CM The future I see without you

"For example, for example, beauty." BlackJafferson thought for a while and said, "Beauty is a subjective feeling rather than an objective quality. It is different endowments of different subjects and different requirements of different perceptions. "

He held the boy in his arms and said softly: "So now you can't experience deeper emotions, and you can't understand those predictable pictures, because these things, such as beauty, are subjective and come from It depends on people's growth and education, rather than objective existence. From this perspective, your ability, of course, we have to admit that this is a precious gift from God, but it is not perfect."

"Perfect?"

"Yes, perfect." BlackJafferson said, "Did you read yesterday's book? Bruner..."

Before he finished speaking, the boy went on to say: "The process of human cognition is the process of connecting newly acquired information with the mental framework formed by previous learning to form his knowledge."

These complicated and esoteric words did not hinder the boy's understanding, he even explained in a low voice: "This is his most famous world model theory."

BlackJafferson rubbed the boy's head happily, messing up the hair that the nanny had done in the morning, but the boy seemed to enjoy the contact, he tilted his head slightly, his cheek resting on the young man's chest .

Black said: "Simply put, a person's learning about the world is, to some extent, comparing what he is currently experiencing with a learned pattern, and learning a lot from this pattern, so that he can Judging what will happen next time. Jacques, but this is the last point of your ability. You need to return to the original state. Only when your emotional response is zero can your perception continue to sharpen. Resting state Network activities can perceive the emotional fluctuations of every living body, and your ability can be called... perfect!"

"Then, will I stop having nightmares then?"

"Nightmare?" Black was a little annoyed at being forced to interrupt his reverie about the future, but he put on his smile again and asked, "What nightmare?"

The boy keenly felt that the man was angry, and he fell into silence again, refusing to speak no matter how much the man coaxed him.

"Okay," Black patted him on the back, children always have a sweet and glutinous aroma, he likes such a clean smell, and couldn't help but hugged the boy, saying, "Next time, what are you waiting for?" When you are willing to say, I will always be here."

The man hugged the boy, his eyes were gentle and full of hope, his tone was low but firm and almost as sincere as an oath, he said: "Jacques, I will always be here."

The boy blinked and nodded.

"Ding~" The clock on the wall rang on time.

The boy consciously climbed down from the man's lap, lay down obediently on the small recliner, closed his eyes, his long black eyelashes fluttering tremblingly, like a frightened butterfly.

Black turned on the tape recorder on the table, and immediately there was the sound of pattering rain in the narrow room. After a while, the sound of the rain subsided, leaving only the "tick, tick" sound of drops of water hitting the window. sound.

Black sat down on the chair next to the recliner, raised his legs habitually, put a thick black leather book on his lap, opened the latest page, carefully wrote the date in the upper right corner, and waited with peace of mind. With the boy into the state.

**

Jacques has a unique smell, I can't explain it, but Reid likes it very much.

On rainy nights, when Jacques is leaning against the head of the bed and playing the harmonica softly, he always likes to hold the young man in his arms, and keep the other hand for turning the pages of the book.

When the eyes were a little tired, Reid stopped, lowered his head, rubbed the top of the young man's furry head or took a deep breath on his neck, and let Jacques's charming and unique smell surround himself. The brain will slowly relax.

"It's like smoking marijuana." Although Jacques himself often complained about Reid's perverted behavior, if Reid wanted to come once, he would obediently come forward.

Sometimes, Reid would also be surprised, because he obviously used the same bath as Jacques, and he didn't have this smell on his body.

Jacques raised his arm and sniffed hard, then gave him a blank look and said, "Why didn't I smell anything?"

Reid wrapped his arms around his waist, pressed his chin against the curvature of the young man's collarbone, and said with a smile, "Because only I can smell the steroids on your body."

Jacques glanced at him and said, "Can't you just talk about androgens? Or, hormones?"

Reid doesn't speak, because as Hotch said, when people focus on one thing, they usually selectively forget the interference from the external environment.

Therefore, Reid, who is very familiar with the smell of Jacques, immediately discovered the scent of the young man's perfume.

Then, while Jacques was fast asleep, he found a lighter and a crumpled half-smoked Camel pack in his pocket.

