Title: The Smiling Hill

Rating: M

Summary: The BAU is called to the small town of Lobo's Nod, where they are investigating the work of an unusual serial killer. All clues point to Jasper "Jazz" Francis Dent, the only son of the notorious Billy Dent, a violent killer who has killed more than one hundred people. But when Jazz denies all involvement, the BAU must figure out who the real killer is, and if Jazz is really telling the truth.

Genre: Crime, Thriller

Fandoms: Criminal Minds, I Hunt Killers (Barry Lyga Trilogy)

Warnings: Implied Mental Illness, Sociopathic Tendencies, Disturbing Thoughts and Themes, Graphic Depictions of Gore and Violence

Author Notes: The first chapter DOES NOT have the BAU team in it. This is because of introductory purposes—for those who do not know about Barry Lyga's I Hunt Killers trilogy, this will serve as information on the characters from the series I am using.

EDIT 4/3/16: Erickson's POV has been changed to third person because of confusion caused by the sudden POV change previously. :)

I was wandering aimlessly. My head seemed to be detached from my body, but whenever I reached up to run my fingers through my thick and dark hair, I found that—in a rather disappointing realization—that my head was perfectly fine.

I was searching for some sort of distraction, something that would hinder the movements of the inevitable doom that constantly hung over me. I felt like I was nearing the gallows, and the dark and churning atmosphere around me was a grim and miserable indicator, no matter how untrue it may have been.

My feather-light and quick steps caused the ancient stairs beneath me to groan in protest, but I paid them no mind as I continued to wander. There was something downstairs that I needed—I just couldn't remember what exactly it was.

The train of thought that was holding my mind captive was derailed as a knock on the door sounded. I lingered, my eyes narrow and jaw clenched as I frowned. No one was supposed to be here.

Water began to drip from the faucet in the sink in the kitchen near me, a steady and irritatingly repetitive noise that drummed incessantly at my ears. I grimaced and turned to turn it off, but the knocking became more and more urgent, forcing me to go and answer the door.

A large, aged man stood there. He was of average height, with a protruding stomach that barely fit inside of his shirt and vest. A large and bushy gray mustache framed his lower face, and he stood there on my doorstep with a veiled sort of laid-back power and impatience.

"What do you want?"

The man's lips twitched in an almost grin before he spoke in a clear and strong voice. "We have some new things for you to look at. Now, normally I wouldn't allow this, but the higher ups are pulling the strings and want you on this."

I sighed, running a hand over my face as I rested my weight against the door frame, a faint throbbing beginning to form in the back of my head as my patience was stretched thin. "What is it?"

G. William procured a thick manila file and held it out. "You'll see. It's not the worst thing we've had, but this could escalate into something more without your help."

I took the file, pretending not to notice the faint widening of the Sheriff's eyes as my unnaturally cold fingers brushed his. "This had better be worth bothering me about."

Tanner's mustache twitched into the gesture that let me know that he was frowning. "Don't take that tone with me. You get paid for this, don't you?"

"Money makes no difference so long as I have the chance to put away every deranged man and woman out there." A dark smirk curled back my lips as I tilted my head. "Besides, all I actually care about right now is getting some sleep. But no, everyone wants to bother dear old Jasper Dent." I didn't wait to see his reaction as I lowered my gaze to the now open file in my hands.

I froze as my eyes locked onto two words. Familiar. Cold. Haunting.

Something Billy had used a long, long time ago.

"Oenanthe Crocata?" My voice had a dark undertone as I glared at the shorter man. "This guy is using hemlock water dropwort to inflict the Sardonic Grin?"

Tanner nodded, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that I knew what the poison was and what it could do. He had grown used to that special ability years ago. "Yep. Figured you would know more detail about it than our examiners do." He turned away, heading down the crumbling stone steps connected to the monstrosity that was my porch. "I'm trying to have the boss send over the body of the most recent victim so you can take a look at her."

I frowned, the cool wind of the autumn night lapping at my loose shirt. "Why can't I just head over to wherever they're keeping it?"

G. William's mustache twitched again; he seemed to dislike it when I referred to corpses as mere things and not beings. "It's in New York."

I tensed, my mood immediately darkening. "You don't have anywhere to keep it."

The Sheriff did not meet my eyes, and he was right not to—I was glaring as viciously as an enraged version of my father would. "We'll make do. Come down to the station once you've read over the material."

