Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 4
Disclaimer in Chapter 1


The Economy Inn
Bloomington, Illinois
July 10th 
1:45 a.m.


Scully stirred in her bed, not ready to let go of the 
sleepy sensation that still grasped her, but plagued 
by a nagging feeling that something was wrong.

Thunder rumbled somewhere outside of her dreamy 
state; a storm had crept in as she slept.  But there 
was something else, something that kept her teetering 
on the edge of sleep and wakefulness although she 
desperately craved the deep restful state she had 
just known.  There was a quiet sound among the noises 
of the storm, so soft, like a child's whisper.  
Hotels housed many night noises, she knew that well. 
But this sound was faint yet so clear, when it should 
have been lost in the noise of the thunder; unless, 
of course, the source was close to her, very close.

She turned over onto her left side with a low groan.  
The clothes she had failed to change out of rubbed 
against her skin like sandpaper.  She hurt, she 
realized as her dreaminess faded away, and she felt 
cold, very cold.  

Scully pulled the bedspread tightly to her chest, her 
head throbbing, as she reached for the hotel alarm 
clock on the small nightstand.  No red numbers 
indicated the time, just a black face.  The power was 
out.  She began to settle back in, wrapping the 
quilted blanket around her as tightly as she could 
when she heard it again: a sound like a low sigh.

Scully sat up and stared into the darkness, searching 
blindly for the source of the strange noise.  Her 
eyes struggled to make out the shapes in the black of 
the room, scanning over barely visible borders of 
furniture that she was unfamiliar with.  Nothing 
seemed out of place but she couldn't see clearly, 
couldn't shake the eerie feeling that now held her.

Lightning flashed. Beside the window, she quickly 
made out the empty table and the chair that her suit 
jacket lay draped over, before the light faded from 
the room.  She sat still, straining her ears; 
listening to the sounds of her ragged breaths, and to 
the rumblings of the thunder. 

Another bolt illuminated the room. She scanned things 
over.  The dresser was still untouched, and the door, 
still closed and locked. Darkness reclaimed the room.  
Scully sat, poised, ready for the next flash, her 
hand outstretched for the drawer in the nightstand.  
She opened it slowly and reached inside until her 
hand made contact with cool metal. She grasped her 
gun, feeling the weight of it in her hand, and 
feeling the weight of her impending decision in her 
head. She slipped the gun under her blanket. 

Another faint sound and lightning flashed again, 
multiple times but only seconds long, the flickering 
blue light giving the room the choppy illusion of an 
old picture show. Scully's breath caught in her 
throat: something appeared to be moving by the right 
side of the bed.

Scully strained to see in the darkness; her eyes 
seemed to be picking up on a slight form beside her, 
small like a child.  Her heart raced in her chest as 
she leaned forward, breath held, trying for a better 
look.

Thud, thud, thud.  The sudden sound startled her from 
her trance. Thunder crashed again outside the window, 
fading with a low guttural growl.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"Scully, are you in there?"  Mulder called out and 
knocked harder.  Thunder crashed loudly as he waited 
in the darkened hallway for her reply, a mag-lite in 
hand. "Scully?"

"Mulder!"  Her reply came, urgent, though slightly 
muffled from the other side of the door.

"Scully!"  Mulder paused to listen to the sound of 
someone running inside of the room.

"Scully, open up!"  He called hoarsely as he reached 
out to test the knob, shaking the locked door in 
frustration as he did so.

The lock rattled from the other side and the door 
finally swung open.  "Scully?"  Mulder directed his 
flashlight beam into the open doorway.  Scully stood 
there in trained defensive posture, her back to the 
wall with her gun pointing into the darkened room.

"Scully, what's going on?"  Mulder asked cautiously 
stepping into the doorway.

"Mulder, something is in there."  She stared back 
nervously over her shoulder at him as lightning lit 
the room temporarily.  

"What, Scully, what's in there?"  He asked her, 
concern rising within him as he joined her side.

"I don't know what it is, Mulder, but I heard 
something, I saw it moving beside my bed." She spoke 
quickly, agitated, her bottom lip trembling slightly 
as she stopped to look up at him in the dim yellow 
glow from the flashlight.

