Yani: Sorry for the wait guys, I've been busy and sick lately. I hope you've been enjoying the story. Please, please, please leave reviews! Enjoy:

Chapter 7

Danny leaned back in his seat. The cool night air blew into his face. He and Foyet were in a car driving…somewhere. He hadn't really questioned where, considering he had just murdered someone, and didn't want to get caught at the scene. They had been driving for several hours now.

Foyet turned to Danny.

"There's blood on your sweatshirt."

"I know." Said Danny. "It's a white sweatshirt, so I can bleach it later."

"If we get pulled over there is no later. Take it off."

"I-I can't."

"Take it off." He growled.

"I…fine." Danny pulled off the sweatshirt. He was wearing a short sleeve tee shirt, which let his arms show. Foyet stared.

"How'd you get that scar, Danny-boy?" asked Foyet, the tone of his voice changing from full of malice, to velvety interest. Danny grimaced. The long scar on his left arm was his biggest insecurity.

"When I was ten," he began. "I was living in a boy's home. I got into a fight with a boy named Tommy Frier. He took a knife and cut open my arm. I cut up his face, but not so bad. No one was home at the time, so we lied and didn't tell anyone how our injuries happened. The person in charge of me refused to take me to a hospital or a doctor, so I looked up how to stitch up my arm and did it myself. A few months later we both left the place, and I went and tracked Tommy down, and… I killed him." He laughed nervously.

It was odd to discuss killing someone out loud. Come to think of it, he'd never done it before. The more he thought about it, the more absurd he realized it was. And the more absurd he realized it was, the more it dawned on him that he was crazy. He was actually crazy. He had killed five people. Five. And he felt nothing…nothing. No remorse…none at all. But, what did that mean? Actually, he thought he knew what it meant. He was a textbook psychopath. He was sick, and the irony of it was he was only realizing it now. Foyet broke his thoughts.

"Those are some impressive stitches for someone who never went to medical school, kid. How did you manage to do that?" Danny looked up.

"I-I don't know." He said. "I don't really like to talk about my arm."

"Don't worry about it. Look." Said Foyet. He lifted up his shirt. There were tons of scars running up and down the flesh of his stomach.

"Whoa." Said Danny. "How did you get those?" Foyet smiled.

"I did them to myself. That's how I the feds off my case."

"Genius." Said Danny. Foyet grinned broadly. "Can I ask where we're going?"

"Confidential."

"Oh."

"But," said Foyet. "If you casually turn your head behind you, you'll see that we're being followed." Danny looked behind him.

"I don't see anything and how did they find us?"

"You don't see anything because you're not supposed to. I have no clue how they found us." Danny turned to look behind him again.

"Hey!" said Foyet. "Stop looking. Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to jump out of the car."

"W-what?"

"Just listen. I need you to jump out of this car. Then, the agents in the car following us are going to bring you into custody because they suspect you of the murders."
"How do you know that?"

"Because I bugged the crime scene!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now shut up and listen to me." Danny fell silent. "We're only a 20 minutes away from Quantico, and I can take this exit coming up and get away if you distract them."

"Why would I let them take me into custody and why would I willingly jump out of a moving car?" hissed Danny.

"Because you don't have a choice." Said Foyet as he picked up Danny and threw him out the passenger seat. It happened so quickly that Danny barely registered what had happened. He went flying and hit the ground hard. The car behind him screeched to a stop and he heard someone get out and say,

"FBI!"

As far as he could tell he wasn't hurt. Even his bad arm only ached a little. He looked up to see a man with a shiny bald head pointing a gun straight at him. A woman with brown hair emerged from the car. She too, pointed a gun at him, as the bald, black man handcuffed him.

"You are under arrest for five counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be held against you…" as the man continued to tell Danny his rights, Danny's vision blurred, and then everything went black.