Sorry for the loooong quote at the start, I just couldn't help myself.

Chapter 10

Les Timides et la Timidité. Paris 1901.

Especially self-revealing are the outbreaks of anger against oneself, the more so because I believe them always to be evidence of consciousness of guilt. At least, I have never yet seen an innocent man fall into a paroxysm of rage against himself, nor have I ever heard that others have observed it, and I would not be able psychologically to explain such a thing should it happen. Inasmuch as scenes of this kind can occur perceivably only in the most externalized forms of anger, so such an explosion is elementary and cannot possibly be confused with another. If a man wrings his hands until they bleed, or digs his fingernails into his forehead, nobody will say that this is anger against himself; it is only an attempt to do something to release stored-up energy, to bring it to bear against somebody. People are visibly angry against themselves only when they do such things to themselves as they might do to other people; for example, beating, smashing, pulling the hair, etc. This is particularly frequent among Orientals who are more emotional than Europeans. So I saw a Gypsy run his head against a wall, and a Jew throw himself on his knees, extend his arms and box his ears with both hands so forcibly that the next day his cheeks were swollen. But other races, if only they are passionate enough, behave in a similar manner. I saw a woman, for example, tear whole handfuls of hair from her head, a murdering thief, guilty of more or fewer crimes, smash his head on the corner of a window, and a seventeen year old murderer throw himself into a ditch in the street, beat his head fiercely on the earth, and yell, "Hang me! Pull my head off!"

The events in all these cases were significantly similar: the crime was so skilfully committed as conceivably to prevent the discovery of the criminal; the criminal denied the deed with the most glaring impudence and fought with all his power against conviction--in the moment, however, he realized that all was lost, he exerted his boundless rage against himself, who had been unable to oppose any obstacle to conviction and who had not been cautious and sly enough in the commission of the crime. Hence the development of the fearful self-punishment, which could have no meaning if the victim felt innocent.

Such expressions of anger against oneself often finish with fainting. The reason for the latter is much less exhaustion through paroxysms of rage than the recognition and consciousness of one's own helplessness. Reichenbach (1) once examined the reason for the fainting of people in difficult situations. It is nowadays explained as the effect of the excretion of carbonic acid gas and of the generated anthropotoxin; another explanation makes it a nervous phenomenon in which the mere recognition that release is impossible causes fainting, the loss of consciousness. For our needs either account of this phenomenon will do equally. It is indifferent whether a man notices that he cannot voluntarily change his condition in a physical sense, or whether he notices that the evidence is so convincing that he can not dodge it. The point is that if for one reason or another he finds himself physically or legally in a bad hole, he faints, just as people in novels or on the stage faint when there is no other solution of the dramatic situation.

(1) K. von Reichenbach: Der sensitive Mensch (The sensitive human). Cotta 1854.

When anger does not lead to rage against oneself, the next lower stage is laughter.1 With regard to this point, Darwin calls attention to the fact that laughter often conceals other mental conditions than those it essentially stands for--anger, rage, pain, perplexity, modesty and shame; when it conceals anger it is anger against oneself, a form of scorn. This same wooden, dry laughter is significant, and when it arises from the perception that the accused no longer sees his way out, it is not easily to be confused with another form of laughter. One gets the impression that the laugher is trying to tell himself, "That is what you get for being bad and foolish!" – World wide school Criminal Psychology

"Cody?" Agent McMahon said trying to reach the profiler. It had taken the medic quite some time to make Cody understand that he could let go.

Reluctantly he had moved his hands away from Beth and almost like in slow motion he sunk back to the ground. He felt he was being sucked into a black hole with no chance to ever reach the surface. The voices and the lights brought memories up in such a vivid way that his mind simply shut down.

Agent McMahon tried again to reach him by saying his name but Cody was not even blinking, as if his eyes were glued to the spot where the medics were trying to save Beth Phoenix's life. He was not aware he was sweating and shaking and he only reacted when he felt them bending his arms.

For a brief moment, he had lifted his eyes and stared at McMahon with a confused look. There was not the slightest bit of understanding in his eyes. He wanted to say something, form the words for his innocence but nothing happened. As he watched the medics carrying Beth out of his sight, he felt something heavy lying on his shoulders.

