Midnight's Sorrow 
By Semantics
Disclaimer in chapter 1, 
This is chapter 2


Denise Neilson Residence
July 9th
10:30 a.m.


"Can I offer you anything else?"  Denise Neilson 
carefully set two steaming mugs of coffee on 
the small sofa table in front of Agents Mulder 
and Scully.

"No, this is fine, thank you." Scully smiled 
politely at the elderly lady.  Her stomach burned
and gurgled, the smell of the hot coffee adding 
insult to injury.  She had spent most of the ride 
over fighting to keep her breakfast down.

"Mrs. Neilson, why don't you sit down.  I have a 
few questions that I'd like to ask you about what 
you experienced."  Mulder reached into his jacket 
pocket and withdrew his note pad and a black pen. 
The psychologist in him broke through, his face 
showing a complicated blend of concentration and 
attentiveness as he waited for her response.

Denise, relieved of her hostess duties, sank into a 
nearby gray recliner, her cheerful expression 
becoming worried. Mr. Bones rounded the corner from 
the next room, ignoring the guests, and took his spot 
there next to Denise, nudging her hand with 
his black nose.  Denise smiled softly at him 
although her eyes stayed troubled and distant as 
she began to stroke the heavy fur on the top of 
his head. 

"Bones just came back home to me last night." She 
explained. "He was so startled and upset by all of 
this that he just took off.  I was afraid that I'd 
never see him again."  Her faded blue eyes brimmed 
with tears.

"It must have been a very frightening and upsetting 
experience for both of you."  Mulder added 
sympathetically.

"Yes, yes it was." Denise cleared her throat as she 
looked back up at Mulder.  "So, how can I help you 
to figure all of this out?"

"Well, Mrs. Neilson, you could start by telling us 
exactly what you saw on the morning of July 7th."  
Scully turned slightly on the sofa to face Denise 
as she did her best to ignore the acrid scent of 
the coffee.

Denise nodded understandingly and folded her hands 
in her lap.  Mr. Bones lay his head on her right 
knee with a low sigh, likely protesting the 
withdrawal of her attention.

"Like I explained to Agent Mulder on the phone, 
Bones and I were taking our morning walk when he 
seemed to pick up a scent.  I let him track it
and he took off like lightening.  He led us almost 
all the way to the park.  That's when I saw him, 
just on the other side of the walking trail."  
Denise sat as if in thought, gently rubbing the 
knuckles on her right hand.

Scully looked over at Mulder, who sat one leg 
crossed over the other, writing.  

"Saw who?"  She prodded.

"The little boy." 

 Mulder looked up, refocused on her. 

Denise began to look a little embarrassed and 
shifted in her seat, straightening the folds on 
her peach polyester blouse as she did so. 
 
"I know it sounds strange, I was shocked to see 
him there as he was, bare feet and pajamas.  But
that's how I found him, knelt down and crying 
his little eyes out."

"Did he seem to notice you?"  Mulder asked, pen 
ready.

"Yes, I called out to him, to ask if he was all right.  
He turned around and looked at me but he never 
answered, never spoke, just cried.  I walked over to 
him to help but he just ran away.  I would have 
chased him then but that's when I found the woman."  
Denise lowered her head to face her dog as if to 
break from the memory.

"Ramona Stark."  Scully interjected.

"Yes, that's who the police identified her as."

"Tell me Mrs. Neilson, did you smell anything that 
seemed strange or out of place?"  Mulder asked.  
Scully shot him a quizzical look from her end of 
the sofa, which he did his best to ignore for the 
time.

"No."  She replied. "I don't remember anything 
like that."

"How about visual disturbances, flashes of light, 
a wavy appearance, anything like that?" Mulder 
quickly continued.

Denise shook her head. "No. Nothing like that." 

"Mrs. Neilson," Scully interjected, " You sound as 
if you are familiar with this area.  Are you 
certain you haven't seen this boy before?  Is it 
possible that you may not have immediately 
recognized him due to the way he was dressed and 
the intense emotional state that he seemed to be 
in?"

"No, I know the neighborhood children here and I 
am certain that I have never seen him before." 
Denise sighed to herself before continuing.

