"Mayhem on the Cross"

Episode 4x21 / Production 4x15

Airdate: April 16, 2009

Written By: Dean Lopata

Directed by: Jeff Woolnough

Transcribed by: vanima_luhta

Norwegian Translation by: blandinavian

Disclaimer: The characters, plotlines, quotes, etc. included here are owned by Hart Hanson, all rights reserved. This transcript is not authorized or endorsed by Hart Hanson or Fox.

TEASER:

(Open: Engelsviken, Norway. There is metal music coming from a lighted barn near a lake. Cut to a band playing the music while a skeleton hangs from a cross behind them. A crowd cheers. At the back of the crowd a woman stands with a Delta Unit Commander.)

DELTA UNIT COMMANDER: Vi mottok et tips om at det kunne være menneskelig. Hva tror du? (We got a tip that it could be human. What do you think?)

DR. SOLBERG: Jeg må gå nærmere. (I need to get closer.)

DELTA UNIT COMMANDER: Iverksett! (Commence!)

(They head towards the skeleton and the music stops. Dr. Solberg walks onto the stage and examines the skeleton.)

DELTA UNIT COMMANDER: Nærme nok? (Close enough?)

DR. SOLBERG: Definitivt menneskelig. Definitivt menneskelig, og ifølge det odontologiske arbeidet amerikansk. (Definitely human. Definitely human, and according to the orthodonture, American.)

DELTA UNIT COMMANDER: Amerikansk? Er du sikker? (American? Are you certain?)

DR. SOLBERG: Ja. Amerikansk. (Yes. American.)

DELTA UNIT COMMANDER: Bra. La oss gi det tilbake til dem. (Good. Let's give it back to them.)

(The guitar player takes a swing at them with his guitar, the Delta Unit Commander defends them and it fades to black.)

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab Platform, Jeffersonian, Washington D.C. Dr. Temperance Brennan, Dr. Camille Saroyan and Intern Clark Edison are conducting the first examination of the skeleton that has been recently shipped to them. It is still on the cross.)

BRENNAN: Norway?

CAM: We don’t have enough crucified corpses of our own? Now the Vikings are sending them?

CLARK: The annual m*rder rate in Norway is 0.7.

BRENNAN: Less than one m*rder a year?

CAM: In that case, they should solve the ones they have or they’ll never get any practice.

BRENNAN: The victim is American.

CLARK: Still, if a Norwegian was m*rder here, we’d conduct the investigation.

CAM: But the Norwegians say the victim died here and then got shipped to Norway.

BRENNAN: What’s their evidence?

CAM: Nothing forensic, it’s just police work. The remains were found in the possession of a Norwegian black metal band.

BRENNAN: (To Clark.) What’s black metal?

CLARK: I dunno. It’s Norwegian. Whole different kind of black.

CAM: Apparently, it’s a genre of heavy metal featuring macabre imagery of death and horrific v*olence. Skalle. That’s the name of the band? Skalle.

BRENNAN: Oh, it means "skull."

CAM: You speak Norwegian?

BRENNAN: No, I’m a forensic anthropologist. I know how to say "skull" in just about every language.

CAM: Well, Skalle...

BRENNAN: Skall-eh.

CAM: Skall-ay...

BRENNAN: Skall-eh.

CAM: They stole the body from an American metal band while on tour in DC six months ago.

BRENNAN: The remains are male, late teens.

CLARK: Significant staining on the ... skall-EH.

BRENNAN: SKALL-eh.

CLARK: It leached into the bone.

CAM: Desiccated flesh on the face and scalp.

CLARK: Mm-hmm.

CAM: Perhaps enough for DNA.

BRENNAN: If the scraps of clothing and the boots were actually on the victim when he died, then... maybe Hodgins can give us something.

CAM: (Nods and then points to the skeleton’s ribs that have been spread out to look like wings.) What’s, what’s the story on this?

CLARK: The posterior ribs were either broken or severed.

BRENNAN: Detached from the spine and then fanned out. It’s the Blood Eagle.

CAM: Beg pardon?

BRENNAN: It was an ancient t*rture in which the victim was held face down while his back was sliced open. The ribs were then broken at the spine and then spread to look like an eagle, thus the name.

(Cam nods.)

BRENNAN: Absence of blood on the periosteal surface of the fractures suggests the ribs were broken postmortem.

CLARK: I’ll remove the bones from the cross and clean them, see if we can find the cause of death.

CAM: This is definitely m*rder.

BRENNAN: There are other possibilities.

CLARK: I have to admit, none spring to mind.

BRENNAN: One possibility: drunken, death-obsessed, Satan-worshipping, drug-abusing teens rob a grave and reenact an ancient t*rture.

CAM: Ah, just another Saturday night.

(Cut to: FBI Building, Special Agent Seeley Booth is walking down the hall with another agent.)

BOOTH: Right, okay, so for the Norwegian crucifixion case, I’m gonna need to know all there is about the heavy metal music scene in D.C. Okay, and tell you what, get me all the recordings you can.

(They turn the corner and run into Dr. Gordon Wyatt)

WYATT: I think you’re going to have to be more specific than that, Agent Booth.

BOOTH: Ha, Gordon-Gordon! (He shakes hands with him and continues to do so.)

WYATT: There’s black metal, speed metal, grindcore, thrash, doom, drone, glam, sludge, metalcore, stoner metal, death metal, and deathcore. (Looks down at their still shaking hands.) Must you shake my hand with quite such a vise-like grip?

BOOTH: Right, yeah, okay, did you get all that? Go, go, go! I thought you were a psychiatrist, huh? How’d you become such a musical expert?

WYATT: Oh, I’ve got quite a, quite a musical background, you know.

BOOTH: Oh, yeah, right uh, Saint, um, Weatherby’s Glee Club in Doo-Dah-on-Henley? So... I thought we loaned you out to Interpol?

WYATT: Yes, part of the serial k*ller task force, traveling the globe bathed in perversion and gore.

BOOTH: Have a seat. (They both sit.)

WYATT: And on a happier note, I’m to meet your bright young thing. Dr. Sweets?

BOOTH: Sweets, why Sweets?

WYATT: Well, he wants to interview me for the book he’s writing on you and the lovely Dr. Brennan. Anyway, I can see you’re busy. (He stands.) Listen, uh, perhaps while I’m here I can barbeque for you one evening.