Mulder held his hand out motioning for Scully to stay 
put, and he walked into the dark of the room. He 
unbuttoned the holster for his gun and slipped it 
free. Thunder rumbled, its echo sounding more distant 
now as he swept his flashlight beam across the floor 
and over the furniture.  The dresser, table and 
chairs, and night stand, all as they had been when 
he'd left Scully's room earlier that evening.  The 
windows were closed.  Mulder turned back towards the 
bed, kneeling, directing the light from his 
flashlight underneath it.

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, still peering under the 
bed, "I can't believe this."

"What is it?"  Scully asked from beside the doorway.

"Scully, I don't think housekeeping has vacuumed 
underneath here for months," Mulder replied from his 
kneeling position.

Scully sighed to herself, disgusted.

"I'm looking Scully; I'm just not finding anything 
here."  Mulder stood and walked into her bathroom to 
examine it.  "Is it possible that you dreamt this?"  
He asked shining the light into the empty shower.

"Mulder, I was awake.  I had been sleeping, but I 
woke up," Scully insisted lowering her gun into a 
neutral position.

"I just don't see anything unusual here except for 
the heat, Scully. Damn, it's hot in here," he 
continued, stepping out of the bathroom and joining 
her at the door.  He felt the damp circles that had 
begun to form on the underarms of his tee shirt. 

"I turned the air off before I went to sleep."      
She explained. The alarm clock started to blink 12:00 
from across the room. "The powers back on."  Scully 
observed and reached over and flipped the light 
switch, wincing at the sudden brightness. She pushed 
past Mulder, feeling embarrassed at how she felt she 
had presented herself only moments before.  She made 
her way to the bed and began to rearrange the 
bedspread.

Mulder followed her over to the bed.  He watched her 
quietly as she neatly turned the covers down.  "So, 
what is it that you thought you saw, what did it look 
like?"

Scully sighed and dropped her head. "I don't know 
Mulder, you were probably right; I probably dreamt 
the whole thing."  Scully wrapped her arms tightly 
around herself, shivering.

Mulder nodded at her, portraying a type of solemn 
agreement.  Whatever had frightened her, she had 
signed it off now, he realized.  "Are you feeling 
alright?"  He asked, reaching out and nudging her 
crossed arms. Her arms felt hot to his touch.  Mulder 
gently brushed a hand over her forehead and down her 
cheek.  "Scully, you're burning up." He pulled back 
for a better look at her, noticing her flushed cheeks 
and pale face. 

"I'm fine, Mulder, I just need some more ibuprofen."  
Scully backed away from him to reset her alarm clock.  
"So, why were you knocking at my door in the middle 
of the night, Mulder?"  She asked.

Mulder shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "That 
guy that Angel Forester claims she saw arguing with 
Sheryl Porter, Mark Russell..." He started.

"What about him?"  Scully turned back to face Mulder.

"The police picked him up about forty-five minutes 
ago for creating a public disturbance at a local 
Value-Shopper."  Mulder explained. "He was shedding 
clothing all the way down the produce aisle. Perhaps 
needless to say, he was higher than a kite, and 
although his altered state suppressed his 
inhibitions, it had no such affect on his mouth."

Scully raised a questioning eyebrow from her place 
beside the nightstand.

Mulder smiled softly at her and continued. "He pretty 
much confessed to attacking Sheryl Porter without 
even being asked.  Thanks to his self-medicating, he 
was so paranoid, he thought the police already had 
that on him, and he started defending his actions 
before they even reached the station."  

"So, what happened then?" Scully asked.

"Well, the police played into his fears to keep him 
talking and it worked to some degree. According to 
Mark, he and Sheryl Porter were romantically 
involved. Also, he's convinced that she stole a large 
amount of money from him, which is strange since he 
has been unemployed for the last eight months and he 
has no bank accounts anywhere."  Mulder continued.

"And that's why he claims to have attacked her?"  

"Basically, yes, although there is likely more to it 
then that but that's where his cooperation ends. So, 
the next step here is to approach Sheryl Porter with 
this."  

