THE TOWER OF SILENCE(ENGLISH TRANSLATION BY THE AUTHOR):FIRST PART

THE TOWER OF SILENCE

(English translation,by the Author)

FIRST PART:

 

CHAPTER I:

PRELUDE

In the misty morning there was a slate-coloured sea, and the birds were away: it was a late autumn.

The letter shook once more in those white ivory   hands, beneath the tapered ,slightly frayed fingers .

"About twenty minutes of drive from Saint Malo" ...

The car was rocking on a road not very accustomed to motor vehicle traffic, while the driver was humming a  silly tune , drawn ,perhaps,from an old vaudeville long time forgotten.

It felt cold.The  moisture seeped  even his  soul, leaving aside his bones ,that ached horribly.

In the harbour there was  a small boat, old, faded, waiting for the few passersby who came to the place at that time of the year advanced.

The rains had flooded the passage he could have taken  (and he would  have been preferred)  for to do a dry walk to the Grand Bé . The tiny island (almost an islet )looked like a metaphor of abandonment and solitude.

"He has not even presented himself  in the hotel," he thought .... and then dismissed the idea of preparing a summary of the shameful episode starring Sartre ,involving that well known  nasty urinary feat.

Involuntarily ,he smiled.

In minutes, the helpless island with those memorial stones came into view,surrounded by the cruel light of that sudden  early winter morning..

Within minutes, he stood in that strangely alien soil, feeling himself almost absurd ...

The man was silent,backwards. An  immeasurable sadness ,larger than silence, surrounded the figure, not too high but still slender, clad in a long dark coat.

He turned.He did not smile, nor  held out his hand.

-Reid ...- he muttered –I knew you'd come .....

-Gideon- the other almost whispered ...-How have you been all this time?

-         “ La vie me sied mal; la mort m'ira peut-être mieux.”…(The life I've done gave me wrong:perhaps  death may treat me better). Gideon said, pointing to that undated and unnamed tomb.

 And he continued:

-My mother's family, of French origins, had a small village in  Combourg, a locality near Saint Malo.

When I retired from active duty, I decided to return the inheritance of my maternal grandmother. So,I ended up in that distant corner, not so far from the sea, not so far from the ports that have always been my obsession.

I've always been a loner, a solitary,and you know it very well. “

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Ville d'Autrémont, Combourg :half an hour later.)

After a detailed enumeration of the complete works of Chateaubriand, and the usual allusion to Sartre’s  absurdly animalistic gesture urinating on his grave, after discussing whether the famous secret meeting between George Washington and the poet actually took place, or whether it was only a legend, after carefully analyzing the alleged cult to a Semitic deity called Yemo (apparently religious icon of the poet's family), Spencer Reid could see that the dark eyes in front of him had been lit.

The Combourg house, huge, ramshackle, was already retaining, however,  the traces of its noble past.

Gideon seemed to be very happy with it, and with his household servants,, Monsieur and Madame Dutertre, who addressed him as if he  were a feudal lord.

Reid never have suspected that Gideon's mother had belonged to the French nobility :provincial nobility,in this case rather poor and obscure, but  still aristocratic, at any rate.

After the coffee and the lively conversation, it came the chess game, which reminded him of the old days.;

the fire in the fireplace, and, of course, the piano: Chopin, Schubert, Schumann, Grieg, Liszt (in his transcriptions of Wagner) and even (it  did not seem strange at all this last election), La Cathédrale engloutie , of Debussy.

Gideon taught him some samples  of historical records that he had bought on his arrival in France: disks of seventy-eight revolutions per minute (time for a mathematical analysis of this ), and huge vinyls, "thirty three revolutions, as the degrees of Freemasonry, "Gideon said, laughing.

Then, it was time for the main question:why did he  make ​​him come here?

Perchance…he was thinking of a possible return?-….

'-Never!'- Gideon said  when Reid suggested the possibility, even remote-That world is dead to me.

Reid didn’t insist.

Schubert (it was his impromptu in C minor) sounded over and over again, repeatedly, played by the hands of Edwin Fischer ... The "hiss" hiss "of old hard disk was stabbing the silence ,in the meanwhile their faces were lit by fire and by the clear caramel reflections ,dancing in  the huge glasses of cognac.

-P lus la saison est triste, plus elle est en rapport avec moi

(The more sad is the season,it becomes  the most related to me). –Gideon whispered.

No, definitely ,he did not have the slightest idea of what he  had come to do there.

Surprisingly, Gideon asked:

-And ... how they've been?

Reid took a breath, bit her lower lip to muster the needed value for to tell the truth (he was not fond of lying, incidentally), and began his story, which sought to make brief, relying on  a possible digression of his inveterate rhetoric,and attempting to do not let it to betray the same thread of the discourse::

-Well. Aaron got his divorce, finally, and he is now holding his young son, with such bad luck that the former wife  died of myeloid leukemia just six months later, perhaps as a result of the brutal attack of a serial murderer, who undertook a time when we all had our guard too low .. Aaron hasn’t married again...Our new general supervisor(you probably already knew him), Davide Rossi, is an Italian gentleman with stoic temperament and a recalcitrant epicureistic taste:he seems to be  obsessive, ordered,very ordered,but , sometimes explosive, simulates he is always taking the  control :but it is evident to me that he does all of this for to be convinced himself.. Jennifer gave birth to a beautiful child, and returned some time with her ​​husband. Then ,she returned to work in the office. Emily seems more petrified than ever. Pleasantly Morgan continues as cheesy as ever, and his eternal love, Penelope,  it is not so “eternal”, because she  is engaged to a young spectacled colleague, whom is more the  type of the informatic psychopath .His name is Kevin,and he  works two floors up.

That's all. I think I was short enough,and  also very concise –Spencer smiled, and concluded, with a graceful gesture of his  white hand, like  drawing pictures in the air.

-All the concise you can be , my dear Reid.

Gideon kept  the silence. Suddenly ,he fired the question:

-And ... what about you?

Reid swallowed. He feared the question, because  he already knew that it was addressed to his well established (and never hidden) passion for opiates and morphine.

-I am always working,-he said,-and ,when it  allows me, visiting my mother.

-Do you live alone, yet?

-Yes, of course I have not married .. ---

("Not what I intended, or ever think". He had  wanted to add this, but he stopped).

-Not that's what I meant ...

Those terrible,digging soul black eyes, so vigorously passionate, were fixed on his.

Gideon lit a cigar, after giving one to his young guest, who refused closely with an almost contemptuous gesture , while seeking for his American cigarettes ,that  ( he remembered)  he had removed from the backpack when he was out of the car ,in the island, without actually light any .

-Chessmate -said the voice,that  dry, colourless voice , pushing gently with his calloused  finger the  ivory white king.