BOOTH: Oh, no, no, I am the barbeque master, remember? You can do the boiling.

WYATT: Ah, I have it on good authority that my culinary skills have advanced somewhat since last we ate. Anyway, it’s good to see you.

BOOTH: Yeah, you too.

(Wyatt exits.)

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab, Cam’s office. Cam is sitting at her desk and Angela walks in.)

ANGELA: Hey. I have a computer rendering of what our victim may have looked like. (They pull it up on Cam’s computer.) Look at him. He’s a puppy.

CAM: A 278-pound puppy.

ANGELA: Sometimes puppies are big.

CAM: Prelim tox results came back negative for embalming fluid.

ANGELA: So he was never buried in a sanctioned grave. So probably m*rder.

CAM: m*rder and his remains crucified for the entertainment of people who hate life.

ACT ONE

(Open: FBI Building, Dr. Lance Sweets’ office. He and Dr. Gordon Wyatt are meeting for the first time and shaking hands.)

WYATT: Gordon, Gordon Wyatt. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Sweets.

SWEETS: Dr. Wyatt, I am a huge admirer of your book on the role of sexual sadism in female serial K*llers.

WYATT: Do I detect a certain caveat in your tone?

SWEETS: Uh... well, the sample is small.

WYATT: Comparatively speaking, there are few female serial K*llers.

SWEETS: I was wondering if you had a chance to take a look at...

WYATT: Your manuscript? (He reaches into his bag and pulls the manuscript out.) Yes, indeed, and may I say, Dr. Sweets, that I think this is probably the best work I have ever read on the dynamics of opposite personality types working towards a common cause.

SWEETS: Okay, now I’m hearing a caveat.

WYATT: It’s a small one. It’s just that Brennan and Booth aren’t in any way opposites.

SWEETS: Wow, small? (Laughs.) What is that—British understatement?

WYATT: Well, yes. He’s a man, she’s a woman. He’s instinctual, she’s empirical.

SWEETS: Opposites.

WYATT: Superficial ephemera, Dr. Sweets.

SWEETS: Wow. Okay, what about the sexual component in their relationship?

WYATT: Ah...

SWEETS: Would you agree that they have both, uh, sublimated their attraction to each other out of fear of endangering their working relationship because their working relationship is paramount to both of them?

WYATT: Alas, I’m afraid I wouldn’t agree with that, no.

SWEETS: Wow, which part?

WYATT: Well, everything you just said. Yes, one of them is acutely aware of that attraction. Struggles with it daily, as a matter of fact.

SWEETS: Wow. I’m sorry I keep saying that... but which one?

WYATT: It’s your book, Dr. Sweets. I would never tell you what to write.

SWEETS: I was actually going to ask you to write the introduction.

WYATT: That’s very flattering, but uh, I’m retiring. I am relinquishing the field to young Turks like you.

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab. Metal music can be heard and Cam and Dr. Jack Hodgins can be seen walking into Angela’s office where the music is coming from. She’s bobbing her head and is clearly enjoying the music.)

CAM: Do you think she actually enjoys this?

HODGINS: This whole sexual abstinence thing is totally twisting her out of shape. (He hands a file to Cam.) Oh, here, uh, the staining on the skull was propylene glycol dicocoate, alkyl benzoate, and sorbitan sesquioleate.

CAM: What is that, some king of systemic poison?

HODGINS: That’s common theatrical makeup. It leached into the skull during decomp. (Walks toward Angela and taps her on the shoulder.)

ANGELA: (Turns, surprised to see them there.) Oh, sorry, sorry. I put the music on to get me in the right space. (She turns the music off.) Well, extrapolating from the stains on the skull, it turns out that at the time of his death, our victim looked like this. (Pulls an image of the victim up on the computer and renders makeup over his face.)

HODGINS: Looks like your puppy moonlighted as a zombie werewolf.

ANGELA: Yeah, I ran this through my facial recognition program with an image search of metal Web pages. Check this out.

CAM: There’s our boy.

(The search pulls up a webpage for a metal band.)

HODGINS: Spew. It’s very evocative.

ANGELA: So our victim—Mayhem—was the bassist. The drummer is Wrath and the guitarist Pinworm, but they do have a new bassist now. His name is Grinder.

CAM: What about real names?

HODGINS: I imagine they play that pretty close to the vest.

ANGELA: Yeah, kind of ruins the magic when you find out that Satan’s name is Todd or Larry.

CAM: Okay. I’ll tell Booth to search for a death metal band named Spew. (She exits and Angela makes devil’s horns with her hand.)

(Cut to: Royal Diner. Booth, Brennan and Sweets are sitting at the counter.)

BOOTH: Wait a sec. What do you mean Gordon-Gordon is going to quit psychiatry?

SWEETS: Well, I asked him to write the intro to my book about you two. He told me he couldn’t because he was retiring.

BRENNAN: Is it possible he just hated your book?

SWEETS: Thank you. (Chuckles.)

BRENNAN: Perhaps now he’ll find a pursuit worthy of his intellect... neurochemistry, for example.

BOOTH: (His phone rings and he answers.) Yeah. Booth. Hold on, slow down. (He turns away from the counter.)

SWEETS: Okay, why would a man with Wyatt’s insights into the human psyche want to be a mere scientist? No offense.

BRENNAN: Perhaps because psychology is a field which is ill-defined in conception and ineffective in execution.

SWEETS: Thank you.

BOOTH: (Returns to the counter.) Okay, sounds great. (Hangs up,) So Cam says we got to track down a death metal band named Spew. They’re totally underground—no concerts listed, no contact information.

BRENNAN: A death metal band?

BOOTH: Yeah.

BRENNAN: But our victim’s skeleton was found in the possession of a Norwegian black metal band.

BOOTH: Death metal, black metal, what’s the difference?

SWEETS: In essence, death metal is about brutal technical proficiency while black metal is about emotion. Now both of them exploit adolescent feelings of alienation, depression...

BOOTH: Right, cause it all just sounds like a truck full of cymbals crashing into a saw factory for me.

SWEETS: Well...

BRENNAN: Historically, picayune internecine squabbles account for a huge number of deaths.

