Via Negativa

January 20th, 2001
12:34 AM
Pittsburgh, PA

Agent James Leeds sits alone in a car parked on the side of a dark residential street under a large oak tree. Two-story Victorian-style houses line the lane, shielded from the street by shrubbery and low fences. The road is quiet, but Agent Leeds still sits there, staring at one house in particular. It was built at the same time as every other house on the block, nearly one hundred years ago, but this one is different. Painted a nondescript blue, it blends into the neighborhood perfectly except for the single blue-green eye painted over the front door.

Staring at the door quickly becomes boring, and the agent finds other things to occupy his time, but glances every few seconds at the door to reassure himself that he's not missing anything. He takes the piece of foil that the gum he is chewing came in and starts folding it up into tiny triangles. When it's folded so tightly he can't bend it anymore, he throws it into the cup holder.

Sighing heavily, he looks at the clock again. 12:37. Squirming in his seat, he attempts to find a position more comfortable for his body, but his tall, muscular frame isn't built to bend that way. Groaning softly, he looks back at the door to the house whistling to himself for a few seconds.

"Two hours and twenty three minutes," he whispers, running a hand through his cropped, brown hair. "I can do this."

He doesn't remember closing his eyes, nor does he remember falling asleep, but suddenly, someone's tapping on his window. Leeds jumps awake and looks out the window. Seeing his partner, Stedman, he sighs in relief and rolls down the window.

"Dammit, Jim, you fell asleep?" Agent Stedman exclaims. "We're on a stakeout!" The taller man sighs as Leeds rubs his eyes a bit and tries to wake up fully.

"I guess… I don't know," Leeds mumbles as he tries to get his surroundings. He is clearly disoriented, but Stedman is so infuriated he doesn't even notice Leed's confusion.

"What happened over there?" Stedman demands.

Leeds looks at his partner in confusion. "What are you talking about?" God, why can't I shake this sleepiness? he thinks to himself.

"The house, man," Stedman responds impatiently. "Front door's wide open!" He looks at his partner suspiciously. "How long have you been out?"

Leeds looks at the front door in shock. Just as he moves to look at the clock on the dashboard, Stedman pulls on his arm. "We'd better check it out."

Leeds lets his partner drag him across the street. With his free arm, he pulls his gun out of his holster, just in case. Stedman seems to agree with him. "The light's out. The door's open. I don't like this," he murmurs, looking at the house and wondering what the next step should be. "Damn," Stedman curses under his breath.

Both men turn on their flashlights as they climb the steps to the front door, sweeping the perimeter of the house to expose any ambushes or traps set for them. There is nothing.

"Looks like they all left," Leeds whispers, hoping they'll be able to leave soon.

"I'm not so sure," Stedman mutters back, still obviously angry that Jim could have let something like this happen on his watch. Leeds ignores his partner's anger, and looks up to see the painted blue eye over the doorway just before he crosses the threshold into the house. It stares back at him, and Leeds suppresses a shudder.

Upon entering the house, the two agents start to split up to search the building. Leeds heads to the right, towards what looks like a bedroom, and Stedman moves to the left, towards the kitchen and dining room. Just before entering the kitchen, however, Stedman turns to his partner and whispers, "Jim!" Once Leeds turns around, he adds, "Be careful. Remember when we questioned this guy last week? I didn't like the look in his eyes. It seemed like he was more than capable of murder."

Leeds nods and then turns back to his area of the house. Stedman was right, the leader of this cult was crazy, and that meant that his followers were dangerous too.

Sweeping his flashlight across the foyer in a slow, deliberate arc, Leeds confirms his path is clear. As he steps forward, he lowers his flashlight to make sure he doesn't trip on anything in his path. Something catches his eye on the ground, and he stops, checking to confirm his first glance.

"Stedman," Agent Leeds calls out tensely. "I think you need to see this."

His partner turns away from the kitchen and returns to the main foyer. He sees Jim Leeds pointing his penlight at the ground. Even in the meager light, both men can clearly see bloody footprints leading towards the open door on the far right side of the hall.

"Damn," Stedman hisses.

"They lead into the bedroom," Leeds says, and points shakily to the door with his flashlight.

Guns at the ready, they approach the door. The floorboards creak noisily with each step, and Agent Leeds breathes in shallow gasps of air, trying to calm his racing heart. He looks over at Stedman, who stands at the left side of the door with an eerily calm expression. Stedman catches his eye and lifts three fingers to signal the start of the countdown. He lowers one finger, and Leeds presses his body up against the wall, taking a deep breath to mentally prepare himself. He lowers another finger, and Leeds readjusts his grip on his gun. Finally, Stedman swings his hand around, pointing the last upright finger at the doorway, and Leeds pivots quickly and points his gun into the room, ready to defend himself against any attacker.

"FB-" Jim begins the announcement of their arrival, but it dies on his lips when he takes in the scene in front of him.

A large room stretches out in front of him. A row of beds runs along the side wall, each occupied by a single person. As Agent Leeds' flashlight illuminates the room, the images become clearer.

Each bed is full of blood. Blood stains the white sheets, the light blue blankets, the metal headboards, and the dingy walls, and drips off the blood-soaked mattress onto the floor. Every sleeper has a large gash running down the center of his forehead.

"Oh, God," Leeds breathes. "Sted- Stedman!" he croaks. Stedman swings into the room, gun pointed defensively. Leeds hears his sharp intake of breath as Stedman takes in the scene before him.

"They're all dead," Leeds affirms, trying to bring himself back to reality. The dream-like state he had felt when Stedman woke him up just a few moments ago has not yet left, and Leeds is unable to focus on anything.

A creak from the other side of the house, near the kitchen, startles them into action. Stedman motions with a quick nod of his head that Leeds should stay and investigate the crime scene further while he checks out the noise. Before his partner can voice a complaint, Stedman is out the door, searching for the source of the noise.

* * *

Stedman stands in the main foyer, trying to decide which direction to turn. Finally, he decides to go forward. He continues down the hall towards the staircase leading to the second floor.

He doesn't see the man hiding in the shadows as he passes. An elaborately decorated ax rests in the stranger's right hand, which hangs comfortably at his side. The man takes a step out of the corner towards the agent.

Stedman continues towards the staircase, oblivious to the danger behind him. Suddenly, he hears another creak from a few feet behind him. He whirls around, gun upraised and ready to fire.

All he sees is a large ax whistling towards his forehead. He pulls the trigger as quickly as possible, squeezing off two shots before the ax completes its arc.

* * *

Jim Leeds squats by the third victim when he hears the gunshots. Jumping to his feet, he runs out to the hall, looking for his partner. He stumbles over something soft and nearly lands on top of it. He looks down to see what it is, and realizes it is his partner, Stedman. His eyes are wide open, but he is obviously dead. A large gash, still bleeding, rips his forehead open.

"Oh God, oh God, oh no," Leeds breathes to himself, unable to fully comprehend what just happened.

Panicking, he pulls himself to his feet, trying to get away from his partner. However, his feet are tangled in Stedman's jacket and he falls back on top of his partner again. He pushes himself away as hard as he can, inadvertently using Stedman's head as leverage. Finally standing up, he looks down at his hands and sees the bloodstains covering them. Frantically wiping them off on his own trench coat, he looks for his cell phone as he turns away.

He bumps right into something solid, yet soft. Looking up, he sees a man standing in front of him. The intruder is not large, but he terrifies Leeds. In the middle of his forehead, exactly where every dead person in this cursed building wears a fatal wound, this man has an extra eye. Leeds stares into the unblinking eye, too terrified to move, as the man swings the ax down. This time it embeds itself firmly in Agent James Leeds' head.

* * *

Scully lies on her sofa in her pajamas, reading a book propped up against her protruding middle. It's late, and outside her window she can see snow drifting down under the streetlight. The only light in the room comes from the small lamp she has turned on by her head. The soft light casts shadows over the rest of the room, but she doesn't mind the dark. She yawns loudly, and the book slides off her body onto the ground. Groaning, Scully reaches down to pick it up when she feels a sharp pain in her abdomen. She cries out and kneels down on the ground, hands cradling her stomach. Another cramp surges through her body, and she clenches her teeth against the pain, trying to breath through it. It doesn't seem to help and she closes her eyes tightly until the agony lessens.

