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Holden Ford looks around his empty apartment, trying to accept the lack of closure in the Atlanta child murders. He’s convinced that Wayne Williams, who fit his profile to a T, is guilty of murder, but is no longer sure all 30 murders were committed by one man. Which puts into question his entire profile, his entire life’s work.
The accolades— the private jet home, Ted’s congratulations— are dulled by the closing of the investigations of all the murdered children. Those mothers might never get any answers. He imagines facing them again, and he feels sick to his stomach.
In fact, he realizes that he’s feverish and sick. His sinuses are swollen, he’s having trouble breathing, and he feels dry and cold. Great, now he has the flu as well.
He gets himself a large glass of water and prepares to spend the day in bed. On his way to the bedroom, Holden reaches into his suit jacket pocket for his bottle of Valium.
The panic attacks come without warning. Sometimes he’ll be perfectly fine for weeks. Other times he’ll have what he thinks of as “episodes,” brought about by almost nothing. He’ll be outside, walking to a local market, and something about the lights outside the store against the evening sky will strike him as odd. Then he’s suddenly unable to breathe, convinced he’s dying.
Holden learns Valium is the only thing that helps. No one is going to hold his hand and comfort him through the attacks. Valium is like a warm embrace from a friend, and the only way he can get refills is to see a psychiatrist.
Fortunately, Wendy recommends a doctor to him, and as soon as he gets back from Atlanta, he makes an appointment and meets with the man. The doctor seems rather kind and, more importantly, not very aggressive. His gentle manner makes it easier for Holden to control what he reveals.
Holden holds the orange bottle in his right hand as he climbs shakily into bed. He’s freezing, and it feels so good to lay his body down. Soon he’s fast asleep.
The next morning Holden is due back in the office, so he calls in sick. He talks to Wendy briefly on the phone, and she sounds distracted and busy. He hasn’t spoken to Bill since returning from Atlanta, and Holden wonders if the man is still angry with him.
Holden misses Debbie a lot. When he’s busy or traveling, it doesn’t occur to him to miss her. But when he’s at home, ironing, or watching TV, or reading a book, he longs for her restless presence, her needling way of conversing with him.
And when he’s sick, he really misses somebody being around. He has ever since he was a child and had to take care of himself when he had a cold or the flu or even once pneumonia, while his parents had to work long hours. Sickness always makes him feel horribly vulnerable and lonely. This time is no different. He lies in bed, shivering, sad, knowing nobody from work will check in on him.
Holden wonders about Bill and why he didn’t tell him what was happening with Brian during the Atlanta case. Holden knew there was some reason Bill was returning home every weekend, but nobody bothered to tell him why.
Holden misses Bill as well. He once thought of Bill as his friend, and still does, really. But a distance has grown between them, and Holden only finds out why when Bill angrily tells him Ted asked him to babysit Holden, make sure Holden doesn’t do anything to embarrass the BSU.
All that time he thought Ted held him in high regard and trusted him. Turns out that was a joke. The director had asked both Bill and Wendy to watch over him, keep him under control. Like he’s an unruly child. It’s humiliating.
Holden wonders how he can make it up to Wendy and Bill, but nothing comes to mind.
After three days in bed, Holden decides enough is enough, and though he still doesn’t feel well, his fever has broken and so he goes back to work.
Wendy and Bill arrive before Holden, and when Holden sits at his desk, he notices the two are in a meeting together in Wendy’s office. Without him. Holden swears to himself that he will be more aware of his coworkers and not give them reason to doubt his skills or his ability to control himself.
Wendy and Bill exit the office, glancing briefly in Holden’s direction. Bill announces to the office in general that he and Wendy are going out to an early lunch.
Holden is struck by how worn and tired Bill looks. He looks even worse than Holden feels. When the two return from their outing, Holden takes a deep breath and approaches Bill gingerly.
“Hey, Bill. Can I talk to you for a moment?” Holden asks.
Bill appears hesitant, then agrees. “I’m busy, Holden, but just for a minute.”
Holden breathes in deeply, then says, “Bill, I wanted to apologize for… everything. I should have asked you why you were going home every weekend when we were in Atlanta. And I’m sorry Ted asked you to watch over me. I’m an adult, and that shouldn’t be necessary. And lastly, I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Brian. I can’t even imagine how horrible that was for all of you.”
