John 6: 36 By Jimmy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Prologue He took off his glasses and examined the lens. Sure enough, there was a smudge. Walter winced in distaste. He knew exactly how the offensive smear appeared. On the elevator ride up to his floor, a total stranger turned to him and sneezed wetly on to his face. It took every inch of control for Skinner to not palm the man's head and swerve it at the opposite direction - towards the wall. The purveyor of miserable colds profusely apologized to the Assistant Director before getting off on his floor, leaving Skinner to dab his face dry with the sleeve of his raincoat. Skinner sighed; he didn't know why he bothered wearing glasses anymore. He didn't need them, the lens were actually clear glass. His vision was near perfect, something he kept secret from everyone at The Bureau. His sight did suffer mildly from the natural effects of aging, but Skinner was able to hit dead target on the range with or without his fragile façade. He only began wearing them when an old Marine buddy recommended them nearly two decades ago. "Walt, my man, you are a Marine, and that means you are never going to get any respect from the suits. As far as the world's concerned, you are an eternal grunt. Nobody's going to take you seriously, so you have to look the part. Get my glasses, they're fake, but man, do they make me look smart Monday mornings." After two years of drudging in the ranks, watching other, less deserving, but smarter looking men climb over him, Skinner took the advice seriously. A little over a year later, he was promoted. He was too happy then to actually mull over the reasons why he rose in rank. He had already accepted the fact that he didn't look the part of an administrative leader. On the field, in the jungle, he could wrangle anyone to follow him. However, behind the desk, it was a different matter altogether. He remembered with unreasonable rancor the single word that was used to describe him when he went through the Academy - brutish. He was a big man, with the shoulder girth to match his height. The years of being a Marine made him big. Vietnam leaned him, drying him into sinew and pain, but two years of living in the U.S. after the war filled him out to the point that nobody dare pick on him, even when he was the direct cause of their misery. He knew he didn't look sharp; his face wasn't profiled tightly, his eyes didn't threaten with DNA-graced intelligence. So, he made himself look the part by mimicking those who automatically got respect because of their demeanor, their dress and usage of vocabulary. He never smiled, only gave a nod of acknowledgement. He never gave personal information, never socialized with others of his rank. By distancing himself from everyone around him, he became an enigma. And a mystery is always respected until it is solved, so Skinner had no plans of being unraveled anytime soon. His thoughts gingerly touched a corner he didn't want to approach, but his meandering mind slipped underneath his defenses. Men like Fox Mulder ... they get respect because they look the part - the intelligent rebel, the man who answers to no one because there's no one their equal. The dark thought penetrated the Novocain Skinner injected into his mind after Agent Mulder vanished. He didn't want to touch the topic; it still tasted bitterly of failure, of bad leadership. Walter closed his eyes and shook his head. He forced his mind to switch-hit and instead of the painful topic of his missing agent, his focus landed on his ex-wife. This is not working. I can't do this. He wondered if Sharon was having a good time on her honeymoon. He wondered if her surgeon husband treated her with the respect his beloved deserved. He hoped the new husband lived with the knowledge that no matter what he bought for Sharon, he would always be second to an ex-Marine. Walter took a deep breath; it wasn't fair to attack the widower. The man gave Sharon something Walter could not - children. Two beautiful kids with fiery red hair, dancing green eyes and hearts so greedy for a new mother, Skinner didn't stand a chance when Sharon saw them. As Mulder would have pointed out - it was a conspiracy. A boy and a girl, at that tender age where they toed the first step into adulthood. They took one look at Sharon and decided she would be more than acceptable as their new mother. It took them three months before Sharon gave them keys to her apartment. It took Skinner over a year before Sharon allowed him to sleep with her in the same bed. David and Michelle. David with his artistic sensibility, Michelle with her MENSA genius, they wheedled, bribed, and wooed her into their father's life until Sharon became a willing stranger to Skinner. Michelle followed Sharon like a puppy, asking her advice about boys and other sundry items only women would discuss. David constantly bombarded the prospective girlfriend with invitations to his recitals, knowing she would never reject one. And Sharon loved the attention, the feeling of a family, something Skinner could never provide. In the end, all he could do is sign the bottom line and let her go. He didn't attend the wedding. He never got the invitation, but it didn't surprise him. Sharon knew better than to hope he would get over the divorce in order to come to the wedding and assuage her guilt of abandoning him. Skinner hoped the new husband couldn't cut it in bed. Paris might be beautiful, but not even that glorious city could make up for an inadequate performance in the martial quarters Skinner slammed the folders shut and nearly tossed them across the office. Instead, he packed them neatly into his briefcase. Dinner reading. