A/N: This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it! Whether or not there is a pairing depends on your exact definition of 'pairing', I suppose. Let's just say it involves stalking. Don't worry; I don't portray it as perfectly acceptable. Even I have my own standards of evil. At any rate, read, review and I hope you enjoy it! Constructive criticism is always welcome. The rating may or may not change to M later on.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. The only things I own here are this specific story's plot, UnSubs and witnesses.
The woman terrified him. Her presence had been an oppressive shadow over him for the past month, at least. What did she want? As a successful businessman, albeit with some admittedly questionable business practices, he didn't think he was likely to become the victim of anything, let alone stalking. He had a wife and two children; they needed him, right? He couldn't have imagined what this stranger would want; if it was money, she probably would have simply taken it instead of watching him.
He had originally noticed that he had been followed a while ago. Several times, he had gone to the police only to be told that nothing could be done unless someone was actually harmed. Even after he had started to receive those threatening letters, they had seemed to disappear before he could have used them as evidence. He had yet to tell his wife and sons; they would only have worried about him, possibly unnecessarily. Yet was it really unnecessary? He had heard those recent rumors; people would report feeling as though they were being watched, only to later have their houses burned down and be found dead in their homes. Was this connected? He certainly hoped not, but he felt as though his fears would soon be confirmed as he walked home from a late night at work.
He shook his head, pulling his dark grey raincoat shut as he kept walking. It had rained that morning on his way to work, but it was now merely cloudy with a slight chill in the air. He wasn't sure whether the shudder that wracked his body was from that slight cold or his fear; all he knew was that he was still being watched from the shadows, probably even followed. Right now, everywhere he turned, it was like he saw her; she was always obscured by the shadows, but he could usually see a bit of red hair that seemed relatively short in the front, a white trench coat and a black gas mask that further obscured her face by covering the bottom of it. She always seemed so calm… too damn calm! It was as though she was used to doing things like this, used to terrorizing people. Maybe it even amused her.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, he made his way back to his home. It was a cream-colored house with three stories, most likely some historical remnant that remained from the Victorian era, or at the very least an excellent replica as far as design went. He merely assumed it was the first due to the fact that it was in the more historical housing district in town. The front lawn was immaculately cut and green, even in the early spring. At the moment, the windows were dark. He had, after all, suggested that his wife and sons go on a nice little trip. He had said that he was too busy to go with them but, in reality, he had thought they would have been safer if they were away from him.
When he opened the door, something else seemed off. It took him a few moments to realize; he was positive that he had locked the door before he had left the house for work that morning like he always did. Yet it was unlocked now. What was going on? He didn't know, but he felt his heart pounding. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times in fear, looking around.
"Hello?" He called out only to get no answer and laughed a bit at himself. Of course nobody else was there! The only other person with a key was his wife, and she was on vacation! "Victor Richardson, you really are getting jumpy in your age, aren't you?" Right, that must have been it; he had merely forgotten to lock the door that day.
Victor turned on the light to the entrance foyer and started walking toward the kitchen. A long day's work always left him hungry, so he was more than glad to be able to make some dinner for himself. Yet, as he passed the door to his bedroom, he heard the creaking of an opening door behind him. Just that simple sound made him freeze. Was that his imagination, or actually his bedroom door opening? When he heard the sound of a footstep behind him, he turned around slowly. What he saw was a man who was most likely in his early twenties with slightly tousled, light brown hair and eyes of the same color. The light seemed to reflect off of his red-rimmed glasses in such a manner as to make him appear menacing despite the polite smile on his face. He had pale skin, as though he didn't really leave his house very often, and wore an outfit that could easily have been described as 'business casual' with more of an emphasis on casual judging by the fact that the top button wasn't done up and the tie was loosened. How had he gotten in here?
"Who are you?" Victor demanded, looking at him. Upon seeing that the man didn't appear to be armed, he had gained a bit of courage. "Moreover, how the hell did you get in here?"
The other male seemed unperturbed by the questions, yet mildly hesitant to answer the question of who it was. "Since you asked so politely," he began in a tone that betrayed no sarcasm but with words that just had to be a way of chiding him on his manners that had actually been rather (understandably) poor, "My name is irrelevant, yet don't doubt that I am glad to finally come face-to-face with you, Mr. Richardson. My associate has told me many things about you. As for how I got in, your wife gave me the key. I guess it could be called a parting gift of sorts. Now, would you be so kind as to come with me?"
What bothered Victor the most was the smile that remained on his face as he said all of this. This man… what did he mean? The words didn't quite register with Victor, to be entirely honest. That was probably why he allowed himself to be led back into the room the stranger had just stepped out of, as well as why he hadn't heard the door get locked behind him. It even took him a few moments to notice the black leather apron and scalpel lying on the bed.
"I don't like getting my clothes bloody when I work," the man explained, pulling Victor out of his stupor. "I'm sure you'd understand."
Victor looked over at the other man, who was pulling his longish hair back. Said man then walked over to the bed, pulling the black apron on and pulling his sleeves up his arms. Now was Victor's chance! He ran back at the door, going to open only to realize that it was locked. He looked back at the other man, who was now turning back toward him. He must not have noticed the surgical mask that Frey now had on when he had looked at the bed before. Now that he did, he looked almost like a mad scientist from some poorly written science fiction movie. It was only almost due to the fact that there was nothing laughable about this.
The last words Victor Richardson heard before he started screaming were "Just relax. This will only hurt for a couple of seconds; I promise."
That man had lied. Bleeding to death from a wound in his throat took a few minutes, apparently.
After that, it was a blur. He lay on the ground, bleeding.
He heard the front door open and someone else walk in.
Last of all, after he could no longer scream and before finally dying, he heard a hollow female voice singing something he didn't quite recognize as he felt flames overtake the house.
A/N: This completes the prologue to the story! Chapter one is in the works as we speak.
