79 : Awake and Prey
Title: Awake and Prey
Spoilers: "Via Negativa"
Words: 6468
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When her partner gets pulled into something that scares even him, Stark will do anything to save him, as she begins to fear what the X-Files have in store for the both of them.
Arlington, Virginia
3:32 A.M.
Years of working in law enforcement had taught Stark that if the phone rang early, it was never good. She groaned, eyeing the phone. Stifling a yawn she grabbed it. "What's going on?" she said drowsily.
"Apparently, we got a case." From the sound of his voice, John wasn't quite awake either. "Agent Scully just called me. Skinner's got an agent and a bunch of religious cult followers dead in Pittsburgh, wants us to take a look."
"Now?"
"It just went down twenty minutes ago. I'll pick you up. Drive shouldn't be too bad at this hour."
She nodded slightly, grateful that she was what was considered a 'morning person'. Her alarm would have gone off in three more hours anyway to give her time to take her morning run, have breakfast and get ready for the work day. Apparently now she'd be skipping the run and the breakfast. "What about Scully, she meeting us there?" she asked, hauling herself from the bed.
"No. She says she can't get there right away, she's got somethin' to deal with." His tone told her she wasn't quite convinced but was also concerned for their colleague.
"All right," she replied. She knew if he knew anything else, he would have told her. "I'll see you in...what, forty-five minutes?"
"Yeah, sounds about right. I'll see you."
Stark was familiar with early-morning callouts from her days with the fugitive squad; they often served warrants at early hours to catch suspects off guard. But she hadn't been with that team in three years and she had to admit she had settled into a new routine. She rubbed at her eyes to get some of the sleep out of them, then headed for the shower. Whatever was going on, it was obviously important enough that it couldn't wait another four and a half hours until they arrived at work, so she knew time was of the essence. By the time she heard the familiar sound of her partner's truck pulling into the driveway, she was already stepping out of her house, locking the front door.
"Nothing like an early morning road trip?" she teased lightly as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, favoring him with a smile. It was always good to see his face even if she would rather be asleep at the moment.
He snorted. "I can think of a couple dozen places I'd rather be going," he replied. He waited until they were safely on the road before he began explaining what little he knew. "Both the agent and all the followers of this supposed cult are dead. Apparently Skinner's having a problem determining exactly how."
"Meaning it's an X-File," Stark said knowingly. She nodded. "Can I suggest we skip breakfast?"
"My thoughts exactly."
They settled for coffee as they made the drive to the airport to catch a waiting flight to Pittsburgh. Thanks to the travel time, the press and everyone else had already descended on the crime scene. They rolled up in a rental sedan just in time to meet Assistant Director Skinner and what, as predicted, was a particularly gruesome scene. Stepping out of the car, Stark pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the messenger bag she'd brought, and walked with her partner to get their first real explanation from their boss.
"Where's Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, looking between them.
"Running late," Doggett explained. "What do we have?"
"One of our men doing routine surveillance on a cult group-- the Ibogan Temple. We had a tip they were trafficking narcotics. Nobody suspected anything like this," Skinner continued, leading them over to a parked car with its driver's side door wide open. The body of one of their own was still sitting inside, with a large and very bloody gash in his forehead. He let them get over their initial shock before he continued, "Agent James Leeds. Six-year veteran of the Bureau, father of two. Patrol cop found him. Car was locked from the inside."
"What?" Stark asked. She'd averted her eyes from the blood after a moment but snapped her head around to look at Skinner.
Her partner, on the other hand, sat on the running board, getting an up close and personal look at the corpse. "Nobody saw or heard anything?" he asked, figuring that with such a violent death there had to be something.
"No."
"This couldn't have happened here," Doggett continued, shaking his head slightly.
Skinner exhaled. "Blood spatter on the seat says it did."
"Then how would you explain the car? It was locked from the inside?" Stark asked. "So he was in the car with someone who killed him here who just disappeared?"
"It's too narrow," her partner pointed out. "There's no room to swing the weapon. Besides, it doesn't make any sense. The gun's still holstered and the key's in the ignition. Even if he fell asleep..." He sighed, getting to his feet. "This is damn weird."
"It gets weirder," Skinner told them.
Stark winced. "I worry when you say that."
"You're a quick study, Agent Patrick," the Assistant Director commented without looking back as he led them into the house and what was supposedly the bedroom. She figured this out only because the coroner was still in the process of removing the bodies of all the people inside. "These people were all killed the same way as our guy. All twenty cult members dead from a single deep wound to the forehead."
"Is this every member?" Doggett asked.
"All except one," Skinner replied. "Their leader, Anthony Tipet, is missing."
Stark chewed on that for a second. "I guess we know who to start our suspect list with."
The Assistant Director didn't comment on her theory, just led them through into another room with an apparent shrine in it, nodding at the photo of the man that was there. "Tipet was a convicted murderer who claimed to have found God. We didn't think we were dealing with an apocalyptic cult. We've seen this kind of thing before. Jonestown, Heaven's Gate..."
Her partner looked closely at a crude engraving of an eye on the shrine. "I don't care how devoted they were," he muttered. "These people wouldn't just lie here and let their leader bash their brains in. I got to figure at least one of them would have had a problem with that."
"It's something I've considered," Skinner replied. "I'm running tox tests on all the bodies for drugs."
"Does that include our man in the car?"
The Assistant Director gave him a look. Stark knew what he was thinking. "There aren't any circumstances to exclude him from being grouped with the other victims," she explained. "Same manner of death, we have to check him out too. Like it or not." Skinner didn't answer her but her nerves twitched when she heard another voice: that of someone she hadn't seen since the search for Mulder, Gene Crane. "Well, yay," she muttered sarcastically under her breath. He didn't look particularly thrilled to see her either as he told Skinner that they hadn't been able to find Agent Stedman.
"Angus Stedman?" Doggett interjected.
Crane nodded. "Leeds' partner, do you know him?"
"Where'd you look?"
"He wasn't checked into the same motel as Leeds. He's not answering his cell or his pager."
"Did you check his condo?"
"His condo?"
"Yeah, Stedman's from Pittsburgh." Doggett nodded. "He keeps a condo here that belongs to his folks."
Stark didn't need to be told twice. "We'd better get our asses down there. I hope you have some idea where you're going, John."
"I have no idea but that doesn't mean I can't get someone to look it up," he retorted, already on her heels as they moved out of the building and back toward where they had left the car parked. The look shared between them, however, said that they were fairly sure that it was already too late. The law of large numbers dictated that Stedman's outlook wasn't good.
They were able to get the address for the condo from his file, and make the drive across town to find it. Stark let her partner take the lead as they approached the front door. When knocking didn't get them an answer, he took the door in and she covered him. This wasn't going to end well. Everything was pointing to a bad ending. When Skinner called from the bedroom to say he'd found Stedman's body, Stark really wasn't that surprised. Nor that he had the same manner of death.
It had just been a vain hope that maybe they'd only lose one colleague instead of two.
Standing outside the condo, she shared a look with her partner and her boss. "We've got a lot of catching up to do," she said needlessly. "We're already behind the eight ball and this guy is ahead by twenty-two."
****
Yet the rest of the afternoon did not improve. After receiving forensic reports from both crime scenes which may as well have been blank pieces of paper, and doing initial research on the cult and its leader, nothing was standing out for them. The only positive that Stark could see as they got on a plane to head back to Washington was that she was not stuck flying on the same flight as Skinner and Gene Crane. It saved her from wanting to hit Crane with her carry-on bag.
