“Brown!”
    Two pairs of eyes looked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion, one hazel
and full of hope, the other blue and full of maniacal rage. Recovering quickly,
Brown moved to stand behind Mulder’s chair, placing his hostage between
himself and Scully. He thrust one hand roughly into the hair of the bound man,
pulling his head back until Mulder gave a tiny, involuntary moan of pain.
    “Don’t come any closer,” Brown warned, “unless you came to attend the
barbeque.” In his free hand he held a silver lighter, which he ignited with the flick
of a thumb. “I suggest you pass that message along to anyone else you brought with
you, as well. My friend here has had a nice gasoline bath, with a little rocket fuel
mixed in for good measure, so just one little kiss from Zippo here, and he’s toast.”
    He smiled, and Scully could see how he had managed to pull off all of the previous
murders right under the noses of the Metro Transit Authority, the DC Police
Department, and the FBI. With his blonde, close cut hair, sparkling blue eyes,
and boyish grin, Brown epitomized the proverbial “boy next door”. No one would
ever suspect that inside this well-toned, clean-cut poster child for the Boy Scouts
of America beat the heart of a madman.
    “And don’t even think about shooting me, hoping that I’ll drop this lighter. It stays
lit, and I’ll make sure I drop it right on my friend, Agent Mulder, here.” To prove his
point, he removed his thumb from the button of the lighter, and the orange flame
continued to burn.
     Scully spread her arms out wide in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m not armed,” she said
softly. “And no one else knows I’m here, either.” Keeping her hands up, she turned
around slowly in place, allowing him to see for himself that there were no weapons
concealed on her person.
    Completing her circle, she stopped and waited, keeping her eyes locked with Brown’s,
while he judged the sincerity of her words. She knew that if he didn’t believe she was
alone, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Mulder right here in front of her, determined that if he
was going to die, he wouldn’t be going alone. Everything in this insane rescue attempt,
and Scully decided that she must indeed be insane to be here alone and unarmed with
no real plan to speak of, depended on Brown accepting her word and letting down his
guard. Somehow she knew that if she could just get him away from Mulder, everything
would be alright.
     Brown said nothing as he continued to study her with narrowed eyes. Scully stood her
ground and stared back, fighting the urge to turn around and survey the tunnel behind her.
Certainly Frohike had called Skinner by now, and it wouldn’t be long before Brentwell
and his agents arrived. In her mind’s eye she could see Chris Brentwell and six agents
dressed in combat gear huddled around an aged blueprint scrutinizing the schematics of
a tunnel no one had remembered existed. Over the agent’s shoulder was a large shelving
unit that covered an entire wall…She blinked slowly and the image faded away. She needed
to get this show on the road, now, but didn’t know what else she could do to earn
Brown’s trust.
    In the end, she didn’t have to do anything. Mulder did it for her. During her stare-down
with Brown, she could feel her partner’s gaze searching her face, trying to decide for
himself if she was bluffing. She knew the instant he reached a conclusion, because he
immediately began to struggle in his captor’s grip.
    “Jesus, Scully, are you nuts? Get the hell out of here,” he hissed.
    That honest reaction from his hostage seemed to be the deciding factor for Brown. He
blew out the lighter and released his grip on Mulder’s hair, satisfied for the moment that he
was still in charge of the situation.
    “Yes, Special Agent Scully, enlighten us. It’s Dana, isn’t it? Just what is it you hope to
accomplish here, Dana?”
    Her eyes met Mulder’s for the first time, and she felt only the mildest surprise, not at his
battered appearance, but at the fact that she had already known exactly how he would look.
    “I came to get my partner,” she said quietly. “Remember Mulder?”
    His eyes left hers for a moment as he took in the bracelet on her left wrist, and when they
returned, she could see he remembered their shared dream. He nodded slowly.
    Brown nodded too, the wide grin firmly back in place on his handsome face. “That’s very
touching,” he said. “You two must be pretty close. How very fitting that you’re going to die
together.”
    Brown moved away from Mulder, walking towards the shadows off to the left side of the
tunnel. Abruptly, Scully became aware of several things at once. Although there had been no
sound, no indication at all, she knew without a doubt that Brentwell and his team were now
entering the tunnel and would be here within minutes. She was also positive that Brown was
going for the gun that he’d taken from Mulder. Her mind raced as she scanned the end of the
tunnel trying desperately to come up with a solution to this situation that didn’t result in a
shootout between Brown and the FBI with her and Mulder caught in the crossfire.
    Twenty feet beyond the glow of the candlelight, the tunnel ended abruptly, but there seemed to
be a small recess on the right side, the side that shared a wall with the neighboring tunnel. The