Suddenly the pain is gone. Scully opens her eyes to see herself in a hospital room, sitting on the chair usually reserved for visitors. She is still wearing her pajamas, now with a terrycloth robe wrapped around her for warmth. The room is filled with fancy bouquets and vases of flowers. Cards are scattered around the room, mixed in among the flowers. Looking down, she sees one of the cards face down in her hand. She turns it over to look at the title:

"We're thinking of you."

Curious, she opens the card to see the signature.

"Dana,

We heard about your loss. We hope you know that you will be in our thoughts and prayers as you struggle through this difficult time. If you ever need anything, even just someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call us.

Bill and Tara."

Puzzled, Scully stands up and starts inspecting the cards. "Condolences." "Thinking of You." "Our prayers are with you." Finally she finds her mother's card, filled with writing. One line stands out at her, and she can't finish reading. "With the loss of your child."

Scully drops the card with a strangled cry. Tears well up in her eyes as she reaches for her abdomen, feeling for the reassuring bulge.

There is nothing. Her stomach is flat and smooth. "Oh God," she whispers, letting the tears fall.

"Dana?" Scully turns to see her mother standing beside her. They embrace as Scully gasps for air. Finally, Scully pulls away, brushing the tears away. "I'm so sorry, Dana," Margaret Scully whispers, stepping back.

Her brother embraces her next, "I'm so sorry Dana."

Tara gives her a hug as she starts crying. "I'm so sorry, Dana."

Skinner stands before her, hands clasped in front of him. "I'm so sorry, Scully."

Doggett shakes her hand. "I'm so sorry, Agent Scully."

The Gunmen stand in front of her, avoiding her eyes. "We're very sorry, Scully."

The voices repeat over and over, creating a cacophony of sound until they meld into one loud cry. "We're so sorry Scully. We're so sorry."

Scully presses her hands over her ears as she stands and pushes against the crowd of people in her room, heading for the door. Even while covering her ears, she can still her the dull roar of the voices surrounding her.

Once in the hall, the sound disappears. Slowly lowering her hands, Scully looks around the corridor with tear-filled eyes. It is completely empty. Sighing in relief, she sinks down into a chair resting against the wall and covers her face with her hands.

Suddenly the sound swells up again, and Scully looks up to see the same faces before her, chanting in unison, "We're sorry, Scully, we're so sorry." Standing up again, she tries to push them away, but they quickly surround her and continue their chant.

"We're sorry, Scully, we're so sorry."

Scully pushes against first one person, then another, but the wall they have made around her is impenetrable. She screams for them to stop, but they drown her voice with their cry.

"We're sorry, Scully, we're so sorry."

With a resigned moan, Scully sinks to her knees on the ground as they close in above her.

"We're sorry, Scully, we're so sorry."

* * *

With a cry, Scully opens her eyes. She brings her hand to her abdomen and rubs the swell gently, reassuring herself as she tries to slow her breathing.

Finally, she sits up in bed and turns on the light. Her leather-bound journal rests on the bedside table, and she sets it on her lap. Pulling the cover off her pen, she dates the journal and then stops, her pen poised to write on the next line.

Nothing. She has nothing to say. Scully thinks for a long moment, then finally writes, "Another nightmare" before she pushes the book off her lap. She leans forward and rests her forehead on her knees. Scully sighs deeply and closes her eyes.

Just when she thinks her mind has cleared enough for her to return to bed, the phone rings.

* * *

"Scully," the voice sounds crisp and clear. She's awake again, Skinner thinks to himself with a small shake of his head.

"Scully, it's Skinner. I'm sorry to call at such a late hour..."

"It's ok," she assures him softly. "I wasn't asleep anyway."

The silence that hovers between them is enough of a reprimand from her boss.

"I've been in Pittsburgh for the last few days. We were looking into illegal activity of a religious cult in the city. I've just been informed that there's been a, uh, situation of sorts here."

"Pittsburgh?" she repeats.

"Yes. Two agents are dead, as are twenty members of the cult they were surveilling."

"What happened?"

"We're having some trouble determining that, Scully. It certainly seems like something that warrants investigation from you and Agent Doggett."

"You mean this is an X-file," she states bluntly.

"Well, yes," he replies. "How soon can you get here?"

"Let me get dressed and call Agent Doggett, and we'll be on our way."

Hanging up the phone, Skinner wipes his face with his hands and then walks out of his motel room, heading for his rental car.

* * *

8:25 AM
Pittsburgh, PA

Walter Skinner stands in the early morning sun on the normally quiet street. Today, however, it is filled with ambulances, police cars, and other official vehicles parked erratically up and down the lane. Neighbors crowd the sidewalks, trying to get a glimpse of the commotion. Skinner snaps on a pair of latex gloves and is about to approach the crime scene when he hears a familiar voice call out to him.

"Sir?"

Looking up, he sees Agent Scully approach him, with Agent Doggett following close behind. Both look like they were roused in the middle of the night.

Scully grabs a pair of latex gloves from a passing police officer and puts them on. "What do we have?"

Skinner leads the pair to the sedan he was approaching. "I had some men doing routine surveillance on a cult group across the street. They call themselves the Ibogan Temple. We got a tip yesterday that they were trafficking narcotics. We didn't expect this."

He points at the driver's seat of the car. Scully looks in and sees Agent Leeds sitting in the driver's seat. Except for the deep gash in his forehead, he looks as if he's waiting for the crowd to leave so he can pull out from the curb and head to work.

"Agent James Leeds," Skinner recites. "Six years with the Bureau. Has two small kids. A patrol cop found him. Says the car was locked when he arrived."

Scully ignores the commentary and leans in closer to the body. "Nobody saw or heard anything?" she asks.

"No."

Doggett looks over his partner's shoulder briefly, and then turns away. "This didn't happen here," he states.

"What do you mean, Agent Doggett," Skinner demands. "All the evidence shows that Agent Leeds was killed right here in this seat. The blood splatter on the seat, the undisturbed nature of the body..."

"It's too narrow," he continues. "There's no room to swing the weapon. The angle's all wrong." He pantomimes swinging an ax, showing that the only angle that would allow a mortal blow would land on the side of Leeds' head, if it didn't land on the roof of the car.

"Besides," Doggett continues, "It doesn't make any sense. The gun's still holstered, and the key's still in the ignition. Even if he fell asleep... Even if he fell asleep, he'd have woken up before he had an ax embedded in his forehead." Sighing, he stands up. "This is damn weird."

Skinner's face is grim as he turns towards the house. "It gets weirder."

He leads Doggett towards the house. Scully follows silently, taking one last look at the body. They enter the house and Skinner walks straight into the large bedroom. Half the beds are now empty, and the rest are covered with white sheets. The trio step out of the way as the coroners push a gurney with another body on it out the door.

"Twenty cult members." Skinner announces. "All dead from a single wound to the forehead, just like our guy."

"Every member was killed?" Doggett asks, stepping further into the room.

"Everyone except their leader, Anthony Tipet. He's currently missing."

Scully walks away from the pair, and begins staring out the small window over one of the beds, seemingly oblivious to the blood covering the room. Skinner looks at her for a moment, and then turns back to Doggett, leading him out of the room.

Skinner shows Doggett a picture of Tipet in a room down the hall. The picture rests on a small altar in a corner of the room. Doggett surveys his surroundings as he listens to the Assistant Director.

"Tipet was a convicted murderer who claimed to have found God. We've seen this type of thing before. Jonestown, Heaven's Gate... We just didn't think we were dealing with an apocalyptic cult here."

Doggett nods his head absently as he continues his search. As he finishes gathering his thoughts, he notices another block on the shrine. It is smooth on all sides, except for a primitive carving of an eye on one side. Standing up, he turns to face his boss. "I don't care how devoted they were. These people wouldn't just lie here and let their leader bash their brains in. I figure at least one of them would have had a problem with that."

"I've considered that," Skinner retorts. "I'm running tox screens on all the bodies for drugs."

"Does that include our man in the car?" Doggett counters as Agent Frank Alten enters the room.

"AD Skinner?" he begins. "We still haven't been able to locate Agent Stedman."

Doggett gives a quick start at the name. "Angus Stedman?" he asks, mildly shocked.

"Leed's partner," Skinner confirms. "You know him, Agent Doggett?"

Not bothering to answer, he turns back to Agent Alten. "Where'd you look, Agent Alten?"

"We don't exactly know where to look anymore," he answered frankly. "He's not answering his cell or his pager, and he wasn't checked into the same motel as Leeds."

"Did you check his condo?" Doggett asks.

