Chapter 3

Duncan managed to avoid being arrested this time, but mostly because I was his alibi. He couldn’t have been out chopping somebody’s head off, if he was inside the building with me, getting cut up by flying glass when it happened. But that was nowhere near the end of it. I plunked down a tankard of beer in front of a customer and headed back to the bar. It had been a long afternoon of making statements and misleading the police and then this evening, one of the waitresses called in sick so I was subbing in for her. That meant I couldn’t leave now that all three of them were taking the opportunity to grill me.

"Listen, Joe, you know I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t." My exasperation was starting to show.

"Why can’t you say anything?" Duncan was the most disturbed by this. Not many people knew about Immortals and most of those who did were either intimately involved with one, or a Watcher. I sat down on the stool and turned around to face Duncan and Richie.

"What, Joe hasn’t spilled his guts already?" I snapped.

"I keep the things told to me in confidence, in confidence." Joe looked at me with sharp eyes. I think I hit a nerve on that one but what else is new.

"The truth is I don’t know much myself. I woke up outside the Treemark Mall just after an explosion there with a busted knee, a bruise on my head and no memories." I explained, keeping my head down as I wrote down a new order on my pad.

"How did you know about us then?" Richie wasn’t impressed with this mess either.

"I always knew, I guess. I just didn’t remember until this morning. It clicked and I remembered something. I can remember what I knew before -- knowledge, like facts and instincts -- and things just started to fit together. The way you both move, your muffled accent," I looked at Duncan and Richie, than just at Duncan, "And the sword fight was the last bit. It fell into place and I remembered. I don’t know how else to explain it." I stopped talking, feeling the throbbing in my head pick up in pace. Whether from the buried memory or my stress level I wasn’t sure.

"I can’t remember exactly what it was now, but I remembered about Immortals and the Game. Even about the Watchers." I glanced up at the man walking in the bar, not really seeing him but noting which table he sat at and went back to the conversation. "I just don’t have any memories."

"Have you talked to the police about this, maybe they could…" Richie looked surprised as I cut him off mid sentence.

"No!" Actually the whole room looked surprised at the statement. I was starting to get loud. Lowering my voice I continued in a harsh whisper. "I don’t want to know who I was, I don’t want the police to go digging around about me and I don’t want to broadcast to the world where I am."

"Why?" Richie’s question paused me for a moment.

"I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I left something behind and I don’t want to know what it is." Picking up the receipt pad, I took a deep breath and got up off the stool. "I’d better go see to whoever just walked in."

***

Jarod looked up at the sign over the door, proclaiming the place Joe’s. Since he came to Seattle looking into an explosion at a mall, he’d been poking around trying to find out why. The police and firefighters were stumped as to the motive, but there was one and it was a specific one. The bomb was designed to kill someone. He just had to find out who that someone was and why.

Opening up a red notebook he looked over the few articles that had been published concerning the explosion. The initial article from the day after the explosion had a basic description and a lot of empty speculation. Flipping the page there was another article listing casualties and a brief description of the Jane Doe who had left the hospital before the police could question her. She was still wanted for questioning but it’s believed she left town. Jarod was with the police department right now and just happened to have been assigned to find her among other things. He stepped into the bar and headed over to a table.

The woman had been found at the explosion, out of sight behind another building, with an injured knee and a head injury. When they tried to take her to the hospital she put up a fight, breaking a few noses and an arm before they got her in. When she woke up, she asked a few questions of one of the doctors and getting no answers, she then disappeared. For the past two days Jarod had been following her trail, finally ending up here. He'd checked everyone else out and they were clean. That left this girl and she was the only person who might know the reasons.

Sitting down he glanced over the room with his gaze darting over, with the rest of the room’s, as a loud ‘No’ was heard from the vicinity of the bar. There were two men and a woman, arguing with what Jarod assumed was the proprietor. Well, maybe it was more of an intense discussion. The woman lowered her voice then got up, picked up a pad from the counter and headed his way. Her dark, long hair and slight limp pegged her as the woman he was looking for. Her face however stopped the blood in his veins, sending premonitions of dread through him. He knew who she was, who might want her dead and she could very well be the end of his freedom if not his life. When she got to the table however, he relaxed marginally as he looked up into her eyes and felt his curiosity soar. She didn’t recognize him.

***

I looked into the eyes of the man at the table. They were faintly familiar, a soft dark brown that looked me over with a strange intensity. Shaking off their influence, I raked him over with a glance, taking in everything from his shoes to his mostly grown out buzz cut which looked only faintly awkward. He screamed cop on the surface but his attitude was different. It wasn’t as hardened, as guarded as a cop gets after a few years. He was either new, or not a cop. New from the looks of his hair.

"What can I get for you?" I stood just off to the side, all my weight on my good leg trying to spare my other as much as I could. I only had a tensor on it, so I didn’t want to over-do things too much.

"What would you recommend?" He wasn’t gonna flirt with me was he? There were a few guys who still tried. I usually cut them down to size quickly, but there was something else about him. Not the same thing as with Duncan or Richie, but something.

"How drunk do you want to get? And when do you have to be human again?" I let my frustration filter into my voice, hoping the guy would keep his distance.

"I was thinking of food." He looked like such an innocent.

"In that case, Ribs. They have very good ribs here. What about to wash it down?" I scribbled ‘ribs’ on the pad and waited as he made up his mind.

"That sounds good and I’ll have a coke with that." He looked up and smiled, and his whole face lit up. This was definitely not a cop. He was still too. . . sweet. I took a final glance, told him I’d get right on it and headed back to the bar.

