A/N: This is my first fanfiction ever written and it is the first of a series; I really intended for these stories to be as book-like as possible so if there are some really long and drawn-out sections i'm sorry. This is a little AU, fits into the series when Seaver was a part of the cast but later stories could go anywhere. There is some violence in the story so please DO NOT READ if sensitive to details about violent acts.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal minds or any of its characters.
Feel free to review and give me some feedback where you see fit. Enjoy! :)
The car door shut with a slam! It didn't matter how much noise he made, the phone lines had already been cut. The man looked up at the windows; they were all as dark as death itself. He walked up to the front door, silently picked the lock with ease, and entered the house. It was as dark as it seemed from the outside; just the way he wanted it to be. He walked straight up the stairs that lay in front of him. With his footsteps as quiet as the home around him, no one would suspect a thing.
He reached the top and stood in the middle of the hallway. To his left would be the master bedroom and a bathroom. To his right were two smaller bedrooms. He didn't need to look to know this; he knew this house as well as he knew his own name.
Filled with resentment and purpose, he strode to the left. He gazed in from the doorway; the door had been left open by the exhausted person who only wanted to sleep. The room looked like any ordinary master bedroom with its wooden dressers, a few assorted chairs, a closet in the corner, and a queen-sized bed that contained two sleeping bodies.
The man smiled, this plan that had been implanted in his mind for so long was now happening. He took a few more silent strides closer to the bed when he stopped. There was a shuffling noise outside the room. He turned around swiftly, afraid he had been discovered.
It was just the cat, attempting to climb down the stairs still in its dazed, sleepy state. The man chuckled to himself silently and returned to his mission. He turned and moved closer to the bed. The left side had a woman enshrouded under the covers while the right hid the man of the household. The intruding man walked to the right side; this was all perfectly planned ahead. He reached into his left jacket pocket and pulled out a knife. It wasn't too large in size; the blade was about four inches long, but seemed as sharp as glass from a broken window. He held it out in front of the sleeping man and without hesitation, slit the man's throat cleanly and most importantly, silently. The dead man lay there, no longer breathing, unable to scream.
The killer looked down at him with no remorse and walked around to the other side. He stared down at the woman as he had done with the man. With the same lack of hesitation, he slit her throat as he had the man's. No noise erupted from either of the homemakers. The room was completely silent, not a noise could be heard throughout the house. Only the chirping of cicadas outside the walls broke the eerie silence.
He slipped the knife back into his pocket and stalked out of the room. In the hallway, a pervasive thought occurred to him. Rather than retreating back down the stairs, the murderer continued straight toward the other bedrooms. Both doors were closed. He silently opened the first one.
It was empty, intriguing him to continue to the next room. Here he saw a normal teenage girl's room; a desk, a closet full of clothes, a T.V., and a single sized bed with pillows and body sleeping soundly in it. He moved closer to the bed. The girl lie facing him with her eyes closed in a peaceful, easy sleep. She had long blonde hair and tan skin from her days spent out in the sun. Her right arm and head were the only things sticking out of the blankets on this cool summer evening. She looked so serene and innocent in the man's eyes.
Something came over him, he couldn't stop it. The urge to follow this mission was intensifying and no matter how wrong the task felt or no matter how much he didn't want to follow through, he had to finish what he started. A single tear dripped down his cheek as he took the knife out again. He told me to. I have to do this. He thought, fighting back his regrets.
Holding the blade out with his left hand, he slowly cut a slit in the girl's forehead. But before the girl could realize what was happening and awaken, he stabbed her right arm, sticking it into the mattress. Now she was wide awake, but it was too late; the man was gone.