Phases of Fire - Part 1: Embers by Sharon Bowers (2024)

The Phases of Fire - Part I: Embers

The phases of fire are craving and satiety. -- Heracl*tus of Ephesus c. 540BC

Chapter 1

Quantico, Virginia

Black... blacker than night... blacker than velvet... a darkness so completethat it could only exist in a dream... Or in the mind of madness... She ran,faster harder farther... her breath a ragged pant in her ears, louder than thesound of her footsteps crashing through the darkness. Pursuit was not farbehind, and the best she could do was to keep running, keep fleeing... until herheart burst...

Or the madness caught up with her at last...

With a strangled scream, Clarice Starling sat bolt upright in her narrow bed.The sheets were a sodden, tangled mass around her waist, and the blankets hadbeen tossed to the floor in the nightly struggle with the wraiths of her sleep.She could see the shadows now... which was how she knew she wasn't stilldreaming. No, God help her, she was finally awake.

"f*ck."

Running a shaky hand through dark hair matted with perspiration, she glancedat the dully glowing red clock resting on her night stand-- 2:17am. Groaning lowin her throat, she extricated herself from the sheets and found her way to thebathroom, flicking on the overhead light as she passed.

Turning the sink's cold water faucet all the way on, she held her wristsunder the pounding stream until the thundering pulse points cooled beneath herskin. Then she cupped her hands together and splashed the water generously overher face, letting the icy rivulets stream unstopped across her bare shoulders.The face that stared back at her in the mirror was austere... the years hadeaten away the soft curves of her youth, until she was nothing but stark anglesand lines... with a pair of painfully brilliant blue eyes staring out of itscenter. Ardelia used to call her "beautiful," but Starling doubtedthat even her old friend and lover could do that now. With an easy, practicedmovement, she twisted the damp hair off her face, securing it into a pony-tail.Shrugging on an old denim shirt, she padded out into the tiny galley kitchen ofher apartment.

She didn't think of this place as "home," even though it heldclothes, a computer-- things that were "hers." Given who she was andhow she spent her life, Starling had never really understood the concept of"home." Her career... her job... her life... meant invading thoseplaces... sorting through the things once held dear and hoping for some hint tohelp understand the horror that had befallen their owners. By the time Starlingreached a residence, it was a crime scene or a last known address.

Anything but a home.

Opening the pantry, she studied the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels restingat eye level on the shelf and opted instead for the package of Swiss Miss hotchocolate mix sitting beside it. She set a panful of milk to warm on thestovetop and sat down at the table, thumbing through the work she had broughthome.

Hot chocolate and crime scene photographs.... It might seem incongruous atbest, a sickening parody of domesticity at worst... but Starling had no pryingeyes to question her nocturnal habits. She hadn't for a long time.

Not since Ardelia.

They had met and become lovers at the Academy, before she had beenindoctrinated into the cult. Before she had become the High Priestess of theMacabre. They had called her boss, Jack Crawford, "the guru," andspoke of him in hushed, reverent tones reserved for the Wisest of the Wise. Nowthey wanted her to ascend to that position... to run NCAVC and teach at theAcademy all she had learned in her caliginous travels.

Starling had seen Jack Crawford destroyed by his wife's death and HannibalLecter's last game, watched his successor John Douglas sell out to the media andhush his demons with money and celebrity, and-- most recently-- mourned BentonWesley with Kay and Lucy when he was murdered by yet another monster theycouldn't catch.

She rebelled against that fate... preferring to remain at large, workingcases, hip-deep in the horror... because deep inside she knew that if steppedback for a single minute from the way she spent her life... there was a verygood chance that she would surrender to the insanity that hounded her even nowin her dreams. As long as she didn't have anything to contrast to the way shelived... then she could convince herself that being able to tiptoe around in theminds of monsters and to commune effortlessly with evil was, in fact, normal.

Starling had loved Ardelia... known that as surely as she knew that her heartbeat and her lungs breathed in the oxygen that gave her life... but the baseinstinct to love, to caress, to hold dear hadn't translated into a relationship.She clung deep into the night to her lover's strong body and used the passionthey shared to return her from the atramentous depths she traveled in search ofthe monsters.

"I can't do this, Clarice..." Ardelia had finally told her onelong, sweating night. She had been transferred to Atlanta as part of the newdivision of the National Computer Crime Squad, and Clarice had come to see heron her way back from a crime scene in Birmingham. The case had turned out to bea wild goose chase, not part of the string of murders she was obsessed with atall, but she had given them a quick profile and pointed them in the direction ofthe real killer without too much difficulty. It was so easy to tell thedifference now-- between the workings of the insane and those of the truly evil.If Starling had stopped to think about that statement... it should havefrightened her beyond all reason. As it was, she was just wanted Ardelia--wanted her skin in her hands, her taste in her mouth. "Clarice...stop..." Ardelia had pushed her away, even though Starling could smell therising desire between them, hear it in the ragged harshness of her lover'svoice.

"What's wrong, Del?" She gazed into the soft caramel eyes of herlover and found a stranger there.

"I don't want to do this," she repeated, pushing away fromStarling's half-clothed body and searching the room for something to coverherself.

Clarice crossed her arms over her bare breasts and regarded Ardelia with anarched brow. "Maybe you could have mentioned it a little sooner," shesaid pointedly, trying to catch her breath.

"You didn't exactly give me time," Ardelia retorted. She sighedheavily and tugged on a pair of FBI sweats that lay tossed over her ten-speed."Look, Clarice. I love you... but I can't live like this. Watching you slipfurther and further away. Every time you catch one of those bastards it eatsaway another part of the person I love." She ran her hands through herdisordered hair, her face aching with pain as she regarded the slim form of herlover. "When was the last time you laughed, Clarice? When was the last timewe went out to dinner or did something stupid like go to the movies? Or justheld hands and watched the TV?"

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Starling pinched the line of tension risingbehind her eyes. "Exactly when am I supposed to do this, Del? I've got sixhours before I have to be in Quantico to attend a postmortem. I've got four casefiles sitting on my desk, and I'm hoping to God that none of the UNSUBs involveddecides to go on a bender before I can catch up with their paperwork. Did Imention that Benton Wesley just resigned? That means that there's no one runningthe Investigative Support Unit and no one's in charge of NCAVC." She took adeep breath and looked at her lover, blue eyes flaring in outrage. "I don'thave time to hold your goddamned hand. And if I did, they'd probably run us bothout of the goddamned FBI. Jesus, Del, that's what they did to Lucy. Is that whatyou want to happen?"

Ardelia stared at her. "I can think of worse things."

"I can't." The words were out and gone before Starling had evenrealized she had spoken them. Two words that were irrevocable and unalterable.The one constant Starling had always counted on had now vanished.

"Then I guess there's nothing really left to say," Del repliedflatly, her eyes darkening and turning away. "Good-bye, Clarice."

Over a year had passed since that conversation. Ardelia had been the onlylover Clarice had ever taken, the only one she had allowed to see even a hint ofthe fear, pain and terror that nibbled away at the edges of her psyche. Thoughher body ached for contact, for the feel of hot slick hands inside her... theadjustment hadn't been too bad. Crawford had called her the only true Stoic hehad ever known... and she had known then by his tone that it wasn't acompliment. But life went on. Mourning over something she couldn't have, a lifeshe could never live, wouldn't accomplish anything.

