Just for those who might be otherwise unaware, I DON'T OWN CRIMINAL MINDS.
PROLOGUE
The truth is often a terrible weapon of aggression. It is possible to lie, and even to murder, with the truth.
Alfred Adler (1870 - 1937)
The papers and pictures sat on the desk, ragged from the wear of being flipped through multiple times. Trophies, was that the word?
No, it couldn't be. That man had never gotten the chance to act, not with the boy in the pictures. No doubt he was obsessed with the boy, but it didn't matter. I never let him get that far. With him, my brain reminded me.
A smile spread across my face as the most worn picture dropped to the ground. I really did miss him.
They would come. He would come. Wouldn't they? He? Would that really be a good thing?
My work here was almost finished. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing that would link that man to his murderer, and still the pictures would bring them, him, to this place.
Or they could be taken and no one would ever know? Moving on without fear was truly enticing. Those two boys waiting in the car deserved to be able to move on.
Then, only he would come. Maybe not even him, considering what a horrible man laid dead on the floor. Would his son really come to his funeral?
I allowed myself to imagine that the cops would rule his death accidental. No one would have to be hurt by his death, well except for the leeches he worked with. If there was a group of people she hated worse than policemen, it had to be the greedy leeches that called themselves lawyers. All because of this man and yet these imaginations would never happen.
This would be ruled a murder, and the murder of an FBI agent's father would definitely bring his team here.
Could he still truly care about this man?
He shouldn't. He should hate him with a fiery passion.
Then again, from everything his mother said, he doesn't even remember. I wish I had that luxury.
The sight of the man's blood made a single tear slide down, and I wiped before it could hit the ground. Maybe, just maybe, some part of me loved him. Was that even possible, or was it just some sort of relief.
Breathing deeply, an inner voice reminded me that the world was better off without him. It didn't need another deadbeat father. It didn't need another father like him.
I grabbed a pair of the dead man's gloves, picking up the bloodied axe. I had to hide it somewhere, but where? I'd have hid it in the attic if there was any way for me to get up the stairs.
I wheeled out into his back yard, but soon a light bulb went off in my head. Dad's hiding place for the pictures of the more recent kids. No one would know to look there and no one would find it without finding some way into the sick, and now dead, man's head. It simply wasn't possible.
I rolled myself into the barn, bloodied axe lying across my lap. There was no doubt that these clothes were going to have to be burned.
Soon after entering the barn, I opened the false door hidden behind his trophy case. I lowered it in a basket to the ground, into a hole directly below that the dead man used to hide his dirty laundry. The problem is that I wasn't sure where exactly it was located.
I heard a kerplunk sound, and immediately turned away, replacing the heavy trophy case. I left the weapon there, before turning back to the house.
I wanted to say goodbye to him for some strange reason, but knew better.
Firstly, I aligned the man's body, trying to make him at least a bit more comfortable. Again, I wheeled myself back out to the car, offering a small smile to the still traumatized boys.
The pictures and papers were gathered as I had rushed out the door. I quickly shoved them into the trunk, and took my children back to the house, immediately calling my therapist to find someone who specialized in children.
Agent Hotchner watched from his desk as Agents Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Agent Reid did or said. Rossi was out on a consult with the local police department. No doubt JJ was pouring over many different cases, looking through horror after horror. Garcia had left an hour ago to help with at the local family center.
Morgan had said the day before that he was happy for the little break, and Hotch was happy to spend some time with Jack.
He smiled, reverting back to watching the agents tease, but things had changed. Morgan and Prentiss were watching Reid walking away, with a distressed look on his face. His cell phone was at his ear as he walked out the door.
Take deep breaths. Calm down.
I am sorry Agent Reid. Your father has been murdered. As part of protocol…
Spencer could not decide what to feel, how to feel. Normally his brain worked at an abnormally fast speed, but it wasn't the same now.
He needed to get to Vegas, figure out who did this. Tell his sister. The same sister he hadn't talked to since his dad took her and left him alone with his schizophrenic mother.
He wasn't sure he could do that.
He owed that to his father, didn't he? Did he owe that to his sister? She deserved to hear it from someone she once knew, right? Had the police already called her?
"What's wrong kid," the familiar voice asked from above him. When had he sunk to the ground? Spencer looked up at to find Derek and Emily, concerned with a tint of worry. Hotch stood just behind them, solid and strong.
Lexi Branson scrubbed at the shirt, trying desperately to clean the blood. Her sons were doing their homework like nothing happened.
Something felt very wrong about this. Anyone looking at her would think she was calm, cool, and collected. Out of her own nervousness, she stroked the two bold red streaks she had in her naturally blonde hair.
She soon scrubbed at her father's blood, trying to get out the stain. Her blouse was the last article of clothing. Once she got enough out, she would burn it, just like the others.
"Mom, I'm hungry," her youngest, Chase, shouted across the house. His voice was still shaky.
"I'll bring something in a little while. The both of you stay where you are," she instructed. The girl wanted desperately to pretend that nothing had happened.
Lexi had already scheduled a therapist for the boys. They'd need help to get through this.
She wondered if she would as well. She wanted desperately to pretend that her dad had just finally decided to leave her alone, but he was dead, gone forever.
How was that possible?
She looked down at her favorite blouse, the one her mom had sent her two years ago for her twelfth birthday, even though she was already in her early thirties. Although she would have to say, her mom had been so much better since moving into the hospital.
Ignoring the teardrops falling, she stopped scrubbing before tossing it into the fire. The pictures and paper clippings of Spencer were thrown in as well.
She told herself it was for the best, and yet she wasn't sure.
She was terrified, hurt, and worried, but she knew better than to let it show too much.
Lexi forced herself to put on the front that she knew her boys needed, by ignoring the ringing phone and putting on some chicken noodle soup.
No one would ever know what happened, right? Her phone rang for the eighth time in the last twenty minutes. There was no more avoiding the world.
'Hello.'
'Hello Alexia.'
'Who is this?'
'Rei…Spencer. It's Spencer. H-have the police contacted you?'
'Spencer? No, but why would they?' She told herself to be strong.
'D-dad's dead. He was killed.'
That was all it took. The floodgates opened and flowed as the weight of the day's events fell on her shoulders.
"Please, just stay here, dad. Please," the seven year old begged. His older sister stood at the door, trying to memorize anything and everything that had to do with them.
Thirteen year old Lexi watched, hoping that this was the right answer. She hoped this was for the best.
Spencer cried as his father left, taking his sister behind him. How could she do this to him?
"Spence?"
"Spence?"
"Spencer, come on man. We just landed," Morgan cajoled.
Morgan was worried. Ever since Spencer received the call about his dad's murder, he had been almost completely silent. It was completely out of character.
One thing was for sure. His team would be there to get him through this.