Chapter Text
Holden knew who he was. Broken, delusional, neurotic even. He was obsessive and maybe a bit compulsive, detail oriented. He was unable to attempt a real conversation, he was capable of only rambling. He knew where this would lead, small magazines tucked away, his FBI job he marked in every place. His little paraphilia hidden under a "borderline autistic fixation on criminology." The packed set of nerves lighting on fire under the wrong word, the crime scenes pushing emotions far from fear or nausea. He wanted to swallow it whole, the imagery of something so horrifying, he saw as pure. His religious childhood, the spankings, the touches. He can only assume, he can only profile who he is. There are men much less cruel than him behind bars, and it is all his fault. He should feel pride, but his fucked sense of loyalty, the string or rope that ties it all together. Analyzing the scenes, the hidden thought of "not my style".
And then there's Bill, a much stronger man, a man hardened by the life situations he had faced, a soldier. He should be looking up to the man, saying "sir", instead he finds bundled tissues in his hands after the thought of the man disheveled and with his blood cold. There was no way Bill, or Wendy even for that matter, knew. Holden prided himself on this, on the manufactured "panic attacks", on the blames shifted to Gregg, on the arguments he won slowly, picking his fights, covering his cards. They would never even know they had a serial killer in the making in their own room, no need for interviews. Yet Holden couldn't possibly ruin it, I mean how well would he do in jail? Surely not.
The rooms alone, the amount of time, the anger caused by Bill, the tension. Holden has no idea if he wants his lips on the man while he's warm or not. He can imagine running his hand through every muscle, then a knife, and then- that's irrelevant. Holden could see it, he can see bits of himself in every man they interview. He can imagine how well it would run, if he did it via their techniques. He learns far faster than expected from the men placed in front of him. He remembers Bill's words, that he's either crazier than he thought or lying to himself if it doesn't affect him. He's certainly not lying, though he pretends to, keeps up appearances. They all do. And really, he's no bad man, not a real term. If he was, he would've killed someone already.