Pennsylvania. Bell is suddenly very aware of what he’s listening to, where he is. There’s a corkboard on the cinder block wall immediately to his left. Four photos shine out from the board. All four faces are smiling, hopeful, young—horrifically young. The crime scene photos tacked beside them are more horrific.

He jerks back, looks down at the folder in his hands. Takes three steps closer to Cooper’s office and clears his throat.

Gerry turns. “Hello. Help you with something?”

“I’ve got, uh…” Bell squeezes the cardboard folder.

Through the door of the office, he sees Cooper stand up from his chair. Cooper’s office is compact, brown-walled, covered in newspaper clippings and a drift of notes, like the den of some forest animal. Cooper’s holding a piece of paper sandwiched in plastic film. The writing on the paper is an elegant, smooth-flowing script in what appears to be green felt-tipped pen.

Cooper is frowning. “What are you doing here, Mr. Bell?”

“The questionnaire pages.” Bell holds the folder up. “From Beckley? I wasn’t sure what to do with them, and I figured you might not want me to take them back to my dorm—”

“Keep them.” Cooper gives him an assessing look, seems to realize he needs to be more prescriptive. “Hang on to them, complete the report, hand it all in Sunday.”

“Okay. I mean, uh, yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Bell?”

“Sir?”

The plastic-sealed paper in Cooper’s hand is a letter. It’s written on butcher paper, delicately frayed at the edges as though it’s been torn off a larger piece. Cooper opens a drawer in his desk, slips the letter inside, closes the drawer.

“I believe we had an arrangement,” Cooper says, “about you and Miss Lewis not entering Behavioral Science.”

“We did, yes, sir. I mean, we do. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure what to do with the questionnaire.”

“Go easy on him, Ed.” Gerry is grinning.

Cooper gives him a look, looks back at Bell. “It’s fine. Just… go on to your dorm now.”

“Yes, sir.” Bell bobs his head. “Good night, sir.”

As he pivots and heads back down the cubicle hallway, he hears Gerry say, in a quiet tone, “Good Lord, they just seem to get younger and younger.” Cooper replies, but Bell is too far away to hear now. He escapes out the office door into reception, then heads straight for the outside of Jefferson. He no longer thinks about Emma’s face, but the faces of the kids in the photos on the wall in Behavioral Science.

After Bell and Gerry leave the offices, Cooper gets the letter out of his drawer. Handling it carefully by the corners like it’s poisonous, he reads it through again. The letter says:

Dear Agent Cooper,

Well, here we are again after another eventful month. You really need to start answering your correspondence. Or maybe you just didn’t have an opportunity to reply to my last letter before our new friend delivered another surprise—he’s speeding up a little, isn’t he? And I did warn you that one body wouldn’t be enough.