The Three Musketeers where still sitting there, now moving on to guesses as to what I used to be, guessing everything from ex-CIA to a Hunter, whatever that is. Richie threw in FBI and NSA as well. Joe, my stalwart supporter, said I was running from a bad relationship. Duncan just threw them the occasional odd glance and kept his mouth shut.

Sending the order into the kitchen, I sat down and joined back in. The speculations into my past had gone from potentially normal to the insane.

"Catwoman, I’m telling you, she’s Catwoman."

"Richie, that’s from a comic book." Joe looked faintly disgusted with that suggestion. Duncan just looked confused.

"I know, it’s the perfect cover." he insisted, taking a sip of his beer.

"Do you really think she’d run around in a black spandex costume, complete with pointy ears, crawl around on rooftops to steal from the insanely rich and then let herself this get far down in the world? She’d be in the Caribbean enjoying the wealth." Joe replied.

"I prefer the running from a evil Immortal scenario. So Jane, where you adopted daughter or significant other?" Fine time for Duncan to enter the conversation.

"Man, like I’d tell you." That one disturbed me, but I hid it and let it slide. They were just playing around now, trying to get me to blush. After a few more minutes, the order of ribs came in and I took it out to the table with a large Coke.

"Here you go, anything else I can get for you?" I looked down at the guy and again wondered what he was. I was pretty good at picking out what a person did and what they were like. But I couldn’t get a handle on this one. His actions and mannerisms all said one thing, but his attitude was something else. It was almost like he was acting out a part, while not letting it change him. It sounded almost like me at times.

He immediately picked up a rib and started munching. "These are really good." He said that like he’d never had them before. "Actually you could do me a favor?"

"What?" I was starting to get an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. Most people don’t sit and converse with their waitress.

"You could tell me why you didn’t stay in the hospital after the explosion?" His voice had gotten low and edgy and he looked at me from the corner of his eyes.

This was not good. Turning around I was already halfway to an emergency exit before he’d finished speaking. Getting up and following, he caught up with me in the alley.

"Wait a second!" He grabbed my arm and I flipped. He blocked the fist aimed at his head, but missed the knee. He was in pain, but he’d gotten a good grasp on my arm and didn’t let go. At least, not until Duncan grabbed him from behind and spun him against the wall. Next thing he knew he was pinned with Duncan’s arm almost, but not quite crushing his windpipe. He gagged a little, before going silent and waiting. I just ran, frustration and fear giving me strength. Not as much as I’d have liked, but I could make fair time and I was around the corner and gone, slipping once leaving a red smear behind me.

***

Rubbing his throat thoughtfully, Jarod fully entered his ‘cop’ mode. "I’m Detective Logan, I just wanted to talk to her." His voice low and gravely, only partially because of the pain still throbbing in his throat.

"If this is about the body outside the Dojo, we already gave our statements. What do you want now?" This was from the man who’d pinned him up against the wall. He had an undefined accent and Jarod couldn’t seem to get a handle on him either. He’d already botched things up with the Jane Doe and things still weren’t going that good. He had no idea what a Dojo was.

"I’m looking into the bombing at the Treemark Mall. I need to know if she's the person that I’m looking for. I didn’t mean to scare her." That bad, he finished off mentally. He tried his best to sound sincere, regardless of various aching body parts.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." The gray haired proprietor had joined them, leaning heavily on his cane and inspecting Jarod from top to bottom.

"Yes you do. I just want to help her. Please." There was a note of beseeching that resonated between them. There were a few moments of silence, as the two looked at each other, communing on a level beyond words.

"Let’s take this inside, Russ is tending the bar alone right now." With those words barely off his lips, the older man turned around and walked back into the bar.

***

I had a stitch in my side, my good knee was scrapped from when I had fallen and I was breathing heavier than the last time Duncan and I spent an afternoon throwing each other across the mat. Slowing down I looked around me, noting where I was and where I could go. It was stupid of me to run off but there was something about that man that set me on edge. Not so much the man but what he represented. Let’s just be honest, I panicked and I fled.

I sat down on a curb, looking out at the darkening sky around me. I needed to get to the office, though I’d barely been there for the last two weeks, and pick up what I still had there before I left town. It wasn’t much, but I’d stashed some cash and a few clothes there along with the stuff I had nicked from the hospital.

An hour later, heavily limping, I’d made it to the building. Heading round back, I pulled out the lock pick I’d fashioned what seemed like a lifetime ago and opened up the door. It was still dark and deserted, easing my worries that someone legitimate had moved in. Making my way by feel I headed to what had become my bedroom and searched for the flashlight I had placed there. Turning it on, the room flooded with its dim light.

Taking off the ruined jeans, I ripped off the tensor wrapped around my bad knee, its purpose fulfilled for the day, and examined the scrap on the other knee. It wasn’t too bad a gash. It was dried up now, with gravel and dirt stuck in it. I took the flashlight with me and limped into the bathroom. I tried the taps, letting them run for a minute to clear out the pipes, before dipping a scrap of cloth in the stream of water.

A few tense moments later, I had it mostly cleaned out. Opening the bottle of alcohol, I poured it over the scrape and hissed in as the pain flared up. Flexing the stiffness out, I limped back to my bed, still there with the blankets folded in a corner. Leaving the scratch alone now that it was clean, I checked out my other knee. It was a little swollen, but being wrapped eased the beating it took from running. There were a few raw spots from a fold in the tensor that rubbed during the unexpected workout so I dabbed those with a bit of alcohol saturated cloth, I knew they’d disappear in a few days.

By that time, I was bushed and fell back on the pad I called a bed, not nearly as comfortable as the one in the back room at Joe’s, and decided to get a good night sleep before moving on. A few moments later, I fell into an exhausted slumber, barely remembering to pull the blankets over me.

