I'm Freefalling Because Things Are Falling Into Place

This again.

The red room. Plush curtains draping every wall and brushing the checkered floor. The pinstriped chairs located unconventionally far away from each other. In a normal space, you wouldn't even be able to carry on a conversation.

But this was the dreamscape. Anything was possible.

The space around her warped and the other chairs were filled. The triangle. And the man.

Bill's eyes were pinched at the corners, like he would be smiling if he had a mouth instead of a bowtie. And Dipper. He was smiling serenely.

For the first time, she earnestly studied her brother.

They'd aged about the same, smooth features making them look younger than they really were. His soft, brown hair hadn't changed, giving her the nostalgic urge to give him a noogie he wouldn't soon forget. But he was slighter than her. She'd put on a lot of muscle when training to be an officer and maintained it even after becoming a detective. Dipper looked like he might blow away at the slightest breeze. He looked wrong in that too formal suit with that look in his eyes.

Same as they had been in the waking world. Dull.

Where Bill's eye was full of secrets, Dipper's were empty.

Why?

Dipper rose, purposefully walking across the room toward Mabel. She didn't dare move.

He kissed her on the cheek – full of brotherly affection – and whispered the culprit in her ear.

"It was me, Mabel. It was me all along."

She woke with a cold start.

Were it because of the dream, or the uncomfortable mattress, or the chilliness of her cell she didn't know. But Mabel sat straight up. She was shivering. Her suit jacket had been confiscated. Her blanket had been snatched by the occupant of a nearby cell. And her brow was beaded with sweat.

She gripped the bars beside the bed. She'd promised herself she would never sleep in a cell again. So much for that. But it barely mattered right now. Her mind was racing.

Beginning to pace the length of her tiny enclosure, Mabel wracked her brain. Who would be capable of supplying Holler with his ingredients? Dipper. Who would meticulously track the consumers and pick out the best ones for murder? Dipper. Who would know about demonology and be able to produce a summoning circle? Dipper. Who would be knowledgeable enough to know about stem cells? Dipper. Who would not be in any record or reference for an ongoing investigation? Dipper.

It was obvious. Ray was right. She had been willfully blind.

And the wounds on Dipper's arms confirmed it. Self-inflicted, probably. If that look in his eyes was anything to go by, he was under Bill's influence. She didn't believe for a minute that the demon's masochistic habits had abated over the years. What if he was possessing Dipper to perform the murders, hurting himself in the process?

Forrest Altair. A not-so-literal reversal of Dipper Pines. The 'Forrest' part was obvious. But wasn't 'Altair' the name of star or constellation in the Summer Triangle?

Terrifying. All-knowing. Making deals. It was so obvious once it clicked.

Bipper.

She had to get out. Now.

Like a godsend, the doors from the main department to the jail cell opened, revealing none other than Detective Raymond Clark. She could hug him right now.

"Ray!" Mabel stuck her arm out and waved her partner down, "Down here."

Ray didn't wither under the gazes of the other occupants, he held fast. Their eyes followed him, amounting to zero privacy when he arrived at her cell. Without a word, he produced the key, setting her free. He handed back her jacket and phone – now fully charged – and delivered a severe, gray-eyed glare.

"Thank you." She whispered, "And I'm sorry."

He accepted the apology. But still, a hand ran down his face to attest to his exhaustion.

"I had to do a lot of talking to get you out of here." He said quietly, "Remember, this isn't our department. We don't have any favors to cash. You had better have a good reason for punching a cop."

"He was being an idiot and he was hurting Dipper."

Ray tipped his head. It was a barely passable reason. But a reason nonetheless.

"He's the murderer." She whispered.

Ray heard.

He didn't rub it in. They couldn't celebrate finding the killer when it was Mabel's brother.

"Maybe he's the one doing it." She continued, "But something is very wrong. He's not… right."

Ray took her arm, "Let's talk about this outside."

A headache drove into her cranium the moment they stepped out of the jail, a combination of her healing concussion and the bright sunlight. It looked like it was nearly afternoon.

"How long did I sleep?" She hissed.

"A while." Ray answered without humor, "You were wiped yesterday. Your injuries are still healing too. You're stressed and emotionally wrung out by this case. It didn't surprise me. I was just coming to wake you, though."

"Some reason?"

They passed Detective Werner's desk. The homicide case notes sat atop it. Someone had turned on a fan nearby to ward off the summer heat. Ray snatched a clipboard with a single sheet and handed it to Mabel.

Gosh, she never wanted to see one of these again.

A missing person's report.

For Pacifica Northwest.

"She didn't show up to teach any of her lectures yesterday and today. It was officially over twenty-four hours this morning. Her colleagues at the university have been trying to contact her with no luck."

Mabel pulled her cell phone from her inner pocket, navigating her messaging app. The one she'd sent to Pacifica yesterday – almost twenty-four hours ago – was still marked as 'unread'.

"Shit."

"I'm sorry Mabel." Ray was saying, "I know this is a lot on your plate…"

"Hold up a second, Ray."

The pair was silent. The rotating fan swung back, kicking up papers that the clipboard had previously pinned down. The reports scattered across the floor.

Mabel bent to pick them up, recognizing Beckett's handwriting. The coroner's most recent report included another list of progenitor cells, liberal amount of highlights, and a note at the top.

'He has them all.'

It felt like he chest had bottomed out and now her heart raced, out of control.

There were ten victims.

A pentagram.

And a sacrifice.

Pacifica.

Whatever Dipper was doing. It was happening. Today.

She had to stop him.

She had to redeem him.

Some of you called it... Well, here we go! Massive source of inspiration Starfleetrambo: (starfleetrambo tumblr com/post/106737725263/who-was-the-killer-i-dont-remember)