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The figure trailed the wooden carving, the pudgy fingers gracing the tortured lines of Christ on the Cross. The far gazing eyes examined the emaciated face of the creature who allegedly came to die for Man. The hands suddenly clinched into fists as rage ricocheted itself into the ordinary figure. I didn't know what you were. I didn't know who you were. All I did was strike you once and for that single, all too human mistake, you condemn me to walk this earth for eternity. I did no wrong; yet you punish me year after year, forbidding me to find that eternal peace called death. The muddy blue eyes flew to the computer screen then to the windows of the abandoned church. He found peace here, sanctuary on holy ground made ordinary by sheer lack of faith. Faith. He had that, so much of that. Faith in himself; faith in mankind's stupidity and their inadequacies; faith that God no longer cared what happened to his precious creation. He had incomprehensible amount of faith and he was about to prove it once more. Frank Black. The man disappeared three years ago. He was the only mortal worthy enough to be called adversary. The cipher nearly caught him not once, but twice and he knew it was by sheer luck he escaped Frank Black the second time. But now he couldn't find him. Black didn't have any e-mail addresses, not even at the FBI Academy where he was rumored to teach, or at the headquarters where he was spotted once or twice by the voracious press. Frank Black deliberately managed to take himself out of reach either by reason or by instinct, and he admired the cautious man for it. In this day and age, it was nearly impossible to vanish from the electronic radar. So, he would have to arrange something tremendous, something even vulgar in order to get Black's attention. He would have to use the Internet again. The thought of repetition didn't bother him since he loved the Internet. It was a useful tool when he decided to unveil himself in a world composed of binary codes and electronic data. And, in the end, he managed to elude his chasers by submerging quietly into the electronic stream, his trail forever washed away by the minute of cyberspace. In the aftermath, he admitted he was successful beyond his own calculations - an extremely rare but pleasing phenomenon. He began composing a website. Not like the one he fashioned last time - this one would utilize live, real-time webcams with constant feed. He would show the world that having faith in something as unworthy as computers and servers was a foolhardy religion indeed. The Internet Killer looked at the dying sun and smiled. It was just the end of a day for him, but the beginning of a hellish night for the FBI. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The servers in the steel re-enforced great hall digested quietly. They were the silent guardians who sifted tirelessly through billions of codes, looking for the grail, the reason why they existed in the first place. Since the moment their creator plugged them in, they ceaselessly searched for a hint of the Resurrection. Now, after seventeen months of constant vigilance, they found the first trace. Without hesitation, the massive systems compiled data they secretly drained from their target. Then, after their research fulfilled the requisite criteria established two years ago, they typed out the single word message and dialed it into their creator's cell phone. AVATAR ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter One Skinner entered his office, bracing himself for another aggravation-ridden day. He didn't know why his hackles were up, but his instincts, honed by years of experience, told him the working hours would not begin normally for him. As he checked his voice mail, he wondered how Scully was faring. "Sir?" He raised his head, startled to see the subject of his musings standing in the doorway. "Scully, come in." "Thank you, sir." After Mulder's disappearance, Scully no longer needed formalities when conversing with her superior. Skinner's no- nonsense but kind attitude made the pain of loss easier to bear, and she was unafraid to show her gratitude for Skinner's tactful treatment of her. "I got this e-mail ... from Mulder's account. I thought the whole thing was a practical joke until I checked out the web-page myself." She handed him printouts. Skinner flipped through them, frowning. "What am I looking at?" "I did some research, and this is what I came up with." Skinner flipped through the thick manila folder and the frown dissipated into worry. "This is troublesome to say the least. Are you sure?" "No, sir, but I think we should monitor the web-site carefully. Officially, The Internet Killer was declared dead from the explosion. However, as you can see, there are different opinions." "And you side ..." "With caution, sir. I have nothing to base my opinion on, but if what Mr. Black says is true - then the killer is still alive." "But this was when he worked for The Millennium Group. Their credibility is questionable, and that's putting it mildly." "That doesn't mean they were wrong on this particular case, sir. And I've met Mr. Black. He doesn't strike me as a man who makes mistakes. If anything in that folder is true, then this situation can and will escalate, quickly." "All right, I'll put McKinney on it. Let him monitor the website until there's a change. And Scully, if there are any further e- mails regarding this, you will let me know?" "Definitely. Thank you for your time." "Take care, agent." He returned his focus on to the voice mail. Nevertheless, he managed to study the female agent as she walked away. The shoulders were still straight, the stance bolstered by her usual confidence. He admired her strength, her ability to deal with the whispers