No one had to tell them that a case with twenty-two dead people, including two dead agents, was going to be front page news. A "red ball," as they called them in Baltimore, and the pressure would be on. She leaned back in her seat with a sigh and, like she always did when she was at a loss, looked to her partner for direction. "Where do we even start?" she said. "I can't think of anything."
"Well the obvious thing is to find this missing cult leader," he replied. "It seems pretty damn weird to me that he somehow survives and then vanishes when all of his followers get a body bag."
"Yeah that's what I was thinking," she concurred. "But even so, these deaths don't make any sense. How do people - all of them, the cult members, Leeds in the car and Stedman in the condo - get killed from the inside? Whoever did it they've still got to find a way to get in and out. And who the hell walks around with an axe of all things?"
"Maybe it's Halloween somewhere," Doggett suggested, tongue firmly in cheek as he shrugged, looking over the reports again. "I don't know, Stark. But I do know we've gotta have something to bring to the Deputy Director."
She leaned over and pulled one of the reports away from him, earning her a small smirk of amusement. "I dunno, but I have a feeling we're gonna be pulling something out of nothing," she confided.
****
Deputy Director Kersh was not pleased. There was an entire crowd of people in his office - other than John and Stark, there was Assistant Director Skinner, Agent Crane and a senior agent from the Narcotics Unit called in for a consult - and none of them could offer him anything other than complete bewilderment.
At the moment, they were all reviewing a tape someone had dug up of Anthony Tipet preaching his supposed enlightenment. No one looked impressed. Skinner finally paused the tape, deciding he'd just summarize the rest. "Anthony Tipet served twelve 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, it 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."
The Narcotics agent looked bewildered. "You're saying all these people were so stoned on this bark they just let their leader kill them?"
"That's what we thought, but..." Stark started. She let Skinner finish: "We found no trace of the drug in the blood of any of the victims."
"I don't understand." Kersh looked between them. "How in the hell did Tipet manage to slaughter all these people?"
Stark exhaled. "He is a suspect but he may not be the only suspect, sir."
Her partner nodded. "Tipet was paranoid, but nothing indicates he was ready to take the lives of his own people or our men."
"This is our one and only suspect. Are you telling me he didn't do it?"
Doggett exhaled. "Whoever did this left not even a trace how. No prints, no forensic evidence whatsoever. Agent Leeds' sedan, the cult house, Agent Stedman's condo were all locked from the inside."
"That's impossible," Kersh retorted.
"Yes, sir. That's what we've been saying all morning," Stark said. "But it's the truth, and as of right now, we have no explanation."
"Unless Tipet took the drug and succeeded," Skinner interjected. "Unless his consciousness was there but his body was somewhere else."
Everyone in the room stopped and looked at him. Stark just stared at him and she saw the unease on her partner's face. It wasn't something that made any sense to them or that they even wanted to consider. The tension in the room just got thicker.
"The X-File explanation," Kersh said, disdain dripping off his every word. "I take it this theory comes from Agent Scully?" He had an interesting way of making 'theory' sound like a four-letter word.
Doggett tried his best to save the situation. "Agent Scully has yet to reach any conclusions, sir."
"That's the problem. I'm not hearing conclusions from either one of you," Kersh replied, giving him and Stark a hard look. "If this man has reached a higher plane, then explain to me why twenty-two people are dead, including two FBI agents. Now I want to hear what you're going to do about it."
Stark shifted her jaw, not liking the call-out. "Everything we can, sir."
"That's to be expected, Agent Patrick." His expression didn't change. "We're through here."
The three of them got the hint. She held the door for her partner and Assistant Director Skinner before they began what seemed to be a long walk down the hall back toward the elevators. Stark looked chagrined, but her partner looked downright annoyed. He turned and gave Skinner a look. "If I'm working this case, I'd appreciate a heads up before you tell the Deputy Director any more science fiction stories," he warned.
"Hey, I don't have another explanation," Skinner replied.
"Neither do we," Stark said. "But that doesn't mean we want to give Kersh that. Last time we said that it cost one of us his job."
"At least we gave him something," the A.D. pointed out.
Stark shook her head. Her partner glanced at her, knowing she was talking about him as he punched the elevator call button. "Those guys in there are right. This whole story doesn't make a damn bit of sense."
Skinner eyed him. "I'm supposed to give those guys in there answers, Agent Doggett. You're supposed to help me do that."
The elevator arrived and Stark was grateful for it, following her partner on as he glanced at the Assistant Director. "Tipet's on the run," he said. "Find him, and we just might."
****
"How long have you been up? Seventeen hours?" Stark theorized, coming up behind her partner. She settled her hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently as she read over his shoulder. "You should go home, John. You've had a long day."
"Are you going anywhere?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he just snorted. "I didn't think so."
She just shook her head. He knew her too well; she wasn't going to go anywhere unless he did, even though he wouldn't begrudge her it. That was the way they were. They didn't leave each other on their own. They did things as a team. It was something she found comforting; Stark was always more of a team player, even as much as she was self-reliant. Everyone liked to say that they were strong and could do everything on their own. She found no shame in admitting that while she was far from helpless she preferred sticking by the side of her partner.
The door opened then and she glanced at Assistant Director Skinner. "Agent Patrick. Agent Doggett," he said, handing the file to her partner. "Coroner's report."
Doggett flipped open the file and read from it. "Victims all killed by a single blow from an axe blade, six to eight inches long."
"Then I guess we start looking for axes?" Stark theorized.
Skinner shook his head. "These photos of wound patterns don't match up to any known make or manufacturer."
She looked confused, trying to figure that out, but she saw understanding in her partner's eyes. He set the file aside and reached for something else instead. "Courtesy of my partner's deep background," he said, showing Skinner a picture they'd come across. "It's a ceremonial axe used over a thousand years ago to cleave the skulls of unbelievers. This was required reading for Tipet's followers."
"Is this our weapon?"
He shook his head. "No, sir. It's on permanent display in a Calcutta museum."
"Not to mention," Stark said, "if it's about belief, why Tipet would do something meant for unbelievers to his entire following. Unless he just had a royal fit."
Skinner exhaled tightly. "Another dead end."
"Like everything else in this case." Doggett sighed, his voice quiet and tinged with frustration as he looked between the two. He could see their emotions clearly on their faces, from the fatigue in his partner to an almost desperation in Skinner. "I'm a good investigator, but you know as well as I do, I'm not the agent that should be investigating this case."
"Agent Scully can't be here."
"You spoke to her?"
"Tonight. She told me to tell you she's fine. She's taking some personal time."
Disbelief crossed Doggett's face. "I've got twenty-two people dead and she's taking personal time?" he retorted, reaching for the phone. Before he could do anything with it, Skinner took it back from him.
"You're not listening to what I'm telling you," he said firmly. "Do your best without her." And then perhaps mercifully he turned and walked away, leaving them alone.
Stark was quiet for a moment, as she had been for the last several minutes, just staring at the side of her partner's head and reading his face. She didn't know what to do. She had never seen him doubt himself so openly before. Usually they threw their shoulders into it no matter what, but he seemed almost like he wanted to give up. Quietly, she pushed away from what she was leaning on, and came up behind him again. This time, she just hugged him tightly.
****
She was woken up by the sound of someone knocking at the door. Never mind that it wasn't her door. Still worried about her partner, she'd suggested that maybe he might want some company, and he hadn't fought her on it. Yet even more coffee hadn't been able to stave off the fact that they had been up for almost an entire day, and somewhere about two in the morning she had dozed off on his couch. This happened so often he was used to it, and just smiled in amusement and let her sleep.