And with that, he was gone.

"Did you talk to the kid?"

G. William Tanner looked up to see the tall and lean frame of Deputy Erickson standing in the doorway to his office. With a nod, the younger man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him before turning to fix his bright turquoise eyes onto the elder.

A heavy sigh left the portly man, and he leaned forward on his elbows, the breath making his mustache rise and fall in a sort of amusing manner. "Yeah."

"I assume he didn't take it well." Erickson pressed his lips together, a few strands of long and dark hair falling into his face. With an irritated huff, he blew the offending pieces away and tucked them behind his ear for extra reassurance.

"He didn't react the way I thought he would, but he didn't like what he found out." A huge and meaty hand ran over a ruddy face as the Sheriff shook his head. "That kid's too bright for his own good sometimes. It barely took him a minute to find what the killer had used."

The younger man shifted in his seat, leaning back to cross his legs and tap his fingers against his worn denim jeans. "How's he know about the Sardonic Grin?"

"His father probably inflicted it upon several of his earlier victims. Jazz probably has whoever it was taped up on that shrine he keeps in his work room."

A hint of a smirk crossed the deputy's face as his eyes shone brightly. "What, he gave you a tour of his new place?"

G. William frowned, rifling through the papers on his desk almost aimlessly. "No. I familiarized myself with the place in case Jazz goes rogue again."

"And he knows nothing about this?"

Two broad shoulders shrugged in a slow and deliberate motion. "I can't guarantee that. With how he is, Jazz probably already knew I looked around while he was gone, but, of course, he won't say."

"Hmm." Erickson stood fluidly with a carelessness that belied his years of experience and his serious demeanor. "I'm locking up, then. See you later."

"Tell the wife and kids I wish them well." When the deputy was long gone, Tanner let out a deep breath and dropped his gaze back down to the papers he had been reading. A collage of smiling women and men grinned back up at him. But the positive effect was lost when compared to the images of their corpses with their faces twisted into grotesque mockeries of smiles.

I swear we will find you.

Touch me

Sweat dripped down my face

More

I groaned

shifting

writhing

—in pain?

no—pleasure

More

Groan softly

Give me more

Shiver and arch

—what?

No, no, no.

That's enough.

No.

no.

no.

stop it

no more

more

yes, more

Shiver harder

Shake harder

—you know you want it—

I gasped and sat up abruptly, soaked to the bone in a cold sweat. Usually, those were associated with fear, but was I afraid? I hadn't been afraid of a lot of things for a very long time, now that the single man that had made my life a living hell was probably drooling on himself somewhere in a psych ward. That, or he was continuing to make everyone else's life a purgatory on Earth; I could remember when G. William had told me that even though he had been paralyzed from the waist down, Billy had wasted no time biting a chunk out of the Sheriff's leg. And to be honest, Tanner had kind of deserved it; I hadn't been pleased with him at the moment, and the limp and bloody hole in his leg had been oh so satisfying.

Hello. And the woman. Don't forget her.

I growled beneath my breath as I clenched my hands into fists. No. I had promised myself to stop thinking about that manipulative and lying excuse for a mother years ago.

I groaned as a flash of pain ran up my side, and with a frown, I forced myself to stand. The world tilted and spun, and then I was crashing into the wall as vertigo overwhelmed me and the faint taste of bile rose in the back of my throat. I half stood and half sat there, waiting for familiar nausea to pass.

Once I had regained my bearings, I stood slowly and made my way down the dark hallway with one hand on the wall. The steps groaned their protest as usual as I moved almost silently down the staircase and towards the kitchen.

My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and I was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe properly.

Once I was in the kitchen, I took a tall glass from the cabinet above the sink and filled it with water. But as I lifted it to my lips, acid fire exploded all over my body and in my head.

With a lurch and a sudden cry, I rested my weight heavily against the polished marble counter, my fingers digging into the hard material as I struggled to force air into my lungs. I distinctly felt the shards of glass from the cup digging into my flesh—I had broken the glass into almost minuscule pieces by tightening my grip. My body shuddered violently and the world was unfocused as if I were underwater. Damn it, why was this happening again?

I coughed violently and shuddered, my back hunched and veins and tendons standing out on my neck, arms, and hands. I just needed to calm down. It shouldn't have been affecting me like this. I should not be impaired in such a way.

