Title: Invisible in the Sunlight
Author: Lynn Salvo
Rating: NC-17
Classification: XRA
Spoilers: Sixth Season
Keywords: Sk/other
Summary: A series of unspeakable killings sets a beautiful
other-worldly vigilante on a grisly quest that brings her
up-close-and-personal with a certain A.D.
Disclaimer: Skinner, Scully and Mulder belong to CC, 1013
and Fox. Argent is mine.
Author's notes: Many thanks to the incredible Manik.
I couldn't have done it without you!
Feedback: Please (tisianne@aisb.org).

Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 1

**The moment of death**

I scream. The gag across my mouth stifles me, suffocates me.
God please let me die.

These were friends. We were out on a walk in the woods,
nothing unusual. Some others joined us. Pleasantries all
around. Then abruptly, darkness, quiet.

I wake tied over a table, gagged and bruised. I can see the
 inverted poses of my "friends" surrounding me. Nine of
them, some I know well, some only slightly, some not at all.

I hurt. I soon discover far worse pain at the hands of these men.

They have done this before. They systematically remove my
clothing. I expect to be raped and brace myself. Instead
they begin to peel the skin from my flesh.

All I can do is scream.

They begin to shatter bones. I lose consciousness for blissful
seconds. I always wake up.

It seems like hours, years. I begin to pray. I beg, cajole and
offer anything to every god, goddess or ideal I know. I exhaust
all the mythologies I can think of.

Something listens, something is merciful.

I die.


**The moment of wakening**

I find myself standing, disoriented, on weak legs just outside
the circle of light glowing around my bleeding and
battered corpse.

I'm not alone. Dozens of shadows wail their pain at the edges
of the group of men.

The nine continue their work and I see my body being
dismembered. One of the men that I did not know appears to
be in charge, giving orders.

I am mesmerized. Caught in that moment between breaths
in a buzzing muteness of emotion. This man guides his
companions through some farce of a ritual. He calls on
something and demands vengeance in return for his sacrifice.
On whom, I wonder.

It happens.

As he cries out his invocation the other shadows recognize
me. They approach, I freeze. Suddenly my mind is invaded
by the pain, hate, horror and fear of over fifty women. I close
my eyes. They...no, we have all been murdered by this man
and his depraved group. We determine that if this man
wants vengeance then we would supply him with just that.
These men will all die as horribly as they have killed and
I...no we, will not stop until our vengeance is sated.

I open my eyes and notice the shadows are gone. Then I hear
them chittering and screaming in the back of my mind. I
cannot focus clearly. My only coherent thought is of hate.


**The moment of action**

The men in front of me are still butchering my body. Some of
their tools are strewn carelessly about the floor. I take one, a
knife. It is covered with my own blood.

One of the men moves away from the rest and sets off into
the dark. He finds us. The voices surge to the fore and
together the dead kill this man. Driving the blade into him
again and again. He is stunned and has no time to cry out.
We revel in an almost sexual pleasure at the sensation of
blood pouring over us. The eight left around my corpse
don't notice anything untoward, until we toss the head of the
man we killed onto the floor at the feet of my body.

We are pleased to watch them scatter, a hideous laugh forces
itself out. The leader turns and stares straight at me, at us.
He knows us.

I come to notice several things. Some of the voices are more
distant, as if appeased. We are alone in an old warehouse, the
floor is stained. And last, the blood from our victim is slowly
creeping across the floor and as it touches my skin it is
absorbed and I feel somehow more solid. It occurs to me that
there is something terribly wrong with what the blood is doing.
But it feels just right.

The men have all gone. I remember their faces, their scents.
 I can find them We will find them.

The voices recede slightly. Before the full horror of the
scene before me can sink in I find the fire alarm and pull it.
The klaxon calls for aid. I run.

The police would later find the decomposed remains of over
fifty women under the discolored floorboards, buried beneath
my mutilated shell and one other bloodless, decapitated corpse.


**The beginning of clarity**

It has been three months since I died. In all that time I felt as
if I were running a high fever. With the voices of the other
murder victims and the weight of their terrors in my mind,
I...we killed four others of that group of nine. I don't
remember their deaths clearly, just the satisfaction of the kill.
The rush.

I've read the newspaper accounts of the murders, they
were hideous. The exsanguinated corpses were found displayed
as my own body was and the heads were found at the site of
the now razed warehouse. This was enough to make national
television and to bring in the FBI.

Now with five of the original nine dead, my companion
voices have left me to my own devices. Their voices no
longer overwhelm me, they just remind.

My fever has broken.

I am myself again.


**Panic**

Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, ohshit, ohshitohshitohshit.

I don't know what was worse, realizing that I was dead or
that I had killed someone. Several someones. Violently.
Without regret. Actually, I recall a disturbingly warm fuzzy
type of feeling every time I killed one of those bastards. Their
blood carried an erotic thrill I really don't want to think about.

The voices in the back of my mind tried to calm me with
solemn ideas of justice and revenge.

Great, just fucking great. So I'm listening to voices. I'm the
new poster girl for paranoid schizophrenia.

Oh, but that's right - I'm dead! Can the dead be insane? Is it
even relevant? Can the dead hyperventilate? 'Cause I'm
doing a damn good job of it.

Okayokayokay. Try to think straight. I'm dead. Then why the
hell am I able to think! Calm down. I saw my own body, it
was dead. I went to my own funeral. Closed casket, no frills,
no name. That's all an unknown murder victim rates. Okay, I
can deal with this. I'm dead. I can't deal with this, on to
another topic.

I'm a serial murderer. Well, that idea isn't so bad, it's not like
they didn't deserve it. I kind of enjoyed it really. All right,
let's move on to another concept.

I can hear the voices of the other murdered women. I don't
really hear words per se, it's more like feeling personalities
and emotions. Yup, I'm a dead serial killer who is
also completely nuts. I wonder if a little tin foil hat would help?

Just to calm myself down I contemplate the sunlight problem.
I don't burst into flames or anything, I disappear. Strong
sunlight hits me and poof! I'm invisible.

This is actually kind of fun to play with. In my few lucid
moments in the past months I've taken to 'haunting' public
places. Now you see me, now you don't. Wait a
minute, I'm dead. I really was haunting those places.

I think I'll just go find something to eat now and stop
thinking about any of this.


**Unsub**

Well, well. It appears that FBI agents crave pizza at four
in the morning too. I recognize them from the photograph
in last week's paper.

I find a booth within hearing distance of the group. There are
three of them. If I remember correctly the intriguing looking
bald gentleman is Assistant Director Walter Skinner with two
of his Special Agents. One, a lanky and faintly attractive
man with the improbable name of Fox Mulder and the
other a petite redheaded woman called Dana Scully.
The article mentioned that she is a doctor of some sort.

So these are the people trying to solve my series of
decapitations. I am extremely curious as to how they
are proceeding.

As I listen, I am surprised at the A.D.'s voice. It's
wonderful! Alternately dark and smooth or sort of growled,
like a bear. A big warm bear I just want to curl up with
and... Hey, I may be dead but I'm not 'dead.' Wait a minute,
that doesn't sound right...

Calm down, don't think about it and order double pepperoni
and a Mountain Dew.

Now that I've safely avoided hyperventilating, again, I start to
listen more closely.

They speak of little of interest for some time and I keep being
distracted by that wonderful voice. Eventually I hear a
familiar name mentioned.

Alan Schwartz. Oh, I know him well. He was the 'friend'
walking with me in the woods that day. I've been using him
as a source of information on the others. Dear
Mr. Schwartz has been very forthcoming with information.
He is utterly terrified of me...us. He also has only a limited
grip on reality.

The gist of what I can hear is that the FBI considers
Mr. Schwartz to be their primary suspect but they don't
have sufficient evidence to make an arrest. I may be able
to help them. How about a confession?

