Classified.

Chapter 10 -Uncovered Letter-

Friday, November 16th, 7:00 a.m.

Shane

The next morning I decided to head over to Northwood High. For one, I was worried about Skylar and her little rage fit. When she stormed out, she really looked like an annoyed tiger, set to kill what had harmed her.

I walked through the doors like my very first day. Again, the Jocks, Cheerleaders, and Punks lay out in groups. Though, today, something was different. Through the corner of my eye I saw a guy, leaning against the far wall. He was odd, out of place. Something about him was making me uneasy. Maybe it was the fact he was staring dead at me, or the fact he was now heading my way. 

"Agent Martin." he acknowledged with a cocky smirk. "I had a feeling you'd drop by."

I stared at him. A few wrinkles lined his eyes, but they weren't very noticeable. I'm guessing about 27 years old. I smirked back at him. Maybe if I play his game, he'll feel relaxed around me, and eventually tell me the things he's learned about the mission. Though, that's not the way I play, and that game's too risky. I'd have to trick it out of him.

"I take it you're the new agent?" I assumed.

He nodded and looked around. "Agent Harold. Justin Harold."  he informed. "I take it you're the old agent?" he sassed.

I laughed nervously, trying to relax myself from the rage that was slowly building up inside me. This guy takes my job and dares the smart talk me? "Yes. I am the old agent that got too close to the suspect."

"Ahh." he nodded understandingly. "Daniel." 

I looked at him through my lashes. Had they found out something that could make Daniel responsible for the murders? "Yeah, we became close friends and the boss didn't like that." 

"Well, why would you become friends with a guy that has shown so many obvious signs?" he questioned.

"Ever heard of keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" I smirked, choosing my words carefully.

"Yeah, but still, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere close to him if he did such a sickening thing." he explained.

I nodded, not understanding, but pretending that I did. "Which one of all?" I asked through chuckles.

"Well, why do you think he's been to the office 152 times and suspended 25 times? He's insane, Martin. Do you think all those people did something to him? Or did the voices tell him to do it?" he questioned.

I stared into his eyes, trying to recall a distant memory. The letter that I found next to a corpse the day that Daniel left early from school. "Schizophrenia." I stated blankly. "From the letter, I know." I lied. I never thought of that. 

"Do you know what the symptoms of Paranoid Schizophrenia are?" he asked as though I was dumb.

I thought back to my health class in high school. "Social withdraw." I listed.

"He pushes everyone away." he reminded.

"Hostility." I went on.

"The fights." he spoke again. "Another symptom he's shown is his expressionless gaze. I've noticed his face rarely has expression on it. He hasn't shown any more signs so far, like inappropriate laughing or crying, extreme reaction to criticism, or insomnia. But, I'm going to look out for those." he acknowledged.

"Good." I nodded, not really caring about what he was saying. How could I miss this? It was so obvious! 

"Why are you here anyways?" he investigated.

"FBI sent me." I replied without thinking. Another lie. 

He winced. People in the UGDA hate the FBI. Mostly because they believe that cases should be investigated in complete secret, and although the FBI cases are secret, the bad guys have an eye out for the news. The news would announce if the FBI was investigating the case. So, they are. They are relevant. They are figures to be feared. But, we are unknown figures. We are not feared, because in people's minds, we do not exist. 

When I came into the school to investigate the murders, we claimed we were a part of the CIA. That would explain why I did not give them my address, because the CIA is way more protective of their agent's identities. We also claimed that my name was fake, when in fact, it's real. If we claimed it was fake, they wouldn't be tempted to do any research because they would think that they wouldn't get anything back. And if they did decide to do research on my name, just to see if we lied about it, they wouldn't find anything because I am unknown. That would not make them suspicious knowing the fact that we claimed it was fake. 

There is a lot of psychology that goes into an investigation. Especially when the investigation is this dangerous. 

"Yeah." I nodded. "I better go." 

I started walking into the school and took a left turn as I passed the auditorium. All of a sudden I feel something heavy hit my cheek. I went flying into the lockers, crying out in pain. I opened my eyes and waited for them to adjust. Right as I started making out a male figure above me, another fist came flying. This time I grabbed it, and bent it backwards, pinning the guy against the lockers. 

Right as I did that, I realized who it was. I turned him around, still pressing him against the lockers. "What was that for?!" I yelled. 

"You made Skylar hate me!" Daniel spat. 

I laughed harshly. "No, I'm afraid you did that by yourself." 

He started kicking, trying to get free, but I didn't budge. "Let me go, stupid!" he shouted. 

I let him go, thinking he wasn't going to attack again. The next thing I know, his fis connects with my face once more. "Will you stop!" I yell. "Enough!" 

"No! What did you tell her?!" he commanded.

"I told her about your date plans." I informed him calmly. 

His face relaxed. A smile formed on his lips slowly. I dreaded what was coming next. His laughter fills the halls, and my brain freezes. Laughing at inappropriate times. He's the murderer. He killed so many people. So many innocent people. My hand formed into a fist, and I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from throwing it at his direction. 

"That's why she's so pissed off?" he asked with a serious face. His smirk was long gone. As if his outburst never happened. 

"Yes." I answered simply. 

"Why would she get mad at that?" he asked quietly, as if he was asking himself. 

I stared at him blankly. Is he really that bad at taking hints? "Because she loves you." I answered.

He snapped his head up. "She what?" he screeched in surprise. "Why didn't I ever realize that?" 

"Because you're kind of stupid." I answered nonchalantly. 

Anger coated his face once more. "I am not stupid!" he yelled. His face turned red, the veins in his neck showing. 

Extreme reaction to criticism. Great, two out of three symptoms expressed. Let me see if I can verify the third. 

"How did you sleep last night, Daniel?" I asked.

His face fell expressionless once more. "Oh, I didn't sleep last night. I haven't slept for a while. I've slept about three hours the past ten days. Why?" he questioned.

"Oh, nothing." 

But, it was something. It was the thing. He's the murderer. All I have to do now, is turn him in.