Vertigo and nausea passed suddenly as if someone had yanked a blanket from over my head. I swayed on my feet and collapsed against the counter, my head throbbing painfully as I moaned softly. My breaths were ragged and hoarse, and I noticed that blood was dripping from hands and arms. The glass that had shattered mere moments ago—even though it seemed like centuries had passed—had cut my skin, but with my high pain tolerance it had hardly seemed like a big deal.

Crimson.

Sweet, succulent crimson.

No!

My legs gave out beneath me, and then I was sitting haphazardly on the floor with my back against the marble counter. My hands rose and clawed at my shirt as if they could pry away the invisible grasp that was choking me. In retaliation, the monster hands clenched tighter, and then I was gasping futilely for air as black darted in and out of my vision.

I could vaguely see my hand reaching for the cell phone I had taken down with me. Almost unknowingly, my fingers passed over familiar buttons and I was dialing a number on speed dial before I knew it.

Ring-ring-ring.

Silence.

Ring-ring-ring.

"Hello?"

I struggled to form words, and then a pathetic and hoarse few came out.

"Tanner...help me..."

And then my world succumbed to the darkness.

G. William woke to the sound of the familiar ringtone, groaning and turning over on his side. It could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he was tired and needed sleep.

Wait.

He jolted upright as the phone rang at him, reaching out and grabbing it to check the caller identification.

Jazz? What was he doing calling so late?

"Hello?"

Nothing but hoarse and ragged breathing answered him. With a frown, the Sheriff took the cellular device off of his ear to check the ID once again. Yes, it was Jazz...unless someone had somehow gotten a hold of his phone.

"Jazz? What is it?"

The painful-sounding breathing continued before three dangerously soft and broken words sounded.

The thing that unnerved him was that his voice—while it was unmistakably the Jazz—was so different from that dark, sly, suave, and deceptively powerful voice that he usually had.

"Tanner...help me..."

There was a clatter as if he had dropped the phone, and then all was eerily silent.

"Jazz? Jasper, what's wrong?" No matter how he tried, the younger man wasn't responding.

With a curse, the Sheriff rose to his feet and all but ran to his car.

... ... ...

The dark mansion was as unsettling as it normally was, and the full moon shining brightly behind it made the eerie atmosphere around the building even stronger.

Tanner approached the door with his gun in hand, moving with the stealth of a highly trained law enforcer. He grimaced as the porch cried its protest, but nothing came at him through the shadows.

When he knocked on the massive door, it creaked open in its own, and the Sheriff entered slowly.

A faint but panicked series of breaths sounded through the thick and tense silence. Recognizing the voice, he holstered his gun and followed the noise into the kitchen.

"Jazz?"

A hoarse moan sounded, and then the tall man came into view. He was sitting at an angle on the floor, his back against the band counter behind him. His hands were scrabbling weakly at his shirt as he struggled to breathe correctly. The young man's skin was unnaturally pale, and his amber eyes were closed tightly against the pain he was in. Blood dripped down the shredded flesh of his arms and hands, but Tanner knew that with the almost unnaturally high pain tolerance the man had he probably felt nothing.

"Jasper, what is it?"

Those deep, endless eyes fixed almost blindly on the Sheriff, and Jazz winced and arched off of the floor. His hands immediately went to his throat, his sharp nails beginning to tear the flesh from his neck.

G. William scowled, forcing his concern down as he kneeled down beside the struggling man, mindful of his legs. Jazz was more than capable enough to snap his neck with nothing but his legs, and possibly even his feet if the situation called for it. "Jazz, I need you to answer me. What do you need? An inhaler, epinephrine? Talk to me."

Suddenly the larger man was lurching forward, and then he had the Sheriff pinned roughly to the floor. Almost immediately, his icy hands were wrapped around his opponent's throat and were squeezing, cutting off air flow. Tanner remained relaxed, knowing that if he provoked the prodigy that he would most likely be incapacitated in some way.

A sound reminiscent of a feral snarl escaped Jazz's throat, and dull amber eyes narrowed to slits as he slowly tightened his grasp.

Tanner glared at the looming man, reaching a hand to tangle it in the forest of long and dark hair above him. Bracing himself for a violent outburst, the Sheriff pulled on his handful.