Bill looks Holden over and replies, “Okay, Holden. That’s fine. We don’t need to talk about it anymore. But… just so you know, Nancy left me and took Brian.”
Holden is left momentarily speechless. His mouth opens and nothing comes out. Finally he says, “What? Oh, God, Bill.”
Bill walks away and goes back into his office, closing the door after him.
Holden walks back to his desk, falling heavily into his chair. Was this his fault somehow? Did Nancy leave because Bill wasn’t around when she needed him. He feels his face flush, and suddenly it’s like the fever has returned.
Later, at a staff meeting, Wendy brings up their next interview subject. “His name is Leonard Howard Staffs. He murdered 12 people, men and women, seemingly randomly. That would suggest he’s a disorganized killer, or a mass murderer rather than a serial killer, but evidence proves he took his time planning where and when he would commit his crimes. Staffs is an interesting case of contrasts.”
Bill and Holden are assigned to interview Staffs the next day. A guard leads the killer into the visiting area. Handcuffs remain on his wrists. Holden asks the guard to remove them, but the guard grunts out, “Can’t. Not allowed with this one. Too dangerous.” Then the guard stands a few feet away, clearly not intending to leave.
Bill and Holden exchange a look and then begin the interview. They start explaining about the project when Staffs interrupts.
“I don’t care about all that. Just get to the questions,” Staffs says gruffly and without making eye contact with either men.
“Okay,” Holden says. “That’s fine. What criteria did you use in choosing your victims?”
“What’s criteria?” Staffs asks angrily.
“Um… how did you decide who you were going to kill?” Holden asks, nonplussed.
“If they were there and I was angry, that was it,” Staffs answers. “It was their unlucky day. If I hated them, I killed them.”
Bill asks the next question. “Did you do similar things when you were a child? Not killing, but hurting?”
Staffs says, “Yes, of course. I always got angry. And I always got even. I beat people, I killed small animals.”
“How old were you when you began this behavior?” Bill asks.
“What do you mean? I was always like this, as far back as I can remember. Even my parents said I was evil. And I never denied it. I hate the world. I hate everything. I don’t feel bad for those people I killed. They deserved it,” Staffs rattles on.
As they leave the prison, Holden sighs and says, “Well, so much for Mr. Nihilism in there. What a waste of time.”
“Well, they can’t all be gold, Holden,” Bill responds. “But I can’t help but agree that the interview seemed pointless.”
Back at the office, Wendy listens to the tape and comments, “I disagree with you two. I think that interview was full of pertinent information.”
Holden asks, “What can we learn from someone who is just pure evil?”
Wendy looks put out for a moment, then says, “Holden, there is no such thing as pure evil. Staffs certainly wants us to believe there is and that he is a prime example of it. But he’s just a man who decided to do horrible things, like every other man we’ve interviewed.”
“But everything he told us was an act of self-mythologizing. He claimed he was always like this, as far back as he remembers. We couldn’t tell whether he was being honest or not,” Holden says.
Wendy responds, “The myth can illuminate the truth behind it. I think it was a good interview. Nice job, guys.”
Holden feels confused. Another compliment that seems unearned. His confidence is taking a pummeling lately and it makes him unbalanced.
Bill’s looking contemplative. Holden glances at him and wonders how his partner is handling the loss of his family. The lines of his face show the weariness and heaviness of his situation. He wishes there was something he could do to alleviate Bill’s burden, but again, he can’t come up with anything.
The next morning Holden wakes up with a terrible headache and a sore neck and back. Sensing he’s getting sick again, he takes some aspirin and drinks a glass of water before heading to work.
The day involves nothing but paperwork and meetings, and Holden has trouble fighting his lethargy and the pain. At one point Holden is sitting at his desk with his hand covering his eyes, trying to lessen the too-bright lights’ effect on his continuing headache.
Bill walks past him and asks, “What’s with you? Having another fit?” And he continues walking away.
Holden looks at Bill’s back as he goes into his office and closes the door. So, Bill is still angry at him. Holden sighs and stares at Bill’s door, feeling an intense loneliness.
He snaps out of his daze and sees Staffs sitting at Gregg’s desk.
“I hate you. You’re next,” Staffs says, looking directly at Holden.
Holden jumps to his feet in terror. Wendy, who is walking past him, stops in her tracks.
“What’s wrong, Holden?” Wendy asks.
