Hotchner leaned close to the darkened window and peered through the blinds. “Run this by me again?”

“It’s a Neurological Cartography and Synaptic Transfer System,” said Reid. “It provides a highly detailed map of the mind. Not the brain--any MRI could do that, but this system encodes things like experience, memory, and sensory processing.”

“You’re saying that someone could plug into Stargher’s mind and go for a walk in there.”

Reid nodded. “Basically, yeah.”

“That’s a simplified version,” said Dr. Miriam, walking into the room. She was a tall well-dressed black woman with salt-and-pepper braids and a tired but kind face. Morgan and Reid both stood up, but she gestured for them to remain seated. “But it’ll do.” She looked around and sighed. “We have the board’s approval on this, but the final decision rests with Dr. Young. She will, after all, be the one to negotiate this strange new territory.”

“Wait,” said Morgan. “Why can’t just anyone do it? Why can’t one of us go in? Your Dr. Young has no experience dealing with guys like Stargher.”

Dr. Miriam sat down and crossed her legs. “You don’t have the experience. There’s a lot more to it than just plugging in. There’s a very potent drug cocktail involved, some potentially frightening side effects, and it’s easy to get lost. Trust me.”

Hotchner turned around. “Get lost? What do you mean?”

“We embed a chip in the receiver’s hand.” Dr. Miriam shifted around to look at him. “It’s sort of a panic button. The mind is very gullible, Mr. Hotchner. There’s always the danger that the receiver will come to believe that the mind-environment is real.”

“Hotch,” he said.

“All right then, Hotch.” She smiled. “You may call me Adele.”

“All right, Adele.” He nodded. “You were saying?”

“She is entering someone else’s mind. This isn’t like walking into someone’s home and going their things to get an idea of who they are. This is all of a person’s memories, the sum of his or her experiences, and a person’s self-concept. It is a vivid world that you would be entering, with its own rules. Those rules may be nothing like the rules of the world you’re familiar with. It’s a dream made real. Or a nightmare made real. Dr. Young--Katherine--has some experience working with coma patients. She’s a psychologist who has been trained for this sort of thing. Tell me, Hotch, would you send someone with no training and no experience directly into the field? Regardless of the situation?”

“Absolutely not. It wouldn’t even merit discussion. I understand your position, Adele, and thank you for clarifying.”

“My pleasure.”

“But couldn’t someone go in with supervision? Maybe team up Dr. Young with one of us? You said she’s been working with kids. This guy--there’s gonna be shit in his mind that’ll make her piss in her pants…pardon my language,” said Morgan. “But we’re running out of time. If she can’t get in there and get what we need to know, then there’s no point in her going in at all.”

“Henry’s discussing it with Katherine.” Adele looked at her watch. “We should have her answer very shortly.”

Morgan looked around. “Where the hell are Rossi and Prentiss?”

Reid shrugged. “They’d picked up Rhiannon after her shift at the hospital. I presume they’re bringing her here.”

Adele turned in her chair to look at him. “Who’s Rhiannon?”

“She’s the one who put the rings in his back.” Hotch moved away from the window and took a seat at the table. “In the routine questioning of her coworkers it came up that she and Stargher possibly had a personal relationship.”

“Personal relationship?”

“That they were dating,” offered Reid. “Or sleeping together, or whatever.”

“You think she might be able to help?

“It’s entirely possible that she’d know what sorts of questions to ask,” said Reid.

“Rhiannon should speak with Dr. Young before she goes in,” said Hotch. “Provided, of course, that she agrees to do it.”

J.J. appeared in the doorway with a petite Latina at her side. She was dressed in jeans and a tank top, her dark hair tied back in a low ponytail. Both women held Styrofoam coffee cups.

“I agree,” said Dr. Young.

“Katherine, are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Adele.”

J.J. put her coffee on the table. “If you like, I’ll go and arrange Stargher’s transfer to the Neuro wing.”

“Thank you, J.J.” Hotch shifted his eyes to Katherine. “When can we begin?