Returning her attention to something more productive, she glanced through thephotos of the dead women... girls, really... sitting on her kitchen table. Ifthere was one constant in her work, it was the seemingly unending supply ofyoung, pretty women who fell prey to the evil that stalked them. Had she been ofa more philosophical bent, Starling might have considered the inevitableattraction of evil to good, but right now all she saw were four dead young girlsand the waste of their lives.

Four months, four deaths....

They were all found in secluded areas... in the rain. The death site was notthe crime site, and the girls had been posed, as if the UNSUB knew they would bediscovered quickly. Little or no trace evidence had been found, and the timebetween death and discovery of the corpse usually varied.

Somebody in the office had pegged it early on as a lunar cycle... butStarling had done some digging and found a couple of other cases, three and sixmonths back respectively that looked a lot like their guy. A very similar MOwith a distinctive geographical progression. He was headed straight towards her.What she didn't know for sure if these two earlier cases were tied in... whichwould mean he was beginning to unravel and decompensate as the killings camecloser and closer together to satisfy his cravings-- much like Bundy did beforeChi Omega. Or if it was indeed someone who was just getting started.

If the same UNSUB was responsible for all six deaths, he had remainedremarkably consistent and controlled throughout what was presumably a collapseof the last vestiges of his mind. And that made Starling uneasy. On the otherhand, if he was only responsible for the four deaths in the last four months, heshowed an equally remarkable control, with none of the hesitation marks or panicusually evident in the first kills.

Great... I get my choice... bad or worse....

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted her musings, and with a quietsigh she picked the cordless up, clicking on the receiver.

"Starling."

Years of working with Clarice Starling had taught her team members thatearly-morning phone calls rarely awakened their boss. An early nickname, givento her by the press following the Bill case and the revelations of herconversations with Lector, had been Bride of Dracula, which of course,metamorphosed itself into Vampirella as Starling's late night wanderings becameknown. "We've got another one. Blue Ridge Mountains, just outside ofAsheville. Chopper's waiting at Quantico."

"I'm there." Starling clicked the phone off and ducked into herbedroom, grabbing the eternally packed kit that always sat by the bedroom door.It was the first thing she did every time she came back to Virginia. Unpack thekit, remove the dirty clothes and replace them with fresh. Taking the time topack when a chopper was waiting was a waste of vital time. She dressed inlayers, knowing that it was probably raining in North Carolina-- if it was theirguy, and if he remained consistent. First thick, well-worn khakis that wouldn'tfeel nearly as uncomfortable as jeans once they were soaked through with rain.Then a T-shirt, a long-sleeved dark blue corduroy shirt, then an FBIwindbreaker for good measure. Study Timberland hiking boots-- one of four pairsshe owned-- fit comfortably on her feet. Her gun and ID were the last things sheclipped into place, and she grabbed an FBI baseball cap on her way out just tokeep the hair out of her face.

She left her apartment in darkness, the rooms as silent as they had been whenshe was there.

Chapter 2

FBI Academy Quantico, Virginia

The wind blew restlessly around Starling as she jogged over to the helipad,the whirling rotors filling her ears with their roar. In the floodlightssurrounding her, she made out the familiar form of Evan Tellis, her favoritechopper pilot, sitting comfortably in the front of the army helicopter. Heturned around and grinned, giving her a thumbs up as she clambered aboard. Asher eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness of the chopper's interior, she realizedthat she wasn't alone.

As if aware of the sudden scrutiny, the woman looked up and Starling couldsee-- even in the uncertain light-- that the pale blue eyes glimmering back ather bore no traces of sleep. A tiny puddle of light from the overheadcompartment revealed the woman's hair to be a burnished red, framing an ovalface that had a strong air of intelligence and stubborness about it. A smalllaptop sat on her knees, and her fingers were poised over the keys as she gazedevenly back at Clarice, who had a sudden inexplicable urge to apologize forinterrupting. She wore a darkly elegant black trenchcoat that made Starling feelclumsy and awkward in her FBI hat and bright blue windbreaker.

They hung suspended in each other's glance-- blue gazing upon blueendlessly-- until the stranger broke the tableau by closing her laptop. Offeringa slim-fingered hand, she smiled. "Hi, I'm Dana Scully. You must beStarling."

---------------------------------

The roar of the chopper made conversation almost impossible, but by takingthe seat beside Scully, they were at least able to hear each other.

"Who are you? And why are you here?" Starling tried to keep hervoice light. She always worked alone, everybody knew that. A full support teamworked behind her, but whenever she went out to a site, she always did so alone.

It was easier to talk to the demons that way....

Scully looked slightly nonplussed, irritated that the woman beside her hadbeen unaware of her arrival. Another long winded explanation... ThanksSkinner... she thought silently. Since the X-Files had been shut down, bothshe and Mulder had been shuttled from department to department, case-to-case.Nobody, it seemed wanted them, or their eclectic talents. Both she and Mulderhad been working unfettered for so long that the stolid hierarchies of the otherdepartments drove them crazy, and in turn made the other agents view them assomething close to loose cannons. At least it was true in Mulder's case... herown reputation seemed more or less intact-- surprising after having spent fiveyears with "Spooky" in the basem*nt-- but at least other departmentsseemed willing to accept her at face value. She supposed she had her eternalskepticism to thank. What most people didn't realize is that at the end-- it hadbeen Mulder who had lost his faith in their mission.

Still, the resentment that she faced as Mulder's partner-- filtered though itwas-- was wearing to the agent, and she found herself drifting back into themedical end of her skills. That meant more time at the Academy. Seeing thefresh-faced young students, with their serious demeanors and earnest desire toserve their country reminded Scully of her own days, before she discovered thecynicism and the corruption that infested the Agency. Before the cancer haddiscovered her and shadowy men had made her their victim. She had survived--hurt, barren, and scarred-- but alive. The conspiracies she had faced hadruthlessly disabused her of her ideals and faith; the disease and trials hadcarved away the softness of her face, the curve of her hips... until she was aslean and sleek as a racing hound, with the haunted eyes of one who had endured acruel master.

She had been asked to teach a pathology course at the Academy for the spring,and she was seriously considering staying on. Scully was at a cross-roads. Whileshe had used the weeks at Quantico to try and regain some inner peace that sheso desperately needed, the last five years had instilled in her a love of thehunt that seriously rivaled Mulder's. She just didn't know if she could go backto the safe, but confining, life that the laboratory and teaching theaterpromised.

When Clarice Starling's request for an FBI pathologist had come to herattention, she had been unable to resist the lure. Although the NCAVC was in abit of a leadership crisis, her offer of assistance had been accepted withalacrity. Scully had only assumed that whatever powers-that-were had informedStarling.

Obviously, judging from Starling's surprised and slightly irritatedexpression, this wasn't the case.

"You requested a FBI pathologist to follow up on the four previous casesand any future ones," Scully offered diffidently.

Starling pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I did. But that means Ishouldn't see you until the decedant makes it to autopsy. What are you doinghere?"

There was a slight, but unmistakable, edge to her voice that raised thehackles on the back of Scully's neck. She knew all about Starling-- or at leastthe version that FBI gossip put out-- and having experienced the effects of thepoisonous grapevine herself, she knew a lot of that had to be dismissed with theproverbial grain of salt. However, Starling's accomplishments couldn't bedenied... nor could her solitary persona. Scully had never heard of anyonepartnering up with the woman the kind gossips called "Mindwalker" andthose not so charitably inclined called "Vampirella." Scully smiledicily. "I've spent the last five years out in the field. There's a lot thatthe death scene can tell you that the autopsy room can't. I assume you DO wantto catch this guy."

The message was loud and clear to Starling: Back the hell off and let medo my job...