***

I didn’t wake up so much as jump up. A sound had managed to break through my sleep and drag me into the land of the living. It wasn’t very loud and could pretty much be anything. I was still listening for what woke me when a footstep had me out of my bed and after my knife.

Creeping up to the door I peeked around the side, the early morning light making it easy enough to see. There was nothing there, so I started down the hall to the corner near the back door. Peeking around that corner I saw a dim shape in what, at better times, might have been the lunchroom. Flipping open my knife, I crept up behind him and with the ease of familiarity slipped the knife in around his throat, resting it gently against his jugular.

"I want to know what you’re doing here and you have thirty seconds to explain. If I don’t like your answer, I hope you don’t have any plans for today." This came out in a harsh whisper. I didn’t like my solitude interrupted.

"You’re good, I didn’t heard you coming." It was the guy from Joe’s; I guess he was a cop. Great, just who I didn’t want to see.

"What do you want?" This came out even harsher. I wanted to be left alone, not harassed and harried.

"I just want to know why someone wanted you dead." The man was still calm, making himself as non-threatening as he could.

"Why do you think someone wants me dead?" I eased up on the knife, moving it back but still in easy range. I didn’t trust this guy. Yet.

"The bomb had a directional charge. It was set to blow out the lobby." This wasn’t good news but that didn’t explain why he thought it was me that whoever set the bomb was after.

"So?" I let a belligerent note slip in.

"Everyone else has been checked out. You’re the only wildcard." He tried to stand up a bit more but I moved the knife back in, dimpling his flesh.

"Oh? And suppose I set the bomb myself and just didn’t want to get caught. In which case I’d slit your throat right now and rid myself of a pesky cop. If that is in fact what you are." I could feel his pulse jump as I said that, making me wonder who on earth this guy was, if he wasn’t cop. Then again it could be because I hadn’t let up on the knife. I eased up just a tad.

"You were found near the building, injured. If you had set that bomb, you wouldn’t have been in range when it went off." This guy was good. Oh man, I just echoed what he said.

"And if I’m simply incompetent?" I said coyly.

"The Center doesn’t teach incompetence." His words set off a whole bunch of bells and whistles in my head. I felt a fist close around my heart and the world narrowed as this sunk in. I had to know.

"What’s the Center?" Panic was starting to set in and the knife was back in the hollow of his neck, blood just starting to well ever so slightly underneath it.

He tensed for the first time, confusion coloring his voice. "You don’t know?"

"Oh, Bloody HECK!" I stepped back, flipped the knife off with all the frustration in me and watched in satisfaction as it sunk in to the hilt, sticking out of the wall. I had needed to do something and since I didn’t particularly feel like killing him before he gave me some answers, throwing the knife would have to do.

"Bloody heck? I’ve heard some color expressions, but that one is unique." He gave a glance at what I was wearing, a T-shirt and underwear barely visible in the shadows and amusement lit up his eyes.

"Don’t ask me, I don’t even know my own name." I turned away and in frustration, glared at my knife still quivering in the wall.

"The head injury." The guy's tone was softer, as he moved up behind to me.

"Yah the head injury. I can’t remember anything from before the explosion." I walked over to the wall and yanked the blade out, flipping it closed.

"Has anything come back since?" He certainly was curious, wasn’t he, and I’d had enough. Bad enough I let slip the whole amnesia thing, but I wasn’t about to spill what little else I did know to whoever this guy was. I turned around and faced him.

"Listen not to be rude or anything, but I don’t like my space invaded and I don’t even know who you are. So, let’s leave it at that. Now get lost." I was trying desperately not to lose it at this point. I’d either break down into tears, or kill someone. The tears scared me worse.

"Okay." He backed off a few feet, leaving me my space. "I can help you though."

My head exploded as he said that. Deep in my mind, another memory tried to surface, triggered by those words. But the pain strangled it off, leaving me with only those words, spoken by an accent, an English accent that was whispered in my ear.

I staggered against the counter.

"Are you okay?" The man’s voice broke through the mists in my head and I managed to nod my head before I gave up on hanging onto the counter to sit down on the floor in a boneless heap. He knelt down beside me. "How long have you been having these headaches?"

"Not long, they start when I remember something. It’s like they strangle the thought out of me." I was too tired to maintain a front, it was pretty useless by now anyway, so I gave up on it and let my anxiety show. He put a hand was on my wrist and checked my pulse; his fingers cool against my skin.

"Is there somewhere with more light in here?" His other hand was against my forehead.

"What, you moonlight as a doctor besides the whole cop thing?" I blinked against the emotions still rolling around in my head.

"Something like that." His eyes almost glowed in the dim light that filtered through the building. For some reason, I wanted to trust him. But I don’t trust easily.

"One of the offices has the paper ripped off the window; the sun should be coming through it by now." Grabbing his hand I got to my feet, much more steady now, and walked over to the office I mentioned.

Sitting me down in a shaft of light, he gave me the once over; looked at my eyes, checked my fingernails, that sort of thing. Then he checked out my knee, easing it through a full range of motion, asking if it hurt and if so, when it hurt.

"You should have stayed at the hospital at least another day." He eased my knee down finally and turned his attention to me.

"I couldn’t." I paused, wondering what I was doing. "Why am I telling you this, I don’t even know your name!" I was getting confused. He was not what I expected; he didn’t act the way most people did, so innocent once moment and the next he had a focused intensity that was almost scary.

"Jarod."

"Your name?" I was starting to sound as stupid as I felt. He just nodded though, as if this was okay. Maybe it was considering how scrambled my head was.