All sounds were dampened and it seemed like someone had shut out the lights. She would die and if she would die Cody would die as well. He breathed out sharply when they started pushing him outside aware that he had nothing in his defence. Slowly he walked down the wooden stairs and his eyes gazed around.

Cody was not even aware that they still held him at gunpoint, when he suddenly stopped. He froze in his movements.

"This is the primary crime scene," Cody spoke with a very low and somewhat strange voice.

Instead of elaborating that theory Cody lost the strain and turned his head around. As if he had forgotten the thought he followed them outside. McMahon felt cold whilst he witnessed the behaviour. He didn't need a psychiatrist to point out that Cody was traumatized.

Ironically enough, Cody didn't even notice that. As the car steadily ran down the freeway, he felt a sudden clarity. He carefully put the pieces to the puzzle together. Something told him that Victoria would be there. Whatever happened she would be there.

She'd better be, he thought, feeling sickened by the movement of the car.

All his life Cody had dealt with guilt but this time it was hitting him so much harder than before. There was no one to blame than him. He had trusted the wrong man. No, that wasn't even the truth. Could he really be so sure about that? Hadn't he made his profile rather quickly because he felt attracted to him?

Shouldn't the first encounter have told him otherwise? Was it really not him who attempted to kill her? Oh god, he thought, feeling like the fox in a foxhunt. They could laugh and make it a sport, be all fair and he would still lose. Evidence. There would be evidence.

Not even he should doubt the evidence.

Who am I kidding, he thought grinding his teeth. In between anger, frustration, fear and despair Cody switched so fast that his heartbeat increased and his temperature rose up.

When they walked him through the floors of the place Cody used to work he was kicked back into the past. All eyes were on him. Cody wanted to laugh in their faces because they could never make up their minds. In his eyes it looked like one eye felt pity and one wanted him dead.

Cody tried to calm himself down. He realized what was happening to him. He knew if he would stand any chance he should be brave and calm enough to tell the whole story. Yet, the thought alone was depriving him from making any sound. Maybe he should wait and hear what they think they know?

He winced when his head started to ache heavily. Too many thoughts too many ideas were making it impossible to think. The light in the interrogation room seemed to burn itself in his eyes and he lowered himself with trembling knees into a seat.

Cody tried to look normal, professional and ready for them and failed so bravely that McMahon seriously doubted a criminal nature. They had un-cuffed him and now he was desperately trying to wipe the blood from his hands. Nothing he would do would erase the traces anyway and Cody should know that. Yet he still tried.

He behaved like a child trying to wipe away the traces of the forbidden chocolate. Impossible. Cody flinched when a CSI stepped into the room with an officer and started to process him.

They took a DNA sample with a swab and exchanged his clothing against a gray overall. They took samples from the blood on his hands and from his face. They gave him some water and a towel later but even that would not really rid him of evidence.

Everything about him screamed guilty and yet none of the agents could really believe it. It may have been in Cody's favour that the people outside cared. However, the test results that arrived about an hour later were definitely not. Victoria Varon tried to reason with Special Agent Shawn Michaels about the planned interrogation.

She knew that they would get nothing when he would be pushed.

"If you go in and expect him to answer truthfully you have to give him some time. He hasn't figured this out yet," she urged him.

"That is exactly what I'm trying to prevent. You know, I'm not blind. I know he looks like a beaten puppy or worse like an abused child but he isn't. Not this time. He can't explain the evidence with a heartbreaking story. If Beth Phoenix dies he will be convicted for her murder," Michaels said in a stern voice.

"But he was influenced by a killer. He had been held hostage…"

"You don't know that. From what we know he could have been there voluntarily. I know what you trying to say but you've read Hardy's file. They both spent years in psychiatric care and have almost identical psychological files. Can you really say that there wasn't a romantic involvement of some sort?"

Victoria rubbed her eyes tiredly before she admitted, "No. I can't. I have no idea what went on between them. But I believe I know Cody. I won't deny that he has made a mistake and but I highly doubt it was murder. At least let me try to talk to him first."