and the quiet accusations hounding her after Mulder vanished. Human nature dictates that when there's a failure, someone must be blamed. And in this case, Scully was dragged to the altar as the sacrificial lamb. But she never complained. She never sought the sanctuary in lashing back against her detractors, and he wondered if that was because she knew better, or because she did actually blame herself for Mulder's disappearance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frank dried his hands on the rag as he strolled to his mailbox. The smell of paint and turpentine permeated his clothes, making him slightly dizzy. Jordan was getting older; she no longer wanted her bedroom to be yellow, but demanded that it be forest green. He wondered what his reaction would be when she came home with a boyfriend. He winced, that jarring experience was still years away. He still had time or so he hoped. Smiling crookedly he flipped through the scant collection of envelopes. Most of them were addressed to "Resident." He felt relief to be anonymous, to finally be able to distance himself and Jordan from the horrors that dominated his life for decades. A car drove by slowly and Frank looked at it as it disappeared down the street. It was Ms. Hanscom, a shy widow who lived two blocks away. He knew she had a slight crush on him, and he was extremely careful to ensure that she was never encouraged. He had Catherine and she was all he ever wanted. Catherine chose him. In spite of all that he was, in spite of all the monsters he dragged home with him day after day, she chose him and stayed with him until he became the thing that terrified him most. And even then, she fought to have him return if not to her heart, then to the right side of humanity. And she gave him Jordan. Even when her life was hanging in the balance, Catherine chose him by saving Jordan. I miss you. I miss you every day. Jordan reminds me of you, and I am so grateful to see your kindness in her eyes. There was a white envelope specifically addressed to him. The return address was University of Pennsylvania's Drama Department. Frank systematically filtered his memory and came up with blank. He didn't know anyone in UPenn. With some curiosity he opened the envelope and read the flyer. *The Mikado has returned...* The ashen man felt his body heat seep through his feet and into the sidewalk. His pupils dilated as he read the invitation to the opening night performance. Another car drove by but Frank willed himself to not look. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to see. But he had no choice. He never did. Jordan. The slips of paper and envelopes nipped at his feet after he dropped them as he ran back into the house. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Daddy!" The cry of unbridled joy shattered Frank's fears as Jordan came running towards him. He smiled, kneeled and embraced his daughter fiercely as she slammed into him. Her voice never failed to make him forget and Frank buried his face into the riotous brown curls. "What did you do today?" He asked. "We talked about stuff." Jordan responded in a bored tone. "Oh, stuff." Frank teased. "Any interesting stuff?" "No, just stuff. And you daddy?" "I might have to go away for a little while." Frank explained apologetically. He didn't want to leave her, but the missive told him the animal knew where he lived. Where Jordan lived, and if Frank wanted to sleep again, he had to catch the killer. No choices now. None. "Catching bad men again, daddy?" Jordan asked fearfully. She felt the slight coldness in her father's temperance and instinctively knew things were changing once more, against her prayers, against her father's wishes. "Yes, Jordan, I am, but I'll come back. I promise." He knew she could feel him distancing himself already. The necessary requirement of freezing his soul before he descended. It pained him to know that she could sense it, and hoped she believed it wasn't her fault that he did what he did. "I love you daddy." Jordan whispered and tightened her embrace. Frank closed his eyes and returned the fierce show of affection. Jordan knew, just like her mother. Just like him and he could never forgive God for blessing his daughter with her father's gift. No place to hide. No place to run. I can't run anymore either. I'm too old to run, and I can't do that to Jordan again. Oh God, please, let me come home. Please. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He flipped through the thick volume, randomly checking out names in the White Pages. Finally, out of boredom, he took a pen, closed his eyes then dropped it. He saw the name and the address that was marked with the ink and smiled. He knew the neighborhood well. He used to live there. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She stared at the word still flashing on her cell. She wanted it to go away. She knew there was always a chance he would come back. But after three years of silence, she grew to hope that he would never return to violate her world again. But the message lighting up her phone told another story altogether. She didn't move as she calculated odds and risks her mind could not fathom. She shouldn't have begun a hunt on her own. She wasn't a hunter; only the clerk who catalogued the catches after the true huntsmen came home with their trophies. She should have known her inadequacies before she began her quest. People like her weren't meant for one-to-one contact with the real world. She wasn't strong enough, but now she had no choice. She began this, and whether it was out of hubris or stupidity, she had to finish it. The small, wiry hands trembled as she began typing on the keyboard. The black within black eyes reflected flashes on the screen as she began hacking into The FBI servers. She wondered if she would live through this; she calculated the odds were against her survival. They will find me. And this time, they won't miss. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter Two Frank didn't know where to turn for help. He had severed most of his connections to The FBI nearly a year ago and gladly embraced the private sector. He still had trustworthy contacts within Behavioral Sciences, but he did not want to jeopardize their careers by having them risk their reputation and pension when Avatar spiraled out of control. He wished he had Agent Mulder's direct number; at least Mulder could communicate with him in a truthful manner without endangering his position or his partner's. He heard Jordan prepare for bed. She was such a good little girl, Frank knew he was blessed to have such insightful and tolerant daughter. He wondered if he should get her another puppy for her birthday. The grateful father sighed. He knew what Jordan really wanted for her birthday - to see her grandparents again. When the custody battle for his daughter began with Catherine's parents, Black was terrified he would lose the one beacon in his life. The fear only escalated after he helped Agent Mulder and Agent Scully find their necromancer. His fears, though reasonable, proved false. Frank found supporters from corners of his past he had forgotten. Admiral Hunziger's widow, whose son he helped clear of murder, testified on his behalf. And then, an old FBI compatriot offered Frank a lucrative position within his firm. After signing the dotted line, the company forwarded the desperate father the funds he needed to hire first-water family law attorney. Geibelhouse, the detective who loathed Frank at the beginning of their relationship, flew from Seattle in order to testify on behalf of the beleaguered father. The man's stern sense of duty and blunt honesty won the jury over. And one sterling testimony after another from law enforcement agents, from victims or would-be victims whose cases were resolved by Black, made the grandparents realize they would lose in the end. The jury found for Black and the presiding judge severed all connection between grandparents and their granddaughter. He based his decision on the fact that they were the ones who initiated the futile lawsuit against their son-in-law. The stunned grandparents were now at the mercy of Frank's generosity and unfortunately for them, the victimized father still had to work out his anger before allowing them to see Jordan. He slid into his daughter's room and gently kissed her forehead. He heard her slow breathing and knew she had fallen asleep already. He would get her a puppy for her birthday. Maybe, for Christmas, he will invite Justine and Tom over. Maybe. Resentment was an ugly thing, but sometimes it was catalytic, thus necessary. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Skinner stared at the package sitting on his coffee table. The courier didn't have a clue who was the originator, only that the sender of the box paid very handsomely to have it delivered to the Assistant Director at nine in the evening. He slowly opened the box, wary of traps. His frown deepened when he saw what was contained within. A laptop without logos, without any trademark. "What the hell ..." He muttered darkly and examined it for any bugging device or other visual clues. There was none. He searched the box while the mysterious computer powered up. He found a cell phone and a cord securely wrapped and placed in a plastic sleeve. Skinner didn't need directions and hooked up the laptop to the cell phone. He clicked on the only icon on the screen. He guessed it would line him up to whatever or whoever was responsible for this cryptic present. It took less than a minute for a pre-designated screen to appear. Skinner waited patiently and then nearly lost the grip on his coffee mug when a symbol appeared from the black background. Ouroboros. He had seen it once before, once in Mulder's report. It was directly linked to the defunct Millennium Group. *The time is now. Do you care?* The barefaced challenge annoyed Skinner. Whoever you are, this is illegal. He typed quickly. *You will have a hard time proving that.* The reply wasn't as annoying as the introduction. He sat back and thought for a while before continuing. What do you want? *Avatar is loose once more in our world. Find Frank Black. He is the only one who can stop the rampage from happening again. Were you the person who sent the e-mail to an agent of mine? Yes, I didn't know he was missing until after I sent the message. Find Black. Why don't you? Or is the Millennium Group no longer capable of controlling their members? If you want to turn this into a bitch session, go ahead. But I will not be your whipping horse. I question your reasons. And I question your resentment of Mr. Black, a man you never met, a man who also saved Agent Mulder's life. You never answered my question. If my reasons aren't plain enough to you, then I have mistaken the strength of your integrity. I will find Black on my own. And you can think of all the what-ifs until the day you die.