At least until two hours later when someone turned up, and both of them startled to attention. Stark was just used to being on her partner's heels, and had forgotten that her new colleagues didn't know she spent a fair amount of time at his home, so when he opened the door and they both saw Skinner standing there, she only hoped the Assistant Director didn't infer anything untoward about her being there. At least she was still dressed.
"Sir?" Doggett asked, a little confused.
Skinner looked past him over his shoulder at Stark, but paid it no mind as he instead got directly to the point. "I think we caught a break. A homeless man was found dead in Pittsburgh two hours ago. I had them e-mail me some digital photos," he said, handing the printed copies to her partner.
"Any witnesses?" Doggett continued, stepping back to let the Assistant Director in as he glanced over the photos.
"A man fitting Tipet's description was ID'd using the pay phone earlier in the night."
Stark watched her partner's entire expression perk. There was no denying that they could use a positive happening. "So we got something?" he said hopefully.
"No. There's no concrete evidence against him. There's no fingerprints, no hair and fiber."
The optimism turned to confusion. "You got the guy at the scene."
"There's nothing to link him to the murder itself, Agent Doggett."
"Well, I'm supposed to believe this guy doped his way into another plane of reality?" the veteran agent retorted, obviously feeling the mood swings of having been up for now more than a day. "That his spirit is going around killing people?"
Skinner seemed to sense this and backed off slightly. "All right, just suppose.." He exhaled. "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."
Stark arched her eyebrow. "And how would you even prove that?"
"You don't," the Assistant Director replied flatly. "You just learn to accept it."
She understood what he was saying: that they couldn't argue over details if it meant stopping a serial killer. At the same time without proof, they couldn't bring him to justice, either. Her partner, however, was less open-minded and she couldn't blame him. "Then tell me why he's doing it. If he's looking for God, why is he killing people?" he interjected, getting angry. "Just 'cause I'm assigned to the X-Files, you want me to think like Scully or Mulder would. You got the wrong guy. I need facts, not wild ideas."
"All right," Skinner allowed. "Then consider this one. I had Pittsburgh P.D. check the log at that pay phone." He handed over the phone logs and the two of them peered at the list.
"10:12 PM, a call was placed to one Andre Bormanis." Doggett looked up to the Assistant Director for an explanation.
"He's a convicted drug dealer that served time with Tipet. That number's a DC area code."
The veteran agent turned and looked at his partner. "Hope you got your beauty sleep," he deadpanned, and she just snorted in amusement as they went to get their jackets.
Skinner had also found an address for Andre Bormanis, and it was almost five in the morning before the three of them turned up on the man's doorstep. Bormanis wasn't quite what they expected. He looked wild-eyed, as if he'd been up for several hours way too long (almost what they might themselves turn into if they weren't careful). More startling was what appeared to be an 'X' actually carved into his forehead. He was, as he explained, Doctor Bormanis.
Doggett flashed his badge. "Agent Doggett," he explained, then nodded at his partner. "Agent Patrick. Agent Skinner. Can we have a word with you?"
They followed him into his in-house laboratory, none of them really knowing or at this point caring what he might be up to. "You always up at this hour, Dr. Bormanis?" Skinner asked curiously.
"It's when I dissect my rats. Neighbors can't hear 'em screaming." He looked at the unamused faces of the three agents. "That's a joke."
Stark snorted. "I avoided taking anatomy class."
Skinner interjected, "You spoke to Anthony Tipet earlier this evening."
Almost immediately the mention of the name set Bormanis on edge. "My machine picked up," he explained hurriedly. "I...I...I missed the call."
"What did he want?" When Bormanis didn't answer, Skinner started to get annoyed. "We need to find him, Dr. Bormanis. This man may have murdered twenty-three people."
For whatever reason, there was a table saw sitting in the lab. Doggett poked at it, spinning the blade absently while he listened to the conversation. His partner gave him a 'what would you do that for, that's pointy' look, to which he just glanced at her as if to say 'it's here and I'm getting bored'.
"Twenty-three?" Bormanis replied. "You...you said...twenty-two."
"Another man died tonight."
"I'm not doing anything illegal here. I...I just...I just made him stuff," the doctor insisted.
"You mean drugs. You supplied Anthony Tipet with drugs, isn't that right?"
"Hallucinogens were Tipet's way into the depths of the soul, the heights of consciousness, planes of being that our feeble brain chemistry cannot begin to imagine."
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her partner, Stark heard the barely perceptible snort he made at that. She couldn't blame him; she was a child of the seventies after all, and though she had never tried anything she knew how crazy people on drugs could sound.
Skinner, meanwhile, was looking at Bormanis's forehead. "Is that why you cut yourself? Or is that the, uh...mark of the initiated?"
"It's a protection. At least I hope it is. Nobody took the trips but Tipet. See, only his mind was strong enough."
Having heard enough, Doggett moved to intervene, finally speaking up as he mulled everything over in his head. "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?" he asked rhetorically. When Bormanis didn't answer, he removed the pill from his hands and prepared to take him into custody.
"What are you doing?" Bormanis asked, beginning to panic.
"Taking you in for questioning," he replied, reaching for his handcuffs.
"On what charges? I just...I just...explained it to you." The doctor continued to struggle and protest, but no one was listening to him. They merely cuffed him and led him from the room. As of that moment he was their only link to Anthony Tipet, and they weren't in the mood to play any more rhetoric games.
****
Standing in the main waiting area of Metro Police's Central Station, Stark nursed a cup of average (for once) coffee while watching her partner sleep. Heaven knew he needed it, as hard as he had been driving himself. They had pulled all-nighters before but this was ridiculous. And she had to admit that he was almost kind of cute.
"Going to let him sleep it off?" Assistant Director Skinner asked her as he came to stand beside her.
She nodded. "I don't see why not. He needs it."
"What about you? You've probably been up just as long as he has."
"I caught a few hours of sleep on his couch last night. I'll get through it."
Skinner glanced at her then, no doubt remembering a few hours earlier when he'd been surprised to see her standing in Doggett's living room at that hour. "You two are pretty close, aren't you?" he said, though it was more of a statement than a question.
She nodded slowly. "Known each other for about four years now...he's my best friend. Don't know what I'd do without him."
"Must be a hell of a friend for you to sacrifice your career."
Stark didn't comment on that; it was obvious. Nor did she have time to, as Skinner's cell phone rang and pulled him away from the conversation. She just stood there, nursing her coffee and watching her partner. She didn't really know what was going on, but what she could do was what she had always done: watch his back, and be anything and everything that he needed her to be.
She went to the bathroom, coming back just in time to see her partner on their boss's cell phone. Settling on the bench next to him, she waited for him to get off the phone. He finally did and looked at her.
"Agent Scully," he said by way of explanation. "Says I should trust my instincts."
She nodded slightly, as if considering this. "You should," she agreed. "Almost twenty-five years of experience, I think you've got some pretty damn good ones."
He smiled at her for that, glancing up when Skinner arrived. "Lab tests showed that the drug that Bormanis was cooking up was some kind of a super amphetamine," the Assistant Director explained, taking his phone back. "Legal or not, no one's ever seen it before. Do you think it was intended for Tipet?"
"He wants it for himself," Doggett replied, shaking his head. "He doesn't want to go to sleep." Off Skinner's confusion, he was already climbing to his feet. "I want to talk to him. Now."