recess seemed to be the right size and shape to possibly be…a door?  Searching her memory,
she recalled her own voice, nearly unrecognizable as such on the cassette tape of her
hypnosis… “the only other way in or out is by a door at the far end of the tunnel which
leads to the eastbound tunnel of the blue line.” That was it, she decided. Somehow she
had to get Brown to follow her into the other tunnel. Preferably before he picked up the
gun.
    “The only one who’s going to die here today is you, Bobby,” she said as she moved
closer to Mulder, closer to the end of the tunnel. It was only after the words where out
that she thought to question them. **Bobby? What the hell?**
    Distracted from his task, Brown whirled on her, all traces of humor gone from his
face. “What did you call me?”
    “I called you Bobby. Would you prefer Robert? That is your real name, isn’t it?
Robert Neidert?”
    “How do you know that?” he questioned darkly, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
He stalked slowly towards where she now stood alongside Mulder, the gun all but
forgotten. “How do you know that?” he shouted.
    **Believe me, buddy, I wish I knew the answer to that one myself,** she thought.
Out loud she said, “I know all about you, Bobby. I know about Houston. And Syracuse.
Chicago. You’ve been a busy boy. Only thirty-four years old and you’ve already killed
27 people. You must be so proud,” she said sarcastically.
    “Oh, I think that number’s about to increase,” he said. “By two.”
    Scully could practically feel the FBI team moving closer and closer. This was taking
way too long. She needed him to be so pissed off that he’d forget all about Mulder, and
that gun, and come after her. She risked a quick glance at Mulder, who had been quietly
observing the exchange between her and Brown. Scully saw concern in his hazel eyes, not
for himself, but for her. It was if he knew somehow what she was planning, and she realized
that after so many years together, that was probably the case. Being able to know what the
other was thinking was part of what made them such a good team. She gave him a tiny smile
of reassurance before focusing once again on the lunatic before them.
    “I know about the cellar, Bobby.”
    His blue eyes darkened until they were the dark gray steel hue of the ocean before a
storm. He said nothing as he circled around in front of Mulder, effectively cutting off any
chance of escape through the entrance of the tunnel. Simultaneously she moved from her
partner’s left side until she stood behind him, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently once.
She could feel him tense beneath her fingers in anticipation of whatever was to come next.
    “I know about that time when you were seven, Bobby, and your dad locked you in the
cellar. The school bus got a flat tire, and you were late getting home, isn’t that right?”
    “Shut up,” he whispered.
    “He told you what an irresponsible little bastard you were and locked you in the cellar,
with no food, no water, and left you there. And when you cried and banged on the door,
begging him to let you out, what did he do? He turned out the light, didn’t he Bobby?”
    “I said shut the fuck up!”
    “He turned out the light and left you there, all alone in that cold, dark cellar, just you and
the rats, for three days, right Bobby? Three agonizingly long, terrifying days. I bet you thought
he wasn’t coming back, didn’t you? You thought he was just going to leave you there until you
died of starvation, or thirst, or fear, or a combination of the three.  And after the second day,
when you broke down and drank your own urine because you were so thirsty you couldn’t
stand it anymore, you wished you were dead, didn’t you Bobby? You wished he would
just come back and kill you and get it over with. Is that why you like this place so much?
Does it remind you of that cellar, Bobby?” She began to slowly back away from him,
towards the end of the tunnel, anticipating his reaction.
    “You’re going to wish you were dead by the time I’m finished with you, you bitch!” he
ground out harshly as he tossed the lighter he still held to one side and lunged for her.
    Scully turned and ran for the door, half-expecting to feel a hand on her arm as an enraged
Brown, or Neidert, or whatever the hell his name was, grabbed hold of her. A sudden crash
and groan of pain from Mulder stopped her in her tracks. **You’re supposed to come
after me**, she thought.
    Fearing the worst, she turned quickly, and was surprised by what she saw. Neidert hadn’t
attacked her partner, after all. Somehow Mulder had managed to tip his chair over into the
madman’s path, using himself as a human speed bump to buy her a little time. Not much
though, as Neidert was already picking himself up off the ground.
    “Scully, run,” Mulder wheezed. That little maneuver probably hadn’t done his already
injured ribs any good, she thought, as she took his advice. She hoped for Mulder’s sake
that one of those men in blue rapidly approaching the bend in the tunnel was a medic.
    When she was about five feet from the door, Scully risked a glance behind her. Neidert
was about fifteen feet back, and gaining.
    “Right behind you, Dana,” he sneered.
    As she hit the door and stumbled into the eastbound tunnel of the Metro Blue line, she
wondered vaguely what she would have done if it had been locked.