"You must think I'm crazy too.  The police tried to 
tell me that I just thought I saw him as a result 
of shock but I saw him *before* I found the body.  
They searched the missing children database and 
no one matched the description of the child I saw, 
I think they just did it to humor me anyway. But 
I'm not crazy, I know what I saw."

"No," Mulder replied promptly,  "I don't think that
you're crazy, I believe you and I believe in what 
you saw.  What I think is that we are dealing with 
something supernatural, all though I'm not entirely 
certain what yet."

"Mrs. Neilson," Scully added, "Not everything holds 
an obvious explanation but there are answers to what 
you experienced, they just remain to be found."

Denise nodded appreciatively at the agents and began 
to stroke her dog again, nervously.  Bones closed his 
eyes, enjoying the affection.

"Mrs. Neilson, I'd like to talk to you now about 
Ramona Stark."  Mulder started.  "Did you know either 
her or her family?"

"No.  People come and go a lot and Harper's Ferry is 
very busy this time of year, lots of people come here 
to vacation. I am familiar with the families in this 
neighborhood  but I don't know too many outside 
of it, not since my son left home at least."

"There hasn't been any one person hanging around 
lately that might have grabbed your attention?"  
Mulder asked.

Denise frowned and shook her head, no, slowly. 
"Sorry."

Mulder rose from the sofa, replaced the pen and 
Notebook, and retrieved a business card.  Scully 
stood with him, her stomach groaning audibly with 
the movement.

"My numbers are on here," he explained extending the 
card towards Denise, "including the one for my cell 
phone. Please call if you can remember anything else 
that might help."

Denise stood cautiously, slowly distributing her 
weight to her stiff, aching knees before moving 
to take the card. Mr. Bones stretched lazily with 
a slow yawn before joining her.

"Thank you for your time Mrs. Neilson."  Scully 
smiled and offered her hand to her.

"I hope that you'll find whoever is responsible 
for what happened to Ms. Stark promptly."  Denise 
said, shaking hands with the agents, her brows 
furrowed.  "And please," she added, " let me 
know what you find about the little boy, if you do 
find that he's some type of vision or if he's
an actual child. But in the meantime, I'd 
rather continue to present myself as a crazy old 
lady then believe that there might be a frightened 
little boy all alone somewhere."

"We'll keep you posted."  Mulder said softly and 
gave Denise's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Crime Scene
Walking trail off 22nd street 
11:15 p.m.



"Mulder, what are we looking for?" Scully allowed 
the question sooner than she had previously planned 
to ask it, her patience worn thin as her stomach 
continued its war against her.
 
Mulder knelt within the yellow square made by the 
police tape, poking around at the forest debris with 
a gloved hand.  He hung his head, his concentration 
broken.  "Well, what *I'm* looking for, Scully, is 
for any evidence that may help us determine exactly 
what type of entity it was that Denise Neilson 
encountered Sunday morning."

"Mulder, the police have already combed this area, 
plus this is day three and it rained last night.  I 
don't know what kind of evidence it is that you are 
expecting to find here."  Scully stood behind him, 
arms folded tightly across her chest, visions of her 
cool air-conditioned bedroom and her comfy bed dancing 
through her head.

"Chances are," Mulder started, standing to face her, 
"that the police were not looking for the same type of 
evidence that we would be interested in.  Besides, 
Scully, whatever happened to the good old Girl Scout 
try?"

Scully sighed and resumed her aimless search of the 
surrounding area.  "So what, then, am I to be searching 
for, Mulder, ectoplasm?"

Mulder mocked a smile of hopefulness.  "Well, that's 
not what I'd had in mind Scully, but if you find any 
please share."  He resumed his own search upon seeing 
her wry smile; he had her help and for the moment that 
was all he needed.  He knew not to expect an enthusiastic 
Scully but he didn't mind because a dedicated one was 
just as good.

Scully smiled despite herself. She continued to look, 
uncertain what type of vestige an apparition might leave 
behind, but looking none the less.  Had she been feeling 
a little better the notion might actually have been 
amusing but at the moment, thinking it seemed to be 
adding physical weight to her already aching body.

