Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 3 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit Bloomington, Illinois July 9th 4:50 p.m. Scully knocked twice on the door for room 392, before slowly pushing it open. She stood in the open doorway. "Sheryl Porter?" She asked the young woman that roused in the hospital bed. Sheryl nodded at Scully groggily and slowly sat up, revealing a gauze bandage that covered most of her left cheek. She pulled the blue knit blanket tightly to her chest as she regarded her intruder. Scully produced her credentials under Sheryl's unwavering scrutiny. "I'm Agent Scully, with the FBI. I'm sorry to wake you, but there are a few questions that I would like to ask you." Scully explained. "What's this about?" Sheryl interrupted, her hazel eyes large and glazed. She dropped her gaze from Scully, tugged again at the hospital blanket and began to spin the identification bracelet on her left wrist. Scully watched her closely; according to her chart the head injury she sustained produced little more than a small lump on the top of her head. The knife wounds were more serious, requiring numerous stitches and a regimen of antibiotics, but her internal organs were spared, as was her vascular integrity. She was under the influence of her pain medicine but the staff had reported her as being lucid. Scully replaced her credentials and stepped further into the room, thankful for the reprieve that the dim lighting provided from the harsh florescent lights that lined the hallways. She made a mental note to stop at the hospital pharmacy for some ibuprofen tablets on the way out. "They're beautiful," Scully replied, motioning towards a large arrangement of white and red long stem roses on the table beside Sheryl. "They're from my fiance, Scott." Sheryl smiled proudly at the flowers, some of the initial alarm leaving her face. "How long have you been engaged?" Scully asked, noting the tension easing with her mention of him. She pulled up a seat to Sheryl's bedside. "Two years: we decided right after graduating from high school but we both wanted to go to college first. We go to Wesleyan University together now." "What's your major?" "I haven't chosen a major yet. Scott is going for accounting." Scully nodded at her again, preparing to switch gears. "You reported being attacked by a man who followed you out of a local bar yesterday afternoon. You talked with the police about it earlier." Sheryl clasped her hands together and set them on her lap; she watched them as she answered. "Yes, like you said, I already spoke to the police about that." Scully nodded at her, attempting to understand her reservations. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to go over some of that again." "Yeah, fine," she replied shortly. "May I ask what you were doing at Charlie's Lounge yesterday evening?" Scully watched Sheryl squirm in her hospital bed, seeming suddenly very uncomfortable there. "I was having a quick drink after work." Sheryl snapped. "Were you alone?" Scully asked softly. "Yes, I already went over all of this with the police." Sheryl sighed impatiently and began to fidget with the edge of her blanket. "I realize that but I feel it's important that we go over it again." Scully crossed her legs. "Did you recognize anyone there?" Scully continued. "No, I just went for a quick drink." Sheryl's voice took on more of a defensive edge. "The man who attacked you, did he speak to you inside of the bar?" Scully continued. Sheryl wrinkled her face in disgust. "Yes, he hit on me. He offered to buy me a drink but I told him no. I explained that I am happily engaged but he just got pissed off and knocked over some bar stools. I thought he left then but he must have been waiting in his car so he could follow me." Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she finished. She finger-combed her long blond hair angrily, fighting off the urge to cry. Scully shifted in her seat slightly; her pants suddenly seemed painfully tight around her sensitive abdomen. "And you've never seen this man before?" "No, I've never seen him before. I've said that, I've been over all of this. There's some kind of fucking freak running around attacking women and you're in here asking me redundant questions." She shouted. Sheryl blotted at the tears that streaked her exposed right cheek with a shaky hand. "I'm tired; I just want to rest now. If there's anything else you need to know you can ask the damn police." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Charlie's Lounge, Parking Lot 1460 College Boulevard Bloomington, Illinois 5:45 p.m. "Sheryl Porter is hiding something, Mulder." Scully asserted from her seat on the passenger side of the rental car as they pulled into the parking lot for Charlie's Lounge. Mulder pulled the vehicle into a parking space alongside the front wall of the decrepit brick building and stopped the car before turning in his seat to face her. "Based on what you've told me, Scully, that may be so but I still don't believe that her attack ties in with any of the murders." Mulder spoke softly but insistently, his eyes focused on her. Scully leaned in further to argue her point, choosing presence over volume. "Mulder, I wouldn't dismiss it at this point, something is amiss here. I believe Sheryl Porter's behavior is indication that there is something more to this attack then what we are seeing and what we are being told." "It's possible, Scully, but it doesn't necessarily mean that whatever Sheryl Porter may be hiding is even pertinent to our investigation. Besides, there was something else that turned up at the police station. The women who have been murdered have all had a history of prostitution. I don't know if its even relevant, if this guy holds an actual preference for these types of women or if they're just easy picking. Either way, Sheryl Porter doesn't seem to fit that description." "Mulder, the only description that I find that Sheryl Porter fits under right now is suspicious." Mulder sighed, momentarily defeated, and leaned back in his seat. Scully watched him silently as he slid the rental keys into his pants pocket. "Well, Scully, shall we go and mingle with the good folks at Charlie's Lounge then?" He asked from his semi-reclined position. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Charlie's Lounge 6:20 p.m. "I don't feel like I'm blending with this crowd too well, Scully." Mulder leaned over in his booth seat and spoke directly into her ear in hopes of being heard over the rambunctious crowd that had gathered at the lounge. A sea of local college students had overwhelmed the tiny, aged building within the last half-hour. People stood in the corners of the room, behind barstools and at the bathroom entrances. The small window air-conditioner rattled, failing to keep up with the challenge of cooling the over-crowded building. Cigarette smoke seemed to have gathered into a collective cloud that covered the inside of the room: making it difficult to clearly see anyone who wasn't close. "Well, you might stand a chance, Mulder, if you can get your head under the beer spigot." Scully yelled back to him over the noise. Mulder smiled and nudged her foot with his. "You'd know Scully, you've got me beat on college years. You should be the life of the party by now." "Which one of you ordered the shredded beef sandwich?" The waitress stood poised, with a dinner basket in her right hand and a tray of beer balanced at shoulder height with the left. "That would be me." Mulder pushed his soda aside to make room for his supper. "Can I get you anything?" She asked Scully as she set the basket of hot food in front of Mulder. "Just another cola, please." Scully replied and placed her empty glass near the edge of the table. The crowd directly behind them roared in laughter. "Do it again!" Someone shouted and the gathering backed closer to the table, still chuckling and hooting. A brief moment of silence was followed by vigorous clapping and cheering at whatever performance had occurred within the encasement of the crowd. People stumbled away, drinks in hand, in various directions, shoving past one another. The waitress fought to keep the tray upright as people bumped into her on her way through. A young man with spiky blue hair and black jeans attempted to stagger past, clearly finding the act of walking alone challenging without the maze of people that congested the way. He tripped across someone, who loudly declared his disgust, and landed against the booth, his glass of beer splashing its contents onto Scully. Scully gasped in surprise. "I am sooo sorry, some asshole must've pushed me." The blue-haired guy apologized to her, slurring heavily as he attempted to stand back up. "But I'm a nice guy, tell you what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna buy you a drink. Whatever you want. Just you say the word." He continued, swaying as he stood over her. "No, thank you." Scully replied coolly, reaching for the box of napkins. "I'm fine." She grabbed a handful and began dabbing at her blouse. "Oh, shit, you're all wet. Its my fault, let me help you out with that..." He grabbed a napkin from the box and pressed it onto her chest. "No!" Scully abruptly backed away from him. Mulder grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to react, and stood, pulling him away from the table. "She said that she's fine, now get out of here." He released his wrist and the blue haired guy stumbled away, his hands raised in a submissive gesture. "Are you alright, Scully?" Mulder asked, reclaiming his seat in the booth. "I'm fine, Mulder." She replied, shortly. "And, I could have taken care of that guy on my own." She continued to blot at her beer stained blouse. "Another minute, Scully, and he would have been all over you." "You think I would have let it go that far, Mulder?" "That's not what I'm saying, I just don't think you saw the way that creep was looking at you." Mulder sighed and poked at the red and white checkered, waxed paper that lined his basket. "I'm going to go and get cleaned up." Scully said, dropping the soiled napkins and sliding out of the booth. Mulder tapped her gently on the wrist before she left the seat. "Are you sure you don't want anything, you haven't eaten much today?" "No, thanks, Mulder, my stomach is not up to bar food at the moment." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The ladies room at Charlie's Lounge proved to be just as crowded as the rest of the establishment. Scully waited in line for a chance at the hand dryer in the small, two-stall bathroom. "Oh, my god, what happened to you?" A woman in a pink and white, mid-riff shirt and hip huggers questioned loudly, noting Scully's wet blouse. "Someone spilled their beer on me." Scully replied, deadpan. "That happens. Things can get a little wild around here but usually it's nothing major, just people trying to have some fun. Except for yesterday, that was frightening." She added, flipping her long brown hair back and rearranging it. "You were here yesterday?" Scully asked, her interest peaking. "Yeah, I come here a few times a week, except for during midterms." She added while digging through her black, crocheted purse. "So, you saw what happened then?" "Yes, I did. I can't even believe that Sheryl was talking to Mark and then to think he freaked out on her and later she was found all messed up in her apartment. I would just stay clear of that guy, nothing but trouble." She stopped searching through her purse and looked up at Scully. "Do you have any hairspray?" "No, sorry. Now, you said that the name of the guy she was talking to in the bar yesterday was Mark?" Scully moved ahead with the line, following the woman in the pink top closely. A bathroom stall opened up. "Do you have to go?" She asked Scully. "Cause I just came in here for some touch ups." She fished a tube of lipstick out of her purse as she spoke. "No, I was just waiting for the dryer." She nodded at her before continuing. "Yeah, his name is Mark Russell. He's not very well known around campus, unless you're into hard core partying. He's been banned from campus actually." She stopped to apply the berry red colored lipstick. Scully stepped out of line completely, forgetting the dryer and stood beside her at the mirror. "Why has he been banned from campus?" She prompted. "Drug charges, from what I understand. And he's not even a student at Wesleyan U. anyway, I mean, he's gotta be 30 something." She paused and looked at Scully. "No offense." She added. Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "None taken. So what was it that Sheryl and Mark Russell were discussing that escalated into the scene that it became?" "I don't know. They were quietly speaking and then the next thing I knew he was throwing barstools and calling her a lying bitch. Like I said, beats me why anyone would want to speak to him in the first place." She exchanged the tube of lipstick for a compact of translucent powder. "May I have your name?" Scully asked her. She stopped applying the powder and turned to face Scully, her face questioning. "I'm Agent Dana Scully with the FBI, and what you just told me may be helpful information for the case on Sheryl Porter's attack." She explained while showing her identification. "They called the FBI in on this?" "Well, it's more complicated then that actually but you may be called in for questioning on what you have told me." She slipped the translucent powder back into her bag, her interest on Scully. " Yeah, okay. My name is Angel Forester." "Here is my card, Ms. Forester, please call if you can think of anything else that might helpful into this case." Scully offered her a business card from out of her pocket. "I will *so* do that." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The Economy Inn Off of Highway 51 Bloomington, Illinois 7:45 p.m. "Well, I just got off the phone with detective Larson." Scully turned on the edge of her bed to face Mulder who had been lingering at the doorway during the phone call. "They plan to re-question Sheryl Porter based on what Angel Forester claims she saw in Charlie's Lounge last night. Also, it seems that Mark Russell has quite the history: assault, battery, theft, drug use and they suspect that he is involved in dealing as well." She explained, pushing the rotary phone back onto the small, wooden, nightstand and kicking off her shoes. Mulder nodded, still leaning against the battered doorframe, hands shoved deep inside of his pants pockets. "And you found this out in the ladies room?" "Strangely, yes." Scully shivered and pulled the orange and brown plaid bedspread loose from the bed and wrapped it around her, tightly. "Maybe I should start using the ladies room." He