Reid sighed. ("It  has been and will be always  the same!",he thought)

After midnight it began to rain.Madame Dutertre accompanied him to his room, that was  severely obscure,but furnished, however, with good taste: there were many books (mainly in French), a fireplace with fire in full, a huge window looking to  the chateau, which could clearly distinguish the famous Tour du Chat, Cat Tower, where Chateaubriand used to sleep during the days of his childhood and early youth, perhaps interacting with the supposed specter of  the  dead animal,a legend that lasted for  centuries.

He smiled, showing to himself his own incredulity.The  atmosphere seemed taken from a tale written by Edgar Allan Poe.

His mind flew in search of the accounting records of paranormal phenomena observed in places like this.

("Of a total of 358 cases observed and recorded during the years 2007.2008 ... etc. .. until 2012, the 87.88 percent of them turned out to be susceptible of a logical explanation and / or natural." ,he rambled about his favourite subject,statistics)

Those moisture stains on the wall ...

He lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head.He didn’t unclothe.. It felt  cold, despite the fire burning,. relentless, implacable, in the huge fireplace.

It smelled of sandalwood and laudanum, roses and oblivion,  old books and solitude.

("Why I have done to come up here? He still has not talked about it ...")

Sleepless and restless, his thoughts flew to  Hanckel, reaching the murky tank in which he was tortured, tormented, stigmatized with his own demons made flesh in his ​​flesh.

Incubi infamous ....

No, no one else was there that night ... and no one else was in the corridors of the silent mansion  Gideon had chosen as a refuge.

(Hanckel whipped the soles of his feet a hundred, a thousand times in every wet spot on the wall that had before his eyes .. Meanwhile, the rain  was raging  against the  black window.

He lit  another cigarette, and searched ,in his backpack , for the Pravaz syringe, and the last bottle of morphine.

He pointed to his vein, squinting, whispering.He was sweating profusely, despite the cold.He was trembling, wet, against  the flames that were fiddling with their shadows on the skin of his face. Pale, haggard., with the black circles around his  hazelnuts half dead  eyes looking like two open gates to nowhere.

(Voice of First Ghost);

(-Ethan, please, enough ... enough ... enough!

-No, we are not finished, Spencer ... Undress ... do not be timid ... I want to see the tracks that so  much death and crime have left in your body-...

-For pity!'We are  no longer in high school ... It's not a game ... I suffer!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

(The Voice of the second Ghost)

"Hanckel brandished his hate, the wind was silent, eyes turned toward the orbits ...

Raphael.theArchangel! "

"((The Third Phantom's voice):

Morphine ….Damned morphine ! " )

(the fourth ghost whispers in the rain):

('I'm a drug addict, I'm gay, I'm a genius, as it could say Truman Capote. )

.................................................. ..............................................

Two or three hours later, the wind ceased its  plaintive ditty, and,all silent, water stains became almost  dimensional, and the smell of the roses wrestled with laudanum, annihilating everything  at once.

.................................................. ................................................

II

Andante with Variations

TOPIC: THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (somewhere in Appalachia, and is not spring)

VARIATION I:

-If you do not stop cheating, I'll bite your nose.The  fact that you're a god of chocolate and cinnamon doesn’t excuse you to cheat on us!- ... Penelope said, gesturing ,comically sulking.

-I don’t  cheat, wow!

There was only one  simple shack in Appalachia, surrounded by woods, the smell of warm bread and the contesting  card game for three.

At one point, when Kevin entered triumphantly carrying a large tray adorned with homemade bread, freshly baked, Morgan glanced to his cell phone, dumb, blind and deaf (these were the rules for  the holiday week) lay at side, on a stool ....

_-And the next time you give a sneak peek at the damn phone, you will  lose your nose, I promise!

Morgan laughed, but the dark feeling that he kept was still there, annoying, poking the peaceful rest, turning off the simple clarity of the friendly camaraderie of three.

VARIATION II:

(Where the North Pacific becomes an enemy)

(Fragments of  a Secret Diary ,by Aaron Hotchner)

("Your hand is a morbid sleep that  pushed my flesh tonight..Your  eyes are that night I wanted to avoid.

You are  me ,and I am you .... ..... As Tristan, and who knows what kind of spell has  inextricably linked your life to the mine.

What  kind of filter did you give to  me?

What kind of dark magic pays us for each other, facing the  ridicule,  the scorn, the contempt, and all that the world has been set as "politically incorrect"?)

-Aaron ..........

-Say it , my angel

-This is like drinking from a glass that is bottomless ...

-Then ,let’s die together ----

(No.He didn’t want  to die)

-No, Aaron! No .... let’s live ... let’s flee ... wherever ..... but .... Let us live together, Aaron ....

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(On the outskirts of Seattle, Washington State,

gardens of the Hotchner-Kohen’s residence homestead )

-Dad ... dad! See what we have found with Uncle!!

Aaron looked up, idly watching a blade of grass, and smiled at his son, against the wave of shame that rose to her face  and tinged  it with rubor.He felt  vividly as if the whole world knew his secret.

Mrs. Rebecca Hotchner-Kohen approached , smiling, with a tray in her hands

-Bravo ..! Now, lemonade for two!

_Thank you,, Mother .

-Hey, bove (grandmother)!! Let no strudel with many nuts today?

The simple family life in his father's house, fishing in the lake next to the quiet shore, where the children played and laughed and chatted casually over ..... almost a little paradise, which, however, he already could not enjoy.

(The phone is silent)

The black eyes soaked  by sadness stroked the blond child's face .

_Go to play, Jakob ..... Go now .. Play with your cousins ​​...

Rebeca Hotchner sat on the floor next to his eldest son.

-You are sad,-she said to  him-Hayley’s remembrances?

Aaron Hotchner sighed.

-'It's nothing, mother .... It will pass .... Is that our child has their very eyes, do you know? Blue and sad.

-Yes ,I know,my son... But you also look at  the phone all the time, as if you were at the office.., You are in a vacation,now,, please ,scheinele (darling), remember it!Your little son, your brothers and nephews, and I ,I myself,too,…we need you, my son!.Al least for a little while !....

-Okay, mother.I promise!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Another fragment  of the Aaron’s  unfinished diary)

("How I can promise something that I know I will not comply? Where were my sense of honour and my proverbial pride?")

("They were at your feet, like sad gifts to your image.they were obscured by the night, were undone by the first touch of your hand")

.................................................. .........

.................................................. ..........

THIRD VARIATION:

(Opera of Rome, Italy)

The Roman autumn night, slightly moist, fragrant (he could distinguish the smell of coffee, mixed with the  wine of Castelli,and  the violets) offered to his view a full moon, that,as a crowned empress, watched over the  crowded streets.

There were couples , lovers, friends ... and also  lonely ones passing by,showing a landscape of careless sensuality.