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Starling studied the classic profile of the woman beside her and absorbed thewell-modulated timbre of her voice, Lecter's voice echoing in her head...

You know what you look like with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You looklike a rube... A well-scrubbed hustling rube... With a little taste. Goodnutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're not more than onegeneration from poor white trash....

Lecter would have never described Dana Scully that way...

No doubt he would have spoken of her in rapturous tones, invoking Modiglianior Rosetti to explain the pale glow of her skin, the perfect curve of her redhair. The glittering intelligence in those blue eyes would have fascinated him,pulled him into an exchange with her...

Just as it did Starling.

"What's a pathologist doing working in the field?" A half-grinplayed over Starling's face, indicating that Scully's message had been receivedand understood. "I thought they kept you guys locked away atQuantico."

Scully nodded almost imperceptibly, accepting Starling's unspoken detente."I started out there after I finished my Academy training, but the nextyear I was assigned to the X-Files." She held her breath, as if waiting fordramatically lifted brows, suppressed chuckle, or the exclamation of disbeliefto accompany her revelation.

Instead, Clarice Starling only nodded. "How is Fox? I heard they shutyou guys down, but I didn't realize you were his partner."

Scully stared dumbly at the agent for a moment before recovering. "Youknow Mulder?"

Starling shrugged. "Not really. He was just leaving NCAVC-- well, backthen it was Behavioral Sciences-- as I graduated the Academy. Jack Crawfordthought the world of him in spite of his..." she hesitated,"...Unusual... career choices. He hated to see Fox go. Several of hisprofiles are part of the core curriculum at the Academy. No matter what youthink of his extra-terrestrial obsessions, you have to respect hisaccomplishments."

As Scully smiled-- the first genuine one Starling had seen from the agent--Clarice noticed the way it reached up into her eyes, seeming to heighten thealready lucently vivid blue there. Slowly, the pathologist shook her head."Your attitude is rare. Most people..."

"People think he's a freak," Starling said bluntly. "Iunderstand that. Those same people think I'm a freak too."

"But you're not," Scully objected, looking at the collected visageof Clarice Starling-- the clenched set of her jaw, the sharp lines of her face.Only her eyes-- that looked almost eternal in their weariness-- gave evidence ofthe things she had seen. This woman seemed reassuringly sane-- almostunbelievably so.

Clarice laughed ruefully. "Oh yes I am. So is he. Fox and I are a lotalike. From what I've seen and heard, I think there might be only one realdifference between us."

"And what is that?" Scully asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

Starling glanced out the window at the darkness beyond. "He thinks evilis out there somewhere..." She tapped the window. "Brought down uponall of us innocents." Starling sighed heavily, the exhaustion of hersleepless nights sinking in unexpectedly. "Unfortunately, my experience hastaught me otherwise."

Scully leaned closer to hear the words falling softly from Clarice's lips."And where do you think it lives?"

Starling smiled tiredly and gently touched the place over Scully's heart andthen her own. "In here."

Chapter 3

Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina

The rest of the hour-long chopper ride had been a quiet one. An unspokendétente had been reached, pending-- Scully suspected-- what Starling thought ofher performance in the field. She felt a little like she was back to square one,having to prove herself to Mulder, and that annoyed the pathologist no end. Shewas five years older, five years wiser... and no one could take away the thingsshe had learned. No matter what Clarice Starling thought, Scully knew she was adamn good agent-- maybe one of the best the Bureau had....

So why do I feel like a rookie fresh out of the Academy? she asked herselfruefully.

Maybe it had something to do with Starling's reserved, but nonethelesscommanding, presence. Instead of leaping out of the chopper and shoutingdirections as most agents would do, she listened quietly as they drove to thescene to the local trooper's report of how the body had been discovered.

"It was around 8:30 last night," the Smokey earnestly explained. Helooked painfully young, the shell-shocked expression still in his eyes hoursafter he had viewed the body. "There's lots of hiking trails just off themain highway, and a couple of folks had stopped to take the short trail that leddown to the river."

Scully frowned. "What we're they doing hiking at 8:30 at night?"

"Well, ma'am, it doesn't really get dark this time of year until afternine..." He smiled sheepishly. "And it's kind of a romantic spot downthere..." The reddened flush of his cheeks indicated he had first-handknowledge of this little tidbit.

Scully and Starling exchanged bemused glances.

"So they were hiking down the trail..." Starling prompted as theyarrived at the scene and clambered out of the car, still listening to the youngofficer's story.

"Yes, ma'am. And they said they could see..." Stumbling over thememory of what he had seen, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Theysaid they could see her clearly from the trail. Plain as anything."

"Ritual," Starling muttered so low Scully barely heard her and theSmokey remained oblivious. "What happened then?"

"One of 'em-- I think it was the guy, he had a cell phone and called911. They got us up here, and we called the county folks. They're the ones thatcalled you I think."

"Not exactly standard procedures for a county sheriff to call theBureau," Scully murmured to her new ad hoc partner.

"We've got us a hot dog." Starling grinned at her in glee."Somebody plugged the details of the crime scene into VICAP, got ahit."

Scully arched a dubious eyebrow as she clambered down the steep incline withStarling. "Here?" In the middle of nowhere with a Smokey who lookslike he should be doing Clearasil commercials instead of carrying a gun?

"It's the electronic age, Scully." She shrugged blandly. "Allyou need's one of those little laptops like yours and you can do just aboutanything." A particularly narrow part of the trail thrust the womentogether, and Starling's hand shot out to steady the pathologist. "Careful.It's slippery."

Scully grimaced as she regained her balance, cursing her worn boots softly."Yeah, and my Timberlands are about shot. I keep meaning to replace them,but..."

"Too much time in the teaching theater," Starling replied dryly,but the quiet gleam in her eye belied the comment. She had taken in thepathologist's well-cut trousers and thick cotton shirt with an approving glance.Scully was obviously no stranger to the field, and she moved along the uneventerrain with a practiced air-- her slick hiking boots notwithstanding. Starlingfelt her anxiety level drop a notch in the face of the other agent's obviousfamiliarity with their circ*mstances.

For her part, Scully merely arched a contemplative brow and continued hertrek along the pathway.

It didn't take much to reach the site-- the place was floodlit with spots toward off the shadows of the coming dawn. Starling immediately noticed a dapperman in completely impractical shoes pacing impatiently at the scene's edge. Shenudged the pathologist. "I'll bet you dinner tonight that's ourhot-dog."

Scully snorted. "No argument there. He looks like a poster child for anepisode of Miami Vice."

"Well, let's see what our boy has to say," Starling replied."At least he had the smarts to use VICAP, most local people don't."

"That's because most local departments barely have the money to keeptheir officers on the street. Forget about computers and training." Anenthusiastic disciple of the cult of technology, Scully had little patience forthose who saw computers as an instrument of Satan and the coming Y2K problem asthe first sign of the Apocalypse. "They just don't see it asimportant."

Starling smothered a smile at the quiet irritation in Scully's voice. Shenodded in the detective's direction. "You want to talk to him while I takea walk around the scene? Then we can switch?"

Although the statement was framed as a question, there was no mistaking thetone of authority in Starling's voice. Scully suspected that the command hadless to do with her own capabilities and much more to do with Starling'spreference for working alone. It only made sense that she would want her firstimpressions of the scene to be unsullied by an unfamiliar partner's presence.

"No problem," she acceded gracefully, noting-- but not commenting--on the relief in the other woman's pale blue eyes.