"His condo?" Agent Alten inquires, confused.

"Yeah, Stedman's from Pittsburgh," he replies. "He keeps a condo here that belonged to his folks."

"Do you know where it is, Agent Doggett?" Skinner asks. At Doggett's nod, he leads the pair out the door to his car. "You and Agent Scully lead us in your vehicle, please."

* * *

Upon hearing her name, Scully turns back to the room to see that nearly all the bodies have been removed from the crime scene. She turns to see Agent Doggett standing in the doorway, scrutinizing her. She quickly composes herself and walks over to him.

"We're going to check out Agent Stedman's condo," he informs her quietly. "Are you up for it?"

Scully visibly bristles. "Of course I'm up for it, Agent Doggett."

"I’m just asking," he replies. "You seemed a little... distant this morning."

"I'm fine," she spits out, then brushes by him and stalks out the door. When he doesn't follow, she turns and gives him a pointed glare, letting him know she expects him to drive. He pushes himself off the frame of the door and ambles slowly towards her.

* * *

The twenty-minute drive across town does nothing to improve Scully's mood. She climbs the stairs into the dingy building. Doggett, Skinner, the landlord of the building, and another FBI agent are ahead of her. The landlord leads the procession down the hall and around the corner, stopping at condo number 5. Scully scowls to herself as she catches up to the group and stands off to the side as they begin knocking on the door.

"Angus Stedman!" Doggett calls out. "It's John Doggett!" He bangs on the door several times, but no one comes to the door. The men exchange glances before Skinner nods at the landlord. He comes forward, pulling a key from his chain and unlocking the door. He then turns the knob and pushes, but a chain comes in the way, preventing anyone from looking in.

Scully moves up to the group and pulls her gun from its holster. She and Agent Alten stand on opposite sides of the door as Doggett breaks down the cheap wood with a single kick. Once the door is opened, Scully and Doggett begin searching the apartment in one direction, while Skinner and Agent Alten move in the opposite direction.

The apartment is a mess, and Scully has to struggle to keep from turning her nose up as she searches the rooms. Dirty clothes are strewn all over the floor. Dishes fill the sink, waiting to be washed. A pot with spaghetti sauce caked onto the bottom sits on the small stove. The garbage in the corner of the kitchen is overflowing.

"Scully! Doggett!" Skinner's voice booms through the apartment, though it's obvious he's trying to keep quiet. They rush through the living room, trying not to trip on a shirt in their paths. Scully notices the landlord, still standing in the doorway, watching the action with a combination of curiosity and worry.

Skinner meets them in the doorway to the bedroom. He steps aside to let Scully and Doggett look in. The room is just as messy as the rest of the condo. Clothes once again are littered everywhere, and the nightstand near the queen-sized bed looks like it hasn't been dusted in weeks. Scully's gaze finally settles on the full-sized bed in the middle of the small room. Special Agent Angus Stedman lies in the middle of it in his boxers and a t-shirt, the covers tangled around his lower legs. Except for the gaping wound in the middle of his forehead, it seems as though he's taking a mid-morning nap.

* * *

4:18 PM
Office of the Deputy Director

Assistant Director Skinner shifts uncomfortably in his chair, waiting for the meeting to begin. He hates this office. Something just seems wrong about it.

He looks over the other guests of the room. Agent Alten is busy loading a tape in the VCR. Scully is finding something incredibly interesting in her pen. Doggett pretends to be listening to Alten as he speaks, but glances at his partner surreptitiously every few seconds to check on her. Skinner turns his attention back to Agent Alten and listens as he introduces the tape.

"This is a video we found on the premises of the Ibogan Temple. It shows Tipet, preaching to his followers. The rest, uh, seems pretty much self-explanatory."

With that, he sits down and hits the play button. After a moment of static, the screen is filled with the image of a middle-aged man with brown hair and brown eyes parading before the camera, preaching. The camera slowly pans in and out as it follows the cult leader around the room, and it soon becomes evident that he's speaking to a small group of followers.

"The body is but clay," Tipet begins. "A shell made by God to hold the twin aspects of the Holy Spirit: Light and Dark. If we have the courage to see into the darkness we see into God, free of the clay which confines us."

Alten pauses the video at this point. "It, uh, more or less goes on from there, pretty much in the same vein."

Deputy Director Alvin Kersh is unimpressed. "Uh huh," he mutters. "And what background do we have on this Tipet character?"

Skinner glances at his notes, then speaks up. "Anthony Tipet served 12 years for the bludgeoning death of his wife. After his release, he became a minister preaching a hybrid of evangelical and eastern religions. He claimed a higher plane of being could be reached by the Via Negativa- the path of Darkness- the plane closer to God. Once reached, this plane would let the spirit travel unhindered. Tipet believed hallucinogens would lead him to this plane- specifically compounds of the bark of an African tree, the Iboga."

"You're telling me these people were so stoned on this... bark," Kersh says, disbelievingly, "that they just let their leader kill them?"

"We found no trace of the drug in the blood of any of the victims," Skinner denies.

"Then I don't understand," Kersh declares, pushing himself away from the table. "How in the hell did Tipet manage to slaughter all these people?"

"Tipet was paranoid, but nothing indicates he was ready to take the lives of his own people or our men," Doggett answers.

Skinner watches with some carefully hidden amusement, as Kersh grows more and more frustrated during the conversation. "This is our one and only suspect," Kersh tells Doggett. "Are you telling me he didn't do it?"

Doggett stares silently back at the Deputy Director. Finally, Scully speaks up, though her eyes don't manage to make the journey to meet Kersh's gaze.

"Whoever did this left no trace of how," she counters quietly. "No prints, no forensic evidence at all at any of the murder sites, and both Agent Leeds' sedan and Agent Stedman's condo were locked from the inside. The cult house was unlocked, but there was no sign of anyone entering or exiting all night."

"That's impossible," Kersh declares.

"Unless," she continues, "Tipet took the drug and succeeded. Unless his consciousness was there, but his body was elsewhere."

An uncomfortable pause fills the room, and Skinner controls the urge to squirm in his seat in empathy for Scully as Kersh stares at her angrily.

"The X-file explanation," Kersh finally spits out with disgust. "I should have known that this conclusion would have come from Agent Scully."

"With all due respect, Sir," Scully responds in the same tone of voice as her eyes finally lift to meet Kersh's, "No one has reached any conclusions yet."

"That's the problem," Kersh stands and starts to walk away from the table. Skinner wonders how long he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this one to appear so he could go on a tirade. "I'm not hearing conclusions from anyone at this table! If this man has reached this higher plain of existence, then explain to me why twenty-two people are dead, including two FBI Agents. I want to hear what you are going to do about it." With that, he returns to his desk across the room and begins looking through papers. It's obvious the meeting is over.

Skinner gathers up his papers quietly as he watches the X-files Agents speak softly to each other. Agent Alten had grabbed his tape and scuttled out of the room as quickly as possible. Kersh must have scared him, Skinner thinks.

He follows Scully and Doggett out the door, avoiding a confrontation with either of them. Doggett is mad, and Scully certainly isn't any less angry.

"If I'm gonna be working with you, Agent Scully, I'd appreciate a heads up before you tell the Deputy Director any more science fiction stories," Doggett sneers at her, walking quickly down the hall. Scully has to nearly trot to keep up, and it isn't easy with her growing middle.

"Hey, I don't have any better explanation," she replies, a few steps behind him. He reaches the elevator and punches the down button.

"Kersh was right," Doggett informs her and Skinner as they enter the elevator. "This whole story doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

"We're supposed to give Kersh answers, Agent Doggett," Skinner tells him. "You're supposed to help me do that, no matter how little sense the case seems to make at the beginning."

"Well, I do know one thing," Doggett informs them as Skinner steps off the elevator. "Tipet's on the run. Find him, and we'll start getting some answers."

Skinner sees Scully open her mouth just as the doors shut.

* * *

9:25 PM
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Matthew Hundford sits on a grate near a building, completely occupied with the task of keeping warm. He rubs his hands together and blows on them, trying to keep his fingers from being frostbitten. He knows if that happens, he'll have to spend the night at the YMCA again, and he just can't afford to pay for a room for the third night this week.

Every few minutes or so, he gets up and walks around. Not too far, otherwise he'll lose his precious spot right along the wall, with the grate that lets up warm air every now and then.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps coming down the deserted street. Looking up, he sees a man walking down the sidewalk in a hurried pace, his eyes aimed straight at the pay phone in front of Matthew.