The police tape sagged on its stakes, the leaves below 
dampened from the evening's heavy rain.  The sound of 
songbirds and chattering squirrels filled the air.  
Nature seemed intent on reclaiming the area, undaunted 
by the heinous events that had marked the trail only days 
earlier.  

The afternoon heat of the mid-summer's day continued to 
build, its humidity amplifying the damp sensation of the 
already wet forest.  Mulder removed his glove and rubbed 
the back of his neck behind his shirt collar.  He'd been 
over and over the crime scene and surrounding area and 
there was nothing unusual, nothing at all.  Whatever it 
was Denise had seen it left no trace of itself. And as 
Scully had so kindly pointed out, the police had 
already gathered up what little evidence that they 
had found from the murder.

Scully sifted absently through twigs and wet leaves 
further down the path, her hair falling in stubborn 
strands across her face as she bent forward.

"There's nothing out here but acorns and maple leaves, 
Scully." Mulder called out to her.  She looked up at 
him, expectantly. "What do you say to getting out of 
here and grabbing some lunch?"

Lunch wasn't particularly on her current list of 
priorities, but relaxing in an air-conditioned booth 
sure beat digging through forest debris. "Mulder, 
I'd say that sounds like music to my ears."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Karen's Kitchen Nook
12:05 p.m.


Mulder broke from his southwestern burrito wrap to 
watch Scully stir her chicken and dumpling soup for 
the hundredth time.  She regarded the spoon with 
obvious revulsion as she pulled it from the ceramic 
bowl and watched the thick yellow grease slide slowly 
off of it and back into the soup.  Mulder held up his 
wrap.

"You wanna split some?"

Scully promptly dropped her spoon back into the bowl.  
"No, thanks Mulder, I'm not that hungry."   Her 
stomach chose that moment to loudly express its 
discontent with a drawn out groan.  She pressed her 
left hand tightly to her gut in embarrassment.

"Are you alright?"  

"Yeah, I'm fine.  Its probably just a virus."  
Scully turned away from his prodding gaze and 
started refolding her paper napkin.  She felt 
like hell but there was no way she was going to 
start whining about it to him.  They were miles 
from home and she was still capable of working 
despite the discomfort. Her common sense had 
certainly not suffered any ill effects from it.  
She chose then to take the emphasis off of her 
gastric disturbances and to state her take of the 
case.

"Mulder, I know Denise claims that she saw the 
boy before discovering Ramona Stark but it's not 
unreasonable to think that she may be remembering 
incorrectly." 

Mulder dropped his dinner back onto his plate, and 
sat back in preparation as she continued. 

"It is not uncommon for people who have witnessed a 
traumatic sight or event to hold false memories of 
the occurrence. In fact, entire groups of people have 
been documented as sharing a common distortion of 
incidents in times of distress.  I believe that *she* 
believes she saw the boy, but I am still inclined to 
believe what the local law enforcement accepts, that 
this vision is simply a stress reaction."

"Yes, Scully, there has been documentation of group 
hallucinations and shared misinterpretation of events 
but this is different, the people who have found these 
bodies have never even heard of one another.  The same 
apparition has been witnessed at different places and 
times by completely diff..." Mulder sighed as he broke 
from his argument to retrieve his ringing cell phone 
from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Mulder." 

Mulder paused, listening.

"...no, we're in Harper's Ferry, we just finished 
looking over the crime scene...  You have?  Where?" 
Mulder's eyes widened.

"Wait, just a minute..." He pressed the phone against 
his ear with his shoulder and grabbed a clean napkin 
and the pen out of his jacket pocket.  "Okay, now where 
was that?"  Mulder scribbled something down as he 
listened.

"Alright, we'll be there a.s.a.p." He lowered the 
phone from his ear and it beeped quietly as he hit 
the end button.  He turned to Scully, his voice hopeful.

"That was A.D. Skinner, there's a survivor in Bloomington, 
Illinois, Sheryl Porter.  She was attacked by some guy 
who followed her out of a bar last night, says he attacked 
her with a knife.  She's at Grace Memorial Hospital and 
in relatively good condition considering what happened 
to her."