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:00pm

    “Where’s Brentwell?”
    Special Agent Donald Peterson looked up in annoyance at the harshly barked question,
intending to put its inquisitor in his place for such a display of rudeness. That plan was
changed significantly when he realized just who the man before him, waiting rather
impatiently for an answer, was.
    “Assistant Director Skinner! Uh, Agent Brentwell and his team are in the
tunnel, sir,” he said nervously.
    “What’s going on down there? Have they located Agents Mulder and Scully
yet?”
    Suddenly Peterson wished he could be anywhere else on earth but where he
was. He knew this particular AD only by reputation, but even that was enough
for him to know that he didn’t want to be the one passing on this information.
    “We, uh, don’t exactly know, right now, Sir.”
    “Excuse me? Agent, what is your name?”
    “It’s Donald Peterson, Sir.”
    “And please enlighten me, Agent Peterson, how it is that we ‘don’t exactly
know’ what’s going on with this investigation?” His voice was deceptively calm,
but Peterson could feel the tension coming off of him in waves.
    “Well, Sir, Agent Brentwell and six men from his team entered the tunnel
approximately ten minutes ago, after finding what we believe to be Agent Scully’s
service weapon and jacket in that supply room over there,” he indicated the door
behind the security kiosk, hoping to at least momentarily direct the man’s steely gaze
anywhere other than at himself. Skinner, however, wasn’t so easily distracted.
    “Go on,” he coaxed.
    “We were in constant contact with them as they made their way down the tunnel,
which according to the blueprints, is approximately fifteen hundred feet long. They
were about halfway down the length, when the radios, uh, gave out. We lost contact.
We’re not sure why, Sir. Something is interfering with the signal, either something in the
construction of that tunnel, or the trains are on the same frequency, we just don’t know.
Agent Andrews is working on it, trying to get them back, but hasn’t made any progress
yet. In the last communication, they heard voices coming from the far end of the tunnel,
but hadn’t yet made a visual confirmation. That was about five minutes ago.”
    Skinner closed his eyes briefly and ran his hands over his head in a gesture that had to
be reminiscent of days long gone when there used to actually be something there to run
his fingers through.
    “Has anyone else gone down there?”
    “No Sir, Agent Brentwell told us to wait.”
    “Ok, so let’s see if I have this straight. There is a killer running around loose somewhere
inside this metro station. Our first strike team is incommunicado, no one else has gone in to
investigate further, and we still have commuters running around here as if nothing were
going on. Do I have it right so far?”
    Peterson lowered his eyes to the ground. When he put it like that…
    “Yes Sir, that’s about right,” he said apologetically.
    To Peterson’s surprise, the Assistant Director shook his head and gave a short bark
of laughter, saying something under his breath that sounded like “only Mulder and
Scully”. When he looked back to Peterson, however, all traces of amusement were
gone from his visage.
    “Ok, first of all, I want this station cleared out of all civilians. Now. I don’t care
how you do it, but I want everybody out of here, and I want no less than six agents
at the doors to make sure they stay out. Second, get on the line with whoever is in
charge of the running of these trains over at Metro’s central headquarters. I don’t
want any passengers disembarking here. Until further notice, all trains are to bypass
this station. And finally, get me a vest and two agents. I’m going down there.”