Seeing a possible opportunity, Matthew struggles to his feet and approaches the man as he grabs the telephone. "Spare change?" he rasps out.

"I don't have anything. Sorry," comes the curt reply. Matthew starts getting mad now. This man obviously has some money on him; otherwise he wouldn't be looking to use the pay phone.

Forcing himself to remain polite, Matthew presses on. "Now, come on, man. I know you got something 'cause I hear it jingling in your pocket!"

The man turns towards him, and Matthew is certain he's won the battle. Instead, however, he is grabbed by his tattered coat and shoved against the phone booth. Matthew stares into the stranger's wild eyes, trying to find a way to survive this.

"You don't want to know me," the man whispers urgently, before letting him go.

Matthew tumbles to the ground and scrambles back to his dark corner. He watches as the man drops the change into the phone and dials. He waits for a few seconds, then swears to himself quietly.

Machine, Matthew thinks to himself. Serves him right.

The man doesn't seem to be concerned about Matthew overhearing his message, however, and speaks into the phone in his normal voice.

"Andre, it's Tipet. Pick up the phone. Pick up the phone, damn you. You did this!" he cries out, startling Matthew. "YOU... DID... THIS..." he repeats, now in a lethal tone. Then he sounds almost sad, or pitying, as he continues. "God help you, Andre. I can't."

With that the man named Tipet hangs up the phone and disappears down the night street, leaving a very confused Matthew behind.

* * *

Washington, DC

Andre Bormanis listens to the phone message, his head in his hands. What can I do? He wonders to himself. Standing up, he reaches over to the side table and grabs two white pills, downing them with a glass of water.

"This has to stop," he says out loud to the empty laboratory. All he hears in reply is the scuttling of mice in their cages.

Andre grabs a razor from the desk in front of him. It probably won't work, but he needs to try something. He can't continue living like this.

Steeling himself, he brings the razor to his forehead and looks in the mirror. As he watches, a third eye appears, closed for the moment. As he begins to cut across his forehead, he sees he is obliterating the third eye.

Blood drips onto a well-read magazine on the table, opened to an article titled, "Discover the Real You Through the Darkness Within."

* * *

10:15 PM
FBI Headquarters

Doggett sits at his desk in a corner of the X-files office looking through some papers. One of the articles catches his eye and he rises out of his chair, still reading. He crosses the room in three strides and stands behind Scully's shoulder for a second, expecting her to turn around as she always does when he gets too close for her comfort.

She doesn't move. Doggett looks up from the article at his partner. She's staring at some papers on her desk but doesn't seem to comprehend anything on them. He finally puts his hand on her shoulder, and she jumps. Turning back and looking up to face him, he can actually see her face change into the composed mask she always wears around him.

"Sorry, Agent Doggett," she tells him. "I was just..." she gestures at her desk, "reading. Did you find something?"

"I think I may have found our murder weapon," he says, letting some of the excitement he is feeling show in his voice.

Scully perks up at this too, and gently pulls at the papers he holds in his hands. "Let me see," she orders. Doggett opens his hand and lets her take the papers. She scans them as he summarizes the important information.

"We figured the victims were killed from a single blow from a six to eight inch long ax blade, right? And even though we've had people working on this all day, we couldn't find a manufacturer of it. But this would probably fit the wound pattern almost perfectly."

He points at the picture at the top of the first page. There is a large ax there, painted multiple colors with several charms tied to the handle.

"It certainly could be the murder weapon Agent Doggett," Scully says, as she looks through the papers, "except that it's sitting in a museum in Calcutta, India."

"What?" Doggett grabs the papers violently and rereads the article he had found on his desk.

"It's a ceremonial ax used over a thousand years ago to cleave the skulls of unbelievers. It's now on permanent display in the Calcutta Museum of History." Scully informs him. "That article was required reading for Tipet's followers. I put it on your desk to read for background material."

Doggett mutters half to himself, frustrated, "Everything in this case keeps leading to dead ends."

Scully gives a half smile and picks up the phone. "That's when we make a few phone calls to find more information." She dials in a familiar number, then sits back and lets the phone ring. After precisely two and a half rings, a voice answers. "Langly, it's me. Turn off the tape..."

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, Scully is off the phone and has extracted a promise from the Gunmen to get her more information regarding the ax in question as well as the placement of the fatal wounds on the victims.

"Ok, let's see what else we can find here," she begins and pulls herself to her feet, only to sit back down in the chair heavily and take a few deep breaths.

"Agent Scully?" Doggett turns to see his partner with concern and approaches her carefully.

"I’m all right," she assures him. "I think I just got up too fast and got dizzy." She pulls herself back to her feet, slower this time, and then starts moving towards Doggett's desk, but he quickly intercepts her.

"No way. We're going home now. It's 10:30, and we've been up since at least 3 AM. Let's go home."

Scully's eyes flash for a second, before she begins to protest. "I’m fine, Agent Doggett. You can go home if you want. I am going to look through a couple more articles."

"No!" he exclaims. "It's late, and we've been up for nearly eighteen hours. We are both going to go home right now, Agent Scully, and leave this entire case at our desks. It will still be here tomorrow morning."

Scully looks at him, thinking for a moment, then starts clearing her desk.

* * *

11:20 PM

Matthew sits on his grate in Pittsburgh, trying to keep warm. It's too cold for him to sleep tonight, and besides, he's still a little spooked from his encounter with the crazy man earlier in the evening.

The sound of footsteps is sharp against the silence of the late night and he sits up straighter. "Spare change?" he calls out as the footsteps come closer. "I'll take anything ya got."

Looking up, he sees the freak from before. He was right; this guy is crazy. He found some way to attach a fake third eye to the middle of his forehead and it stares down at Matthew as he stumbles to his feet. As he tries to stand, the ground seems to give way under him and he feels himself sinking. Looking down, he finds himself sinking into the concrete, which has turned into a liquid.

He tries to scream but no noise comes out. He tries to haul himself out of the runny concrete, but the concrete pulls his arms in along with the rest of his body and no matter how much he struggles, he can't free himself.

Helpless, he feels himself descend further and further into the concrete until it reaches his neck. He turns his head up to stare into the maniac's face. Matthew sees a large painted ax held in his hands. As the man lifts it higher above his head, the multiple feathers tied to the handle of the ax quiver violently.

"No!" Matthew tries to scream at this attacker, but all that comes out is a cracked whisper.

There is no other sound except for the dull thunk of the ax hitting Matthew's forehead.

* * *

3:45 AM

Scully walks through the deserted FBI building down to the X-files office. The door is closed, but she can hear Doggett moving around in the room. Knocking once, she pushes the door open.

"Agent Doggett, weren't you the one who wanted some sleep?" she asks him as she steps into the office.

"Believe me, Agent Scully, if I had a choice, I would be counting sheep right now," he informs her. "I got a call from Skinner right before I called you. There's been another victim. A homeless guy in Pittsburgh died a couple hours ago from a gash to the forehead. Skinner emailed both of us a copy of the digital photos, if you want to check them out."

Sighing, Scully nods and turns on her computer. Doggett leaves the room while she waits for the computer to boot up. She feels another dizzy spell coming on and closes her eyes, but this time it's accompanied by a sharp pain in the abdomen. The abdominal pain is quick and is over nearly as soon as it started. She waits for the dizziness to pass, then turns back to the computer.

"There's another thing, Agent Scully," Doggett says as he returns with two mugs of coffee. "A man matching Tipet's description was identified using the pay phone earlier today. This one is decaf," he indicates the mug as he puts it on her desk.

"So?" Scully asks, ignoring the cup before her.

"So, we got the man at the scene of the crime. What more do you want?" he replies, as the two of them look through the photographs. Middle aged, black man, medium build, seemingly good health, she notes to herself. He lies on the pavement, eyes closed, a large gash running down his forehead.

"Do you have evidence connecting him to the murder itself? Hair, fibers, prints?"

"Well, no," he admits.

Scully nods her head and takes a sip from her mug, her eyes never leaving Doggett's face.

Frustrated, he gets up from the computer and starts pacing the room. As he reaches the far end, he turns around and looks at Scully. "Well, am I supposed to believe this guy doped his way into another plane of reality? That his spirit is going around killing people?"

