck, Mulder." Leafing through the memos on the
desk, Scully paused, a sheet of paper in her hand. Mulder looked
up at her.
"What is it?"
Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He looked it up and
down, then raised his gaze to meet hers. "This is..."
"Krycek?"
He nodded. "That rat bastard. He's crawled out from his
hole again." Mulder reached for the phone, and dialled the number
listed on the paper, for Detective Giebelhouse.
His cellphone rang and Giebelhouse fumbled for it,
excusing himself to the police chief. He answered. "Giebelhouse."
"Detective Giebelhouse? This is Special Agent Fox
Mulder. I got your bulletin."
Suddenly interested, Giebelhouse turned his back to the
chief. "Yeah? You know the guy?"
"I'm pretty sure of it. Alex Krycek."
Grabbing a notepad and pen from a nearby desk,
Giebelhouse noted the name. "Alex..."
"Krycek. K-R-Y-C-E-K."
He ripped the name off the paper, tuning back to the
phone. "Agent... Mulder, does this guy have a record I could look
up?"
"He's never been caught, but you'll find some stuff on him."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks. Listen, we'll give you a call if we
need more help." Without saying a farewell, Giebelhouse hung the
phone up. "Oh, boy!" He didn't talk to the police chief, heading
down the hall to his office.
Once there, he seated himself at the computer and typed
in the guy's name. Records came up immediately.
The names and crimes went on down the page, and,
realising Frank would want to see this, Giebelhouse hit 'print'. The
whirr of the printer sounded, and Giebelhouse stood up and got out
the cellphone. He dialled Frank's number.
"Frank Black."
"Frank, it's Giebelhouse. I got stuff on our guy."
Giebelhouse turned around as the printer stopped, and froze when
he saw the computer screen
"Okay, what've you got?" Giebelhouse, shocked, couldn't
answer, staring at the screen. "Giebelhouse?"
"Yeah, I'm here, Frank. But the data ain't." He re-read the
screen, upon which, in plain white letters, was written 'NO
RECORDS FOUND. ANOTHER SEARCH?'
"What?"
"I got it printed, but it ain't on the computer. It's like it's all
been deleted. I ain't seen this before." He grabbed up the two
pages of data, as if it was suddenly going to be deleted, also. "I
got a hard copy of this guy's record to show you. Where are you?"
"Look, I'll come down there, okay? You think you've got the
guy?"
"Yeah. Hey, he was with the Bureau in 94. Think I should
go get some working records for him?"
"I'll meet you at the J. Edgar Hoover in half an hour, okay?"
Neither bothered saying anything else, both closing the
connection. Giebelhouse sighed. He had surveillance to organise.
Frank sighed, replacing the phone on the hook. He'd been
looking records up on the Millennium group's database, going off
the image Giebelhouse had taken off the tape. After capturing the
clearest possible image, the detective had e-mailed it to Frank at
home. Frank sat back, hands over his face, exhaling, as the
screen saver started up. The oroboro on screen stayed there,
frozen, as Frank wondered what the killer's next move would be.
Surveillance might take a while to set up, and until then, they just
had to hope there wouldn't be anything further.
At the sound of the door opening, Frank took his glasses
off, set them down next to the computer, and turned. Catherine
entered, Jordan running past her and to her father. He smiled at
her, then turned to Catherine. "Catherine..."
"Can you look after Jordan for the afternoon? I have to
work, Frank. I cancelled after you didn't turn up this morning, but
something else came up, that I couldn't refuse." She stayed in the
doorway, looking at Frank as if to challenge him.
He sighed. "I have this case right now, and we need to
move fast..." At Jordan's fallen expression, however, he changed
his mind. "Look, I'll tell Giebelhouse to deal with it by himself.
Sure."
"Thanks," Catherine said. "I'll be back at six."
"Mommy, can't I stay the night with Daddy?" Jordan
looked pleadingly at her mother, who shot Frank a questioning
look.
"Fine by me," he said, after a pause to think about it.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then, sweetie." Catherine
leaned down, and Jordan ran to give her a hug. "Have a nice night."
"I will!"
Catherine left, shutting the door behind her. A minute later,
Frank heard her car starting up. Jordan came back over to him,
climbing on his lap. "What are you doing?"
"Just some stuff for a case, honey. Do you want to go
watch some cartoons? I need to make a phone call." She nodded,
jumped down, and ran off to jump on the couch. A minute later,
Frank heard the cartoons start up. He reached for the phone, and
dialled the detective's cellphone number.
"Giebelhouse."
"Giebelhouse, it's Frank here. Here's my thing. Catherine's
dropped Jordan off with me, and I won't be able to help out any
more today. Sorry."
From the other end, Giebelhouse sighed. "Look, Frank, I
was going to get you to do the Bureau work, and be able to get
the surveillance up tonight. You think this guy's going to do
anything tonight?"
Frank thought for a minute. "No I don't believe so." He
noted he sounded a lot more confident than he actually was.
"Okay, then I'll get around to doing it tomorrow. Hey, you
want me to send this guy's record to you?"
"Fax it through." Frank looked over to his fax machine, and
pushed a whole lot of junk away from the front of it. "Bye."
"See ya."
Frank hung the phone up and watched the machine. After
a minute, the phone made the noise for a fax call, and soon
started transmitting. Ignoring it, Frank walked through into the
living room, and watched Jordan for a minute. When the ads came
on, she looked up at her father. "Daddy? Who did you call?"
"Detective Giebelhouse. You know him, don't you?"
She beamed. "I like him. He's funny."