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:00pm

    Dana Scully burst into the Blue line tunnel and found herself on the edge of a tiny
alcove, no more than eighteen inches deep. Careful to avoid the two high-voltage rails
that powered the subway cars, she jumped from the tiny ledge to the tunnel floor,
instinctively heading to her right, towards the east, and the safety of the station platform,
still some fifteen hundred feet away. She took a half a step in that direction, and
stopped suddenly, the mysterious tape recorder in her brain once again kicking in,
as she ‘heard’ her own voice fill her ears… “all I know is that the way I want to go,
the way logic tells me to go, is going to be wrong. If I go that way, I will be killed.”
    She stood in the center of the tunnel, torn with indecision. Certainly to continue
further into the tunnel was suicide. She had no knowledge whatsoever of these
passages, while her pursuer had apparently spent quite some time studying them.
Even if she somehow managed to avoid being hit by an approaching train, Neidert
was sure to catch her. Everything in her cried out to go towards the platform, towards
help. She had learned from their recent research on this case that these tunnels held
an emergency call box every eight hundred feet, a phone that was built into a tiny
alcove, safe from the passing trains. Straining her eyes, she could barely make out a
weak blue light to the east, maybe five or six hundred feet away. To the west, the
tunnel curved rightwards as it made it’s way toward the Capital South station. Beyond
fifty feet or so, she could see nothing.
    Behind her, the door slammed open, ending any more chance she had for debate.
In an act of blind faith that would’ve made her partner proud, she turned and ran west,
deeper into the tunnel.

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:01pm

    Mulder tried to force himself to take deep, even breaths, but the stabbing pain in his
left side on each inhalation made the effort futile. He lay on his side, still bound tightly to
the wooden chair, the injured side of his face pressed lightly to the cool tile. There had
been no sound whatsoever since that maniac had followed Scully through the tunnel
door. He wasn’t yet sure if that were a good or bad thing.
    He lay there with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the staccato beat currently being
played on his brain by this latest concussion in favor of any kind of sound that might
indicate his partner’s safety. So focused was he on this endeavor, that he never noticed
the approach of the cavalry.
    “Agent Mulder!”
    Mulder’s eyes snapped open as he was suddenly surrounded by FBI agents, but he
found it difficult to focus on any particular face. His chair was righted, and the sudden
movement nearly caused him to lose consciousness. His head fell forward and he
groaned as he struggled against the dizziness that enveloped him. He had to stay
awake. For Scully.
    Chris Brentwell crouched before the injured man. “Agent Mulder, can you hear
me? Can you tell me what happened?” He gestured to one of the other agents. “Get
these restraints off him.”
    As the agent went to work on his bonds, Mulder raised his head and blinked several
times until Brentwell’s face came into focus. Now that he was upright, he was finding it
even harder to breathe. It felt like a hot poker was pressing into his side with each
breath. “Scully…Brown…followed her into the tunnel…that way…” He jerked his head
in the direction of the door his partner had gone through, wincing as a sharp pain lanced
through his head at the movement. “Got to…stop the trains…” he wheezed.
     “Ok Mulder, we’ll take care of it. Don’t worry,” Brentwell soothed. “Agent Chang.”
    A petite, Asian woman in her late twenties, her straight black hair pulled back
into a severe ponytail stepped over. To Mulder, she appeared to be even smaller
than Scully.
    “Yes sir?”
    “Agent, is it my understanding that you currently hold the Quantico record for
fastest Women’s Hundred Meter Dash in the history of the Academy?”
    “Actually sir, it was the Thousand Meter, and it was fastest men’s or women’s time,”
she smiled.
    “Even better,” he replied. “I need you to get a message to Agent Peterson. Tell him
I want all trains between the Capital South station to our west and the Potomac Avenue
station to our east stopped immediately. I don’t care where they are or who’s on them,
I want them stopped. We’ve got an agent out there on that track somewhere. Also, have
him call an ambulance and get a stretcher down here for Agent Mulder. Quickly, Agent.”
    At that, she was already off and running towards the beginning of the tunnel,
her “Yes sir!” an afterthought tossed back to him over her shoulder.
    “Paige, Ziegler, you two stay here with Agent Mulder until the EMTs arrive.
White, Kramer, and Odbert, you three come with me.” Weapons in hand, the four
agents headed for the door at the end of the tunnel.

 
Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train
Friday
2:02pm

    Scott Wells picked up the microphone and prepared to pass along the message
he’d just received to his passengers. This was going to piss off a few people, he was
sure. In his experience, most folks just didn’t take well to a change in plans, especially
if that change took them a few miles out of their way. Yep, they were going to be
ticked, and most likely at him. Not too many people seemed to realize that the Metro
train operators didn’t actually run the trains. No sir, that was all done at the Metro
Headquarters Building via computer.  His job was mainly to open and close the doors,
announce the stops, and occasionally pass along messages like the one he was about to
deliver. **Oh well, best get it over with,** he thought.
    “Attention Blue Line passengers: I’ve just received word of a temporary closure at our
Eastern Market station due to a possible power outage. We have been ordered to bypass
this station without stopping until further notice. Our next stop will be Potomac Avenue.
At that time, any passengers needing to return to the Eastern Market area may do so via
shuttle bus, free of charge. The DC Metropolitan Transit Authority apologizes for any
inconvenience this may cause.”