* Before Skinner could further his question, the screen went blank and the connection was severed. The computer automatically powered down and when he tried to reactivate it, nothing happened. He realized this costly instrument was a one- time deal and he was now out of whatever loop the intruder wanted to drag him into. He sat back on the couch and wondered. After twenty minutes of pondering he reached for his phone. Skinner was on a friendly basis with McClaren, the division head who supervised Black when he briefly returned to work for The FBI. If anyone knew Black's whereabouts, it would be McClaren. He stared at the expensive doorstopper sitting on the table. In that instant, he knew whoever was behind the elaborate façade not only knew the truth, but also was terrified of it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully sipped her tea while shifting through her mail. She saw a small package and opened it to find a plain jewel case with an unmarked CD in it. She frowned and examined the envelope. There was no return address, not even a postage marking. The confusion grew into worry and she cautiously examined the CD. There was nothing else and after five minutes of patiently examining the CD she decided to plug it in. The explosion on her screen made her physically retract in her chair. The screen flooded with information and her computer was making aching noises as it vainly tried to digest the information zipped in the CD. Scully took a deep breath and clicked on an icon that magically appeared after the screen came to rest. "Oh my God," she uttered breathlessly. Scully understood she was now reading classified information from a source she didn't know existed. It was The Millennium Groups' private database and the focal point was Avatar. Someone knew about the e-mail warning and Scully guessed it was the same stranger. She read the detailed reports, the numerous, conflicting eyewitness accounts which were never made public or available even to The FBI. Scully wondered if the sender was friend or foe or if this was a ruse to get her discredited enough in The Bureau to have her permanently removed from her position. Then she read the last message and knew the truth was far worse. Trust No One. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He calmly strolled the block, recalling the few good months of pleasure he had spent, pretending to be the normal working Joe, complete with a beautiful wife. That was before his past caught up with him. He spared Amy and she went on to marry another man. She never figured out what happened to her devoted husband, only that his car was found abandoned on a country road. A yellow house caught his eye and he studied the beautifully decorated Queen Anne. Something tickled his memory and he closed his eyes in order to catch the slippery thought. Frank Black lived in a yellow house. That was enough and he was sold. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Hey, sorry for waking you. This is Skinner." "Hello, Skinner. Isn't it a bit late for small talk?" "I have a strange request. Do you know where Frank Black lives now?" "What do you want with Frank?" The usage of first name, the defensive tone confirmed Skinner's suspicions. Black wasn't without friends in The Bureau. "I think I need his help." "Skinner, Black doesn't want anything to do with us. He's got a life now, totally separate from what he did for my division or for the Behavioral Sciences. And, I, for one, am damn glad to see him finally let go. It was killing him, plain and simple." "I think he would like to know about this. It concerns Avatar." "That case is over. The Internet Killer ..." "We have information that says otherwise. McClaren, if there's even a sliver of chance my suspicions are correct, Frank's in danger. He has the right to know, if only to protect himself. And if my memory serves me correctly, he has a daughter, doesn't he? I heard he was in some sort of custody battle." "He won, thank God. Are you serious about this?" "Unfortunately, I am." "Then let me contact Frank. And if he wants to pursue the matter further, he will contact you himself." "I can't ask for more than that under the circumstances. Thanks and sorry for bothering you." "For his sake and for ours, I hope this comes to nothing. Good night." Skinner glanced at the dead computer and knew that hope would remain unfulfilled. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter Three Scully marched through the regular morning throng gathered in the hallways. It never ceased to amuse her how the young Turks liked to make themselves visible to their superiors by discussing with each other allegedly secretive information in the middle of the corridor. She wondered if they would ever come to the realization they were just annoying and provided only endless source of amusement for the brass. "Agent Scully." She turned around to greet her superior, someone she need not impress by false means. "Sir." She responded, tucking a sliver of rebellious hair behind her ears. The feminine gesture was made more graceful by the slim fingers and the lovely color of the errant lock. The woman immediately became the center of attention of the men surrounding her and the various conversations died down as the viewers jealously observed the comfortable interaction between Scully and the Assistant Director. Skinner held back his amusement. She still had no idea the extent of the power she held over men, only that it was a weapon at best, an annoyance at worst. And she had neither the time nor the inclination to use it even under the most pressing circumstances. "I think you should see this." She commented, holding up what looked like to Skinner an innocuous CD. Then he remembered the computer still sitting on his coffee table and knew Scully succeeded where he failed. The knowledge didn't bother him in the least; she was constantly exposed to Mulder and his ideas, thus becoming more open-minded, even when it was against her will. He gestured for her to follow and heard the din rise behind them once more as Scully disappeared into his office. "It was with the mail, but there was no postmark on the envelope. I opened it and found information that was hitherto unknown to not only the public, but also The FBI." "You didn't wait to bring it into the lab?" Skinner asked, frowning. He