"Yeah, I guess he is," Frank replied, walking back to the
fax machine. He tore the sheet off, and examined it. Raising an
eyebrow, he saw that the guy in question, Alex Krycek, had been
suspected in many cases, but not once convicted. A few of the
names sounded vaguely familiar, Bill Mulder for one. Frank had
heard of Bill's son, Fox. A brilliant, if possibly insane, profiler with
the Bureau. He put the sheet back down and returned to the
couch, sitting beside Jordan. He had the impending feeling of
doom relating to this case. Something told him that he was wrong
in his confidence that nothing would happen tonight. The killer
knew what he was doing... he'd know that tonight would be the
time to next strike. If he was going to do anything else, and Frank
was virtually sure that he was.
Jordan broke into his thoughts by giggling at whatever was
on the television. Frank looked down at her, smiling fondly. She
didn't know he was watching her, and he suddenly longed for a
normal life, where his only encounter with crime would be reading
a newspaper. He hated to bring Jordan into his almost unbearably
dark life. Frank gently ran a hand through her hair, thinking. Jordan
held no place in his world. She was the only thing that was sweet,
light... the contrast. He needed her, But at the same time, he
wished she didn't have to have anything to do with it.
Getting up, Frank sighed. Technically, he knew better than
to keep his thoughts regarding the case to himself, but he felt like
pretending, for one day, one afternoon, that he had a normal
relationship with his daughter. "Hey, Jordan," he called. She
turned to look at him, resting her chin on the back of the sofa.
"Want to see a movie?"
"Sure!" she exclaimed, smiling.
Jordan got off the couch and came around to her father,
taking his hand. He got their coats from beside the door and the
two left, walking to the nearest theatre.
Giebelhouse went up to the desk outside Assistant
Director Walter Skinner's office, and smiled at the woman there. "I
need t' see AD Skinner. Can I?"
She smiled back up at him. "He's free now. Who should I
tell him is here?"
"Oh, he ain't gonna know me. Detective Bob Giebelhouse."
The woman related that on the intercom, then indicated the
door. "Go in."
Giebelhouse nodded, and pushed open the door, entering.
There were two men in the room. One, behind the desk, was
mostly bald, and wore glasses. He glanced up when the detective
entered. The other man was sitting in one of the chairs, smoking a
cigarette. Giebelhouse glanced at him. Then he turned back to
Skinner, "Sorry, your assistant said you were free..."
"I am." Skinner indicated a chair in front of his desk, and
Giebelhouse sat in it. "What can I do for you, detective?"
"I'm investigatin' a case where we got a suspect who
happens to have been in the Bureau. I found out that he was one
of your agents, so I figure you might be able to help me out."
Giebelhouse took the records from the computer out of his pocket
and handed it over. "Alex Krycek."
Skinner didn't answer, glancing at the man with the
cigarette. Giebelhouse spun around to look at the man, also, The
cigarette man simply exhaled some smoke, and took another
drag.
"I remember Agent Krycek," Skinner started, sounding
somewhat uneasy. Giebelhouse watched his face. "He was a
good agent. Impeccable records through Quantico. I'm... surprised
that he's involved in anything illegal."
"Did he have a partner while here, that I could talk to?"
Again, Skinner paused, looking towards the Cigarette
Smoking guy. Then he sighed. "No. Krycek worked alone." He
looked down at the sheet. "You mind if I keep this? These records
are incorrect, I'm sure of it, and I'd like to look into these crimes."
"Yeah, sure," Giebelhouse replied, sounding surprised at
what Alex Krycek sounded like. He knew Frank had a copy, so
there was no problem with handing over the data. "Thanks for your
time."
Skinner bade him goodbye, and Giebelhouse left. Skinner
turned silently to the Smoking Man, who smiled a little. "Well
done, Mr Skinner."
"Get the hell out of my office," Skinner growled. "I may
have just mislead that detective, but I don't owe you anything."
The Smoking Man stood, putting his cigarette out in the
ashtray. "I advise that you don't do anything foolish, Mr Skinner.
We will be in touch."
"I bet you will be," Skinner replied, glaring at the other
man's back. The office was left silent, and Skinner was left,
wondering why he'd just done that.
Krycek glanced in the rearview mirror momentarily,
studying his reflection. He was almost surprised at the hardened
look his reflection had, how he looked every bit the professional
assassin. He tried out a few different expressions, then smiling
openly at the absurdity of his behaviour.
Outside, the sky was rapidly darkening. He'd been in the
same position for three hours, watching Senator Steven McLain's
house for movement. Someone was home, although he wasn't
quite sure whom. Probably servants.
The full moon had risen, and beams were streaking
through the night mists. A few were dancing around the car's
interior, playing across his legs at times, across the upholstery,
creating strange, moving shadows. Krycek was caught up in
watching them for a while, and almost missed a movement out on
the street.
Stealthily, he turned his face to watch the people. A
couple, the man who he recognised as the Senator. The woman
had her back to him, but was wearing a long black dress, with
shoestring straps. Her long, black hair, cascaded down her back.
Silently, Krycek checked the magazine, and replaced his gun—check that, Mulder's gun—in the hip holster. He opened the door,
and closed it just as silently, getting out onto the pavement.
The night was still, and sounds carried. On one hand, that
was good, because he could hear the two talking. He heard
fragments of conversation: 'Chrissy' (By that he assumed the
woman was Christine, the Senator's wife), 'Night', 'Brooke',
'Tragic'... and others. However, the bad side to sounds carrying
was to be the gunshot. Thinking about it, Krycek took out the
silencer, and slipped it onto the gun. He stayed, hidden in
shadows on the other side of the street, watching, until the two
embraced. The senator went inside the house, and the woman to
the Mercedes parked on Krycek's side of the street. He jumped
behind his car, wondering what was going on. After a minute of
watching the woman struggle with the lock—apparently drunk—he
concluded that she had to be dashing out to the shops for a late
night purchase. He walked up behind her, and pressed the muzzle
of the gun to the nape of her neck. "Don't move, don't scream,
don't make a fucking noise."
