Over-consumption of food, drink, or wealth items to the point of extravagance or waste.

"Will." Jack's brow was drawn, his mouth in a familiar unhappy line. His shoulders were hunched, and he was bent slightly at the waist to accommodate the tiny woman standing at his side. "This is Willow Hammond. Willow, meet Will."

"Will and Willow." she said for her greeting. "That's not going to be annoying at all. You can call me Em, it'll make things easier."

"Em." Will didn't meet her eyes, but fixed his gaze on the brightly stained cuff at her wrist. Artist. Right handed. "Hi."

"Em received the correspondence from our killer this morning." Jack continued. "Complete with photographs and co-ordinates. It was addressed to E.M Hart."

"My pseudonym," Em offered. "I'd actually prefer if you called me by that name, Mr. Graham. Everyone else does."

Jack nodded, and motioned for them to both have a seat. "Em has just arrived with the correspondence."

"Why did the killer contact you?"

"Probably because I wrote the instructions for this murder." she kept her golden eyes trained forward as she took her seat, staring determinedly at the thick plastic packet of photographs and dirt samples on Jack's desk.

Will turned his head to stare at her, but Jack took up the battle.

"Ms Hart is an author." he said rather mildly. "She writes thriller novels."

"Oh." he waited a beat. "It took you seven hours to come forward with this information?"

"It took me twenty minutes." she corrected. "Once I realised the victim was an actual victim. I get a lot of staged murders. My fans are morbidly inclined that way."

Will didn't know what to do with that information.

"When I realised that this wasn't - an elaborate staging of Enraptured, I picked up the phone and got in touch with the FBI. I thought maybe Timothy Bell had gotten out of that charming little hospital he'd wound up in, but I'm told he's still there." she rubbed her eyes, her leg started to nervously bounce. "And now I'm going through this again."

Em had straight black hair under a thick beanie, the red marks of glasses had rested on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a clear, no-nonsense amber, framed by dark lashes and pale skin. She bore no other interesting features, aside from the fact that she was very short, and quite thin.

"You know of Timothy Bell from several weeks ago." Jack informed him. "The last time someone started a string of murders using Ms Hart's literary works as inspiration, four people died. He went by the 'Enraptured Killer'." It clicked then, for Will, who had heard about the man's brutal attacks but hadn't been directly involved in the case.

"Em was - instrumental, in catching the attacker."

"I was bait." she informed Will in a quiet drawl. "Let's not beat about the bush, Jack."

"You were bait." he nodded. "But you did help a great deal more than you were signed up for."

"It's in my character." she replied smoothly, and forcibly stopped her knee from bopping with her hand. "So, you've both been to the scene, right?"

Will nodded, glancing momentarily at Jack, who affirmed the notion quietly.

"There'll be bugs where her tonsils used to be and dirt under her nails - that dirt will be a clue. It's what got my killer caught, in the end. They'll be of different kinds of mud, one will reveal where the murder was committed." she paused. "There'll be batteries in her uterus you might wanna check for fingerprints."

"Why batteries in the uterus?"

She shrugged.

"You had to be there."

"You wrote about a murder where bugs and batteries go together?" Will murmured.

"Like I said, had to be there. It made sense to m-...my sociopath." she stared at the side of his head for a long second. "Wait a minute. Are you- Will Graham?"

He nodded, and mumbled the affirmative.

"Ah. I've read about you. Clearly, Freddie Lounds has a soft spot for you. I wouldn't worry about her. Everyone knows she's a bitter cow." she scoffed, and got to her feet, digging in her front pocket for her phone. "Do you think this guy will send anything else my way?"

Jack glanced at Will.

"It's possible." he nodded to her. "If so, you've got my number."

"Don't take this the wrong way Jack, but I really wish we weren't that familiar."

"You and I both, Em."

"I'll go and rearrange my life. I'll wait outside." her footwear were heavy duty boots, laced tight around her ankles. They looked disproportionate to the thin calves and bony knees that peeked out from under her skirt. Likewise, the bulky jacket didn't look like it fit her, like it was too big around the shoulders and waist.

