Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 6
Disclaimer in Chapter 1
This story is rated NC-17


J. Edgar Hoover Building
July 11th
8:19 a.m.



"Where the hell have you two been?"  Skinner
snarled as he stepped unannounced into the
doorway of Mulder's downstairs office, a file
folder clasped tightly in one hand.  Scully
immediately turned in her seat in front of
the desk to face him, an eyebrow arched in
question.

"Sir, we have been here all morning," she
phrased cautiously.  Mulder's eyes rose from
Scully, back to Skinner, awaiting his
response.

"Why?"  Skinner snapped back, thrusting the
folder out to the two of them.

"Because we work here,"  Mulder interjected
straight faced, before Skinner  had a chance
to continue.

Skinner shot him a sideways glance.  "I
wouldn't say that with such confidence Agent
Mulder."  He placed his hands on his hips,
pinning the folder against him before
continuing. "I would like to know how it is
that the day after two of my agents  return
from Bloomington, Illinois I wind up with a
call from their local police saying they've
got a dead body on their hands.   They're
telling me this looks like the work of our
killer, and now I need to explain to them how
the hell this happened when the two of you
were just out there looking for this
guy."Skinner paused, his mouth slightly
agape, looking almost as if he was
considering grinding his teeth.

Frustrated, Mulder pushed his seat back from
his desk, inadvertently shoving a precarious
pile of paperwork towards Scully before he
stood.  "What we  were investigating was the
attack on Sheryl Porter.   Her attacker
turned out to be her lover, Mark Russell, not
the serial killer." He asserted, his red and
yellow striped tie hanging loosely around his
neck.

"Save that for the D.A.  I've got your
report,"  Skinner grumbled, extending  the
file to him again.  Mulder took it from him
and began to page through its contents with a
sigh of disgust.  Skinner started for the
door, his jaw set.  He stopped just before he
reached it and turned back to face them, his
free hand on the door frame as he looked back
at the agents.  "Just do us all a favor and
get your asses back in the field before I
have to start making excuses for the FBI's
ineptitude in this case,"   he added, a look
of tense impatience troubling his face,
before stepping out the door with a
disapproving shake of his head.


"What was that about?"  Scully questioned
with Skinner safely out of earshot,  gently
tugging at her plum colored jacket to
straighten the wrinkles out that had formed
as she had sat.

Mulder looked up from the folder, his face
grim.  He removed a faxed copy of a police
photo and placed it on the desk in front of
Scully.   "Sarah Mckay, found dead in a field
near Gardner, Illinois.  Eyes taped closed,
same vertical incision as the others, only no
head wound on this one."  Mulder closed the
folder abruptly and slammed it down onto the
desk, causing Scully to jump and his
paperwork to further scatter across his
desktop.  "Twenty years old, Scully, about to
start her last year of college.  She didn't
have a
chance to begin her life before it
ended."Mulder paced the span of the room
twice before stopping to place his hands on
his hips.  He stared down at his shoes,
clearly agitated, but remaining still as he
thought, his eyes wild.

Scully looked down at the blurry copy of the
photograph.  She made out the deep contrast
of the young woman's reddish brown hair lying
in messy strands across a colorless face
devoid of life.  She felt her throat tighten. 
Forensic pathologist or not, the first glance
was always difficult.  The copy was so fuzzy
it almost seemed surreal, like something from
a nightmare.  Scully pushed away from the
picture, attempting to divorce herself from
the chilling sensation that thought had left
her with.  She picked up the folder Mulder
had set down before walking away from the
desk, beginning to read.  

"Mulder," Scully started, still absorbed in
her reading, " Sarah Mckay has no known
history of prostitution.  Apparently, she was
working full time at Betsy's Burgers during
her summer break."

"He's changing, Scully,"  Mulder spoke, still
staring down at his feet, the urgency in his
voice unmasked.  "He's not finding the
release he sought, so he's moving on.  What
he doesn't realize is that this need in him
is insatiable and that he can't stop what
he's
feeling by killing these women.  Instead of
facing what is inside of him that is driving
him to do this, he has just changed the type
of women he is killing."  Mulder broke free
of his trance, walked past
Scully to the desk, and picked the phone off
of the receiver.  "I hope you've replenished  
your overnight bag, Scully." Mulder replied
restively.  "Because, It's back to Illinois
for us."


XXXXXXXXXXX

10:23 a.m. 


"Mommieee!"

