Quinntana Week Day 2

"Do you know the definition of the term serial killer?"

"I'm not on the Lopez case. I'm here to mostly keep an eye on Puckerman. I heard he has a problem with keeping his hands off the prisoners and suspects and Santana Lopez is not the person to mess with."

Captain Schuester looked at the FBI agent and nodded his head. Even though Noah Puckerman was one of his best detectives, the man still didn't know when to talk and when to get physical. The 23rd precinct of the New York Police department was filled with FBI agents waiting for the word of when Santana Lopez arrived in New York from Lima, Ohio.

The feds thought if they sent her to a prison out of state they could better protect her from, well, everyone until her court date. Turns out the Latina was beaten when the "trustworthy guards" of the Lima Penitentiary took their eyes off the accused killer. Because of what Warden Figgins, referred to as an "isolated incident", Santana was currently being transferred back to New York.

When Puckerman, who had followed Santana to Lima, reported back to Schuester about her attack, the detective mentioned that the Latina hadn't spoken a word the entire time. Even though she had not spoken since her arrest two months prior, the fact that she was still silent was bugging Shue. Maybe this agent Berry could get her to speak.

"Santana Lopez," the Latina kept her eyes trained on the Jewish man's badge as she was shackled to the table, chair, and floor. "Having fun now that you're back in New York?" The detective laughed at his own lame joke. The FBI agent he saw talking to his captain earlier entered the room as the transport guards exited.

The criminal sat silently; her eyes focused on the clock just above Noah Puckerman's head.

"I'm talking to you Lopez!" Her eyes never drifted away from the clock and her mouth never opened. Puckerman slammed his hand on the table; the only reaction was from Agent Berry, who had been leaning on the wall behind Santana. The blonde slowly approached the detective. Anger will not make her talk. "Ok, don't think that just because you won't talk that this will all go away."

Agent Berry watched from a short distance as Puck, as he told her to call him, began to drop photographs on the table. Each picture was of Santana's alleged victims after they arrived at the morgue. Most of the people who saw them either couldn't hold down the contents of their stomachs or cried, including Detective Puckerman.

Noah had stopped watching the Latina, but the federal agent saw her eyes flicker down towards the pictures before returning to the clock.

"Do you have something to say about this? Huh?" His voice got louder. "Do you have anything to say about all the people you killed?!" He slammed the folder on the table, still receiving no response from Santana. "Are you that insensitive?!" Agent Berry quickly stepped in as the man stepped around the table toward Santana. The last thing she needed was this upset detective laying his hands on the already injured woman.

"Maybe you should step outside, Detective." Puck looked at the blonde and reluctantly nodded. The women remained silent as he exited the room.

Santana watched as the other woman sat in the chair directly across from her. Her eyes were kind, but not expectant. Do not fear, she wants nothing, she won't judge.

"I'm not gonna make you say anything if you don't want to."

Santana stared directly into hazel eyes. She could feel her gold ones darkening.

"Do you know the definition of the term serial killer?" Agent Berry looked at the Latina. "Rhetorical question. A serial killer is an individual who has murdered 3 or more people in a time period of more than a month, with a 'cooling-off period' in between the murders." The blonde nodded as Santana continued speaking, "All of the victims are connected in some general way: hair color, race, occupation, area of residence, and so forth. I have confused several psychologists who have attempted to get inside my head."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't know whether to classify me as a serial killer or a spree-serial killer. A spree killer does the same thing as the average serial killer, but they don't have a so called cooling-off period, they just keep going. But you already know all of this. Right, Quinn?"

The blonde nodded her head. She glanced down at the Latina's hands. Why does she look so confortable? The two sat in silence for a few minutes when suddenly, Quinn stood and opened the door. Santana could hear her talking to the guard, but didn't focus on the blonde's words.

The guard who Santana knew was carrying the keys to all her restraints, silently unshackled the Latina as Agent Berry sat back in her seat. Neither woman said a word until the guard was gone.

"How much do you know about me?"

"Well, your birth name is Lucy Quinn Fabray. You were adopted by Hiram and Leroy Berry when you were 7 after your parents were arrested for Public Intoxication, Driving While Intoxicated, Reckless Homicide, Fleeing the scene of a crime, and Resisting Arrest. You attended William McKinley High School, with your sister Rachel and Noah Puckerman, though he doesn't remember you. You decided to major in criminal justice when you were 16, after your dads told you why you were taken from your parents. You are currently 26 years-old, which is surprising to most people, because no one has ever reached a skill level as an FBI agent such as yours before the age of 30. Oh, and you are a lesbian with a 3 year-old daughter."