thought an intelligent woman like Scully would be cautious and check to make sure the CD wasn't rigged to destroy her computer or give access to a hacker. Then he realized she behaved unusually because she believed it might contain information about her missing partner. "No, but what I found will astonish you." She answered. Skinner sat back and waited for his own laptop to bring up the information. What flashed on his screen nearly made him lose his composure. "I've never seen anything like it, sir, anywhere." Scully stated in awe as the experience was no different the second time around. "This is The Millennium Group's information?" "I believe so." "And that means the Group ..." "Either lied or their testimony was deliberately tampered with before we received it." "What do you think, agent?" "I don't think Mr. Black would intentionally mislead us. He's chased Avatar twice, and had as much to lose as the rest of us. I think he filled out whatever paperwork was necessary, but somewhere down the line, it changed." "This ... data, if it's correct, then that web-site you reported yesterday is a window to a future murder." "I believe so. Sir, I think we need to consult with Mr. Black on this. I know his reputation within The Bureau is less than stellar, but we can't deny the fact that he was the only law enforcement personnel who got even close to Avatar." "You realize his presence would make this investigation more difficult." Scully understood the warning and smiled sadly. "I've long been used to that, sir." "All right then. I will ..." The intercom beeped and Skinner answered it impatiently. "What is it?" "I have a Mr. Frank Black here to see you, sir. He doesn't have an appointment but he insists on seeing you." Scully's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and Skinner felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on their ends. "Send him in and cancel my morning appointments." "Yes, sir." Skinner stood up to meet the greatest legend Quantico ever produced. Behavioral Sciences, though respected, was feared by the regular Feds. And Frank Black was a great example of why that practice was justified. He was nicknamed Witch Doctor by his peers while going through The Academy, and was later titled Nostradamus by the younger interns who went through the same track Black did. The behaviorist graduated after Skinner, but he rose in rank faster than any agent in FBI's recent history. Skinner actually applied for The Behavioral Sciences division after spending seven years in the field. He liked the fact that the department danced on an edge; that it used cold, intellectual calculations mixed with the sweat of the hunt to drive its agents to outdo their last performance. His application was summarily rejected, the main reason citing his non-too-stellar academic record. Though he came with recommendations nothing short of brilliant, they said he lacked something - something Black possessed in abundance. "Good morning, Mr. Black." Scully greeted the visitor with a warm handshake. "Good morning, Agent Scully." Black turned his bright eyes to the tall figure sitting behind the desk. The man blinked once and Skinner instinctively knew the guest sized him up. It annoyed him that Black did it with one blink and not two. "Mr. Black." Skinner, "What can we do for you?" "Thank you for seeing me. I ..." Black stopped speaking when he caught sight of the computer screen. "I see you know." "Yes, I received that in the mail yesterday." Scully explained. "Does it look familiar?" Black smiled humorlessly. "Yes, yes it does. I filled out pages of it. How did you get access?" "I didn't. It came anonymously. Nothing to indicate who or what sent me the information." Black turned to Skinner, "Did you receive such information also?" "No, one better. I was given a computer which linked me up to the stranger probably responsible for this gathering. I'm afraid I didn't do so well and the person severed the connection." Black strolled up to the laptop and examined the data more closely. "Whoever is responsible was or is a member of The Group. No one, not even an hacker, could get access to such classified material." "Are you saying that The Millennium Group never disbanded?" Scully asked, surprised to hear Black talk so openly about his former compatriots. "I don't think they know how, Agent Scully. What is certain is that whoever sent this risked his or her life to do so." "Then, in all likelihood, the warning is valid." Skinner concluded. "But how could they know?" "Because they were on the lookout for the necessary signs, while we believed otherwise because we were told he was dead." Scully's cold assessment garnished a glance from Black. She explained further. "The official FBI stance on this is that Avatar did not survive the explosion." "Then you were misinformed. I never stated to that conclusion in all my reports." "Yes, we are coming to that realization now." Skinner added. "Who do you think tampered with them?" "The same people who will continue to hinder our investigation." "But why? What interest could The Millennium Group have in Avatar if only to stop him?" Scully's question was only logical, but Frank could not bring himself to recount the story of Lucas Barr, the resurrected Ed Cuffle, and how The Millennium Group managed to recreate in an innocent man, one of the most horrific serial killers ever let loose in the world. In the end, he resorted to silence as his only answer. Skinner saw the answer surfacing, trying to break through the man's cemented exterior. But he knew Black couldn't reply. He could identify loyalty, albeit reluctant, in any person. "We will need to contact Behavioral Sciences and set up a task force." Skinner stated the obvious to fill