She hadn't expected to see the message light flashing when she opened her door--she had told Kevin's brother that she wouldn't be home, after all. Although she was certain it wasn't him, she smiled when she saw the light blinking. It was her mother, or one of her girl-friends who hadn't been in touch for a while, or Mulder calling with some irrelevant detail of the investigation that could wait until the morning. She dropped her purse and briefcase on the floor near the door and hit the button.

Kevin.

"Hi, Miss Scully, how are you? Um, Nathan told me that you weren't going to be home but . . . " his voice sounded younger, more like she remembered it. Afraid. "But I need you to call me, no matter what time. It's really important. I think--I think they're after me again, and I don't know what to do. My mom and dad--I can't tell anyone but you, Miss Scully, you know the truth. I've been bleeding again. Please call me back, tonight if you can. I'll explain it to my mom and dad. Please call me back."

The click of Kevin's phone on the tape sounded abrupt and hurried, as if he had been startled or interrupted, although his message seemed finished.

She sighed. She could call Kevin now and risk irritating his parents, or she could wait, something Kevin obviously didn't want her to do. For a split second the impulses warred in her stomach, but she couldn't resist. Her days had been so dark lately; she had been plodding from one thing to the next, fighting just to keep the despair at bay. Kevin's phone call had helped a little, helped her to stop thinking about herself, about the gaping hole inside her where her possible children used to be. Here was an actual boy who needed her, who only wanted her to call. She picked up the phone.

Suddenly, there was another voice in the room, another message from the machine, another teenage boy asking for help.

"Miss Scully, this is Nathan, Kevin's brother. I talked to you today and--Miss Scully, I don't know if this is, like, your jurisdiction or what, but if there's anything you can do--he's gone, and we can't--"

She didn't hear the rest of the message because she was in the bedroom, yanking her overnight bag out of the closet. She had to get there, now, yesterday. She should have known when Kevin called her yesterday that it wasn't some stupid teasing thing. This was Kevin, and he needed her. She grabbed her cellular while she pawed through her underwear drawer.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, we have to go. He's been taken and I have to get there. Pack your--"

"Who? Who's been taken?"

"Dammit Mulder! Kevin, Kevin Cryder. His brother left a message and Kevin is missing. I'm going to Ohio."

"Scully--"

"If you don't want to come, Mulder, that's fine, but this is my decision, and I'm going."

"Do you want me to book the flight?"

"Fine."

"I'll pick you up in half an hour."

She hung up.

Half an hour. Thirty minutes. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the images flashing behind her eyes, like frames on a horrific filmstrip: Kevin dangling above the blades of a newspaper shredder, Kevin pulling his shirt up to reveal the scratch on his ribs, Kevin getting pulled through the melted bars of a motel bathroom window without time to even make a sound. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.

Half an hour.

She forced herself to walk into the bathroom and pull out her travel case, checking for all its essential components. Compact, mouthwash, an extra razor, tooth brush and paste, floss, an old hair brush, lipstick, tampax, pony tail holders from when her hair was long enough to hold them, clear nail polish, facial wash, makeup sponges, mascara. She found herself going through it again and again, seeing the same endless litany of cosmetics. Twenty seven minutes.

Kevin was fine.

He wasn't really missing--he had just gone to a friend's house and forgotten to tell his parents. She was getting all worked up over nothing.

She walked back into the bedroom and picked up the phone, then realized she'd have to get Kevin's number out of her purse. She didn't know his phone number by heart. She hadn't seen him in over two years. She shouldn't be worried. Kevin was fine.

Scully dialed.

The phone rang four times, five, and then a machine picked up. Kevin's voice. "Hi, you've reached the Cornell residence--" She hung up. They were probably out to dinner or something at--she looked at the clock--at eleven pm on a school night. Sure. Just a late family dinner to punish their wayward foster son for riding over to friend's house and not calling home. Twenty-four minutes. Where the hell was he? She should have made the reservations.

Even if he had been taken, it was probably by someone only interested in Kevin because he was a beautiful boy. She remembered thinking that when she first saw him--Oh, he's going to be a heart breaker, she had thought when she first met him, assessing his big blue eyes and fair child-smooth skin. He had turned his face to her and gazed desperately into her eyes. She remembered noticed that his adult teeth were still growing in, crooked and too big in his child's mouth. She didn't want to hope that the person who had kidnapped her boy was just a child molester, just someone who would rape and kill Kevin for his looks and not his . . . his mark. Kevin could protect himself from someone like that, she hoped. Something like that wouldn't be allowed to happen, not to Kevin, probably. She hoped. Twenty minutes.

She went back into the bedroom and opened her suitcase, mentally cataloguing what she found there. She had packed the top half of the beige silk suit without the skirt, only one of the black mid-heel pumps, and no stockings whatsoever. She was panicking. Kevin was fine, or he would be as soon as she got there. She would come in to his middle income ranch house and he would be sitting there on the couch watching tv, or frozen in front of the Nintendo moving only his fingers, eyes rapt on the screen, and she would make dinner and they would be happy and Kevin would be fine and she would be fine and she would never have to worry about losing him again, no matter where he went or what he thought about his sister. He would always be around when she called and she would tuck him into bed at night, and be there when he came home from Washington for milk and cookies and help him with his homework. She could do autopsies in the basement, like her dad had done woodworking, and ship the results all over the country and be a world famous forensic scientist and a mother and a lover and there would be no distinction because Kevin was fine and he was fine and they would always be--

Doorbell.

She realized she was standing in the middle of the bedroom with a shoe in one hand, tapping its sole gently against her palm.

Doorbell.

Mulder.

She hurried to the door and opened it just as he was getting ready to use his key.

"Sorry, I was packing. I'm almost ready."

"Scully, are you okay?"

"Fine, Mulder. I'm fine."

"What did the message say?"

"It's still on the machine," she called over her shoulder. She shoved the shoe into the bag and zipped it. For a moment she simply stood at the foot of her bed with her eyes closed. God, let him be okay, she thought. It wasn't really a prayer, not in the sense that she had been taught to pray, but she thought it anyway, several times in a row, her fingers locked together at her waist.

"Hey Scully, what's a moloch?"

"What?" She grabbed the handle of the bag and hauled it to the living room.

"Moloch. Kevin's brother mentions a moloch in his message."

"I didn't listen to the whole thing," she admitted.

Mulder looked at her for a moment, then turned and pushed the button on the machine.

"Miss Scully, this is Nathan, Kevin's brother. I talked to you today and--Miss Scully, I don't know if this is, like, your jurisdiction or what, but if there's anything you can do--he's gone, and we can't--I don't think we can find him. He said he was afraid of the moloch and I didn't believe him . . . Miss Scully, please." Click. The machine whirred in rewind, and shut off, light glowing placidly.

"You don't know what that is?" she asked.

Mulder shrugged. "Can't know everything, I guess."

She paused, holding her bag with both hands. "Moloch. It sounds familiar, Mulder. Are you sure it's not in the X-files?"

"No, but standing here isn't going to answer that question." His tone was casual, but his hand on her back was solid and warm. "Come, Miss Scully, your chariot awaits."

He took the overnight bag from her and held open the door. The moloch, she thought as she shut and locked the apartment. I know I've heard of that before. The moloch.

*****end (3/12)*****

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