Any further chance at eavesdropping is destroyed by the
arrival of a gaggle of loud college students. I see the FBI
agents begin to prepare to leave. On an impulse I toss
money at my table and hurry out the door before they do.


**How to be a Phantom Hitchhiker**

The parking lot holds a few junkers and two new looking cars
with government tags. One of the older cars is pulling out. Good.

The younger FBI agents exit and head away in one of the
two government cars. Time for me to get a ride.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner appears in the doorway in
time to see me throw a planned tantrum. I'm loudly ranting
and raving about the jackass that ditched me here
without a ride and for good measure throw a rock at the
innocent driver of the old car that is leaving the lot. A few
tears for color and...

"Excuse me, may I be of some assistance?"

I manage a strangled "EEP!" as I swing around. How the
hell did someone his size move that quickly and quietly?
He is quite formidable looking close up. Broad
shoulders, tall, good looking, smells nice, good looking, dark
eyes behind wire frames, strong jaw line, good looking...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?"
Right, back to business. His tone is one of polite concern.

"Other than being ditched here without a ride, I'm fine."

"Where are you headed?"

"Back to the university, You wouldn't happen to be
headed that way, would you?" I ask hopefully.

"My route takes me right past there. I would be happy to
drop you off."

"Thank you." He is very easy on the eyes. That photograph
really did not do the man justice.

He opens the passenger door for me and we are on our way.

After a few minutes of dull silence I decide I have to hear that
stimulating voice again. "So, do you pick up hitchhikers
often? I understand it's a dangerous hobby."

"I think I can handle any problems that may arise. Do you
get ditched at restaurants in the middle of the night often and
then accept rides from strangers?" he challenges blandly.

I snort indelicately. "I think I can handle any problems that
may arise." I see a slight grin on the man's face at having his
words tossed back at him. I wonder if I can get him to laugh?
Can't hurt to try. "I'll admit your gun gave me quite a start."

He looks surprised. "Excuse me?"

"Shoulder holster. When you opened the door I saw it."

"So you got into a car with an armed man?"

"No, I got into a car with an armed Fed. There's a difference"
I explain patiently.

"And how did you surmise that I was a "Fed"?" Light flashes
off his glasses as he turns to look at me.

"Welllll...You've got this military bearing but no uniform.
You're armed, that could add up to a policing group of some
sort. You gun is concealed. That could imply undercover
police, but you're way too polite. And much better dressed
than most cops, I might add. You seem kind of harried, so
that makes you a government employee of some sort."

"I see."

Hmmm, he seems unconvinced. "Okay, add to that the
government tags on the car, your picture in last week's paper
and the I.D. you have clipped to your coat. Fed."

He starts to laugh and pockets his I.D. Yup, his laugh is as
fantastic as his speaking voice. It trickles delightfully down
my spine. We've reached the university grounds.

"Where do you want to be dropped off?"

I point out a random dormitory. "Here's fine. My name is Kathy
by the way." I smile.

He smiles back at me and holds his hand out. "I'm Walter, it was
a pleasure to meet you." I shake his hand and leave.

As he drives away I notice one of my rings is missing, it must
have fallen off again. Nothing I can do about it now, I have
someone to visit. I wonder how dear Alan is doing?

END OF PART 1

Feedback: tisianne@aisb.org


Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 2

**Over time**

This past year has been productive. I no longer
hyperventilate at the thought of being dead, well not
as much. Some ideas are just not made to be easy to deal with.

Shortly after my meeting with Walter, as I've come to think
of him, I visited my friend Alan Schwartz. With the assistance
of the other voices in my mind I regaled him with tales of
several deaths, in graphic detail. His rather loose grip on
sanity snapped under the strain and I left him shrieking
and claiming he was responsible for all of the decapitations
as well as some of the corpses found in the warehouse. I
made sure he found his way to a police station.

Newspapers indicated that he was charged with several
murders. Later it was decided that he could not stand
trial for reasons of reduced mental competence or some such
thing. He's locked in a maximum security mental
institute somewhere in Pennsylvania where he screams
all day long. He was kind enough to give me the last three
names before he broke.

Alan briefly 'escaped' from his prison and was found gibbering
at the sight of another posed, bloodless and decapitated corpse.
I tossed the head onto the rubble that was the warehouse and
then called in the anonymous tip that allowed Mr. Schwartz to
be recaptured. We let him watch as we slaughtered his good
friend and fellow murderer. He is locked snugly back in his
padded room with a few more nightmares for company.

The eighth man died of natural causes before he could be
hunted down. His family buried him quietly. We considered
digging up his body and leaving it in the rubble of the wrecked
warehouse. His family had done nothing to us, I argued. We
agreed to let his corpse rest. We are still not happy about him
escaping us.

Some two months after meeting Walter, my own body was
finally identified through dental records. I had considered
anonymously purchasing a real headstone for myself and even
picked one out when I discovered someone else already had.
It's a nice stone with just my name and dates of birth and death.
One W. Skinner had purchased it. He had left white roses on it.

That was the first time I cried since my death. I kept the roses.

The ninth man, the ring leader, the one who saw me.
Mr. Steven Ellison is one canny bastard, I have had a hell of a
time tracking him. He always has people around him making
attack impossible. He currently lives in Washington D.C. where
he is some kind of lobbyist.

To entertain myself while I waited for my chance I began
testing the limits of my body. I ascertained that I heal quickly
and that can even be hastened if I absorb the blood of my prey.
Fire, gunshot, poison, knife wounds and broken bones aren't
much of a problem. They all hurt but they all heal. I even
inadvertently blew myself up once. I was trying to construct
a pipe bomb and well... The best way to describe the
experience was a simultaneous BANG, oww and oops. I now
have a whole new understanding of the phrase 'pulling yourself
together.' I slept for three days after that and have sworn off
explosives.

Strangely, my skin and hair have lost pigment over the months,
both are nearly white. I'm hardly recognizable as Kathy Lynwood.
Gone is the long haired brunette with conservative clothing,
replaced by a platinum blond with a crewcut and a brace of
silver earrings.

I now reside just outside D.C. in a squalid little apartment. I
watch and I wait. Eventually we will kill him, the voices
remind me. The dead are nothing if not patient.


**Day job**

The dead in general may be patient but I get pretty damn bored.

Months ago I started reading everything I could find about
occult rituals, ghosts, cults, demons and anything else I could
think of in an attempt to understand what happened to me.
I can't find any reference to the ritual I witnessed at my death.
I think Ellison half made it up to cover for his sick hobby.

I became quite an expert on the subject of the occult and
millennial cults in particular and started writing snide
editorials to various questionable magazines. I receive
payment from a few of them and I even have a monthly
column in a conspiracy rag issued by a group called "The Lone
Gunman" or TLG. I believe it is titled "The Magic Bullet."

I use the dreadful pen name "Argent Fetch" - silver ghost. It's a
nod partially to the original Lone Ranger stories where a man
thought to be dead returns to avenge his death and partially
to the fact that I am a ghost and my hair happens to be silver.
I am proud and amused to give a new meaning to the term
'ghost writer.'

Often my mind wanders to a certain Assistant Director of the FBI.
I sometimes find myself outside the J. Edgar Hoover building
hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I have no idea what I would
do if I met him again. I imagine I would run the other way,
although I've periodically fantasized a very different, and
sometimes NC-17, sort of behavior.

I wait, I watch, I write, I order pizza then I wait some more.


**It begins again**

Son of a bitch.

I feel like I've just been mugged. I'm sitting alone in my
apartment and all of the sudden I get the breath knocked out of me.

I swear I can smell chloroform. Everything is muffled, I can't
breath. Oh shit, this is familiar. Darkness.

I wake up close to midnight. I'm still in my living room but
I'm also somewhere cold with a hard floor. My hands feel like
they are bound, but they aren't. It's like blurry
double vision involving all of my senses. I'm afraid.