Jazz arched his back and cried out, his weight thrown off kilter as the sudden pain momentarily overwhelmed his senses. He gasped again, the heightening of his senses bringing back his inability to breathe again.

Something flickered in that violent tawny glare, and then a faint image of shock, anger, and agony crossed his face.

"Tanner..." His chest was heaving even as his hands went back to his throat, and his raven hair was hanging low in his face as his now-visible eye widened.

The elder man raised a hand, stopping the other from continuing. "Relax, kid. You didn't do anything wrong."

Jazz coughed violently, his eyes fluttering shut as his body shuddered. "Sorry."

G. William frowned, shaking his head. "You don't have anything to apologize for. No one knew this would happen. You were lucid enough to call me."

"Kill." Jazz's voice was cold and flat—a sound that sent unwanted chills down the older man's spine—as he stared blindly into space. "Could—have—"

"That's enough." Tanner's voice rang with a cold and strong efficiency. When all Jazz did was stare at him without a single hint of emotion, the Sheriff stood slowly and retrieved another glass from the still-open cabinet. He filled it at the sink, feeling the other man's eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Turning back, he knelt at the pale man's side, holding the glass up. "Drink."

Jazz groaned and shook his head, muscles tensing even as his eyes flashed brightly. "Can't keep it down."

The Sheriff set the glass down on the counter, well out of the younger man's reach, and held out a hand as he stood once more. "Can you stand?"

A heavy and hoarse groan escaped the man's throat, and he shivered before nodding once. Tanner braced himself as Jazz grabbed his hand, the long and icy fingers clamping over his warmer ones with a painful pressure. Jazz stumbled and nearly collapsed against the counter, but he was immediately steadied and they both made their way slowly out of the kitchen.

Amber eyes flickered as their owner shifted as if he were restless. "Where are we going?" He had noticed that the Sheriff was leading them out into the main hallway, towards the looming front door.

"The station." Tanner did not react as Jazz tensed slightly, his breath hitching as he unintentionally shuddered. "Relax. I have some paperwork I need to do, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're better."

"Mmm." Jazz gave a noncommittal grunt as his eyes shut, and his weight increased as he leaned heavily against the smaller man.

"Easy on the hip there. You're heavier than you look." Jazz yawned in reply, and the Sheriff shook his head and led them carefully down the worn and crumbling steps of the porch, cursing beneath his breath as he nearly lost his footing more than once. The keys he had placed in his pocket before shutting the front door clicked against each other as if reminding the two that they were still there. "You really need to get these steps fixed."

"Mmm-hmm." Jazz coughed, shifting his weight and attempting to stand on his own but failing to do so.

Tanner grunted and tightened his grip on the larger man to support him as he unlocked the door to his police care. "In you go. Don't want to be there all night."

Jazz gave a huff of a laugh as he sat down in the passenger seat, grimacing faintly as the world tilted and spun momentarily. "Just shut up and...drive." He shuddered as his hand clamped down dangerously tight on the door.

G. William noticed and rolled the window down, pretending not to see the visible relief on the young man's face as he stuck his head out of the open space as the chilled air helped ease his nausea.

They drove in a tense silence the rest of the way.

Erickson looked up as the bell connected to the police department door chimed, signaling someone's entry. With a heavy sigh, he stood and stalked to the door.

"Can't you read the sign? It says we're—"

G. William walked in with a deep and thoughtful frown on his face. His gun was gone from its holster, and the elderly man looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Sir." The deputy moved aside to let the elder man enter. "What are you doing here this late?"

"Paperwork, as usual, Erickson." He turned and looked out into the black blanket of the night. "Are you coming in or what?"

Erickson was about to ask what was going on before a tall, slim silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. A sort of grim surprise could not help but overcome him as he recognized the man.

Jazz was standing before him, his pale skin drenched in a cold sweat. His chest was heaving, and his exposed arms and hands were spattered with drying and tacky blood. His normally bright amber eyes were so dark that they bordered on a deep chocolate.

"Jazz?" Erickson moved to help the larger man, helping him keep his balance as he wavered on his feet. "What happened?"

"Nothing much." Tanner turned to face Erickson, and it was then that the deputy noticed the finger-shaped bruises on the Sheriff's neck.