Scully pauses for a second, collecting her thoughts as she sets down the mug. "All right, just suppose for a moment- suppose that this drug finally did what Tipet said it would. That his spirit could be in one place while his body was in another."

"Well, tell me why he's doing it then. Why would he be killing people when he's looking for God? I need something a little more concrete than these theories you've been throwing at me, Agent Scully."

Scully turns back to the computer, looking through some more of the pictures. She sees a document attached to the bottom of the email and opens it. "I'll get back to you on that. In the meantime, Skinner sent us a log of all the numbers dialed from that pay phone." Doggett returns to the computer and starts looking through the list. "Most of them are to cab companies and clubs, it seems," she murmurs, scanning the list.

"Bingo," Doggett declares, pointing to the third to last line. "10:12 PM, a call was placed to an Andr˙ Bormanis. Who's that?"

Scully thinks for a second, then pulls out a file from a large pile on her desk. As she bends over, she has another dizzy spell, and this time there is a much sharper cramping sensation in her abdomen accompanying it. She ignores it and hides it from Doggett under the guise of reading through the file. "Andre Bormanis. Convicted drug dealer who served time with Tipet."

"That number's a DC area code," Doggett adds, scanning the computer again. Suddenly, the pain stabs through her abdomen once more and she gasps involuntarily.

"Agent Scully, are you all right?" Doggett asks, turning away from the computer to check on her. Her face is white and she is shaking, even as she bends over her midsection protectively.

Scully takes a few breaths to calm herself, then lifts her head up a little to look at her partner. "Um, no, Agent Doggett. I don't think I'm all right. Would you- would you be able to take me to the hospital?"

* * *

6:05 AM
FBI Headquarters

Doggett pulls into the parking garage of the Hoover Building. Skinner stands at the employee entrance to the office, his face stern. He gets into the car and they drive silently on the empty streets of Washington DC.

"How's Agent Scully?" Skinner asks suddenly as Doggett turns off one of the wide boulevards onto a smaller street.

"All right. The doctors say it was just stress and that she just needs some rest and time to recuperate. I left when she finally went to sleep."

"I see," Skinner says softly, turning to look out the side window. After a few minutes he turns back to Doggett. "You never told me the correlation between Tipet and this guy we're going to see."

"It's just a hunch, Sir," Doggett says, turning right into a residential neighborhood. "Bormanis served time with Tipet for drug dealing, and Tipet called him last night from the same location as the murder last night. I just want to see what the connection is."

With that, he pulls the car onto an icy, deserted street. It's still quiet in the early hours of the morning. Doggett stops in front of a small house and kills the engine. "This is it," he announces, unbuckling his seat belt.

The two men step out of the car and walk up the short path to the front door. Doggett knocks on the door and waits for a moment. He hears footsteps and then a pause. After a moment, the door opens and a small man with a large mop of dark hair stands before them. His eyes are sunken and dark bags hang under them, but the most prominent feature of his face is the large 'X' shaped wound that seems to have been just cut into his forehead.

"Mr. Bormanis," Doggett inquires.

"Dr. Bormanis," he corrects softly.

"Agent Doggett," he introduces. Then pointing at Skinner, he adds, "AD Skinner. Can we have a word with you?"

Bormanis looks at the men as if he'd like to refuse and slam the door, but realizes he has no choice. Sighing, he opens the door further and lets them in.

Doggett looks around the room, taking everything in. Where most people would set up a living room, this man has set up a laboratory. Several beakers sit on a table, half of them full of multi-colored liquids. Doggett hears a squeaking noise coming from the next room, and realizes they are rats.

Clearing his throat, Skinner begins, "You always up this early, Dr. Bormanis?"

Looking around nervously, Andre replies, "It's when I dissect my rats. The neighbors can't hear 'em screaming." Seeing the look the men exchange, he quickly adds, "That's a joke."

"That's an odd table for lab work," Doggett mentions, pointing at the wood table next to him. At one end, a saw has been built into it, though the cord is not plugged into an outlet.

"I got that table at a rummage sale. It was one of my first personal workplaces, and I just couldn't get rid of it," Bormanis says, relaxing a bit. "Sentimental value."

"You spoke to Anthony Tipet last night, didn't you, Dr. Bormanis?" Doggett asks.

Bormanis becomes extremely agitated at the mention of Tipet's name, Doggett notes, and his furtive glances around the room get wilder. "My- my machine picked up," he croaks out. "I- I- I missed the call."

"What did he want?" Skinner asks, none too gently.

Bormanis doesn't answer, but starts inching away from Skinner uneasily.

"We need to find him," Skinner presses. "This man may have murdered 23 people."

Doggett stands behind Bormanis, spinning the blade on the table saw as he cuts off Bormanis' escape route. Bormanis turns so he is facing both of them, backing away some more. "I'm not doing anything illegal here. I- I just- I just made him some stuff," he declares. He then turns to the lab table behind him, putting some pills into a small dish.

"You mean drugs, don't you? You supplied Tipet with drugs, right?" Skinner asks as he takes another step towards Bormanis.

Doggett watches silently as Bormanis defends Tipet, even though he's obviously terrified of the man. "Hallucinogens were Tipet's way into the depths of the soul, heights of consciousness, planes of being that our feeble brain chemistry cannot begin to imagine."

"Is that why you cut yourself?" Doggett asks, indicating the wound on Bormanis' forehead. "Or, is that the, uh, mark of the Initiated?"

Bormanis flinches away from Doggett's finger, but still seems to relax a bit. "It's a protection. At least, I hope it is. Nobody took the trips but Tipet. See," he continues, his voice taking on a nearly reverent tone, "Only his mind was strong enough."

"You know, I can't tell, Doctor, whether you admire Tipet or you're afraid of him. Those people he killed last night, did they admire him too?" Doggett asks.

Bormanis doesn't answer, and starts rubbing his thumb over fingers of his right hand. His closed fist is holding something important, Doggett realizes, and he quickly moves forward to grab it before Bormanis disposes of it permanently.

"What are you doing?" Bormanis asks, panicked, as he struggles with Doggett.

Pulling a large white pill from the doctor's hands, Doggett quickly turns him around and pushes his upper body against one of the lab tables. "Taking you in for questioning."

"On what charges? Bormanis asks, his eyes darting around the room frantically. "I just- I just explained everything to you!" Pulling his right arm free, he reaches for another one of the pills and tries to swallow it, but Skinner quickly knocks it from his hand. "No!" Bormanis screams. "I need that!"

Heedless of his protests, the two men drag the struggling doctor out the door and into their car.

* * *

8:45 AM
Washington General Hospital

Doggett arrives at the hospital as soon as he can after booking Andre Bormanis, and knocks lightly on the door to Scully's room.

"Come in," he hears her call out, and he enters. Scully is sitting in bed, wearing a set of her own pajamas. Without the makeup she normally wears, he can clearly see the toll the past few weeks have taken on her. She's pale, and dark circles ring her eyes. She seems to be in only slightly better shape than Bormanis was this morning. An IV drip is attached to her arm, and a fetal heart monitor beeps softly in the background. Doggett sits down in the chair next to her bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Better," she replies honestly. "Dr. Jones says they think it was stress-induced. I haven't been taking very good care of myself lately," she admits.

Biting back the I-told-you-so on his lips, he decides to change the subject. "We arrested Andre Bormanis this morning. He practically admitted to supplying Tipet with drugs for his trips. I'm guessing it's only a matter of time before we catch Tipet. He's bound to return to Bormanis' place for more hallucinogens."

Scully nods. "I had some time to think this morning," she begins. "I have a theory about what's going on here. You're familiar with the idea that if a person believes he has died, he truly dies?"

"Yeah, I learned about it in 'The Matrix'," he jokes.

Giving him a small smile, she continues. "Well, what if that's what's going on here?"

"You lost me, Agent Scully," he declares.

"What if Tipet reached this higher plane of reality and is able to let his mind leave his body? And then, he entered others' minds as they slept and manipulated their dreams so that they died in the dream. Because their mind BELIEVED that they died, they truly died."

Doggett sighs, "I don't know about your dreams, but I know I've had at least one dream where I've died. I'm still here, but when I woke up it took me a good minute to realize I was not dead. It's a common occurrence in dreams to die. You don't hear about any of those people dying."

"That's different, Agent Doggett. Tell me the truth. In all of these dreams, how often have you actually died? You probably either saw your own body or, for example, watched as the bullet was fired. You may have even felt the bullet hit you. But I'm sure you woke up before you were actually dead. That's what normally happens in dreams. Your brain cannot process something as traumatic as your own death. That's why these people died. Tipet didn't stop early enough."