Someone grabs me, I can't see them. Dear gods I'm being
tied to a table. Fuck! Not again, notagainnotagain please not again.

I scream as I feel a knife sear across my abdomen. Not again.
I can see one of the men. Ellison. He seems to be looking
directly at me. The knife finds its way to my wrists and
forearms. They are bleeding me to death. My arms burn.
I smell my flesh being cauterized. I feel my skin being cut
from me, my lungs are ripped partly from my chest. Black.
My bones are being broken. It's fading, I'm dying. NO, Not
again. NO!

Then nothing, silence.

I gasp for breath. I'm lying on my floor, there is blood
everywhere. Unable to move anything but my eyes, I watch
it seep into my outstretched hand. I gather my strength with
it and sit up. My clothing is intact and unstained. I feel scars
fading from my body and the rest of the blood is being absorbed.
I'm cold, I feel ill. I crawl to my bed and start screaming into
my pillow.

Mother of demons. Some poor woman is dead. This was
not my death I experienced or any of the others I carry with me,
it's a new one. Steven Ellison has begun again.

**Evidence**

It takes me almost two days to wake up. The newspapers are
piled at my door. The most recent one has a front page story
about a woman's body found floating in the Washington
Monument Reflecting Pool. She was horribly mutilated, no
details are mentioned. I don't need them, I lived through them,
I have all the details I could possibly want.

Ellison has become audacious. All his previous victims were
hidden away. He wanted this one found. I wonder why.

I need more information on Ellison than I can gather on my
own. I also need to know what exactly happened to me two
nights ago so I can prepare for its recurrence. It strikes me
that if I wait long enough I may get a chance to video tape
what my body goes through.

I know he will kill again. It's surprising he hasn't started sooner,
he has a taste for it. The time for waiting is done, I have to stop
him from killing more women. I have a new death to pay him
back for. His new victim's voice has joined with the others in
my mind. They...we are not happy. We are looking forward to
meeting him again.

My meager funds get me a cheap video camera and tripod as
well as some sound proofing materials. I don't want the
neighbors calling the police. I've written down what happened
to the murdered woman. These are specific details that haven't
been released to the press. When I send them to the FBI it
should garner enough attention to let me get close to the
investigation. Hopefully I can take advantage of their resources
and find a way to get to Ellison.

Damn. It is one week since the first woman was taken.
I've just had the sensation of being grabbed and knocked out.
I force myself to stay awake this time. It's only seven p.m.,
I should have about five hours to prepare.

I feel sick and trapped and angry. I can't stop this death but
maybe I can learn from it. I set the camera up and pull a few
blankets from the bed for after. I decide to strip naked so the
damage can be clearly filmed.

Midnight. I spend an hour screaming out the pain the gagged
and dying woman can't. I remain conscious for it all. Again,
Ellison seems to be staring through her at me. When it finally
ends I wait for my blood to seep home then I switch off the
camera and begin to write a narrative of the violence.

Viewing the video is almost worse than experiencing it
first hand. I can sometimes convince myself that I am just an
ordinary person. As I watch skin being stripped from my body
and my almost immediate healing it is driven home that I am
anything but ordinary. What the hell am I?

One week later it all happens again. I record it again, I stare
back at Ellison again, I log the injuries again, I die again. Multiple
kills bring the FBI into the investigation of these so-called
ritual slayings. It is time for me to act.

The next day I send E-mail to the FBI. "To: The agents involved
in investigation of the D.C. area ritual slayings. Is this what
happened to the victims?" I copy the list of injuries I suffered
while the women were killed. None of this information has been
released to the general public. They will be very curious to find
out how and where I gained it.

My E-mail is easily traced. The FBI should be here soon.
I leave the original journals and the two video tapes. At the
end of the second tape I leave contact information. I take
money, my laptop, some clothes and a small bag containing dried
white roses. Soon after I leave a fleet of cars arrives and armed
men go into my building.

It's cold out. If the FBI uses the contact information I left for
them, I have two days to blow. I think I'll try out a nice
hotel near the Smithsonian. I'd been meaning to do some
sight seeing...


**Meeting**

Two days later, near sunset, on the very public stairs outside
the Air and Space Museum I make the acquaintance of a pair
of FBI agents.

What the hell? Are there only two agents in all of the FBI?
I see Agents Mulder and Scully scanning the thinning crowd.
Great, wonderful, just what I need. I planned to pass myself off
as some poor demented woman who gets psychic impressions of
murders. Okay, so maybe I should lay off on The Weekly World
News, the plan made sense, really it did. I do not want to be
linked in any way to the murders in Pennsylvania. I hope my
appearance has changed enough that they don't recognize me
as the corpse in the warehouse. This series of murders is
different enough that they may not have been compared
yet. But if I'm recognized... Damn it! I really do not want to
have to explain that I'm some sort of avenging spirit and oh by
the way I set up that guy in the asylum for those decapitations.
Ah, fuck it. I'll just wing it.

They haven't picked me out of the crowd yet. I get close
enough to overhear Mulder blathering about my column in
"The Magic Bullet." He reads that?! Good god he just called
himself an "Argent admirer." That's just too much. Maybe I
can get information on Ellison some other way, I could just
wander off with the rest of the crowd...

"Ms. Fetch?" Aw, damn. So much for escaping.

I consciously alter my body language to transmit fear and
nervousness. It isn't that much of a stretch. "Argent. Please."

Agent Scully approaches holding out I.D. "Agents Scully and
Mulder with the FBI. We were wondering if you could
provide us with some information regarding the
videos and journals we acquired at your apartment."

Straight and to the point. I respond in kind. "I wasn't sure
how to get that information to you without either being
brushed off or arrested."

"In these tapes you seem to be experiencing the wounds
inflicted upon the victims. How much of their environment
are you aware of?" This from Mulder. He doesn't
seem bothered by this at all, just curious.

Scully interrupts him. "This isn't the time or place for this
discussion. Argent, would you please accompany us to
our offices?"

Well, this is what I was waiting for, access to the investigation.
"Certainly, I want to do whatever I can to stop this."

Driving in Washington D.C. is notoriously difficult and we
reach the J. Edgar Hoover building in only slightly more time
than it would have taken to walk there. As soon as we got
in the car Agent Mulder began chattering animatedly about
my column and some of my other articles. After listening to
his phrasing for a while I realized that he is the total loon
I've been having an ongoing argument with through editorials
in "The Magic Bullet." This guy believes in aliens, little grey
ones. No wonder he has no problem with what he saw on those
tapes. My heart goes out to Agent Scully. Finally, the car is
parked and I can get away from Mulder.

We enter the building and my backpack is given a brief
search and we are waved past security. The elevator delivers
us to the fifth floor. I follow in the agents' wake only to stop
dead as I see the name on the office we are entering. "Assistant
Director Walter S. Skinner."

Oh, shit. I could probably run to the elevator before they can
stop me, but I'd never get out of the building. I take a very
deep breath and proceed through the door.

Okay, this is the outer office, no problem. Inner office. I faintly
hear Agent Scully making introductions. My feet are rooted
to the ground. He hasn't changed, I could look at him for
hours. Uh-oh, he recognizes me. His face has grown slightly
pale and he stares hard at me, his mouth tight. I nod in
response to the unasked question.

Time snaps back and I hear Scully, "Are you all right sir? You look..."

"...like you've seen a ghost," I finish for her as I suppress a near
hysterical giggle. This is getting complicated.

The agents brief their A.D. on the case so far. They have no
leads and no forensic evidence of note. Now it's my turn.

I explain the first 'attack' and my recording of the subsequent
ones. I point out my journals as containing all of the relevant
information. And then I introduce one additional bit.
"I've seen one face repeatedly during these experiences. There
are several more people there, but I know this one." That got
their attention. Reaching into my pants pocket and retrieve a
worn photocopy. I moisten my lips. "This man's face looked
familiar, so I searched the local newspaper archives. I found
him, his name is Steven Ellison and he is the man I saw killing
those women." I drop the copy on the table and sit back.
So far so good.

