[CM] THE CASE

A man who can control his emotions, desires and fears is better than a king. — John Milton

The Dayton Police Department seemed busier than usual.Probably because of the seriousness and vile nature of the case, the police officers not only had to rush to solve the case, but also had to control public opinion. The police officers Griffith saw along the way all had huge dark circles under their eyes, and some couldn't bear it and just made do on the chairs, not knowing if the coats they covered were theirs.

As for Griffith himself, he wasn't much better.

He didn't get a good night's sleep for his cold, but it got worse. Subjectively, he felt top-heavy, his limbs were weak, and he seemed to have a low-grade fever.I was in a daze on the plane and didn't even hear the meeting.If he didn't know that Greenaway didn't go, he would probably feel ashamed and plead guilty.

Hotch first introduced each other to Detective Maggie Callahan, who was in charge of the case.The young policewoman was shorter than them all, but her imposing manner was not weak at all. She showed a kind of sharp anger: "As soon as he changed his victim mode, I knew I would need your help."

Gideon was noncommittal: "What do you think?"

Callahan said quickly and firmly: "Serial rapists rarely change the victim model, it's based on specific fantasies. I figured if we just figured out what made him change, we could catch this guy very quickly."

Hotch nodded, which is consistent with their current thinking: "Is there a place for us?"

"Ready," Callahan raised his chin, "document preparation room."

The police officers leading the way led the FBI foreign aid over without saying a word, but Callahan stopped Gideon.

Griffith glanced back at her.

She spoke very fast, biting words hard, as if she wanted to crush the prisoner to ashes on the spot, obviously angry.However, when she asked Gideon to participate in the investigation, her words were euphemistic and cryptic.

"Excellent detective," thought Griffith, "how did she keep her emotions in check?"

He couldn't help but think about his own poor behavior in Peter's case, and even though he calmed down the kid in the end, Hotch called him into his office to talk about self-control.

"You should control your emotions, not let them carry you away," Hotch said. "I hope you understand that this is an important lesson. We all have impulses, but I want them to be as few as possible."

Nelson said something similar. Even though Griffith didn't think he was impulsive, he wondered blankly, "I know what they've been through. Would it be too inhuman if I could keep calm?"

Those injuries were clearly engraved in his dreams, and appeared in his hallucinations all the time. If a person could remain indifferent, wouldn't he be considered a human being?

So, is it good or bad?

Hotch didn't know what his team was thinking, so he just interrupted him aloud: "Griffith, you stay in the bureau and compile the clues we have. Can you do geographic profiling?"

Griffith nodded: "Yes."

Geographical profiling is a compulsory course for profilers, but no one is more efficient than Reid. Hotch doesn't seem to care about efficiency issues: "Okay, if you can't hold on, just call me and ask for leave."

"Yes, sir."

Gideon watched the policeman stack the documents on the table, and suddenly interjected: "Hotch, let Callahan go to the seminary to visit the children instead of me later."

Hotch gave him a look, as if waiting for an explanation.

Gideon pulls up a chair: "She said the victim would feel better if there were multiple women present, and I think she's right."

"no problem."

Griffith sticks the map on the whiteboard.Complicated diagram lines twisted into meaningless scribbles in his eyes, and his tired brain protested against such meticulous work, and he felt dizzy for a while, and could hardly stand still. Griffith subconsciously supported the table, but happened to meet the eyes of the victim in the photo.

This is different from the ID photo given by JJ, it was taken when the local police officer collected the evidence.The blond woman looked extremely haggard, with empty eyes, wet tears, and a small bruise at the corner of her mouth.There were black fingerprints on her neck and marks of binding on her wrists. The trauma was not serious. Griffith knew that these scars would disappear in a few days. However, the trauma caused by the prisoner was not on the body, but on their hearts.

Fear swallowed him in one gulp, and anxiety seemed to be a part of his soul, which he couldn't escape or hide from.The world is so big that even home is not safe.He couldn't break free, and he didn't dare to struggle. What he saw was so confusing that he couldn't tell what it looked like, it was probably hell.

Why is he in hell?

Why doesn't he resist?

he……

"Griffith!"

Griffith's hands finally couldn't support his body, and he fell slowly.