"At two in the morning?" Scully questioned, 
doubtfully.

"No, she's still a patient in the intensive care 
unit, it'll have to wait until a more reasonable 
hour, but I thought you might want to know that your 
tip from the ladies room seems to be holding some 
water.  No pun intended."  Mulder paused briefly.  "I 
tried to call you, Scully, but you didn't answer and 
I started to wonder if everything was okay."

"Mulder, I never even heard the phone ring."  Scully 
sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, her eyes 
feeling heavy once again.

"I tried both your cell phone and the phone on your 
nightstand, Scully."  He sat down beside her.  "Maybe 
the noise from the storm drowned it out."

"When did you try calling?"

Mulder checked his wristwatch. "About ten minutes 
ago."

"No, Mulder, I was awake then, I was listening to the 
storm, that's when I thought I heard something in the 
room."  Scully reached across to the nightstand and 
grabbed her cell phone.  She shook her head. "I must 
have accidentally turned it off."  She explained 
looking at its blank screen.

"Well, what about the room's phone?"  Mulder motioned 
towards it from his spot on the bed.

Scully picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.  
Silence. She pressed the button to hang up a few 
times and waited for a dial tone. No tone or static. 
"I don't understand, it worked earlier when I spoke 
to Detective Larson.  Did he call you on your cell 
phone?"

"Yes, Scully, but I called for a wake up call on my 
room phone when I saw the power had gone out."  
Mulder stood and walked over to the nightstand.  He 
pushed the wooden stand back away from the wall.  The 
phone line lay disconnected on the matted green 
carpeting.  "I think we just ruled out storm damage."  

Scully's eyes grew large in disbelief, her mouth 
slack.  "Mulder, I didn't disconnect the phone."

Mulder plugged the phone cord back in and picked the 
receiver up.  The dial tone hummed. "Are you 
certain?"   He dropped the phone back onto its cradle 
and turned back to Scully. "Scully, you're feverish 
and tired; it's possible you did it while you were 
still half asleep."

"Mulder, I doubt I would forget doing something, 
especially when presented with it.  If you are 
implying that I am so ill that I can no longer 
account for my actions..." Tears of anger threatened 
to spill down her cheeks.

Mulder shook his head and ran a hand through his 
hair. "Scully, no, I'm not implying anything..." He 
rested his elbows on his knees and looked down to the 
floor as if seeking inspiration in the aged green 
shag. "Listen, we're both tired and I realize that 
you're not feeling well. So let's just get some rest, 
and we'll talk about this in the morning.  Alright?"

Scully nodded, still avoiding his eyes.  Mulder stood 
and walked towards the door.  He turned back as he 
opened it.  "Get some sleep, Scully, after Sheryl 
Porter ties up some lose ends tomorrow; it's back to 
D.C. for us."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

July 10th 
9:50 a.m.


"Lose the monkey suit, man," was the greeting Melvin 
Frohike received from his longhaired associate as he 
poured his first cup of coffee for the morning.

"It's out of respect, you ingrate." Frohike quipped, 
replacing the thermal carafe that they had situated 
between the fax machine and one of many computer hard 
drives.  Langley and Byers both turned to him from 
their work sharing similar blank expressions.  Or at 
least what he presumed was blank on Langley; his 
glasses reflected back the computer screen.  

Frohike took his first sip of coffee.  "I'm going 
over to the Hoover building..." He continued 
confidently.  Byers and Langley shrugged shoulders 
and returned to their work.

"Since when are you trying to impress the Feds?"  
Langley grumbled, his long blonde hair covering up 
the AC/DC logo on the back of his black T-shirt as he 
clicked away at his keyboard.

"Well, I can think of one fed Frohike would want to 
impress..." Byers retorted straight-faced. 

Langley nodded to himself, an amused smile forming 
on his lips.  "Frohike, you didn't tell us you were 
meeting with Agent Scully; I thought you were just 
talking to Mulder."