But by the time they got to the cell, despite the fact the door had to be unlocked, Andre Bormanis was already dead.
****
"No."
"Stark."
"John, I'm fine."
Stark saw the cross look on her partner's face. "You're going to drop unconscious," he said in that tone that indicated he'd pull rank on her if he had to. "And as much as I don't mind carryin' you I'd rather not. Go home."
"What's the first rule of our partnership, John?" she reminded him. "I go home when you go home."
He saw her fold her arms and look equally as cross and he snorted. "I thought the first rule was don't shoot your partner."
She smiled slyly. "You wouldn't shoot me. You think I'm cute."
"Don't you even think about batting your eyelashes at me."
Stark sighed then and unfolded her arms. "It doesn't work on you," she retorted, shaking her head. Then she got serious again. "What if something happens? What if you need me? I'm going to be driving from another state."
"Which is the same commute you make every morning. How good are you going to be to me if you can't focus?" he replied. "Go home. Get a couple of hours of sleep. I'll see you back here about..." A glance at his watch. "Five."
"And what are you going to do?" she retorted.
"I have no idea."
Stark relented then and did as she was told. She was nowhere near as tough as her partner - then again she'd never served in the Marines so that probably had something to do with it - and she knew that he was right, even if she didn't want to leave him, she did need to be at her best in case something went south. By the time she returned to the Bureau, she was already a little late, so when she got to the basement her partner was already there...along with a bunch of guys she had never met.
"Um," she started slowly, stopping in the doorway.
"And you must be Agent Patrick," one of the strangers said, offering his hand. "John Byers. These are my associates, Melvin Frohike and Richard Langly."
She shook his hand warily. "And you know my name how?"
"Agent Scully asked them to come down and lend us a hand," her partner explained. "These are Mulder's friends. The ones he mentions in his files." A glance at the Gunmen. "They were just about to tell me what they've found."
"We've reviewed your case, as Agent Scully asked," Byers explained.
"Mondo bizarro," Langly chimed in. "No offense, man, but you're in way over your head."
Stark winced at that unintended pun considering the manner of death of most of their victims. Her partner didn't notice, however, as he said, "What help can you give us?"
"Hit the lights," Frohike instructed.
She had to laugh when she did, and saw them firing up the slide projector. It was almost like being back in grade school, which made her feel a little old but she'd live. Especially if it got them any sort of break on this case which she was more than ready to be done with. Still she didn't recognize the image on the screen.
"In the renaissance it represented an all-seeing God," Byers explained, as he then clicked through to the same one they'd seen engraved at the home where the cult members had died. "We believe its meaning here relates to Eastern religion. A belief in the third eye, or what the Hindus call the Sahasrara."
"A third eye?" Doggett asked skeptically.
"We all have a third eye," Frohike explained. "If we could open it, we'd see a new reality, one closer to God. At least that's what Kesey told me on the bus back in '64."
That comment sparked a whole other debate among the Gunmen, one that the FBI agents ignored as they examined the next image taken from above the door of the home. It was a large, blue eye and as her partner stared at it Stark knew he had something.
"I see where you guys are going with this. Tipet believes he opened his third eye."
"Yes, exactly," Byers replied.
"But the placement of the wounds on his victims could suggest he's trying to destroy theirs."
"Yeah. That could be."
"But if he's moved closer to God, why kill him? And how?"
"We don't know why," Frohike demurred. "But we might tell you how." As he flicked the lights on and their eyes adjusted, he continued, "You've heard of MK Ultra?"
"The CIA mind control project started in the '50s," Byers elaborated, followed by Langly adding, "They gave LSD to a bunch of people to see what would happen. Didn't bother telling them first."
Frohike nodded slightly. "They understood the power of hallucinogens to harness the mind."
Doggett blinked at that. "Tipet was the one on hallucinogens. Not his victims."
"The CIA invested millions trying to create psychic assassins, failing where Tipet has evidently succeeded," Byers explained, drawing the connection that everyone was looking for. Frohike added, "Reaching a drug-induced higher consciousness, using his mind as a weapon against his victims."
"The assassin makes his victims think they're being hit by an axe," Langly elaborated.
"Or any number of nightmares," Byers added.
"They believe it," Frohike said, "It happens."
Leaning against the nearest piece of furniture, Stark saw a look of concern and horror cross her partner's face. It was starting to come together in his head and she knew better than to interrupt him; the best thing to do was to let him put the pieces together and just try to help him as best she could. "What if Tipet could invade his victims' consciousness in their sleep?" he said slowly, almost reluctantly. "I mean, that's why you'd be afraid to fall asleep, right? If you thought your nightmares might come true?"
The sentiment seemed alien coming off his lips. It was more like something they would have expected to hear from Scully. Stark blinked, rubbing a hand over her face, and the Lone Gunmen all stared at each other for a moment.
"You believe that?" Byers asked.
"No," Doggett replied. "But if Tipet does...he'll need more drugs to keep killing." And before he could finish the sentence, he was already reaching for his jacket and moving toward the door. Stark pushed herself up to follow him and he turned on her. "Stay here."
"John."
"Stark, don't argue with me. I want you safe." His tone left no room for discussion, and she relented, leaning heavily against the desk. Her stomach tightened a little as she watched her partner disappear from the room.
Everything was quiet. Stark knew she wanted to be out there with her partner. But she had relented because he had asked her to, and because she had seen something in his eyes that made her know he was serious: an honest fear for her safety.
But what did that say about his?
****
She didn't get her answer until later that night. A phone call from Washington Memorial: In a confrontation at Bormanis's lab, Tipet had slammed his head on that strangely out of place table saw and was critical as a result of his injuries. Her partner had sounded rattled, but when she had tried to talk to him about it, had insisted he was just tired and stressed. Kersh was demanding answers already. She promised him that she would see him in the morning, just glad to hear that he was okay.
Yet once again her phone rang before her alarm went off. Stark eyed the clock, then the phone, snatching it up and fearing the worst. "Yeah."
"Agent Patrick?"
"Agent Scully." Stark was surprised to hear the other woman's voice after missing her expertise on this case. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm concerned about your partner. He left me a very troubling message on my machine last night," the senior agent explained, "And his front door is unlocked."
"That's not like him." Stark was already scrambling from the bed. "I'll be right there."
Thankfully, she and her partner lived only about twenty minutes from each other, but with no real idea of what had happened the night before, Stark was fearing the worst as she made the drive. By the time she got there, there was no sign of Scully, and she moved quickly into the house calling for either of her colleagues. Then she heard Agent Scully calling her name, and moved up the stairs to see them both in her partner's bedroom, her partner looking unharmed but shaken.
"What happened?" she asked, looking worriedly between them both.
Scully looked at her. "I think you might want to ask your partner," she said, and with that, quietly made her exit, leaving the two of them there.
Worriedly, Stark sat down on the end of the bed, looking at her partner. "What happened last night, John?" she asked. She knew something had gone down. "What's got you so rattled?"
He glanced at her seriously. "I think Tipet got into my head," he said simply. When he reached for her hand, she just pulled him into a hug. She could understand his fear. The last time someone had gotten into her head, it had destroyed her, and that had just been an ordinary person. She was cursing herself for having let him go it alone.
"You want to talk about it?" she offered, resting her chin on his shoulder.
His breath was tight. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"How about at the beginning?" she asked. "I'll put on a pot of coffee. Maybe that'll wake us both up."
"Coffee would be good," he agreed. "I want to stay awake for awhile."
