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."

"Im 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.

"Im 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. "Im 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?"

"Im 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.