They pass around the picture. Scully mentions that she has
heard his name in relation to some big lobbyist organization.
Skinner 'suggests' they look into it. Having received their
marching orders they quickly, if grudgingly, begin to leave.
Mulder seems about to protest but Agent Scully drags him out.

I'm alone in the office with Walter Skinner. I'm trying to
remember how to breath. Oh yeah, that's how. I can feel
his eyes on me.

"Are you the same Kathy Lynwood that was murdered in
Pennsylvania over a year ago? And are you the same woman
I gave a ride to months after her death?" His tone is amazingly
even for someone who may be questioning a ghost.

My tone is not. I have to clear my throat and after many false
starts, "Yes. Thank you for the gravestone." I still can't look
at him directly. Damn it, I don't want him involved.

"You're welcome," he says softly.

I could listen to that voice for hours.

"How do you know Ellison? And why are you experiencing
what I saw on those video tapes?"

Fuck. All right, fine. The truth or at least some of it. I look
him in the eye and spit out the answer. "Ellison is one of the
men who killed me." Slightly more calmly I continue, "I can
only assume that since I still exist that I have some sort
of link to him, more specifically his victims. I get to enjoy
his attentions every time he kills someone. In full, vivid,
painful detail." I'm up and pacing the room by now, to hell
with calm. The chair makes a satisfying crunching noise
as it collides with the wall.

Oops. Walter is calmly sitting at his desk surveying the debris.

"I believe this qualifies you as a poltergeist."

I start to smile, then snicker, eventually I reach a full howling
laugh and nearly end up on the ground clutching my stomach
and crying. He looks amused. "I needed that, thanks," I gasp
out. I make it to standing. "You're taking the idea of ghosts pretty
well. Why?"

He cryptically answers that he has worked with Mulder long
enough that ghosts are not such a difficult concept to deal
with. There is an intense look in his eyes that I can't
interpret, it makes me slightly uneasy.

"Easy for you maybe. Try being one." I really don't care about
his dealings with Mulder. Why doesn't this bother him more?

"They are going to have more questions for you. Where are you
staying?"

"Since your agents trashed my apartment I guess I'll find a
room somewhere."

"I'll be ready to head out in the hour. If you wait I'll give you
a ride," he offers crisply.

With wide eyes and a wicked grin I ask if he picks up
hitchhikers often, deliberately mimicking our first meeting.

He answers in kind. "I think I can handle any problem that
may arise."

I smile and settle on his couch to wait.

END OF PART 2

Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 3


**Crash space**

"You are not staying there."

"Excuse me? That is what I can afford. Sorry." Skinner
starts the car moving before I can get out and head to the
seedy looking motel.

"You can stay in my guest room."

That was an order not an offer. I felt my hackles rising. "Why?"

"I have an empty room and you need a place to stay."

"I'm also dead, believe me that place is safe." Why am I arguing?
I'd have to be nuts not to take this offer. Spend the night in the
apartment of the man who looks like that or stay in a
rat-infested hole. No question there, but he gave me an order.
I'm dead, I don't take orders. "Okay, where do you live?"
Well, maybe some orders.

"Crystal City."

"Nice area, any good pizza places?" He hands me his cell phone
and rattles off a number. A good natured argument ensues
about the toppings. Good god, he may be an incredibly
attractive man but he likes anchovies. I manage to suppress
a shudder. Neither of us will bend so we end up with two
different pizzas.

We reach the lobby of his apartment just as the food arrives.
I intercept the delivery guy and pay before Walter can. He
looks either annoyed or bemused, I can't be sure. I just
shrug. He is providing crash space, the least I can do is pay
for the food.

His apartment is all white, chrome and leather. Oh yeah, and
paperwork. I nearly drop the pizzas as I trip over a gym
bag and boxing gloves. Walter gallantly rescues them and
takes them to what I assume is the kitchen. I take a look at
my environment. Nice stereo system, lots of CDs, wide screen
T.V., a picture of a lovely dark haired woman. Huh, other than
that picture there are not many personal items around. This
place seems to have a temporary feel to it.

I collapse into an overstuffed leather recliner. I wish I
didn't like this man. I don't feel right not telling him the
whole story. When I set out to use these people for the
information they could provide I didn't plan on his involvement..

He returns with plates full of pizza and bottles beer which I
wrinkle my nose at. I graciously accept his offer of water
after discovering a lamentable lack of Mountain Dew and we
settle down to eat.

Eventually we finish and I help him clean up. His kitchen is
bigger than my last apartment.

"You haven't told me everything about your connection to Ellison."

"No, I haven't." I find my shoes to be very interesting all
of the sudden. I can't tell him all of it, not yet, maybe not ever.

"Can you at least promise me that you will not pursue
Steven Ellison on your own?"

How do I answer that? Gee, sorry, I have to kill Ellison?
I settle for, "No."

He nods. And shows me to his guest room.

I survey my surroundings. There is a nice big bed, an end
table, dresser, closet, a large Monet print and an adjoining
bath. Very nice. No windows, which reminds me
that I should warn him about the sunlight problem.

"We're heading back into the city at seven thirty tomorrow"

We? "If you can drop me near Georgetown that would be helpful.
I need to get a few things done in the morning then I can make
my way back to the FBI building."

"That will be fine. You'll be staying here until this is sorted
out." He turns to leave.

"Excuse me?" My eyebrow couldn't possibly reach any higher
on my forehead and my voice is similarly ascending.

He looks back at me with an amused smile. "Allow me to
rephrase. You are welcome to stay here while this case continues."

"Ah-ha, I see. Just don't lock me in. How much is your security
deposit?" I don't think he was listening.

Well. Free crash space at the residence of the Assistant Director
in charge of the investigation of Ellison's murders. I am
closer to the FBI's case than I could have ever hoped. I'll
worry about that guilt thing later.


**Scully**

I hate alarm clocks. I hated them when I was alive, I really
hate them now that I'm dead. Loathsome little things.
Broken little thing. I eventually sort out showering and
dressing. I grab my mostly empty backpack and head toward
the kitchen.

Oooooo. Now this is a sight for sore eyes. Walter is in the
kitchen without a shirt on. Damn is he built, those back muscles,
I could just...

He turns in my direction just in time for the sun to break
from the clouds and stream through the window. I disappear.
He drops his coffee cup. I meant to warn him. I step away
from the light. "Sorry about that."

He clears his throat, his face carefully composed. And again.
"I take it this is somehow related to you condition?"

Condition. "Yeah, you could say that. Do you have any Froot
Loops around here?"

"Do other light sources cause this reaction, or is it only sunlight?"

"Just strong sunlight as far as I know." He seems to
have recovered. "Froot Loops?" I ask hopefully.

"No Froot Loops, sorry."

"Any hot chocolate?" He pulls a large canister from one cabinet
and a mug from another. "Where's the leftover pizza?" Oh dear,
he looks slightly queasy. I try not to laugh, really I do. But the
look on his face is priceless. He mumbles something about
getting dressed and heads off. I mop up the spilled coffee
and dunk my cold pizza into my hot chocolate. Hey, I died
a graduate student what can I say?

He drops me off in Georgetown and we agree on when
to meet at the FBI building. I incidentally bet him five
bucks that his agents won't even find so much as a parking
ticket attached to Ellison. I dig out my Metro pass and head
for the nearest stop. Thankfully, it's cloudy out and I don't
have to dodge from shadow to shadow to avoid being noticed.

Across town I reach my post office box. It takes a while to sort
out the junk mail. You would think that dead people wouldn't
suffer from junk mail. You'd be wrong. There is a folded slip
of paper near the top containing the words, "Mulder and
Scully are good people. You can trust them. TLG." News travels
fast, I only met the agents in question last night. I'm not sure
if it is good or bad that the editors of a conspiracy newsletter
trust them, but I keep it in mind.