"We're going to see Dr. Chilton." Jack told him, as the door swung closed. "He has Timothy Bell in custody. That was the guy who started this, the 'Enraptured Killer'. What did you see there today, Will?"

"I didn't see any sexual intent." he said bluntly, picking a spot on the desk and grimacing at it. "There wasn't any outward evidence that there'd been an obstruction in her... reproductive organs, and there was nothing to suggest any dirt inside her, aside from the stuff on her hands." he paused.

"I saw- I felt - detached. It was like reading instructions. There was an overwhelming sense of - control. He was... very in control of everything. It was all set out. Things were a certain way for a reason. I guess that reason is that they had been scripted. How old is she?"

Jack nodded, as though he was likewise surprised by the author's age.

"She's just turned twenty years old."

"And she wrote that?" It had been something like structured chaos. He could see elements of a story well told but he couldn't feel them; the choice of victim was impersonal; the act of killing is what made their murderer tick.

"She wrote that story about three years ago, now." Jack's eyes went to the shadow at the door. "Tread carefully with her, won't you? She is just a kid. She thinks she's coping but I don't think it's true. The following written works from the aftermath of Timothy Bell had a certain..." he couldn't quite find the word, but Will could sense that it wasn't going to be a good one.

"And you want me to keep an eye on her?" it seemed a responsibility that would be better left to Alana, or maybe Hannibal Lecter.

"Who better?" Jack replied dryly, and rose to get his coat.

The walk to the car was done in silence. It seemed perverse to try and puncture the air with words. Em needed to pull herself up into the big Humvee vehicle Jack used for intimidating purposes, and settled into the backseat.

"So. How's Bella?"

"She's doing just fine. How's Bert?"

"I haven't seen him in about three weeks. He's riding some kind of inspirational wave. I know better than to interrupt."

Jack made a low agreeing noise, and reversed the truck. Will could feel the girl's eyes on him - he could feel her curiosity rapidly inflating. What he didn't understand was the calm in which she kept in the face of the horrific murder she had penned.

"Do I have to interact with Chilton?" she said his name like a disease.

"Dr Chilton will probably make an appearance, yes."

"I hate him."

"He isn't the most charming of people, no."

"He has a superiority complex and I have problems with authority." Will's eyes flicked up to see she was gazing out her window. He hadn't known any body to be so upfront in a long time, but thus was his workplace. "Do I have to be nice, or...?"

"Please be nice." Jack's smile was half cocked. "You know what he's like."

"If he tries to psychoanalyse me, I'll throw a tantrum. He can analyse that." she went on bitterly. "I have never met anyone I've instantly just wanted to punch in the face, before."

"Oh, you too?" Will muttered, causing her to laugh.

She had an odd laugh - she tried to smother it behind her hand, but it was a girly giggle if he'd ever heard one. She glanced at him with a smile but soon turned to stare back out the window.

"Always good to know I'm not alone." she said warmly, and they lapsed into silence.

"Miss Hammond." the doctor gave her chest a friendly smile. "Mr Graham. How good to see you both again." Will didn't quite received the same attention.

"Dr. Chilton," Jack said, perfectly amiable. "As much as I'd like to linger, we are on a schedule."

"Please, right this way." His hand lingered on Em's shoulder, and Will could see that her spine was arched away from it. He smoothed that same hand down to the small of her back, which is when Em skipped to have both Will and Jack between them both. He just smiled; the writer pulled a face like she could smell vomit.

"It must be interesting, you two working together." he continued in a sleazy drawl. "One of you constructs the minds of murderers, and the other enters them. I wonder what a regular conversation for you would be like."

"We talk about you, actually." Em said flatly.

"Oh, you do?"

"Thank you, Dr. Chilton." Jack put his hand out to shake, and Chilton just about walked straight into it. "We can walk from here."

"If you ever need to see me, Miss Hammond - Mr. Graham - you know where I'll be."

"Mmph." was her reply. He shook Jack's hand, offered it to Will, who begrudgingly accepted. When he offered the same hand to Em, she stared at him like he was potentially insane, a brow cocked. She wouldn't touch him if she could help it.