Holden looks back at Staffs, who is no longer at Gregg’s desk.
“Nothing,” Holden answers while panting. Great, now he’s hallucinating. “I’m fine,” Holden says, sitting back down.
Holden wakes the following morning feeling worse. It’s clear his fever has returned. He dresses as warm as possible and yet still be in a suit and goes to work.
Ted calls him to his office for a meeting. Holden feels nervous as he heads upstairs, wishing he could wear sunglasses indoors, as the lights still seem too bright for his sensitive eyes. “Be a man,” he tells himself.
Ted greets him warmly, as usual. “Agent Ford, good to see you. I heard you were ill recently. I hope you’re feeling better.”
Holden wonders if he should bring up Ted asking Bill and Wendy to babysit him and then decides he’s too tired to enter that morass.
“I’m fine, sir,” Holden answers. “What can I do for you?” Holden just wants this meeting to be over.
“I’m inviting you and Bill to another fund-raiser dinner,” Ted informs him. “The last one was a raging success.”
Holden can’t believe this is happening. Why would Ted ask him to another ass-kissing party? He clearly didn’t add anything positive. All the rich assholes just found him boring.
“Sir, I don’t understand why you’re inviting me. I appreciate it, but Bill would be much better off going alone. I don’t know how to talk to those people,” Holden all but begs.
Ted responds, “That’s why I want you to go. You need to learn. Just follow Bill’s lead. He makes people laugh at the most unlikely things.”
“I don’t find anything funny about our work,” Holden says.
Ted stops smiling. “I’m not asking you to laugh with them. I’m asking you to learn how to deal with these kinds of people, make them happy to be giving the BSU money.”
Holden suddenly realizes he doesn’t have a choice. “Yes, sir,” he says quietly.
“Thank you, Agent Ford. That is all,” Ted says and turns away from the young agent.
Holden returns to the basement muttering in anger, rubbing his temples as his headache grows. Bill sees him and walks over to his desk.
“Ted told you about the party, I assume,” Bill says with a rueful smile on his face. “Sorry. I don’t enjoy them either.”
“He told me to follow your lead. I don’t know how to make jokes about our work. It’s not funny,” Holden says and raises his hand to cover his eyes.
“What’s that on your hand,” Bill asks.
“What’s what?” Holden asks as he turns his hand over and looks at it. He instantly notices a deep purple bruise on the back of his right hand.
“It’s a bruise. I have no idea how I got it,” Holden says. “My body is doing things without my knowledge these days. My head and neck and back hurt, I’ve got a fever, and now this.”
Holden realizes he just revealed more than he meant to and looks up sheepishly at Bill.
“You should go home, Holden,” Bill says gently and then walks away.
At the party the following night, held at a restaurant’s bar, Holden follows Bill around like a lost puppy. He listens to everything Bill says, studies how he integrates their interviews with killers into his drinking stories. It seems effortless, but Holden can’t imagine doing it.
Bill throws the conversation over to Holden at one point, saying, “My young partner here talked to Tex Watson, the Manson family member. He’s the one responsible for most of the violence in the Tate murders.”
Holden looks at Bill with something like horror, not being able to think of a single funny thing about that interview.
Finally Holden says, “Yes, he was interesting. He completely owns up to his responsibility in the murders, but says Manson had complete control over him. I actually felt a bit sorry for him.”
One potential donor just looks at Holden with disgust and asks, “How can you empathize with a monster like that?”
Bill interrupts with, “Holden, tell them what Manson wrote in that book of yours.”
Holden can see Bill is barely keeping a straight face. At least someone is finding him funny. After a moment, he is so relieved that Bill is looking at him with something other than disdain that he smiles and tells the story of Manson with a lightness he doesn’t quite feel but is glad to replicate.
Bill and a feverish Holden are sent on another interview. The murderer this time is Henry Mordack, whose victims were young men and boys in the South. He is known to be loquacious, happy to talk about his killings with anybody. Unlike Edmund Kemper, another talkative killer, his IQ is fairly low.
Bill opens with, “Mr. Mordack, we’d like to talk about how you chose your victims.”
Mordack looks between the two men and says, “They were the lucky ones. I liked ‘em young and pretty.” He glances at Bill and says, “You know what I mean, right?”
Holden and Bill look at each other, then Holden continues, “So you waited until you found a young man you liked in that way and followed him?”