I visit my apartment building to discover what few
possessions the FBI left behind were disposed of by my
landlord. It's what I expected but I was hoping for some
more clothing.

Another Metro trip brings me to my lock box at a pawn
dealers. I take some of my money and check on my knives.
These are the blades that killed me...us and the ones
I...we use to lovingly exact our vengeance. I leave the knives
for now. I don't want to bring them to the FBI building.

This time I head to the Jefferson Memorial. The latest body
was found here yesterday. All three have been at tourist
attractions and very easily found. Things move quickly in
D.C. The police tape is gone and a few bundled up tourists
obliviously gape at the sights. I settle myself under a bare
tree and wait. Maybe Ellison will come to gloat.

The afternoon sun is bright and I give up avoiding it.
I stand close by the Tidal Basin, staring, scrying, hoping
the water will tell me something. It doesn't. I hear a sharp
gasp behind me. Agent Scully is staring straight at me.

She can see me. That's not right. She doesn't look well. The
papers she had are spilling over the ground. She recovers
herself and gathers her file. All the time looking directly at
me. I approach, she steps back. I gesture towards the shade,
she follows cautiously. As I enter the shadow I hear her
sigh in relief.

"What did you see?" I ask it more harshly than I intended. She
still looks shaken, she's almost as pale as I am. More gently
I continue, "I'm sorry, are you all right?" She pulls away
as I reach for her shoulder.

"I'm fine. It was just a trick of the sunlight, that's all."

I could just let her convince herself and be done with, but
she saw me. As far as I know I can't be seen in sunlight. So
with her watching I step back into the sun and disappear.
"What do you see?" She's squinting at me now, her lips tight
together. Agent Scully is not happy. I move back into the shade.

"You looked like a color photo negative." Her voice is tight.

"You could see me clearly?"

"Except for the color distortion, yes."

"Huh." This is interesting.

"Can you explain it?" she asks briskly.

"No. But, no one else can see me at all when I'm in the sunlight."
Curiouser and curiouser. What is special about her that she
can see me? "Oww! What I do?" She stabbed me with her pen!

"I wanted to be sure you were real." She has the grace to look sheepish.

"Thanks a lot, Agent Scully. I'm real, I just have a little problem
with sunlight...."

"A little problem?" Scully raises a single eyebrow and looks at
me like I'm sadly demented.

"...and crazed FBI agents wielding writing implements,"
I laugh. I'm not demented, I'm dead. She's the one seeing things.

"Let me see your arm." She reaches for the injured limb.

She's had enough surprises for one day and I don't feel like
explaining why it's already healed. "You caught the coat,
don't worry about it. What are you doing out here?"

"Getting a look at where the body was found. Seeing if
anything was missed. You?"

"Pretty much the same thing." I shove my hands into my
pockets. "The wind is picking up, we should probably head
somewhere warm."

"Skinner said you were going to be at the office later. You'll
be early, but I can give you a ride now if you like."

"No, that's okay. I have some odds and ends to take care of,
I'll see you there later." I have to get away from her
before she starts asking awkward questions.

END OF PART 3



Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 4


**Autopsy**

I meet Walter outside just after sunset. He immediately
hands me a five dollar bill.

"Not even a parking ticket?"

"Nothing." He does not sound happy. "Mulder ran your
fingerprints. He knows who you are."

"Shit." My turn not to sound happy. I fill him in on my
run-in with Scully this afternoon.

We stand in silence for a while, each of us snarling
about complications to ourselves. He ushers me into the
building and up to his office. I wonder how Mulder is going to
broach the subject?

The agents are announced and Mulder walks straight to me
and hands me a file. I open it. "You son of a bitch." I'm
holding the autopsy of Kathy Lynwood. My autopsy,
filled with full-color photos. As I scan it I start becoming
ill and barely make it to the bathroom in time. I land on
the floor gagging and retching. There are angry voices in
the other room. I gather myself and stalk back into the office.
Walter and Scully look pissed and Mulder looks confused.
My panic is quickly replaced with disgust. I glare
at him across the table.

"Agent Mulder, would you like to hear a first-hand story
of being tortured to death?" I have his attention now.
I intend to call on the other voices to give this man the scare of
his life.

"Are you..?"

"Yesss, I was Kathy Lynwood and I was murdered August
of last year by Steven Ellison and a group of his friends.
Do you know what they did first, after I was bound,
I mean? They started peeling my skin off. Just the hands
first." I hold up my hands, the skin melts from my palms
leaving bare muscle and bone. Neat trick, but it hurt
like a bitch. I slap them onto the table, for effect, splashing
the twin pools of blood around the room.

I honestly thought he would have a stronger stomach. It's
his turn to run for the bathroom. I considered tripping him
on his way but that would be childish. Maybe I'll
trip him on his way out.

I sit down and wait for my hands to mend. Scully flips one
of my palms over and wipes away the blood. The wounds
are almost healed. The blood starts creeping back
to my hands. She jerks back.

Mulder enters to see this and heads quickly back into the
bathroom. I can feel myself grinning.

Scully is intently studying my hands and the path of my blood.
She adds to the set of unasked and unanswered questions
we have for one another. I have to forcibly extricate myself
from her grip. I can't help feeling like a lab specimen.

Walter had not moved for the entire show, his eyes tracking
my blood. His jaw is clenched and he doesn't look happy.

Mulder returns with a mumbled apology. He still looks
slightly green.

A. D. Skinner clears his throat, "If this match of
one-upmanship is done we have some business to attend to."

"Ten points to Argent, she wins."

"Excuse me Agent Scully?"

"Sorry, sir," she says contritely and in a more business like
tone continues, "Sir, we have found nothing of note in
Steven Ellison's record. He's clean."

"At this time we still have no useful forensic evidence,"
Mulder adds, "and our only lead is from a..."

"Ghost," I finish for him. "If you will remember there is a man
incarcerated in Pennsylvania who was charged with my murder.
He can verify Ellison's involvement."

"...from a woman who appears to have been murdered last year."
Mulder looks slightly irritated at the interruption. "Alan
Schwartz is not a good source of information. He is under
heavy sedation and is prone to violent outbursts. He has
barely spoken a coherent sentence since he confessed."

"None the less, he is our only lead at the moment. Mulder,
you and Agent Scully will attempt to question him tomorrow.
That will be all."

They get up to leave.

I'm on my feet, my chair crashes to the floor. Damn it, not
again! "They just took another woman."


**Witnesses**

"Are you sure? It hasn't been a week yet."

I can't tell whose voice that is, I'm occupied trying not to
black out. "Yes, I'm sure." Someone gets me to the couch. It
passes. Whoever she is she is unconscious. I get my breath
back. "There should be quite a show around midnight."

"Do you sense anything? About her, or her environment?"

There was something. "Running water and, I think, a Metro stop."

"That could be almost anywhere in the city," Mulder says sharply.

"Bite me Mulder."

There is a flurry of activity as the Agency moves into high
gear. I hear bits and snatches of conversation and orders.
The D.C. Police are contacted and a search for the kidnapped
woman is under way. They don't have a chance of finding her
before it's to late. I rack my brain for more detail, there is none.

It's a good hour before I make it to unsteady feet. Walter is
at his desk fielding phone calls and looking frustrated. His
clenched jaw hurts to look at. He must be aware that there
is little chance to save whoever she is, but he has to try.

"Any luck?"

He removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose.
"All bad. It's early for a missing persons report. Do you
remember anything else, anything at all?"

I just shake my head. "In about four hours I'll have another
problem."

His head snaps up and he makes a hissing noise through his
teeth. "How much warning will you have?"

"Depends if they wake her before they start. I could have a
few minutes or no time at all. I don't know." Don't think about
it, I warn myself. Hold on.