"Don't be bitter. It'll give you wrinkles."

So she smiled, but every inch of it was cold.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" she said, sweet enough to incur a tooth ache. "So good to see you, Fred."

"Doctor." he corrected.

"You aren't my doctor." she said, and tipped her head at him, head down and ready to charge like a bull.

He made a noise like a light chuckle, though it was blindingly apparent that he had not liked the comment.

"So touchy, Willow." he lifted a hand to her shoulder and she smacked it away. "How irregular."

"Dr. Chilton," Jack said firmly. "We're on the clock, here."

"Of course, of course... I have no doubt I'll be seeing you again." he swung the pointed look onto Will, who determinedly stared forward. The doctor set off at a quick pace, brisk and self important. They were shown through the first gate and told a chair would be waiting for them.

"He always makes me feel like I've been rolling in slime." Em muttered darkly. "Though clearly he's one of your favourite people too."

Will's mouth twitched.

"Was I obvious?"

"Yeah." she glanced at his face, but his eyes were fixed forward. She shrugged and follow suit, staring ahead of her, down the long stretch of hall. "I just had the most intense vision of pulling his jaw out of the socket."

"Now, now." Jack said smoothly. "That kind of talk will get you institutionalized."

"Again." she retorted, but kept her tongue otherwise, following the correct procedures while forcibly relaxing her shoulders.

The walk down the hall seemed to stretch on for several hours. One of the inmates hissed something off-puttingly sexual to Em but her only response to that was to lift her chin and keep walking. Will could see a flush in her cheeks, and the balled fists of her hands. She was tiny beside him, but her emotions were palpable, alive, human, and fierce. He sunk into the feel of her just the tiniest bit to relieve the pressure in the hall.

"Hello, Timothy."

"Ah, Em! Miss me?"

"Endlessly." was her flat reply.

The man was six foot four, thin, with stringy brown hair knotted at the base of his skull. He had no facial hair but a thick white scar on his chin, and one of his arms was held in a sling like position.

"I liked me." he tapped his nose. "Ya know?"

"Yeah, I know."

That flew over both the Agent's heads. They decided to let it slide.

"How's my brother?"

"Coping."

"I'll bet. Mother?"

"Also coping."

"She's getting out of the house now?"

"Last time I checked. Gone back to photography and everything."

"I thought she'd still be a shut in."

"Well, she's doing well for a sixty year old you you tried to kill."

"And if you hadn't of been there, I would've."

"I'm well aware of that, actually."

He was bored, he was anxious, he was depressed. He a blue bruising on one high rise cheek bone, the prints of a hard fist on his face. His dark eyes were shot through with red bolts of sleep depravity, and his hands were long and white, like spiders.

"Timothy, this is Agent Will Graham," she said, inclining her head to one side. "And Agent Jack Crawford. They're my escorts."

"Like you need them."

"You know how it is. I'm not entirely legal just yet."

"Unfortunately not."

"You're not my type." she promptly sat, folding her legs to one side. "How's life?"

"Oh, you know." he sat on the bed, folding his gangly limbs into a neat cross. "I think maybe the word I want is lacking."

"Well, that's what you get for killing four people and kidnapping two." her eyebrows rose at him. "Personally, if we could've gone back, I would've shot you in the head, not the shoulder."

His grin was feral.

"You didn't sign my cast."

"Maybe the balls. That would've been more satisfying"

"Em." Jack put a hand on the back of her chair. "Mr. Bell, we've come because there's a copycat with your signature."

"Good choice of M.O." and he laughed, tipping his head back. "Bet that's doing some pretty interesting things to our little Em, here."

"I don't think so." her gold eyes flashed and she stared, unblinkingly at the convicted killer.

"I know so." he teased.

"I'm far from being your Em." she crossed her legs, and his eyes flicked to the rising hem of her skirt. She was entirely aware, and angled her body at him in a provocative manner, all the while fluttering her lashes, coy. Jack and Will shared a glance. This wasn't the best way to go, but it was apparently working.