She barely made out the sound of his
distressed cry.  It came so distant, so
muffled.  She followed it as best she could
through the field's thick fog, trudging
blindly ahead through the tall, wet grass. 
She stopped to stare, hoping for some clue as
to where she was going, where he was taking
her, but the sky seemed to bow down and touch
the ground.  White vaporous clouds hung just
above her dampened feet, blocking all but the
dewy,  field grass from her vision.  She
continued ahead, walking slowly, listening
for him, uncertain where he was or where she
was going to.


"Mommieee!" 

 He called out again, this time sounding
somewhat closer, but far off to her right. 
She quickly turned to follow, her pace
picking up, her heart beating faster.  The
grass rustled underfoot as she continued on,
and she felt certain she heard it rustle just
off to the side of her as well.  Why wouldn't
he wait for her?  She continued after him
faster yet, her nylons soaking wet and cool
as she made her way towards the slight noise. 
A lone cricket chirped somewhere just ahead
of her in the moment's silence, undaunted by
his trespassers.  She listened again.  Quiet,
other than the lonely sounds of the field but
then came the crashing noise of someone
darting off just ahead of her.

She felt she saw something then, just a small
flash of white through the morning's thick
haze, and she went for it.  She broke into a
run, the thick, cool, air stinging her
nostrils and clumping her hair into tangled,
messy strand. She felt the wetness of the
clouds of humidity as she broke through one
and entered another.   She saw him, just
ahead, although his image appeared blurred
through the dense fog.  He stared down
quietly, waiting until she almost reached him
before he darted off again, this time into
the trees.  "No, wait!"  She called out to
him, starting to run again when she bumped
into something cold and solid on the ground.

She knelt slowly down through the moisture
clouds, looking to identify the heavy object
her foot had made sudden contact with.  The
vapors parted gradually as she approached her
feet, chasing away like passing spirits.  A
hand lay there, still, and white as the fog
that surrounded it.  Dark dirt lined the
feminine fingernails, the grass beneath lay
ripped up, the ground heavily scratched.  She
bent for a closer look, horrified, yet unable
to turn away, needing to know more.  The arm
came into view as she knelt over closer
still, dark bruises marking the pale skin. 
She felt goose bumps travel up her own arms
and up her neck, leaving her to shudder, her
teeth chattering loudly  from adrenaline. 
She heard a mumbling somewhere off behind
her, the voice insistent but not urgent.  She
turned briefly towards it, undecided, before
turning back to the lifeless arm, her eyes
traveling slowly towards the body.  She saw
the grass below the trunk, stained deep red,
the heavy coppery scent hitting her suddenly
with nauseating force.  She gasped as her
stomach rolled, threatening to spill its
content's.  

 She turned as she felt the sudden firm grasp
on her left shoulder as she was shaken
gently.  "Scully, are you okay?"  

Scully awoke with a deep breath, her eyes
slowly adjusting to the light in the
airplane.  Mulder sat beside her where he had
been when they took off for Illinois earlier,
his face concerned.   "I'm fine."  She
immediately replied, her voice still heavy
with sleep.  She swallowed past the sour
taste in her throat, the skin on the back of
her neck and her forehead tingling.

"Bad dream?" He prompted softly.

She rubbed her hand over the delicate skin on
her forehead.  "Yes, I uh, I didn't sleep so
well last night."  She answered absently,
turning away from him to look out the window
at the clouds that lined the sky.  Her
stomach churned again.   "My stomach's not
doing as well as I thought it was." She added
flatly still staring into the sky.

"Are you going to be alright?"  

"Yeah, I'll be just fine."  Scully turned
back to face him with what was meant to be a
reassuring smile, but her eyes avoided his.

Mulder nodded at her before sitting back in
his seat, unsold but not feeling an immediate
need to pursue the issue any further.

"Mulder," Scully questioned, "I didn't see
any mention in the report about visions of a
mysterious boy."

Mulder shot her a look of sudden disbelief.
"Why do you ask, Agent Scully?"  He
questioned, playfully suspicious.

"It just occurred to me that may be an
anomaly in this particular case."  She
rattled of matter-of-fact, turning back to
face her window while doing her best to
ignore Mulder's slack-jawed look of
disbelief.

"Yeah, I had thought of that too, but I am
not willing to bet that means that there
weren't any.  I had planned to speak with the
man who happened upon the body while you are
doing the autopsy. This guy may not have come
forth with what he witnessed for fear of what
may be thought of him." Mulder added, his
voice still retained much of the
suspiciousness.

"I suppose that's possible." Scully watching
her hands as she folded them in her lap.  She
could clearly see Mulder was still turned in
his seat, facing her with what she identified
as his 'who are you and what did you do with
my partner?' look.  Uncomfortable with
offering an explanation, she maintained her
oblivious stance until he sat back in his
seat again.  Scully waited anxiously for the
flight to end, anticipating the emotional
escape that the tedious work the autopsy
would soon bring.