A whimper came from the woman, and he drew back a
little. "Step back from the car." She did as told, but suddenly
wheeled around and slashed at him with long fingernails. His
cheeks instantly stung, and he moved the gun to his prosthetic,
grabbing her by the wrist. Glad he had gloves on, Krycek deftly
snapped her hand around, being rewarded by a sickening crack.
Her wrist broken, the woman looked at it momentarily, tears
springing to her bloodshot eyes. With her good hand, she grabbed
at Krycek's hair, but he grabbed the other wrist. She looked him
boldly in the eyes, and he had to admire her confidence, when
surely she knew she was about to die.
He dropped her hand, simultaneously bringing the gun up
to point at her face, suddenly grateful that those Russian fuckwits
had thought to leave some nerve endings in his arm. With his right
hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out a large knife.
The woman's eyes widened. In one deft movement, he brought the
gun back down to his side, and brought the knife up to slit across
her throat. The woman gasped for breath, good hand going up to
press against her throat, as if she could halt the flow of blood.
Krycek watched, nose turned up, as she fell to her knees
at his feet. Unable to resist, he brought one black boot sharply up
into her abdomen. She keeled over completely, fully on the
ground. Krycek bent down and drove the knife through her back,
and her squirming stopped. Paralysed, she couldn't do anything
but wait for her assailant to finish the job. Her face was on the
side, and her eyes wildly looked about, face contorted in pain as
she looked at Krycek. Deciding she had suffered enough, Krycek
drove the knife through her temple. The woman's eyes widened,
then went blank, expression changing to the plain stare of the
deceased.
But he knew the job was not over. Using one hand, Krycek
turned her over, careful to only touch the material of her dress.
Using the hilt of his knife, he turned her left hand, with the broken
wrist, over. Shit. Under her fingernails was flesh, assumably from
his cheeks. Unwilling to spend the time cutting her fingernails off,
he knew somehow he had to get rid of his flesh from her.
Grasping his knife, he sliced through the fingers, all five on
her left hand, leaving the hand bare and featureless. He turned the
right hand to be palm-up, and did the same thing. Taking a small
plastic bag out of his jacket pocket, he shoved them in, and slid
the bag back in the pocket. It'd make a nice present for the
consortium.
Krycek stood up, and looked at the body. He felt no
remorse. A black fabric item caught his eye. Her purse. Feeling
once again grateful for the glove, he emptied the contents onto the
street. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. A note from 'Steve'.
Lipstick. Tampons. Credit Cards. Curious, he picked them up,
looking at the picture on the top one. She'd been younger then,
her hair shorter. But it was the name on the card that made him
take notice. 'Harriot Roberts'. He froze.
The wrong woman.
He'd just killed the wrong woman.
Close to panic, Krycek looked towards the house, half
-expecting the senator to emerge. Then a strange calmness took
him over, and he smiled a little. Cruelly. He had a plan. If that
wasn't Mrs. Senator McLain, then she had to be inside the house.
Slowly, Krycek ran through his plan, realising he knew
what to do. Slipping the knife back into his belt, he walked calmly
over the street, and slipped behind a tree. Krycek took the silencer
off the gun and held it in his prosthetic. Holding his gun at an
angle as to miss all the branches, he fired into the air.
After the gunshot, there was silence, and Krycek smiled in
anticipation, putting the silencer back on the gun, before it all went
to hell. Dogs barked, there were doors slamming, and people
screaming. The front door to the senator's house was flung open,
the security light came on, and he ran onto the lawn, clad only in
a fluffy blue bathrobe. Seeing the figure on the road across the
street, he broke into a sprint. Once at the body, he fell to his
knees, sobbing. Krycek took his chance and slipped inside the
house. By now it was late at night, possibly the morning. There
were no clocks around to tell, and he wasn't wearing a watch.
Before him, a staircase lead upstairs, and on a tangent,
Krycek crept up it, steps falling silently. Once up there, he snuck
along the hall and peeked into a room.
A woman, elegant in her nakedness, was at the head of
the bed, face conveying absolute terror. Krycek wondered if her
expression would be worse if she knew what danger was standing
outside her bedroom door.
Cocking his gun, he stepped inside the room. She
screamed, and he impulsively fired, cutting her scream off in the
middle. He stopped momentarily to admire the fact that he'd hit
perfectly in the middle of her head. Krycek chuckled and went to
the window.
It opened up onto the sprawling backyard, with a pool and
many shrubs. Down the wall was a trellis, with a creeper growing
up it. He drew back, sticking his knife into the bed. Easily,
Krycek swung his legs over the windowsill, and swung around to
face the wall.
It took him a while to climb down, but he managed it, and
walked around the side of the house to watch the commotion on
the street. He grinned, realising getting away wasn't going to be a
problem. Casually, he walked across the street. No one noticed,
caught up in sobbing over the woman's body. He climbed into the
car, started it up and pulled away.
At the sound of the car engine, Steven McLain, tears
running down his face, looked up. The nondescript black car pulled
away, and he shouted "Who was that? Was that him? Was that
him who did this?" His neighbour stood up, stroking his arm.
Steven hardly noticed, screaming after the car. "You bastard! Get
out of my life!" He broke down in his neighbour's arms, sobbing.
"What was the number plate? Oh God, get the plate!"
Someone else voice shaking, replied, "The car had no
plates... oh, God! What is this?"