Mordack answers, “No, they had to want me too. Which was easy, since I’m a good-looking guy, you know? These kids weren’t too smart. Just easy on the eyes and desperate for my attention. They followed me home like little puppies, eager to please.”
Holden’s feverish brain doesn’t seem capable of dealing with this man who takes such joy and pride in his killings.
“I wouldn’t say you were handsome. Why do you think your victims really followed you home?” Holden asks bluntly.
Bill, slightly surprised, warns, “Holden.”
“Why don’t you ask yourself? I would have chosen you, little boy,” Mordack says sarcastically.
“I’m trying to understand here. I just told you, it couldn’t be a matter of good looks. Did you entice them with drugs, money?” Holden asks with anger.
“Why, would that work for you?” Mordack shouts furiously. “I didn’t have to lure those boys home with anything but my own personality and looks. They all came home with me willingly and got their just deserts!”
“You’re lying!” Holden shouts and stands up.
Bill looks at Holden with disbelief as Mordack comes around the small desk and wraps his hands around Holden’s neck. The struggle lasts until Bill intervenes and pries the stubborn Mordack off of his partner.
Guards come rushing into the room and manhandle Mordack into shackles. Bill goes over to Holden to check on him. Holden is grabbing his neck and coughing.
“Holy shit!” Bill shouts at Holden. “What’s wrong with you, kid?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Holden answers. “No, I’m not fine. I’m sick and I’m making bad decisions.”
“No shit, Holden. You just ruined that interview, you know that?” Bill asks angrily.
“I know, Bill! He was annoying me with his conceit. And he was clearly lying,” Holden tries to explain.
“Regardless,” Bill answers, “you should know better. You do know better. You just wasted my time, kid.”
Holden feels horrible, both physically and mentally. He knows he lost control and doesn’t understand why, and now he’s given Bill more reasons to be angry with him.
Back at the office, Wendy also gives Holden a talk about keeping his emotions under wraps during interviews. She gives him a disgusted look. Holden knows what Wendy and Bill are thinking— that Holden does need someone to oversee him. He feels unprofessional, which embarrasses him.
“What were you thinking?” Wendy asks Holden.
“I wasn’t. I just reacted.” Holden’s frustrations come pouring out. “After Atlanta, I’m not sure if my ideas about profiling have any merit. I’m not sure these interviews add anything to real life situations. If they don’t, then why are we doing this at all?”
In the silence that follows, Holden notices that Bill and Wendy wear identical looks of shock. He feels naked and overwrought.
“You can’t mean that,” Wendy finally says.
Holden hesitates before answering, then says, “I do mean it. I’m questioning everything about myself. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Thinking that he’s said too much, Holden sits down. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bill and Wendy sharing a glance of disapproval.
The next morning arrives overcast and threatening rain. Holden wakes and can’t get out of bed. He can feel that his fever has risen. Everything aches. This makes it six days straight of fever and it’s only getting worse. Though he’s not the best at self care, even he knows this is not normal.
Holden rolls over to the phone and calls for a cab. He carefully gets out of bed and dresses in his most comfortable clothes, and even that seems to hurt his skin.
The cab ride to the hospital makes him nauseous. Holden is still hoping to make it in to work later in the day. He knows he’s not thinking straight, and his heart aches with the feeling that no one cares about him.
Holden waits in the emergency room for an hour, eventually lying down on some chairs. Since he came in ambulatory, they assume he doesn’t need immediate care.
Once Holden is in a cubicle, he waits another half hour for a doctor. He doesn’t care how it looks and lies down on the bed in the cubicle, getting underneath some blankets.
The doctor, a man about Holden’s age, takes his vitals and suddenly his care becomes more urgent. Nurses and orderlies flood the small area, setting up IVs and oxygen, rolling him into a lab where an emergency lumbar puncture is set up.
If Holden wasn’t so exhausted and sick, he would feel lonelier than he’s ever felt in his life. He holds onto the hand of a nurse as the doctor sticks a long needle along his spine. Even the pain can’t cut through his lethargy.
After the test, Holden spends more time in the emergency room, this time lying comfortably in a bed, feeling a bit better with fluids and painkillers floating in his system.
The young doctor finally returns and informs Holden that he’s tested positive for viral meningitis, that it’s life-threatening, and he needs to be checked in as a patient. They bring a phone over to him to call somebody. He thinks for a minute about his parents and then dials a number.