Starling nodded with a tight, controlled gesture, her eyes already scanningthe coldly lit area around her. Her mind dismissed Scully, who sighed softly andshook her head as she watched her new partner absorb her surroundings.

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"Such a clever girl, Clarice. You're so close to the way you're going tocatch him..."

Lecter had taught her the first rule-- simplicity. Everything she needed tocatch her killer was right in front of her. She just had to see it. Starlingprowled silently at the edges of the scene, getting a feel for the portrait thekiller wanted to paint. Over the years she had seen cops and agents goimmediately to the body-- as if held the only evidence of consequence. But vitalinformation was all around them-- in the choice of the location, in the positionof the body, in the pattern of disturbed plants on the ground.

Spring was nibbling gently at the edges of these Carolina foothills. The dayswere sunny and warm, but the nights were still cool. And while the hour of thefalse dawn wwas the coolest time of all, the shiver that ran down Starling'sspine had nothing to do with the weather.

The harsh floodlights made the crime scene eerily reminiscent of all thelatest Hollywood blockbusters. According to the movies, there were only twokinds of men-- cops and killers. And only one kind of women-- victims, all.Unfortunately for the the young woman that this corpse used to be-- when thosefloodlights were turned off, she wasn't going to get up, wipe off the makeup,and go home.

The portrait before her was almost boring in its repetitive familiarity. Thebody lay on its back, knees up and legs spread in a grotesque parody of themissionary position. The base of a currently unidentifiable object-- whichStarling knew from the UNSUB's last victims would turn out to be an all-toocommon sex toy-- protruded from the dead girl's vagin*l opening. Her hands hadbeen cut off and neatly placed just to the right of the victim's head. Her leftbreast had also received similar treatment and now resided in the victim'smouth. There was a significant lack of blood at the scene-- indicating that theUNSUB had either killed his victim elsewhere, or that the injuries had beeninflicted postmortem. Judging from the lack of disturbance in the foliage andthe open nature of the area, Starling feared that the girl hadn't been sparedany pain.

It was a picture she had gone to sleep with the last three months... the livememories of the scenes she had visited mingled seamlessly with the photos shestudied, posted to her task board, and left sprawled carelessly around herkitchen table. She lived with those girls now, and their faces were among thosewho silently bore witness to her dreamscape's flight. They were legion now...never joining the pursuit, never questioning why she ran... and they wereeternally silent....

Catching Bill had silenced the screaming-- Lecter was right about that much.But it hadn't sent them away. Now as they watched, each victim's face borewitness to her own suffering, just as she had seen and re-lived theirs.

By rights they should have offered her some sort of peace, of comfort-- atleast Clarice had brought their killers to judgment-- but they did nothing ofthe sort. Instead they watched her-- not with the vacant, staring eyes ofdeath-- but with the vibrant blues and browns and greens that they had possessedin life. And did nothing. They watched her run... heard her gasping forbreath... and, more rarely, scream... Still they did nothing.

Another pair of eyes were regarding her now-- she could feel their coolfocus-- and she turned to find Dana Scully's gaze fixed upon her unwaveringly.Instead of the ghoulish anticipation that she had seen mirrored in so many otherpeople's glance, Scully's eyes held only a detached professionalism that wasoddly reassuring to Starling.

She crossed the few steps that separated her from her new partner."How's it going?" Scully asked in a low tone.

"It's our guy," she replied without hesitation, only fleetinglywondering how it so quickly became their case and not hers alone.

"You're sure."

"Dead bang."

A impatient clearing of the throat brought Starling's attention to thehovering detective in the impractical shoes. "Clarice Starling, this isRobert Merriam."

"Agent Starling--" He pumped her offered hand enthusiastically."You're the SAC? Boy, you guys move quick. It couldn't have been more thanan hour after I got the VICAP hit that I got a call you were en route."

The jargon-- and Scully's wry smile-- clued Starling in to a thing or two.Merriam had ambitions, and he saw this case as a means to achieve theseambitions. "Agent Scully and I are working the case, yes," sheanswered noncommittally.

"Was I right?"

"On the surface it seems to match a pattern of recent homicides, yes.Agent Scully is a pathologist and she'll be able to tell more about the specificcirc*mstances of death. Until then, we really can't say."

His clear, angular features frowned in serious agreement. "Iunderstand," he intoned, although he clearly didn't. "I just want tokeep apprised of the situation."

He just wants to make sure he gets any credit due... Starling thought toherself, but without guys like this, her job would be twice as hard. Taking adeep breath, she smiled at him. "Of course you do. I appreciate the call.It was some fast thinking to feed it into VICAP. I can't thank you enough."

He flushed under the quiet praise, and Starling saw just how young he was. Doesn'tthis town have any adults? she wondered, looking from the detective to theSmokey to the young couple who sat miserably in the back of the Sheriff's SUVpolice vehicle. "Those the witnesses?" she asked, more to Scully thatMerriam. She would read the detective's report later and confer with Scullyabout what she had learned from him, but right now her attention was on thescene and those who had first stumbled upon it.

Scully glanced down at her notes. "Sally Hughes and DarrellPatrick." She paused. "They're pretty shaken up. You want to go talkto them?" She tucked the small notebook away and pulled a pair of latexgloves from the same pocket. "I'll take a look over here." Beforepulling the gloves on, she rain a hand through her damp hair, pushing it off herforehead. The drizzle had stopped, and the air around them was fragrant with theearthy smells of life and-- Scully thought sadly-- death. "If you've seeneverything you need to, I'll finish up with the site so we can get her outhere."

Her-- not the body-- Scully was beginning the long process of restoring thedead girl's humanity, and Starling nodded her assent with grateful eyes.

As she studied the lean figure of her new partner striding confidently to thesite, a dawning thought warmed Starling's chilled skin... This might justwork out, after all...

Chapter 4

Motel 6 Asheville, North Carolina

The only thing Dana Scully wanted right now was a long hot bath and a glass...or three... of wine. Though she had told Starling she would "finish upwith the site," the process had taken several hours before the victim couldbe loaded into an EMT van and moved to a local funeral home. To her chagrin, shehad discovered that the coroner in Asheville was an elected position-- meaningthe man in charge wasn't a pathologist-- and all their wrongful death cases weresent to the state pathology office in Raleigh for autopsy. The rest of themorning and afternoon were taken up by a preliminary examination of the victim,in which she and Starling were forced to confront up close the horror of whathad befallen this young girl.

Although her head ached from hunger, she was perversely grateful that shehadn't had time to eat. For the first time in her career, she wasn't certain shecould have stopped her stomach from rebelling at the combination of food and thetask before her. Since medical school she had dispassionately dissected bodies,both in labs and morgues. She had examined the victims of foul play, seeneverything from corpses burnt beyond recognition to those killed by gunshotwounds to those who had died by means still unidentifiable to human eyes.Nothing, however, affected her the way deliberate cruelty did. Violation-- andwhat had happened to this girl and the six others previously was nothing shortof the ultimate violation-- was abhorrent to her. Her linear mind made her theperfect complement to Mulder's abstract patterns of thought, but it rendered heralmost incapable of comprehending a person who enjoyed inflicting this kind offerocious savagery. On this case she was completely at sea, lost for what tofeel about it.

She needed time to process what she had seen-- and even more, to absorbClarice Starling's almost nonchalant acceptance of everything that hadhappened-- so when the desk clerk cautiously inquired if she was "that FBIlady?" Dana shot him a cold look.

"Is there a problem?" she asked quietly, the steely tone belyingthe soft words.