A shaken neighbourhood, the people stayed there for
hours, during which Steven McLain had no idea his wife was also
past.
The phone rang. Frank sat bolt upright in his bead, eyes
going to the digital clock at his bedside. Seven-twelve. Tiredly, he
groped for the phone. "Giebelhouse, if this is going to become a
habit..."
There was no answer, only breathing on the other end of
the phone. "Giebelhouse?"
Still, the other person didn't speak. Frank frowned. "Who
is this?"
Then, in a low voice, almost a growl, the person said, "You
have a vulnerable wife and child. Just like he did."
Frank went to answer, but found himself about to address
the dialtone. Shaken, he replaced the receiver and got out of bed.
Quickly, he went down to Jordan's room, stopping in the doorway.
He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her curled up under the
blankets, curls strewn over the pillow.
Frank was just about to return to bed, when the phone
rang.
He left it for five rings, then picked up. "Yeah?"
"Frank, it's Giebelhouse."
"Giebelhouse. I hardly want to ask. What is it?"
"His wife and toygirl. Both dead. The wife in her bed, the
girl on the street. You'd better get here."
Frank stared blankly at the wall. 'You have a vulnerable
wife and child...' "Look, I have Jordan here right now. I don't know
if I can..."
There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. "Frank,
why don't you drop her with Catherine? You gotta get down here.
And I've got some interestin' stuff for ya."
"Where are you?" Frank asked, giving in.
"The senator's house. How long you want?"
"I'll be there in half an hour."
The two hung up, and Frank, not feeling at all happy about
it, went in to wake Jordan up.
"Catherine!" Frank called, pounding on the door. No
answer. "Catherine!"
Suddenly, just as his hand was hovering above it, the door
opened inwardly, Catherine appearing in it. "Frank?"
He gave his ex-wife Jordan's hand, the little girl going to
her mother and standing at her side. Frank sighed. "I'm sorry. I
have to leave Jordan here, now. I've got to get to a scene."
Catherine opened her mouth to respond, probably angrily, so he
went on, "Two people were killed last night, because I was
spending time with my daughter instead of doing my job. Let me
do this. Please."
She studied his face for a minute, then simply said,
"Okay." Turning to Jordan, she continued, "Come on, sweetie, you
can go back to bed." And shut the door in Frank's face.
Realising that was his cue to leave, Frank sighed, turned
around, and walked back to the Jeep. He left for the Senator's
house.
"All the neighbours say the same thing. They heard a
gunshot and came out to find her. But the girl ain't been shot. She
was knifed. The senator's wife was shot, and let me tell you, it
ain't a pretty sight." Giebelhouse indicated the woman lying on her
back, the forensic photographer snapping away. "She was
apparently found like that, but we ain't getting any prints. The
whole neighbourhood was out here last night."
The photographer stood up, nodding to the two men. He
headed inside. Frank knelt down next to the body, and closed his
eyes.
//flash of black hair as she whirled around// //lashing out
with fingernails// //sprawled prone on the ground, unable to move//
//slicing fingers off one-by-one//
He broke out of it, looking at the body. "This wasn't the
position she was in when she died, which explains..." Frank
motioned to the girl's knees. "The torn fabric over her knees." He
pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pockets, put them on, and
leaned over to see her neck, moving the black hair aside from the
neck. There was a deep gash, which had sliced into her throat and
bled a lot. "This was the first injury. She then fell to her knees, and
probably to the ground." Frank turned her over, and unzipped the
back of the dress, revealing a deep stab wound. "He stabbed her
in the back, effectively paralysing her." He reached up to examine
her temple. "And then, finally, to kill her, he stabbed her through
the temple."
Giebelhouse had been listening intently, but was frowning.
"Frank, that's an awful lot o' fuss considering the first murder was
just a shootin'. You sure this is the same guy?"
Frank stood up, stepping away from the body and turning
to the detective. "You think it's a coincidence that the Senator's
daughter, girlfriend and wife are all killed within thirty hours?"
"You ain't seen the wife, yet. She was shot. Although not
like the daughter."
"I think it's the same guy. I think he had planned to shoot
her, but something went wrong. She fought back, perhaps
scratching him up with her fingernails."
Giebelhouse consulted his sheet. "She had long
fingernails."
Frank nodded, then continued. "She had his flesh under
her fingernails, so he cuts her fingers off, with the same knife he
killed her with."
"What I had to tell you about this Krycek guy... he's not
our man. I checked up with his AD at the Bureau, who says he
was basically the perfect agent. Anyway, this guy says the
records must be incorrect, that he'd never kill anyone."
Giebelhouse shrugged. "I guess Mulder must've been mistaken."
Frank frowned. "I'm not so sure. Who else could it be?"
"Well, want to know what I think? I say Senator M'clean
ain't so clean after all." Giebelhouse gave the home a pointed look.
"You think Steven McLain killed his daughter, wife, and
girlfriend?" Frank asked incredulously.
"Yeah. I say the other night, Daddy dearest went to help
his child shut up shop. When she was finished..." Giebelhouse
made his right hand into a gun, pressing the index finger to
Frank's forehead. "Bang. Bye bye, baby. Then last night, he
realises the girlfriend suspects something. So he does her in.
When the neighbourhood comes out to be all sorry and
sympathetic, he realises his wife'll know that he offed the little
chick, so he goes in and shoots her."
"A twisted variation of Munchausen's by proxy?" Frank
shook his head. "What about the way the shot was fired before
everyone came out?"
"Maybe he shot wifey before coming out for sympathy, or
fired a shot into the air. Either way, it works." Giebelhouse looked
at Frank, who was thinking about it.