XXXXXXXXXX


St. Joseph's Hospital
Joliet, Illinois
12:42 p.m.

"Time is 12:42 p.m." Scully spoke clearly
into her voice activated audio recorder as
she double gloved her hands.  "Subject is a
female, twenty years in age.  Measurements
show that the subject is five feet eight
inches in height.  Post mortem weight is
approximately one hundred and three pounds,
although it should be noted that the subject
has suffered catastrophic blood loss." 
Scully replied, studying the body through her
fluid shield. 

 "Time of death has been initially estimated
to be 4:00 a.m. Approximately nine hours
prior to this examination."  Scully set the
recorder up above the autopsy table before
proceeding with the external examination. 
"The subject was found with  a large Y
incision-like cut," Scully paused to push her
fingers into the incision to gauge its depth. 
"that extends to the rib cage,"   Scully slid
her fingers down, "and through the abdominal
wall, again, not unlike a Y incision. 
However this cut was made above the breasts." 
She added, scanning over the neatly cut  lip
of flesh that protruded from the body.  

Scully bent in closer, examining the body for
any less obvious abnormalities.  She
carefully examined the right arm, checking it
from all angles before moving on to the left. 
"The subject also has numerous contusions
covering both the left and right arms; the
pattern resembling that of a large hand
print, possibly male."  Scully walked the
length of the corpse slowly examining as she
went.  " A sample of the fluids has  been
sent for analysis although there are no
physical signs of rape."  Scully's protective
gown rustled softly against her scrubs.  

Scully pulled a small transparent ruler from
her instrument tray.  "There are contusions
present on both ankles."  She remarked,
measuring their distinctive blue and purple
splotches.  "They are similar in shape and
size to those found on the arms and could
indicate that the subject may have been
dragged." 

Scully approached the right side of the metal
table, her face mirroring her intense
concentration. She grabbed hold of the right
arm, and with what looked to be a rather
aggressive maneuver, and broke its rigor.  "I
am now removing the bags that were placed on
the victims hands at the crime scene."  She
announced, carefully sliding off the crude
paper bag that had been secured around the
right hand.  "The right hand," she stated
lifting it carefully, "has several broken
finger nails, and there appears to be a dark
matter lodged underneath the nails, possibly
dirt. I will obtain a sample of that for
analysis as well."  Scully pulled a small
knife and a plastic sample container off of
her tray.   She lifted the right hand again,
which this time moved easily, and began to
scrape out samples from underneath the nails. 
She extended the hand past what remained of
its rigidity as if to give a post mortem
manicure. Its ghostly white color, made even
more obvious by the heavy bruising that lined
the delicate arm.  Scully paused from her
work, as a chill crept suddenly up her back,
causing the tiny hairs on her neck to stand
up.   She briefly considered it an effect of
the cold room, but she had grown accustomed
to working in this type of environment long
ago.  

She bent back down to return to her work,
when her mind presented her with a fragment
of the image that had troubled her
subconscious.  A lifeless hand with dirt
laden fingernails, lying on a patch of
scratched up field.  Scully shook her head
and took a step back, as if that would help
to separate her from the disturbing image. 
"It was just dream."  She immediately
reasoned with herself.   She wasn't feeling
well, and she'd had a bad dream.  There was
nothing unreasonable about that.   She could
have been dreaming about the victim, perhaps
the image from the police photo had stuck
with her.  Scully reasoned away the last of
her doubts, chasing the eerie feeling with
logic as she returned to her work.

XXXXXXXXX



Casper and Marilyn Tucker Residence
Gardner, Illinois
1:00 p.m.


"Mr. Tucker?"  Mulder questioned, carefully
peeking his head into the open door of the
chicken enclosure.   

"Casper'll be fine."  The elderly man
replied past the clucking that surrounded,
with sideways glance at Mulder as he scooped
chicken feed out of a large sack and  poured
it into a galvanized dish beside the hen
house.  The top of his head shined pink
through thin strands of white hair in the
bright afternoon sunlight.   The chickens
crowded the dish, some standing in it and
allowing the feed to pour onto them as they
ate.

Mulder nodded to him as the man approached,
the chickens scattered,  squawking and
flapping their wings, sending small dust
clouds that smelled heavily of ammonia and
chicken feed as he passed them by.  He
closed the screened in door behind himself.