BOOTH: Bones, just figure out cause of death for me, all right, "interoserine" or whatever. (To Sweets.) How do you know so much about this?

SWEETS: I was really into death metal... as a teenager, not anymore. Obviously.

BOOTH: Really?

SWEETS: Oh, come on.

BOOTH: Come on, what?

SWEETS: (Into an invisible microphone.) Rah, rah, rah. I don’t like that anymore.

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab, Hodgins’ work station.)

BRENNAN: According to Booth there’s no way to track down this band Spew. No bars, clubs or high schools.

HODGINS: The cross is carved of 120-year-old black oak and was stolen from St. Benedict Episcopal Church six months ago.

CAM: That is some determined desecration going on.

HODGINS: Yeah, well the bones themselves were covered in a patina of smoke, tobacco, marijuana, meth, animal blood, semen and saliva.

BRENNAN: Who are these people?

CAM: Sweets sent over a briefing. (Hands a file to Brennan.)

HODGINS: Concerts are set up at secret locations, and then only insiders are invited.

BRENNAN: Then how do we find them?

HODGINS: Aha... well, the dried mud from the treads of the boots that were duct-taped to the victim contained bovine fragments and infectious prion proteins.

BRENNAN: A slaughterhouse.

HODGINS: A slaughterhouse closed down due to mad cow disease.

CAM: Death metal enthusiasts prefer morbid, horror-centric venues for performance. In addition, they tend to perform for their fans in the same place they practice and sometimes squat.

HODGINS: (Pulls a map up on his computer that zeroes in on a location.) Like maybe this horror-centric condemned slaughterhouse.

BRENNAN: Wait. How do we know that those are his boots? He was in Norway for months.

CAM: You are going to be so proud.

(Cut to: Exam room. Clark is explaining the boot theory to Brennan.)

CLARK: The victim’s foot size is 11, same as his boots.

BRENNAN: We need something more than a matching shoe size.

CAM: He’s not finished.

CLARK: Wear on his calcaneus and cuboid suggest our victim walked mostly on the outside of his feet.

CAM: Supinator.

BRENNAN: One percent of the population are supinators. That’s a lot.

CAM: One percent of size 11 teenagers isn’t good enough?

BRENNAN: (Looks down at the victim’s feet.) This missing toe... did it fall off after decomposition, or was it a preexisting condition?

CLARK: That’s exactly what I was thinking. (He pulls an image of the inside of the boot up on a screen.) You see here? (Points to the missing depression inside the shoe.) His toes left an impression inside the boot, but there is no impression corresponding with the big toe.

CAM: Are you satisfied that this was the boot worn by the victim while he was still alive?

BRENNAN: It’s a reasonable conclusion.

CAM: (To Clark.) You want to say "King of the Lab"?

CLARK: (Uncomfortable.) No.

(Cut to: Brennan, Booth and Wyatt riding in the SUV.)

WYATT: So, why do I have the feeling that I’m being taken somewhere terrible for a... a gangland whacking?

BRENNAN: We are going somewhere terrible. (Booth gives her a look.) We are.

BOOTH: Look, we... we need your expertise.

WYATT: Well, I’m sure the estimable Dr. Sweets is more than qualified.

BRENNAN: Booth is lying about needing you.

BOOTH: What?

BRENNAN: He wants to talk you out of quitting psychiatry.

BOOTH: Bones, I was easing into that, okay?

WYATT: As a matter of fact, I might be able to help. You know, as a young man, I dabbled quite extensively in the rock music scene.

BOOTH: (Chuckling.) Oh, wait a second. What, were you, lead dulcimer in a flute band?

WYATT: As a matter of fact, I was the founding member of a proto-glam rock outfit.

BRENNAN: I don’t know what that means.

WYATT: It means that for three glorious years, I wore spandex, silver lame, pancake makeup, and played a guitar shaped like a spaceship. I was quite pretty in my way.

BOOTH: Wait. You... you were Noddy Comet.

BRENNAN: What’s that?

BOOTH: Noddy Comet! I always wondered what happened to you. You were Noddy.

WYATT: I changed jobs. That’s all.

BOOTH: Noddy Comet! I got to get some of those original tapes.

(Cut to: Slaughterhouse. Spew is rehearsing. The music is extremely loud as Booth, Brennan and Wyatt walk in.)

WYATT: Actually, you know, that fellow playing the bass is really rather good.

BRENNAN: What?

BOOTH: Okay, let’s shut it down, guys. Come on. FBI, let’s go! Hey, I said... FBI shut it down!

(The guitarist, Pinworm, turns and spits on the badge Booth is holding up. Booth clearly gets irritated and turns, then takes out his g*n and sh**t the amp and speakers.)

BRENNAN: Oh.

WYATT: Yes. Now, if you recall ...it was sh**ting inanimate objects that had you brought to me for therapy in the first place.

BOOTH: I thought it was a justifiable sh**ting.

BRENNAN: I agree.

BOOTH: She agrees. See?

(Wrath kicks over the cymbals.)

PINWORM: You going to put your g*n down?

BOOTH: Don’t rush me, okay? (He wipes his badge off on Pinworm’s pants.) I’m thinkin’.

ACT TWO

(Cut to: FBI Building, Interrogation Anteroom. Brennan is on the phone with Booth and Sweets is standing nearby.)

BRENNAN: Well, are you coming?

BOOTH: (In his office, behind his desk.) Nope, I discharged my w*apon. I pulled desk duty until the paperwork clears.

BRENNAN: You’re fifty feet away.

BOOTH: At my desk, okay, so just put in the earplug and let’s do this. Don’t tell Sweets about the ear bud.

BRENNAN: (To Sweets.) Booth wants us to interrogate them.

SWEETS: Yeah, he’s not really supposed to be watching on his laptop and talking in your ear.

BOOTH: (Overhearing Sweets, speaks into the phone.) So, just tell him that’s not happening.

BRENNAN: (Hangs up and glances at a file Sweets has.) These are their real names: Monty Bigelow, Matt Stickney, and Darrel Moss. (Sweets exits the anteroom and goes into the interrogation room. Brennan hangs back and inserts the earbud into her ear.)

BOOTH: (In Brennan’s ear.) All right, Bones, so just ease into this. (Watching the interrogation on his laptop.)

BRENNAN: What was Mayhem’s real name?