Reid sighed, he carefully put the things back in place, the bedside lamp was still on with a warm light yellow light, the central air conditioner was quietly blowing a soft cold wind, Jacques moved uncomfortably, wrapped The duvet was turned over, revealing a back covered in purple bruises.

After going to the hospital for an examination last time, the doctor prescribed capsules to improve blood coagulation, but Jacques always quietly threw them away, as if these pills were not used to restore his health but to promote death.

The so-called smart pill box and those messy electrical appliances don't know where to throw it.

Reid put on a bathrobe, pulled the quilt for the young man, got out of bed, opened the door and went out.

The headlights in the living room were on, the coffee table was covered with scattered yellowed files, and the untouched laptop screen that Jacques had bought on the thick gray cashmere carpet was on. On it was Black Jafferson, who was in his twenties, his first The entrance photo I took when I went to Yale to report for the first time.

His appearance is a little immature, with a huge acne on the tip of his nose, and sunburn marks on his side face, he looks like a boy struggling to climb up from a slum, completely different from the arrogance of those high-ranking officials, rich men and ladies. .

The corners of the boy's Black mouth slightly raised, and his eyes were full of vigor.

Reid clicked the mouse, and the second photo slid down. It was a prison photo taken by Black Jafferson when he was expelled from the school and taken to the police station. At that time, the New Haven police department accused him of killing three freshmen, but he never heard of it. After finding the evidence, he had to be released after being held for a full 72 hours.

Three years later, Black's life seemed to be fast-forwarded. In the photo, he looked extremely decadent, with a shaggy beard and eyes filled with frustration and resentment.

Due to the pressure of the parents of those missing students and the bad influence at the time, the school decided to expel BlackJafferson.

This time exactly coincides with the time when his research was interrupted.

Reid frowned, he always felt that this person seemed familiar, as if he had seen those eyes somewhere before.

Doctors rarely have such doubts. Memory is infallible, but they just can't remember.

He leaned over and clicked on the social background folder, but most of the information in it was only about Black Jafferson's roommates in the dormitory or partners in the research institute, and there were only a few pieces of information about his parents.

He thought for a while, and began to look for the files transferred from the police station. He almost rummaged through the stack of paperwork on the floor and the coffee table, only to be sure that a lot of things were missing.

For example, Black Jafferson's activities after leaving school, or where did this person go after Jacques was rescued?

What about his thesis?What about his research results that almost caused public outrage?

Mueller had already let go of his authority on this person, but in fact, before that, there was another person who preemptively removed what could be called the most critical information.

Reid leaned on the soft sofa, tilted his head back, staring blankly at the small and exquisite crystal lamp in the living room. Jacques moved it here from nowhere. He said it was Lobmeyr, a crystal that Reid had never heard of. Lamp brand, a classic collection in 1850, each metal part is polished one by one by craftsmen.

But the reason why Reid agreed to let this lamp replace the previous fluorescent lamp is that Jacques inadvertently mentioned that the Vienna State Opera, the Russian Kremlin and many palaces in Europe are also using this brand of crystal lamps.

"Do you think that the author of the book you are reading now, or the characters in the history books you are reading, have written and lived under the same light as your head in the past 100 years, isn't it a great thing? Anything interesting?"

Reid corrected him seriously: "Light is not the same..."

"Of course I know... I mean feeling, feeling!"

Reid looked at Jacques' expectant face, thought about it according to his thoughts, and reluctantly agreed.

As a result, within a few days, the owner forgot what he said and started to move around another smart sensor lamp, but Reid fell in love with this small and complicated crystal lamp completely.

Crystal clear and sparkling, the perfect combination of light and shadow gave him the illusion of being in history.

This kind of blurred feeling makes it easy for people to forget the entanglement in their hearts, and it is easier to help think when the brain is empty.

Reid straightened up suddenly, he opened the FBI database installed by Garcia to enter the page, entered Mueller's passcode, and called up Jacques' file.

Black Jafferson, who lost his parents when he was young, was admitted to Yale with his own strength, and was expelled from the school when he was about to graduate. There are broken dreams.