Spoilers: "Via Negativa"
Words: 6468
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When her partner gets pulled into something that scares even him, Stark will do anything to save him, as she begins to fear what the X-Files have in store for the both of them.
Arlington, Virginia
3:32 A.M.
Years of working in law enforcement had taught Stark that if the phone rang early, it was never good. She groaned, eyeing the phone. Stifling a yawn she grabbed it. "What's going on?" she said drowsily.
"Apparently, we got a case." From the sound of his voice, John wasn't quite awake either. "Agent Scully just called me. Skinner's got an agent and a bunch of religious cult followers dead in Pittsburgh, wants us to take a look."
"Now?"
"It just went down twenty minutes ago. I'll pick you up. Drive shouldn't be too bad at this hour."
She nodded slightly, grateful that she was what was considered a 'morning person'. Her alarm would have gone off in three more hours anyway to give her time to take her morning run, have breakfast and get ready for the work day. Apparently now she'd be skipping the run and the breakfast. "What about Scully, she meeting us there?" she asked, hauling herself from the bed.
"No. She says she can't get there right away, she's got somethin' to deal with." His tone told her she wasn't quite convinced but was also concerned for their colleague.
"All right," she replied. She knew if he knew anything else, he would have told her. "I'll see you in...what, forty-five minutes?"
"Yeah, sounds about right. I'll see you."
Stark was familiar with early-morning callouts from her days with the fugitive squad; they often served warrants at early hours to catch suspects off guard. But she hadn't been with that team in three years and she had to admit she had settled into a new routine. She rubbed at her eyes to get some of the sleep out of them, then headed for the shower. Whatever was going on, it was obviously important enough that it couldn't wait another four and a half hours until they arrived at work, so she knew time was of the essence. By the time she heard the familiar sound of her partner's truck pulling into the driveway, she was already stepping out of her house, locking the front door.
"Nothing like an early morning road trip?" she teased lightly as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, favoring him with a smile. It was always good to see his face even if she would rather be asleep at the moment.
He snorted. "I can think of a couple dozen places I'd rather be going," he replied. He waited until they were safely on the road before he began explaining what little he knew. "Both the agent and all the followers of this supposed cult are dead. Apparently Skinner's having a problem determining exactly how."
"Meaning it's an X-File," Stark said knowingly. She nodded. "Can I suggest we skip breakfast?"
"My thoughts exactly."
They settled for coffee as they made the drive to the airport to catch a waiting flight to Pittsburgh. Thanks to the travel time, the press and everyone else had already descended on the crime scene. They rolled up in a rental sedan just in time to meet Assistant Director Skinner and what, as predicted, was a particularly gruesome scene. Stepping out of the car, Stark pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the messenger bag she'd brought, and walked with her partner to get their first real explanation from their boss.
"Where's Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, looking between them.
"Running late," Doggett explained. "What do we have?"
"One of our men doing routine surveillance on a cult group-- the Ibogan Temple. We had a tip they were trafficking narcotics. Nobody suspected anything like this," Skinner continued, leading them over to a parked car with its driver's side door wide open. The body of one of their own was still sitting inside, with a large and very bloody gash in his forehead. He let them get over their initial shock before he continued, "Agent James Leeds. Six-year veteran of the Bureau, father of two. Patrol cop found him. Car was locked from the inside."
"What?" Stark asked. She'd averted her eyes from the blood after a moment but snapped her head around to look at Skinner.
Her partner, on the other hand, sat on the running board, getting an up close and personal look at the corpse. "Nobody saw or heard anything?" he asked, figuring that with such a violent death there had to be something.
"No."
"This couldn't have happened here," Doggett continued, shaking his head slightly.
Skinner exhaled. "Blood spatter on the seat says it did."
"Then how would you explain the car? It was locked from the inside?" Stark asked. "So he was in the car with someone who killed him here who just disappeared?"
"It's too narrow," her partner pointed out. "There's no room to swing the weapon. Besides, it doesn't make any sense. The gun's still holstered and the key's in the ignition. Even if he fell asleep..." He sighed, getting to his feet. "This is damn weird."
"It gets weirder," Skinner told them.
Stark winced. "I worry when you say that."
"You're a quick study, Agent Patrick," the Assistant Director commented without looking back as he led them into the house and what was supposedly the bedroom. She figured this out only because the coroner was still in the process of removing the bodies of all the people inside. "These people were all killed the same way as our guy. All twenty cult members dead from a single deep wound to the forehead."
"Is this every member?" Doggett asked.
"All except one," Skinner replied. "Their leader, Anthony Tipet, is missing."
Stark chewed on that for a second. "I guess we know who to start our suspect list with."
The Assistant Director didn't comment on her theory, just led them through into another room with an apparent shrine in it, nodding at the photo of the man that was there. "Tipet was a convicted murderer who claimed to have found God. We didn't think we were dealing with an apocalyptic cult. We've seen this kind of thing before. Jonestown, Heaven's Gate..."
Her partner looked closely at a crude engraving of an eye on the shrine. "I don't care how devoted they were," he muttered. "These people wouldn't just lie here and let their leader bash their brains in. I got to figure at least one of them would have had a problem with that."
"It's something I've considered," Skinner replied. "I'm running tox tests on all the bodies for drugs."
"Does that include our man in the car?"
The Assistant Director gave him a look. Stark knew what he was thinking. "There aren't any circumstances to exclude him from being grouped with the other victims," she explained. "Same manner of death, we have to check him out too. Like it or not." Skinner didn't answer her but her nerves twitched when she heard another voice: that of someone she hadn't seen since the search for Mulder, Gene Crane. "Well, yay," she muttered sarcastically under her breath. He didn't look particularly thrilled to see her either as he told Skinner that they hadn't been able to find Agent Stedman.
"Angus Stedman?" Doggett interjected.
Crane nodded. "Leeds' partner, do you know him?"
"Where'd you look?"
"He wasn't checked into the same motel as Leeds. He's not answering his cell or his pager."
"Did you check his condo?"
"His condo?"
"Yeah, Stedman's from Pittsburgh." Doggett nodded. "He keeps a condo here that belongs to his folks."
Stark didn't need to be told twice. "We'd better get our asses down there. I hope you have some idea where you're going, John."
"I have no idea but that doesn't mean I can't get someone to look it up," he retorted, already on her heels as they moved out of the building and back toward where they had left the car parked. The look shared between them, however, said that they were fairly sure that it was already too late. The law of large numbers dictated that Stedman's outlook wasn't good.
They were able to get the address for the condo from his file, and make the drive across town to find it. Stark let her partner take the lead as they approached the front door. When knocking didn't get them an answer, he took the door in and she covered him. This wasn't going to end well. Everything was pointing to a bad ending. When Skinner called from the bedroom to say he'd found Stedman's body, Stark really wasn't that surprised. Nor that he had the same manner of death.
It had just been a vain hope that maybe they'd only lose one colleague instead of two.
Standing outside the condo, she shared a look with her partner and her boss. "We've got a lot of catching up to do," she said needlessly. "We're already behind the eight ball and this guy is ahead by twenty-two."
****
Yet the rest of the afternoon did not improve. After receiving forensic reports from both crime scenes which may as well have been blank pieces of paper, and doing initial research on the cult and its leader, nothing was standing out for them. The only positive that Stark could see as they got on a plane to head back to Washington was that she was not stuck flying on the same flight as Skinner and Gene Crane. It saved her from wanting to hit Crane with her carry-on bag.