BOOTH: Or you can just go at them like a freight train.

PINWORM: Dabbler.

SWEETS: His stage name was Mayhem, not Dabbler.

GRINDER: Mayhem’s a dabbler. A poseur. A douche.

BRENNAN: Do you want to spend time in jail, Pinhead?

BOOTH: You can’t actually arrest people, Bones.

PINWORM: We live in a slaughterhouse. You got something worse than that?

SWEETS: Alright, let’s start over. Tell us the name that Mayhem’s mother and father gave him and we’ll charge you with as*ault a federal agent.

BRENNAN: Oh, no, you have that backwards.

BOOTH: No, Bones, he’s right, okay? They want to be arrested.

BRENNAN: Oh. Reverse psychology.

SWEETS: That term is almost always misused.

BOOTH: Look, just tell Tapeworm that felony as*ault is the best you can do.

BRENNAN: Felony as*ault is the best we can do... Tapeworm.

SWEETS: Take it or leave it.

GRINDER: (Pinworm motions for him to tell them.) Justin. Justin Dancy.

SWEETS: When did you last see Justin?

GRINDER: When I k*lled him, ate his heart and took his job.

PINWORM: I k*lled him, too.

WRATH: I never even noticed he was gone.

GRINDER: I ate his face off before I k*lled him.

BRENNAN: I am so much better at interrogation than I thought.

SWEETS: Those aren’t legitimate confessions. All right, guys. Come on, give us a real answer.

PINWORM: About a year ago. When he quit the band. How about those charges?

BOOTH: Whoa, where’s he goin’?

(Sweets gets up and walks out of the interrogation room. Booth scrambles to close his laptop and pretend that he wasn’t just watching the interrogation on it. Sweets walks into his office.)

SWEETS: Booth.

BOOTH: Yeah?

SWEETS: The one called Grinder is different from the others. His body language displays an emotional connection to the m*rder victim.

BOOTH: Okay, so, uh, what do you think we should do?

SWEETS: We should arrange to have him cleaned up—revealed, so to speak—so that Dr. Wyatt and I can talk to him and exploit that connection.

BOOTH: Okay... great. You do that. I’ll stay here on desk duty.

SWEETS: Okay.

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab, Exam Room. Clark is examining the bones of the victim and explaining to Cam.)

CLARK: Posterior ilium, right side, damage to the cortical bone layer, extending into the trabecular.

CAM: This skeleton was carted from DC to Norway, then used as a prop at ultraviolent concerts. There’s bound to be damage.

CLARK: I enlarged the x-ray. See the multiple clefts and wastage?

CAM: Suggesting the damage done to the pelvic bone happened very near the time of death?

CLARK: Now, because Dr. Brennan isn’t here, I’ll guess that these gouge marks came from a Kn*fe.

CAM: Someone went digging into the victim’s gluteus?

CLARK: Yes. Bone damage consistent with a b*llet wound.

CAM: So... the victim was sh*t in the ass, then k*lled in some way yet to be determined, then the k*ller dug the b*llet out of the...

CLARK: Gluteus. Yes.

CAM: Okay. Let’s have Hodgins swab for trace evidence. God knows what he’ll find. Maybe a little piece of Norway.

(Cut to: FBI Building, Conference Room. Dr. Wyatt and Sweets are waiting for Grinder to come in. He enters.)

WYATT: Ah, Darrel Moss. Do, come in. Sit down.

GRINDER: My name’s Grinder.

SWEETS: Grinder, have you looked in the mirror?

GRINDER: Where are the other guys? Did you delouse them, too?

WYATT: No, nobody else. Just you, Darrel.

SWEETS: You’re the new guy in the band, right? You replaced Mayhem on bass?

GRINDER: I told you. I k*lled him for the job.

SWEETS: Uh, huh. Dr. Wyatt tells me that you are a skilled, classically trained bassist influenced by... who is it?

WYATT: Jaco Pastorius. But you do everything you can to hide that, don’t you?

GRINDER: I never heard of him.

WYATT: No, no, ‘cause that would... that would ruin your street cred.

SWEETS: Justin Dancy’s remains show evidence of being used as a stage prop for approximately the last six months, four of those in Norway.

GRINDER: His name was Mayhem.

SWEETS: But he wasn’t always Mayhem.

WYATT: Just as you weren’t always Grinder. (He pushes a photograph across the desk.) Look, there he is. There’s Justin. And that’s you, Darrel. Justin and Darrel. You see, what we want to do is find whoever it was that k*lled your boyhood friend.

GRINDER: What makes you think I even know?

SWEETS: Everyone knows everything in the metal world.

WYATT: It’s a small world breeding whispers, conjecture... secrets.

SWEETS: You may even have heard rumors of who m*rder him.

WYATT: But you’re not going to tell us, are you? ‘Cause we’re outsiders. That would be breaking the code.

SWEETS: So we’re just going to ask: Who had him before the Norwegians?

WYATT: Who crucified your boyhood friend?

GRINDER: We would have got him back, you know.

SWEETS: Got him back from who?

GRINDER: Zorch.

WYATT: Excuse me?

SWEETS: That lame deathcore outfit?

GRINDER: They consider themselves deathcore. I consider them crapcore. What they did to Justin, though, was totally awesome. It was brilliant.

WYATT: And what would you have done with Justin if you had stolen him back?

GRINDER: We would have hung him up behind us, man. It would have been epic. Legendary.

(Cut to: Zorch concert. Brennan is on the phone with Booth who is still on desk duty in his office.)

BRENNAN: (Shouting over the music.) I’m disturbed that despite my extensive training as an anthropologist, all of these bands sound alike and appear to share identical belief systems and mores.

BOOTH: Yeah, right, except for the trained anthropologist part, that’s how my dad felt about Black Flag and the d*ad Kennedys.

BRENNAN: I have no idea what you’re saying.

BOOTH: Listen, Bones, I don’t want you there alone, okay? Just get a good look at this guy, and you get out; do you understand?

(A man with makeup on approaches and Brennan has to look twice before she realizes that it’s Sweets.)

SWEETS: You ready?

BRENNAN: Sweets?

BOOTH: Sweets is there?

BRENNAN: Well, I think it’s him.