"What are you going by right now?" he asked, gently.

"Jane. How original, huh." I just stayed where I was, feeling the sun on my face.

"How often do the headaches come? With the memories?" He did sound like a doctor right then.

"This is the second time and I remember a bit more this time. The pain was worse though. The first one was yesterday."

"After the person died outside the Dojo? You were there?" Back to cop mode.

"Yah." I don’t think Duncan would like the way this conversation was going. Tough.

"Normally returning memories aren’t accompanied by such severe headaches. The tests they did at the hospital didn’t show anything unusual though." He started talking, explaining things I guess.

"I thought medical records were confidential?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"They are. I’m sorry." He looked more than a little embarrassed and glanced back at me.

"That’s okay. I didn’t exactly stick around to read them over myself. What else did you find?" I asked. Jarod explained what he’d found out and after asking a few more questions, was quiet. I was starting to get worried here. "So Doc, am I gonna live?"

Jarod looked over to me and his whole face lit up as he smiled at me. "Of course."

"Then what’s the deal? What’s wrong, aside from the glaringly obvious?" I was finally starting to feel like I was back in control and his silence wasn’t very comforting.

"I’m not sure." That didn’t make me feel any better.

"Oh that’s comforting. How did you find this place any way?" I figured it was time to change the topic.

"Your friends were worried; they gave me this address. It’s a nice set up by the way." He looked around him as he said that, I started to wonder where he’d been that this place was nice in comparison.

"Yah. It’s the Ritz all right." I’ve got to work on my sarcasm problem. Eventually I picked myself up and headed to the hallway. "Let me get some clothes on and get out of here. Too much noise and the neighbors’ll get suspicious."

Chapter 4

"Tell me again why we’re doing this, Mulder?" The petite red head looked over at her partner.

"Headless bodies, turning up over the last hundred years and those are just the ones documented." He held open the door to the building called Desalvo’s Gym, letting his partner in first. "The last one was just outside this building."

"Oh." Stepping in, Scully looked at the boarded up windows and the lack of lighting around the place as the heat of the building wash over her. She should have worn the mini today, but no, she had to be conservative. She wished she knew more of what was going on, but Mulder had dragged her out of the office first thing this morning to catch the flight here and because of a bout of insomnia the night before, she’d fallen asleep as soon as she hit her seat on the plane. All this left her feeling like ‘It’ in a game of wink murder, trying to catch up with what everyone else already knew.

"Are they out of business?" She tried to kick her brain in gear.

"Right around the time of the reported incident there was a localized storm that centered on the murder site, encompassing a five hundred yard radius." The tall, dark and some might say handsome FBI agent looked over to his partner, waiting for the inevitable reply.

"No storm is that localized." She gave the expected answer as she lifted her face to look him in the eye and was rewarded with a familiar gleam.

"Exactly."

She replied with what Mulder had long ago begun referring to as ‘the look’.

"Can I help you?" A young man came down the stairs hidden off in a corner, tank top showing off an impressive set of muscles. "We’re closed for repairs right now."

Flashing their badges in unison, Mulder started off. "This is Special Agent Scully and I’m Agent Mulder. We’re looking for Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan and Jane Nygma?"

"I’m Richie. They brought in FBI agents for a dead body?"

"Why are you so sure all this is about a dead body?" Scully decided to play devil’s advocate.

"Some guy turns up decapitated in the alley and you want to talk about something else? Please, by all means." Walking past them, the young man moved into the office. Sunlight streaming in through a window provided enough light to see by, but only just. "Not much privacy without the glass, but there’s no one here to listen so it’ll do for now. We’ve already cleared out the debris, but it’ll take a while to replace the fuses that blew and the fried wiring."

"Do you work here Mr. Ryan?" Everyone took a seat, Scully and Mulder in front of the desk with Richie behind it. Scully then started the interview, going over the questions asked by the police and a few of her own that popped up as she thought of them. Ten minutes later Duncan MacLeod showed, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he came in; there was a ten degree temperature jump between the Dojo and outside due to the no longer functioning air conditioner.

"Mr. MacLeod?" Mulder got up as the Scotsman entered, Scully a heartbeat behind him.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" He gave them a speculative glance before giving Richie a look that caused the young man to scramble out of his chair.

"Agents Mulder and Scully here are from the FBI. Did you know Mac, that these beheadings have been happening for the last hundred years?" Richie decided to play the enthusiastic young scamp.

"Oh?" Duncan was going for least said, least damage done.

"And a fair number seem to be occurring right around you Mr. MacLeod." Agent Scully cut to the chase.

"Please call me Duncan. And as far as the murders go, these are dangerous times. Bad things happen." He flashed a disarming smile in her direction as he claimed his chair back from Richie’s influence.

"Considering there was one right outside of here, I’d think you might be a bit more worried." Mulder was being strangely quiet, so Scully continued on without him. He had his reasons no doubt. She just wished he’d tell her about them every once in a while.

"Like I said, dangerous times. And this is a dangerous neighborhood, Agent Scully." He leaned back and gave her another grin.

"Hey, Mac. I’d love to stay and talk but I’ve got an appointment to keep." Richie glanced at his watch to emphasize the point before he walked to the door.

"Will we be able to contact you later, if we need to Mr. Ryan?" She glanced over at him, her attention still mostly focused on MacLeod.

"Sure, I have an apartment a few blocks away from here." Bending over the desk he scribbled on a piece of paper then held it out to the two federal agents. "There’s my number." With no further adieu, Richie turned and left.