This kind of over-deprived people has been in the experience of being hurt in their inner world, unable to build trust in others, so they regard the people around them as enemies, lock themselves in shackles, and become trapped animals.

Reid has seen too many such cases. The protagonists often choose to commit suicide because of others' incomprehension or eternal loneliness, or start endless killings to satisfy their huge inner emptiness.They may be relieved for a moment, but the end result is not happy.

But Black Jafferson is different, Reid thought, because he met Jacques and regarded Jacques, even when he was a child, as his confidant, as his own property, as sustenance or hope.

When Jacques was rescued by Rossi and Giden, the terrible inner defense mechanism first reflected the desire to control and possess possession.

But he just disappeared in front of everyone's eyes. Since then, social security, medical care, and even the strictest taxation system have no records of him.

Reid raised his head slightly, looking in the direction of the bedroom, thinking, hesitating, like a cold sculpture standing in the wind and rain.

Maybe Black Jafferson hadn't left at all as Mueller had investigated, maybe he'd been around Jacques all along, in a different guise or identity.

After a long time, he still clicked on the past years that maybe even Jacques himself had almost forgotten.

**

"You stayed up reading again yesterday?" Morgan asked, handing Reid a cup of coffee.

Reid yawned, took a sip of steaming coffee, and said vaguely, "I read some information."

Just as she was talking, a box of sugar cubes suddenly appeared in front of her. Emily pushed the box towards the doctor and said, "Didn't you notice that there is no sugar in this cup of coffee?"

Reid frowned and looked at the brown-black liquid in the cup, thought for a while, and said: "In fact, an average adult has about 10000 taste buds, and about 15-25% of them have about twice as many taste buds." There are more taste buds than ordinary people, but unfortunately it does not include me, so it is not surprising that my taste buds and olfactory receptors did not distinguish in time after receiving a large amount of liquid with the same sour and bitter taste."

Emily looked at MOrgan helplessly, and Morgan smiled and said, "He means, he's been drinking bitter coffee in Hotch's office these days."

Emily sighed, Hotch had been mediating the conflict between him and Haley these days, and everyone could see the distress in his heart even if he didn't say it.She opened the box and dropped the sugar cubes into Reid's cup one by one with tweezers.

The snow-white sugar cube slowly sank into the brown-black sour liquid, and the crisp "da da da" rhythmic sound of Gauguin shoes stepping on the floor came from behind, and the three of them turned around at the same time. out of her office.

"Guys, there is a case." She finished speaking, paused suspiciously, and added, "But we have to wait for a few more people."

"BabyGirl, don't tell me it's the National Security Bureau again." MOrgan sighed exaggeratedly.

Garcia curled her lips and said, "All I can say is, maybe?"

"Maybe, or maybe not?" Emily confirmed seriously, after all, every time those people came to the door, there was nothing good.

And with a bad attitude.

"They're already in the elevator." Hotch said, walking quickly from Garcia's side to the analysis room, "Come in first."

Rossi followed Hotch slowly, still holding a tan portfolio in his hand.

After everyone sat down in the analysis room, Garcia began to click on the information. Before the photos were loaded, a man in a black suit pushed open the glass door and walked in. Behind him was a tall and strong man in camouflage short-sleeves. A man and a black girl in the same style of camouflage.

The black girl looked extremely cold, with impatient brows and eyes, JJ leaned back a little wary, thinking of those female soldiers she saw on the battlefield in Afghanistan.

"Trace." Hotch stood up, nodded slightly at the person who came, and then said to the surprised team members, "This is Agent Trace, Agent Estrada, and Agent Cohen from the second anti-terrorism team. Of course, I think you all know each other."

Trace glanced around at the acquaintances present, twitched the corners of his mouth as a friendly smile, and went straight to the point, saying: "Yesterday the CIA cooperated with us to seize a weapons processing factory. Although we have arrested the suspect and intercepted the source , However, through the transaction data flow on his computer, we found that [-] groups of different IP addresses purchased a considerable number of guns and guns in batches at different locations and times within this month, we suspect..."

Before he finished speaking, he stopped suddenly, but all the detectives present understood what he hadn't said.

Emily asked, "How do they trade? I mean, someone has to go and collect these guns?"

