CHAPTER 1
Spencer Reid considered his year of sobriety his greatest accomplishment. More so than his first, second, and third PhDs. More so than his job at the FBI. More so than his ability to overcome all that had happened to him as a child. It was the simple fact that he had stayed clean for six months today, and as he walked down the street towards the FBI doors, he smiled. A slight bounce in his step even made itself known, and it took all his self control not to laugh out loud in his pride.
He swung open both doors with both hands, immediately making his presence known. it was a beautiful day, right towards the middle of Fall when the gentle breeze hit his face just so and the trees had begun to change color. Hell, it was even almost Halloween.
He bounced up the stairs two at a time, and finally reached the bullpen, entering and looking around at the scene in front of him. People rushing, papers everywhere, all chaos and no order. A combination that severely bothered him. JJ rushed past, and he stopped her. "Wait, JJ. Tell me what's going on."
"Wheels up in 15, we'll talk about it on the jet."
Spencer nodded and immediately sprang into action, rushing to his desk and grabbing his go-bag. He turned to go, but not before stopping, opening his drawer, and grabbing his 6 months coin. He was meant to get his year coin at his meeting tonight, but it would have to wait. The team needed him.
On the jet, his settled into his seat and glanced out the window as the plane lifted off. He looked back towards the team, who were all poring over files and documents. JJ passed by again and dropped a file on the table in front of him. "Here you are, Spence." He thanked her and flipped it open.
Their unsub had captured, moved, tortured, and killed his victims before hanging them in their own homes. Each murder was so drawn out, so calculated, they almost seemed ritualistic, despite the speed and agility the unsub had demonstrated. The victimology consisted of all male victims, aged 22 to 27, and they all had big brown eyes and thin frames with sharp cheekbones. Reid swallowed. They all looked just like him.
Morgan glanced over at this. "Hey, kid, you okay?"
Reid cleared his throat, then looked up and nodded. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. Five victims in one week." He swallowed again, and his voice cracked when he next spoke. "Wow."
Morgan raised his eyebrows, looking back down at the file. "Seems almost impossible to do without getting caught."
"Or spotted," Garcia's voice suddenly rang through the conference caller in the center of the plane. "All victims were snatched up in broad daylight. We have ourselves a serious camera whore, the unsub was caught by a camera every time, but they seriously knew how to play the angles."
"Victims found in the same dumping site every time, a dumpster in midtown," Prentiss noted.
Rossi spoke up. "Makes you wonder why he would bring them each back to their own homes to hang them, then dump them somewhere else."
"Dumping them elsewhere is a sign of an organized criminal…"
"…And bringing them to their own homes first shows confidence."
"He knew these victim's routines, he knew when their homes would be empty, each move was calculated. Do you think he knew our victims?" Spencer asked.
Hotch passed by, answering Reid's question. "They're so similar in appearance, it seems unlikely he would know this many people who all looked alike, let alone have them all be nearby and have killed them all in the same week."
"So he stalked them," Prentiss concluded. "Think he stalked each one at a time or all together?"
"Unless he's a very effective and quick stalker, he had to do it all at once. The small amount of time between each murder suggests that," Reid mumbled, looking over the file again.
JJ suddenly stopped, looking at Reid, her eyes wide. "Spence!"
He quickly looked up, startled. "What? What is it?"
"Today! It's your first year today!" He looked down, suddenly embarrassed at her having brought it to the attention of the whole team, but quickly looked up again, grinning.
"Yeah. It is."
Morgan reached over and slapped him on the back, Rossi shook his hand, Hotch gave him a warm smile, and Emily gave him a hug. He felt loved. He felt safe.
"Thanks. For remembering. And for your support. I couldn't have done it without all of you," Reid muttered, suddenly shy again.
"Of course you could have," Prentiss said, reassuring him. "You're stronger than any of us."
Reid grinned, looking back down at the case file. "Alright, thanks, for the ego-boost, guys, but we have an unsub to catch." They all mutually agreed and got back to work.
When they touched down in Chicago, Reid was still riding the purely sober high of his accomplishment, but the high was quickly stamped upon when they entered Chicago P.D., the entire building in panicked chaos. Chaos again. Reid frowned.
In the conference room, Reid watched as the detective in charge of the case, Rymer, gave his spiel.
"We think we're looking for a man who knows his victims. He knows their routines, he knows their lives-"
Reid spoke up. "Actually, that doesn't mean he knew them. He is probably a hedonistic killer, looking to fuel his own personal satisfaction. It may be sexual for him. He has a type, and they are so specific that it is very unlikely he knew them. He has obsessions, not acquaintances."
Rymer just stared at Reid, and Hotch gave him a nudge in the ribs. Reid shut up.
"We'll have a profile for you within the next 24 hours," Hotch offered.
"Hotch, based on the time between killings, he's set to kill in another 12. We need to do this faster than that," Prentiss whispered. Hotch nodded slowly.
"I know. We'll do the best we can."
"Actually, I think he's probably taking a break. No one fitting victimology has been reported missing. He would have already taken his victim by now. He's probably taking a few days to regroup, stalk his next set of victims, and plan them out," Reid offered.
Hotch considered this. "You're probably right, Reid. Either way, we don't have any time to waste."
Hotch was right, and they got to work. But Reid couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He never felt comfortable outside of Quantico, but this was different. He kept checking over his shoulder, and once or twice he could swear he heard someone calling his name. But no one was ever there.
It didn't stop him from being scared.