The clerk-- another underage cherub, Scully noticed with a weary eye--flinched under the gaze. "Well, ma'am, it's just um... you see..."

"Scully!" Starling's clipped voice cut through the low murmur oftraffic around them. "Hey... we're in Room 491."

A pale brow lifted lazily. "We?" This was something new. Icy eyesswiveled to pin the already-squirming clerk.

"It's Belle Chere," the clerk gulped by way of explanation.

"Who is Belle Chere?" Scully inquired, feeling her blood pressureinching towards the explosive level.

Starling chuckled dryly, seemingly oblivious to Scully's rising temper."It's not a who, it's a what. Some kind of art festival. The entire town'spacked." She lowered her voice so that only Scully could hear. "Whichmeans finding our boy's going to be twice as hard. But given the crowds, he maystick around a little while." Her eyes seemed to shrug at Scully, the paleblue saying, We've got to take the good with the bad.

"What does this have to do with my room?" she asked Starling,seeing that she was getting nowhere with Opie Taylor there behind the desk.

"You don't have a room," Starling explained. "If they had toldme you were coming, I would've had standing orders for an additional room. As itis..." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm bunking with you." If Scully hadn't been already close topassed out on her feet, she probably would have cried.

"It's a double," the clerk offered helpfully.

At least I get my own bed... Scully thought balefully, wondering what shewould have done if this had happened with Mulder. He probably would haveslept in the car... she mused... Or spent the night at a p*rno theater.. Itthen occurred to her that there weren't any p*rno theaters this deep in theBible Belt, so Mulder's absence was probably a good thing.

Her eyes returned to Starling, who was gazing at her almost sympathetically.

Clarice extended a hesitant hand, the slender fingers falling short ofScully's sleeve. A slight gesture carried them out of their clerk's hearingrange. "Look... I'm going to go pick us up something for dinner. There'sanother storm on the way, and I figured you wouldn't want to be out in itanymore than I do. Why don't you go on up to the room, take a shower and perusethe old case files? I don't know how much time you had to get familiar with thepriors..." Her voice trailed off, leaving an opening for Scully who noddedwith ill-concealed relief, hating herself at the same time for so desperatelyneeding the time alone.

"I was able to glance at them, but I wasn't expecting to get called lessthan twenty-four hours later," she confessed.

"I never am either," Starling agreed with a wry grin thatdisappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. "G'wan upstairs. Anypreferences for dinner?"

Scully shook her head tiredly. "Nothing greasy," she answered,recalling Mulder's fondness for local diner cuisine.

"Agreed." Starling half-turned to go, then swiveled back to faceher new partner, an uncertain look on her face. "Uh... I was planning onstopping by the local ABC store. Something I can pick up for you?"

Discreetly not mentioning that they were both technically on duty and suchbeverages were verboten under the circ*mstances.

Scully mentally debated the point-- it was academic really. Were she at home,the wine would already be open. "Some chardonnay would be great," sheadmitted. "It's been..."

"A godawful day," Starling finished for her, the enigmatichalf-smile reappearing.

Scully fleetingly wondered if the woman were capable of a smile that reachedthe arctic depths of those implacable eyes. Remembering the agent's response tothe day's events, she doubted it. "Yeah, something like that."

---------------------------------

Chardonnay... Starling thought as she crossed the busy downtown streettowards the restaurant the clerk had recommended.

"A census taker tried to test me once. I ate his liver with some favabeans and a nice Chianti..."

Involuntarily her mind flickered back to the only gourmand she had everknown, and a macabre thought occurred to her. "He'd know what kind of wineshe'd like," she muttered aloud, ignoring the swirling crowd around her.She didn't know what it was about Dana Scully that... unsettled.. her so much. Ohget real, Starling... She intimidates the hell out of you... she ruthlesslytold herself, remembering the agent's impeccable tailoring, her no-nonsensedemeanor, and her ruthlessly efficient-- yet compassionate-- way of handlingtheir UNSUB's latest victim.

After they'd printed and photographed the girl-- officially determined forthe record she'd been the victim of foul play-- Clarice had found the nearestsoda machine and punched out two co*kes, handing one to Scully. The agent hadlooked blank-faced at her until Starling had cracked her half-smile and liftedher dark hair, placing the icy can at the base of her neck.

Scully had nodded imperceptibly at the familiar gesture and did the same,audibly sighing in relief at the coldness. "Where'd you learn this?"

"Habit I got into early on," Starling offered diffidently,unwilling to confide so readily in this woman, although something told her thatshe could and that her words would remain sacrosanct. Maybe it's the crossshe wears... Starling had thought at the time, noticing the discreetpendant, the only jewelry the red-head wore.

Jerking herself back to the present tense, Starling looked intently at thestreets signs, searching for Haywood Street. The clerk had said that shecouldn't miss it... it was one of the biggest streets in an already small town.So she flowed easily with the traffic, content in her wanderings and knowingthat Scully probably appreciated the time alone as much as she did.

She found the restaurant, a place amusingly named "The BierGarden." Starling chuckled softly, taking in the traffic around her--cataloguing the people around her almost automatically and recognizing that noneof them posed a threat. She carried a gun at all times, although the baggy widthof her blazer concealed it gracelessly. Unlike Special Agent Dana Scully... sheconsidered ruefully. Scully's trenchcoat was trim and tailored and hadeffortlessly hidden the Sig P220 that she wore on her hip. Starling hadexchanged the glaring dark blue and yellow FBI windbreaker as quickly anddiscreetly as she could after they left the scene, the hackles on the back ofher neck rising as she watched Scully take in and seem to find wanting theMacy's off the rack blazer she had put on in its stead.

"What?" The inquisitive, bright eyes of the maitre d took her offguard. Shaking her head to clear the fuzziness-- a combination of the exhaustionof the day and her scattered thoughts about the new woman who was her partner--Starling smiled at the young man, the gesture not reaching her eyes.

"Table for one?" he repeated. Starling took in his figure. Thickdark hair fell casually around his forehead, framing a strongly shaped face. Thewhite shirt did attractive justice to his dark skin, and she noticed that thetie he wore was a silk version of Munch's "The Scream."

"Uh... no, actually..." She looked around the small restaurant.Discreetly elegant lighting flickered in scones along the walls, and plants hungfrom every corner of the room drooping down bare inches above the patron'sheads. The clientele was a confident mix of eternally upwardly-bound youngpeople, with well-fitted clothes and impressive degrees. It was exactly the sortof place that normally made Starling's skin crawl... but oddly, she foundherself regretting she was ordering to go. Maybe Scully and I can come backlater... The thought escaped before she had time to put a leash on it, andmentally Clarice smacked herself upside the head for the larcenous thought. Whyare you so determined to impress this woman? she asked herself as sheordered the special for herself and a chicken Caesar salad for the woman waitingback in their hotel room. Well, she said nothing greasy. The maitre'd took herorder with a professional nod, and Starling surprised herself again by askingfor a wine recommendation.

"A chardonnay?" he asked, reassessing the woman in front of himwith a new eye. "Hmm... Well, it depends," he replied, his green eyestaking on a conspiratorial gleam. His voice rose an octave, and Starlingrecognized the shift in his expression from a boy doing his job to a brotherrecognizing a sister. She'd bet a million dollars that the lad had bumper stickerthat said Hate Is Not a Family Value on his Honda Civic. His expressionwas so kindly she almost didn't regret being clocked. "If you're trying toimpress... someone..." He paused significantly. "I'd go with a ClosPegase. It's a California chardonnay so it's not too pretentious. But if...they... enjoy their wine... they'll notice." He grinned at her and raised ahand in the air as if to say, "Score!" "It'll be aboutfifteen minutes before your order is ready. You've got plenty of time to rundown the street to Zack's. It's down a block and a half, take a right.. youcan't miss it. Pick up your wine." He patted her reassuringly on the arm,and Starling looked up at him-- startled by the gesture. It was the first timein over a year that someone had touched her, and the unnatural feel of skin onskin further jolted her composure. "Your dinners will be waiting by thetime you get back."

