tapping out "Jingle Bells" with her at the piano.

The jury saw his baby book, and a family history he put together in elementary school. Then came the report cards -- usually with straight A's -- and a stack of school and team pictures.

His father called him Jimmy, his mother called him Jim and prosecutors disdainfully called him "that guy."

The defense presented three dozen witnesses -- neighbors, family friends, teachers, coaches, friends and classmates -- who described a boy who never picked fights, was never angry and tried his best to blend into the background. He was able to remain invisible for a long time as he battled the demons within.

A traumatic move

His decline began when he was 12 and the family moved from Castroville, near Monterey, to SanDiego. He had trouble making friends and began to withdraw into his room and his video games. His mother went door-to-door looking for playmates but, she said, the boys in their new neighborhood weren't very friendly.

She recalled how her boy "lost his joy." She felt guilty that she couldn't make him happy.

Looking back, the defense said, what was chalked up to a tough adjustment was probably an early symptom of Holmes' mental illness. By the time he was in high school, a cross-country coach had taken notice of his behavior. He kept himself apart and was so uncomfortable standing close to others that he wrecked the team photo.

"He was of us, and not of us," the coach said.

His college years were uneventful. He had a handful of friends