-Tomorrow morning, I will have the report .I already have  requested it-  Giulio Dall'Abaco said.Giulio was a  secretary of the Roman quaestorship and also an amateur criminologist .He lit  a cigarette,  his hand pointing  to the badge  announcing the Verdi’s  Ernani at the gates of the   Opera di Roma, and asked:

-Did you like the performance?

- "Ernani" is not among my favourite operas, but  I agreed to come because  you had invited me.

Giulio winced.

Both men were smoking  silently for a while , until the secretary of the  quaestorship finally proposed:

-Dai! Andiamo  a cena in un Ristorante del  Trastevere ... (Hey, let’s go to dinner at a restaurant in Trastevere!) .. E poi, se  vuoi ,andiamo a casa mia ... Ho un piccolo appartmento  in Campo dei Fiori .... So che ti piacerá ... Ne vuoi, carissimo? (And then, if you want, come to my house ... I have a small apartment in Campo dei Fiori.I know you will like it! Do you want it, dear?)

David smiled.lways the same thing! What Mr. Secretary of the  Roman quaestorship and amateur criminologist Giulio dall '
Abaco  wanted was to make him recite, representing them, the Thirty-three Lustful sonnets of Aretino.

He looked at his pocket watch, and then drew his cell phone.It was,however,  banned,since he was in his vacation..

("But ... who the hell would think to take vacations in  autumn?")

-I need that report as soon as possible, and I cannot  entrust the Bureau, Giulio.This is  confidential, almost personal ... When you get it, please,  send it to France, urgently .... To inspector Robert L'Heureux  at  the Sureté, in Paris.

-D'accordo!

Giulio Dall'Abaco adjusted his white silk scarf, and clung to his arm.

-Adesso ... andiamo .. Yes?????

(Three hours later…)

...........

The old book,open  in the famous sonnet number five was still on the bed table.Giulio had insisted on hearing David’s voice , waving in the climax, while reciting the  prohibited verses from  the Renaissance heritage.

David sat on the bed, pushing aside the green silk cushions on which he leaned his naked body, and lit a cigarette, inhaling ,snuffing the Turkish smoke with a  delight almost erotic.

He reached out and took the notebook from the pocket of his coat.

Giulio had fallen asleep, exhausted by the violence of their  almost brutal intercourse.

David reread, in silence,a letter that had turned yellow with timebut, still smelling of stale snuff, violets ...

He squinted.

In only wenty-four hours he would know, finally, the truth.

Those distant black almond eyes,sad,unfathomable, poked his mind.He clung to them.

He stood in silence, dressed, and left that luxurious apartment in  Campo dei Fiori.

Finally, with those same eyes almond-shaped black sadly clutching his heart, allowed himself to be swallowed by the darkness that was preceding the dawn. ....................... ...............................

TOWER OF SILENCE

Chapter II:

Allegro ma non troppo

(Ville d'Autrémont, Combourg, the next morning)

Gradually, Spencer Reid turned  from the dark hole. The environmental smell was pungent, perhaps stale, and he  found himself  with his face buried in the pillow, the bed intact, his body shivering ,but  still sweating ...

He sat on the bed, and tried to rearrange the shreds of his memory.He looked  by  the window.

There was sun.

An ancient clock indicated that had just struck nine AM..

Five discreet taps on the door made ​​him stand, as if  he were moved by an invisible spring.

-Monsieur le jeune docteur? S'il vous plait?

It was the voice Mrs. Dutertre’s voice.

-Allez, Madame, s'il vous plait! En avant!-he said, trying to sound credible in French.

The old woman came in with the breakfast tray. It contained his breakfast,exquisitely arranged in a service made with porcelain of Saxony.

Latte, in the French manner, croissants ( that he liked so much), toasted country bread, whipped butter, orange marmalade .... He looked at the  food with relish.

He was hungry.

He smiled, and thanked the lady, who winked.

-A le etter to you, Monsieur le jeune docteur.

-Merci –he replied, gently taking  the silk paper, that was smelling of gardenia.

.

It was a Gideon’s  note.,written in French.:

"Professor JM Gideon d'Autrémont invites Dr. Spencer  William James Reid  to participate in an excursion

to Combourg Castle Tower (Tour du Chat,) at eleven in the morning of the date, September 29, 2012 .. punctuality is appreciated. "

He smiled at the idea, which seemed funny, colourful, and very typical of Gideon, moreover: to behave as in the nineteenth century.

Meanwhile, he had thought to hear a muted chords, but vigorous, coming from downstairs.

It was, without doubt, the piano, the same grand piano whose shadow he had  seen on arrival.

But .... who was the performer?

He finished his coffee as fast as he could, changed clothes (jacket,  breeches, boots and a hat), and downed to  the hall.

He leaned silently to  Gideon ‘s private parlour., which had a window overlooking the winter garden.

The pianist was none other than Gideon himself.

He recognised the notes of the Liszt’s study in B flat minor, La Chasse Neige (Snow Storm,.) ,, masterfully played by whom  had been so long his boss and mentor in a completely different universe.

It seemed incredible.

He was a professional profiler, a genius, an absolute monster with an eidetic memory, but he had never really gotten to know Jason Gideon ..

LATORRE OF SILENCE

CHAPTER III ::

He stopped ,and  listened. The tempo was perhaps too slow compared to the usual interpretations of the famous piece, but he found it fascinating. Extremely passionate.

He stood at the door of Gideon’s chamber , seeing him move on the keyboard.Gideon was  wearing a burgundy velvet robe de chamber , and his hair ,dark brown, almost black,now  grayish and straight, slicked back strongly,was covering   just the balding crown.

A cigarette was consuming  in the ashtray that was on a coffee table. A little porcelain cup with a silver base (located next to the ashtray) was letting  the coffee to become cold.

Reid  cleared his throat, knowing full well that perhaps Gideon could not hear him.

There was a silence that followed the last chord.

There waere,however,no commentaries..He was already speechless.

.

Then Gideon turned and greeted him casually:

-Good morning, Reid. Have you slept well?

-Yes .. uh ... no ....

He knew he could not fool  Gideon. Nobody was really capable of it,,,,Well, maybe he could fool himself,,,, if he allowed it, sometimes ...

-You were in Paris ..  for how many days? –Gideon asked, taking his cigarette, a Gauloise whose pungent scent hurt the sensitive nose of Spencer, causing a mixture of pleasure and displeasure.

-For some hours, nothing more..I only had have time to visit  a bit of Notre Dame, something of the Louvre  (very little, almost nothing).,and  the Musée de l'Homme was closed, and ...

and ...

-….and you took advantage to give a turn for the medical school, dating a student whose name was  Duperré  for half an hour later on the Countrescarpa St., for to provide you with a serving of artificial oblivion .... right?

Reid smiled, despite being discovered.

("How the hell could he know? ...")

-Do not worry,Reid.I know very well that  you have not forgotten who you is now  before you, Reid ..