"My fault." Jazz spoke in a frighteningly hoarse voice, his body beginning to tremble as he leaned heavily against the shorter man holding him up, who protested slightly under the extra weight. "Couldn't—couldn't control. My head wasn't—"

"I don't want to know," Erickson muttered. He wasn't in the mood for such petty matters, and he was exhausted.

"Help him sit." The Sheriff thumped a hand on the pale man's back, and Jazz gasped at the motion and hunched over, baring pure white teeth in something like a snarl. "And get him some water. I'll be out to check on him in a bit."

The deputy nodded, stifling a yawn. "Yeah. I'll let the wife know."

"Sorry to keep you here so late," Tanner grumbled, turning his back and shutting his office door before the deputy had a chance to respond.

Jazz caught Erickson's attention when he groaned, a tremor shaking his lean and powerful body as he dug his nails into the flesh of his arms. "Need to...sit."

"Right." The deputy led the younger man to the nearest chair, slowly lowering him into the seat. Jazz let out a deep gust of warm air, the action making his raven hair flutter in front of his face.

"I'm going to go get you some water, okay?" Erickson turned and headed to the fridge that was set up in a back room of the station, grabbing a bottle of water from the shelf. Kicking the door shut, he went back into the main room and was surprised to see that Jazz was sitting upright, poring over a file of papers spread out before him. Erickson's gaze locked onto the pictures of gruesomely smiling corpses and he knew automatically that the pale man had brought the file on the recent serial killer.

"You haven't looked over the file yet?" He placed the bottle of water down on the table as he took a seat in front of the dark-haired man.

Jazz coughed slightly, reaching for the bottle of water as he briefly looked up. Erickson restrained a shudder when he noticed that the man's eyes were still horrifically dull.

"Mmm-hmm. Couldn't earlier." He cringed and ran a hand over his throat, his fingers lingering over the slightly shredded, lightly bleeding flesh. Jazz frowned as his eyes passed over the file again, and his free hand was seemingly stuck on the photo of the mangled corpse of a young female college student.

"Describe this scene." Jazz was staring at the deputy again, his eyes wide but holding no light. "Scent, light, sounds. Everything."

A faint frown passed over his face but Erickson stopped it before it could turn into something that would irritate the sometimes irascible man before him. "Uh...it was mid-afternoon. Close to five in the afternoon. The temp was moderate, in the high sixties, light drizzling with the sun out." He leaned forward, not enough to invade Jazz's personal space but just enough for Erickson to get a closer look. Dark circles were hidden beneath those unnerving amber eyes, concealed in the shadows flitting over his face. All in all, Jazz looked as sick and exhausted as the deputy had ever seen him.

Erickson continued on without stating his inner realization aloud, pretending not to notice the way Jazz's gaze darkened. "A bit after rush hour. A few cars driving by. It wasn't very loud. The body was in a mid-stage of rigor mortis. She had been dead somewhere between two and six hours."

Jazz waved a hand dismissively, nodding. "That's in the file. What I want to know is if anything stood out to you. Anything that was off. Gut feeling."

"Felt like someone was watching us. Like eyes were boring into the back of out heads, or mine specifically." The deputy shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, his teal eyes bright.

Jazz tilted his head, taking in a shuddering breath as his hands clenched on the paper, almost tight enough to shred the material but not quite. "Good."

It was quiet for a moment as amber eyes met blue, and the two men stared at each other for a good few minutes.

Then the pale man moved—lurched, really—and then he was on his feet and looming over the deputy. Erickson made to say something, but then he cut himself off as he winced. Jazz's enormous hands were clamped down on his.

"Jazz." The deputy tried to lean back, but the larger man's grip was impairing his ability to move. He could see now why Tanner had made him promise not to get into a fight with Jazz. "Let go."

"Fight back." The younger man's voice was hoarse and dangerously cold, and his grip on the deputy's hands was beginning to tighten by a significant amount. "Show me how you fight."

"You're in no condition to fight, Jazz." Erickson glared at him, boldly meeting his eyes and attempting to goad him into letting him go.

Amber eyes narrowed to slits as a sound similar to a snarl escaped his throat. Without warning, Jazz released the other man and reclined back into his chair, fingering the tacky flesh of his freshly-bleeding neck.

"The killer goes for blitz attacks," he murmured, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his thick and dark hair, "Which means that you need to be prepared for anything. He may be arrogant enough to attack you in broad daylight, judging from the two bodies that you found in alleys and roads that are easily seen and accessible."