"I'm sorry, but I seriously doubt it. I think you're looking too
hard. It's the same guy, and I still believe it's Alex Krycek."
"How would Agent Mulder know, anyway? After all, your
theory doesn't have a constant MO."
"Neither does yours," Frank pointed out. Giebelhouse
frowned irritably.
"That's the brilliance of it. He's making it appear like they're
different murders, by a terrible coincidence all relating to him."
Frank took the folder from Giebelhouse. "Can I see this?"
He scanned it, then suddenly looked up. "The neighbours and the
senator all saw a car leaving after the murders, and you didn't
think to mention it? How does this fit with your theory?"
Giebelhouse thought about that. "Maybe it was just
someone leaving the neighbourhood.."
"Long shot. I'm sorry, Giebelhouse, I just think you're
looking too hard, seeing things that aren't there. Did you get a
statement from Senator McLain?"
"Yeah. He says he came out of the house when he heard
the gunshot. That's what I don't get. Everyone came out when the
gun went off, but this girl don't have no gunshot wound. No one
heard a second shot, but the wife was killed with a gun. I think the
guy shot his wife, then came out to the street."
"Giebelhouse!" Frank exclaimed. "Your theory about the
death has changed in two minutes."
"I know, but how do you explain the shot?"
On a whim, Frank went over to stand under a large tree on
the McLains' front lawn. He closed his eyes.
//removing the silencer// //completely calm// //firing into the
night// //watching everyone run out onto the street// //slipping
silencer back on//
"Giebelhouse!" Frank called. Giebelhouse came over to
where Frank was standing, under the tree. "He fired into the night
to get everyone on the street. Then he put the silencer back on his
gun, and went inside to shoot the wife."
"You still think it's that Krycek guy, don't you?"
"The fact he has impeccable records doesn't make a
difference. Everyone always says about serial killers, murderers...
'He was so quiet, such a good boy...'... I have no reason to doubt
that this is Krycek." Frank sighed. "Can you get Agent Mulder
down here? Not only does he know our main suspect, unlike us,
he'd also be a great help to the case."
"I'll call him." Giebelhouse left to make the call, and Frank
headed inside, needing to see the wife's body.
"Mulder," Mulder swivelled his chair around as he held the
receiver to his ear, effectively entangling himself in the cord.
"Agent Mulder, this is Detective Giebelhouse."
Mulder stopped in his spinning, concentrating on the
phone call. "Detective... I heard about last night's murders. You
caught Krycek yet?"
"That's who I'm calling about. How do you know about
him?"
Mulder leaned back slightly-too-far in the chair, almost
toppling over. "He was my partner when he was in the Bureau, but
betrayed me, working for a higher-up part of our government. He
was acting according to a hidden agenda, one that I had no part
in. After disappearing for a while, he reappeared to kill my father,
and possibly help in the assassination of my partner's sister.
Krycek betrayed the men he was working for, selling government
secrets. Then he got in with a bunch of militiamen, and wound up
taking me to Russia and getting me infected with an alien virus.
That may sound crazy, but... the last time I saw him, I'd busted us
out of the Russian prison camp, and he jumped off the back of the
truck."
Giebelhouse didn't reply for a minute, stuck on the fact
they were partners in the FBI. "Say again? You were partners in
the Bureau?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I was told he worked alone, and was the perfect agent.
That he'd never be involved in anything illegal."
Not believing his ears, Mulder chuckled incredulously.
"You're crazy. Who told you that?"
"AD Skinner."
Mulder stood up, then, realising he was still entangled in
the phone cord, abruptly sat back down. "AD Skinner? You're
mistaken. Skinner hates the rat."
Giebelhouse didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Agent
Mulder, as a favour, could you come down and help us with the
case? We figure you know Krycek better'n us, and we could use
some help."
"Sure. I'm in between cases at the moment, and my
partner can finish off the paperwork." At that statement, Scully, for
the first time in the conversation, looked up, fixing him with a
'yeah, you'll be lucky' glare. He continued, "Where are you?"
"Senator McLain's house. You know?"
"I'll be there right away." Mulder hung up the phone, and
stepped out of the phone cord. He looked at Scully. "I've got to go
help out on a case. See ya."
Before Scully could call, "Mulder..." he was out the door,
and had slammed the door behind him. She sighed.
Mulder felt a hand on his arm, and he looked around. The
man's uncompromising face clearly told him he had no right to be
at the scene. Mulder took out his badge. "Agent Mulder. FBI."
"I wasn't aware the FBI had been called in on this case,"
the guy said suspiciously.
"Detective Giebelhouse asked me. Is he around?"
"Agent Mulder?" Mulder and the other man turned at once,
to see another man coming towards them. He shook Mulder's
hand. "Agent Mulder, I'm Bob Giebelhouse." He nodded to the guy
who was watching them strangely, and he waked off. "We got a
real ugly case. We got two bodies, one the guy's toygirl, the other
the guy's wife. The girl's body's over here." Giebelhouse and
Mulder walked over to the partitioned off area, ducking under the
tape. Mulder took the file from the other man, opening it to read.
After a while, he looked up.
"Who else is working on the case?"
"Frank Black. And you, I guess." Mulder nodded, looking
down at the woman's body.
"How was she killed?"
"Eventually, a knife through the temple. But there are a
whole lot of injuries." At the sound of someone coming under the
tape, Giebelhouse turned. Frank came over to stand beside the
two of them.
Mulder took his badge out. "Agent Mulder, FBI. I assume
you're Frank Black?"
Frank shook his hand. "Thanks for coming in, Agent
Mulder. What do you think?"