"Illinois?"  Scully questioned, her fatigue finding its 
way into her voice.

Mulder fished a few dollars from out of his pants pocket 
and tossed them onto the table beside the glass salt and 
pepper shakers before meeting her eyes.

"I hope you packed your overnight bag, Scully."  

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace Memorial Hospital
Bloomington, Illinois
4:15 p.m.


Whatever Bloomington, Illinois lacked in similarities 
to Harper's Ferry, was made up for with the stifling 
heat that held the city in a choke-hold.  

The thick, wet air prowled slowly about the city like 
vaporous spirits, clinging to all who dared to venture 
from the air-conditioned comfort of their homes or business. 

Scully found her way to the hospital entrance through 
the fog of heavy humidity.  Nine hours since the start 
of her work day and she found herself in much the same 
position as she had been upon arriving to work; hot and 
sticky with a cranky digestive system and her hair and 
wardrobe fighting her every movement.  The flight to 
Illinois had done little to help any of it.  And Mulder 
had managed to score the air- conditioned police station.  
This certainly had not been one of the highlighted 
aspects of joining the FBI as a forensic pathologist.  

Scully slowed as she reached the hospital doors.  
People pushed past her hurriedly, some obviously 
annoyed in their rush to and from the looming building.  
She fixated on the glass of the automatic doors as they 
opened, closed, then opened again.  Anxiety spread 
through her as if her ultimate fate would be decided 
just by walking through them.  She had walked through 
similar doors before with nothing but their hydraulic 
whoosh and rush of antiseptic scent to herald that the 
life she had known would be forever changed.  Even with 
her cancer in remission now, she couldn't help but 
remember how quickly it had come into her life.  How it 
had threatened everything she knew.

Scully was shaken from her thoughts as someone shoved 
abruptly into the back of her left leg.  She looked down 
to meet her chubby-cheeked assailant.

"I sowey."  The little girl offered.  Her pigtails curled 
into chocolate colored ringlets and she smelled faintly of 
peanut butter.  She couldn't have been more than three, 
Scully realized. 

"Katie Leigh!"  A panicked voice called and a lady in a 
white tank top, cutoffs, and curly dark hair pushed her 
way to them through the crowd.  She pulled the girl away 
by her arm, scolding her as she did so.
"I can't have you running off like that, you had me 
frightened to death!"   

Scully heard her continue as she guided the child through 
the entrance. Scully shook off her previous thoughts.  She 
was well, except for what was most likely a case of viral 
gastroenteritis, which didn't warrant such strong emotion.  
She continued her way into the hospital thinking of Sheryl 
Porter and the possibilities that she held to reveal 
something that may well turn the case around.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bloomington Police Department
Bloomington, Illinois
4:25 p.m.


"Pretty nasty, aren't they?"

Mulder looked up from the police photographs of Sheryl 
Porter as Detective Larson stood over his shoulder, 
coffee mug in hand.

"They're not my idea of good pinups if that's what you 
mean."  Mulder quipped.

Detective Larson snorted back at him.  He pointed to 
the picture in hand.  "See that knife work?  This guy 
just really likes to cut.  Now isn't that what you've 
been finding with the other victims?"

Mulder sighed to himself as he slid the photographs into 
their file folder and handed them back to the detective.   
"No, not really."

"What do you mean?"  He asked, his posture taking more 
of a defensive stance as he placed his hands on his hips.

"I mean that this guy is disorganized and lacking the kind 
of control that the killer has been demonstrating.  He is 
most likely a lot younger then the killer too. He's not 
our guy."

"I disagree; I think he was just rushed."  Detective Larson 
reached to close his office door behind them, muffling some 
of the sound of ringing phones and the slur of many people 
trying to talk over one another.  "When he followed and 
attacked her at her apartment, I don't think he realized 
she had room mates or he at least didn't think that they 
would be home so soon.  He was surprised and he had to work 
fast.  He left her for dead and then ran for it.  Even the 
pros get sloppy at some point."

"Yeah, and I expect that this guy will mess up at some 
point too, but I believe the actions that you are 
describing are uncharacteristic to him.  You said he 
left Sheryl Porter for dead?" Mulder asked.