Starling glanced around uncertainly. "You sure?"

"Don't worry, darlin'" He waved a dismissive hand, a sparkle in hiseye. "I'll take good care of you. Run along and get your wine now."

---------------------------------

The scalding heat from the bath had leached at least some of the tension fromScully's body. There was a small AM/FM radio in the room, and she had managed tofind the local NPR station, but they were in the middle of a pledge drive. Theincessant talking had forced Scully to abandon any hope for a nice Bach concertoand settle for the local classic rock station. She'd take Eric Clapton duringhis Derek and the Dominos years over pleas for money any day.

She slipped from the bath as Clapton serenaded Layla with wailing guitar andraw voice. Maybe they'd play "Cocaine" later, she mused, sliding onthick FBI sweatpants and a black T-shirt that had a picture of the Michelin tireman with an alien's head superimposed on the body. It had been her Christmaspresent last year from Mulder.

Sometimes her partner had a really sick sense of humor.

A quiet clicking at the door drew her attention away from the lap top thatsat precariously on her legs, and she looked up to see Starling let herself intothe room carrying two styrofoam containers and a weighty-looking brown papersack.

Scully scrambled off the bed and helped the other agent with her parcels,sitting the dinners down on the closest matress. "You've got a handfulthere," she commented.

Starling nodded in greeting, taking in the damp tendrils of red hair thatclung to Scully's forehead and the woman's unmistakably relaxed stance. Thefaint scent of bath salts-- the generic hotel kind-- tickled her nostrils. Lookslike the time alone was a good thing... she considered silently. The forcedintimacy of the situation compelled her to look at Scully with different eyes--a gaze that she knew would be returned later in the evening, when she strippedoff her own FBI protection and rendered herself just an ordinary woman.

"You said nothing greasy-- I got you a chicken Caesar salad."Starling awkwardly indicated one of the styrofoam containers.

"Great," Scully nodded, just as ill-at-ease with the agent. Herpartnership with Mulder has been forged over the past fire years, tempered bylife-threatening cases and shared trials. She didn't know how to begin to talkto this woman who was as taciturn as Scully herself on a bad day. "That'sjust what I need. Nothing heavy..." She forced a smile to her face."Perfect."

Starling nodded, a little too vigorously for the mundane subject. "Oh..." She pulled a slender bottle from the bag in her right arm. "Here...You said chardonnay, right?" Knowing good and damn well what Scully hadasked for.

Scully took in the bottle's label, a brow lifting approvingly at as she read.The first geniune smile Starling had ever seen from Dana Scully slipped over thered-head's lips, reaching up and brushing her eyes-- lighting the blue within.

Clarice Starling felt the breath catch in her throat, and the words she hadbeen about to speak were forgotten as she simply relaxed into the warm regard ofthat smile and those eyes. Metaphors and similes had never been Starling'sstrong suite-- her powers of description were clinical in the best sense of theword-- but now she found herself reaching for comparisons beyond her ken,nothing in her experience preparing her for the simple beauty of the right womansmiling at her at the right time.

"Don't you feel eyes moving over you every day, Clarice, in chanceencounters? And don't your eyes in turn seek out the things you want?"

Starling had never consciously sought out anything in her life before... butthat expression in this woman's eyes... it was something she knew she would lookfor-- consciously or no-- for the rest of their partnership.

"You like it?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's one of my favorites," Scully replied, startled by the anxiouslook in the other agent's eyes. "Thank you, Clarice."

Starling brushed off Scully's gratitude with a wave of her hand, just asuneasy with the expression in Scully eyes as she was eager for it to return."No problem," she said softly. "You hungry?"

Dana chuckled softly, surprised to find only a quiet rumble in her stomachand none of the anxious roiling she had carried with her all day."Starving," she replied honestly. "Let's eat."

Chapter 5

Tacit agreement kept the subject of their investigation tabled during dinner.Instead, the two women made rather desultory small talk over names in the Bureauthey both recognized-- until the two glasses of wine Scully downed in ratherrapid fashion and the first of Starling's six pack of Rolling Rock began to hithome.

As the classic rock station slid into some endless music marathon--beginning, they both noted ironically, with "Don't Fear the Reaper"--Scully felt the last hours' tension begin oozing its way out of her muscles. TheClos Pegase was excellent; and while the salad took the edge off her hunger andsettled her aching stomach, it wasn't exactly substantial. The combined resultwas a very pleasant lightheadedness that enabled the pathologist to slip outsidethe tumultuous eddies of the last hours and pay closer attention to the otheroccupant of the hotel room.

She's not much for small talk, that's for sure... Scully considered,watching Starling methodically devour her roast beef and garlic mashed potatoes.But then again, neither am I... she admitted with an internal smile.There was something else, however, about Clarice Starling that was like no oneelse Scully had ever met.

Whether she liked it or not, the entire world knew who this petite,dark-haired, intense-eyed woman was-- Hannibal Lecter and Jame Gumb had seen tothat. Succeeding where other legendary FBI agents like Will Graham and JackCrawford had failed, Starling had connected with the wily sociopath Lecter andused his expertise to catch a killer. That she was still a student when she didso only made the legend more remarkable. Scully was no stranger to drivingambition herself-- her career trajectory attested to that-- and in Starling'squiet intensity she recognized a spark similar to her own. But while Scully knewthat her own accomplishments were fueled by a desire both to seek the truth andto serve her country, Dana couldn't for the life of her figure out what wouldcompel someone spend her life chasing monsters in the shadows.

"Are you still hungry?" the low voice from across the room joltedScully back abruptly from her musings.

"Excuse me?"

Starling smiled wryly and opened her second beer. "You were staring atmy dinner. I know that salad probably wasn't much. Want some of mine?"

Scully felt a deep blush rising in her cheeks. Starling had noticed herscrutiny but thankfully was willing to attribute it to something else. Way togo, Dana, alienate your new partner on the first day... but I guess she's usedto it, huh? "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was staring. I was justthinking..." she trailed off, at a loss for what to say.

"About the case?" The light in Starling's eyes quickened, as ifthat was all that mattered.

"Actually..." she improvised, "I was thinking how much thisroom reminded me of the dorms at Quantico." The words were true enough--the Spartan accommodations of the Motel 6 uncannily resembled those provided toAcademy students-- and the apprehension Scully felt in Starling's presenceechoed the uneasy appraisal she had seen in her first roommate's eyes. It hadbeen hard, walking in that door the first day, knowing that twenty percent ofthe students would be cut from the program-- regardless of their qualifications.Scully's Phi Beta Kappa, her Magna Cum Laude, and her recently acquired MDhadn't meant a damn thing to her Academy Instructors-- to them, she was justanother golden child among many.

Looking around the room, Starling nodded her agreement. She didn't mentionthat the tiny 20' x 20' room she had shared with Ardelia had been the only thingclose to a "home" she had known since the death of her father.