"Casper, Mrs. Tucker told me I might find
you out here.  I am Special Agent Fox Mulder
with the FBI." He explained holding out his
badge and a free hand.  Casper regarded his
own wrinkled, work worn hand momentarily
before wiping it on the side of his blue
work shirt, just below the large sweat
stains, then offered it to Mulder.  Mulder
shook his hand diplomatically with a
slightly amused smile.

"I imagine you're here because of the young
lady."  Casper added tilting his head off in
the direction of a large field to the right
of  them.  The police tape was barely
visible, just a small ribbon of yellow
blowing in the grassy field.

"Yes, I am."  Mulder agreed solemnly,
releasing his hand and replacing his
credentials.

"It's a damn shame."  Casper added squinting
in the sunlight as he stared off into  the
direction of the roped off area, deepening
the already heavy creases that marked his
forehead along with the rest of his face. 
"Marilyn is frightened half out of her mind,
afraid to go to sleep tonight.  She seems to
think the guy who did this might return."

"He won't come back here."  Mulder quickly
added.  Casper lowered his head back down to
face him.  "He's finished here, he has no
reason to return."

"I hope you're right about that."  Casper
turned, wiping his hands on his heavily worn
and soiled jeans as he  looked to the barn. 
"Do you mind?"

Mulder stared over at the large building
ahead of them, with its white paint peeling
off the aged, greying wood.  "No, that's
fine if you don't mind me following you in
there to ask you a few questions."

Casper snorted loudly and wiped his face on
the shoulder of his dirty shirt.  He scanned
over Mulder's suit and dress shoes with a
look of amused skepticism, his faded hazel
eyes momentarily lit.  "There should be some
boots that'd fit you in the mud room,
Marilyn'll set you right up."  He turned to
head in to the barn, not waiting for a
reply.  

Mulder  watched him momentarily as he walked
off with slumped shoulders across the tired
dirt path and then headed back to the house
to borrow some boots.

XXXXXXXXX


Mulder rapped lightly on the screen door of
the pale olive farmhouse.  "Mrs. Tucker?" 
He called through the door.  He heard a
cabinet door close as he waited before Mrs.
Tucker appeared in front of the door dusting
flour off of her hands with the bottom of
her plain white apron.   

"Just Marilyn, Agent Fox Mulder."  She
asserted as she opened the screen door for
him with trembling hands.  "Come on inside."

"Just Mulder, Marilyn."  He replied with a
warm smile, taking the door for her as he
entered.  "Your husband said something about
spare boots in the mud room."

Marilyn motioned for him to follow as she
made her way through the small entryway and
into the kitchen with slippered feet. 
"Casper always keeps a spare pair handy for
when James stops by to help out."  She
stopped walking momentarily to turn back to
face him.  Her short white hair held in
perfect small curls that clung tightly to
her head. "James is our son, he's the
youngest of our children.  Although he's
hardly a child anymore at 43.  Has his own
wife and children now."  She smiled sweetly
to herself, her damp eyes growing alight
with memory.  "He's a good boy, always has
been."  She ran a hand over her red and
white floral house dress, her skin so thin
it appeared almost transparent.  "The mud
room is just on the other side of the
kitchen." She led them through her sunny
yellow kitchen with white ruffled curtains
that hung above the sink.  A pie crust lay
freshly rolled on the melamine counter top
beside a large green and yellow speckled
ceramic bowl with a sweet smelling mix of
strawberries, raspberries and blackberries. 
"I've been baking, I'm afraid I'm still a
mess."  She explained brushing at dark berry
stains that marked her apron as they passed
through the room.  Mulder winced as his
empty stomach growled loudly.  Marilyn
opened a squeaky white wooden door off the
back of her kitchen.  "Here you are."  She
pointed him in the direction of a pair of
large rubber boots that sat on a plastic
tray in the small room, the bottoms still
caked with dried mud.  

"Thank you."  He replied stepping onto the
blue outdoor carpeting that lined the room,
the strong scent of cattle hitting him at
once.  Margaret nodded and headed back out
silently.  Mulder sat down on a wooden white
bench beneath hooks that held various worn
jackets and plaids shirts against the powder
blue wall. He removed his shoes and grabbed
the soiled  boots, using their handles to
pull them onto his feet and over his pants
legs.  Marilyn stepped back into the room as
he was about to leave.

"Here, this is a picture of my son and his
family."  She outstretched the picture,
still in its frame as she approached him.  
Mulder carefully took the picture from her
trembling hands to look at it.

"Those are my two grandsons Christopher and
Jake and that is my granddaughter Amber. 
She takes after her mother."  She added.