-No, of course not, Professor.

Gideon  pointed to a chair beside him, and gently stirred a silver bell.

-More coffee?-he asked

-Yes, thank you, please.

Madame Dutertre brought the coffee.

Gideon leaned slightly toward Reid, in an attitude of confidence.

-Now I'll  unveil  the greatest mystery, my friend. I'll tell you why I made ​​you come here. For this, I must go back to the letter (which I think you still retain) I left abandoned for you with my Glock , my badge and some other things in that cabin lost in the forests of Virginia. You remember I told you that you were the only one whom was capable of to understand. You were my workmanship, but you  already wore  the mark of genius when I met you.

You breathed the air from my lungs, which seemed an extension of my veins ... I had a son would never recognize me, a son whose sonship si still uncertain for me..I had always powerful reasons for to think this way! ... And ,since then, I never trusted the bonds of my own flesh and blood.I provided to children who Imyself  plucked off death ... and ,so,I had my flesh  perpetuated in whom I have chosen, maybe free, maybe not ... to continue my work.

This was Gideon, undoubtedly, megalomaniacal, self-centered, dramatic, theatrical ...

-Indeed:I did  not walked away because of that that crazy  murderer did to the woman whom I had sent chrysanthemums .. It is the case that I hate chrysanthemums, and that woman was not worth more to me than a handful of ashes.I tended to see the others (except children) as handfuls of ash, reducing to their latest  ultimate form.But this was not so with you- he stood I see you like I see myself, or as I would have liked to see myself ....

Reid ,unwillingly, started shaking.

-'I'm dying, Gideon said, fixing her black eyes on the almond ones  of his young friend- I have irreversible liver cirrhosis, a result of my own  method to remove the pain... It's a matter of months .... And, as my son does not even want to hear the initial of my name (he not my son, on the other hand, and I have the irrefutable evidence !!!'), and I've already resolved the situation of my nephews, the two sons of my poor sister, I decided to appoint you my heir. This house,  two  small properties  I own in Virginia and Philadelphia, my apartment in New-York, and another one I had bought in Buenos Aires.: everything will be yours.It js  neither great nor small .. . and I trust that you will make good use of it.

-Sir,, I ....

Reid was stunned, could not leave the feeling of annihilation  Gideon's words had  brought  to his soul...

-No matter. Nothing matters ,except you .... You and what you never dared to say.

He rose from his chair, t and ook off his fumoir.Reid could appreciate the wounds on his chest, the traces  that a thousand battles were showing through to the  open shirt .... Reid looked away, in a gesture of decorousness..

Gideon approached to a V iennese rack,and chose a jacket similar to the one Reid was wearing ,a scarf ,and a peaked cap.

-Now let's go-he said -To the cat tower.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(Rome, Hotel Excelsior, at the same time)

The phone rang.It was past noon.

Rossi shifted in the enormous king size bed of his hotel  room .

It was  Giulio.

-What I've asked is ready, caro  mio.Ë fatto! Should I fax it to  you just now?

-No.Put everything  in a dark envelope, and send it to me by a  messenger.

-You do not want to see what it says?-Giulio was surprised.

-No.Send it to me  as I have asked you –David said, dryly.

And he cut the conversation.

He lit a cigarette, and headed for the bathroom to take a hot shower.

Maybe ,finally, the water would wash the smell of that endless last night .....

All the past remembrances ,so fateful, peered into his memory, when he saw his face tired, haggard, pale, in the bathroom mirror.

Once,he had been…..

Now, it was just an old man.

.

He hid his face in his hands.

Silently, stealthily, his defensive  mechanism became operational, and ,with the flow of some tepid water, David Rossi returned from the vacuum.

He was already hoping.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(Chateau de Combourg, Tour du Chat, at the same time).

-The tower has a cubicle on the top-Reid and Gideon walked up the stone stairs, feeling their  breath cut  -And it was in the cubicle that the poet had his child dialogues with the ghost of a cat.Do you  like cats, Reid ?

-Considering the fact that they are capable of transmitting more than a hundred illnesses  to other species, including humans, and that the possibility of contracting such diseases is more or less, 40 out of 100 in the case of domestic cats , and about 70 out of 100, in the wild or feral, urban or rural .... well ... yes,I like cats-. Spencer replied, with his habitual way..

Gideon smiled.

When the rise, that was seemingly endless, concluded, they entered  into a small cubicle, where they could still  see stains and streaks of moisture in the walls.

On one side, there was a tiny ,infantile bed, ,that had belonged to the poet.

Through the window  it was coming  a diffuse light, that was so yellowish  and sad.

-Let's see,- Gideon said -Reid, noting the stains on the wall.There you have the stain with the cat figure..Now,please,make the  possible profile for this poet.

Reid cleared his throat, observed the singular spot, that sharp, stood out greenish veins of widespread moisture, and began:

-His childhood was apparently golden but very hard.He used to spend his  hours in solitude, accompanied only by his personal ghosts:the ones  that he had created as a defense against the abuse, that was being repeated by his strictely severe father,again and again.His mother ,on the contrary,was too permissive,  sensitive, and lived (and taught him how to live)in a universe made ​​ad hoc, with shreds of reality amid a fantastic hazeRené grew under the mist.the sudden  shreds of reality, for him, were like knives.

Gideon laughed, fixing his eyes on Spencer:

-But tell me ... who are you shaping up, boy? François René, Vicomte de Chateaubriand .. or yourself?

Reid  lowered his glance.Those terrible black eyes,always  inquisitors, toured his slender, delicate, almost angelic figure ...

-Are there still any angels in your life, Spencer? – Gideon

asked.

-Raphael-Reid said ,quickly, with an almost stammering tone .

He trembled.

Gideon approached the young man, and gently stroked her chin.

-Enough –he said-Let's go back.

The decline was relatively easy, as always the declines use to be..

In the middle of the road, however, Reid turned because he thought he heard a groan.

Gideon's face  was twisting  in pain.

-Master .. are you okay?

-Yes, yes, it's nothing ... do not ... worry ...

A red thread of hanging vomit, however, was escaping from the corner of his mouth.Reid drew his handkerchief, and hastened to wipe it away.

Gideon stoically endured the terrible pain that destroyed his stomach, his liver ,his guts. The cirrhosis was all very advanced.It was sadly  true:

nothing could be done already.

Gideon leaned his head on Spencer's shoulder.

However,he didn’t call for help, nor  issued a single complaint.

In the middle of that narrow stone staircase, both men were closely pressed.Reid endured the embrace, still shaking.

The breathing became painful, full of anxiety .... There was a moment of mutual hesitation, almost like a vacuum, and then .... then ...