"Should have known, I mean, the suit's a dead 
giveaway," Byers responded, once again spinning from 
his work.  His dark hair, moustache and beard as well 
manicured as the lawn on a posh estate.  With his 
tidy dark suit and perfect posture, he looked like 
someone's butler.

"That coming from the monkey himself," Frohike
directed back at Byers, setting his coffee cup down 
and folding up a laptop.

"What?  I always dress like this," Byers exclaimed, 
showing the first signs of becoming unnerved as he 
shook his head and returned to his work, his eyebrows 
furrowed.

"And you..." Frohike continued, on a roll as he 
looked over at Langley.  "Could stand to lose these 
duds..." he tugged on the shoulder of his AC/DC tee 
for emphasis, "and dress up for a change."

"No way, man!"  Langley protested.

"Hey..." Byers interjected  "if Langley's got 
something on over his tighty-whites he is dressed 
up."

"Yeah, that's right."  Langley agreed as Byers nodded 
at this affirmation.  

Well they were ganging up on him now, time to split.  
"I'm outta this geek squad."  Frohike proclaimed, 
tucking the laptop under his arm and heading for 
their heavily secured door.  He opened the locks 
quickly with the ease of familiarity; temporarily 
blinding everyone as the light of the outside world 
came flooding in as he stepped out.

"Say hi to Agent Scully for us..." He heard Langley 
say as the door closed behind him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

J. Edgar Hoover Building
10:15 A.M.

The elevator doors opened up to the basement and 
Frohike stepped out, the laptop still tucked under 
his left arm, and nervously adjusted his wire rim 
glasses and yellow bow tie.  Relief settled in as he 
approached Agent Mulder's office.  Walking through 
that place gave him the heebie-jeebies.  The whole 
damn building was run by extortionists, murderers and 
conspirators under the guise of a government agency 
meant to protect against extortionists, murderers and 
conspirators.  It was just the kind of thing his 
publication was filled with.  Hell, they could have 
offered a money back guarantee that each and every 
issue of The Lone Gunmen would be filled with 
government conspiracy.  He owed his meager 
restitution to the fact that the government was 
corrupt.  The whole place could go to hell as far as 
he was concerned; except for Mulder, he was cool.  
And Scully, she was hot.  Beside that, if Mr. Trust-
no-one could trust her, well, that was really saying 
something.

Frohike stopped in front of Mulder's door and rapped 
twice before opening.

Mulder sat reclined in his office chair, his feet on 
top a pile of papers on his desk, the phone pressed 
to his left ear.  He appeared to be either listening 
or on hold, a pensive look on his face as he rolled a 
sharpened pencil between his thumb and forefinger.  
He dropped the pencil as Frohike stepped in and held 
up his right hand, wiggling five fingers at him.  
Frohike nodded in understanding and backed out of the 
office, closing the door behind him with a sigh. 
Well, he could either hang around in the basement or 
go bump around with the sharks upstairs.  He 
preferred the first option.  

Frohike settled in for five minutes of tapping his 
fingers on the laptop as he took a seat outside of 
the office when he heard the elevator ding followed 
by the unmistakable clip-clap of high-heels on 
linoleum.  His heart flopped beneath his tweed jacket 
and he rubbed at the gray stubble on his chin, a 
nervous habit he was no longer aware of.  

"Here comes the leggier half of The X-Files 
Division," he thought to himself.  His mind raced as 
the footsteps came closer to rounding the corner to 
him while he tried to think of a suitable greeting 
for a redheaded bombshell that packed heat.  A 
basement room full of file boxes offered little 
inspiration however, and Melvin Frohike was more than 
just a little out of practice.  Frohike stood, tucked 
the laptop under his arm once again, and straightened 
out his jacket and bow tie with his free hand.

Agent Scully rounded the corner to the office.  
Frohike watched her approach, entranced.  Damn, she 
was a looker.  She was dressed professionally yet 
enticingly in a knee-length tan skirt and matching 
fitted jacket with just a hint of silky white blouse 
peeking out from above the lapel.  His eyes dropped 
to the bottom of her skirt, tracing the curves of her 
legs down to the black high heels that covered her 
feet.  Scully made eye contact with him, waking him 
from the daydream that had promised to soon play out 
in his head.  