quipped, expressionlessly. "Mulder, I doubt you'll find a break through on the existence of a conspiracy involving government knowledge of extra terrestrials in the ladies room." Scully replied as she curled up on the side of the bed facing Mulder, only her face peaking out of the bedspread. "Then I guess I'll have to stick with my usual connections." He stepped away from the door to sit on the corner of the bed. "Speaking of which, Scully, I'm thinking of calling the boys in on this one. Perhaps our nimble fingered computer geniuses could turn something up on the killer." "Do you think so?" Scully questioned tiredly from her blanket burrito. "Well, if the killer is indeed one guy then he's been doing some traveling. Something's got to come up somewhere. There has to be some kind of trail with all the technology that's involved in going someplace these days." Mulder's voice softened in response to Scully's sleepy state. "Connect the dots." Scully mused, her voice hoarse and distant. "Yeah, kind of." Mulder smiled down at her. "Okay." Scully smiled back detachedly. Mulder reached over and gently patted the wrapped up blanket that sat over her legs. "Get some sleep." He whispered and stood, turning, to leave the room. "And Scully," He started, turning back to face her momentarily. "Yeah?" She asked, her voice deep, eyes heavy. "You reek of beer." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX He sat up in his bed with a jolt. Thunder rolled through the sky, rattling the windows throughout the darkened house. Rain pounded at the rooftop, only feet above his head, as he stared, wide eyed, into the darkness. Lightning struck suddenly with a painfully bright flash as it illuminated the neighborhood, giving the momentary appearance of daylight with an eerie blue glow. He watched from his window as his tire swing swung freely in the maple tree as if inhabited by some ghost child; before darkness once again claimed the night, taking the tree and all of its surroundings from his view. Thunder rumbled again and he hugged his blankets through its final vibrations as his heart pounded in his chest. "Momma?" He called out into the darkness with a hoarse voice. Seconds passed slowly as he waited. Lightning bolts streaked the sky with white, bony fingers that sprang out from the clouds, and reached for anything within their grasp. Angry growling immediately followed their failed attempt and the ground trembled. "Mommy? Mommy, I'm scared!" He listened for her response, hearing the sounds of pouring rain between his own shaky breaths. Lightning crashed overhead, a vibrant, white vertical bolt that was immediately followed by a loud snap and crackling. He held his breath as he watched the street's lights, off in a distance, dim, and flicker before going black. He jumped from his bed and ran to the light switch beside his door. He flipped it once, twice, three times: no lights. "Mommy!" He rounded the corner from his door into the hallway, hands on the wall, to guide himself along. With bare feet he padded down the hall, the distance to his mother's room impossibly long in the darkness. The driving rain continued creating the sound of sand pouring through a giant hourglass. Lightning flickered offering an occasional source of momentary light as he made his way down the hall. He stopped in front of his mother's doorway, hands meeting the closed door. "Mommy, I'm scared." He called, rapping on the door. "I'm scared, I wanna come in. Please, momma." He pleaded from the doorway, and shuddered in the darkness that surrounded him. Thunder rumbled again and he quickly swung open the door and ran in, shutting the door and closing out everything that lay behind him. The room seemed dark and unfamiliar in the storm. He walked cautiously through, narrowly avoiding the looming dresser that sat against the wall. He held his hands out to protect himself as he continued. Lightning flashed, giving him a view of the bed, and the woman who lay bundled in the covers, sleeping soundly. "Mommy!" He walked more quickly now, approaching the edge of the bed in the dark, from memory. He stopped at the side, watching her in fleeting glances as the flashes of lightning continued, her presence soothing him. He reached out his hand to stroke her hair; so soft and silky, the coppery red color barely visible in the light of the storm. She stirred as he touched her, moaning softly beneath the orange and brown plaid bedspread. Her skin felt hot to the touch and clammy but real. "I'm so glad you're here mommy..." He whispered, not wanting to wake her. "I'm just so glad you're here." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 3. Continued in Chapter 4. Author's Notes: Thank you to Brandi, Foxcat and Memento1 for their ongoing help and support. I have been Beta-blessed times three. Feedback is always welcomed and I'll even send a note back your way. Feel free to e-mail me at Semantics@writeme.com