Mulder, putting his gloves on, bent down and turned the
body over. "It's strange. This doesn't seem like something
Krycek'd do. He's more the wham, bang, thank you ma'am sort. A
gunshot and he's gone. This is too elaborate for him, in my
opinion."
"Something went wrong. He was intending to just shoot
her, but she fought back. Do you think he'd have the ability to do
all this?"
Nodding, Mulder replied, "I think he does. He's quite
intelligent, remembering he's just an assassin. I wouldn't have
thought it of him to go to so much trouble just for one person, but
if, as you said, something went wrong, he would."
Frank turned to Giebelhouse. "This murder was a mistake.
This girl wasn't meant to die."
The detective gave him a strange glance. "What are you
talking about?"
"The target was the wife. Which is why the contents of her
purse are on the ground here, credit cards on top. He thought this
was Christine McLain, but was wrong, and only discovered so
when everything was done. This woman needn't have died." He
turned to Mulder, who was watching him.
"And then, because he didn't want to have failed what he
came to do, he went inside and shot the wife. You say here a shot
was fired before everyone came out. Have you considered the
possibility that he fired a warning shot to get everyone out of the
houses, then used a silencer for the wife?"
"I came to that conclusion, yes. Agent Mulder, did you
know Krycek had an artificial limb?"
"I didn't know that for sure, but I suspected he might have.
When we were in Russia, I wound up at the house of some
people, who, to protect me from some tests, offered to amputate
my left arm. I almost killed myself declining, but I think Krycek
might have lucked out." He shrugged. "It doesn't surprise me."
"Why don't you tell us everything you know about him?"
Frank suggested.
"That's it. I'm finished. No more." Krycek glared at the two
men facing him, the old English guy and the Morley man. "It's too
fucking much."
"You did well, Alex," the man with the cigarette said.
"There are only two more."
"Get another fucking fool who's willing," Krycek snarled.
"What do these two have to do with the senator, anyway?" He
motioned to the file at his feet, that he'd thrown there after getting
the gist of it. "One's a clinical social worker, and the other a
whore. Want to give me a clue?"
"You don't need to know." The English man said, looking
Krycek up and down. "We're distracting them away from you.
Mulder has become involved, and they will suspect something.
This way, the investigation will change."
The Morley man took over, "We have someone to work
with you, and he has already started. He's done this sort of thing
before. All you will need to do is go along, and ensure he does the
job adequately."
Krycek watched him for a minute, then nodded simply.
"Fine. But after that..."
The two men exchanged glances, looking slightly amused.
The Morley man smiled at his young subordinate. "Don't worry.
These will be the last two."
After a minute, the English man walked to the door, calling
out it, "Paul... you can come in, now."
Krycek watched as a man came through the door. He was
fairly tall—probably only a couple of inches shorter than himself,
and blond. Very blond. His hair hung down onto his shoulders, and
he had sharp features. Krycek chuckled. "You're telling me this
jerk's an assassin?"
Paul walked up to Krycek, and grabbed him by the left
wrist, never taking his eyes away from the other man's. Without
warning, he jerked the wrist towards him and upwards.
"Aw, fuck!" Krycek exclaimed, moving forward to
compensate. Paul, his face merely inches away from Krycek's,
smiled coldly.
"Hurting?"
Knowing just how, the blond man twisted the arm from the
elbow, and Krycek swore repeatedly as the prosthesis grated on
the raw nerve endings. The two older men watched as they
grappled territorially with each other. Leaning towards his left,
Krycek brought a knee up sharply into Paul's groin. It worked, the
blond man dropped the arm, cringing back. Krycek took his
chance and casually delivered a hard punch to the other man's
throat. Paul finally stood back, hands up. Krycek grinned.
"Hurting?"
He was rewarded with a dark glare. The Morley man, after
exhaling, spoke, "You two will work well together."
Glowering at each other, the two walked out of the room.
Several hours later, Frank finally got a break, and called
Catherine.
"Catherine, it's Frank. Are you and Jordan okay?"
"Yes, why?"
He sighed in relief. "It's just this case, spooking me out.
I'm sorry about this morning. Listen, I'll take the two of you out to
dinner tonight."
For a minute, Catherine didn't reply. Then, slowly, "Okay.
We'll be at your house by six-thirty." She sighed. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'll see you then." Frank put his phone back in his
pocket, and looked around. When he saw Giebelhouse, he went
up to the man. "Look, Giebelhouse, I'm heading home now.
There's not much left for me to do."
Giebelhouse nodded. "I'll call if anythin' comes up, Frank."
Later, Frank paced aimlessly around his living room.
Without warning, the phone rang. He answered it.
"Frank, this is Melinda Taylor, from forensics. We ran
tests on the bullet from the other night, and the one from last
night. The two match. More news is that we discovered which
agent's gun the bullets are from."
"Which Agent?"
"Agent Fox Mulder of the X-files division." She took a
breath. "I was told by his partner that his gun was lost, but I found
it in his desk."
Frank didn't answer for a minute, slightly stunned. "Are
you sure?"
"Completely, Mr Black."
"Thank you. I'll call if I need anything further."
Hanging up the phone, Frank sighed. Things just got a
whole lot more complicated.
"Have a beer," Paul stated to Krycek, thrusting a paper
cup at him. Krycek had to take his hand off the wheel to push it
back. A little spilt on the gearshift between them, and Paul swore.
"You fucking idiot! Clumsy fool."
"Oh, fuck you, Paul." Krycek stopped the car outside the
brothel. "Go. Kill her. Get it done."
Paul took on a leering expression. "I think I'll have some
fun, first."
