TITLE: Storyteller AUTHOR: Cutter241@aol.com RATING: R, Violence CLASSIFICATION: Vignette SPOILERS: Character Death DISCLAMIER: No siree, they don't belong to me DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just let me know SUMMARY: No one is ever what they seem to be FEEDBACK: Would just make my day, send to Cutter241@aol.com Author's notes and thanks following story at the end Storyteller 1/1? "I have the feeling that the Lord has laid his hands on you, and that is a dangerous, dangerous thing." Bayard Rustin ~~~ Now he comes out once a week. But for the first 6 months after you died, I didn't see him at all. Regular as clockwork he is. You can set your watch by him. He's here every Wednesday at 2:12 PM on the nose. Rain or shine. I try to be working nearby when he comes to visit. There's a marble bench near your headstone. He sits there. Arms resting across his thighs, hands clasped together and he talks to you. A captive audience you could say. Sometimes he laughs but most of the time he just cries. Occasionally he tells you amusing little stories about stuff going on at the office. I've heard the names Skinner and Frohike a few times. He really loves you. Did you know that? I really loved you too. I still do. But unlike this big wuss who comes along after you were gone to tell you. I told you while you were still around to hear it. Do you remember the first time I saw you? I do. It was a warm spring day and I was walking down your street. You opened your window to let some fresh air in. Your curtains billowed in and out of the window and I could hear pots and pans clattering together in the background. You turned to say something to someone behind you. The sun glinted red-gold off your hair as you moved away. I heard a male voice and your merry laughter in return. My heart was shot through and filled full with love for you. I was also a little bit jealous of your unselfconscious beauty. From that moment on I knew we were destined to be together. I didn't even know you were an FBI agent until after I took you. No way I could let you live after that. Your partner was so frantic for your return. He, your mother and brother went on television to ask for your release. How sweet. It really got me going when I made you scream. Remember? I kept telling you to scream louder, louder. No one can hear you. The bruises I left on your body were so beautiful. Now there's a lost art form. It's not enough to create art on paper, any moron can do that. Look at that Da Vinci fellow. He was ok. But I am a true artist and my canvas is the human body. It's so easy to draw on a blank piece of paper. But a human body, with all its rolls and contours is much more difficult. I loved it, seeing the light in your eyes going, going, gone. I was the last thing you saw. I bet he'd like to know that the last thing you said was his name. Mulder. Sometimes I say his name to myself. Under my breath of course, can't have anyone thinking I'm crazy. Of course we didn't sleep together. I'm not that kind of guy you know. I think humans create true art by their own violence. I saw your friend Mulder coming my way. His eyes were red. He'd been crying again. The big baby. "Nice day." "Yes it is." I replied. It was a beautiful day. The green grass of the hills rolled up to meet the sky. The trees were ablaze in red, gold and brown. I looked up and closed my eyes for a minute, basking in the warm fall sun. I opened my eyes to find your partner standing next to me. "Have you worked here long?" "Oh, I've worked here for a few years now Agent…?" I paused and gave him an expectant look. I damn near called him Agent Mulder. Boy, that near miss really got my heart going. "Agent Mulder," he responded. "How did you know I was an FBI agent?" He said and then I'm not sure if it was my imagination or not but I think he gave me a funny look. "I was the burial attendant the day you interred your friend. I heard you give the eulogy. It was very eloquent." I REALLY was working. Everybody has to earn a living you know. Yep, every Wednesday at 2:12 PM. For the longest time I couldn't figure out the significance of that time. It drove me crazy. I had to know what it meant. I broke into his apartment and stole his journal. Your partner is a sloppy housekeeper! You know what's really funny though? In the whole apartment there's only one picture of you. He keeps it by his couch, in a drawer of an end table there. It's just a small dog-eared black and white photo of you. In it you're looking off to the right and laughing about something. After reading his journal I really have to wonder how pathetic can one person really be? Talk about going through your denial stage of grief. For the longest time you were off on vacation to here and there. A few times he even sent himself postcards and signed them from you. Other than a few amorous references between the two of you I couldn't find the meaning of Wednesday 2:12 PM. Did you really do that thing with the whipped cream? Finally, I snuck into the hospital and checked your medical records. I just had to know. No one looks twice at a nurse. I told you I'm very good at what I do. Hell, even in my regular life no one ever gives me a second glance. I'm just your plain old, everyday, fade into the woodwork individual. But beneath my brown wrapper surface lies a very special gift. Wednesday 2:12 PM your autopsy was performed by Medical Examiner Lawrence Gabriel. Lawrence, what a stupid name! That doctor probably didn't even stop to admire my handiwork. I bet he didn't even know that the small superficial cuts that crossed over your body and across your lovely freckled breasts were made by the second blade of a genuine Swiss Army pocketknife. Note, the first blade of your Swiss Army is for all purpose cutting the second blade for precision work. I'm also quite positive he failed to see the deeper pattern across your shoulder blades and down your spine stopping at your petite behind (oh how you screamed then) made by a Pearl Handled Gordon Shaver. First manufactured back in 1902. Such fine detail in their craftsmanship. I'm more than sure he failed to notice the beautiful precision with which I slit your shapely neck. From right to left my stroke went. Exactly ˝ inch deep, beginning to end. I measured. I shook myself out of my reverie. "Well, I have to get back to work Agent Mulder, I guess we'll be seeing you next week." "Yeah" he mumbled to me, "Next week" Mulder turned and started to walk away, but after a few steps he paused and turned back towards me. "Take care of her." He quietly said. "I will," I assured him. Then waving my hand to encompass the cemetery, "I take care of them all." He nodded once more then turned away and went to his car. Your partner is really cute, wonder if he's seeing anyone? Like I said before, I have many many talents. END Author's Notes: Sequel anyone? I don't like character deaths but this idea just came to me and so I ran with it. My deepest thanks to the World's Nicest Beta Reader Georgia and the Beta Readers Circle.