No one had to tell them that a case with twenty-two dead people, including two dead agents, was going to be front page news. A "red ball," as they called them in Baltimore, and the pressure would be on. She leaned back in her seat with a sigh and, like she always did when she was at a loss, looked to her partner for direction. "Where do we even start?" she said. "I can't think of anything."
"Well the obvious thing is to find this missing cult leader," he replied. "It seems pretty damn weird to me that he somehow survives and then vanishes when all of his followers get a body bag."
"Yeah that's what I was thinking," she concurred. "But even so, these deaths don't make any sense. How do people - all of them, the cult members, Leeds in the car and Stedman in the condo - get killed from the inside? Whoever did it they've still got to find a way to get in and out. And who the hell walks around with an axe of all things?"
"Maybe it's Halloween somewhere," Doggett suggested, tongue firmly in cheek as he shrugged, looking over the reports again. "I don't know, Stark. But I do know we've gotta have something to bring to the Deputy Director."
She leaned over and pulled one of the reports away from him, earning her a small smirk of amusement. "I dunno, but I have a feeling we're gonna be pulling something out of nothing," she confided.
****
Deputy Director Kersh was not pleased. There was an entire crowd of people in his office - other than John and Stark, there was Assistant Director Skinner, Agent Crane and a senior agent from the Narcotics Unit called in for a consult - and none of them could offer him anything other than complete bewilderment.
At the moment, they were all reviewing a tape someone had dug up of Anthony Tipet preaching his supposed enlightenment. No one looked impressed. Skinner finally paused the tape, deciding he'd just summarize the rest. "Anthony Tipet served twelve 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, it 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."
The Narcotics agent looked bewildered. "You're saying all these people were so stoned on this bark they just let their leader kill them?"
"That's what we thought, but..." Stark started. She let Skinner finish: "We found no trace of the drug in the blood of any of the victims."
"I don't understand." Kersh looked between them. "How in the hell did Tipet manage to slaughter all these people?"
Stark exhaled. "He is a suspect but he may not be the only suspect, sir."
Her partner nodded. "Tipet was paranoid, but nothing indicates he was ready to take the lives of his own people or our men."
"This is our one and only suspect. Are you telling me he didn't do it?"
Doggett exhaled. "Whoever did this left not even a trace how. No prints, no forensic evidence whatsoever. Agent Leeds' sedan, the cult house, Agent Stedman's condo were all locked from the inside."
"That's impossible," Kersh retorted.
"Yes, sir. That's what we've been saying all morning," Stark said. "But it's the truth, and as of right now, we have no explanation."
"Unless Tipet took the drug and succeeded," Skinner interjected. "Unless his consciousness was there but his body was somewhere else."
Everyone in the room stopped and looked at him. Stark just stared at him and she saw the unease on her partner's face. It wasn't something that made any sense to them or that they even wanted to consider. The tension in the room just got thicker.
"The X-File explanation," Kersh said, disdain dripping off his every word. "I take it this theory comes from Agent Scully?" He had an interesting way of making 'theory' sound like a four-letter word.
Doggett tried his best to save the situation. "Agent Scully has yet to reach any conclusions, sir."
"That's the problem. I'm not hearing conclusions from either one of you," Kersh replied, giving him and Stark a hard look. "If this man has reached a higher plane, then explain to me why twenty-two people are dead, including two FBI agents. Now I want to hear what you're going to do about it."
Stark shifted her jaw, not liking the call-out. "Everything we can, sir."
"That's to be expected, Agent Patrick." His expression didn't change. "We're through here."
The three of them got the hint. She held the door for her partner and Assistant Director Skinner before they began what seemed to be a long walk down the hall back toward the elevators. Stark looked chagrined, but her partner looked downright annoyed. He turned and gave Skinner a look. "If I'm working this case, I'd appreciate a heads up before you tell the Deputy Director any more science fiction stories," he warned.
"Hey, I don't have another explanation," Skinner replied.
"Neither do we," Stark said. "But that doesn't mean we want to give Kersh that. Last time we said that it cost one of us his job."
"At least we gave him something," the A.D. pointed out.
Stark shook her head. Her partner glanced at her, knowing she was talking about him as he punched the elevator call button. "Those guys in there are right. This whole story doesn't make a damn bit of sense."
Skinner eyed him. "I'm supposed to give those guys in there answers, Agent Doggett. You're supposed to help me do that."
The elevator arrived and Stark was grateful for it, following her partner on as he glanced at the Assistant Director. "Tipet's on the run," he said. "Find him, and we just might."
****
"How long have you been up? Seventeen hours?" Stark theorized, coming up behind her partner. She settled her hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently as she read over his shoulder. "You should go home, John. You've had a long day."
"Are you going anywhere?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he just snorted. "I didn't think so."
She just shook her head. He knew her too well; she wasn't going to go anywhere unless he did, even though he wouldn't begrudge her it. That was the way they were. They didn't leave each other on their own. They did things as a team. It was something she found comforting; Stark was always more of a team player, even as much as she was self-reliant. Everyone liked to say that they were strong and could do everything on their own. She found no shame in admitting that while she was far from helpless she preferred sticking by the side of her partner.
The door opened then and she glanced at Assistant Director Skinner. "Agent Patrick. Agent Doggett," he said, handing the file to her partner. "Coroner's report."
Doggett flipped open the file and read from it. "Victims all killed by a single blow from an axe blade, six to eight inches long."
"Then I guess we start looking for axes?" Stark theorized.
Skinner shook his head. "These photos of wound patterns don't match up to any known make or manufacturer."
She looked confused, trying to figure that out, but she saw understanding in her partner's eyes. He set the file aside and reached for something else instead. "Courtesy of my partner's deep background," he said, showing Skinner a picture they'd come across. "It's a ceremonial axe used over a thousand years ago to cleave the skulls of unbelievers. This was required reading for Tipet's followers."
"Is this our weapon?"
He shook his head. "No, sir. It's on permanent display in a Calcutta museum."
"Not to mention," Stark said, "if it's about belief, why Tipet would do something meant for unbelievers to his entire following. Unless he just had a royal fit."
Skinner exhaled tightly. "Another dead end."
"Like everything else in this case." Doggett sighed, his voice quiet and tinged with frustration as he looked between the two. He could see their emotions clearly on their faces, from the fatigue in his partner to an almost desperation in Skinner. "I'm a good investigator, but you know as well as I do, I'm not the agent that should be investigating this case."
"Agent Scully can't be here."
"You spoke to her?"
"Tonight. She told me to tell you she's fine. She's taking some personal time."
Disbelief crossed Doggett's face. "I've got twenty-two people dead and she's taking personal time?" he retorted, reaching for the phone. Before he could do anything with it, Skinner took it back from him.
"You're not listening to what I'm telling you," he said firmly. "Do your best without her." And then perhaps mercifully he turned and walked away, leaving them alone.
Stark was quiet for a moment, as she had been for the last several minutes, just staring at the side of her partner's head and reading his face. She didn't know what to do. She had never seen him doubt himself so openly before. Usually they threw their shoulders into it no matter what, but he seemed almost like he wanted to give up. Quietly, she pushed away from what she was leaning on, and came up behind him again. This time, she just hugged him tightly.
****
She was woken up by the sound of someone knocking at the door. Never mind that it wasn't her door. Still worried about her partner, she'd suggested that maybe he might want some company, and he hadn't fought her on it. Yet even more coffee hadn't been able to stave off the fact that they had been up for almost an entire day, and somewhere about two in the morning she had dozed off on his couch. This happened so often he was used to it, and just smiled in amusement and let her sleep.