"You'd be royalty, if you were mine." he told the line of her boots, the curve of what lay under her skirt. He rose his eyes up her torso to her face, dragging them over her body. She didn't even flinch, she just sat there, unamused.

"Yeah, I'd bet." dry, her voice was so dry. And she was unaffected, so Will could focus.

"We have some questions, Mr. Bell."

"I don't want to talk to either of you. You aren't pretty enough. Well, maybe you." he gave Will another long once over. "Yeah, I could probably deal with you."

"I'm feeling a little neglected, Timothy."

"Oh, no, don't be. I'd deal with him, I'd fuck the liver out of you-" and that was the point in which Jack asked Em to leave.

They found her in the car, both hands around a small travel container. She gulped the remaining dregs of it down and popped two mints in her mouth before they got there. They got in the truck, silent, completive.

"Get what you need?" she asked quietly.

Jack glanced at Will, but the empath retained his silence.

"Yeah, he's a little bit flat, isn't he?"

That made Will turn his face towards her - he alternated by looking at the shoulder of her coat and out her window. She was watching him, though in a somewhat dreamy state - her knees, for example, were parted a little and she was slouched in the leather of the car.

"Flat?" he repeated. "He was empty. Content."

"Not exactly the kind of character you'd think could murder four people and kidnap two." she leaned her heavy head against the seat, sighing heavily. Over the strong smell of mint, Will thought he could smell something suspiciously alcoholic.

"No, not really." he turned back around, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "He said all the right things in all the right places. But I don't think he did it."

"The DNA under our first victim's fingernails matched his." Jack told them both.

"It was a contaminated source, Jack."

"He confessed, Em."

It seemed to be an old, rehashed conversation, done again and again, many times before. He watched her in the rear view for a second, but she didn't budge from her lazy position.

"People confess under duress." she replied mildly.

"He was found at the crime scene, your crime scene, with a knife in his belt. The same knife that inflicted the four prior victim's wounds."

"Same knife. Different guy."

"He was - attending to himself when you got free, Em."

"Rubbing one out over your mother's unconscious body does not equal murder, Jack."

He refocused on the road.

"He knew details, and he had a motive."

"He knew some details, and his motive was shit."

Will could sense that the logical side of Jack's brain was at war with the detective in him - the psychology was right enough. Unsavoury childhood, documented cruelty to animals; his divorce set him off, the last straw before the camel's back cracked down the centre. But there was something... Safe, about him. He wasn't... vicious enough. He was rather tame, even with goading Em, it was only teasing, only pushing boundaries, not willing to cross them.

"You shot him?" Will realized.

"Twice." she turned her eyes back out the window. "About two inches apart. I shattered his collarbone and scapula. I meant what I said - I would've shot him in the skull if I could've aimed again. First time shooting a gun. You know how it is."

He did.

"So... You found him?"

"I was bait." she reminded him in that same unimpressed, dry tone. "He found me."

"Em was... Momentarily extracted from our safe house."

"Yes, she was. And she shot the bad guy." she swallowed a heavy mouthful and sighed, letting another waft of minty-alcoholic air rush through the car. Will shifted and frowned at the dash, and while Jack seemed to pick the alcoholic scent in her breath he wasn't phased. "I never actually saw his face when he took me, you know. His mother got my guard down and took me around a corner where he put a bag over my head and a gun at my back and told me to move."

"What he said..." Will thought back. "'I liked me'. What did that mean?"

"Oh, that." she blinked at her knees. "After Enraptured... There's Encompassed and Enveloped. Encompassed was half written when he decided to start killing people, so naturally the, ah, train of thought strayed a lil' bit. It was only ment to be a two part book, but I developed a character. His character. Looked like him, spoke like him, talked like him. Didn't really kill like him, but he recognised himself before I did. Probably didn't help his name was an anagram of the actual name. Tom Blithely is Timothy Bell. I wasn't trying when I put that together."

"You made him eternal." Jack told her.

"Yeah, well." she shook the travel container, outwardly disappointed at the emptiness. "It wasn't intentional. And I'm fairly sure he was on the road to infamy without my help, so... My bad, I guess. Drop me off at Harlot's in town, would you, Jack?"