โโDeviant Behavior, Criminal Minds: An Introduction to Criminal Psychology, Eighth Edition.โ Bleary-eyed and only half awake, I lookedโ
from the textbook sitting on the kitchen table to Dean, then back again. โSeriously?โ I said. โAgent Sterling wants us to read an introductory textbook?โ
After the night Lia, Michael, and I had had, my head was pounding, and all my body really wanted was to go back to bed.
Dean shrugged. โWeโve been assigned chapters one through four.โ He paused, his eyes drinking in my appearance. โYou okay?โ
No,ย I thought.ย Iโm sleep-deprived, and I canโt tell you why.
โIโm fine,โ I insisted. I could see Dean piecing his way through the dozens of ways that I was just a shade off this morning. โI just canโt believe Agent Sterlingโs idea of training us isโฆthis,โ I added, gesturing toward the textbook. From the moment Iโd joined the program, Iโd learned by doing.
Real cases. Real crime scene photos. Real victims.
But this textbook? Bryce and Derek and Clark had probably all read one just like it. There were probably little worksheets to go with it.
โMaybe it is a waste of time,โ Dean said, plucking the thought from my mind. โBut right now, Iโd rather waste our time than Sterlingโs.โ
Because Agent Sterling was hunting down Emersonโs killer.
I took the textbook from him and turned to chapter one. โโCriminal Psychology is the subset of psychology dedicated to explaining the personality types, motives, and cognitive structures associated with deviant behavior,โโ I read, โโparticularly that which causes mental or physical harm to others.โโ
Dean stared down at the page. His hair fell into his face. I kept reading, falling into a steady rhythm, my voice the only sound in the room.
โโChapter Four: Organized vs. Disorganized Offenders.โโ
Dean and I had taken a lengthy break for lunch, but my voice was still getting hoarse.
โMy turn,โ Dean said, taking the textbook from me. โIf you read another chapter, youโre going to be miming things by the end.โ
โThat could get ugly,โ I replied. โIโve never been very good at charades.โ โWhy do I get the feeling thereโs a story there?โ Deanโs lips twisted into
a subtle smile.
I shuddered. โLetโs just say that family game night is a competitive affair, and Iโm also pretty dismal at Pictionary.โ
โFrom where Iโm sitting, thatโs not exactly a character flaw.โ Dean leaned back in his chair. For the first time since weโd seen the body on the news, he looked almost relaxed. His arms dangled loosely by his sides. His chest rose and fell slightly with each breath. His hair still fell into his face, but there was almost no visible tension in his shoulders, his neck.
โDid someone say character flaw?โ Michael sauntered into the room. โI believe that might be one of my middle names.โ
I glanced back down at the textbook, trying to pretend that Iย hadnโtย just been staring at Dean.
โMiddle names, plural?โ I asked.
Michael inclined his head slightly. โMichael Alexander Thomasย Character Flawย Townsend.โ He shot me a lazy smile. โIt has a certain ring to it, donโt you think?โ
โWeโre working,โ Dean told him flatly.
โDonโt mind me,โ Michael said, waving a hand in our general direction. โIโm just making a sandwich.โ
Michael was never โjustโ anything. He might have wanted a sandwich, but he was also enjoying irritating Dean.ย And,ย I thought,ย he doesnโt want to leave the two of us in here alone.
โSo,โ I said, turning back to Dean and trying to pretend thisย wasnโt
awkward. โChapter four. You want to take over reading?โ
Dean glanced over at Michael, who seemed amused by the entire situation. โWhat if we didnโt read it?โ Dean asked me.
โBut itโs ourย homework,โ I said, adopting a scandalized expression. โYeah, I knowโIโm the one who talked you into reading it in the first
place.โ Dean ran his fingertip along the edge of the book. โBut I can tell you what itโs going to say.โ
Dean had been here five years, and this textbook was Profiling 101. โOkay,โ I said. โWhy donโt you give me the abbreviated version? Teach
me.โ
There was a time when Dean would have refused.
โOkay,โ he said, staring at me from across the table. โDisorganized killers are loners. Theyโre the ones who never quite fit in. Poor social skills, a lot of pent-up anger.โ
At the wordย anger, my eyes darted involuntarily toward Michaelโs.
Never fit in. Poor social skills.ย I could tell from the look on Michaelโs face that I wasnโt the only one thinking that sounded like a bare-bones description of Clark.
Dean paused. I forced my eyes forward and willed Dean not to think too hard about why it was that hearing a few words about disorganized killers had led to something unspoken passing between Michael and me.
โIn their day-to-day lives, disorganized killers are generally seen as antisocial and inept,โ Dean continued after a long moment. โPeople donโt like them, but theyโre not scared of them, either. If the disorganized killer has a job, itโs likely to be low-paying and low on respect. Disorganized killers may behave like adolescents well into adulthood; itโs statistically likely that they still live with one or more of their parents.โ
โSo whatโs the difference between a disorganized killer and a loser?โ Michael didnโt even bother to pretend he wasnโt eavesdropping.
โIf you were like Cassie and meโโDean stared Michael downโโyou wouldnโt have to ask.โ
Dead silence.
Dean had never admitted that the two of us were the same before. Heโd never believed it. Heโd certainly never said it to Michael.
โIs that so?โ Michaelโs eyes narrowed, a sharp contrast to the seemingly unruffled smile on his lips. I looked down at the table. Michael didnโt need to see the expression on my faceโthe one that said that Dean was right. Iย didnโtย have to ask Michaelโs question, because Iย didย instinctively know the answer. Being antisocial and angry and inept didnโt make someone a killer. Traits like those couldnโt tell us whether Clark had the potential for violence, or how much. The only thing they could tell us was whatย kindย of killer someoneย likeย Clark would be, if he ever crossed that line.