Quinn chuckled at the info. Nearly no one knew that much about her life, but this woman knew the parts that she kept secret.

"I have another question for you," Quinn continued after receiving a nod, "Did you kill these people?"

The Latina's now brown eyes, turned black. The blonde would have shivered if her own eyes weren't as cold. "No."

Puck and Quinn stood near the entrance to the court room waiting for Santana to be called in. For some reason the prosecution didn't want Santana to see the current witness: a woman who claims the Latina tried to kill her just before she was caught by the NYPD. Santana was leaning against a wall between two armed guards. She was wearing two pairs of latex gloves, while her hands were cuffed to a chain around her waist. Quinn managed to keep them from placing shackles on her ankles.

When the bailiff opened the door for them to enter, Santana smirked when she heard the shuffles of the trials attendees. The first person she saw was the prosecutor, a woman by the name of Sue Sylvester. The parents of her first three alleged victims were sitting behind her, attempting to keep their faces cold, but Santana could see one of the victim's brother, a guy by the name of Mike Chang, silently laughing. The guards took Santana straight to the witness box, where they proceeded to chain her hands to the arms of the chair.

Sue approached to Latina, ready to tear the surprisingly calm woman apart. "Santana Lopez, tell us about you."

Santana's eyes were trained on the clock that hung on the wall opposite the judge's bench and the witness box. "My name is Santana Alexandra Lopez. I am 25 years-old. I was born in New York City, but I was raised in Cape Town, South Africa alongside my twin brother Julio, by our father Chase. I have a 3 year-old daughter by the name of Bethany Marisol with my girlfriend of 6 years. I successfully double majored in pre-med and pre-law at Harvard University. I received a perfect score on my LSAT and MSAT. I passed the bar and I am currently a Fourth year resident at Tisch Hospital. I am currently on trial for the kidnapping, torture, and murder of 52 people and the kidnapping, torture, and attempted murder of one." No one noticed the small grins of several people in the courtroom, including two of the jurors, as they were murmuring and gasping as if they didn't already know of the charges against her.

A slideshow of Santana's alleged victim's smiling faces slowly ran across the screen of a monitor nearby. The jurors had already seen the pictures earlier in the trial.

Sue turned to Santana and asked, "Do you recognize any of these people?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"The photographs were shown to me by the police upon my initial questioning and again upon my arrest."

Sue nodded then held up a clear bag with what appeared to be a knife inside. The blade, at first glance, looked to be glass and the handle and hilt was made of marble.

"Ms. Lopez, can you tell me what this is and whether or not you recognize it."

"It is dagger. I recognize it because it belongs to me."

"What is it made of?"

"The handle is made of marble and the blade is made of diamond."

"Did you torture these people," the slideshow was still playing, "with this knife?"

"No."

"Well, then how did the police get a hold of it?"

"The police removed every object with a blade from my home when they arrested and questioned me the first time in October, including my dagger, which is always in a holster attached to my hip."

"Ms. Lopez, do you recognize this woman?" A picture of the earlier witness was now on the screen.

"Yes."

Sue was surprised when no emotion crossed Santana's face. "Where do you recognize her from?"

"November of last year, I was in a car accident. I was trapped inside of the car and the paramedics and firefighters had to pull me out of my totaled car. Your witness was one of those paramedics."

The crowd gasped.

"The defense rests-,"

"Wait," All eyes turned to Santana, who was still on the witness stand. "Can I say something your honor?"

The judge's eyes searched the Latina's face for a moment before he gave a short nod.

"Thank you. I want to ask you all a question now." Everyone in the courtroom wanted to see what the alleged serial killer had up her sleeve. "As you all know, I allegedly killed 52 people by poisoning them. This was after I kidnapped them, every Sunday for exactly one year, and tortured them with my knife for six days. If I was able to stick with such a plan for a whole year, why would I change it? If I had enough patience to wait six whole days before I allegedly killed someone, why would I, all of a sudden, try to kill a 53rd victim in two? That makes no sense.