SWEETS: Yeah, I had to meld to get information. Zorch’s lead singer is m*rder. (m*rder blows f*re out of his mouth.) Look at that. Who does he think he is? The guy with the tongue from Kiss?

BOOTH: Do you know what? Just tell Sweets to leave Gene alone. Just get a photo and get out of there.

SWEETS: Zorch and Spew are sworn enemies. It started out with the fans throwing feces at each other, then some att*cks.

BRENNAN: Culminating in medieval t*rture?

(On stage, m*rder lifts a large Kn*fe and the crowd shouts "Do it! Do it!")

BRENNAN: He’s got a Kn*fe.

BOOTH: Who’s got a Kn*fe?

(m*rder slides the Kn*fe across his throat and blood stars flowing.)

SWEETS: Nah, don’t worry. It’s totally fake.

(m*rder grabs his throat and goes down on the stage.)

BRENNAN: That’s...not fake.

BOOTH: Whoa, whoa, what’s happening?

BRENNAN: m*rder slit his own throat. (She pushes through the crowd toward the stage.) Excuse me.

BOOTH: Is he still alive?

BRENNAN: (Assesses the situation.) We need a compress. (She looks around and then rips Sweets’ shirt off.)

SWEETS: You could’ve asked.

BRENNAN: Hold this against the wound. Booth, can you call it in?

BOOTH: Listen, I’m not hanging up, Bones... (She hangs up.)

SWEETS: (Holding the compress against m*rder’s throat.) Help is coming...

BOOTH: Bones? Bones?

BRENNAN: (The crowd surges forward, many are taking pictures with their phones.) Stand back, please. FBI. Stand back! (She looks down and is surprised to see multiple scars on Sweets’ back.)

ACT THREE

(Cut to: FBI Building, Interrogation Room. m*rder is being interrogated by Brennan and Sweets.)

m*rder: Why’d you arrest me? I’m the one with the cut throat.

SWEETS: Oooh. Maybe you shouldn’t talk to much.

BRENNAN: Uh, no, his larynx wasn’t affected.

m*rder: This is my actual voice.

BRENNAN: Sounds exactly like when you sing.

BOOTH: (Still watching from his office.) Sounds like gravel in a hubcap.

SWEETS: So, that was a very good night for you. Word gets around that you slit your own throat for real...

m*rder: You got it. Tonight, I’m a legend.

BRENNAN: Do you have any idea who switched your prop Kn*fe?

m*rder: One of the guys in the band, a fan, someone from another band, maybe I did it myself. Who cares?

BOOTH: I bet it was Spew.

BRENNAN: How about Spew? Evidence indicates that you k*lled and crucified their bassist.

m*rder: This just gets better and better. I’m getting credit for that?

SWEETS: Hmm-mm. No. See, the thing is, that same credit could send you to prison.

BOOTH: Okay, listen, Bones, just tell him you don’t care if he did it or not, you’ll just throw his ass in jail. (She’s unsure about this and he can tell.) Look, it’s all right to lie during an interrogation, Bones. It’s a technique.

BRENNAN: The evidence is inconclusive regarding your guilt, (She stands and slams her hands down on the table.) but I’ll damn well make sure it’s conclusive!

SWEETS: Whoa, what?

BOOTH: Attagirl. Give it to him.

BRENNAN: I will perjure myself if I have to, because you... make... me... sick, punk!

SWEETS: Dr. Brennan...

BRENNAN: I’ll put your ass on death row and laugh at your execution. I will testify that your Kn*fe was used to make these gouges. (She walks around the table and shows him a picture, then turns him in his wheelchair to talk to him very near his face.) I will also prove that whatever implements we find—any props, knives, cleavers, all of your stage ware—I will show that it was used to mutilate his remains. (She turns him back toward the table.) Which they probably were.

SWEETS: Good to know.

BOOTH: There’s no rock concerts in prison.

BRENNAN: (Sing-songy.) There are no rock concerts in prison.

m*rder: (Scoffing.) Rock concerts! I want immunity from desecration of human remains.

BRENNAN: No promises, dirtbag! (Slams her hands down on the table again.)

BOOTH: Just tell him that we will talk to the prosecutor on your behalf.

BRENNAN: But we’ll see what we can do. (She turns her chair and sits down in it backwards.)

m*rder: Maybe six months ago, there’s a rumor, Mayhem’s d*ad and buried under Bridge 6, westbound lane State Road 66.

BRENNAN: 6-6-6. The sign of the devil.

SWEETS: Who told you?

m*rder: I dunno. Nobody. Everybody. It was in the air, man. Dug up the bones. Somebody heard about this old Viking t*rture thing. Sounded like a great gag and it was, until Skall stole it.

BRENNAN: Skall-eh.

SWEETS: Doesn’t matter.

BRENNAN: Just trying to help.

m*rder: I dug him up, stole the cross, fastened the bones to it.

SWEETS: But you didn’t k*ll him. (m*rder shakes his head.)

BOOTH: I believe him.

(Cut to: Royal Diner. Dr. Wyatt, Booth and Brennan are sitting at a table near the window.)

WYATT: Now, my last official task as an FBI shrink is to declare you fit for duty. (He holds the g*n out to Booth over the table.)

BOOTH: Gordon-Gordon, (taps the table) the g*n under the table.

WYATT: I’m sorry. Sorry.

BOOTH: Geez, yes. Fine.

BRENNAN: So, Booth is back?

WYATT: He’s back.

BOOTH: Hey, so what’s next for you, Doc? I mean, when you stop shrinking heads?

WYATT: I’ve been accepted by the Institute of Culinary Arts.

BOOTH: You’re going to be a chef.

WYATT: That’s correct, yes. I’m going to put good things into people instead of taking out things that are bad. Which I know sounds rather Freudian, but... Sigmund’s been largely discredited so to hell with him.

BOOTH: I don’t see why you can’t do both.

BRENNAN: Well, we still don’t know who m*rder Justin Dancy.

WYATT: Baby steps. You will prevail.

BRENNAN: This subculture, it takes every notion of community and turns it upside down.

WYATT: Well, no matter what they say, the fact remains that they are artists. They create. No true nihilist ever creates. These dark tortured people may rail against the night, but they make music.

BRENNAN: On an oscilloscope, what we call "music" is demonstrably distinct from what we call "noise."

