C H A P T E R  1 8 :

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Jamie had the pleasure of interviewing Patrick. Boy do I hate this guy, she thought adjusting her glasses. Her mind wavered to all the girls he had slain—that was horrible too—but then she would remember those small four legged animals as she stepped into the hospital room.

He had been no easy catch, but after a carefully worded phone call with Gaspard, it didn't take long for her to trace his location. The fat, pockmarked man laid underneath a spotted hospital gown, sheet, and handcuffed to the bed's railing. His head was wrapped, smothering what thinning hair he had left. Jamie almost wanted to smile at his poor sight. She had played a pretty hefty part in his capture.

Dragging a metal foldable chair closer, she adjusted her glasses once more. The black rims had been deemed 'geek' and nerdy by fellow members on the team, framed her face, and brought out her judgmental pair of eyes. She sat stiffly staring at him. Not blinking. Hardly breathing. He made her sick. And Gaspard knew this, and of course he was listening, there was a camera installed in the corner of this particular room.

"How are you Patrick?" Jamie forced a sweet voice. Silence. "Are you comfortable?" Silence. Her eyes wandered to the tray that was just out of reach. She motioned towards the styrofoam cup and bendy straw. "Are you thirsty?"

"I'm not gonna talk to you," Patrick said.

"Well you're going to have to." She adjusted herself in the metal chair, crossing one leg over the other. The clock ticked on, audible in the silence. She'd never taken this step before, speaking to killers. She was so used to dealing with the victims and staring at results on a computer screen ... but now ... now she was nervous. Gaspard was just outside that door listening and watching. She didn't want to disappoint and decided a different approach. "First of all, awesome job. I'm very impressed. I saw your artwork, the girls at the dorm. How much planning did all of that take? Seriously, you're doing a great job."

Her heap of compliments made one side of Patrick's mouth twist upward in a smile. "I prefer fire. I'm not real good at knives, but she says knives make statements."

"She, you mean Kate?"

He nodded. "I've been practicing getting better, just for her, but I still prefer fire."

Jamie managed a small nod. Her stomach churned at his mention of practice. Those dogs ... the countless trash bags stuffed full. She swallowed a mouthful of vomit. Focus. Breathe. Focus. She cleared her throat softly, nervously adjusting her glasses. "Both definitely make a statement."

"I want to see Kate." He pulled at his restrained wrist.

"And she wants to see you too."

"She's gonna write my chapter." Patrick grinned like a child.

Jamie hesitantly glanced to the camera at the ceiling. "Tell me more."

His brows furrowed together. "How do I know you're not lying? What if I tell you stuff and you don't let me see her?"

"I say what I mean, and I mean what I say."

"What if I tell you stuff and you don't like the stuff I tell you? Do I still get to see her?"

"Just talk to me, Patrick." She said calmly through clenched teeth, "I'll let you see Kate." Silence. "So tell me about your chapter, tell me about your house, or maybe how you met Kate?"

Patrick stared at her, his double chin resting on his chest. It seemed rather odd that a man of this size could be as swift as the man that murdered those college students. Jaime wouldn't meet his eyes for long and dropped to his cuffed hand. There was a mark on his forearm. A scar. Not too fresh, but not fully faded. She motioned to it.

"What gave you that on your arm?"

He moved his arm, the cuffs clinked. "Oh, this? One of those stupid mutts got a bite in."

Jamie had to rub a hand over her mouth to suppress a smile.

"You know it weren't hard getting them, the mutts." Patrick shifted in the hospital bed.

"I saw the trophies. The lost dog flyers."

He smiled in what seemed to be remembrance.

"Is Kate going to include the 'stupid mutts' in your chapter too?"

That made him angry. He jolted forward in his bed, the handcuff stopping him short of moving any closer to the femaleagent, his voice rising and spit flying. "My chapter will be about revenge. I will be the hero in my chapter."

More like sidekick—Jamie wiped at the scattered spit on her cheeks, standing from her seat. "You won't be the hero if you don't help me Patrick." She could see the conflict flash in his eyes. He wanted to be the hero so damn bad, now only if he were easy to convince. "Do you want to know how?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me where Logan is."

"I don't know where the kid is."

Jamie shook her head, "Oh come on, Patrick. You want to be the hero don't you? Think. Where is Logan?"

His un-cuffed hand stroked the cold fabric sheet over his stomach in thought. She watched him. Gaspard watched him. Other uniformed men watched him. Gaspard in particular stood at the camera monitors hovering over the worker's shoulder.

"Can you zoom in?" He asked, gesturing toward Patrick's fidgety hands.

The worker nodded. Slowly the camera zoomed in, panning left. In black ink there were scribbles on the underside of Patrick's wrist. It looked like numbers or words, something a child might do before a test.

"What is that?"

The worker only shrugged.

Gaspard squinted and lowered his face closer to the screen. Patrick kept moving his hand only allowing glimpses to be read : 36.5610° N , 88.0412° W

"And no one saw those?" He raised his voice to no one by name but he blamed them all — all who were working the case. He stopped at the metal hospital room door tapping lightly twice. That was the signal for Jamie to step out. She must have been running because she darted out within mere seconds.

"Am I done?" She blurted out, adjusting her glasses again.

"For now." He closed the door. "We found something, something on his wrist. Looks like numbers, coordinates ... maybe this guy is a note taker ..."

Jamie looked at him blankly trying to wrap her mind around it. "Wait. Wait. You think this guy is stupid enough to do that?"

"He says he doesn't want to tell us anything, but maybe subconsciously he does—"

"That's ridiculous."

"It's worth a shot."

Jamie could see the hope in the tired eyes of Gaspard, but there was a small light of energy and she knew he would do anything to get the little boy back. Maybe her new teammate wasn't too twisted in the head after all. Maybe he could think on his own and maybe Kate wouldn't win this time.

"Okay. Okay, let's go find Logan." 

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Hours after the Agents had cleared out Patrick was left with a hefty old security guard, named Gary, who sipped on a coffee. Gary sat outside the metal door counting down the minutes to the next shift change. He just wanted to go home and catch the latest episode of Shark Tank, but he was stuck here watching some criminal. 

That criminal sat stiffly in his hospital bed. Patrick tugged at the handcuff uselessly. There was no point anymore, they had lied and cheated him into talking. He wasn't going to get his chapter now and he only wanted to see Kate's lovely face and hear her soothing voice. But, maybe he could see her in another form ... 

Pondering his actions he looked towards the door that hadn't opened in hours. Now was the time. Reaching up with his free hand he started to un-peel the head bandages. They were sticky and tugged on his skin and uprooted pieces of hair. He grumbled curses until finally all the bandage had been pulled free. Bunching it up in a thick pile he then started to stuff it into his mouth. It tasted funny, almost tangy. 

His pudgy fingers shoved it down further hindering his gag reflex. He swallow purposefully forcing the bandage down his narrow throat. Every part of his body revolted and instinctively fought to breathe, yet he kept pushing the white bandage down his throat and slowly, very slowly, Patrick suffocated to death.