"Hi, um, hey, uh, hello there, Agent Scully.  You're 
looking as, uh, lovely as always." Frohike's greeting 
came out much less smoothly then he had hoped for.  
He extended his free, gloved hand to her, wondering 
what it was about beautiful women that could render a 
man a mumbling idiot.

"Frohike, hello." Agent Scully took his hand, 
offering him a smile.  "Agent Mulder contacted you 
about the case?"

"Yes, he called us yesterday evening from 
Bloomington, Illinois." Frohike motioned towards the 
laptop he was carrying.  "The boys and I found a few 
things on the Internet that may be of help. Mulder 
was on the phone when I got here." He explained.

Scully nodded at him. "Well, I'll go let him know 
that you're still waiting."  She said before 
disappearing into the office.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Mulder sat back, reclined in his office chair. His 
large feet rested on top of his paper-scattered desk, 
and his arms crossed over his chest. What appeared to 
be pencil shavings covered most of his red and yellow 
striped tie and the front of his blue dress shirt.

He didn't seem to notice that Scully entered the 
office, his head tilted back as he admired his 
sharpened pencil collection in the suspended ceiling 
tiles above his head.

"What took you, Scully?"  He asked, his gaze still on 
the ceiling.

"I was in the ladies' room, Mulder."  Scully walked 
over to the front of his desk.

Mulder nodded. "Well, I won't complain about that if 
you keep getting such goods tips from your restroom 
excursions."  He swung his legs down off of the desk 
and faced her, his expression suddenly all business. 
"I just got off of the phone with Detective Larson."  
Mulder brushed the shavings off of his shirt as he 
sat up.  "Sheryl Porter confessed to selling drugs 
with Mark Russell. The police told her that they had 
Mark in custody and that they were giving her this 
one last chance to come clean before the proverbial 
shit hit the fan.  Ms. Porter will be facing 
prosecution once she is released from the hospital."  
Mulder rummaged through the top layer of paper on his 
desk, grabbed a piece of scratch paper, and crumpled 
it into a ball.

"However, that leaves the matter of the seven murder 
victims unresolved."  Scully took a seat in front of 
the desk and crossed her legs.

"In addition to the visions, Scully."  Mulder added, 
tossing the paper ball with an overhand throw into 
the wastebasket off to the left of his desk.

"Yes, that's right, seven victims, seven visions."  
Scully recited flatly as she watched the paper fall 
into the trash.

"Now you got it, Scully."  Mulder stood from his 
seat.  "Let's see if Frohike has found anything that 
might shed some light on this." Mulder walked over to 
the door, brushing off the remaining pencil fragments 
as he did so.

"What have you got for us Frohike?"  Mulder asked as 
Frohike stepped into the office.

"Just the usual crap off of the Internet, but it just 
might have something to do with this guy that you're 
after."  Frohike replied setting the black laptop up 
on the desk.  Frohike went to work typing, trying to 
bring up a specific site.  "The guys and I got wind 
of a vigilante group that seems to hold a special 
interest in intimidating prostituting mothers.  
According to the buzz online, this assembly has been 
responsible for terrorizing more than just a few 
working mothers."   Frohike continued typing and 
searching as he explained.  " Word is that these 
women were approached by members posing as clients 
but that's when things began to take a turn.  As soon 
as they were out of the public's eye, they were then 
rendered unconscious by a blow to the head only to 
awaken bound, gagged and naked in a field with the 
word 'whore' printed in red marker across their 
foreheads."  Frohike pointed to a site he had 
retrieved.

Mulder sat perched on the edge of his desk, studying 
the screen.  "I won't debate that this bares some 
similarities to the case; nevertheless these online 
accounts may be impossible to distinguish from urban 
legend."

"Moreover, I can't imagine that if these women 
actually existed that many of them would have pressed 
charges, given the circumstances."  Agent Scully 
added from her seat.

"It could be looked into."  Frohike pointed out. 