"You should be safe here, the center of operations has
moved downstairs." He moves towards me.

"You have an interesting idea of what safe means." I say
caustically. "I won't be safe until Ellison is dead." I feel
strong hands on my shoulders. "This wait just gets worse.
Four hours to wait to die again." If I'm not careful I'll start
crying. I lean my forehead briefly on Walter's shoulder and
draw strength from his presence. His hand brushes my
hair gently. He steps away.

"I'll make sure the area is secure. Is there anything you
need?" His brisk, business like tone is oddly comforting.

"Some blankets, tissues and something to eat." Did he just
laugh at me? "Is there a gym or workout room I can have
access to? I need to do something to occupy myself
or I'm going to need to be seriously sedated."

He makes some mysterious phone calls and the requested
items are delivered. The plastic wrapped sandwich worries
me. After I wolf down my dinner he escorts me to the gym.
He only leaves after I agree to return to his office an hour
before midnight. The room is empty. I locate a punching
bag and gloves and think happy thoughts of
Ellison. Happy for me at least.

An hour before midnight, I'm feeling more like I can
bear the upcoming hell. Scully intercepts me on the way
out and saves me from getting hopelessly lost in this maze of
a building. She refrains from conversation. Her tacit acceptance
of my need for silence is gratefully accepted. We have a
lot to talk about, but right now, I have other
things to worry about.

The lights are low in the office. Walter isn't there. Scully offers
to stay with me. I decline her offer. She says she'll be in the
outer office if I need anything. Now I wait.

I can feel every second pass, dripping one by one through
my fingers like drops of my blood once did. Emotionally
bleeding to death. Waiting.

Midnight. I call to Agent Scully and she steps in quickly.
"Tell them to stop looking, it's too late." I feel the blood
pouring down my forehead. Things go down hill from
there. At least they know what to expect. I'm screaming,
curled in fetal position, on the floor. It is so soon after the
last murder that I don't stay conscious for long. I
wake long enough to experience dying again. Then darkness.


**After**

I claw my way back to awareness. Another voice has joined
me, another death.

I rub my eyes and sit up. Somehow I'm on the couch in
Walter's office with a blanket over me. Agent Scully is
in a chair nearby watching over me.

"You look better. Especially since you lost most of your
blood and had no heartbeat or respiration for almost ten
minutes. How are you feeling?"

"No heartbeat?" I guess I was in no position during the
other attacks to notice that. That's a disturbing bit of information.

"None. How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been murdered. What time is it?" She's
taking my pulse and flashing an annoying light into my eyes.

"Almost three A.M."

"They took their time. Did you watch the whole show?"

"Not all of it. Skinner called me in when he was informed
of a possible lead. I logged what injuries I observed.
We can use that for comparison when and if another body is
found." She purses her lips slightly and glances at a notebook.
"For someone who was dead you seem to be doing quite well.
Is there anything you need?" Her voice is mild.

"Other than Ellison dying a horrible death you mean?"
She looks disapprovingly down at me and I relent. "I could
use food, a shower, a change of clothes and sleep. I'm
sorry you didn't find her in time Agent Scully," I add softly.
"And I'm sorry you witnessed that." She nods and I see a sad
smile on her face.

"I'll see if evidence will release some of your belongings.
Wait here for now." She passes Walter on her way out.
They exchange worried looking glances.

He has his glasses off and is rubbing the bridge of his
nose again. "There's nothing more that can be done tonight.
If you're able to travel we can go back to my apartment."
He sounds spent and annoyed. I know the feeling.

"Yeah, let's get out of here."

The car trip is silent. I'm tired, but am too angry and
frustrated to sleep or to let the full brunt of this latest
death come over me. It's going to be a long night.

When we arrive I head straight for the shower attached to
the guest room. I use up all of the hot water and pull a
'Lady Macbeth'. Only Ellison's death will wash me clean.
When I finish I realize I'm out of clean clothing and am
extraordinarily hungry. Streaking to the kitchen is almost
appealing and under other circumstances could be
amusing, but not tonight. Walter seems to have realized my
dilemma, there is a huge terry cloth bathrobe across the bed.
I gratefully wrap myself in it and head for the kitchen.

Halfway there I start to feel cold and unsteady. Shock is
setting in. I suddenly have a quilt draped over my
shoulders and Walter is ushering me to the couch. I start
apologizing and am stopped by a finger across my lips.

He sits beside me and pulls me to his chest, stroking my hair.
He doesn't say a thing, he just holds me as tears start to flow
and I begin to shake. Eventually the tears subside. This is
the closest thing to safe that I've felt since I went for a walk
in the woods last year. We fall asleep like that.

END OF PART 4


Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 5


**Did I forget to mention...?**

While it is incredibly emotionally comforting to wake up
in the arms of someone you care for, it is not necessarily
physically comfortable. Especially when both are abruptly
woken by a cell phone. A comical tangle of semi numb limbs
leads to an argument about said cell phone. My vote is to
toss it off the balcony but Walter seems intent on
answering it. He wins and I wander off to the kitchen.
I hate mornings.

The voice of the newest victim is no longer screaming at
me and I have regained at least some of my equilibrium.

According to the clock it's midmorning. We've slept in.
My rummaging around the kitchen is halted by the discovery
of a shiny new box of Froot Loops. To hell with the milk,
I start eating out of the box. Walter soon joins me and after
a distasteful look at my box of cereal, starts the coffee.

"That was Scully. A body was just fished out of the Capitol
Reflecting Pool."

My breakfast suddenly tastes like cardboard. "Ours?"

"The damage to the body is consistent with what you
experienced last night," he says through clenched teeth.
"We'll know more when Scully finishes the autopsy."

I find my least rumpled clothes and we go to join Agent Scully.

By the time we reach the J. Edgar Hoover Federal Building
both Agents Mulder and Scully are waiting in Walter's
outer office. There is a briefing and, as usual, no breakthroughs.
Mulder, who has returned from a visit with Alan Schwartz,
starts outlining his experience.

I'm not listening, I'm looking at the photos of the victims. They
all have the same hair and eyes, the same sort of clothing.
Oh, shit. I interrupt. "Agent Mulder, do you have my autopsy
report handy?" He looks surprised and slightly nervous as he
pulls it from a large stack of files and hands it to me. He
learns quickly.

Everyone watches me as I flip through the document and find
my photo. I line it up by the four new victims'. They all look
very much like I did. "Do any of you see what I'm seeing?"

We all start to talk at once. Consensus is, that if this is Ellison,
he has something against Kathy Lynwood. That he may
hold his last victim in Pennsylvania responsible for
him having to stop his previous killing spree and is
choosing his new victims based on a physical resemblance.

Another even darker reason comes to my mind. Ellison saw
me after I died. He saw me with a bloody knife standing
over the decapitated corpse of one of his playmates.
My god, he knows. He knows I killed the others. I'll bet he
knows these new murders hurt me. I kept seeing him staring
at me during those killings, he knew what...who he was
looking at. He knew he had me trapped. I think he is trying
to find some way to destroy the entity he inadvertently
summoned. He's trying to save his own life by dispelling me.

The others have moved on to a discussion about Alan
Schwartz. Mulder begins to narrate his interview with him.

"In some ways he is a very articulate man. He described,
in great detail, the murders of the women in Pennsylvania.
He even told me how he acquired victims for Steven Ellison.
When I showed him a picture of Kathy he became agitated.
I stopped questioning him until he calmed down. When I
asked him about the decapitations, he started to repeat 'she
did it, the last one, she did it.' After that, I was unable to
get a coherent answer to anything. He had to be sedated
and the interview was terminated."

Uh-oh, busted. He is staring straight at me now. I return his gaze.

"Considering how clearly and dispassionately he described
the women's murders I was surprised by his reaction to
the decapitations. His statement about 'the last one' makes
no sense until you take into account our guest." He sounds
calm and professional as he gestures toward me.