“Bill Tench,” Holden hears over the line.
“Bill, it’s Holden. I’m not gonna be in today at work. I’m sick again. Can you let Wendy know?” Holden says in as strong a voice as he can muster.
“Again?” Bill asks. “What is it now?”
Holden answers, “I’ll let you know in a few days when I’ll be coming back into the office. Thanks, Bill.” Then Holden hangs up.
Antibiotics flow from the IV into Holden’s arm, and yet he becomes sicker and sicker. He gives Bill as his next of kin. After a few days, Holden sinks into a coma. The hospital staff call Bill to inform him of Holden’s serious condition.
Bill settles the handset on the phone cradle and looks at Wendy with a stunned expression.
“Holden’s in a coma at the Naval Health Clinic. He’s got meningitis. He’s been there for a few days.” Bill runs through this litany of information in a confused monotone.
“What?” Wendy asks, just as confused.
At Naval Health, Bill and Wendy listen to the doctor describe Holden’s condition. All Bill hears is “coma,” “chance he might not survive” and “wasn’t sure he had anybody to call.”
The two of them sit in Holden’s room while the young man lies in the bed, unaware.
“Why didn’t he tell you how serious it was and that he was in the hospital when he first called you, Bill?” Wendy asks, uncaring that there’s a streak of blame in her voice.
“How am I supposed to know?” Bill answers in exasperation.
“Maybe he wanted to show us he can take care of himself,” Wendy suggests, looking a bit sick herself.
Bill says, “You know, we’ve all been played. All three of us. Ted asked us both to look after Holden, as if he’s some out of control infant. And he never tells Holden. In the meantime, I’m blaming him for having to babysit him in Atlanta even though I never told him why I needed to be home.”
“And I’m angry at Holden for putting the BSU at risk because he dares to use the profiling we’ve developed in a real-time real-life situation and angers people,” Wendy adds.
“Ted. That asshole. He set us all against each other and now look what’s happened. This isn’t right. We’ve lost all communication with each other,” Bill says.
Wendy agrees and says, “Well, it’s time we make things right.”
After two days in a coma, Holden’s fever breaks and he begins to wake up. Bill is sitting next to his bed when Holden regains consciousness.
“Hey, kid. Are you awake?” Bill asks.
Holden moans and grunts.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bill says, unbelievably relieved.
“Bill?” Holden asks in a very small voice.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you all right?” Bill says.
“I feel awful. How am I?” Holden mutters, barely making sense.
“You’re awake and you’re alive, so I think you’re doing okay,” Bill reassures.
Holden tries to look at Bill, but all he sees is blurriness. “I guess they called you? I told them not to unless it was necessary.”
“It was definitely necessary. You almost died. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were in the hospital when you first called me,” Bill said. “But I’m not surprised. We’ve been really good at not telling each other important things lately.”
Holden is quiet for a few moments, then says, “I can take care of myself.”
Bill comes closer to the bed and says, “I’m sorry, Holden, for being so angry at you. We need to communicate better in the BSU. We need to be there for each other, not at each other’s backs.”
“I’m sorry too, Bill,” Holden practically whispers. “If I can do anything to help you while Nancy and Brian are gone, just tell me.”
Bill chuckles, sighs and sits back down in the chair.
A week later, Holden goes home, this time driven by Bill. He’s still feeling weak, and the doctors tell him he won’t be able to return to work for at least another three weeks. Holden goes straight to bed, with the Valium bottle nestled in his hand, and sleeps.
On a Friday night, Bill calls and announces he’s bringing pizza to Holden’s apartment. He doesn’t ask. Holden opens the door in pajamas and a robe and sees Bill carrying a large flat box and a six-pack of beer.
“Pepperoni and mushrooms,” Bill says.
He enters Holden’s apartment and they sit on the couch, on opposite ends. Holden turns on the TV and begins switching channels, looking for something good to watch.
“Wait. Go back one,” Bill says.
“What?” Holden asks.
“You ever see `The Dirty Dozen’?” Bill asks his partner.
“What is that? And no,” Holden says.
“Only the best action movie ever. You’re gonna love it,” Bill insists and leans back with his beer and a slice of pizza.
“Okay, Bill,” Holden says, smiling slightly.