Her name had been lost somewhere in the depths of the dark room, pushed to the back of her mind when her lack of identity became less important than her lack of proper nutrition. The sound of her sobs, too, had been lost in her throat. She had forgotten entirely, the color of her own eyes, the length of her hair, and the name that had been lost. She had lost many other things along the way, some of the things she didn't like to think about. She had long forgotten what daylight looked like, and it seemed like years since she had smiled.
The truth was, though, that she had only been there, in her little room, for a month and a half. During that month and a half she had been fed all sorts of drugs, had her mind altered in every way she could think of, and learned to count to about six thousand four hundred and ninety three. She had, in her subconscious, set a goal to count far past that, and keep counting until whenever she was rescued. If she was ever rescued.
She had almost forgotten her captor, too. She received food everyday, although, she almost never ate it. Dying would be better than this, she thought. Though, she didn't really want to think of what might happen to her body. Actually, she already knew what would happen; she seen it happen to the other girl.
•••
The three agents sat at their desks, waiting for something other than paperwork. Hopefully not a body, but definitely not paperwork. Only one of the three truly did not mind the paperwork, as he could get through it much faster and perhaps better than the others. This, though, earned him a fair amount of the others' paperwork as well. It wasn't that he exactly enjoyed paper work, he just didn't mind it.
The only female of the three sat, hunched over the desk just as the others were. Her raven hair fell around the papers as her pen glided along the lines. She had been thinking lately, as many people around her had, about the very smart young man that had taken about a fourth of her paperwork. She had grown very fond of him, just as she had grown close with every member of her team in the short amount of time that she had known them. She would've liked to have thought of herself as part of their family, which she knew they considered themselves, but she could see that she would have to earn her place, and prove that she could keep it. Her spot had been previously taken, so she had heard, by a young woman who just couldn't take it anymore. She could understand that. What she didn't understand was why she had given up the team.
None of the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit were naive, that was obvious, but none of them were very trusting either. Perhaps the least trusting of them being the last of our three lovely agents sitting at their desks. He had spent his young life hiding from the things he didn't want to talk about, learning to keep them from happening again. But nothing can heal the scars left when someone you trust cuts you deeply. The things that didn't need to be said, were left unsaid. This was, undeniably, not true for all the playful banter exchanged between himself and the colleagues whom allowed it to take place and even participated.
And, of course, just as the three of them started to have hope for a weekend, their ever lovable, and not-so timely, media liaison walked through their midst holding a file high above her head. The group followed, suppressing disappointed sighs and complaints about their weekend plans. They, of course, were not bitter about their jobs, and they did not consider it a service. What they did helped people, not only the victims they were able to save, but the families who deserved closure. Around the table they sat, a tall, professional-looking man walked to his own seat, followed by another rather professional-looking man who took a seat next to the young genius.
The blonde re-entered the room after retrieving the two men, and waited while another, larger, blonde woman connected a large-screened tablet to the board. The pictures that lit up the board now bordered on gruesome, but had no effect on the members of the team. They had seen far worse, some not of their own accord. The girl on the screen lay on the side of the road, limbs splayed in an unnatural array of flesh. Her blonde hair was another thing that didn't look natural. Her hair was quite obviously recently bleached, and since she had been reported missing over three months prior to her death, it had been dyed after she'd been taken. Next to the pictures of her body were pictures of two other bodies laid just like her's and driver's license photos under each of those.
"Three teenaged girls, all blonde, abducted from public places in the South Park area." The liaison's voice was strong, betraying the discomfort she so wished to share with someone. "Chips of cement found under their fingernails along with chlorine. The medical examiner says cause of death is oxycodone overdose. Signs of sexual assault."
"Held for three months each. Looks like the kidnappings and the murders overlap though," the second professional-looking man, Gideon, interjected.
The first professional-looking man, Aaron Hotcher, more commonly known as Hotch, looked at his phone. His concern for the case, as with every case, was apparent, though to the people who knew him best, the people around him, something was obviously wrong. He looked up at his team and dismissed them to get their bags. "Wheels up in twenty."
