A gaggle of police officers lined the cracked and stained walls of this downtown apartment. Dana Scully crouched over the bent body of a deceased male, early-30's, and she was grateful the door to the studio apartment was propped open. A steady flow of cool spring air wafted out the scent of rotting cat food and moldy books. There was a cafe not far from the apartment that baked the best chocolate croissants in Washington, D.C. Today, Scully thought, was a chocolate croissant day.

She pulled off her latex examination gloves, smoothed out a lock of straight red hair, and promptly spotted the detective assigned to the case. A chocolate croissant and a soy vanilla latte, she thought, would do the trick, although a steak and cheese sub with a side of fries might also work, but it was still breakfast.

The detective finished with a conversation and sidled up to Scully. He clutched a small, ringed pad and pencil close to his chest. "Agent Scully, I wanna thank you for coming down on such short notice."

Resigned, Scully said, "Not at all. I was actually on my way to the cafe for breakfast."

The detective eyed the body and winced at the grotesque curvature of the neck. It was a right angle. "I gotta say, I've never… you know we don't call you unless it's important. This… You know I was talking to the boys over there. They say no sign of forced entry and all."

Scully nodded a sullen affirmation. "Yes, that is quite…" She gestured at the mangled body, "perplexing."

"Clearly he was a hoarder of sort. You know, a real loner. I think…" the detective noticed the other officers watching from the walls. Their expressions dropped to their shoes after Scully, raised eyebrow, scanned the room. Someone get me a Goddamned croissant, she thought.

"I think Scully's hungry," said a tall man cloaked in the shadows just beyond the doorway. Fox Mulder stepped forward into a slant of sunlight that streamed through a torn trash bag hastily taped over a window. He flashed his FBI Agent credentials at the officers. A stubble graced his angular face just below puffy red eyes. "Morning, Scully." Mulder pointed to his face. "Game night with the boys. Langly was on a mean streak with the twelve-sided." He clapped his hands. "So, whaddya got?"

Seeing Mulder in the doorway, unshaven, clearly sleep deprived, but still alert like a little boy in an exotic pet store, Scully felt, deep in her core, an urge to shout him out the room. He was unabashed in his ability to jump to unreasonable conclusions. She was not in the mood to logically dismantle a farfetched theory involving the illuminati or God-knows what-else he may conclude. She watched him stalk about the apartment in silence. Mulder's dark eyes could not hide the brilliance that burned from his being. Mulder's unstoppable desire to understand, to truly get it was infectious. With these thoughts traveling like lightning through a familiar neurological path in Scully's extensive temporal lobe, she cracked a tiny smile at this man-child scratching his chin, absorbing the details that everybody lining the walls missed. Mulder was standing in the middle of the room and examining a stack of old newspapers. She knew he had already formulated a theory as the the goings on of the deceased. She waited.

Mulder looked down and walked in a semicircle around the body. His eyes scanned, back and forth, back and forth as he soaked in an array of information. He knelt down and, with gloved hand, picked up a portion of the beard, revealing the victim's hand curled in a fist. Carefully, Mulder slid a piece of crumpled paper from between the stiff fingers. "Huh," Mulder said. He pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket and dumped the note in. "It's a coupon for cheesesteak: buy one get one free." He handed the note up to Scully.

"What does this tell us?"

"He was crazy."

"Mulder-"

"I mean, who's thinking about cheesesteak in the morning. Nuts."

Scully arched an eyebrow. "This man-"

"His name is Abubakar Qasim, 31," he looked around at the detritus, "and clearly not seeing anybody." Mulder stood up. "The angle of his neck seems a bit severe."

"I agree. I think-"

"He was being kept here, Scully." Mulder walked over to a particularly cracked wall, and pushed gently with his fingertips. He knocked on it lightly.

"Well, this is not his lease. This apartment belongs to a man named Walter Skontsky. We've sent out an APB. Mulder, I must say…"

"Scully are you familiar with Eastern European politics?" He picked up a newspaper from a stack. He showed her the incomprehensive Russian writing that was emblazoned in large splashy font.

"If you're asking, do I read the news: yes." Scully understood there was a rhythm to Mulder's musing. He relished the challenge of inducing realization. He had a bright object to show her, but first he wanted her to guess it. With every fiber in his being, he held back to wait for her to share in the understanding. Scully knew that to him this level of comprehension was nirvana. A pure sense of knowledge that he wanted to share with her. 'Hold my hand for I am the Bodhisattva of crime scene investigation'. This time he pulled at the wrong thread. She knew it true, but he had a routine to complete. She feared he would break down like a beautiful robot if he didn't spin his theory. This was a treat for Scully. She grinned inside.

"So you are aware of the fighting in Grozny?"

"Mulder this man…"

"Is a Sufi mystic. There's the long cloak and the woolen vest that are characteristic of a religious leader in Sufism and, of course, the long beard which has always signified a devotion to a holy path."

"Sufi? Okay, but the facts are…"

"That he was being persecuted based solely on his faith. Check out the back of that coupon."

Scully smoothed out the plastic bag with her thumbs. Scratched into the back of the torn coupon was a crudely drawn sea turtle. She could feel the deep grooves left by a cheap, medium point ballpoint pen.

Mulder leaned in and tapped on the picture. "The sea turtle, specifically, hatchlings are a symbol often referenced in Sufism to extol a Quranic verse of returning to God. This was meant as an insult or," Mulder's brow knitted in concern, but not just for the death of a man. The depth of his empathy reached philosophical levels. This was a situation, as Mulder interpreted, that framed the evil nature of bigotry and ignorance, shaping the darkness rooted in Man's subconscious. He cleared his throat, "or a taunt of some sort. Sufi's are vegetarians, which is a direct interpretation from Muhammed that eating meat was internalizing death."

"Mulder, this man died from blunt force trauma that severed his spinal column from the base of his neck. There is no indication of a struggle and, furthermore, no signs of forced entry."

Mulder knelt next to the broken body, scanning it from head to toe. "Scully, this man…"

"This man," she interrupted. It was time. Scully wanted breakfast. She continued, "Mr. Qasim had a bizarre and rather unfortunate accident."

He looked up at her with bright and curious eyes. "Scully?"

"Abubakar Qasim, died after tripping on his beard, which as you will notice stretches the length of his body." She swept her hand along the length of the corpse.

Mulder nodded as his gaze, again, ran along the body for clues. He noticed that the beard was indeed the longest he had ever seen. Entangled in the man's toes on his right barefoot were hairs that appear to match the beard. "Huh," he replied, scratching the top of his head.

Scully continued, "I know this man is a Chechen immigrant and, judging from his garb he is probably some sort of holy man, but," she stepped to the head, crotched and pointed at a definite skid mark on the floor. Most likely the point of impact.

"Huh, and the turtle?" Mulder's piercing gaze was usually a laser that drilled down into her core, but this time his bloodshot eyes were grasping at straws. Scully returned the glance with impunity and tapped a single staccato note with her toe that suddenly filled the apartment with resolution. Mulder pointed to a tiny satchel that hung around the man's deformed neck. "You're right, Scully. That's probably a pouch meant for holding said," he lifted up a portion of the beard. Mulder removed his examination gloves and continued, "Let's get you a croissant from that place you like and head on over to the Batcave. I got something to show ya."