"Back to the problem at hand," Scully murmured, then tucked the paper into a folder and faced MacLeod. "Duncan, can you tell us if you’ve ever seen this man?" Scully flipped a picture of the corpse onto the desk, Duncan picked up the picture, giving it only a cursory glance before answering.

"I’ve already gone over this with the police. Have you had a chance to talk with them?" Dana was getting ready to kill Mulder, for dumping her into this mess, and at herself, for not having read the file before the interview. She could have spent more time on it in the car or something. Trying not to let her irritation show she looked over the papers on her lap and tried to think of another question.

This pretty much set the tone for the rest of the interview. Scully asked a question, Duncan avoided the answer without seeming too evasive and Mulder was quiet. Half an hour later, Scully was even more confused then when she started this interview. There was absolutely no reason for the two of them to be talking to this man. If he was the killer, a simple interview wasn’t going to get it out of him. Scully was starting to think Mulder was using this case as an excuse to get out of Washington.

Mulder just sat beside her; the only question he’d asked was to find out how long MacLeod had lived in Seattle. Wrapping up her questions, there was what sounded like a faint snort from beside her. Turning her attention to her partner, she saw his eyes betray a humor that he’d managed to wipe from his face.

"Do you know where we might be able to find Ms. Nygma?" That brought the total count of questions from Mulder to two.

"Pardon me?" Duncan looked a little lost for a second before it sunk in. "Oh, you mean Jane. She came in here a few times a week to work out and to strengthen her knee. Other than that I don’t really have much contact with her. Now if there isn’t anything else, I have a electrician to find. He was supposed to be here first thing this morning. If you’ll excuse me." Getting up, he escorted the two agents to the front door, locking it behind them.

"What was that all about?" Scully was ready to throttle someone.

Mulder looked over at her and she looked a little annoyed. "Did you look at Jane’s full name?"

"Jane Elizabeth Nygma. It’s weird but then, so is Fox William Mulder."

"Jane E. Nygma? I wouldn’t want to speculate at this too early in an investigation, but I would guess it’s an alias. On another front, MacLeod was supposed to be in front of the large glass windows during the incident, but there was no evidence of an injury on him today. No even any scratches on his arms."

"It’s possible he wasn’t hurt," she countered.

"The police report states that MacLeod and the woman, Jane, were sparing together when the window exploded," Mulder shook his head. "And according to one of the detectives, they both had some minor lacerations."

Scully gave in that point without a fight. There was sure to be an explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to argue it out that moment. "How about we find a hotel instead of letting me flounder around this case without a clue of what’s going on."

Mulder looked over at his partner, finally taking in her shadowed eyes and tired expression. He instantly felt contrite; ever since her illness and subsequent remission, she had been back to her usual self. But every once in a while he saw signs that her health, though improving, was not as great as she’d like people to believe.

"Mulder, I’m fine. I just want to go over the files before I make a complete ass of myself again." She knew what was going through his mind and while she was touched, he was being over protective. Again.

"Scully, are you psychic?" Mulder unlocked the car door, opening it for her. He was so old fashioned in some ways, but he never treated her as anything but competent. Everything he did was out of courtesy not condescension.

"No, I’ve just been around you long enough to know what you’re thinking." Stepping in the car, she reached over and unlocked the door for him. "Did you get a reservation?" Please, no more places with rates by the hour.

"Not yet, I thought I’d let you choose this time." He got in the car and started it up.

"I’m sure there’s a Quality Inn or something around here." Yes! Dana sent up a quick prayer of thanks, as she considered the luxury of working air conditioning and a clean bathroom. It was odd that Mulder didn’t have them booked one already, but she wasn’t going to argue.

Driving off, they never noticed the figure hiding in the shadows.

***

Stepping into Joe’s, I went up to the bar and asked Russ where Joe had disappeared to. Being told he was at the Dojo surprised me, but I didn’t think anything of it. Waving Jarod over to a table, I ordered the two of us some fries and a couple of burgers then got us something to drink. Taking them over to the table, I sat down.

Not saying anything, I waited for Jarod to break the silence. On the walk over, we hadn’t said much, except for him asking me why I choose the name Jane. I told him about the first night at Joe’s but other than that, I didn’t say much. Now silence weighed over the table like a heavy blanket, almost smothering. Once out in the light of day I had tensed up, wondering why I had allowed Jarod into my confidence.

"What’s your first memory?" His voice broke through my reverie, dispelling the heavy quiet.

"Waking up outside, after the explosion." My voice was flat and rather lifeless, "And I wasn’t scared. The sun was blinding and my head hurt, but I wasn’t scared."

"My first memory is of a bare room, and of being watched. I was very lonely." We both stared off into space for a few moments digesting the revelation of the other, the same way a person stares at an accident. Picking up my ginger ale, I looked at the lines of loss and pain that had turned Jarod’s face hard.

"I like mine better." I said.

"I do too."

I tried to keep a straight face, but I wasn’t very successful. My efforts were rewarded with a rich chuckle as the lines on Jarod’s face smoothed and he looked me in the eyes. Taking a sip of his Coke, the mood at the table lightened and the music started to flow over us, working its familiar magic on me.

"Do you have any memories of before, anything at all, even a glimpse or a word?" It seemed to be a moment for personal questions and Jarod had taken the lead again, leaving me to answer.

"You know, when I first woke up I had these glimpses. I can’t really remember them fully, but they are the only things I remember from before. I don’t want to forget them." Pausing as the waitress, Nadine, brought over the burgers and fries, I picked up a chip and ate it before I continued, felling the need to talk about it.