If Clark were a killer, heโd be a disorganized killer.
โOrganized killers can be charming.โ Dean swung his attention from Michael back to me. โTheyโre articulate, confident, and comfortable in most social situations.โ His hair fell into his face, but his gaze never moved from
mine. โThey tend to be intelligent, but narcissistic. They may be incapable of feeling fear.โ
I thought of Geoffrey with aย G, whoโd lectured me on the meaning of modus operandi and mentioned Emerson without a whiff of grief.
โOther people arenโt worthy of empathy to the organized killer, because other people areย less. To them, being average is the same as being disposable.โ
I absorbed Deanโs words, memorized them.
โWhatโs the life of one more person when the world is full of so many?โ Deanโs voice went flat as he posed the question, and I knew he was somewhere else. โOrganized killers feel no remorse.โ
Deanโs father was an organized killer,ย I thought. I reached across the table and placed my hand over Deanโs. He bowed his head, but kept talking. โOrganized killers plan things,โ he said, his voice low. โDisorganized killers, theyโre the ones who would do things on the spur of the moment.โ
โThey snap,โ I said softly, โor they give in to their impulses.โ
Dean leaned forward, his fingers curving around mine. โTheyโre more likely than organized killers to attack from behind.โ
โWeapon choice?โ I asked, my hand still intertwined with his. โWhatever they have in reach,โ Dean replied. โBlunt force trauma, a
nearby kitchen knife, their own hands. The entire crime scene reflects a loss of control.โ
โBut for organized killers,โ I said, my eyes on him, โitโs all about control.โ
Dean held my gaze. โOrganized killers stalk their victims. They often target strangers. Every move they make is calculated, premeditated, and in service of a particular goal. Theyโre methodical.โ
โHarder to catch,โ I supplied.
โThey like that theyโre harder to catch,โ Dean returned. โKilling is only part of the pleasure. Getting away with it is the rest.โ
Everything Dean said made sense to meโincredible, intuitive sense, like he was reminding me of something Iโd always known, rather than teaching me something new.
โYou okay?โ he asked me.
I nodded. โIโm fine.โ I glanced over at the kitchen counter, where Michael had been making his sandwich. He was gone. At some point during my back-and-forth with Dean, Michael had taken off.
I glanced down at the table. Dean slowly unfurled his hand from mine. โDean?โ I said. My voice was soft, but cut through the room. I could still
feel the exact place where his skin had touched mine. โOrganized killers, theyโre the ones who take trophies, arenโt they?โ
Dean nodded. โTrophies help them relive their kills. Itโs how they sate their desire to kill in between victims.โ
โLocke took a tube of lipstick from every woman she killed.โ I couldnโt keep from saying those words out loud.ย Narcissistic. Controlled.ย It fit.
โMy father was an organized killer.โ There was an intensity to Dean when he spoke about his father. This was the second time heโd opened up to me, tit for tat. โHe said that as a child, people knew there was something wrong with him, but for as long as I could remember, he was well-liked. He planned things meticulously. He never deviated from the script. He dominated the women he targeted. He controlled them.โ Dean paused. โHeโs never once showed remorse.โ
I heard the front door open and shut. I thought it might be Michael, getting out of the house and away from us, but then I heard footsteps coming our wayโtwo sets, one heavier than the other.
Sterling and Briggs were back.
They appeared in the doorway just as Dean closed the textbook on the table in front of us.
โCassie, can we talk to Dean alone for a minute?โ Agent Briggs straightened his tie. This particular gesture, from this particular man, set off alarm bells in my mind. The tie was something Briggs only wore when he was on duty. Straightening it was an affirmation of sorts. Whatever he wanted to talk to Dean about, it wasย just business.
I trusted Briggs less when business was involved.
โShe can stay,โ Dean told Briggs. His words fell on the room like a thunderclap. For as long as Iโd known Dean, heโd been pushing me away.ย Aloneย was the name of his game.
I caught his eye.ย Are you sure?ย I asked him silently.
Dean ran the heels of his hands over the fronts of his jean-clad thighs. โStay,โ he told me.ย Dean wants me here.ย He turned back to Briggs. โWhat do you need?โ
Agent Sterling stiffened, her lips pressed into a grim line.
โThe person who killed Emerson Cole is obsessed with your father,โ Briggs said, ignoring the expression on his ex-wifeโs face. โThereโs a very real chance the UNSUB has written to him.โ
โAnd let me guess,โ Dean interjected. โDear old dad destroys the letters once he gets them. Theyโre all up here.โ Dean tapped a finger to the side of his head.
โHeโs agreed to assist us,โ Briggs said. โBut only on one condition.โ
The tension was back in Deanโs shoulders, his neck. Every muscle in his body was strung tight.
โYou donโt have to do anything you donโt want to do,โ Agent Sterling cut in.
โI know what the condition is.โ Deanโs eyes burned with an emotion I couldnโt identify: not quite hatred, not quite fear. โMy father wonโt tellย you
anything. The only person heโll talk to is me.โ
YOU
Daniel Redding is one of the greats. Infamous. Ingenious. Immortal. You chose him for a reason. When a man like Redding speaks, people listen. When Redding wants someone dead, they die. He is everything you want to be. Powerful. Sure of himself. And always, always in control.
โYou were sloppy. Stupid. Lucky.โ You banish the voice and run your fingers along the edges of a photograph of Emerson Cole standing next to a tree. Proof that for a moment, you were powerful. Sure of yourself. In control.
Just. Like. Him.
Daniel Redding is not your hero. Heโs your god. And if you keep going down this path, you will slowly remake yourself in his image. The rest of the world will be as insignificant and powerless as ants. The police. The FBI. Youโll crush them under steel-toed boots.
What will be will beโin time.