the empty air if only with his voice. "Is someone monitoring the web-site?" "Yes, we assigned an agent as of yesterday. I talked with him when I came in, and he told me nothing has changed as of yet." "That will change very soon." Black corrected respectfully. The indescribable eyes were far away, in a place that reminded Skinner of the northern jungles; Scully the Dante's Hell inside an ice mountain. "Right, let me set up the conference for nine-thirty. Mr. Black, you will be staying?" "Of course, Assistant Director. And thank you for allowing me to become involved. I know this is a difficult time for both you and for Agent Scully." The kind acknowledgement brought a small but grateful smile from Scully. "Mr. Black, if you wish, I can show you the web-site." Scully offered and the guest accepted, leaving Skinner to do the administrative work necessary to bring together the biggest manhunt in the history of the FBI. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter Four "Aren't you at least a bit curious as to whom brought you here?" Scully's question elicited a worn smile from her compatriot. "I have long ceased to be interested in the manipulators, Agent Scully, only their reasons. However, I have to admit, I am curious - how did you know which report to trust? Especially since The Millennium Group lost all legitimacy in the eyes of The Bureau." "The official one filed with us seemed correct, and your alleged final conclusion seems to support the theory that Avatar died. However, they didn't get everything, and a report by someone name Roedecker got filed alongside yours. He mailed his to The Bureau three weeks late. In his, you concluded that Avatar escaped. I don't know, maybe I trust a man who fills his reports by hand. An unnatural prejudice?" "I doubt that." Black responded warmly, remembering the overzealous technical braintrust whose invaluable help nearly brought Avatar to justice. "How is Jordan?" "She's doing well. Schoolwork is getting to her and her birthday's coming up. I'm thinking about a puppy." "That will make a very decent present indeed. Here we are." Scully opened a door that led into a brightly lit lab. Scully felt the sudden distance Black put between himself and her person. The weather worn face tightened, yet the grooves etching the visage deepened, right down to the bone. She wondered if few of those craggy lines were scars and not the works of nature. Scully belatedly realized no one would survive the wounds those deep scars would inflict. Nevertheless, she wondered. "Agent McKinney, this is Frank Black. He'll be working with us. Any changes?" "Well, nothing as of yet. It's like some damn real estate video. Here, see this house ... here, see that house." "May I?" McKinney gladly relinquished the derriere-numbing stool to the guest. "Have fun." "Any addresses or markers that would identify where the camera's been heading?" Black asked, peering into the screen. "No, and that's the most worrisome thing. If this was some joke, I would have seen a street sign or an address. But so far, nothing. Whoever's feeding the camera has been extremely cautious, and that means premeditation. He or she might not have done this before, but he's been practicing it inside his head for a long, long time not to give away any clues at all." "And you've been studying this since yesterday?" Scully asked. McKinney momentarily lost his composure but nodded as his response. Dana smiled a little, McKinney reminded her of another agent, one who stepped in front of her and took a bullet that was meant for her. A fellow agent she should have treated better while he was alive. And she was determined to not make the same mistake with his replacement. "Exactly how up-to-date is The Bureau's equipment?" Black's question only deepened McKinney's blush. The agent responded sheepishly, "Not great, but not a total loss either. It's the same old story; by the time we get it, it's passé. There's no way we could keep up with modern trends. The Bureau just doesn't have the financial resources." "Will that be a problem?" Scully asked. "Maybe, probably. I don't know; I'm afraid I'm not very proficient with computers." Black confessed. "But from what I remember, we were allowed to use some very high end equipment. I haven't seen anything equivalent since I left the group." "Let me try something. I'll be right back." Scully quickly dashed to the elevators and went to the basement. She had saved the initial e-mail that triggered her interest. She hit the reply button and composed a brief note. *We need equipment. Mr. Black does not know what kind. Do you?* She informed Black what she had done when she returned to the lab. "I sent a message to the person who alerted us in the first place. I don't know if anything's going to come of it, but we can try." "McKinney is breaking the transmission down, frame by frame to see if he missed anything. My guess is, if this is Avatar, he would have sent us clues already." "This early?" Scully asked, surprised to hear Black's assessment. "I believe Avatar started this race weeks ago, maybe even months. We're not coming in the beginning of the conversation, Agent Scully. We're in the middle and we have a lot of catching up to do." "Agent Scully? I think you should see this." The high pitched tone of McKinney's request caught both Scully and Black's interest. The movement of the camera slowed down tremendously, it was becoming deliberate as it scanned the neighborhood. Black knew Avatar was teasing now, and that meant he was near the finish line. There were children passing by the anonymous figure. No doubt on their way to school. There were so many people who walked alongside the possible murderer, oblivious of the fact that their lives were in terrible