"The first is of a face. I can’t really see it. The shadows are too dark and the light too bright. The light plays across it, flickering or something. The next is a word; softly whispered out, so soft I can’t hear it. I don’t know if I’m saying it, or someone else, or if it’s just in my head. The last is just light. Bright, white, blinding light. It’s cold and harsh, but I don’t fear it." I swirled the ice in my drink around, seeing the mysteries of the world unfold in the play of reflected light. "What about you? Any weird mysterious memories?"

"My first memory is the one I told you of, from when I was five. Before that, it’s just blank. Nothing." Jarod gingerly picked up the burger and took a bite, ketchup dribbling down his hand.

"You know, this is a depressing conversation." I ate another fry, dragging it through the gravy before popping it into my mouth.

"It is, isn’t it." He looked up at me and we both grinned at each other. There was a bit of a pause before I replied while I took a bite of my burger.

"So what do you do for fun? Can’t be all work and no play." I watched, rather amused, as he wiped away the ketchup off his hands, only to have a new dribble form as he picked his burger up again.

"Have you ever been on a roller-coaster?" The corners of his mouth tugged up as he suggested this, daring me to say yes.

"Don’t think so. No."

"Good. Neither have I." The hint of a smile grew until his whole face was transformed. It took us a total of ten minutes to finish the burgers and then we were out in the sun, heading to the amusement park.

***

Stepping into the pristine room Dana Scully dumped her suitcase on the bed, which was soon joined by a full travel bag. Quickly, she began the ritual of unzipping the bags and disgorging their contents, happy that this time she wouldn’t have to worry about any bugs.

Hanging up a few blouses and some dress pants, she kicked her shoes across the room then sat on the bed, massaging her feet. Through the wall she could here Mulder going through a similar ritual next door and comfort washed over her by the familiar routine. They didn’t have adjoining rooms this time, so they listened to each other through the walls.

She slipped out of the skirt she was sweating in and pulled out a pair of lighter pants, keeping her blouse the same. Then, she pulled the file from the police station out and threw it on the bed before digging in the honor bar. Pulling out one of the cans of pop, she opened it up and lay down on the bed with the folder open in front of her, letting herself get lost in the details of this case.

They were holding the body for her so that she could go over it herself. No family has come to claim it and all they had was a sketchy background. Name: Alan Marcus, age: 38, height, eye color, etc., were all taken off of his driver’s license. He’d been living in Toronto for the last five years with his wife, recently deceased. A week ago, he left for Seattle. Before Toronto though, the name drew a blank, so the guy was living under an alias. There have been a number of those lately.

Reaching behind her she snagged the witnesses’ reports and looked over their statements. They should go over Jane’s testimony with her. Aside from her obvious alias, the fact that Duncan MacLeod had been implicated in a number of similar murders, warranted thoroughly checking his alibi.

She dug through the pile of papers and finally pulled out Mulder’s collection. As she started reading through the information, she knew her eyebrows where crawling up her face. The shear numbers involved with this case made her wonder why one of the more outrageous tabloids hadn’t picked up on this.

Doing some quick math with the dates and places involved, her mind started to spin over the impossibility of one person committing these murders. Not even Eugene Tooms could be in two places at the same time. Some of these recent murders had take place minutes apart on opposite ends of the country. Also included was a report from Interpol with more beheadings throughout Europe, though they seemed to be tapering off there and increasing here in North America.

Scully’s train of thought was derailed as she heard a loud voice come through the walls of the hotel. She couldn’t make out what the person was saying but the voice was pained and angry. It took a moment to sink in that the noise was coming from Mulder’s room. Leaving the file on the bed she got up, pulling her jacket on to hide her holster and headed to Mulder’s door. She barely had time to raise her hand to knock before the door opened of its own accord and Mulder barreled into her.

She sat, stunned, in the middle of the hall for a moment. Then she reached up with a hand to the figure still standing in his doorway. "Want to give me a hand up and then tell me who was on the phone?" Mulder pulled her up with one hand then walked around her and down the hall without a word. Letting out an unladylike curse she dashed into her room to grab her card key and her shoes, then dashed after him.

Finally catching up, she grabbed his arm and managed to pull him around to face her.

"Mulder, what the hell is going on?" She looked at him, catching the look of a caged animal before he turned from her again but this time he didn’t stalk off. "Mulder, talk to me. Don’t shut me out."

"Do you want to talk to Jane today or wait until tomorrow? We should be able to catch her at her work address. I don’t know if she’ll be there, but it’s worth a shot. The home address is bogus. It’s in the industrial zone, some empty office setup." Turning around to face her, Mulder was back to his usual self, the incident pushed from his mind as he turned to the case at hand.

"Give me another hour. I’m almost done reading the files." Dana looked up at her partner, worried more now, than she was earlier. "If you want to talk about it, I’ll be in my room." Turning around she went back to her room and back to the files. After twenty minutes of staring at the same page without reading anything on it, she got up, put the papers together in her bag and was back outside Mulder’s door.

***

By the time we’d gotten back to Joe’s it was past the just off work crowd and was starting on the music crowd. Joe had a young band from out of town playing later that evening, but till they got set up, there was the ever-present background music piped in. It was a Friday night and the band had been advertising this gig for the past two weeks. Jarod and I burst through the door, still laughing over his attempt at parallel parking and full of the good humor from the park.

We had spent most of the day going on the rides. The Rollercoaster lured us back again and again and the Merry Go Round seemed to have a special fascination for me. The Zipper almost made me puke and the boat ride that went all the way upside down, turned Jarod a peculiar shade. Once we’d both managed to settle our stomachs Jarod discover Cotton Candy.