Hotch motioned the three agents to sit down, Trace nodded, but walked straight to Garcia, he smiled, took the remote control from her hand, clicked on another folder, and the enlarged photo on the screen was Virginia and On the edge of Tennessee, it looks like an ordinary agricultural machinery factory.

"These weapons, which are broken down into small parts and added to agricultural equipment, are shipped to states across the country, and it is important to note that the parts that are shipped to the same location do not make up the complete firearm," Trace said.

"So these buyers have to piece together these weapons to be lethal." Morgan said, "There must be a master who is proficient in mechanics and guns among them. What about Allen Muhammad, the suspect? Does he know nothing? "

Trace shook his head and said, "He's still in the ICU at the hospital and hasn't woken up yet."

While opening the file bag, Rossi said: "Here is the Strauss authority to see the monitoring records of heretics who have been active in recent years and some people from sensitive areas."

Reid took the files, browsed through them, quickly picked out a few and put them in the middle of the table, and said, "These people were confirmed dead by the CIA two days ago, a week ago, and a month ago."

Estrada was taken aback, widened his eyes, picked up the papers and carefully flipped through them one by one, but there was no death record on them, and even the photos were in bright colors. He questioned: "Dr. Reid, I know you are very powerful, but , are you really sure?! This is very critical to the success or failure of our unified action! Or, I said, take a look again?"

MOrgan laughed: "Trust my brother, our doctor never makes a mistake."

Estrada still had doubts in his eyes, and Trace shook his head slowly and slightly at him.

He slowly scanned the calm BAU crowd, shrugged his shoulders, raised his legs again, and said, "Okay. You can do whatever you want."

Estrada's attitude made JJ frowned slightly, turned to Trace, and asked, "Can you confirm the addresses now?"

Trace nodded slightly, he turned sideways, trying to call up the map, but no matter how much he pressed the screen, there was no response, as if someone had pressed the pause button. Garcia reminded in a low voice: "Sir, you have to work hard, and then, oh, no, no, go down a little..."

But the remote control still didn't respond, so Garcia had no choice but to propose: "Why don't I do it?"

The BAU has more personality than Trace imagined. He gave up the control, stood aside, looked at the map displayed on the screen, and explained: "We cracked the password of that computer, and the red dots on it are all like this. The area that has been traded within a month and a half, but because the goods are delivered together with those agricultural equipment, their final locations are all the warehouses of the most prosperous local trading market, with an average daily flow of more than 5000 people, and most of them are not With monitoring and real-time recording, it is difficult to confirm who took this part of things."

Morgan sighed. This kind of clueless investigation and profiling is the most difficult. One is that there are too few clues in hand, and the basis for profiling is insufficient. Criminal portraits tend to be biased. Second, the actual situation is often unpredictable , profilers must consider a large number of possibilities.

In this way, the workload doubles, and the headache is that when you have done all the hard work you can, you may not be able to catch the prisoner.

He turned his eyes to Hotch, this resolute and decisive man also considered the situation, his brows were condensed into a tangle, and after a long time, Hotch nodded to Trace.

He stood up and said, "Garcia, first count the terrorist attacks in these areas or the registration records of relevant personnel, and contact Agent Campbell of the second anti-terrorist group, and he will send you the latest data."

After finishing speaking, he paused, looked at JJ and Rossi, and said, "Dave and JJ went to the hospital to see if Allen Muhammad was awake, Morgan went to the police station to contact the local police officer, Reid, you and Emily went to Allen Muhammad's residence, Trace and I They go to that foundry and meet up there."

Estrada stood up, waved his hands, and said, "Then, shall we go now?"

"Wait." Reid called them softly, "I have one last question."

The three of Estrada turned around in confusion and looked at him.

"Where's Jacques?" Reid asked.

Estrada was obviously taken aback, and subconsciously turned her gaze to Cohen. The black girl blinked her eyes and hesitated. She looked at Reid, thought for a while, and then said: "After he cracked the code, he only asked us to come here first, and drove away by himself. However, he said he would meet us at Allen Muhammad's place."

Reid glanced at Rossi, didn't say anything, and walked out of the analysis room silently behind everyone, but JJ saw the doctor's brow slowly wrinkled into a mountain peak.