"I don't think it's a good idea," Agent McMahon suddenly said quietly."I think it's time to stop treating him like a little boy."

"As long as we don't have the suspect in custody…" Victoria tried again and was harshly interrupted by McMahon again.

"You are placing your hopes into the hands of a serial killer? No, he has to face consequences and he has to face them now. I don't believe he's a bad kid but if that reporter dies no jury will care about my or your opinions, and most certainly not about the opinion of his gay, serial-killer boyfriend!"

They all stood there in silence before Agent Michaels took a deep breath and entered the room.

"Hello Cody," he said in a friendly voice, opening the button of his blazer and sitting down.

Every sense in Cody's body instantly went on red alert. He sunk deeper into the chair and eyed the Agent suspiciously. He hadn't expected him and only vaguely recalled that he had seen him before. Absent-mindedly he started scratching his wrists.

"I don't know if you remember me. My name is Shawn Michaels and I have to ask you some questions."

Cody felt he was being treated like a stupid kid and braced himself. He wanted to reply something but simply stared blankly at him.

Carefully the Agent placed three paper sheets in front of Cody and said casually, "You surely know what those are."

Cody lowered his eyes only for a second before he lifted them again and they shifted away. Of course, he knew; he was an Agent too. Test results. DNA, Blood, presence of semen. He felt sick.

"We have your fingerprints on the knife and we successfully matched that knife as the attacking weapon used on Beth Phoenix. The blood patter on your shirt matches her DNA. There were traces of your DNA all over her body. Including traces of semen. You do know what that means?"

Cody wanted him to stop. He couldn't stop thinking that it was stupid telling him that because he already knew. He pressed his lips tight together and wasn't even aware that a small angry tear dropped from his eye. Cody scratched his head in a confused gesture and said nothing.

"Cody, please, you've got to help me out here. What happened? I'm willing to listen to your side of the story," Agent Michaels said in a very low voice trying to gain his trust.

The profiler did not buy that, shook his head, and whispered, "I'm not a killer."

"Nobody said you are. We just want to know what happened."

Cody couldn't control that his body was shivering and he started playing with his hands because otherwise he wouldn't be able to control them. His eyes tried to avoid meeting the direct view of the agent and he forced himself to say, "Please, believe me."

"I really want to but you have to help me understand. How did you end up in that position?"

Frantically Cody shook his head again and ripped on his hair, snarling angrily: "Stop that. Get out of my head. Please, get all out of my head."

Cody's blood pressure reached a dangerous level and his vision became blurry. He believed his heart had stopped when he saw them. He knew only he could see them and he flinched earning a concerned look from the Agent.

"Everything alright?"

No, nothing, I'm just losing my mind, Cody thought forcing himself to ignore the horrible memories. Women with slashed throats all crawling back. Slowly walking towards him like in a horror movie.

I'm losing it, I'm losing it he thought and suddenly said out loud, "I'm sorry."

"I believe you are but that doesn't help me understand what exactly went on down there."

"I can't tell you," Cody replied rather dryly, trying not to let the Agent know that he was terrified by his visions.

"Why not?"

"Because…because…I don't want to," the profiler croaked and his shoulders started to tremble.

"Did Jeff force you into anything you didn't want?"

Agent Michaels was startled when Cody slapped himself. He watched the younger man sinking back into his defensive state afterwards. He didn't need to have his textbook to see that this was a clear sign of guilt. Yet, he wasn't sure for what and therefore carefully went on with his questions.

Cody reacted with a textbook schizophrenia and Agent Michaels could not decide whether he believed him. As far as he was concerned, Cody had lived in psychiatric care for such a long time that he could very well be able to fake certain disorders.

The profiler went from angry to hysterically repeating that he wasn't a killer. It simply wasn't clear if it was a natural defence or if he believed he would get away with it. Drew Wheeler had seen many strange things in his career and he wasn't willing to make a judgment yet. Not before he talked to Jeffrey Hardy.

He wanted to know how much influence that man might have had on Cody. Nevertheless, Hardy wasn't in their custody yet. Michaels didn't let Cody off the hook. He kept ignoring all emotional outbursts and repeated his questions in a slow voice.