Both men’s breaths mingled into one.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ANDANTINO_:

(THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD)

(Aaron Hotchner’s apartments, in his old familiar house .,in Seattle, WA)

The first cold  of the night  had forced him to close the balcony He looked at  his child ,whom was asleep, and took the lamp away from his face.Then,he  went back to his own bedroom.

He had not tourned on the heat device already.It was even cooler there.

The phone was silent.

It was a convention that all of them  had voluntarily adopted during those two weeks of vacation,.It was a necessity to relieve the accumulated stress,so heavy,so terrible. ...

But he couldn’t sleep ;he could  painfully take a bit of food,having lost the capability of to share  his son’s  games or  the simple joys of the  family life.

He was feeling himself as an outsider, as an ember from hell, like that  feared "Dibbuk" with which the Zeide (grandfather) Yitzhak threatened him when playing pranks in his childhood .It was like if that Dibbuk would have finally seized him.

It was silly, but he was feeling like  a stray.

("And if there were only ten righteous?" ...)

("Sodomite!")

He saw the grandfather Yitzhak,the  Synagogue’s  oberkantor in Seattle, pointing his long bony index.

He saw himself as a  boy, secretly touching, enjoying the secrecy and silence, but cursing,at the same time, that dirty yellowish juice that was staining  his innocence ....

The sound of water filling the tub promised him a warm bath.

Aaron went to the desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out the envelope with the photographs.

His memory flew to the gloomy cemetery in which he found Hanckel already deceased;, his memory got into the most appalling nightmare ..

He  went finally into the bathroom, and, quietly, slowly, undressed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

CHAPTER IV:

(Aaron Hotchner’s private chamber, in his family home ,in Seattle)

The whole mirror returned his body image: tight flesh, lean, sinewy but powerful, and the ominous sign of that  stab given by  the monster in his side,.But,besides it,the invisible marks of  one  thousand kisses given by his lover, as ragweed spots mixed with poison ,spreading  throughout his  skin, shamelessly, openly ..

("Spencer .... small mongrel  offspring of heaven and hell ...")

("Spencer ... my life ... my death ...")

The swarthy skin bristled .His  muscles tensed in an ineffable spasm,suffering and delicious.

His right hand held the photograph taken on a bright day ("Who would have taken it ? Garcia? .. No doubt!"). Face clean, gently surrounded by the  long hair with that  matte clear almond colour (colour of bitter almonds!), the almost golden eyes, giving his back to a summer sun that was  hurtful and obscene; the body ,so slender as a willow branch, the fine , gentle figure, scorched by the summer light, the purple tiny swimsuit, and the bare feet, those feet perhaps too long, that he had amassed a thousand times with his caresses and kisses .. The smile, not explicit, but implied, riping those  peach lips ....

A trickle of saliva appeared at the corner of his mouth. The sinister hand ,the hand of the tempter, went down her thighs, looking for the brand of his race, crowning the fruit, erect, hard, red with desire.

("Mild und  leise ....") (Smooth and quiet)

He remembered the time when an unexpectedly complex case dragged them to the Metropolitan Opera, during a performance of Tristan and Isolde ...

("Mild und Leise ...")

Love that dies and kills.

The notes of  that passage almost orgasmic from Liebestod echoed in his head, while his right hand clutched like a claw, cleaving nails on paper, grasping   the photography.

His left hand, soaked in his own pain made ​​frustrated desire, moved softly.He let himself slide into the warm water,that  almost struck her flesh .....

His hand went crazy.

("Mild und Leise ....")

His throat exploded,but he suffocated  his own  cry of ecstasy,  biting  her lip until it bled.

("You, Aaron, onanist, Jewish dog!")

Then ….silence, emptiness .. And again the fog ...

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(Study in Ville d'J.Gideon Autrémont, Combourg)

The honey-colored silky hair  rested on the mature bare chest, that  chest covered by old  scars.

-Memories of Afghanistan, -Jason said, stroking the ivory  shoulder, cuddling it  against his flesh-As this blanket that covers us now. (Both lay on the chaise longue, naked, covered by a beautiful afghan nap ,very soft lavender, with whimsical figures in antique copper).

Gideon better accommodated the blanket, wrapping jealously Spencer's body.

-

-This .. and an Afghan boy named Haman Hamid, who occasionally relieved my sorrows with her ​​expert mouth, that's all I have left of my Central Asian adventure, apart from the scars.

Spencer looked at the vast library that served as background to the study wall of Gideon’s chamber..

In five minutes he read and cataloged the titles of (more or less) two hundred volumes in five languages.

-You have an interesting collection here ,profesor.How many  volumes altogether?  1650?

-Exactly,sovereign beauty ,exactly!-Gideon squinted, happy,sighing, kissing Spencer’s satin shoulder .

He had not meant to penetrate Spencer.They  had rubbed against each other until the satiety, qualifying their  friction with their mouths: Spencer, almost like a child, drinking eagerly,.Gideon, like a sick insane , idiotized  by  the  drug that he felt concentrated ,blood throbbing, in the buttocks of Spencer Reid.

-I met this library throughout my life, and I have more copies in my bedchamber.You will see  almost no criminological texts, except that the ones I've written in the past.

Spencer was entertained, remembering word for word the second volume of the General History of Gibbon.

-In Gibbon, their footer notes are the most interesting part-, he said, -as when he cites the passage in which Suetonius describes Tiberius minnows, barely pubescent boys swimming underwater in the imperial pool  .... ...

Gideon laughed, kissing his forehead-

-You are  the ​​flesh perfection .... -he whispered in his ear, gently licking the shell of his delicate,pale ear .And he added, in an almost menacing tone:

-And you're mine ....

Spencer sat up suddenly.

Gideon smiled, a perverse expression in his eyes.

-O ... you're from another? Do you belong to another?

 Gideon  paused, and sighed deeply.

-Don't worry.. I always  knew it.It began  during that terrible case in Anchorage, right? The Butcher’s Homicides ?Alaska?

Spencer nodded.

-Lars André Tourneur, the Scrap from Juneau.,who slaughtered his victims with the edge of a piece of ice, and then quartered them, as in a  butchery .I remember it as if were now..That was a  good job.Spencer,the one you did with the rest of the team. .......

-There were no clues,-said Reid-The subject was amazingly clever ...

-Oh,yes.And the  Anchorage hotel was so crowded with tourists at that time of the year, that you should have to share your room with your illustrious boiss.Whom,, plus boss immediately became your lover.

-Almost without realizing it,- Reid said, lighting a cigarette, -as if it was the attitude of a couple of habitual poachers, one fell into the arms of the other..You already  know: he k is not an easy person- Gideon nodded, nodding, while Spencer went and continued:--You had stayed in Quantico, held by a fairly significant mess, something related to internal affairs..Morgan  was still bedridden, recovering from his wounds.There  were only the girls, he and I .