WYATT: Your Dr. Sweets liked it as an adolescent. He’s turned out rather well...for the most part.

BOOTH: For the most part?

WYATT: Well, I read his book. And, as is the case with most writing, it reveals more about the writer than about the subject matter, which, in this case is you.

BRENNAN: Can you provide an example?

WYATT: For one thing, he finds it extremely frustrating—your lack of willingness to discuss your childhood experiences with him.

BRENNAN: What does that tell you?

BOOTH: No, do not ask him that. He’s going to think we both had traumatic childhoods.

BRENNAN: We did. Your father was a violent drunk and mine abandoned me.

BOOTH: (Claps.) Great, thank you. Just tell everybody here at the diner, won’t you, Bones? Go ahead.

BRENNAN: Sweets... has scars on his back. Old ones.

WYATT: Really?

BOOTH: What kind of scars?

BRENNAN: Well, like he’d been whipped.

BOOTH: Whipped?

BRENNAN: I saw them.

WYATT: That explains his near-obsession with your childhood trauma, doesn’t it?

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab; Angela’s Office. Angela is at her computer, explaining to Cam and Hodgins.)

ANGELA: Okay, I did an Internet search of Spew’s concerts. Now, this stuff is all uploaded from cell phones, so the quality is crap. Alright, check this out. (She runs a video.) This girl runs up. Here’s the g*n. She fires, then Mayhem literally spews the blood all over the crowd. And there’s the blood.

CAM: Okay, obviously fake.

ANGELA: Yeah, it’s a set piece. I’ve seen this same setup maybe 60 times in two years.

CAM: It’s the same girl every time?

ANGELA: I’m pretty sure it is. (She zooms in on the girl’s face, but it’s very pixilated.)

HODGINS: The image quality stinks.

ANGELA: Except I combined all the different cell phone versions... (The imager runs and compiles an image of the girl.)

CAM: Nice. We can get an ID from that. Can you arrange these shows in chronological order?

ANGELA: Well, they all contain embedded cell phone codes so, yeah.

HODGINS: Did he ever bleed from his ass? Because that’s where we found the b*llet fragments.

CAM: Clark determined that the g*n wound to the victim’s ilium occurred ten months prior to his death.

HODGINS: (Picks out a video from the many running on the screen.) There. (The video is enlarged.) He fell down that time behind the audience.

CAM: Have you got another angle on this? (Angela brings up another video.) Oh, there. The b*llet splinters his instrument.

HODGINS: Right into his ass. That’s our money sh*t right there.

CAM: Not so tough when the blood is real, are you, metal boy?

(Cut to: FBI Interrogation Room. Booth and Brennan are questioning Lexi, the girl from the videos.)

BOOTH: So, this is you, isn’t it? (He shows her a photograph of her holding the g*n.)

LEXI: My manager said not to talk to you until he gets here.

BOOTH: Death metal chicks have managers? (Lexi sighs and reaches into her bag to pull out a CD which she slides across the desk to Booth.) Hmm. Ah, look at that. Metal to what? Power punk?

LEXI: It’s a much larger market, but I still retain my artistic integrity.

BOOTH: Right. Do you still sh**t bass players in your new gig?

LEXI: Is that what this is about? Not my fault someone replaced the blank with a real b*llet.

BOOTH: No, I think you knew that the b*llet was there. Otherwise, you would’ve sh*t the guy in the neck like every other time.

LEXI: I’m waiting until my manager gets here.

BOOTH: Okay. We can do that. In the meantime, I’m going to show you this picture here. (He stands and walks around the table to put a photo in front of her.) You see... Your boyfriend is flinching before you even pulled the trigger. I say the two of you were working on this together.

LEXI: It was Justin’s idea, okay? He was always trying to prove to the other guys he was more hardcore than them.

BOOTH: Was he?

LEXI: Well, uh... he wanted me to sh**t him, so, yeah, I gave him his props.

BOOTH: Hmm...

LEXI: So, what? Now that I’m making some money, he’s coming after me for sh**ting him in the ass two years ago?

BOOTH: Justin’s d*ad. He was m*rder.

LEXI: (Shocked, starting to tear up.) What? Oh, God, those stupid bastards. Those stupid... You have to get them.

BOOTH: Get who?

LEXI: You know, probably a fan found out. You know, maybe someone in Spew. This is totally my fault.

BOOTH: Okay, found out what? Why is it your fault?

LEXI: Maybe a year ago, he gave me a call saying that, you know, he wanted to get back together, join my band. Some hardcore metal fanatic found out and k*lled him.

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab; Exam Room. Clark and Brennan are still examining the bones of the victim.)

CLARK: The striae and kerf width on each side of the bisected ribs match the saw that the FBI found at the Zorch concert.

BRENNAN: Fingerprints are all m*rder’s.

CLARK: He already confessed to digging up the corpse and mutilating it. (He walks around the table.) So, you’re looking at the greenstick fractures?

BRENNAN: Yes. (She turns to look at him.) Hmm. Would you mind getting on all fours?

CLARK: Uh, is that strictly necessary?

BRENNAN: Yes, please. (She walks to a drawer and pulls out an extension cord then walks back and begins to wrap it around his throat after he’s down on all fours.) So the fractures are adjacent to the articulation with the spine.

CLARK: Now, with evidence of inward bowing (Brennan tightens the cord and he gasps)..

BRENNAN: Incomplete fractures, evidence of inward bowing—if I place my knee in your back... (She puts her knee into his back and he goes down.)

CLARK: (Gasping.) Hello! Tunnel vision, Dr. Brennan.

BRENNAN: Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry. That scenario explains al the bone damage and fractures.

CLARK: So, s*ab and then garroted?

BRENNAN: What if the wounds to the C5 aren’t from a s*ab, but instead the result of the victim being garroted?

CLARK: The puncture occurred on the back of his neck. But what would do that?

BRENNAN: Barbed wire.

CLARK: Yeah.

(Cut to: Medico-Legal Lab; Brennan’s Office. Booth, Brennan, Wyatt and Sweets are sitting around discussing the case.)

SWEETS: Yes, his ex-girlfriend is right. Following her into the mainstream would be seen as the ultimate betrayal.

BOOTH: Mmm, like leaving a cult.

BRENNAN: We think that the victim was garroted, most likely with barbed wire.