I have no other way to describe it. We walked past a stall set up spinning the sugar. First he just looked at the set up, then went and talked to the owner and a few minutes later came back with two huge clouds on their paper sticks. Passing the pink one to me, he put a handful of blue in his mouth. Neglecting to mention the potential for political incorrectness in this division, I watched as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the spun sugar melting on his tongue. If he was a cat, he’d purr.

After the cotton candy, there were mini donuts, French-fries, salt water taffy, corn dogs, hot dogs, Belgian Waffles, jumbo lollipops, candy apples and the mandatory ice cream cones. If I’d ever had that much junk food in my life before, I’m sure I would have died from the sugar shock. I was giggly and felt like the world had been lifted from my shoulders. Trying our hands at the games, we both were more than successful; I won a giant teddy bear and Jarod opted to get three red bulldogs instead of trading in for a larger prize.

Walking on our way to the car we passed one of those antique photo shops, where they do pictures of people garbed up like the Wild West or something. I got a rather silly idea in my head and dragged Jarod in. Half an hour later the photo was done, Jarod in a somber suit and string tie, face straight, and me in a modest period dress with a high collar and long sleeves, sitting down, parasol in hand, with Jarod standing behind me. It was pretty good and I planned to give a copy of it to Duncan as a joke.

Stashing the animals in the back of Jarod’s car, we headed back, trying to sing along with the songs on the radio, but both of us failing miserably as we failed to catch the words and started to make up our own. Finally turning the music off, Jarod found a spot to park that might have been a little too small, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it. Finally getting the car in, after a long series of backing up and moving forward, we made our way into the bar, the good mood lingering as we found a table near the back. It was close enough to hear, but far enough to talk. Too bad the good mood didn’t linger longer.

The band had finally started playing and the floor was filling up. Joe came up and after a few moments of explanation to him, we got on the topic of music and I stood in awe as Jarod and Joe got into an animated discussion on the origins of the Blues movement. After a few minutes of that I knew more about Jazz, Blues and R&B then I ever wanted to know.

Heading over to the bar through the crowd, I noticed a couple that really didn’t fit in. Getting the drinks we’d ordered as we came in I headed back to the table, watching out of the corner of my eye the tall, gawky man in a trench coat and the short, red-head beside him, similarly dressed. They were scanning the crowd, looking for someone or something. Making it back to the table, I sat down and pointed them out to Joe.

"Oh damn, they’re back." He wasn’t too impressed when he saw who I was pointing to.

"Whose back?" Jarod turned his attention back to the table after letting it wander over the crowd.

"FBI agents. They’re probably here about the beheading." Joe leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his eyes. I could fully understand his anxiety; I was already half out of my seat. I seem to have a panic reaction to civil authority figures, but Jarod put a hand on my arm and I sat back down. I tensed up again, as they walked over to our table.

"Jane Nygma, I’m Agent Scully, this is Agent Mulder." The short chick started the ball rolling as they flashed and then hid their ID, giving a nod of recognition at Joe.

"Pleased I’m sure." I loved the way I slurred contempt into that.

"And you are…" The tall guy, who looked like he got up on the wrong side of his rock, looked pointedly over at Jarod.

"Jarod Logan." Jarod didn’t say anything else, and Joe looked like he expected him to say more.

"If you’ll excuse us, We’d like to talk with Jane for a moment, in private." Ahhh, they were being so polite. I wasn’t in the mood for polite. Time to mess with things.

"Buzz off." I said. Short, sweet and to the point.

"Excuse me?" What a reaction out of Scully. It’s a wonder she ever made it in the Old Boys Club.

"Listen, I’m here for the music. Want to talk to me, do it here, do it now and put up with my friends." I picked up my drink and took a large gulp. I’d been sipping the Long Island ice tea up until then.

"Fine. First off, I’d like your real name and your real address. Second, I’d like to know why you’re covering for a murderer and third, I’d like to know why you think you can screw with the authorities." Brilliant questions coming from Special Agent Mulder. Maybe that was more a statement of intent.

"First, Jane is my name, ask any one here and that is my address. Second I’m not covering up a murder and third, I don’t like you." Flashing a sarcastic grin at them, I turned my attention back to the music, trying to calm my attitude down. I wasn’t really mad, but I was getting there quickly.

"Jane E. Nygma? I’m sure it was funny at the time." The dumb male was still trying to assert his authority.

"What can I say, my parents had a queer sense of humor." I probably should have been more careful, but the guy at the station taking the statements was such a dweeb.

"Your address says you live in the middle of an industrial zone." So the guy wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

"It’s a mailing address. I’m not gonna give out my home address to every jerk I meet. I don’t kiss till the second date either. Leads to misunderstandings." I looked up at Mr. FBI agent and winked at him. He took a deep breath and suddenly switched gears, going for a less antagonistic approach. Guess I was getting under his skin.

"How long have you known Duncan MacLeod?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were still sparking away.

"Just about as long as I can remember." He didn’t like that. "We go waaayyy back." About a month, which for me, was waaayyy back.

"What about his assistant, Richie Ryan?" He ignored the pleading looks given him by his partner. I was ignoring the pleading looks given me by Joe. I was really starting to feel antagonistic; the panic of early had completely vanished leaving me in the mood for a fight.

"Who?" You know, I always thought it was rude of people to roll their eyes back.

"Richie Ryan, red head with attitude," he snapped. I just caught the glimpse of a delicate foot slamming on Mulder’s toe. I’m starting to like the woman. Not much but starting to.

"Oh Richie, yah, nice kid." I gave a nice easy answer, just to mess with his mind.

"How old are you Jane?" he asked. I’m surprised the guy was still alive throwing out questions like that.

"Twenty-five." Another good safe answer, which of course he didn’t believe.