Scully's stomach gurgled loudly in the silence that 
followed; she shifted in her seat and cleared her 
throat, doing her best to avoid the quizzical look 
Mulder gave her.

Mulder ran a hand through his hair and stood from the 
desk, shaking his head. "I just don't think this is 
it.  I have the strong feeling that this guy is solo 
on this and that he has been from the start.  I can't 
see him joining a group to help spread his opinion on 
prostituting mothers.  It's likely that he has never 
confronted his feelings enough to understand why he's 
killing these women.  He's satisfying an urge, not 
sending a message."

"Sometimes you've gotta go with what your guts 
telling you."  Frohike began shutting down the 
computer.  Scully stood.

Mulder walked over to Frohike and slapped a hand on 
his shoulder.  "I appreciate your help on this, and 
I'm not tossing anything out yet. I'll look into it.  
Thank the guys for me." He shook Frohike's gloved 
hand firmly.  Scully pushed passed them abruptly, her 
hand pressed to her abdomen as she headed out the 
door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

July 10th
12:05 p.m.


The dreams had returned full force and with them the 
agitation that had always followed. He had attempted 
to pass some of it off on last night's lightning 
storm, believing the inclement weather could have 
lent to his nightmares, but the nervousness he felt 
had followed him well into the day. He ran an uneasy 
hand through his thinning hair. This state could not 
be tolerated.  He had begun to suspect that others 
could see it in him as well, this disquiet that 
seemed to saturate his very being.  

He tossed the remainder of his lunch aside, a roast 
beef sandwich on wheat with radish slices and extra 
mustard, usually his favorite.   He left it lie on 
the wax paper next to the crumpled brown bag from 
Larry's Deli as he stood from his avocado-colored 
recliner.  The floor creaked from beneath the matted 
brown and tan carpeting as he paced the span of his 
small living room.  He couldn't let this continue or 
all that he had would be put at stake.  He'd lent a 
suspicious ear to every hushed conversation he had 
heard among the staff at work, fearful that they might 
be on to him.  He tightened his hands into fists, 
painfully forcing the sides of his class ring into 
his adjacent fingers on his right hand.  The pain of 
it momentarily beckoned him back into intellect. The 
discomfort his cherished ring created, so real and 
sobering to him.  

There seemed no way anyone could know, he reasoned in 
the moment's lucidity. No matter how he felt, he'd 
been too careful.  He needed to sort this entire 
situation out, to rethink things.  That was all. 
Another vacation was out of the question.  He could 
lobby for another business trip but that wouldn't 
bring him the relief he needed soon enough.  He would 
have to work from here.  It would take exceptional 
caution but he could manage that.

The muscles in his hands and his body relaxed as he 
walked towards the adjoining kitchen.  He was more 
than capable; he had proven that time and time again. 
He grabbed a heavy glass tumbler from the dish-drying 
rack and swung open the door on his chocolate colored 
refrigerator.  He had made a mistake; obviously he 
had expected too much to come of the women he had 
chosen. Perhaps their moral fabric had been too 
loosely woven; he would do well to choose more wisely 
this time.  He poured orange juice into his glass, 
carefully filling it a half of an inch to the top, 
just as always.  He had the evening to work with; it 
wasn't very much time, but he would make it work. He 
would make things right again, and the dreams would 
stop soon after. Then he'd be rid of this affliction.  
He pulled open a cabinet drawer beside the sink and 
withdrew his black fabric case.  He set it carefully 
on top of the chipped orange countertop and untied it 
easily with one hand.  The blades sat neatly in their 
respective places, the immaculately clean silver 
shining brightly against the velvety black case.  
Satisfied, he closed and retied it.  Everything would 
have to be in order for tonight; there was no room 
for mistakes.  He slipped the case into his pants 
pocket.  Things would soon change for him, he would 
be sure of that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End of Chapter 4.
Continued in Chapter 5.


Thank you yet again to Brandi, Foxcat, and Memento1;  
three wonderful Beta's who probably share a similar 
nightmare about flocks of wild comma's chasing them 
down when they least expect... Gee,,, I,, don't 
know,,,,why,, that,,,would be...  Thanks guys;)