It was dark when Thomas Werner drove into his driveway . He openedthe car door. He stopped. Something was different tonight. It was so quietthat Werner could hear the wind in the trees and the sound of his ownheartbeat. He stepped out of his car and the sensor security light at the sideof the house flashed on as he approached. Werner looked around tryingto get rid of the strange idea that something was wrong.

　　Evelything's fine, Werner told himself. You're imagining things.

　　Tooms crouched  in the hedges  on the other side of the street -watching, waiting. When Werner had gone inside the house, Tooms stood upand moved swiftly across the street like an animal following a scent .Hestepped in front of the sensor light but it didn't turn on.

　　Werner hadn't been imagining things. Something was wrong- terriblywrong.

　　Tooms began to search for his point of entry. Before him, going up theside of the house was a brick chimney. He'd found his way in. He startedto pull himself up like a lizard scaling a wall, and with incredible strengthlifted himself up onto the roof.

　　Werner was reading his mail in the kitchen when he heard a noise - like aman grunting with effort. No, he told himself, It's impossible. He began tomake himself a drink.

　　Tooms stuck one arm deep into the chimney and stretched and stretched.

　　He stretched until his hand reached down three floors, until his hand reachedthe bricks at the bottom of the flue. Carefully Tooms lowered his head intothe chimney. With a sickening dull pop, he dislocated first his left shoulderfrom the socket  and then the right. He could smell Thomas Werner's sweatand feel the heat of the blood in his veins.

　　Slowly he began to squeeze himself down the narrow chimney.

　　In the living room Werner decided to light a fire. He took a log and lit thekindling . A bright fire began to flicker . But suddenly the fire died.

　　Werner wondered if something was blocking the flue and stood up to go andget more matches from the kitchen. Werner never even had a chance Inscream. His attacker threw him to the floor with unbelievable force and hewas unconscious when Eugene Tooms took what he'd come for.

　　The next day Werner's house was filled with people. Mulder stoodwatching the police take measurements. His eyes widened as he sawsomething the police had missed - a smudge  of ash above the hearth.

　　And there was something disturbingly familiar in its long narrow shape.

　　Mulder knelt and examined the mark more carefully. It wasn't very clear butthe resemblance to the other prints was strong. He noticed another smudgeof ash leading up to themantel. The mantel was bare, covered with a finelayer of dust, but in the middle there was a perfectly clean ring.

　　Mulder turned to Scully, "It was Tooms, and he took something from themantel."Mulder was sitting in front of a microfiche  machine. The screendisplayed a taped form. The first line read, "1903 Census". The census,Mulder knew, would tell him precisely who had been living in Baltimore atthat time.

　　Mulder advanced the screen through a few more pages. He bent forwardas he found what he was looking for. This copy of the census form had beenfilled out by hand. The old-fashioned writing read, "Eugene Victor Tooms."Mulder smiled. Finally the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together.

　　"I found him," he said.

　　Scully gave her partner a questioning look.

　　"How do we learn about the present?" Mulder asked. "We look to the past.

　　That's where it all started - in 1903 on Exeter Street."He pointed to the screen.

　　Scully began to read the census form aloud. "Residence: apartment 103,Sixty-six Exeter Street, Baltimore, Maryland. Occupation: Dogcatcher." Aprofession similar to that of the current Tooms, she thought.

　　The following day Scully and Mulder decided to pay a visit to FrankBriggs, the man who had investigated the murders in 1933. So they drove toBaltimore's Lynne Acres Retirement Home where man was living.

　　Briggs was sitting in a wheelchair' in his room and seemed to be waitingfor them. He told them that he had left the police in 1968, after 45 years as acop.

　　"Could you tell us about the 1933 murders?" Mulder asked.

　　Briggs nodded. "I was a sheriff then ... " he began. His voice trailed a wayas if I he subject was difficult for him to talk about.

　　"They were like nothing else. I’d seen my share of murders. But I couldi1ways go home, play with my kid and forget about them. You've got to beable to do that when you're a cop, otherwise you'd go crazy. But thosemurders in Powha tan Mill ... " Briggs continued. "When I walked into thatroom, my heart went cold. I could feel it. "He took a deep breath and went on. "That's why I've been waiting foryou," he said. "Because I knew it was never going to go away. And I've beenwaiting for it to come back." His eyes searched Mulder's face. "It's killedagain, hasn't it?""Four times so far," Mulder told him.

　　Briggs pointed to a trunk  in the corner near his bed. "There's a box inthe trunk there," he said. "Would you please get it for me?" Mulderdragged  the trunk towards the man and opened it. He took out an oldcardboard box and put it down on the bed. The retired police officerremoved the lid, and Scully saw that the box was filled with thick folders.

　　"I knew the five murders in 1963 were committed by the same person,"Briggs said, "The same one who'd killed in thirty-three. But by then thesheriff said I was too old. Wouldn't let me near the case. But I kept my ownkind of tabs  on things anyway. I knew that some day there'd be someonewho could use what I found." Scully pulled a glass jar  out of the box.

　　Inside it was a clear liquid that was probably formaldehyde. A chunk ofred tissue noated in the liquid.

　　"A piece of a removed liver?" she guessed.

　　Briggs nodded, "Yes! And livers weren't the only trophies  he took.""What do you mean?" Mulder asked. "In each case, family membersreported small personal effects  missing," Briggs answered. "A hairbrushfrom the WaIters murder. coffee mug from the Taylor murder."Mulder's eyes met Scully's. They were both thinking of the object missingfrom Werner's mantel.

　　"Have you ever heard the name Eugene Victor Tooms?" asked Mulder.

　　The old man looked through a pile of black and white glossy photographs.

　　He handed a grainy  one to Mulder. "That's Tooms. Thirty years ago."A chill  went through Scully as she realised that in 1963 Tooms hadlooked exactly the way he did thirty years later. He hadn't grown old.

　　"Where did Tooms live?" Mulder asked. "Sixty-six Exeter Street?""That's it," Briggs said, looking satisfied. "Right there."Mulder held out the photograph to Scully and she inspected it moreclosely. The photograph showed a tall brick building, like a warehouse, ona narrow street. A sign on it read PIERRE PARIS & SONS.

　　Mulder held his hand out to Frank Briggs. "Thank you," he said. "You'vebeen a tremendous help." He turned to Scully and said, "I think it's timeyou and I checked out Sixty-six Exeter Street."Scully nodded and felt something tightening in the pit of her stomach .

　　They were getting closer to Tooms and she couldn't help feeling afraid ofwhat they would find.