Tourneur left notes on the walls of the city, announcing that he would attack a certain time, in a determined day .But those  tracks were almost always fake..We were racking our brains ... I prepared the map details, and concentrated on the triangulation received in a call from a disposable cell ... Asnd . .. Nothing! ... Finally, we find Tourneur :he was about to escape from Anchorage by the  road to Juneau, the city where he had been born.The  road was frozen..The  car skidded .... and Tourneur died on the spot, saving us not only the task of ending we with him, but the tedious ceremony of the arrest, which, if any, was  in that case certainly ridiculous.

Tired, frozen, numb, we returned to the hotel.The girls stayed to play bingo in the great hall of the ground floor .. We went up to take a hot shower, and take off with the impossible stress.There was a hard  storm.  The blizzard blew  like agitated by the devil.I took a piece of paper and a role and did some calculations for to know just the time when  twe'd get out of there: I saw no other solution than to arm ourselves with patience .... They would be three or four long days.

He took from his wallet a photograph of the blonde, and looked at it with  sadness.I wanted to repay the gesture that he had been after me during the  Hanckel’s affair, and above all, I wanted to create some confidence to slip away and give to my screaming veins what they were desperately  asking for.. But I didn’t knew (or ,better,I did not want to admit) that my veins were not crying this time by a needle ....

I put my hand on his shoulder,and looked straight into his eyes. Then ,I realized that they were the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen in my life, and that his mouth,so  sharp, so bitter, attracted me as strong spirits use to do  . Strong spirits…and poisons…

He had removed his jacket and was in sleeves,undoing his tie..The  heating device was very high.He began to take off his shirt., unbuttoning it so slowly,so slowly… My eyes followed his hand ...

I do not know exactly at what time we shook in an embrace ,but it was immeasurable.

I asked him for to be  sodomized. I said if it was not him, it would not be anybody else.”

Spencer paused, seeing that Gideon's face reddened with anger.

-No other? ... Don’t you have  been, perhaps, with Ethan? Did you have an intercourse with him when you disappeared  for an entire afternoon, and its c onsequent evening,while we were in New Orleans? You,yourself,presented him to me..I told you  that he was a good  pianist.I was perhaps also meant him to be good as sodomite. I assumed you both  were lovers.You already know:you can not fool me.

-No-Reid cut, dryly -He wanted to force me, he wanted me to undress to observe crime marks on my skin ... But I finally had to leave .And I resisted before to  his insistence.

-And, tell me ... Rossi ... did he do any insinuating proposal to you? –Gideon asked,suddenly,.

Reid shrugged, astonished

-No. Why should he?

Reid was more than stunned.

-Did you know him? –he asked.

Gideon smiled slyly as in  a mocking way,:so gloomy,that Reid was afraid to insist with his questions..

-And who do you think that  suggested "friendly" to him for to return to the old ways? The old fox David was retired.He is more or less four years older than me.And I assure you:he has so much experience ,that could also lecturing about how to sodomize supreme beauties like you ... Rossi is as wicked as myself: but he perhaps knows better how to hide this detail,.There were  over thirty years that I know him.

-Really?

-Yes.

-And where you met him for the first, may I ask? The FBI, in college, in the army ...?

-In the Nevada desert.It is  a long history, which is beside the point.

Reid knew perfectly well that the story itself was irrelevant, and wondered what on earth could be doing Rossi and Gideon in the Nevada desert (near where he, Reid, was born) thirty years ago ... He only dared  to ask:

-Were you …lovers?

Gideon's laugh should resonate in Quantico, since it was so loud.

-Lovers? -He said, choking with his own laughter-Lovers? The "eat-spaghetti" and I?

Now …that's good!

Reid didn’t laugh,however..He  ended  his cigarette, and lay back on the chaise longue,  letting the afghan blanket slip under his nipples, which appeared as two small buttons in bloom.

Gideon stopped laughing, and put his mouth to Spencer’s nipples.

-'I've been in  Cairo, but I must tell you that all the roses of the Fayum, the most beautiful in the world, when opened in the morning with  the dew,  can not compete with your nipples.

Spencer was left him flatter and worship, while thinking of the half-sentences, in the words of Gideon had not said…because he  did not dare to say.

Gideon turned him in  a very smooth motion, and found Spencer's buttocks, caressing them feverishly.

-Let me  have you-he whispered,-and tell me ,after,if I could  make you moan as much as your circumcised does..

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

CHAPTER  V:

(Allegro agitato)

(Rome, Excelsior Hotel lobby, afternoon)

David Rossi walked with long strides through the lobby of the Excelsior Hotel, while waiting for a call from Paris.

A quarter to five pm, Rome time, he was finally in communication with L'Heureux, who confirmed that he had received the reports correctly.

-'Well, now ...-Rossi himself sounded extremely nervous, and this  bothered him: it was not his style-Now, s'il vous plait, my dear Robert, sent,please, the  two faxes simultaneously, to each number I have indicated :one to Seattle, WA, and the other to Raleigh, NC.they should arrive at the same time.

-D'accord, mon ami! .. But ... I hear you like unusually altered .... If it's something urgent .. why you do not trust us?

-I do not trust anyone-Rossi sounded dry,more dry than habitually.

L'Heureux jumped across the line.

("What the hell was all that?")

He came to believe that Rossi was really mad, and that it was not just talk.

At last he said:

-I've already sent communication to the mayor   of Ile-de-Vilaine, and I am to speak (if you want, we can go into conference) with the chief of police in Saint Malo.

-That will not be necessary.

L'Heureux stayed astonished . What a pride of these Americans! Even if they had Italian blood!

-Dave, we've been looking for this guy for three years. "That" began more or less four ... no .. almost five and a half years ago, to be more exact, with some interruptons.Nobody could verify whether these  warning news were true, if they  were true, or if it was ...

-I know.

L'Heureux exploded:

_Merde, alors, David!! And why did  not you tell us before??

-Quiet, Robert ... quiet .... Let us make this.-he checked his pocket watch .-In two hours I'll be in París. I convened with the two agents yet,they should arrive during the day of tomorrow ... maybe tomorrow night, more or less..I have  booked the flight for them from New York.

-As you wish.But, albeit at a safe distance, I warn you that I will be there.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(Across the world, in the Appalches. Near Raleigh, NC .. Noon)

The boy climbed the small hill sweating, riding his bicycle like the last thing he should do in his life.

-Hey .. what about, Spike?'Are you training  for the race from coast to coast?-Morgan screamed.

The boy gestured,giving him a document..

-Is this  for me?

Spike, a dark-haired boy (even darker than Morgan) about fifteen or sixteen, messenger of the post office in the nearby village, had in his hands a paper.

-Yes, Derek.It’s  a fax.

-A .. fax?-Morgan scratched his bald  gleaming head , and  took the letter, giving it a quick glance .

His face changed suddenly.