Doggett pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, then stands up. "Agent Scully, you know I don't believe this theory of yours."

"Do you have a better one?" she counters.

"No," Doggett sighs, and rises from his chair, heading towards the door. "But I will."

"Where are you going now?" she asks, struggling to sit up further in bed.

"Back to work," he answers simply. "I need to try to make sense of this mess."

With that, he walks out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

* * *

12:30 PM
FBI Headquarters

Sitting at his desk, John Doggett reads through yet another article about the New Age belief about the seven chakras. "Every one of the seven chakras has its own task in reaching inner harmony," the article states. It then goes on to describe the first six and their importance. Scanning the article, he sees that there are certain meditations to bring balance to different chakras. Finally, he finds what he was looking for. "The Sahasrara, or seventh chakra, lies within the head. Also known as the crown chakra, few have been able to reach a level of meditation that opens it. If opened, however, it can open a new plane of reality to that person, and bring them closer to God."

Doggett puts the article down and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Nothing in this case is making sense.

A knock at the door makes him look up, and he sees a young agent in a lab coat standing timidly at the door. "Agent Doggett?" the young man asks. "I'm Agent Spellman. I got those lab results on that pill you got from Andre Bormanis."

"Yeah, Agent Spellman, what is it?" Doggett asks impatiently.

"It seems like the drug was some sort of super amphetamine- much stronger than any of the popular drugs out on the street. We're running some more tests on it to see if we can figure out more about it, and determine if any illegal substances were used in its making. We've never seen anything like it before, to tell you the truth."
Doggett sits back for a second thinking. He notices Agent Spellman still standing at the door. "Find anything else out about it, Agent?" he asks.

"No, not really," he admits, fidgeting with his lab coat.

"Well, thank you, then," Doggett dismisses him and then looks back at his desk.

He thinks back to the moments before he left the lab with Skinner and Bormanis. Bormanis had reached for the pill and tried to swallow it, screaming 'I need that!' as he was dragged out to the car. Add that to his exhausted expression and what Agent Spellman had told him...

"He wanted it for himself," Doggett murmurs to the empty office. "He doesn't want to go to sleep."

Lifting the phone off its hook, Doggett begins to dial the number for the police station where he dropped Bormanis off.

* * *

Andre Bormanis sits in his jail cell, pinching the skin on the back of his hand cruelly every few minutes to stay awake. He hears screaming from the far end of the hall, and three wardens run down the corridor to the last cell. Andre looks out his cell to see a man convulsing violently in the hallway as two of the men try to subdue him. The third stands off to the side; his hand rests on his firearm in case this was all a ruse.

The novelty of gawking quickly wears off, and Andre resumes his ritual of sitting and pinching, sitting and pinching.

An out-of-place breeze rustles through the cell. Andre looks up and gasps. Floating three feet off the ground, sitting in a lotus position is his former friend, Anthony Tipet. His eyes are closed for the time being, but Andre knows it will only be a matter of time before all three open and the end arrives for him. As he watches, whimpering softly, Anthony's first two eyes open and stare at him. Then slowly, methodically, the third eye opens and focuses directly upon him.

Andre hears a rustling sound and high pitched squeaking. Looking down he sees the cell floor covered in rats. Several paw at his pant legs and one even manages to nip at his ankle. Screaming, Andre manages to kick these off and starts to back away to the cot, but trips over the mass of rats behind him.

He fends off as many of the vermin as he can, trying to sit up again, but he quickly loses the battle. His screams of pain and terror drown out the happy squeals of the rats as they feast on his flesh.

* * *

1:15 PM

Doggett bursts into the police station. "Why is no one picking up the phone in the holding area?" he demands.

"I- I don't know," a young police detective stammers. "There was a disturbance a little while ago, maybe that prevented one of the wardens from getting to the phone."

Muttering a curse under his breath, Doggett stalks down the stairs and into the temporary jail under the station. "Who's in charge here?" he inquires.

"I am," a portly middle-aged man says.

"I called a few minutes ago. I wanted someone to check on a man in here. Andre Bormanis. Why was no one answering the phone?"

"And you are?"

"Special Agent John Doggett, FBI," Doggett answers, showing his badge. "Why was no one answering the phone?" he repeats.

"Sorry, Agent Doggett. One of the prisoners started having grand mal seizures. Probably withdrawal from some drug or another. He's in the hospital now. We were trying to help him out, and I guess no one heard the phone. Now who were you looking for?" he asks, looking down the list.

"Andre Bormanis," Doggett replies losing patience quickly.

"Bormanis- Bormanis," he repeats to himself, scanning the list. "Ah, here he is. Number 6." The warden opens the main door and Doggett quickly passes through into the hallway.

Pausing in front of cell number 6, Doggett looks in for a second before turning his head away in disgust. Taking a breath to steel himself, he looks back at the scene before him.

Andre Bormanis sits slumped in a corner on his cot. From a distance, it seems as if the man is sleeping. Looking closer, however, tiny bite marks cover his hands, face, and neck.

"Warden!" Doggett calls out. "Get an ambulance over here, NOW!"

* * *

Scully walks down the deserted hallway. Everything seems blurry to her, as if she is wearing a pair of glasses that aren't her prescription. Slowly, things come into focus, and she finds herself outside the door to Skinner's apartment. Wondering how she got here, she knocks on the door to have it open at her touch. She steps into the room and closes the door behind her with a firm push.

The room is empty. The living room is immaculate, except for a basket of clothes on the couch. Tasteful paintings decorate the walls. The right side of the room opens into the kitchen, and to the left a spiral staircase leads to his bedroom.

<<He must be up there>> Scully thinks to herself and starts for the stairs. Just then she hears movement and sees Skinner coming down the hallway, dressed in pajamas. He hurries down the stairs, and Scully freezes. Amazingly, Skinner doesn't seem to see her. He reaches the ground floor and crosses the living room, ignoring her alien presence in the room. He walks right in front of her as he heads to the bar in the corner.

Skinner starts mixing himself a drink. Scully stares at her boss for a moment longer, baffled completely, before she looks down to see her hand holding a large carving knife. Somehow, she knows exactly what is to be done. She walks towards Skinner, raising the knife above her head. Stopping an arm's length from him, she lowers the knife quickly, hoping to end it as quickly as possible.

Right before the knife embeds itself in his back, Skinner whirls around, throwing the contents of his glass in Scully's face with a yell. She gasps and closes her eyes while he grabs her wrist and holds it above her head. The glass crashes to the ground while they struggle.

Scully kicks at Skinner violently, but he easily evades her attacks, moving his legs to the right and left as she strikes out. She pulls down on her arm, trying to loosen his grip, but he keeps her arm extended high above her.

He suddenly pushes her back across the room, and she topples over the back of the leather couch. She bounces off the seat and then starts falling.

Falling...

Falling...

* * *

3:00 PM

Scully sits up in bed with a cry. Looking around the room with wild eyes, she sees she is still in the hospital. A bouquet of flowers sits in a vase next to her bed. Grateful for the distraction, she plucks the card out of the flowers and reads the signature.

Heard about what happened. Hope you get well soon. TLG

Scully places the card on the table next to the flowers and grabs the remote. She starts flipping through the channels aimlessly, not really seeing anything. The noise quickly gives her a headache and she switches it off.

She is still sitting in nearly the same position when there is a knock at the door. "Come in," she calls out, grateful for the distraction. A petite young woman enters the room and smiles at Scully. "Good afternoon, Dr. Jones," Scully greets her obstetrician. "How are you doing?"

"I’m all right, thank you Dana. And you?"

"Better," Scully answers honestly. "Did you figure out what, uh, what happened?"

"To put it simply?" she asks. "Stress. You need to take better care of yourself, if not for your own well-being, then for your baby's."

"I'm sorry," Scully begins, but the doctor cuts her off.

"Don't apologize to me. I'm just happy your kid let you know he wasn't happy before things got too serious," she jokes. At Scully's grim nod, she signs the chart. "I'll go finish my rounds now, and I'll see what I can do about letting you go home tonight." With that, Dr. Jones is out the door and on to the next patient.

Sighing, Scully lays back in bed. She closes her eyes, but when she feels her body start to relax, she sits up once more. As wonderful as sleep sounds, the last thing she wants to do is dream again. Sighing, she reaches for the remote and starts flipping at channels again.

