Jemma stared blankly at the ceiling; her patience was running thin. Dunway had sent in one of the other officers to bring her a cup of stagnant water. Though she was parched, she'd given Officer Snow a glare, raised her hand, and slapped the cup off the table. She wasn't a criminal - therefore, she'd be damned if they treated her like one. Sure, she'd gotten into trouble at school, but nothing more than a few fights and skipping classes. She was nothing like the jocks at the public institute. She didn't torture those deemed lower than her. No, instead, she fought those who preyed on the nerds and outcasts. If she hadn't stood up against the abuse, she most likely would have been more popular amongst the population. She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool metal of the table. When would this be over?

·····

"Hotch, let me go in and talk to her. She's categorising you and Dunway together. She sees you both as dominant, forceful, unbending. Maybe if she talks to someone less threatening, then she'll open up."

Aaron couldn't argue with the youngest agent's logic. "Alright. Morgan and Prentiss are on their way back with information from the latest scene."

Reid nodded, opened the door, and watched as her eyes trained on him immediately. He felt her scrutiny even while he shut the metal door behind him with a decisive click. She hadn't moved more than her eyes, but he was unnerved. How did someone have that forceful of an effect on another without seeming to work very hard at it? Especially someone who was claiming to not be a cold-blooded killer.

"Jemma, we're trying to help you, you know that, right?"

"Save the routine," she snorted, "because it's not going to work. You think that just because I won't talk to the men in uniform out there, I'll actually talk to a kid who looks like a well-dressed university student?"

"Did you murder Tamyra?"

"Nope."

"Do you know who would want to?"

"Nope."

"Do you even care?'

"Nope. Look, the bitch made my life miserable. I hated her. But last I checked, that wasn't a crime to hate someone."

"It could be construed as motive."

"Like I said to Mr. Statue out there, I would never, in a million years, waste my freedom on taking her life. We had a deal the last time we saw each other, before the party: She stays out of my way, I stay out of hers. We didn't know we'd both be at the bonfire, but we were. I kept to one side of the clearing; she stayed on hers. Next thing I know, I was in a hospital bed with a major headache, which hasn't gone away yet, by the way. Is there any possibility that you could get me something to take away the pain? Please?"

"One last question, and I will. What happened to the others who were there?"

She shook her head and brushed away the tears that had arrived. "They left me. I followed a bunch of people, including Parker - my date , but…they all just shut and locked the doors, and took off. I didn't know what to do, so I checked on Tamyra, to see if maybe there was a chance she hadn't been…you know…but she was…dead, so I took off toward the path in the woods that lead directly to my house. Then, somebody grabbed me from behind, and I tried fightin' him, I really did, but he was stronger, and he hit me with somethin', and then…it all went black. Now I'm here, accused of murdering a girl who hated me and I hated but would never kill. Not for anything."

"With what hand are you most dominant?"

"What?"

"What hand do you use most?"

"I'm right-handed. My left hand ain't near as useful, except when driving."

With that, he left the room and hurried away from the others gathered in the observation room. He mindlessly told someone to give the girl something to ease the pain in her head. A steady stare into her blue eyes had shown no signs of guilt, nothing but anger and honesty - and could that be grief hidden behind the other emotions? Spencer Reid knew without a doubt, that this young woman could not have killed Tamyra Wilson. Jemma Marison had simply been a pawn in a cruel, twisted game.

·····

Hotch had seen the look in Reid's eyes. He sighed and answered his ringing phone. "Hotchner."

"Hey, Hotch. The press is getting antsy. Do we have anything to tell them?"

"No, not yet. Our only lead is no longer a suspect."

"Damn," the woman on the other end of the line swore, before exhaling deeply into the phone. "Alright. I'll find a way to keep them at bay. And Hotch? I know you know this already, but we need to hurry. This is going to get out of control. The press here will do anything to sell."

"I know."

And he did. He knew that with a ferocious certainty, just as well as he had no doubt that this unsub would devolve. Fast.