"You're a fucking pervert," Krycek hissed, disgusted. "All
that's needed is one gunshot. You don't need to get your kicks
first."
"Just because you're queer," Paul snapped back. "Maybe I
get off on fucking women. Unlike someone else in this car."
Apparently deciding to ignore this, Krycek didn't reply, and
Paul got out of the car, carrying the beer. Before he walked into
the brothel, Krycek called out the window, "Hey, Paul, you know
about cars, right?" The blond man nodded.
"Most real men do." He smiled condescendingly, and
walked back down to the car. "What's the problem with the car?"
From inside the car, Krycek shrugged innocently. When
Paul bent down to look in the hood, the younger man started the
car and went straight into his companion. The blond man jumped
up immediately, although not without a limp. "You fucking freak!
You stupid little commie! What the hell is your problem?"
"You are," Krycek called back to him. "Now get the
fucking job done."
Frowning at him, Paul walked into the building. Watching
the other man go in, Krycek found himself looking at a different
image, in his mind's eye. The same scene, in black and white. A
man was walking into the building, although Krycek didn't know
who he was. The scene switched into the building's interior, where
a dark-haired woman was stroking the man's arm seductively.
Krycek recognised her, from photos. His mother.
Snapping out of it, Krycek blinked. What the hell was that?
From inside, after ten or twenty minutes, he heard a
gunshot, and, soon after, Paul came out of the building. He went
around to the driver's side and pulled Krycek out of the car.
Shoving him on the ground, Paul gunned the motor and left the
other man there.
Muttering a curse directed at his supposed partner, Krycek
set off at a jog down the road, looking for a suitable car. His run
lead him onto a residential street, with many cars.
A red Jeep caught his eye, and on closer inspection, he
found it to have the keys in the ignition. Smiling, Krycek hopped in
and started the car, pulling out of the driveway, and heading to
where he knew Paul was going.
"Giebelhouse, the murder weapon has been proved as
Agent Mulder's gun. You have grounds on which to arrest him. Do
so." Frank paused, allowing the detective a chance to speak.
"Look, Frank, that's all good and well, but he left soon after
you. I don't know where to find him."
There was the sound of a motor starting up, and Frank
went to the window, looking out. His car was pulling out of the
driveway. Dropping the phone, Frank ran outside, calling, "Hey!"
Nothing happened, the car speeding up as it went down
the street. Frank cringed as the car's tyres squealed, the Jeep
flying around the corner. He ran back inside, grabbing up the
phone. "Giebelhouse, I'll call you back, okay?"
"Yeah, sure, but-"
Frank cut the detective off, hanging the phone up. As soon
as the receiver was on the hook, it rang. He picked it up.
"Frank!" It was Catherine, and she sounded frantic. "You've
got to help. I'm being followed, I swear."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! I picked Jordan up from school, and this guy pulled
out behind us, and has been behind us since. I don't know what to
do!"
"I can't come help you. Someone's just taken the Jeep.
Can you possibly drive here?" Frank was frowning in concern into
the phone. "Do you recognise the person behind you?"
"No! Oh, he's right on my bumper... Frank!"
Suddenly, Catherine's voice was cut off by static, and then
nothing. "Catherine..." Frank frowned when there was no answer.
"Catherine!"
He opened another line and dialled Giebelhouse's number.
"Giebelhouse! I need you to track Catherine's car phone. Now. Call
me back."
Switching over to the other line, Frank went on, "Catherine!
Where are you?"
On the line, he heard the car open and shut, after a pause.
He furrowed his brow, wondering what could be happening on the
other end. The morning's phone call echoed in his mind, and he
frantically wondered if Catherine... and Jordan... were all right. The
distinctive sound of another call came onto the line, and Frank
changed over to talk to Giebelhouse.
Krycek pulled the red Jeep up behind the crashed blue
van. Momentarily, after getting out, he looked the car over, finding
a girl in the passenger seat, but no one else. His viewpoint
changed and he looked in front of the car. Paul was standing with
his gun in front of him, execution-style, pointed at a woman's
head. Instantly, Krycek also drew his gun, and pointed it at the
other man. "Paul, you fucker. Drop the gun."
The blond man turned, and smiled a little bitterly. "Yeah?
What makes you think you can pull that trigger before I pull mine?"
The woman looked over at Krycek, slightly desperate look
on her face. He momentarily turned to her, then back at Paul. Paul
pulled the woman to her feet, putting his right arm around her
waist. His left hand held the gun to her ribs, and his right slipped
up her shirt. Krycek's expression hardened.
"Maybe you'd like me to kill the girl instead?" Paul grinned
cruelly, feeling up the woman's torso. "And rape this one?"
"You leave my daughter alone," the woman said, speaking
for the first time.
Paul, interested, turned to her. "You want us to leave her
alone? Nice try. Krycek, get her out of the car."
The woman turned to Krycek, face pleading. He turned to
Paul. "Fuck you, man. I'm no pedophile." He still held the gun
pointed at the other man. "Drop your fucking gun. We're leaving
them alone."
"Oh yeah?" Krycek could see Paul's hand, as it moved up
to fondle the woman's breasts. "I was told you were good at this
sort of thing. Not fucking females, of course. Which is why I'll have
my way with this pretty thing."
"Paul, you are one sick fuck. What makes you think I
didn't call the police from the phone in the car?"
"'Cause you're in this as deep as me, man." Paul's face
betrayed his voice, telling he was worried.
"I'm not the one holding an innocent woman at gunpoint. I
think they'd be a bit softer on me."
"Yeah, cops tend to be nicer to cripples." Paul pulled the
woman right in front of him, hand slipping down her skirt.