Detective Larson set the file down and took a seat 
behind his small desk.  "Yes, her room mates found her 
lying in a puddle of her own blood in the middle of the 
living room with all the lights in the place still off.  
One of them thought she was dead, with her lying there 
still all covered in bruises and bleeding." 

"How did they find her, how was she lying?"  Mulder 
pressed, an intent look on his face.

The detective sat forward, resting on his elbows. 
"Face down, arms and legs sprawled out which doesn't 
seem too unusual considering she probably passed out 
struggling.  She took quite a knock to the back of 
the head."

Mulder shook his head.  "None of the other victims 
were found prostrate; they were all on their backs, 
all meticulously placed.  Also, there were no signs 
of struggle in any of the others; they were likely 
dead before they knew what was happening to them."  

Mulder approached the detective's desk and tapped 
on the file folder.  "I think you had it right 
before with what you said about this guy who 
attacked Sheryl Porter."

"What's that?"

"This guy just really likes to cut."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Grace Memorial Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
Fourth Floor
4:35 p.m.


Scully waited impatiently in front of the intensive 
care unit desk for the one nurse who wasn't running 
around to end her phone conversation so she could tend 
to her own business.  She checked her watch.  Ten 
minutes had already passed since she had entered the 
ward and she was still waiting.  The nurse hung up the 
phone and turned around as if to leave the nurses 
station. 

"Wait, I could use some help here."  Scully called 
out after her.

She returned to the desk, her thin lips pursed.  
"What do you need?"  

Scully pulled her credentials from her pants pocket 
and held them out for her to see.  She read the nurse's 
nametag as she did so.  "Nurse Miller, I am Special Agent 
Dana Scully with the FBI.  I'm here to investigate the 
attack that was made on Sheryl Porter.  I would like to 
review her medical chart and then speak with her, please."

Nurse Miller shook her head; her tightly curled, short, 
gray hair held its place perfectly as she did so.  
"I can't do that."

Scully paused briefly. "I'm also a medical doctor."  
She added replacing the credentials back in her 
pocket.

"Is that so?"  Nurse Miller asked her voice flat and 
clearly unimpressed.  She began straightening papers 
on the desk.  "Well, you'll have to speak to the 
admitting physician."

Scully sighed exasperated.  "And who is that?"

"Dr. Voight but he was on supper break last I checked."

Scully rubbed a hand over her throbbing forehead.  
"Do you have any idea what proper protocol is for 
this situation? "  She started.

"What's going on here?"  

Scully turned to face the older man in the white 
lab coat who had come up from behind her. 

"Dr. Voight, back from supper already?"  Nurse Miller 
asked.

"Yes, I just grabbed something at the cafeteria quickly.  
What's going on?"  He repeated.

Scully retrieved her credentials from her pants pocket.  
"Dr. Voight, I'm Dana Scully with the FBI.  I am 
investigating the attack on a patient of yours, 
Sheryl Porter."

Dr. Voight nodded approvingly at her credentials 
and she returned them to her pocket.  "What can I 
do for you Ms. Scully?"  He smiled warmly at her, 
his deep brown eyes locked on hers.  

"I would like to take a look at Sheryl Porter's 
chart before I speak with her."

"She's also a doctor." Nurse Miller added dryly 
without looking up from her work.

Scully decided to bite her tongue in the interest 
of the case.

"A doctor as well as a federal agent?"  Dr. Voight 
ran a hand over his well -combed, steel gray hair.

"Yes, well actually a forensic pathologist."  Scully 
added with slightly embarrassed smile.  She really 
didn't feel up to discussing her career decisions 
with strangers.

"Well, by all means then Dr. Scully.  Let us know 
if there is anything else that Mercy Memorial can 
do to assist in this matter."  Dr. Voight placed his 
right hand on her shoulder before continuing to 
approach the nurse's station.

"Nurse Miller, please get Ms. Porter's file for Dr. 
Scully."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End of Chapter 2.  Continued in Chapter 3.


Author's Note: Many thanks to Brandi, Foxcat 
and Memento1 for being the greatest Beta's ever 
and for being one heck of a good cheerleading squad.