Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(30)

Mulder shook his head, frustrated. “We’ll never convince the detectives that whoever murdered the people on the Major’s wall is the same man who killed Billy.”

“What makes you so sure the killer is a man?” Phoebe never passed up a chance to challenge him. It was one of the things he loved about her.

“There have only been six female serial killers in America. I looked it up,” Mulder countered. “I was going with the odds.”

“Six they’ve caught,” she couldn’t resist adding. “But I’m not so sure it’s the same person. According to your murder books, serial killers don’t usually change the type of victims they select overnight and go from kidnapping children and stuffing them into crypts to murdering adults and stealing their bones.”

She had a point.

Mulder did a mental run-through of what he knew about serial killers, which extended beyond what he’d learned from The Meaning of Murder. After Samantha disappeared, researching crime and psychology became kind of a weird hobby. At the time, Mulder hadn’t given much thought to how weird. He just added it to his growing list of interests—the New York Knicks and basketball, Star Trek and the NASA space program, Farrah Fawcett and Wonder Woman, and kidnappers and serial killers.

Initially, he had focused—or fixated, as Phoebe called it—on kidnappers. But serial killers, like David Berkowitz (known as Son of Sam), John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy had been all over the news for years now, and with Mulder’s memory, things stuck.

“Maybe the killer isn’t changing his victimology,” Mulder said, thinking out loud. “If the arrows are part of his signature, then he needs to get the bones from somewhere.”

Phoebe nodded, as if she understood what he meant, but Gimble was lost.

“What’s a signature?”

“It’s a calling card—something unique the killer leaves behind at the crime scene,” Mulder explained. Gimble stared blankly at him, so Mulder came up with an example. “After the Boston Strangler murdered his victims, he took whatever he used to strangle the victim and tied it in a bow around the person’s neck.”

“Like the missing bones,” the Major said, picking up the tail end of the conversation. “That’s the aliens’ signature.”

“Thanks for that, Major.” Gimble craned his neck and looked over at the window, in an obvious move. “Is it safe to leave that post unmanned?”

The Major’s gaze darted to the window. “Don’t worry, airman. I’ve got eyes on it.” But his paranoia won out a moment later, and he marched back to the window.

Phoebe shook her head at Gimble. “That was mean.”

“Say that after you’ve spent twenty-four hours with him,” Gimble said, then turned to Mulder. “Even if it’s part of the signature, stabbing a bird with anything and then making a symbol with its dead body sounds like part of a satanic ritual.”

“It’s so sick.” Phoebe wrapped her arms around her stomach and cringed.

“And Billy Christian’s body was found in a crypt,” Mulder added.

“Don’t forget about the mummy stone,” Gimble reminded him.

“It’s called nuummite,” she snapped, suddenly on edge.

She’s not the only one, Mulder thought.

Walking into the wrong room at the police station and sneaking a look at the photos and the reports had been dumb luck, and he knew it. There were still so many missing pieces. “We need more information about the stone and the poison. We should hit the library tomorrow morning and see what else we can find out.”

The sound of footsteps and rustling attracted everyone’s attention. The Major had left his spot by the window and was racing around the room, opening boxes and pulling books off the shelves.

“Is he okay?” Mulder asked.

Gimble sighed. “The occult talk probably agitated him.”

The Major rushed to his recliner and lifted the seat cushion. He returned clutching a paperback copy of Stormbringer against his chest like a teddy bear. “The human race violated the principles of Law and upset the Cosmic Balance. That’s why the aliens chose us to be their guinea pigs, and they won’t stop until they achieve their goal.” He pointed at a DNA chain drawn on the wall. “The aliens want to experiment on us, and manipulate and distort our genetic code. Until the Cosmic Balance is restored, we’re at their mercy.”

“Okay, time for bed. Nobody wants our DNA,” Gimble said, steering his father toward the staircase. “You need some sleep.”

“We should go. I think we upset him,” Phoebe whispered to Mulder, and then headed for the door.

“Okay.” Mulder took another look at the Major’s morbid collage before he followed.

The Major darted in front of Phoebe, blocking her path. “Take this.” He thrust the copy of Stormbringer at her.

“I couldn’t—” she started.

“Just take it.” Gimble yawned and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. “He’s not going to let you leave without it.”

Phoebe accepted the tattered paperback. “Thanks.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem.” The Major stared at her, his expression grim. “A skilled puppet master never lets you see the strings.”