"Did you really need to demonstrate that on me?" Erickson scowled and leaned down in his seat, pressing his lips together in a deep frown.

"Not a demonstration." Amber eyes were on the deputy, somehow dark but bright at the same time. "Example." Jazz cringed and reached for the bottle of water, drinking down half of it in one swallow.

"I see you're reading the report. You're up and about now?" The Sheriff appeared in his office doorway, having somehow appeared without a noise.

"Reading. Not up and about." Jazz fixed his glare on the elder man, the fluorescent lights around the room giving his skin a pasty-like complexion. "Coordination is still off." He raised a hand while sliding a nearby pen across the table towards the deputy. "Throw it."

Not fully understanding, Erickson did as told, watching Jazz grimace as he caught the pen at the last moment.

"I'm late," he murmured, amber eyes flickering. Before either of us could respond, Jazz was delving back into the file, pulling out another image of a bloody pile of flesh and muscle and bone and organs that had been an eighteen-year-old female.

"Who am I looking at?" Jazz's voice was soft and dark, and it seemed that he was only thinking aloud. Erickson felt Tanner's eyes on him, and it was then that he realized there was a hidden meaning behind the man's words. Jazz was doing more than just thinking aloud—he was almost explicitly giving them clues as to what exactly had happened.

"I'm giving you answers." Jazz was on his feet now, disregarding the Sheriff as he began to pace the length of the room. "Figure out the questions and get back to me."

Tanner nodded at the deputy, and Erickson rose to his feet and grabbed his coat.

"You heard the man," the Sheriff called after him. "He wants the questions. We're coming up with them."

I grimaced and leaned against the wall, watching as Erickson backed out of the parking lot and drove away.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and I restrained a flinch as I fixed my gaze on the Sheriff. "What?"

"Are you sure you're alright, kid?" He did not meet my eyes, but it wasn't out of fear. I had learned long ago that G. William Tanner was not afraid of me. Instead, he kept his gaze out on the moonlight-bathed land in front of us.

I sighed, closing my eyes as I turned my head to rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window. "No. I'm not okay. But that's not going to stop me from catching this bastard." I straightened and glared wearily at my elder, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm going to see the body. With or without you."

So that's the first chapter. The BAU team will be in by the end of chapter two—by chapter three, I'm sure. This was basically to familiarize the readers with the characters of I Hunt Killers.

For those of you unfamiliar with the trilogy by Barry Lyga, I highly recommend it. That is, as long as you are comfortable with dealing with sociopathic tendencies, extreme violence, gore, serial killers, stereotypical FBI agents, and the like. You know, the regular things that are associated with nationwide manhunts for serial killers.

Here's information on the characters for IHK.

Jasper "Jazz" Dent:He has hazel eyes (amber in my universe) and sandy hair (dark brown/black in my universe). He is attractive and catches the eyes of ladies with his looks, but these differ greatly from his personality, or what little one he has. Jazz is extremely manipulating, cold, and calculating. He is analytical of others and wary of cops in the IHK trilogy. Intelligent, quiet, and dark humored, he is drawn back and is unfazed by extreme gore. He has a bit of an ego and is independent, resourceful, and very stubborn. NOTE: In the original universe, Jazz is an author and runs a charity for the victims of his father—basically becoming more "human"—but I don't tend to focus on this very much.

G. William Tanner: The Sherrif of Lobo's Nod in the IHK series, not much description is given on him. He is well into his life, most likely in his late sixties at the least. He has a prominent gut and a mustache that makes him look like a walrus, according to Jazz.

Deputy Erickson: Originally thought to be a serial killer by a teenage Jazz and his friends (for a probable reason because he was the first at every crime scene and had no alibis), Erickson used to hate Jazz when he first met him. After Erickson's innocence was proved, he became nicer towards Jasper and his friends.

EDIT 4/3/16: Jazz's physical appearance is slightly different than Lyga's portrayal. What I picture him as is at this link: post/ 109203850498/ dylsnugget -i- hunt- killers- by- barry- lyga- dream (this is a Tumblr post. If you can't find the picture, type in I Hunt Killers cast to Google, search images, and it should be among the first that pops up. Basically, Dylan O'Brien is what I based Jazz's appearance off of).

So let me know what you think of this so far, and the second chapter will be up soon.