"I also want you to remember that the knife that I allegedly used to try to kill Miss Hardy was seen by her prior to the beginning of the year. She saw it when she helped pull me out of that car back in November. Why was this the one time I allegedly failed? Just something for you all to think about," Santana turned to face the judge, who looked as if he was actually thinking about Santana statement, and nodded her head, signaling she was finished.

The bailiff and one of the transfer guards removed Santana from the stand and pulled her from the courtroom just as the judge dismissed the jury to the deliberation room.

"You think you're so clever don't you? Trying to place blame on a victim? Your victim? The only person who ever survived your attacks."

Santana sat chained to the chair with a smirk on her face as Noah Puckerman spoke to her. Quinn was standing just outside the door waiting for a medic to come change the bandages on the Latina's still bruised body.

"I've already heard you speak, so why are you so quiet?"

Santana shook her head, but said nothing.

"Smirk all you want. You won't be smiling when you get to prison and you make a few friends."

"Sometimes, Detective Puckerman, having friends isn't a bad thing."

…

"Has the jury made a decision?"

The jury foreperson, a young woman by the name of Tina Cohen-Chang, stood and answered, "Yes, we have Your Honor."

Judge Martinez nodded and asked, "How does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant, Santana Lopez, on the charges of 53 counts of kidnapping, 53 counts of assault with a deadly weapon, 52 counts of premeditated murder, and 1 count attempted murder… Not guilty on all charges."

Ignoring the outraged reactions of the courtroom's occupants and the banging of the gavel, Santana crossed her legs at the ankles, leaned on the arm of her chair, and squeezed the opposite arm until her knuckles were white. You all better be outside.

The transfer guard removed the one set of handcuffs that bound Santana to her seat and as she stood handed the Latina a National Guard issued backpack full of her belongings. She slung the back over her shoulder and exited the chaotic courtroom sandwiched between police officers and prison guards. Judge David Martinez quickly fled to his chambers after he declared court adjourned.

Outside the court house a large crowd of civilians and newscasters, stood, anxiously awaiting the verdict. If a District Attorney Sue Sylvester exited the door first, they knew there was a guilty verdict, but if the defense lawyer, Matt Rutherford, or Santana Lopez herself, walked out, then there would be hell to pay.

Santana walked through the lobby of the courtroom, followed by and angry detective and the former occupants of the courtroom. FBI Agent Quinn Fabray stood near the doors, with a young Asian man and a small brunette. Mike Chang stepped away from the wall he had been leaning on and pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal a bullet proof vest. Santana swiftly moved away from the officers and allowed Mike to strap the vest onto her body.

When the doors of the courthouse opened, immediately there were dozens of camera flashes and the sounds of people yelling. Santana stepped out of the threshold and smiled. She could see the cars lined up at the curb, in front of the courthouse. She ignored the microphones being shoved in her face and the people calling her vulgar names and made a beeline for the all-black 2013 Buick Enclave sitting directly in front of her.

She knew Quinn, Mike, Rachel, and Puckerman weren't far behind. As Mike climbed into the driver's seat and Rachel into the front passenger seat, Santana was approached by a tall blonde carrying a blonde toddler. The little hazel eyed girl reached for the Latina and practically jumped out of the other woman's arms.

"Mommy!"

Santana grabbed the girl and opened the back door of the car. "Hi Bethy, did you have fun with Britt?"

"Yeah, but I missed you mommy."

Santana placed the girl down in the back of the car and allowed her to climb into her car seat. "I know, but I'm coming home now. Okay?"

After the girl was strapped in, Santana turned around to see Puck looking back and forth between her daughter and Quinn. She stepped away from the car and made space for Quinn to get in. After the federal agent was in the car, Santana turned back to see Noah staring at them with wide brown eyes.

"I told you Detective Puckerman, having friends isn't a bad thing," The Latina said before she and the rest of her friends got into their cars and drove off, leaving the public and the newscasters shocked.

I know this is late, but I've been really busy with school. So with that being said, I'm gonna try and get these out as quick as I can.

Since the last day of Quinntana Week is a Free Day, so i want you guys to give me some suggestions You can PM me or put them in the reviews.

You can give me suggestions for somethings you want to read for the other days of Quinntana Week as well.

Also, if you read Seven Days (or you're a fan of Pezberry in general) give me some suggestions for day 7 of Pezberry Week.