Gaining Innocence

Sick (CH:26)

CHAPTER 26:

With two fingers of whiskey in one hand, the other was used to snap one of the crime photographs scattered on the coffee table. Eva Shannon's disfigured face stared at him into the still silent night. The bones protruded through the muscle tissues. Red and sticky. Preserved and untouched. Apparently, its intensity might stain his fingers red when he traced the bright image. He didn't, obviously. It was just a photo.

Will tossed the photo back onto the wooden slab. The image of Shannon rejoined the multitude of blood snapshots, some of them thrown to the ground by the impact, the papers creaking.

He'd had enough of the wide-eyed dead.

Will leaned back on the sofa, a shot glass beside him, his limbs stretched out long and wide, and let out a pained sigh.

Jack was impatient. For some revelation, some clue, some higher power to guide and light the way to clear things up. Jack had none of this, but he did have Will. And fortunately for Jack, but unfortunately for Will, he was very good at his job.

It was as if he had been pushed into a dark and shabby alley and asked if he saw anything in the narrow path. The blind leading the stray. Sometimes Jack Crawford, the Head of BAU, the Guru, thought too much about him. Most would be flattered, not Will. It got old really fast. It was like when he was still an apprentice or an officer. One that was filled with disgruntled supervisor, long nights, and coffee with alcohol mixed somewhere in between.

Will realized then that there was not much difference. He snorted.

His pack slept soundly, warm and comfortable in their makeshift beds made up of thin mattresses and old blankets. For a moment, Will envied them, misplaced jealousy, for not being careful in the world. No need to worry about partnerships, jokes, plays. It must be nice to be a dog.

"Damn bastards," Will muttered fondly. Then he realized that he was talking to himself and that it was probably not a good habit to encourage, especially for someone like him.

He ran his eyes across the ceiling, feeling quite warm next to the heater. Add in with the little buzz of alcohol that was about to be pumped into your system, the combination would usually lead to you falling asleep lightly.

This is usually the keyword.

Resting would not be easy for Will, as at any other time when he had to present his postponed assignment to an agitated teacher. The psychiatrist's comment about procrastination rang loud and clear in his mind. However, it wasn't as if Will had delayed the matter on purpose.

Visiting Chris O'Halloran was unpleasant to put it lightly. And the brief reunion, if he could call that a reunion, had only twisted his insides into a knotted mess. The traumatized boy was almost incoherent the next time Will had seen him. Palma covering her ears, rocking from side to side, with a sudden scream and scream. Will did not need to have a medical license to know what was going on with the sole survivor (Will refused to include Herkus, he was not tainted by Eva Shannon) from the "Lost Boys". Unhinged, was what came to mind.

Or, according to the simplest and baddest words of children, the boy went crazy.

Chris O'Halloran was forced to skin his pseudo-mother's face. It would be abnormal if the child did well after the horrible experience.

Eva Shannon's fingers had trembled so much from shock and pain when she was skinning her own skin, which she kept doing anyway, before Chris took over her job. That explained why his torn face was messier than the other two. Not that a mutilated face was always orderly.

Did you have a wicked pleasure seeing your 'son' ripping his face off to be used in an art project?

He had seen Chris sew the furs onto the threadbare blanket using his hair. She watched until it was finished before settling herself and her 'children' at the dining room table. She had seen the 'Family Portrait'.