"Agent Mulder what are you getting at?" Walter snarls.
I hope he can deal with what he is about to hear. I'm not
sure that I can and I'm the one that did it.

"What I'm getting at, Sir, is that this woman now calling
herself "Argent Fetch" is responsible for the
decapitation murders in Pennsylvania and is indirectly
responsible for the current set of killings." He tosses a set
of files on the table. Our staring match continues.

"Alan Schwartz is responsible for these murders." The files
have familiar names on them. My murders, my victims.

"Responsible. Semantics! Did you kill these people?" His
face is a study in anger and triumph. His voice cracks as
his volume rises. "Did you decapitate, bleed and mutilate
these six men? Does Ellison know you are responsible for
their deaths? Are these new murders retaliation? Does he
know what you are?"

I lose the stare down and sag back into my chair.

"Yes, yes, I think so, I'm not sure and I don't even know
what I am." Fuck you, Agent Mulder.

"What about Schwartz? Did you persuade him to confess?
Did you assist in his 'escape'?" His voice is low again.

"I helped my dear friend Alan to accept his responsibility,"
I snap back.

"Did you enjoy persuading him? Did you enjoy murdering
those men?" His drawl is offensive. I suspect he means it to be.

It's all I can do not to slap his smug face. "Yeah, I enjoyed
it. I enjoyed the pain on all of their faces as I did to them
what they did to us." A flash of confusion crosses his face.
"Yes, us. I hold the dying memories of over fifty women in
my mind, I experienced all of those deaths. I felt every
second of the torture inflicted. I feel all of the rage,
hate and pain of those murders as well as my own."

I grab the files from the table. I toss one down. "Him I
killed the night I died. His head was found at the feet
of my corpse. He had a thing for knives." I grab the next
file. "He liked to skin people, he was good at it. He also
liked to pour salt onto the wounds." The next file. "This
one liked the crunching noise bones made, he had
perfected his technique." Another file. "He enjoyed
evisceration, fancied himself a scientist." Another. "He
liked to burn people, preferably while still alive." Another.
"He got sexual pleasure from dismemberment." There were
no more files left.

I looked at Mulder. His face was unreadable. "You are
missing three files. One man died of natural causes, he
financed it all. Schwartz only ever watched, that's why he's
still alive. And Ellison, he doesn't care how someone dies.
He just wants to see the look in their eyes when they do."

I walk to the window and stand in the afternoon sun. I
could care less when I hear Mulder's startled intake of
breath. They can't arrest me for the killings, I'm dead. I
can find some way to get to Ellison without their aid. I
draw some strength from the sunlight and cast aside what
is left of my carefully constructed facade.

I kill and I enjoy it. If only it were that easy.

I prepare to walk out, but what about Walter. I can't face
Walter. I've long since been able to deal with being a willing
killer but can he? Why should he?

A hand squeezes my shoulder. I look down to see Agent
Scully standing beside me. "You are our only link to Steven
Ellison. We need your help to get him," she says
softly. I notice her necklace.

"Were you raised Catholic by chance?"

"Uh, yes. Why do you ask?" She fingers the cross.

"You guilt trip people well."

I step out of the sunlight.

Walter clears his throat. "Now that everything is out in the
open we can proceed with..."

Simultaneous cries of "What!" escape from Agent Mulder
and myself.

"You knew?"

"I suspected since we met last year." He reaches into his
pocket and produces my missing ring. "I have had some
time to think about it. You'll want this back."

As I take my ring from him his fingers gently graze my
palm. He smiles faintly at me. I'm so confused.

"Sir? You've met her before?"

"A few months after she died Agent Mulder. We have
business to attend to."

Mulder and I just shake our heads in bemusement.

"Kathy, you stated that you think these killings may be
retaliatory. Why do you think that?"

I manage to gather my thoughts. "I believe that Ellison is
aware that he brought about my existence, that he
summoned me. I suspect he is using these women in some
form of sympathetic magic to either harm me or get rid
of me. I'm not sure, though."

"He's using these women like voodoo dolls?" Mulder
asks in apparent seriousness.

"Not my area of expertise. If I could get my books released
from evidence I may be able to find more."

Mulder and I receive curious looks as we continue on this
esoteric line of conversation. Eventually Agent Scully shakes
her head and leans across to discuss something with Walter.

We continue theorizing for some time and eventually
agree to pursue our various threads of research.


**Interlude**

 I am preoccupied with reacquiring my books and other
belongings that were seized from my apartment. The
texts may have some useful information. Walter facilitates
their release and we load the boxes into the trunk of his car.

The trip to his apartment is uneventful. As soon as I arrive
I dig out some fresh clothes and change into them.

He knew everything. He knew I was a murderer and he still
invited me into his home. I don't understand. It's no use
asking how he found out, he's an FBI agent. Finding
out things is what he does. Egad.

I head to the living room to retrieve my other boxes.
Walter is there. He has changed his clothes as well.
"So, do you usually invite serial killing supernatural entities
into your home? Seems to me that could be a dangerous
hobby?" I ask.

His rich voice replies, "I think I can handle any problems
that may arise."

I just stare at him. This is where we started all those months
ago. "How did you know? What linked me to the
decapitations? I thought I covered my tracks."

He leans against the back of the couch and studies me.
"I interviewed Schwartz extensively after his capture. He
spoke of 'the last one' claiming that 'she' did it. None of what
he said made much sense at the time but I never had the
impression that he was capable of the decapitations. He
told me how he lured you to the woods that day and
described the area where you were taken."

"Thanks for reminding me," I snarl. Why is he looking at
me like that?

"Your body was identified after I gave you that ride,
after you were dead. What he said began to make sense.
When he 'escaped' the FBI was informed and I went to
Pennsylvania to coordinate with the local police. I recalled
his description of the woods and on a hunch went there."

Walter is stalking across the room toward me. I find it
difficult to breath.

"I saw you. Your hair was still long but lighter in color
than when we met." His hand brushes across my short hair.
"I watched as you killed that man. I saw the rage, the
anger and the satisfaction." His voice and his hand caress me.

His hand lifts my chin so I am forced to meet his eyes. No
one should have seen that.

"I will never forget the look on your face as you stood
there with blood pouring down your arms, across your
shoulders and down your body." His voice is low and his lips
are close. "You were in ecstasy."

I suddenly realize that I am not the only predator in the
room. I was trying to protect this man from my past?

"You looked like some ancient priestess offering a sacrifice
to your deity." He has backed me up against a wall.

I close my eyes and remember how it felt. The blood
cascading over me. The almost orgasmic pleasure of it.
I smile and almost groan.

He is suddenly pressed tight against me, pinning me.
It seems that he is as aroused as I am. Our kiss starts
out violently. I want him and I say so. Growling against my
neck, he make short work of my clothing as I clutch at
his hard muscles. His mouth is biting at my breasts and my
nails claw across his back. We get just enough clothing
out of the way. I wrap my legs around his hips with the
wall supporting me. He thrusts roughly into me and I
almost immediately come. He isn't far behind. Neither
of us is done for the night and we kiss hard.

My back is still pressed against the wall as his mouth
wanders lower. I pull him up and say, "bed." He nods and
we somehow manage to get there. The rest of our clothing is
shed on the way.

A struggle ensues over who gets to be on top and one of us
starts to laugh. We leisurely explore each other more
gently than when we began. Between us there are
quite a few scars.

He has quite a dexterous tongue and I find my back arcing
from the bed as he proves it. Repeatedly. He eventually
works his way back up my body and pulls me on top. I
lower myself carefully onto him and we begin to rock
gently against each other. I let him roll me under him
as his breathing grows harsher. I bite his shoulder to stop
my scream at the same time he muffles his own in a pillow.

We share a long warm night and fall asleep wrapped in each
others arms.