SWEETS: The m*rder will lay claim. He’ll keep a souvenir.

WYATT: Yes, in the same way that a serial k*ller would.

SWEETS: Right, but it isn’t for his own satisfaction. It’s a way of boasting of what he’s done to the community.

WYATT: Yeah, it’s a totem, a signifier of some kind that can only be discerned by the cognoscenti.

BOOTH: Okay, now how are we going to figure this out? None of us speak Italian.

WYATT: (Pointing at Booth.) He does that, doesn’t he? He wants to be underestimated. But um, you, you’re one of the cognoscenti, Dr. Sweets.

SWEETS: Oh, no. I’ve outgrown that. Mostly. Okay, maybe sometimes I’ll listen to a few bootleg tapes when I’ve had a bad day...

BOOTH: That’s good, because this music sucks and the people who listen to it are defective!

SWEETS: Thank you, so much.

WYATT: I have no doubt that your parents said the same thing to you when you were listening to my music, Agent Booth.

BOOTH: Mmm-hmm. And according to one of your squint reports, a b*llet was gouged out of the victim’s ass?

BRENNAN: You read Clark’s report?

BOOTH: Well, only because I was on desk duty. (Clears throat.) Now, that b*llet could be a good totem pole.

BRENNAN: A totem, Booth. A totem pole is much larger.

WYATT: Yes, but nonetheless, it would be a good totem pole otherwise.

BOOTH: So, someone m*rder the kid for leaving the fold...

BRENNAN: Then uses a Kn*fe to gouge out the b*llet.

BOOTH: Buries the body under the bridge.

WYATT: Knowing the cognoscenti will see the b*llet and assume he’s the m*rder.

SWEETS: But m*rder finds the body, puts it on display.

BOOTH: Mm-hmm. Stealing credit.

BRENNAN: So, we’re looking for a b*llet then?

BOOTH: Mm-hmm. And lookit here. Our good, happy friend Pinworm wears a smashed b*llet around his neck inside of a cross.

ACT FOUR

(Cut to: FBI Building; Interrogation Room. Booth, Brennan, Sweets and Wyatt are in the Interrogation Anteroom, looking at video of Pinworm who is sitting in the Interrogation Room writing on a pad of paper.)

WYATT: Is it too much to hope that the fellow’s scratching out his confession in block letters?

BOOTH: (Zooms the video in on the cross worn around Pinworm’s neck.) Right here, right inside the cross: .22 caliber.

BRENNAN: Completely consistent with the mark it left in the victim’s ilium.

BOOTH: Okay, Bones and I are going to go in there. What we do not need to hear is a lot of psychological mumbo jumbo stuff in our ears.

(Booth and Brennan exit to enter the Interrogation room, leaving Sweets and Wyatt alone in the anteroom.)

SWEETS: Okay, so are you bored with psychiatry? Is that it, people don’t have the capacity to surprise you anymore?

WYATT: Oh, people surprise me. You surprise me.

SWEETS: Me?

WYATT: Few people looking at you would know what you’d been through.

SWEETS: I beg your pardon?

WYATT: Well, you were adopted. And the people who adopted you were an older couple. Probably too old for standard adoption of an infant, meaning you weren’t an infant. You were, what... four?

SWEETS: Six.

WYATT: Six, yeah. Special needs. A child who’d been through some sort of hell, a damaged child. But these were loving, wonderful people.

SWEETS: Yes.

WYATT: They saved you...but now they’re gone. You’re an orphan.

SWEETS: My parents died within weeks of each other.

WYATT: Recently, I’d say. The wound is still fresh.

SWEETS: Just before I came to work here.

WYATT: Yeah. So now, you’re mostly alone in the world. But they had time to save you. They gave you a good life, and that’s why you believe that people can be saved by other people with good hearts. That’s the gift your parents left you. That, and the gift of a truly good heart. That gives you a deeper calling I do not share.

(Sweets takes a deep breath, clearly touched by Wyatt’s words. They turn toward the observation window and push the button on the speaker so they can hear what is going on inside the interrogation room.)

PINWORM: I don’t remember where I got this b*llet.

BRENNAN: Well, you dug it out of Justin Dancy’s pelvic bone with a Kn*fe.

PINWORM: Hardcore, man. I—I dug it out of his ass, and then hung it around my neck. Legendary. If people think that means I k*lled him, there’s nothing I can do about it. (He leans forward and shows the drawing he’s done on the pad of paper to Brennan.) You know... you’re one of us. Up to your elbows in corpses and m*rder. It’s hot.

BRENNAN: (Uncomfortable.) Thank you.

BOOTH: So what, was, uh, Lexi like your Yoko Ono?

PINWORM: What is that? A Bible reference?

BOOTH: So let’s just say that Justin decided to go with Lexi. What would that do to your band?

PINWORM: No way any member of Spew does that. Never happen.

BRENNAN: Why not?

PINWORM: Well, because we are the real thing, the genuine item. Our music isn’t made to be enjoyed. It’s made to be feared. It comes straight from hell.

BOOTH: Right. You don’t know anything about hell.

PINWORM: And you do?

BOOTH: Well, see, I was a soldier and a cop.

BRENNAN: I’ve identified hundreds of victims of genocide. I accept hell as a metaphor for what I’ve seen.

PINWORM: You haven’t seen hell until you’ve been inside my head, dreamed my nightmares. Your delusional, cozy reality doesn’t even come close.

(Cut to Sweets and Wyatt in the anteroom.)

SWEETS: He’s, uh, he’s enjoying this attention.

WYATT: It’s what he feels on stage, isn’t it? The...the power.

SWEETS: But his sense of power is totally dependent on an audience.

WYATT: (Holds up a finger and then pushes the button to speak into Booth and Brennan’s ears.) Ruminate on Milton, Agent Booth. Think Paradise Lost.

BOOTH: (Sits forward and opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but turns to Brennan and whispers.) What does that mean?

BRENNAN: (Whispers back.) Oh, uh, Satan’s greatest sin was pride, vanity.

BOOTH: Right, okay—well, you know what? You’re free to go.

PINWORM: Uh, what?

BOOTH: Well, my associate here tells me that m*rder confessed to the m*rder and the crucifixion of Justin Dancy, so you’re free to go.

PINWORM: Whoa, what? m*rder?