However, as persistent as the Agent was, so was Cody. He wasn't giving in. He couldn't talk about what happened. Not with this guy anyway. He was also struggling against hallucinations of his father's victims, intense body heat and losing his mind. It was straining and weakened him with every passing minute.

While Cody's mind worked a chess game and he tried to keep all figures alive and together Agent Michaels fed him with possibilities. Maybe they would believe him? However, he wasn't even sure anymore what they really wanted to know.

Check, he thought unsure if that was an appropriate thought.

However when the door slide open he felt like Michaels had just said 'check-mate' and he swallowed hard when he looked at Victoria.

Instantly he lowered his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly and stepped in.

Cody was unsure if he wanted her gone or not. He was just awfully reminded that Jeff's information came from her file. When they brought him here he thought Victoria would be a good chance for him but he was no longer sure. Carefully he lifted his eyes and stared at her. He noticed that her hair wasn't red anymore. It was darker. He bit his lip knowing that he should have called her back.

"I'm not here to test you, Cody," she said and lowered herself in front of his chair. "I'm here to help you."

Cody turned his head away, trying not to sob when he said, "You…can't."

"I might; you just have to trust me. Do you trust me?"

All he wanted was to go home. He wanted this to be over but he couldn't do anything. He was trapped and as long as Beth…

"How is Beth?" He suddenly asked and she gave him a surprised look.

"She's in critical condition," Victoria answered honestly.

A shadow washed over his face and he wiped his wet cheeks with his sleeve, "I never meant to hurt her. He was wrong about me."

"What did he say about you?" Victoria asked softly

Cody shook his head and shrugged. Carefully Victoria reached into her pocket, pulled out a Rubik cube, and smiled. He made a face but almost laughed.

"That's stupid," he said, taking it into his heads.

"Well, it has worked before," she replied watching him as he calmed down. Focusing on one simple task made him relax slightly.

"You wanna tell me what he said?"

"He said I had it in me and that she would be the perfect victim," his voice was now mellow and steady. Almost in trance he kept talking: "He was right. She would have been because she's everything I hate. But I didn't want to hurt her. I know what I felt for her wasn't right but I never wanted to take her life."

Victoria inhaled deeply and listened, watching his hands carefully turning and moving the coloured quarters.

"I don't hate you. Maybe I do. I don't fucking know. You bitches drive me crazy," he snarled and went one with a monotone voice: "But you know what? I've got them all saved up in here," he pointed at his head and his voice cracked.

"Every night they're there. Why the fuck would I add one more to them. I've got twenty-one chicks tormenting me already. I can remember all of them. I remember their names, their houses; I remember how they fucking smelled. I know I'm fucked up. I know that. Hell, I know that I'm crazy but I didn't kill her. I let him do things to me…that I'm not proud of and I liked it. But I know the difference between right and wrong. Stop looking at me like I don't know that. I have so many thoughts in my mind that my head aches like hell but I know what I did. Just don't let her die. I don't want her dead!"

With that he'd said enough. Victoria knew the slightly distanced facial impression and she watched him focusing every thought onto the one thing that seemed to have a logical solution. It had always been an affective tool and but she wasn't sure if that would be enough. As much as she wanted to believe every word she couldn't.

It wasn't as easy as that and Cody knew that.

Somewhere far away from the city almost in the desert Jeff was faced with a different task of his own.

They've got him. Red and blue lights reflected from his mirror and he let out a growl, thinking about his options. After taking another good look in the mirror, he decided that he would not run. He wasn't afraid when he stopped his car.

He was rather amused. It bothered him that he got caught but then again why not. That boy had distracted him and so he'd made a mistake. Of course, he had to face the consequences of his actions because there are always consequences. He sat silently in the car and waited for them to arrive.

A loud voice told him to get out of the car with his hands above his head and he pictured smashing that guy's skull onto the concrete. Jeff was not stupid and counted too many eager police officers and one thing was certain, he wasn't ready to die yet. He wondered about Cody when he complied and grinned.

His lips never lost that soft amusing smile all the way back to the city. They had read him his rights and stopped communication. Jeff knew they had orders because they couldn't make a mistake. A part of him wanted to state, 'Don't worry you've won,' but it somehow felt inappropriate.