"Really?" Told you he wouldn’t believe me.

"No, but then you shouldn’t ask a women her age, it’s annoying." I just grinned. This was getting fun.

"Are you new in town?" He was now asking nice, safe questions. This was definitely going to be fun.

"You could say that I’m new here. I can’t really remember the last time I was in Seattle." I said, with perfect honesty. He just smiled at my answer. That was annoying, that meant I was giving him what he wanted. Then again, what he thought was the truth was probably so far off, I could let him keep thinking it.

"Where did you live before you came to here?" He dug a little deeper.

"Oh here and there. I like to travel." I like being evasive, it lets people pick their own answer out of what you said.

"You said you were sparing with MacLeod at the time of the murder?" His partner was getting into the scene now. Oooh, tag team interrogation. Now all they needed was a cheap lamp to shine in my face.

"Yup." My smug grin didn’t phase her in the least. She’d be much harder to annoy.

"Did you have any injuries, from the flying glass?" Scully was looking me over, trying to see any scraps, but the long sleeve shirt I had on had hidden them. Where on earth was this heading?

"Yah, a few, minor cuts, nothing much." I let my confusion over her question filter into my voice. She opened her mouth to ask another question but her partner cut her off.

"What about MacLeod, was he hurt?" Mr. Mulder threw in his two bits.

"Don’t ask me, I was quivering in a corner." Well, not really but they didn’t have to know that.

"I think you know a lot more than you’re telling, Jane." He wasn’t too bad at drawling out a sarcastic tone himself.

"What can I say, I like my secrets." I opened my eyes wide, baiting him, wondering just how far I could push him.

"I want you to tell me the damn truth of what happened." His face was starting to get a little red, as I really started to annoy him.

"You really think you want the truth." I leaned forward, a sneer on my face.

"Yes, I want the truth!" He leaned forward until we were almost touching noses.

"YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!" I think it was from a movie, but I have to say it fit nicely. It got to him, his face turned an interesting shade of bright red, but I think he got the idea to back off. Or maybe his ears were just ringing.

"Nice Jack Nickelson impression." Maybe this guy wasn’t such an anal retentive bastard after all. But I still didn’t like him. Much.

"What can I say, I should be on stage." I leaned back in my chair and picked up my drink, swirling it around. I was still uncomfortable, but I could handle those two. Scully took over the interrogation again at this point. I couldn’t blame her; her partner wasn’t getting very far.

"Did you see any suspicious people around in the morning when you came in?" She leaned back in her own chair and glared at Mulder as he opened his mouth to say something.

"No, it was pretty empty when I stepped in." This wasn’t so bad; nice easy questions, nothing too strenuous.

"Did you know the deceased?" she asked.

"Nope" I wished it lasted longer, but Mulder stuck his nose back in.

"Why do you think someone would go and cut off the head of someone else?" His look was just daring me to say something cocky.

"I don’t know!" What type of half-brained question was that? "Maybe his father hit him." He was really getting on my nerves, so obliged him. "Did your father ever hit you?"

I found out exactly how far I could push Agent Mulder as I was picked up by the throat and hauled up out of the chair. This guy had big hands. Jarod was up an instant later and Mulder’s partner was trying to reason with him. Might have worked given a chance but I jammed a knuckle into his shoulder hitting a nerve center. He crumpled to the floor while I managed to stay on my feet.

"Listen, I answered all the questions the cops asked and while I may not be too happy about yours, I answered them. As for my life, don’t go digging. I like my secrets the way that they are." Leaving him on the floor, I walked over to the bar, blood still moving too fast for me to sit down. Jarod came up behind me, asking me if I was okay.

"Sure, I just crumpled a federal agent, pretty much challenged him to find out everything and anything about who I am and I don’t know what on earth is going on around me. Yup, I’m just FINE." I turned around to face him, finally calming down to a less antagonistic level. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, wounded pride, mostly. I think he has some unresolved issues about his father." Jarod sat on a stool beside me.

"Some? With a reaction like that, he’d have been knocked around a fair bit and was probably blamed whenever anything went wrong." Jarod looked over at me, a funny look on his face. "What did I say? You’re looking at me like I just sprouted a second nose or something."

"Why do you assume abuse as opposed to his being angry at an insult about his father?" There was a bit of an odd note in Jarod’s voice, although the curiosity almost drowned it out.

"The look in his eyes. He wasn’t angry, he was hurt. An old hurt." I explained, picking up a pretzel and fiddling with it as opposed to actually eating it.

"What do you think he’s feeling now?" His question was quiet as though he didn’t want me to blow up at him. Can’t say I blamed him the way I went after the Fed over there.

Before I answered, I looked over at Agent Mulder. He was sitting at the table now, waving his partner away and ignoring the curious glances thrown his way by the people who heard the commotion over the base of the band. His every move was slow and heavy, like it was weighted down. He wiped a hand across his face then took a swallow of my drink.

"He’s worried about something, something that’s been bothering him a long time. And it’s all been brought back to him, all the guilt and anguish. He blames himself for it. He’s…" Shaking my head I cleared Mulder’s thoughts out of my mind and watched as he started towards me. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, but something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Kinda like he wasn’t who I thought he should be. That’s a weird thought.

Getting up from my stool I headed over and met him part way.

"Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t like people who nose into my business but I shouldn’t have reacted the way the I did. I apologize." I looked down at me feet and tried to sink into the floor.

"Who are you?" His voice was harsh and the accusing tone hadn’t left. Looking up, I saw dark brown eyes, looking into mine, and they were very hard.

"I don’t want to know." The stark honesty of my reply echoed in my voice.