BOOTH: Yeah, you’re free to go. Come on.

PINWORM: No, m*rder did not k*ll anybody. He weights, what, 40 pounds? Have you not seen Mayhem? m*rder didn’t strangle somebody with barbed wire. It takes heft to choke a big guy to death.

BRENNAN: Barbed wire?

BOOTH: Wow, well, you know, nobody said anything about barbed wire. (Pinworm knows he’s been caught.)

WYATT: I think the correct term is "gotcha." (He high-fives Sweets.)

(Cut to: Booth’s House; Kitchen. Dr. Wyatt is standing at the stove stirring something. Brennan is sitting at a small table and Booth is putting on music. The rock music blares.)

BOOTH: Noddy Comet! Huh? Look at that, unbelievable.

BRENNAN: (To Wyatt.) This is you singing?

WYATT: Well, yeah, my alter ego, I suppose you might say. A bisexual spaceman with a taste for six-inch platform shoes, spandex, glitter, and an exhibitionists distain for underclothing.

BOOTH: Well, here’s to Gordon-Gordon! Without him we would not have been able to solve the m*rder.

BRENNAN: I hate to admit it, but it’s true. (She and Booth raise their wine glasses.) To Gordon-Gordon.

WYATT: (Turns the music off.) Stop, please. Look, this is exactly what Sweets wanted. I’m too good a psychiatrist ever to leave, et cetera. Well, no... Just put your glasses down, would you? Please. Might I offer you a word of advice regarding young Dr. Sweets?

BOOTH: Might we try to stop you?

BRENNAN: Why do we need advice about Sweets?

BOOTH: We don’t. Sweets is just fine.

WYATT: He most definitely is not fine. I’ve read his book.

BRENNAN: What, does he say something mean about us?

WYATT: On the contrary. You might as well know that he lost both his adoptive parents just before he came to work for your de facto crime-fighting unit.

BOOTH: Geez, what are we? The Land of Misfit Toys?

WYATT: Well, he’s a good lad, Sweets, but this book he’s writing, he’s using it as the vehicle to get what he actually wants, which is... a family.

BRENNAN: So he imprinted on us? Like a baby duck? (Wyatt shrugs.) So what do we do?

BOOTH: Nothing. Okay, Sweets is not a baby duck.

WYATT: He wants what we all want. He wants to find out his place in the world.

BRENNAN: (Looks at Booth.) We can find a permanent place for him. Right?

BOOTH: Aww. Gordon-Gordon is going to want us to divulge or share or bond or something awful.

WYATT: Look, perhaps you might just show the lad that he’s not the only one with scars on his back.

BRENNAN: But he is. (Wyatt gives her a look.) Too literal.

WYATT: By the way, what I’m making here, this is the masterpiece that got me accepted into the Culinary Institute. All right? But it doesn’t keep. So, uh, be back in an hour, yeah?

BOOTH: Let’s go.

BRENNAN: But where are we going?

BOOTH: Duck hunting. Come on.

BRENNAN: Not literally. (Booth quacks.) Right?

BOOTH: Come on. (Quacks again.)

WYATT: (Goes to the stereo and puts Noddy Comet back on and starts dancing.) Oh! I miss you, rock and roll. I really do.

(Cut to: FBI Building; Sweets’ Office. Booth and Brennan enter. Sweets is sitting at a desk writing.)

BRENNAN: Sweets? Hi.

SWEETS: (Turns and looks at them.) What are you doing here?

BOOTH: Well, uh, Gordon-Gordon is, uh, making dinner for us at my place, family-style. And, um, you’re invited.

SWEETS: Thank you, but I’ve actually got a lot of work here...

BRENNAN: (Booth turns to go but turns back when Brennan starts talking.) My foster parents locked me in the trunk of a car for two days when I broke a dish. I was a very clumsy child. They warned me it would happen, but the water was so hot and the... (Tearing up) soap was so slippery. I still don’t think it was fair, even though they gave me fair warning. (Voice breaking.) The water was so hot...

SWEETS: No, it wasn’t fair at all. It wasn’t your fault.

BOOTH: (Takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and holds it out to her. Whispers.) Bones, what are you doin’?

BRENNAN: You said that scars on the back was a metaphor. Isn’t that why we’re here? To metaphorically compare scars?

BOOTH: (Whispering.) I came to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner, that’s all. (She takes the handkerchief.)

SWEETS: Scars on the back?

BRENNAN: I saw them, Sweets.

SWEETS: So.. (sighs) what? You decided to just share something from your past? (Brennan nods.) That is so unlike you.

BRENNAN: I still hate psychology. (Turns to Booth.) Okay. Your turn. Go.

BOOTH: (Shrugs.)I came here to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner, that’s all. (Brennan gives him a look.) Okay, if it wasn’t for my grandfather, I probably would’ve k*lled myself when I was a kid. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject matter. Understand? Are you okay, Bones?

BRENNAN: Yeah, I’m fine. Here. (She folds up his handkerchief and puts it in the front pocket of his suit over his heart, pressing her hand to it. He covers her hand with his for a moment before she withdraws her hand.)

BRENNAN: (To Sweets.) Why are you nodding?

SWEETS: Nothing. Just... Wyatt made an observation about you two, and I think I just saw what he saw.

BOOTH: You coming?

BRENNAN: Booth means that we’d like it if you joined us.

SWEETS: Thank you.

BOOTH: Great. Here we go. Let’s go. (Booth and Brennan take Sweets by an arm and walk out with him.)

BRENNAN: Gordon-Gordon is making cassoulet.

BOOTH: It’s stew. It’s bean stew.

BRENNAN: Cassoulet is better than regular stew, Booth.

BOOTH: Just because it’s French doesn’t mean it’s better.

SWEETS: It sounds better than stew.

BRENNAN: See?

BOOTH: It’s stew.

BRENNAN: It sounds better.

BOOTH: It’s stew.

(The scene pans down to the cover of Sweets’ manuscript. It has a handwritten title that says "Bones—The Heart of the Matter". Crossed out underneath it is "Opposites Attract: Yin and Yang in the Workplace" by Dr. Lance Sweets, PsyD, PhD)

END
{"type": "series", "show": "Bones", "episode": "04x21 - The Mayhem on the Cross"}