* * *

4:45 PM
FBI Headquarters

Doggett sits at his desk, his head in his hands. "Rats," he whispers to himself in disbelief.

"What's that G-man?" a voice calls from the door. Doggett jumps and looks up to see The Lone Gunmen standing at his door.

"How'd you guys get through security?" he asks.

The Gunmen exchange glances, much to Doggett's irritation. Then Langly steps forward and dumps his pile of messily arranged papers on the desk by his right arm.

"We did some digging on those things you asked us about," he says, ignoring Doggett's question. "The ax and the significance of the wound placement on your victims. We found a lot of interesting stuff this time around."

"How familiar are you with the seven chakras, Agent Dogget?" Byers asks.

"Not much," he admits. "Just what I found in this article here." He hands the article he had been reading earlier in the day off to Frohike, who nods slightly as he reads it.

"This article basically covers it," Frohike says. "This seventh chakra is what we focused on. It is believed to be in the mind, an arbitrary point given to it behind the forehead. It's much less tangible than the other six chakras, to tell you the truth. The belief is that if one can reach this seventh chakra, also known as the Sahasrara, he has reached a higher plane of being. He is able to leave his body and exist on a metaphysical level."

"That's what I got from the article myself," Doggett confirms. "But what I'm trying to understand is why this guy Tipet, even IF he managed to reach this next level of existence, is killing people left and right. It doesn't make sense. He's trying to be one with God, but I don't see Him murdering people in their sleep."

"Well, you bring up an interesting point, my friend," Frohike declares. "Are you familiar with the Hindu God Shiva?"

"Not really," Doggett says, "but I have a feeling you're ready to enlighten me."

"Don't get cheeky, G-man," Frohike warns. "Shiva is one of the three primary Hindu gods, called the Trimurti. He is called the destroyer god, which is not quite accurate. He keeps the world in order by protecting life but yet destroying it when necessary to keep the balance in the grand scheme of things."

"I found a picture of one of his idols online for you guys to look at," Langly offers, pulling a picture out of his pile of papers. Handing it to Doggett, he looks it over carefully. It shows a man with a deep blue throat, bare-chested. He sits in the lotus position, ashes surrounding him. A stream of water spurts from the crown of his head continuously, landing behind his body somewhere. But what takes Doggett by surprise is the third eye nestled comfortably in the middle of his forehead, right between his eyes.

Pointing to the third eye, closed in the picture, he murmurs, "This matches the placement of the wounds almost perfectly."

"That's what we noticed too," Langly says. "What we also discovered was that this third eye has enormous powers. Hindu legend says that anytime Shiva was insulted, his third eye would open and destroy the offender."

Doggett starts thinking out loud for the benefit of the Gunmen. "So, you're going to suppose that Tipet managed to reach this seventh chakra," he begins. "In doing so, he opened another plane of existence for himself, and was able to leave his body."

"Do you believe this, Agent Doggett?" Langly asks.

"Not in the slightest," he scoffs.

"Well what about this," Byers theorizes. "What if- what if the drug, in addition to letting him reach a new level of reality, gave him some of these powers that Shiva has. If he wasn't expecting it, it's certainly possible that he lost control over these powers and killed his followers."

"Are you serious?" Doggett sputters incredulously. "This is crazy! Are you guys listening to yourselves? People leaving their bodies, gaining the powers of Hindu gods!"

"Hey, G-man," Frohike replies testily. "We're being perfectly serious. I think that Tipet took this drug consistently for at least a couple weeks, maybe months, while meditating, but that two nights ago, something suddenly went right- or terribly wrong- whichever way you prefer to look at it. Once he left his body, he realized he had gained powers he didn't know how to control, and ended up killing his followers and those two FBI agents. He managed to enter their dreams and kill them."

"But why wouldn't they just wake up?" Doggett asked.

"Maybe they wanted to," Byers shrugs. "Maybe they were trying, but didn't manage it in time to wake up before the deadly blow. Like I said earlier, the body can't exist without the mind."

"Look, I'm not buying into any of this," Doggett declares, pushing himself getting out of his chair. "However, I do know how to find Tipet."

"How's that?" Langly asks, reclining back in Scully's chair as he watches Doggett shove papers into different folders.

"You said he's probably been taking the drugs for a while now, right?" The Gunmen nod, but still are confused. "Well, I'm figuring he's got a bit of dependence worked up by now, and he wants his fix. I'm going over to Bormanis' place and staking it out. So far, Bormanis is the only guy I know in the tri-state area who knows how to make both super amphetamines and hallucinogens that let you leave your body. Tipet will be back and I plan to be there when he returns. Lock the door when you leave."

With that, he's out the door, leaving a very confused trio of men behind him.

* * *

It is gloomy and overcast as Scully makes her way down the concrete walkway into the cinderblock building. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the protesters with their pickets shouting at her incoherently. The stark, blockish letters above the glass entryway mark this building as a family planning clinic. She looks around, bewildered, not sure what she is doing here. She enters anyway.

"Name?" the woman behind the desk asks impatiently.

Confused, she answers automatically, "Dana Scully."

"Right this way," the woman replies and leads her down a hallway.

Suddenly, she's in a gown, on a table, her legs in the stirrups. Her belly seems obscenely huge before her, which surely isn't possible--she's not that far along. If she were, she wouldn't be here.

Why is she here? She doesn't know. She stares up at the dropped tiles of the ceiling as they spin and swim before her gaze.

"The doctor will be here to perform your abortion shortly," a nurse informs her in a voice that is too low and distorted to be human.
"Doctor Jones?" Scully asks.

"No, Doctor Parenti."

Alarm fills her, and she attempts to sit up, but suddenly she has lost the ability to move. Nothing restrains her, but she is unable to rise. The familiar face of the reproductive endocrinologist she had trusted and been betrayed by swims into her line of sight. She opens her mouth to scream, but when nothing comes out, she quickly closes it.

"It will all be over in a minute," the invisible nurse's distorted voice drones in a parody of a comforting tone. At her feet, she hears the instruments clang on the metal tray in which they rest as the doctor and nurse prepare for the procedure. "Just relax. Are you sure this is what you want?"

She opens her mouth to protest, but her lips work silently, unable to form the words. Parenti's looks up at her, and waits for her final decision. Of its own volition, her head nods "yes" jerkily. Satisfied, the doctor disappears behind the sterile curtain that bisects her body at her midriff and the first cold instrument touches her skin...

* * *

5:10 PM

"Ms. Scully?" the voice brings her back to reality with a jolt. Sitting up in bed, she looks around the room wildly to see the intruder. A nurse stands at the foot of the bed, chart in hand, looking at her worriedly.

"Sorry," Scully apologizes quickly. "Bad dream." She reaches shakily for the cup at the beside table and takes a long sip.

"I understand," the woman sympathizes. "I just wanted to stop in and see if I could get that IV out of your arm so you don't have to worry about it right before you're leaving."

"Oh," Scully says. "Yeah. Sure." She holds out her arm as the woman removes the needle from the back of Scully's hand and places a bandage over the puncture wound.

The nurse scribbles a few notes onto the chart, then sets it back down against the foot of her bed. "As soon as the doctor gets back this evening, you'll be able to sign yourself out. All right?"

"Yes. Thank you very much," Scully tells the nurse. The woman walks out the door briskly, but makes sure to close the door with a gentle snick. Sighing, Scully sits back in bed, trying to calm her racing pulse.

* * *

5:45 PM

"Someone's here," Doggett says as Skinner slows in front of Bormanis' house, pointing out the beat-up red station wagon sitting in the driveway to Bormanis' house. "Ten to one odds it's Tipet," Doggett mutters as Skinner kills the engine. The two men exit the car and walk up the path cautiously.

The front door is slightly ajar. Skinner and Doggett pull out their guns before pushing the door open fully. They enter the room cautiously, looking for Tipet.

He's been waiting for them, Doggett notices, as he gets his first up-close and live view of the suspect, Anthony Tipet. He looks exactly like the pictures in his file, except that now he has a wild look in his eyes that unnerves Doggett. One of the lab tables stands between Tipet and Doggett. Skinner stands at the end of the table, about halfway between the two men facing off before him.

Tipet looks at Doggett with an anguished expression. "I didn't want this to happen," he murmurs sadly as he takes a few steps to the side. Doggett matches him step for step, his weapon still aimed and ready. Looking down, he sees what Tipet is gunning for. Directly in front of him now is the table saw, plugged in and turned on this time. It buzzes noisily as it spins.