END OF PART 5

Invisible in the Sunlight
By Lynn Salvo

PART 6


**Hunting**

Walter nearly wrecks the car as I leap out.

He pulls up beside me. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I spotted one of them. Give me your cell phone, I'll talk to
you later." I grab the proffered item and run.

I can't see the man anymore but I can smell him. It's the
same stench that my murderers had. Acrid and nauseating.
It must be one of Ellison's new boys.

I track him a few blocks to the Bureau of Printing and
Engraving. I wait for the early morning traffic to
dissipate then go inside. Security is tight. My best hope is to
intercept him on his way out. I circle the building and
find a vantage point where I can see most of the exits.
Then I blend into the background and watch.

He goes out for lunch a few blocks away with some
coworkers. I hover close enough to hear talk of a meeting
they all have to attend that afternoon. I follow them back to
the building and head for the pawn shop.

I retrieve my knives and return to my post well before the
work day is finished. I just pray he hasn't left yet. I
intend to follow him as closely as possible and hope he leads
me to his friends.

There he is, he's leaving early. He's not heading toward the
garage I saw him exit from this morning. We hop the Metro
and get off near the Navy Yard. The sun is still bright
enough for me to follow openly. He walks a few more
blocks and enters an old storefront. I find only one other
exit from the building, a back door. The stench is
getting stronger. More people have entered the building.

I try to find an unobtrusive way in and notice a loose
grating on a basement window in the back. As I slither
through it I unhappily feel another woman being knocked
unconscious. I stumble to the floor in a dim and damp room.
Then I come to my senses.

I have just managed to trap myself in the basement of a
building with a bunch of murders. Yeah, that was a good
idea. I wish I could kick my charming companion voices,
I wish I could keep better control over them and I really
wish I'd eaten lunch. A rat takes this opportunity to
scurry over my foot. I'm not that hungry.

A vehicle has pulled into the alley. Ellison. I nearly lose
all control as my own rage is reinforced by the others'.
He calls for assistance and some of his thugs carry a
woman's body into the building.

I wait until their footsteps recede and pull out Walter's
cell phone. Auto dial one reaches his secretary who
patches me through immediately. I don't give him time to
talk, I just tell him the address I'm at and that they have
another woman. I leave the phone on and place my small
bag of roses beside it.

I gather myself. I realize that when I kill Ellison and his
friends I will most probably cease to be. I was
resurrected or created or whatever to kill these people.
When they are dead, when vengeance is exacted there will
be no reason for my continued existence. I guess I've
always known this. I do not have to like it. Anger and
despair wage a war in my heart, eventually a numb sense of
duty wins.

I could shed tears for my upcoming suicide but I can't.
Instead I shed them for Walter.

Only a short time has passed since my phone call, they
will be here soon. I have to get Ellison first.


**Killing**

I...we are prepared. My knives are sharp and we
know the layout of the building.

The basement, unused except for one room at the foot of
the stairs. The woman in there is still unconscious.
Eight of the nine other inhabitants are in a large room with
boarded-up windows on the first floor and Ellison is on the second.

We hide outside the main room. Of the eight men there
only half carry the stench we remember. That means
that the others have not killed yet. It also means we
can't kill those four, we have to disable them. I...we once
tried to attack someone who was interfering with one of
our hunts. We couldn't kill him. I physically could not move
to harm someone who was not a particular type of murderer.

We memorize where they are sitting and standing and hit
the light switch. The room is plunged into total darkness
thanks to the carefully covered windows.

We lunge for the nearest man and drive our blade under
his ribs. The voices sing. I am jostled by another and have
to alter my blow to hit him with the pommel and knock
him out. Someone finds the first body and all hell breaks
loose. Somehow one of the windows is uncovered and the
streaming light allows me the leeway we need to finish.
They have no idea what hit them. Ellison hadn't bothered
to warn them about me...us.



**Everyone dies...**

I'm bathed in the blood of Ellison's new cronies. Four dead.
Four unconscious.

Their blood seeps into my bare skin, feeding me strength.

It is time to find the Ellison. Time to end it.

My companion voices scream, waves of pain and hate
crashing over my mind. They...no, 'we' call for one final death.

We hunt. He is in the building, he is afraid. This pleases us.
He is running. Ah, we see him at the bottom of the steps.
Soon, soon. We move swiftly to block his exit. He recognizes
us. We laugh. We force him into the room containing the
remains of his compatriots. We wait long enough for him
to absorb the scene. We smile.

We are at last prepared to strike, to end it. Ellison crashes
to his knees and begs for mercy. We discover a long knife
in our hand. We reach to slit his throat. We reconsider.
This one's death should take a very long time.

Then a shot rings out. Ellison slumps at our feet.

The voices scream out in frustration. Then they slowly
fade away.

It's done, he is dead. I am alone. All of the voices are
gone, not just quiet but well and truly gone.

I am not. I should be gone as well.

He. Is. Dead.

I understand suddenly. It wasn't my hand that killed him.
I haven't earned the right to finally and truly die.

I am trapped here. Alone.

It finally occurs to me to look at who holds the gun. Walter.

He sees the bodies all around me. He knows that I am
responsible for them. His eyes hold no blame, no disgust
for my actions. My god, they hold, instead, forgiveness,
understanding...and something else.

I don't have time to think about this now. There is one
more thing I must do with Ellison. I grab his body and
dive into a pool of late afternoon sun.


**...except for me.**

I manage to decapitate Ellison's corpse.

The building is infested with FBI and other policing
organizations. Fortunately it is sunny and I make my
way out of the first floor window without being noticed.

I'm halfway to Ellison's car when Scully steps before me.
She is the only one that can see me in daylight. We say
nothing to each other. She reaches out to touch the tears
freely coursing down my face. She understands. Then she
gives me her keys and
walks away.

Ever a practical woman, she saves me from traveling in
a readily identifiable vehicle. I imagine it will be
some time before she 'discovers' her car is missing.

Thank you Scully. Please take care of Walter for me.


**Rebirth**

I drive carefully. I really do not want to be pulled over
with a human head minus its body in the car. Not to
mention that it is still a sunny day. "No officer, I am not
transporting heads over state lines. Oh, sorry for
disappearing like that, you see sir I have this problem
with sun light. But it's all right now really, the voices
aren't bothering me anymore..." No thank you, I think I'll
just drive carefully.

I faintly wonder if it is illegal to transport human heads
over state lines.

Finally, I reach the abandoned lot where this all began.
I have returned here before, always with the others in
my mind. This is the first time I come here truly alone.

It terrifies me. The driving force of my existence is gone,
they are all dead.

It is dark. The six hour road trip has left me weary. It
has also left Ellison's remains smelling less than pleasant

I climb to the top of the rubble pile and place the last
sacrifice on the stones. I stretch myself out on the crumbled
stones and wait. I sleep to avoid thinking.

As the sun rises I discover the head is gone. In its place
and all around I see mint plants growing. It smells
wonderful. I take a few sprigs with me as I wander away,
invisible in the sunlight.

**Redemption**

It's been weeks, I think. I have spent quite some time
getting used to being alone in my mind. I hated every
minute of the invasive voices but now I miss them. I've
stopped waking up screaming and begging their return.
Eventually I even realize that I am more whole, more my
own self without them.

While I'm not exactly alive, I'm not dead either. I understand
why I've been left behind and it doesn't feel like a punishment
anymore. It feels more like a reprieve.

I find myself in a familiar cemetery. I've long since
memorized the route to my grave.

I smell mint. As I look up I see a figure at my headstone
setting a bouquet of roses and mint upon it. Walter. In the
distance I see Agent Scully standing at a car. Neither has
seen me yet.

I'm torn between running away or making my presence
known to them.

I hold my breath, close my eyes and find that the choice
has been taken from me. Another is presented. He is
standing before me, he looks tired. He simply opens his
arms and I am no longer alone.

**THE END**

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