At least until two hours later when someone turned up, and both of them startled to attention. Stark was just used to being on her partner's heels, and had forgotten that her new colleagues didn't know she spent a fair amount of time at his home, so when he opened the door and they both saw Skinner standing there, she only hoped the Assistant Director didn't infer anything untoward about her being there. At least she was still dressed.
"Sir?" Doggett asked, a little confused.
Skinner looked past him over his shoulder at Stark, but paid it no mind as he instead got directly to the point. "I think we caught a break. A homeless man was found dead in Pittsburgh two hours ago. I had them e-mail me some digital photos," he said, handing the printed copies to her partner.
"Any witnesses?" Doggett continued, stepping back to let the Assistant Director in as he glanced over the photos.
"A man fitting Tipet's description was ID'd using the pay phone earlier in the night."
Stark watched her partner's entire expression perk. There was no denying that they could use a positive happening. "So we got something?" he said hopefully.
"No. There's no concrete evidence against him. There's no fingerprints, no hair and fiber."
The optimism turned to confusion. "You got the guy at the scene."
"There's nothing to link him to the murder itself, Agent Doggett."
"Well, I'm supposed to believe this guy doped his way into another plane of reality?" the veteran agent retorted, obviously feeling the mood swings of having been up for now more than a day. "That his spirit is going around killing people?"
Skinner seemed to sense this and backed off slightly. "All right, just suppose.." He exhaled. "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."
Stark arched her eyebrow. "And how would you even prove that?"
"You don't," the Assistant Director replied flatly. "You just learn to accept it."
She understood what he was saying: that they couldn't argue over details if it meant stopping a serial killer. At the same time without proof, they couldn't bring him to justice, either. Her partner, however, was less open-minded and she couldn't blame him. "Then tell me why he's doing it. If he's looking for God, why is he killing people?" he interjected, getting angry. "Just 'cause I'm assigned to the X-Files, you want me to think like Scully or Mulder would. You got the wrong guy. I need facts, not wild ideas."
"All right," Skinner allowed. "Then consider this one. I had Pittsburgh P.D. check the log at that pay phone." He handed over the phone logs and the two of them peered at the list.
"10:12 PM, a call was placed to one Andre Bormanis." Doggett looked up to the Assistant Director for an explanation.
"He's a convicted drug dealer that served time with Tipet. That number's a DC area code."
The veteran agent turned and looked at his partner. "Hope you got your beauty sleep," he deadpanned, and she just snorted in amusement as they went to get their jackets.
Skinner had also found an address for Andre Bormanis, and it was almost five in the morning before the three of them turned up on the man's doorstep. Bormanis wasn't quite what they expected. He looked wild-eyed, as if he'd been up for several hours way too long (almost what they might themselves turn into if they weren't careful). More startling was what appeared to be an 'X' actually carved into his forehead. He was, as he explained, Doctor Bormanis.
Doggett flashed his badge. "Agent Doggett," he explained, then nodded at his partner. "Agent Patrick. Agent Skinner. Can we have a word with you?"
They followed him into his in-house laboratory, none of them really knowing or at this point caring what he might be up to. "You always up at this hour, Dr. Bormanis?" Skinner asked curiously.
"It's when I dissect my rats. Neighbors can't hear 'em screaming." He looked at the unamused faces of the three agents. "That's a joke."
Stark snorted. "I avoided taking anatomy class."
Skinner interjected, "You spoke to Anthony Tipet earlier this evening."
Almost immediately the mention of the name set Bormanis on edge. "My machine picked up," he explained hurriedly. "I...I...I missed the call."
"What did he want?" When Bormanis didn't answer, Skinner started to get annoyed. "We need to find him, Dr. Bormanis. This man may have murdered twenty-three people."
For whatever reason, there was a table saw sitting in the lab. Doggett poked at it, spinning the blade absently while he listened to the conversation. His partner gave him a 'what would you do that for, that's pointy' look, to which he just glanced at her as if to say 'it's here and I'm getting bored'.
"Twenty-three?" Bormanis replied. "You...you said...twenty-two."
"Another man died tonight."
"I'm not doing anything illegal here. I...I just...I just made him stuff," the doctor insisted.
"You mean drugs. You supplied Anthony Tipet with drugs, isn't that right?"
"Hallucinogens were Tipet's way into the depths of the soul, the heights of consciousness, planes of being that our feeble brain chemistry cannot begin to imagine."
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her partner, Stark heard the barely perceptible snort he made at that. She couldn't blame him; she was a child of the seventies after all, and though she had never tried anything she knew how crazy people on drugs could sound.
Skinner, meanwhile, was looking at Bormanis's forehead. "Is that why you cut yourself? Or is that the, uh...mark of the initiated?"
"It's a protection. At least I hope it is. Nobody took the trips but Tipet. See, only his mind was strong enough."
Having heard enough, Doggett moved to intervene, finally speaking up as he mulled everything over in his head. "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?" he asked rhetorically. When Bormanis didn't answer, he removed the pill from his hands and prepared to take him into custody.
"What are you doing?" Bormanis asked, beginning to panic.
"Taking you in for questioning," he replied, reaching for his handcuffs.
"On what charges? I just...I just...explained it to you." The doctor continued to struggle and protest, but no one was listening to him. They merely cuffed him and led him from the room. As of that moment he was their only link to Anthony Tipet, and they weren't in the mood to play any more rhetoric games.
****
Standing in the main waiting area of Metro Police's Central Station, Stark nursed a cup of average (for once) coffee while watching her partner sleep. Heaven knew he needed it, as hard as he had been driving himself. They had pulled all-nighters before but this was ridiculous. And she had to admit that he was almost kind of cute.
"Going to let him sleep it off?" Assistant Director Skinner asked her as he came to stand beside her.
She nodded. "I don't see why not. He needs it."
"What about you? You've probably been up just as long as he has."
"I caught a few hours of sleep on his couch last night. I'll get through it."
Skinner glanced at her then, no doubt remembering a few hours earlier when he'd been surprised to see her standing in Doggett's living room at that hour. "You two are pretty close, aren't you?" he said, though it was more of a statement than a question.
She nodded slowly. "Known each other for about four years now...he's my best friend. Don't know what I'd do without him."
"Must be a hell of a friend for you to sacrifice your career."
Stark didn't comment on that; it was obvious. Nor did she have time to, as Skinner's cell phone rang and pulled him away from the conversation. She just stood there, nursing her coffee and watching her partner. She didn't really know what was going on, but what she could do was what she had always done: watch his back, and be anything and everything that he needed her to be.
She went to the bathroom, coming back just in time to see her partner on their boss's cell phone. Settling on the bench next to him, she waited for him to get off the phone. He finally did and looked at her.
"Agent Scully," he said by way of explanation. "Says I should trust my instincts."
She nodded slightly, as if considering this. "You should," she agreed. "Almost twenty-five years of experience, I think you've got some pretty damn good ones."
He smiled at her for that, glancing up when Skinner arrived. "Lab tests showed that the drug that Bormanis was cooking up was some kind of a super amphetamine," the Assistant Director explained, taking his phone back. "Legal or not, no one's ever seen it before. Do you think it was intended for Tipet?"
"He wants it for himself," Doggett replied, shaking his head. "He doesn't want to go to sleep." Off Skinner's confusion, he was already climbing to his feet. "I want to talk to him. Now."