She and Ardelia had been happy after a fashion... working their asses off...running the Yellow Brick Road until they thought they would puke... studying atall hours... and snatching quiet moments away from everyone else to hold eachother in the dim light of a single candle. Ardelia had quieted the roaring acheinside Clarice's soul... quieted it, but never filled or silenced it. InvariablyClarice would turn away from her lover, unable to accept the invasion oftenderness into her soul...

"Starling?" Now it was Scully's turn to wonder what had brought thefaraway look into her new partner's eyes.

"Sorry. Woolgathering." She made a brief attempt at a grin, but itfailed miserably-- never even reaching her mouth, much less her eyes. "Whatwas it like for you?" she asked abruptly. "The Academy, I mean."

Scully arched a pale brow at the unexpected question. It was an opening ofsorts... odd though it was... a way to bridge the coolly professional distancethey had established between them. Scully hesitated only a moment beforeaccepting it. "Well, after the first day I thought I might have been insanefor joining up. After the first week I was convinced I was." She laughed atthe memory of the frazzled, exhausted, and completely overwhelmed young womanshe had been. She had thought of quitting-- walking away from the brutaldiscipline the had Academy taught and returning to the comparatively simple lifeof a resident-- but failure was not an option in the Scully household. So, ayoung Dana Scully had dug deep inside... and discovered an unyielding backboneof steel at her core.

Quantico hadn't been the first test of her mettle, but it had certainly beenthe first one to make her question her own resolve, attributes, and abilities.The Academy had been her first test of fire... the craving for her instructors'approval and the satiety of success when they handed her that badge...

Special Agent Dana Scully.

Now, years later-- here she was, in a hotel room with a woman who brought allthose niggling insecurities of that younger version of herself to vivid life.

"Joining up?" Starling's question interrupted the train of Scully'sthoughts before it left the station. "You make it sound like themilitary."

Scully shrugged ruefully. "Sorry. Family hazard. I'm a Navy brat-- myfather and two brothers. We never do anything halfway."

"Serving God and country, huh?" Starling looked thoughtfully at thesmall woman across from her. It made a perfect sort of sense, she considered,noticing-- not for the first time-- the straight set of Scully's shoulders andthe easy grace in the way she moved. A uniform would look good on her..."Why didn't you just follow in your family's footsteps?" Even wearingsweatpants and that ridiculous T-shirt, the red-head exuded an unmistakable airof authority, and Starling had no trouble believing that others would follow hercommands without hesitation.

"What do you mean?" Scully's eyes focused on Clarice with unnervingcoolness.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business." Starling retreated from theconversation, sensing she was on the very of going too far. "It just seemedlike a natural path for you-- that's all." She shrugged and stood up,breaking eye contact and ending the conversation. "Look, I'm going to graba shower. We can talk about the case afterwards. Okay?" Not waiting forScully's nod of assent, she grabbed a bundle of clothes and disappeared withthem into the tiny bathroom.

---------------------

With the door shut and the water sluicing off her skin, Starling turned thebrief exchange over in her mind. Long ago she had learned that identity isconstructed out of the intersections of experience and emotion. Sometimes thoseintersections were smooth-- either easy conjoinings or simply worn down by thepassage of time and the shedding of many tears. Sometimes those intersectionscould be sharp-- painful or unexamined reminders of what had been, what mighthave been, or what never would be. Remembering the alabaster stillness ofScully's face, Starling knew immediately she had stumbled across something verysharp in Dana Scully's soul.

That surprised her. Based on what she had seen previously, Scully wassmoothly tempered steel-- cool to the touch and impossible to get a handle on.Sharp people were unprotected-- the roiling conflicts in their souls made themvulnerable to others and left their soft emotional underbellies exposed. Sharppeople let others in... unwittingly or no... and Starling couldn't imagineScully allowing that to happen.

---------------------

Why didn't you join the Navy? was essentially what Starling had askedher... and as Scully poured herself another glass of wine, she realized withshock that no one had ever asked her that question. She hadn't even asked it ofherself.

Her family had been Navy through and through... each step along the ladder ofrank was considered a promotion for the whole family, and everybody had theirown part to play. Within Ahab's small inner circle of officers whose careers hadparalleled his own, the men were officers and the women... well, the women werewives. For as long as she could remember it had been expected that the boyswould follow their father into the service... and Melissa's own interests hadnever interfered with the expectations everyone had for her future.

But Dana... growing up she had been a miniaturized, red-headed version of herfather. She had inherited his boundless courage, his reckless love of the sea,and his fiery temper... and Ahab had loved her for all those qualities.

To this day, Scully didn't know when that loving indulgence had changed.Somewhere between her adolescence and young adulthood, her father's fond smilehad twisted into a thin line of disapproval. Act like a lady... replaced That'smy girl... as his mantra, and pretty soon it seemed to the sixteen year-oldDana that her father had forsaken her entirely-- turning his attention to thethe sons who would carry on his name and Naval tradition.

For Dana, however, pleasing her father had become such an ingrained habit,that she threw herself with all the passion of broken-hearted youth into thequest to bring that smile back to her father's face. The tomboyish blue jeansand baseball caps went away, along with her rebellious habit of arguing at thedinner table. But Dana couldn't turn off the inquisitive mind she was born withor stop the burning desire to be more than what everyone seemed to expect her tobe.

Her father always teased her that the first word out of Dana's mouth wasn't"Mommy" or "Daddy" it was "WHY?" Why had she beenborn, why was there a day and a night, why was the sky blue. It was easy toanswer her questions at first... but as she got older... those questions becameharder and harder... until finally, Dana realized that Ahab didn't have all theanswers.

She threw herself into science... something that could be measured, weighed,tested, and ultimately... understood. It was the path to medicine... topathology... dissecting the human body to understand how it worked... neverrealizing that the need for love, respect and understanding could never bequantified or qualified by the Scientific Method...

Forcibly turning her thoughts away from the shadowy paths they had begun toexplore, Scully focused instead on the stack of case files she pulled from herbrief case. Their guy was remarkably consistent, she thought, studying the womenwho were posed so identically that-- except for their faces-- they wereinterchangeable.

Which, in a way, was exactly what they were. The six bodies-- now seven--were grisly substitute targets for the rage this man couldn't take out on itstrue source. Scully ran an agitated hand through her hair and examined thephotographs more closely. She understood killing in self-defense-- she had donethat herself. She understood killing to protect one's home or family. Butthis... horror... that made no sense except to the man who committed these acts.Slowly, she shook her head. She didn't know what was worse-- the way these womendied, or why.

Random luck seemed to have chosen these girls, for nothing in their physicalcharacteristics or backgrounds tied them together. Of course, now they werelinked forever. Seven girls. Seven identical rituals. Pale blue narrowed... How..?

Seeing Starling emerge from the bathroom vigorously toweling her hair dry,Scully gave voice to her thought. "How did the Bureau jump on this soearly? I mean it usually takes at least three killings in a central area for alocal department to start thinking serial-- and here you don't have that.Logically, we shouldn't even know this guy exists, much less have this muchpaper on him." She waved the case files at Starling who nodded tiredly andflopped down on the bed.

She was glad to see Scully's attention was on the case and not the uneasyconversation they had just had. "Noticed that, huh?" she asked,opening another beer.

"It's hard not to."

"Turns out one of the victims-- the Jackson one, Veronica Harris-- has asister. Who just happens to be Belinda Harris." She waited for Scully toconnect the dots.

"The true crime writer?" Scully groaned. Harris had approached hershortly after the Donnie Pfister case wanting to write about the Vampire Killer.Scully had steadfastly refused to talk to her, and when Harris discovered thatDonnie had only actually killed one woman-- and just a prostitute at that--mercifully she had lost interest in doing the book.