They pushed him through an office and Jeff walked slowly without any sign of anxiety. His eyes sparkled when he spotted Cody. Two men were escorting the profiler out of the interrogation room and for a brief second their eyes locked.

Cody was the one who quickly lowered his eyes away. Jeff's smile widened and he leaned closer to the younger man. Before anyone could react, he breezed in one word that made Cody flinch, "BOO!"

Agent McMahon reacted, pulled the tattoo artist away by his arm, and roughly pushed him inside the room.

"Sit down," he growled and Jeff eyed him curiously.

"Sorry, Sir but it was just a little sweet gesture between two very close friends," Jeff replied cockily and leaned back into his seat.

The older Agent suppressed the urge to hit the suspect and calmed himself down. He wondered if they would get a confession or would be sucked into a game. McMahon decided for himself that he would see how far it would go and took a seat.

"I guess this is a non-smoking room." Jeff asked almost bored.

"Actually you know what? Fuck that. I'm having one myself," McMahon gestured the guard to un-cuff the suspect and threw a pack of Marlboro Lights and lighter to him.

"So are you the bad or the good cop," Jeff asked sarcastically and exhaled the smoke.

"I don't think you believe in that. I guess you just want to play but I'm telling you eventually we'll get your ass," McMahon growled confidently.

"Uh, I have no doubt you will. I'm not denying what I did. However, I'm wondering about the young profiler? It would be interesting to hear his defence regarding a certain reporter…" Jeff said in a low voice and a triumph smirk on his face.

"I don't think that your testimony would be believed anyway," McMahon conquered casually.

"You're right," the tattoo artist moved slightly and flicked the ash from his cigarette:

"For what it's worth he did it. Of course he did. Did you doubt it? I bet not. It was bound to happen and you want to know the saddest part? It's all your fault. The FBI fucked him up from the moment they took his daddy away."

"Shut up," McMahon shouted and cursed himself for losing it like that. Why the hell was he even listening to this person? Because he's got a point, he thought tiredly and calmed himself.

"You're not here because of Agent Rhodes," he said and moved up when he saw a guard opening the door.

"Sir, we have a problem," Officer Jericho said and McMahon turned around staring into Jeff's smiling face.

McMahon stepped outside and saw Agents Michaels and Neidhart with concerned and surprised looks.

"What's wrong?"

Nattie Neidhart nodded her head into a direction and said, "Well, you know that the suspect had successfully forged all entries about himself?"

"Yes but I thought due to the school files you were able to filter the lost files out."

"Exactly and I presume you know who that is?"

McMahon squeezed his eyes to get a better look at the older man standing on a desk in the office. He seemed agitated and somewhat familiar.

"I'll be damned."

"Charles F. Hardy also known as Judge Hardy," Agent Neidhart said in a low voice.

"I seriously hope we didn't mess anything up and I suggest we double check all of the evidence," Agent McMahon said and his co-workers nodded.

While Jeff's father had arrived at the Headquarters, Cody was taken to a small cell. Victoria went with him and tried to reach him again. Before she left, still uncertain about what to believe, Cody said one more thing.

"Tell them to ask him about his first victim."

"The first victim on campus?"

"No, Robert wasn't the first. Ask him about the first. Robert was just a random frat boy he wasn't the perfect first victim. I think that he killed before. The first time was personal, the follow-ups just remakes of the main event. It was his brother. I'm sure he killed his brother," Cody said quietly and focused back on the Rubik cube in his hand.

He seemed almost happy for a moment because he had found another piece of the puzzle. When they turned out the lights he was still awake and even in the darkness he played around with the devise because it kept him from falling asleep. He was too scared of his dreams.

Thanks to my lovely reviewers: Twin T (love yooooou!!), Animal Luvr 4 Life, Dark Kaneanite and wrestlefan4

Seeing as I'm in an exceptionally good mood today, I thought I'd post 3 chapters :- )

What did Jeff's brother do to him to make him so... murderous? You'll have to read chapter 11 to find out! :-D

Loves ya!

Angel
xxx