Then,he took off fifty dollars,and gave them to the boy:

'-Take here.,Go to the movies with your girlfriend, boy.I shall  go to work now.. See you at my return.

Fast as lightning ,he entered the hut.

Garcia was busy buttering the toasts.

_-I must go away urgently, baby girl.Hail Kevin in my name,please.

-Derek! ... What .. what happens?

Penelope's intuition was proverbial.

-You will .. right? ... You're going to Quantico .... without me .. without us?

-No, I'm not going to Quantico, precisely-He fulfilled  his  bag with some clothes, turned on his cell phone and checked his Glock regulatory ..

The girl paled.

-Where are you going?

-I can not tell you. –he gently stroked her cheek- Do not worry, I'll be fine .... But do not call me .. ok?

-As you wish.

Already in the doorway,  Derek Morgan turned his face for an instant:

-I love you, my princess.

Penelope was almost crying.

-         I love you too, my  Moorish King ....

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

(Seattle, WA.11 am)

Aaron Hotchner read and reread the paper.A  shiver ran across his  members, and the specter of guilt again showed his yellow teeth when his eyes narrowed.

-This  arrived this morning,  very early..I thought you were sleeping,and , I did not want to  bother ..

Aaron clenched his hands, and almost shouted:

-I was not sleeping, mother! You know I never sleep!!

The poor woman looked at him hopelessly, and left the room without a word.

Hotchner turned on his cell phone and dialed an international number.

-Albergo Excelsior, buona sera.Good evening…

-Miss, please ... Signorina, prego ... With Room 324.

-Subito, signore

-Grazie.

......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

(Four hours later, at the international airport John f. Kennedy, N.York)

The two men looked at each other silently.

The tall dark one  was meant to say something, but the other stopped him:

-Do not say a word, Derek.Please.

 Morgan did not take much to realize that Hotchner had drunk, and copiously.He was sickening  with the smell of  bourbon.

-No .. I only wanted to limit that, if it is so serious, so serious, so dangerous ....that  mysteriously can not even be mentioned ... then ... why us? Why did not address themselves, the Sureté, or the Interpol?

-I do not know-Aaron shook his  head –What I know is that Rossi specified we should say  not a word of this to anyone, not even to the girls, or to Dr. Strauss.

-It is something..unofficial,then ...-Morgan scratched his head -Hey ... where is Spencer? He must not know about this?

Aaron shrugged, terrified by the question, but even more by the fact that he had not seen Reid, who he expected to find also in the airport.But he  could not inquire too.

-Why do you ask me, Derek? ... I have not the slightest idea.-he paused-I thought he was with you.

-With me? No. I have not seen him since the day we parted to take these vacations.He was going to visit his mother, and then to Europe ....

He seemed to remember something:

- Hey, boss!! Reid is in France!! Now I remember that he  went to an investigation that would take place  in  the Museum of Anthropology, and to give some lectures at the Sorbonne!

("He did  not say anything ... He never said he would travel to Europe!")

The speaker announced the imminent departure for Paris.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

(Charles De Gaulle International Airport, Orly.París.At night )

The man with   Mephistophelean goatee and rapacious eagle eyes was wearing a long gray raincoat.

It was raining. He was smoking  compulsively, but still seemed cold and indifferent as ever.

The three officers shook their hands: the one,  tall, dark, was wearing his leather jacket, jeans and boots.The  other, pale, almost disfigured, was  dressed impeccably: jacket, tie, white shirt, briefcase,and a  black raincoat on his shoulders. Everything in him was suggesting some executive chief,arriving to Paris for a business meeting.

-For here,gentlemen-Rossi said- Kindly follow me, please.

Without further additional words, he led them to the car, a dark blue  Alfa Romeo , with black crystals.

-Your weapons,please- he asked.

-The weapons?- Derek  asked-We meant to go unarmed? Go!

-Not at all..But we must  not use our regular weapons .

Once inside the car,  he took a suitcase of considerable dimensions, and opened it.

-Pick, gentlemen.Please-he  said.

Rossi had a splendid collection of  firearms of all kinds, many of them historical.

Morgan chose a Magnum and a Luger 45.Hotchner, after making a gesture of disgust at the German gun (which still bore the emblem of the SS), chose a 9mm Beretta, and a Smith and Wesson .22.

-Excellent choice- Rossi said.

'-Well, but ... what and why we came? Because I guess it will not be to commit some kind of assault ... Or all this is a joke? –Morgan inquired.

From the wheel, Rossi said:

-I wish it  were, Derek.-he sighed- I wish it were.

While he  was driving ,he spoke very slowly, as coolly as a mathematics  teacher whom would explain to his students a theorem:

-Also we shed our plates and cards that accuse us as members of  the  Bureau.We will carry  only our "civilians" identification cards, so to speak: passports and driver's licenses.

Morgan broke, pounding in his seat:

-By thunder, Rossi! Tell us once and for why we come here, goddamnit?

-Patience, Derek, and I advise you about to keep  your adrenaline for later.

Aaron Hotchner, meanwhile, unfazed, looked at the emptiness, while the brightness of the lights in the rain passed as a fugitive bolts  before his eyes, burst  but insensitive.

("He's not here .. He is not here!")

Soon  they  came to the building of a rather old hotel, located in the nearby of  the Quai d'Orsay ..

They entered, and  Rossi asked to the waiter for coffee ,cognac and cigarettes.

They went up to the room, and sat around a small table, which only had a lamp.

-Friends-Rossi continued, unperturbed, using the same tone, extracting     a folder from his briefcase-This is the case.I beg you, please,to do not be interrupted until the end of my explanation.

He lit a Turkish cigarette, and began, without seeming in the tone of his voice the slightest hint of emotion:

-It's been almost five years that have been taking place in Europe, and also in South America, a series of unexplained murders to the naked eye, and unusual for the crudeness of the modus operandi (or should I say the modi operandi?) the murderer in question is employing-.

He opened one of the folders:

-January 2006, Rome: Salvatore Gianninetti, opera singer.conspicuous member of the  choir at the Santa Cecilia Academy, countertenor: he died after being repeatedly raped; his body was found floating in the Tiber.He was  suffocated with a plastic bag that contained  lavender essence..Literally,he was  cdrowned in perfume.

Morgan glanced at the photo.

It was a tall, thin boy,with chestnut hair and brown eyes, and an androgynous look ..

-February 2006: Madrid.Gonzalo Rivas de la Llosa, alias "The Wicker" a  young bullfighter,a matador: stabbed  ,  not precisely with knives, but with hollowed bull horns, the kind that are used for drinking wine :. Of course, the horns were found stuck in the  body contained fine wine of Syracuse, which is a blood red, and taste rather sweet.. Mass wine , to be more explicit.

The photograph showed the graceful body wrapped in yellow silk: the hair was brown, and the amberlike  eyes were an open vacuum to nothing ...