Starling nodded grimly. "The way her sister was murdered-- well, you canimagine that set off all sorts of bells and whistles in her head. She did alittle digging and came up with Samantha Edwards-- murdered one month prior inan identical fashion. That's when she came to me."

"Why you?"

"Because she knew I'd listen," Starling replied, her mouthtightening. "And because she wrote that book."

That book was "Mating With a Monster: The Strange Bond Between aKiller and a Cop," and it had sat on the New York Times Bestseller Listfor weeks. Starling and the Bureau had refused any participation in the project,but the Baltimore mental hospital where Lecter had been locked up had provenabout as secure as a leaky sieve, and the more peripheral players in the casehad been most willing to talk. Harris had arrived in the big time. JerrySpringer gave her the whole hour. So did Sally Jessy, Geraldo, and Jenny Jones.For the most part, Clarice kept her head down and went on with her business,hoping that the circus-goers would find another freak to stare at.

She had lost her cool only once. Working a string of unsolved child homicidesin Dallas, Starling had been tracked down by Harris and a camera crew from"Inside Edition." As she left the scene of the latest murder,Starling's mind had been swamped by images of this innocent who had mutilated sobadly she didn't know how his parents were going to make a positiveidentification. Unfortunately for them, that's when Harris and crew pounced.

"Agent Starling... an inside source at the Bureau says that you and JackCrawford have become lovers. How does he feel about your past relationship withHannibal Lecter?"

Starling's body reacted before she even had time to think about it... herright hand shot out in a perfect arc, backhanding Harris and bloodying her nose.Brushing past the now-squealing reporter, Starling continued on her way withouta word.

And, of course, the camera had captured it all.

"What does she want?" Scully's soft question broke her reverie.

Starling paused a moment, thinking. "I believe she genuinely wants tofind her sister's killer." Then she laughed mirthlessly. "Of course,any ancillary benefits-- like a book and another shot at me-- are welcome justthe same."

"She holding a grudge?" Scully remembered the camera incidentvividly. It had produced a flurry of inter-office memos and reminders about"protocol when dealing with the press."

"Who knows?" Starling replied, wanting to get on to the matter athand. "The upshot is that she's breathing down our necks." Thatword again... 'our.' Starling didn't stop to consider it. "She'llprobably be here tomorrow. That woman's plugged into so many different sources,there's no way to freeze her out, and we'll just waste precious time trying ifwe try."

"I guess we'll deal with her then," Scully agreed, closing thesubject and opening her notes on the victim they'd examined this morning."We're going to have to go to Raleigh for the official post, butpreliminary indications are that the victim died in a manner consistent with theother cases. Ligature marks and abrasions on the neck indicate that she wasstrangled. Probably with a rope or leather belt."

"What are you basing your conclusions on?"

"Well... when someone has their hands around your neck, likethis..." She knelt beside Starling on the bed, wrapping her slender fingersaround Starling's throat. "Feel how the pressure is distributed from eachfinger?"

Scully's hands were cool and smooth, covering the pulse that flared softly inStarling's neck. Though the touch was fleeting and clinical, Starling had notrouble feeling the shape of each of those fingers on her skin.

If Scully noticed the small start ripple through Starling's skin, she choseto ignore it as she released Starling and leaned back. "See how theligature marks on the victims are in a relatively consistent and thin band? Ifthe killer had used his hands the marks would be separated and distinct, allalong the neck. And we'd at least have a good notion of the size of hishands."

Starling sighed regretfully. "We haven't gotten that lucky."Knowing that if they had his hands, they would have a strong foundation to basehis build and size. "What about the wrist wounds?"

"I won't know for sure until I boil down the radius and the ulna, butjudging from the tear wounds on the skin, I'd say a garden variety hacksaw. Thetears were jagged and uneven, I'm betting the striations on the bones will showthe same thing. An electric saw would give a smoother cut, although the skinwould still be chewed." She flipped through the other cases, looking at theautopsy files and noticing the other pathologists conclusions.

"Do you think the wounds were postmortem?" Starling was running herthrough the basic questions, and Scully couldn't figure out if it was to reviewthe most pertinent information on the case or to test her competency. She hopedafter the day they had just spent together, that it was the former and not thelatter motivating her new partner.

She shrugged. "It's possible, but without seeing the crime scene, Ican't say for sure. Postmortem wounds don't bleed, but since the discovery siteisn't where the murder took place, anything I say is pure conjecture. Same thingwith the breast wound. What blood the killer didn't wash off-- the raindid." She glanced at her partner-- Starling's blue eyes were cloudy andunseeing, focusing inward and unmindful of the empty beer bottle she turned inher hands. "What is it?" Scully asked quietly. "What's botheringyou?"

Slowly, the brightness returned to Starling's eyes as she fixed her gaze onScully. "Doesn't this seem too... tidy to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Starling stood, running a hand through her damp hair, and paced the length ofthe room in short, measured steps. "Crime classification pegs this guy as asexual sad*st."

"Because of the object in her vagin* and the mutilation to herbreast."

"Right. But..." Starling shook her head. "There's not enoughdamage."

Remembering the girl's cut off hands and breast, Scully wonder how muchdamage would be considered enough. She arched a brow as if to say "goon..."

"What gets a sad*st off is the pain he inflicts on his victims--especially if he's impotent in other ways."

"As would seem to be indicated in this case."

"Right... but in most cases... those are the girls who get torn up themost." Starling rubbed her face, grasping for the words to explain what shedealt with every day. "He takes his inability to complete the sex act outon the victim-- usually by mutilating, stabbing, and disfiguring them. And ifthey use penis substitutes it's more likely to be something found at the siterather than an object specifically designed for sexual pleasure."

"Because he never plans on not finishing what he's started."

"Exactly. The ritual, the violence, the control gets him excited... sohe thinks he can finish. But that's not what arouses him. So when he tries tocomplete the sexual part of the act, he fails. Loses control and..." Hervoice trailed away, not wanting to complete the thought.

"Tears her up."

"Yeah," she said softly.

Both women fell silent, lost in their own contemplations.

Finally, Scully asked-- more to keep from downing in the awfulness of whatthey were dealing with than anything. "Is there anything significant aboutthe kind of vibrator used?"

"Nope. It's the Cyberskin Vibrator. $19.95 at the Pleasure Chest inWashington. I tracked down the manufacturer and they said they sell over 50,000a year through various stores, on line companies and catalogues."

"In other words, it's the sex toy equivalent of a gray four doorsedan."

"Yup, everybody's seen one. Everybody's got one."

Even me... Scully thought ruefully, not sure she would ever look at her ownthe same way again. "Any guesses on it's importance in the ritual?"

"Not really. The killings are sexually oriented-- that much seems to bea given. The vibrator, the knees up and legs spread, the mutilation of thebreast. It's odd though..."

"What?" Scully prompted, when no more information seemedforthcoming.

"The way he positioned the breast in her mouth..."

"What about it?"

"I've seen probably half-a-dozen other cases where this was done, and inevery single one of them, the nipple was pointing out-- towards theviewer." She motioned at the crime scene photos. "In these cases thenipple itself is inside the victim's mouth-- not visible to the viewer atall."

"Does that matter?"

"Everything the UNSUB does matters," Starling stated flatly."We have to be able to look with his eyes. Because once we see his'creations'--" She used the word derisively, "--The way he does, thenwe'll be able to understand why he does it. Once we know why, we'll know whathe's going to do next. And then we catch him."

Continued in Part II: Craving

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