"However, I'm shooting this damn broad like I'm supposed to. And
you're gonna do nothin' about it."
Krycek wasn't able to explain it, but he had a feeling they
shouldn't shoot the woman. "Fuck you. Drop her. Now."
Paul moved his hand around underneath the thin material
of the woman's skirt. "What's your problem? You had no trouble
with the three you shot."
Krycek kept his gun up, scowling. The two were in their
face-off when a voice from behind them called, "Catherine!"
Frank tried to slow his breathing. Luckily, Giebelhouse had
located Catherine's car as being only a few blocks from his home,
and Frank had been able to run there. To find his wife with a blond
man's hand down her skirt, and a gun to her head. A gun was
being pointed at the man, by another man wearing a leather
jacket. Frank stepped forward, looking at Catherine. Her face
conveyed absolute terror, and as Frank watched, the blond's eyes
widened, recognising the profiler.
Everything seemed to happen at once. A gun sounded,
and to Frank's horror, Catherine dropped to the ground, bullet
through the head. Another shot sounded, and the blond fell beside
his victim, dead. The man with the leather jacket looked around,
frantic expression on his face when he saw Frank.
Recognising the man from his earlier vision, Krycek
panicked. He tucked his gun into his hip holster, turned on his
heel, and sprinted. Looking behind him, he saw the man had
followed suit, and was gaining on him. For a guy who looked that
old, he could run surprisingly fast. Caught up in his thoughts,
Krycek tripped on a uneven patch of pavement, and wound up
sprawled on the ground. He suddenly was yanked up by the collar
of his jacket, and spun around to face his pursuer. The profiler.
Frank Black.
Frank grasped the younger man's left arm, surprised at
how hard it felt beneath his hand. He looked into the man's eyes,
and startled at the look in them, of total surprise. Looking nervous,
he pulled his arm away and sprinted off. Frank watched him go,
not pursuing him. He'd just realised who that was. Alex Krycek.
Frank turned around and ran back to the two bodies.
Kneeling down, he took Catherine in his arms, not hearing
anything, as the far-away sirens began their shrill wails.
He didn't stir until a man tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir?
Sir, we have to take her."
In a voice he didn't recognise as his own, Frank replied,
"You're not taking her away from me."
On the radio in the ambulance, a paramedic related the
stats. "We've got two DOAs coming in. Looks like a shootout.
One with a bullet wound, the other without."
Still, Frank refused to let Catherine go. Slowly, he began
sobbing into her hair, holding her close, unwilling to accept.
Eventually, the man touched his shoulder again. "Sir, there's a
little girl in the blue van. Do you know her?"
Finally, Frank looked up. In a hollow voice, he said, "She's
my daughter. Can I see her?"
"We have to take this woman in the ambulance. You go
look after your little girl. That's what we need you to do right now,
okay?"
Numbly, Frank nodded, laying Catherine on the ground,
and taking his last look at her. Tears starting to slip down his
cheeks, he turned his back on the medics swarming around her,
and went to the car.
The passenger side was all smashed in, and Frank had to
open the driver's side. He half-climbed in, and reached over to
Jordan. She hastily unbuckled her seatbelt, and made her way
into her father's arms.
He picked her up, and, without saying anything, took her
to the Jeep, buckling her in. The two drove off, away from
Catherine, away from everything.
Krycek was still running, by now down a commercialised
street. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk, surriptitiously glancing
around for anyone watching him. He'd discarded his gun long ago,
and was now just searching for a place to crash. Without knowing
why, he paused outside a darkened alley, and was immediately
grasped by the back of his jacket. The person with a hold on him,
yanked Krycek into the alley and threw him on the ground.
The next thing Krycek knew, Mulder had his foot on his
chest, and was pointing a gun at his head.
"You son of a bitch. What the hell are you up to?"
As casually as he could appear with Mulder's foot on him,
Krycek replied, "Oh, you know, nothing much."
Mulder audibly took the safety off his gun. "Been killing
more people like you killed my father, huh, Krycek?"
"Mulder, you wound me with your clever insults. I haven't
done anything."
"You rat bastard, we had you on tape, going into the diner."
"Gee, last time I checked, that wasn't against the law, you
know." Krycek grinned up at Mulder, who removed his foot,
throwing his entire body on top of the other man's. Krycek
suddenly had a problem thinking... he supposed it was because
all his blood had rushed to his groin. "What the hell are you
doing?"
"I am going to kill you, you fucking freak. Right here, right
now."
"God, you're smart. Not only will you be killing me with the
weapon used for the other murders, your prints will be all over me.
Smart move, baby."
"Don't call me baby."
"Oh, 'honey' is better?"
"Fuck you."
"If you insist..." Krycek smiled at his ex-partner. Mulder
pistol whipped him across the face, then got up, training the gun
on Krycek's forehead.
Slightly worried, Krycek looked up at Mulder. The man was
actually serious about it.
Just as suddenly as it had all begun, Mulder stopped. He
dropped the gun, and looked at Krycek. He sighed. "Get out of
here."
"What?"
"I said get the fuck out of here. I don't want to see you."
Knowing better than to push his luck, Krycek jumped up
and ran out of the alley, and away from Mulder.
Wondering why he'd just done that, Mulder stared at the
brick wall side. Why?
The End
Too Close I
by Fleur
"And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of
all that were slain upon the earth."
—Revelation 18:24
"Alex Krycek, bn. 09/18/70 (Krasnoyarsk, Russia)
Joined FBI 94, currently missing
Wanted in relation to:
Homicide: Cole, Augustus (1994)
Homicide: Barry, Duane (1994)
Murder: Mulder, Bill (1995)
Murder, Scully, Melissa (1995)"