-February 2007, Athens: Demetrios Lambrinos, dancer at the  ballet  company in the PireoTheatre .He was found in the same port :his feet were  flayed, burned with acid, and half-eaten by a pack of dogs swarming the wharf.

Hotchner stood, with a bound.

His eyes were fixed on the figure of Demetrios Lambrinos, or what was left of him.

His heart was almost stopping..He was… ... he was ....

-This guy was identical .... Spencer? -Morgan asked ,reluctantly.

-I said I did not want to be interrupted, Derek -Rossi said in a tone that brooked no argument whatsoever.

After drinking a long sip of coffee, he continued:

-August 2008, Buenos Aires: Carlos Raúl García Caballero, actor, specialized in to perform works of Wilde and  Shakespeare.He was  impaled in a Turks’ style, after a successful performance of the play "Salome", which, transvestite, personified the protagonist.He was found in an alley near a location  where Jorge Luis Borges, the famous writer, placed, in his short story The Death and the Compass, the abandoned mansion of Triste le Roy.

The facies of the victim was  repeated: long  brown hair; a thin, tall, slender body;

 amber , gold or honey eyes ...

Rossi continued,almost mercilessly:

-December 2008, Prague: Karel Luschka, young and talented chess player, great master, drowned with the king of his own chessboard:the white one.He had  gouged out his eyes, and his hands chopped off.

February 2009, Paris: Daniel Laforgue, concert pianist, former child prodigy ,darling of Parisian society, died after a concert at the Salle Pleyel, hanged with a rope snared with a cord, more precisely the one for the last A of the  instrument, after being raped repeatedly until his ears ... Mainly by the ears ...

I give you the fact that all these victims, in addition to striking physical resemblance between them, had in their history records of to  have qualified with an IQ of over one hundred eighty ...

Rossi did not want to be interrupted, but the shake of the table, a tremor like it could have felt during an earthquake, left him speechless.

It was

Aaron..

Although unrecognizable.

The wide-eyed, sweating, disjointed factions, shaking like a madman, the typical facies of paranoid attack ...

-That son of a bitch, bastard ...... this ... damn ....he  wants  Spencer Reid!! And not only what he  wants, but he probably has him right now!

Rossi nodded wordlessly.

Morgan got to his feet.

-Besides,-' continued Aaron , going up Rossi, and taking  him by the lapels of his jacket- motherfucker .... because that's what you are, Rossi! ... You're also gloating with details of something that you knew, before us ... and you are doing this to me!!

-Quiet, Aaron! –Derek said,.grasping him.

-This guy does not imitate the classic serials (the zodiac, the Ripper or the son of Sam) butthose ones whom  we ourselves have done a criminal profiling!! We, Rossi! This murderer knows us well, he knows Spencer! ! The murderer knows details of crimes that we have investigated, details that were never revealed to the press!!

-Aaron! What do  you mean?- Derek asked, terrified, reaching for the Luger 45.

Rossi broke:

-I did not know it  until recently!!!!!'This is what hat I've tried to tell you since I left Quantico!! Course he wants  Reid, it is clear that he currently held him  , clear that these poor boys were only replacements! I have tried that, gentlemen ,.... YOU COULD INFERE !!! ... that this case is capable of to drag the BAU away….to the dunghill!!!!! So much mystery, so we had to keep the secret!

Derek calmed down somewhat, while Aaron, standing, trying to compose himself.Finally, he asked, without abandoning, however, the tone of urgency:

-Any idea who might be the subject? This is someone who has escaped us, which we could not identify ... discover ...?

An imitator come from the United States? A copycat?

Rossi stared, tight, and focused his eyes prey in the bottom of perpetual mourning that lasted inside those eyes, that seemed not to see what was patently obvious.

Morgan was silent, seized with a dull horror, that so intimately, was slyly devouring his soul.

("No. .. this can not be  real .. He took me out of the monotony of a race without ameaning destiny .He gave  such a north to my life .. No. ... No.. no!"Please,Lord,not him ¡!!”)

-The ttacks continued only in winter-Rossi pursuived, while Aaron slumped in his seat-He is the copycat of the imitators..He has only one preferred victimology .He knows all the details..He NEVER was profiled..NEVER!.

Morgan spoke, his voice was a thread:

- For .. why? .. Why was he never profiled?

Rossi pulled away a little of the lamplight.

-Because when we (he and I)established the regulations,it was absolutely banned..

Hotchner stood, jumped, and ran for the door.

Morgan, meanwhile, looked ... he felt himself to be paralyzed.

-Can you understand now, gentlemen, why I sent for you?

Morgan looked up.

-David… –he said ... -Is this safe? Because here we talk about crimes committed in different countries, a journey that has even carried murder to South America ....

For answer, Rossi placed on the table the  Dall'Abaco dossier.

-He travels with his real  passport, he does not use aliases .... he wants to drag us up.

And he has  Spencer in his  possession.

-But it may be too late!-  Derek said-Spencer might be dead.!!

-Error-stopped-Rossi-I do not think he wants to kill him.I believe  that he wants to use him  to destroy  all what we created together  thirty years ago : the BAU, which blames all his feelings of guilt. of bitterness, of failure, of detachment from life, in short, all his madness.

I do not do this, gentlemen, for mere affection, or  for some kind of personal satisfaction: the BAU is the main interest for me. I do not want to see it roling  on the ground, even if it means shooting several heads..I’m  interested in preserving the institution and its principles: people are expendable . renewable.If we are going further and Reid is dead,  we should have some thought for to find  the possible replacement, and ...

Hotchner ,again, took him by  the lapels, and little was to slap him.

-Son of a bitch! -he cried –let’s go now, you bastard ....!!

Rossi smiled.

-Aaron, I cannot recognise you.Or I should say that this was the hidden side of you?

Hotchner released him with a violent shove, with such bad luck that he,himself, fell down miserably.

-Bourbon Syndrome. Chronic-Rossi said, laughing.

Morgan helped his boss to his feet, and to take off his jacket to wear the security vest.

-Can you do it, boss?

Hotchner nodded.

-Go sticking fevers seem to be very strong ,lately, -said Rossi, while wearing  himself the vest.

Morgan did not understand what fevers could tweet hinting Rossi, but his heart nearly stopped when David announced:

-It is almost certain that Reid was not kidnapped for to be dragged to Combourg .He replied  at the invitation willingly, because, I repeat, he has absolutely no suspicion almost certainly nothing.I c ould also add that J (I will not mention his entire name) and he have had some kind of intimacy ... agreed, of course.

These words were raw darts stuck to Naphtali Elijah Aaron Hotchner, to the present time the absolute chief of the elite unit.

Rossi quenched his umpteenth cigarette butt.

-I will drive-he said –Let’s go..And a tip: always shoot lethally.No prisoners will be taken on this issue.

(To be continued ..)