danger. The tense situation made Scully wince inwards. The camera suddenly jerked to standstill and panned slowly to the right, towards a gaily painted yellow house. "Oh, no." Black whispered. Scully didn't need further provocation. She called for Skinner. The three witnesses watched as the camera made its way towards the back of the house. Somehow evading detection by the owners and even the people threading the sidewalk. "Why isn't anyone looking? Why isn't anyone stopping ..." McKinney's tinny tirade stopped when the camera focused on a sliding screen door located at the back of the house. The door to the lab banged opened, startling the viewers. Skinner strode forward. "What's going on?" He asked, knowing he wouldn't like the answer. "Sir ..." Scully didn't finish the sentence as the flash on the screen grabbed her attention. The three FBI personnel watched and finally understood what they were up against. A family was sitting around a breakfast nook, getting ready for the day. Avatar managed to get three steps into the house before the son caught sight of him. The teenage boy stood up, shouting and pointing at the intruder. The first shot took down the father in his chair. The mother fared no better. Two bullets went through her throat, taking the woman down, but she was still alive when the camera swerved away from her. The son did something miraculous then. Perhaps his exposure to media violence or videogames hardened him, or maybe it was something nobler. But whatever the reason, he bravely shoved his sister first through the kitchen door. He then turned around and began throwing whatever he could lay his hands on at the shooter. A cereal bowl must have made contact because the camera suddenly swung down to the floor. When it came back up, the audience saw the boy rushing the killer with what looked like a stool. He didn't make two steps. The first bullet shattered the kid's kneecap and the child crashed on to the floor. The second bullet finished him. The camera jiggled as the person chased the only surviving witness. The daughter who couldn't have been older than Jordan didn't go outside. Instead, she ran upstairs. "Oh God no." Scully hissed as the killer leisurely followed the girl. "Where the hell is this?" Skinner's question went unanswered. It took the killer less than two minutes to discover the girl. She bravely fought back and even used her small teeth. For some unfathomable reason he let her go after minutes of struggle. She was running down the hallway when the first bullet struck her squarely in the back, probably lower spine. The girl tumbled forward, falling down the stairs. McKinney stood still, unable to comprehend the massacre perpetrated right in front of his eyes. Skinner had a firm grasp on the receiver, but he had forgotten what number he had to dial. Scully watched as Avatar took the dish towel, dipped it into the many blood puddles and scribbled a message on the pristine white kitchen cabinets. *Good Morning, Frank. * The screen went black. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She was struggling to push herself further into the corner as she sobbed helplessly. She saw the black screen and she was glad to be finally let go. The tears burned their way down her cheeks as she moaned into her knees. It took her ten full minutes before she could force herself to approach the computer, crawling on her hands and knees. She didn't want to see; nevertheless, she had no choice. She suspected The FBI and Black were watching the murders, but she knew their computers could not possibly begin to digest what occurred in the timeline they were working on. The e-mail alert caught her attention and she opened it. She read Scully's message and the request gave her an idea. She knew she was taking a huge risk, but if they were to have any chance, she had to risk more. She began tracking down Roedecker. Black would need him, terribly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "We need to ... find ... the address. McKinney?" "I am trying right now to go frame by frame. Maybe the camera swung by something real fast and we missed it, but nothing so far." The agent didn't realize his hands were trembling so badly, they couldn't type properly. "Mr. Black, any thoughts?" He turned to Skinner, his eyes once again someplace very distant and alien. "He already found the house. That was how he knew the door from the deck would be open. What we saw today was a performance, like the ones from three years ago. I believe he staked out the house; he probably knew the family members intimately enough to be familiar with their morning habits. Also, his camera is either hidden or he is a figure known well enough in the neighborhood to not attract attention." "The way he moved through the crowd, nobody, nobody noticed him or thought him odd enough to warrant questioning." Scully thoughtfully agreed. "That is very strange." "The neighborhood was affluent. The cars parked in front of the houses indicate two-income family, probably in the high brackets. There were children going to school. I remember seeing students in school uniforms. Agent McKinney, can you give me a picture of the uniform?" "Not a problem." Black examined the picture then handed it to Scully. "My daughter's school doesn't have a dress code, but the school on the other side of town does. I believe there are slight variations amongst uniforms to differentiate them by the schools who assign them." "I'll get going." Scully took the picture and dashed out of the room. "Sir, look at this." McKinney's summons was obeyed quickly. Skinner stared at the screen and then turned to Black. "Is this a message?" Frank stared at the glyphs and nodded. "It is Avatar." © 2000 Copyright held by the author.