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:03pm

    Scully moved as quickly down the dark tunnel as she dared, wishing more than
anything for a flashlight. The low, droning hum of the high-voltage rails was a constant
companion, sounding not at all unlike an angry hive of bees daring anyone to try and
steal the fruits of their labor. Scully knew that one wrong step in either direction
would carry a much more deadly sting than any insect.
    Not wanting to lose ground by looking, she judged by the curses and threats coming
from Neidert that he was between ten and fifteen feet behind her, apparently just as
wary with his steps as she.
    She estimated that they had traveled perhaps seventy-five feet down the tunnel
when Scully heard a sound that made her blood run cold. From somewhere up ahead,
around the never-ending northwestward curve of the tunnel that obscured the view
that she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to witness anyway, came the low, rumbling
drone that could only signify one thing: the approach of an oncoming train.
    Apparently Neidert heard it too, for his constant, rambling narrative of all the things
he was going to do when he caught her ended abruptly.
    Not nearly far enough ahead for her liking, Scully heard the whine of the car’s dynamic
brakes as it slowed down in preparation for the sharp curve that she and Neidert were
at the far end of. She gave up all pretense of caution and simply ran as hard as she could,
her eyes straining for a glimpse of the tiny blue glow representing her salvation. From the
train, at least. The last emergency phone had been at least seven hundred feet in the other
direction. The next one had to be close.
    Finally she saw it, twenty feet ahead and on the right, so near, and at the same time so
far away. The approaching train was so close now she could feel it’s vibrations in her
teeth, and worse yet, she could see the first glow of its headlights shining around the curve
of the tunnel. Fifteen feet, then ten, she could still hear the screeching of the brakes ahead
of her, and imagined she heard the harsh breath of the monster behind her.
    Not daring to hope that someone knew they were there and might stop the train in time,
she forced herself to move faster, cursing not for the first time the short legs inherited from
her maternal grandmother. Almost there, she readied herself to leap for the safety of the
alcove, and was surprised by the sudden twist of her ankle that brought her to the ground.
It was only pure luck, she was sure, that brought her arms out quickly enough to break her
fall, stopping her with her face mere inches from the charged rail. She could feel every fine
hair on her face standing on end, and let loose a shaky breath of relief as she struggled to
regain her feet.
    Neidert was right behind her now, no more than five feet away as the train at last
rumbled into view. With a cry of pain as she forced her injured ankle into action, she
launched herself towards the alcove that in the face of the looming train didn’t seem
large enough to accommodate even her own small frame. Pressing herself as close to
the wall as possible, she turned her face into the cool brick and held on for dear life
as she felt a tug on her arm that could only be her nemesis. She closed her eyes,
thinking, **at least Mulder’s all right**, as she waited for it all to be over.

Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train
Friday
2:04pm

    “Metro Center, this is Blue Line train number one-oh-one-three eastbound
on track six. Please respond.”
    “Train number one-oh-one-three, this is Metro Center. Go ahead, Scott.”
    “Frank, we were told not two minutes ago to continue on past Eastern Market
to Potomac Avenue, and now I’m coming up on Eastern Market getting a red
signal. Please clarify.”
    “Train one-oh-one-three, we’ve just received emergency notification that all
trains in your area must be stopped temporarily. There’s the possibility of an…
obstruction on the track up ahead. You should be stopping momentarily. Please
inform your passengers that there will be a slight delay while we clear the tracks,
and apologize for their inconvenience. Over.”
    Before he could reply, Scott heard the metallic whine of the brakes as they
began to gently slow the train from its current speed of sixty-five miles per hour.
    As they entered the steep turn that headed into the Eastern Market station, Scott
picked up the microphone to the onboard PA system and prepared to give his
passengers this latest bit of bad news. He got as far as “Ladies and Gentlemen, I
regret to inform you…” when the sight before him caused him to drop the mike as
he rushed for the emergency override system. He hit the brakes as hard as he dared,
not wanting to risk an even worse catastrophe by jumping the tracks, but when they
slammed into the so-called “obstruction”, they were still going a steady thirty-five miles
an hour.

End Chapter Ten
 

On to Chapter Eleven...

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