Rhiannon went to the bed and looked down. Her eyes took in the lines and the colors separately, underscored them with the beat of the monitoring equipment until the slow rise and fall of Carl’s chest became a dance. All of it constricted into this box, a landscape of waffle-weave limbs and clear plastic tubing snaking across the walls and dark eyes that wouldn’t close, a slow rhythm. She pulled up a chair and sat down. In, out. In, out. She closed her eyes and inhaled the room’s antiseptic breath. In, out. In, out. She heard the FBI agents out muttering in the hall. She touched Carl’s hand. Warm dead curling meat. His breath was buried in his skin, a slow metronome. The languorous blood pushed through his veins. She leaned over and smelled his hair, got a whiff of bleach and hospital shampoo. She smelled his jaw. The cadence of her breath lifted, got a little sharper. She moved the blanket, her fingers tracing the ribbons on his skin, the ones she had cut there. His chest rose into her palm and settled back, lifted up again. She leaned down and put her lips next his ear: “Cem-anáhuac yoyótli.”

More nothing.

Rhiannon straightened up. She smoothed the blanket back into place and adjusted the fall of IV tubing. Rossi stepped into the room. At the sound of his feet she slumped back in the chair and folded her arms, resting one foot on the bed’s rail. Her face slanted toward the wall. “What do you want?”

He put his hand on the back of the chair. “What I want you to do is look at me.”

Her ass shifted, curling her spine to one side. Her shoulders lifted and so did her face, chin set at a defiant tilt. “I’m looking.”

“These girls…no, no,” he snapped. “You keep your eyes right here. Right here. These girls, Rhiannon. These dead girls.” The word dead sharpened before his voice slid into something softer, something confidential. “You know…they look an awful lot like you.” He tilted his head. “You know anything about that?”

“No.”

“He, uh…drowned them.” His fingers flexed. “Bleached them.”

“So?”

“So? Is that all you can say? You wanna know how he drowned em? You wanna know that? He built em a tank. That’s right, a fucking tank, like they were little white goldfish and he put em in there and let the water run, that’s right. He let it run. Goddammit, Rhiannon, look at me when I’m talking to you because your attitude is pissing me off!”

Her eyes narrowed. She shifted her body around.

“He liked to watch em flail. Yeah. Swimming around in there until the air ran out. Recorded video of it so he could enjoy it later. Then he’d jizz all over the dead body, you know. Like it was a tissue.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “That the guy you know?”

Rhiannon put her hand over his tie, high up near the knot. “Agent Rossi.”

His breath skipped. “Yeah.”

Her voice lowered. “Get out of my face. If you don’t, I’m going to knock your block off.” She nudged the heel of her hand into his breastbone. “I’m going to push you away from me…really hard. Do you understand?”

“Did you know him, Rhiannon?”

“Dave, I think that’s enough.”

He took a step back and turned around. Prentiss stood just inside the door, her eyes shifting from Carl’s inert body to Rossi’s face. “I just spoke to J.J. and there are hospital personnel on their way here to transfer Mr. Stargher up to Neurology.”

Rossi straightened out his lapels. “So the board approved it.”

“It would seem so.”

Rhiannon stood. “Approved what?”

“Some experimental memory retrieval system.” Prentiss looked at her. “There’s a doctor here who can plug into his mind.”

Rhiannon shouldered her bag. “What the hell kind of sci-fi bullshit is that?”

“It’s our last chance.” Prentiss shrugged. “At this point we’ll try anything. We were hoping, actually, that you would debrief Dr. Young before she goes in. Maybe give her a little heads-up as to what she may expect, or how she might best be able to communicate with Carl. But if you can’t help us, you can’t help us.” She smiled. “Thank you for your time. I’ll call Hotch and see about getting you a ride back to your car.”

“I’ll do it,” said Rossi.

“No, no,” said Rhiannon. “Let me talk to Dr. Young first. I guess it’s the least I could do.”

Rossi turned around. “I thought you didn’t know anything.”

“I have impressions.”

“And you couldn’t tell me?”

Prentiss took a deep breath. “Rhiannon, why don’t you come with me?”

“All right.”

Rossi started to follow. With a neat sidestep, Prentiss blocked him. She fished a couple of dollars out of her pocket. “Go find a vending machine. Drink something cold.”

“Emily, I’m fine.”

“Just do it.” She put the bills in his hand. “You look thirsty.”

He glanced over her shoulder. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Cool off.” Prentiss lowered her voice. “You’re a little warm under the collar.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Prentiss locked eyes with him. “Yeah. It is. Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but you really need to walk it off.”

“So now you’re telling me what to do? Is that what this is?” He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “How old were you when I started doin this job? Ten?”

“Dave…”

He shook his head and made a disgusted noise. “Never mind. I’ll meet you in Neurology.”