"Step away from the saw, Tipet!" Doggett cries out.

"You don't understand," Tipet continues in the same tone.

"Just step away from the saw and we'll talk about this," Doggett reasons, trying to avoid a catastrophe.

* * *

Skinner watches the two men, his gun also aimed at Tipet. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly undecided about whether he should charge at Tipet or just stay put. Finally deciding that the distance is too much to cover, he stays where he is.

For his part, Tipet seems to ignore Skinner and focuses his attention entirely on Doggett. "I didn't want this to happen," he repeats, "but I- I can't stop it."

He gives Doggett a look of sorrow and resignation. Misunderstanding it, Doggett takes it as a gesture of surrender and lowers his gun. Suddenly, Tipet slams his head down onto the saw, screaming in agony. Blood is everywhere. Skinner sees Doggett rush forward until the blood hits his face. Doggett stops, confused, and then starts moving back rapidly. <<He panicked>> Skinner realizes.

Tipet somehow managed to keep his forehead pressed against the blade, but now his cries have stopped, and the silence in the room now is eerie. Skinner rushes up alongside Tipet and pulls him back from the deadly saw.

Doggett watches, wild-eyed and frozen in place. Once Skinner has pulled Tipet up, blood streaming from the wound between his eyes, Doggett starts backing away quickly. He trips over something and falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Skinner lays Tipet on the ground and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. It isn't much, but Skinner presses it against Tipet's wound, watching the blood seep through the fabric and onto his hand.

Looking up, he sees Doggett struggle to a sitting position, his eyes dazed and confused.

* * *

7:10 PM

Doggett follows the EMT team into the hospital. A doctor meets them as soon as they wheel Tipet into the ER, and he listens as they tell him the injuries. The doctor then takes over, barking orders to the nursing staff before going to wash up. Doggett lets them move on and slides into a chair by the wall.

Footsteps approach him and he looks up to see Skinner standing before him. "They've just started treating him now," Doggett informs his boss.

Skinner nods as he sits in the empty chair on Doggett's left. "And you? Feeling better? You hit the ground pretty hard, you sure you don't want to get checked out too, Agent Doggett?"

"I'm fine, Sir. I've got a harder head than that. It just shook me up some is all." He pauses for a moment, then turns to face his boss. "Where were you just now, Sir?"

"I was upstairs, checking on Agent Scully."

"How is she?"

"Much better. She said she will go home tonight, just as soon as her doctor signs the release papers."

"I'm glad," Doggett says, turning back to face the ER.

Skinner stands up and looks around the hallway for a moment, his hands on his hips. "I'm going to make some phone calls. Would you mind staying here for a while?"

"Not at all, Sir," Doggett says as he attempts to make himself more comfortable.

* * *

From the Journal of Dana Scully

Just two nights after the horrendous nightmare where my child had been taken from me, I dreamt that I tried to abort it myself.

I realize that these are just dreams, but these dreams come from somewhere inside me, don't they? Though I had at one point considered refusing this miracle, I thought I had come to believe that this was meant to be. What if I haven't?

Anthony Tipet says that we must look inside ourselves to the darkness within before we can begin to comprehend the greater meaning of existence. If I am to understand where I stand in the great scheme of things, I must reconcile this part of me with the rest of my spirit. It is the most difficult thing I could possibly do.

* * *

Scully lays the pad of paper she writes on to the side and caresses her stomach gently. A knock at the door startles her, and she clears her throat before calling out, "Come in."

Skinner enters the room and shuts the door. "I just got finished downstairs," he says, "and the doctors say Tipet will be in surgery for at least a few more hours."

Scully nods her head and lies back against the pillow. She closes her eyes for a second, which quickly turns into a minute. Finally forcing her eyes open, she sees her boss staring at her, worry and concern evident on his face. She turns away from his scrutiny and concentrates on pulling herself up in bed.

"I was also wondering," he adds, breaking the silence. "Do you need a ride home? I don't know if your car is here or not, and Agent Doggett is going to be here anyway, at least until Tipet is out of surgery."

"I'd appreciate it, Sir, if it isn't too much trouble for you."

"Not at all," he says.

"Thank you, Sir."

Skinner nods. "Why don't you start getting packed?" he asks. "I'll go find the doctor." With that, he leaves the room.

Scully slides off the bed and starts gathering up her things.

She opens the drawer underneath the too-short closet and pulls out her overnight bag. Standing up, she sets it on one of the chairs and opens the closet. She folds the clothes and gently puts them into the bag, taking her time. Skinner is going to be hard pressed to get the doctor to take the time to sign her out in the middle of her rounds. She just wants a little time to herself before going home.

Changing into a set of clean clothes takes a little longer than she'd planned. Her movements are unconsciously slower than normal, afraid to move too fast and upset the baby. Besides, the exhaustion is getting to her.

Making a final sweep of the room, she notices the pad of paper sitting on her bed and throws it into her bag. She opens the drawer in the end table by her bed and finds her watch, badge, and gun. Thankful she remembered she had brought these with her when she had been admitted, she puts her watch on her wrist and tucks her badge into the side pocket of her bag.

She grabs the gun then and holds it in her palm, feeling the weight in her hand. She goes to put it into her bag, but a hand on her shoulder stops her. She looks back to see Anthony Tipet staring at her, all three of his eyes open. Startled, she pulls away, pointing the gun at him.

"You don't want to hurt me," he tells her.

"You know I do, you bastard," she snarls, her voice uneven.

"No, you don't," he whispers. "You want to end it for yourself. You're desperately looking for an escape from this pain in your life. You want nothing more than to make it go away."

Lowering the gun, she stares at it for a moment before turning back to Tipet. "I- I'm pregnant," she protests weakly.

"Would it be better for this child to be motherless? You know you'll end up doing it sooner or later; it's inevitable. Do it now, and save everyone a lot of trouble."

Scully brings the gun to her temple as Tipet stands before her, their faces showing their anguish. Neither wants this to happen, she realizes, but neither one of them can help it.

Slowly, she begins applying pressure to the trigger. She closes her eyes and lets the tears run down her face.

* * *

Scully opens her eyes to see Doggett standing above her with the same concerned expression on his face that he had earlier. "You all right, Agent Scully?" he asks.

"Where's AD Skinner?" she asks.

"Downstairs with Tipet's doctors. He expired on the operating table, and he wants to know more about what happened. He asked me to give you a ride home instead, if that's all right with you."

"Tipet's dead?" Scully is shocked.

"Yep. As of about," he checks his watch, "35 minutes ago. Guess that's it, huh?"

"That's it?" Scully is baffled by his nonchalant response.

"Yeah. What else do you want?" he asks. "You got a man who confessed to two eyewitnesses to murdering 23 people, who just died after a successful suicide attempt. What more are you asking for?"

"There are still plenty of loose ends," she counters, crossing her arms stubbornly. "For starters, why did he try to kill himself?"

"Tipet believed he reached a higher plane of existence through the Via Negativa, that path of darkness he was so obsessed about. He believed that the drugs took him inside the subconscious minds of anyone he knew, making horrific and irrational dream imagery come true. He finally tried to kill himself to make it stop."

"That's it?" she asks. Doggett remains silent and she sits back with a heavy sigh.

"What more is there, Agent Scully?"

Scully stays silent, pushing herself off the bed and throwing clothes into her overnight bag, which is still shoved in the closet. She can feel Doggett's eyes following her movements, but she refuses to turn around and look at him.

Pausing in her packing, Scully sighs, then turns around. "Agent Doggett? Do you think Tipet managed to find God as he preached? By looking at the darkness within himself?"

"Do you?" he asks pointedly.

"I don't know," she replies honestly. "Dreams are a part of us. Fragments that the subconscious puts together to create an image. If that's true, then horrendous nightmares, the type that killed these people, are a part of us just as much as anything else."

"Agent Scully, if your theory is true, and their dreams killed these people, they were manipulated by an outside force. Just because someone has a bad dream doesn't make someone evil. A bad dream is just a bad dream." He stands up, effectively ending the discussion. "Are you going to go home like that?"

Looking down, she sees she's still in her pajamas. "No, um, give me a few more minutes. I'll meet you out at the nurse's station."

Doggett leaves the room then, and she looks back to see her gun sitting on the end table.

END.