* * *

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde

* * *

Later on that day, Reid was riding silently in the back seat of an unmarked car with a Deputy Turner as their guide. Accompanying Reid, Hotch was sitting in the front seat of the vehicle, making Reid feel strangely like a little kid. But not in a good way. Staring out the window and watching the trees and the road flash by, his scowl deepened. Would no one in this bureau learn that he wasn't a kid anymore? Of course the rational part of his brain told him that there simply wasn't enough room in the front for him, and the very fact that he was getting upset because of that fact was childish. But then again, rationality rarely overcame strong emotions, as Reid also knew.

They were on their way to Merryl's apartment, Gideon and Prentiss were on their way to the courthouse where Judge Carlos took his cases to look for records of different cases, and Morgan and J.J. were still at the police station, setting up a press conference and a tip line for any witnesses there might have been for the murders. With a small yawn, Reid wondered absentmindedly if this Merryl had a coffee machine, just seconds before the car turned into a parking lot and stopped. Deputy Turner turned around and said with a heavy southern drawl to the two agents,

"Here's where ya'll get off. I'll be in the parkin' lot once yer ready to saddle up 'nd hit the road again."

With a nod and a "Thank you," Hotch exited the car, and so Reid did the same, shoving his hands into his pockets instantly as soon as he shut the car door and watched the Deputy start looking for a parking place. Then Hotch turned around and motioned for Reid to follow him as he then started toward apartment 28B.

As if Reid didn't already know where Hotch was going or when to start moving. Again, he was treating him like a child…! While Reid's mind was at war with itself, half his mind screaming in frustration at being treated like a child, the other half fighting a losing battle of logic, both of the agents came all too quickly to the apartment door marked 28B. Hotch raised his hand, balled it into a fist, and rapped on the door, then backed up slightly so the woman inside would be able to see him clearly from the peep-hole fixed in the center of the wood.

It took a few minutes before the door finally opened, but even then it didn't open all the way. Hotch noticed that there was a chain running from either side of the small crack, and a woman's head popped around the corner, stuttering out a soft,

"H-hello…? Wh-who's there…?"

Hotch then flipped open his credentials, saying softly to the woman, so as to not scare her,

"FBI, ma'am. Do you think we could come in? We have a few questions for you."

And trying his hardest not to narrow his eyes, Reid noticed how even though he, too, was holding up credentials, was being left behind. Sure, maybe not in a physical sense, but he could see the way Hotch was shielding Reid's body halfway with his own, as if the woman might have a gun on her, and the way Hotch was leaning forward as he spoke, commanding attention to himself. Reid was nothing to him; to anyone, for that matter.

And with a quick shake of his head that was barely seen by either of them, Reid tried to control his thoughts. Hotch didn't mean anything by it; it was natural for a leader of an FBI team to take charge of a situation, and protect his own in potentially dangerous situations.

But while Reid was busy arguing with himself, he completely missed the fact that Hotch was gaining the housemaid's trust until the door shut, and opened two seconds later, swinging wide to reveal a small, brown haired woman watching them with red-rimmed, wild green eyes. She was wearing a light purple tee-shirt and black slacks with nothing on her feet. And then Hotch and Reid stepped through the door, Reid's brain -finally- going into full investigation mode.

There were a few magazines here and there, but they were the kind that were really expensive; and judging from the rest of the house, what was in the magazines symbolized what she wished she could have. The carpet was a light brown; it wouldn't show that much dirt if she had to skip her own house cleaning every few days. There was a lone bookshelf filled with books on law firms and legal practices, and Reid wondered if she wasn't aspiring to become a lawyer herself or something. It was the pictures on top of the bookshelf, however, that caught his attention the most. They were in full view of the light brown couch on the opposite side of the room, and from the covers and books and the TV remote on the couch, Reid figured she spent most of the last few days there.

Turning back to the pictures, Reid looked a little closer at them. There were pictures of little boys and a girl, all with dirty blonde hair and green eyes, a man with dark brown hair and blue eyes, and a teenaged girl with dark brown hair and green eyes. But none of the people in the pictures looked like Merryl. Turning back to Hotch, Reid caught the last of his conversation with her.

"And you have no clue who might want to hurt the Judge…?"

"None… none at all, he was a good man I tell you…! He never willingly did harm to anyone…"

"Willingly…?" Reid questioned.

It took Merryl a few moments of looking at the ground before saying in a very small voice,

"He… always made rulings on what he thought was right. And most of the times, I'd agree, even though it wasn't my opinion to have. But sometimes… well, he'd make judgments without enough information and end up ruling for someone bad instead. It never happened that often but… he was a good man… he never meant any harm by it."

"Was your case one of those times that he ruled for someone bad, Merryl…?" Hotch asked softly, trying to make eye contact with her.

Her head snapped up, a look of horror on her face as she stared into Hotch's eyes, saying a bit louder than before,

"You think I had something to do with his death? I had to stand there and watch him die! I had to stand by, waiting for those stupid paramedics to come screaming to the house after it was too late! I had to watch those eyes that I'd worked for and known for so long glaze over and lose their life! You really think I'd be able to kill him like that?!?"

There were tears filling her eyes, and it was making both Reid and Hotch doubt that they'd found their UnSub. So instead, Hotch shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small paper card and handing it to Merryl, who slowly reached out after a few seconds to take it from him.

"If you have any more information for us, if you remember anything or anyone who might have had a grudge against him, don't hesitate to call that number. You'll be patched through to my cell."

A small nod from Merryl, and Hotch glanced back at Reid, nodding toward the door.

"We're done here, Reid. Let's go."

And Reid was fighting to narrow his eyes again. Every single time…!

* * *

Once again, Reid was sitting in the back seat, looking out the window with a sullen look on his face, fighting an inner battle. Rationally, -always rationally- Reid knew that nothing was different these past few weeks. No one was acting any different to him than they always did; but for some reason that was still unknown to him at this time, his mind was almost seeking these things out, and noticing with full force everything that his teammates did that made him seem small and childish compared to them.

Reid also knew he had to focus, otherwise he'd be no more help than a real child. Suddenly, Hotch's voice rang out in the vehicle, startling Reid out of his thoughts.

"Reid, we're going to need that head of yours again. Gideon and Prentiss found several case files that went through all three victims, and they're having a hard time going through them by themselves. We're heading over there right now."

Mumbling a,

"Yeah, alright," Reid kept his gaze out the window.

He had to do something to stop this feeling before it disrupted his work, and his friendships with his teammates.

* * *

"The irrationality of a thing is not an argument of its existence, rather, a condition of it." - Friedrich Nietzsche

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A/N : Sorry about the wait, but I've had lots of different things to do. Also, I'm sorry if this is a little short and all, but I was having problems concentrating. I'll try to make the next few chapters a bit more interesting, so please continue to stick with me. Thanks for reading another chapter. - Lyon