Mulder studied the picture of the happy
family, the father with a hand resting on a
shoulder of each son.  The two boys, around
8 and 9 from what he could see, with barely
contained mischief behind their hazel eyes
and sandy brown hair.  The younger looking
boy with a buzz cut and his older brother
with hair that looked as if it had just
barely laid back despite the doubtless aid
of styling products.  The mother sat,
smiling, holding a young toddler on her lap. 
Her distinctive red hair mirrored the color
her mother's, curled in loose ringlets
around her chubby pink face.  Mulder smiled
to himself, envisioning Scully as a small
toddler, and then as a mother.  Mulder
swallowed hard and handed the picture back
to Marilyn.  "You have a lovely family."  He
said, his face flushed.

"Thank you."  She beamed staring down at the
picture as Mulder held the back door open
for himself.

"And Marilyn," he continued from the
doorway.  She looked up at him, her tired
blue eyes lined with fatigue and small skin
tags.  "I want you to have my card."  He
reached inside of his jacket pocket and
retrieved a business card and handed it to
her.  "If anything happens here that worries
you, just call me.  Day or night.  I'll make
sure someone gets out here to check things
out right away.  Okay?"  

Marilyn smiled broadly, stretching the fine
wrinkles in her rosy lips.  "Okay," she
replied hugging the picture to her chest.

XXXXXXXXXXX


Mulder made his way down the dirt path to
the barn, the sounds of the cattle mooing,
greeting him as he stepped through the wide
doors.

"Come on back!"  Casper called out from the
far end as he hosed down an empty stanchion.

Mulder made his way through the barn, inches
from the rear quarters of the large
Holsteins that fed there.  He avoided the
swishing tails, swatting at large flies as
he approached Casper, the smell of manure
and hay heavy in the hot barn.

Casper turned off the water as Mulder
approached.  Water dripped slowly out of the
hose and onto the concrete floor before
stopping completely.  "Ask away." He grabbed
a large push broom that had been leaning
against the wall and began to scrub the
floor of the stanchion.

"Would you say you have a pretty regular
schedule for getting things done around the
farm?"  Mulder asked past the whisking noise
of the broom.

"Tasks change somewhat, but yeah, I have to
stick to schedule."  Casper continued
scrubbing.

"You don't just take a break to go walking
around in the field?"

"No, not unless I had good reason to be
there."

"Was this morning an exception?"  Mulder
prodded.

Casper stopped pushing the broom, jarred. 
"What are you getting at?"

"I was just wondering what  you were doing
in the middle of the field just past
daybreak?"

"I saw the young ladies body there."

"May I ask what you were doing just before
that?"  Mulder pressed.

"Feeding and watering the cows.  Like every
other day."  Casper took up a defensive
tone, straightening his posture to the best
of his ability.

"And you noticed the body from where?" 

"Just outside of the barn, to the right." He
said, pointing.

"Would you mind showing me where you were
exactly?"

"Of course not."  Casper set the broom back
against the wall and pushed passed Mulder on
his way out the barn.  Mulder followed him
out silently.

"Right here."  Casper stopped just to the
right of the barn as he had said and pointed
into the field.

"Just how good is your vision Mr. Tucker,
because I can hardly make out the police
tape from here?"  Mulder responded,
straining his eyes to see the taped off area
far in the distance.

Casper stared down at his feet in thought. 
"I don't know what to say."

"How about just telling me what really led
you out into the field this morning?"  

Casper cleared his throat uncomfortably
before continuing.  "Its was foggy this
morning, the field was just thick with it." 
He stared ahead as if reliving the morning,
his eyes wide.  "I was feeding the cattle
like I said when I thought I heard
something.  Like a little kid crying
somewhere in the distance.  I stopped what I
was doing and went to see what was going on. 
I thought I saw movement just ahead in the
field, but like I said, it was terrible
foggy, and I followed it for quite a ways
out.  I thought I heard the crying sound a
couple more times so I just kept on going. 
That's how I found her."  Casper cleared his
throat again, this time more loudly, his
eyes wet.  "I didn't hear anything except
for my cattle after I found her, didn't see
anything either.  I don't know exactly what
happened so that I found her all the way out
there and I didn't dare tell anyone that for
fear I they'd think me senile.  I may be an
old man but I've still got my mind Agent
Mulder."

Mulder reached a hand out and clapped it on
his shoulder.  "I don't doubt that Casper."
He replied seriously.  " I appreciate what
you have told me, it is important
information into the case.  Thank you for
your cooperation.  I gave my card to your
wife, if you can think of anything else,
please give me a call."


XXXXXXXX

End of Chapter 6.  Continued in Chapter 7.