But by the time they got to the cell, despite the fact the door had to be unlocked, Andre Bormanis was already dead.
****
"No."
"Stark."
"John, I'm fine."
Stark saw the cross look on her partner's face. "You're going to drop unconscious," he said in that tone that indicated he'd pull rank on her if he had to. "And as much as I don't mind carryin' you I'd rather not. Go home."
"What's the first rule of our partnership, John?" she reminded him. "I go home when you go home."
He saw her fold her arms and look equally as cross and he snorted. "I thought the first rule was don't shoot your partner."
She smiled slyly. "You wouldn't shoot me. You think I'm cute."
"Don't you even think about batting your eyelashes at me."
Stark sighed then and unfolded her arms. "It doesn't work on you," she retorted, shaking her head. Then she got serious again. "What if something happens? What if you need me? I'm going to be driving from another state."
"Which is the same commute you make every morning. How good are you going to be to me if you can't focus?" he replied. "Go home. Get a couple of hours of sleep. I'll see you back here about..." A glance at his watch. "Five."
"And what are you going to do?" she retorted.
"I have no idea."
Stark relented then and did as she was told. She was nowhere near as tough as her partner - then again she'd never served in the Marines so that probably had something to do with it - and she knew that he was right, even if she didn't want to leave him, she did need to be at her best in case something went south. By the time she returned to the Bureau, she was already a little late, so when she got to the basement her partner was already there...along with a bunch of guys she had never met.
"Um," she started slowly, stopping in the doorway.
"And you must be Agent Patrick," one of the strangers said, offering his hand. "John Byers. These are my associates, Melvin Frohike and Richard Langly."
She shook his hand warily. "And you know my name how?"
"Agent Scully asked them to come down and lend us a hand," her partner explained. "These are Mulder's friends. The ones he mentions in his files." A glance at the Gunmen. "They were just about to tell me what they've found."
"We've reviewed your case, as Agent Scully asked," Byers explained.
"Mondo bizarro," Langly chimed in. "No offense, man, but you're in way over your head."
Stark winced at that unintended pun considering the manner of death of most of their victims. Her partner didn't notice, however, as he said, "What help can you give us?"
"Hit the lights," Frohike instructed.
She had to laugh when she did, and saw them firing up the slide projector. It was almost like being back in grade school, which made her feel a little old but she'd live. Especially if it got them any sort of break on this case which she was more than ready to be done with. Still she didn't recognize the image on the screen.
"In the renaissance it represented an all-seeing God," Byers explained, as he then clicked through to the same one they'd seen engraved at the home where the cult members had died. "We believe its meaning here relates to Eastern religion. A belief in the third eye, or what the Hindus call the Sahasrara."
"A third eye?" Doggett asked skeptically.
"We all have a third eye," Frohike explained. "If we could open it, we'd see a new reality, one closer to God. At least that's what Kesey told me on the bus back in '64."
That comment sparked a whole other debate among the Gunmen, one that the FBI agents ignored as they examined the next image taken from above the door of the home. It was a large, blue eye and as her partner stared at it Stark knew he had something.
"I see where you guys are going with this. Tipet believes he opened his third eye."
"Yes, exactly," Byers replied.
"But the placement of the wounds on his victims could suggest he's trying to destroy theirs."
"Yeah. That could be."
"But if he's moved closer to God, why kill him? And how?"
"We don't know why," Frohike demurred. "But we might tell you how." As he flicked the lights on and their eyes adjusted, he continued, "You've heard of MK Ultra?"
"The CIA mind control project started in the '50s," Byers elaborated, followed by Langly adding, "They gave LSD to a bunch of people to see what would happen. Didn't bother telling them first."
Frohike nodded slightly. "They understood the power of hallucinogens to harness the mind."
Doggett blinked at that. "Tipet was the one on hallucinogens. Not his victims."
"The CIA invested millions trying to create psychic assassins, failing where Tipet has evidently succeeded," Byers explained, drawing the connection that everyone was looking for. Frohike added, "Reaching a drug-induced higher consciousness, using his mind as a weapon against his victims."
"The assassin makes his victims think they're being hit by an axe," Langly elaborated.
"Or any number of nightmares," Byers added.
"They believe it," Frohike said, "It happens."
Leaning against the nearest piece of furniture, Stark saw a look of concern and horror cross her partner's face. It was starting to come together in his head and she knew better than to interrupt him; the best thing to do was to let him put the pieces together and just try to help him as best she could. "What if Tipet could invade his victims' consciousness in their sleep?" he said slowly, almost reluctantly. "I mean, that's why you'd be afraid to fall asleep, right? If you thought your nightmares might come true?"
The sentiment seemed alien coming off his lips. It was more like something they would have expected to hear from Scully. Stark blinked, rubbing a hand over her face, and the Lone Gunmen all stared at each other for a moment.
"You believe that?" Byers asked.
"No," Doggett replied. "But if Tipet does...he'll need more drugs to keep killing." And before he could finish the sentence, he was already reaching for his jacket and moving toward the door. Stark pushed herself up to follow him and he turned on her. "Stay here."
"John."
"Stark, don't argue with me. I want you safe." His tone left no room for discussion, and she relented, leaning heavily against the desk. Her stomach tightened a little as she watched her partner disappear from the room.
Everything was quiet. Stark knew she wanted to be out there with her partner. But she had relented because he had asked her to, and because she had seen something in his eyes that made her know he was serious: an honest fear for her safety.
But what did that say about his?
****
She didn't get her answer until later that night. A phone call from Washington Memorial: In a confrontation at Bormanis's lab, Tipet had slammed his head on that strangely out of place table saw and was critical as a result of his injuries. Her partner had sounded rattled, but when she had tried to talk to him about it, had insisted he was just tired and stressed. Kersh was demanding answers already. She promised him that she would see him in the morning, just glad to hear that he was okay.
Yet once again her phone rang before her alarm went off. Stark eyed the clock, then the phone, snatching it up and fearing the worst. "Yeah."
"Agent Patrick?"
"Agent Scully." Stark was surprised to hear the other woman's voice after missing her expertise on this case. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm concerned about your partner. He left me a very troubling message on my machine last night," the senior agent explained, "And his front door is unlocked."
"That's not like him." Stark was already scrambling from the bed. "I'll be right there."
Thankfully, she and her partner lived only about twenty minutes from each other, but with no real idea of what had happened the night before, Stark was fearing the worst as she made the drive. By the time she got there, there was no sign of Scully, and she moved quickly into the house calling for either of her colleagues. Then she heard Agent Scully calling her name, and moved up the stairs to see them both in her partner's bedroom, her partner looking unharmed but shaken.
"What happened?" she asked, looking worriedly between them both.
Scully looked at her. "I think you might want to ask your partner," she said, and with that, quietly made her exit, leaving the two of them there.
Worriedly, Stark sat down on the end of the bed, looking at her partner. "What happened last night, John?" she asked. She knew something had gone down. "What's got you so rattled?"
He glanced at her seriously. "I think Tipet got into my head," he said simply. When he reached for her hand, she just pulled him into a hug. She could understand his fear. The last time someone had gotten into her head, it had destroyed her, and that had just been an ordinary person. She was cursing herself for having let him go it alone.
"You want to talk about it?" she offered, resting her chin on his shoulder.
His breath was tight. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"How about at the beginning?" she asked. "I'll put on a pot of coffee. Maybe that'll wake us both up."
"Coffee would be good," he agreed. "I want to stay awake for awhile."