Looking at the crying victim, Greenaway said suddenly, "How do you think the attackers knew what they were thinking?"

Reid shook his head: "I don't know, this is a bit like a stalker, but the time is too short to be so detailed."

Greenaway didn't answer. She stopped the police officer who wanted to continue to collect evidence: "Leave her alone for a while, she has been hurt too much."

The officer with the camera around his neck had to back away.

Hotch hung up just in time: "Gideon said Griffith passed out suddenly."

Reid was taken aback: "What?"

"I've seen the doctor, there's no major problem, he sent Griffith back to rest first." Hotch brought the matter up in a few words, "Let's go, there are still victims who haven't finished interviewing."

Greenaway took one last look at the woman and did not stop the officer.

She couldn't help thinking of her own experience: being attacked in a completely relaxed state at home.Someone inserted his finger into the wound and dipped in her blood to write the words.Afterwards, although Hotch kindly helped her wash off the blood, but the experience cannot be washed away.

She was in constant fear.

The sense of security is like a thin film, and everyone can talk and laugh happily when wrapped in it, and pursue freedom and happiness.However, once this membrane is lost, they cannot go back.It is very simple to destroy this membrane. I, like these victims, have been torn apart from my sense of security.From now on, they can't even believe it at home.

The sky is big and the earth is big, but there is nowhere to live. What could be more desperate than this?

Greenaway closed his eyes.

Too complicated.She was terrified, and couldn't help blaming her colleagues—if Hotch had told him to stay when he sent someone that day, if Gideon hadn't insisted on publishing the profile, would the ending have been different?Doesn't she need to bury the trauma deep in her heart, pretend to be comfortable, and force herself to be calm and reliable?

It's just that there are no ifs in the world.

No one can answer.

Griffith slept restlessly.He was awakened from time to time, his whole body was hot, as if he was being roasted on a fire, and it was simmering slowly.The remaining rationality told him that it was a fever, so he struggled to get up and fed himself the medicine.Not long after lying down, the door was knocked again, so I had to get up again to open the door.

The hotel waiter held up the tray: "Hello, is this Mr. Griffith?"

Griffith responded.

"Your colleague has ordered a meal for you," the waiter said with a smile, "please take it easy, we will have someone to clean up the dishes tomorrow."

"...Thank you." Griffith wanted to take the tray, but the waiter avoided it.He said, "You don't look well, let me send you in."

"Well, okay, thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you the FBI?"

"Yes." Griffith leaned sleepily on the table, as if trying to cheer himself up.Right now he just woke up, his hair is disheveled like a chicken coop, his lips are dry and pale, he really doesn't look like a wise and powerful FBI agent.However, he still remembers to tip.

The waiter left contentedly, closing the door behind him.

Griffith shook his head, trying to clear himself up.He looked at the time and was surprised to find that it was past eight o'clock in the evening.The waiter may have knocked on the door many times, and it has been delayed until now.

Gideon ordered him oatmeal, which Griffith didn't really like, but was too hungry to be fussy about.After sleeping all afternoon, I felt uncomfortable and couldn't fall asleep, so I took the case materials and read and ate.

Gideon left a note, telling him to rest well and not to work tomorrow.He helped to do the geographic profiling and left a copy for his reference. Griffith puts down the spoon, shakes off the copy stuck to the mirror, and starts working overtime without pay.

He was not the only participant in this overtime activity.

Callahan stood outside Gideon's door and said with a smile, "Hi."

Gideon: "...what are you doing here?"

Callahan said frankly, "I booked a room in the lobby."

"Your home is not far from the police station."

"Yeah, so why separate from work?" Callahan walked into the room, "It seems that you don't plan to take a break."

Gideon closed the door: "Trust me, no one ever rests."

Callahan sits on bed: "Today, when I went to seminary, the victim said to me 'So many lives are lost here.'"

Gideon: "What are you trying to say?"

"The reported rate of rape is only 20 percent," Callahan said, turning his head. "In seminary, it's only lower."

"You mean, there's still something we don't know."

"His change is so weird, there's nothing special about the victims so far," Callahan said sternly, "I'm guessing the special one wasn't on our list."

Gideon smiled suddenly: "I think you are very suitable for this line of work, detective."

The author has something to say: Basically plan to update every three days, come on!