I absolutely love Criminal Minds, and like every good show that I like, I couldn't help the little plot bunnies that decided to hop into my brain. This one has been stuck in my head for a pretty long time, so I finally decided to write it down and make it go away. I'm not completely sure where this story is going to go or if I'm going to finish it, but that's a-okay with me. I'm just happy to finally get this thing out of my head. :P
"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together." –Marilyn Monroe
00000
The first time I met Spencer Reid was the day my brother was killed. It wasn't a happy meeting or one that I really like to remember, but it did leave an impression.
I was out of college for the Christmas holidays and I had decided to visit my older brother before heading home to my parents' house. As I drove up the long driveway in my rusty old car I couldn't help but think how ironic it was that my brother had chosen to move into an old fixer upper house in the country. Especially one so big. Elijah had been determined to be the world's greatest bachelor; living in a city apartment with nothing but his games and his food to keep him company. Instead, he had found a house out in the country that was big enough to raise a family in.
I had never actually been to Eli's house, mainly because I had been in the middle of settling into a new college when he moved. So when I pulled up in front of his house, my eyes went as wide as dinner plates. It was obvious that he was still in the process of remodeling and repainting everything, but it was still impressive. It looked a lot like the old southern houses that you see in movies. A long wraparound porch, a swing, big double doors leading into the entranceway—it was all there.
"Whew, dentistry must be treating him pretty well," I stated, a bit jealously. I sent Eli a text saying I was at his house, just to annoy him.
I loped down the small walkway and climbed up the steps. I was careful not to touch the railing because the white paint on it looked fresh. When I reached the door, I was surprised to find it open a crack. I shrugged it off as Eli expecting me and not wanting to accidently lock me outside. In a house that big, who knows whether or not he'd be able to hear me knock.
I pushed the door open and strolled into the hallway. A TV was blaring somewhere upstairs, but I was more interested in the room on my left: the kitchen.
"Elijah, I'm here!" I shouted, while I walked to the fridge. I yanked the door open and dug around for something that looked edible. After some rearranging, I found a pack of string cheese and took a piece. "Elijah, you need to restock your kitchen!"
I shut the refrigerator door and started following the sound of the TV. I followed it up the squeaky stairs and down one of the hallways towards the biggest bedroom. Before entering, I turned around in a circle, taking in all the extra rooms.
"Hey Eli, I just got a great idea!" I knocked twice on the door and threw it open without waiting for a response. "You could rent out all your extra rooms to boarders, like a condo! Lord knows you're not going to use them." I frowned when I realized I was talking to thin air. "Eli?"
I marched over to the television and turned it off. Then, I took my iPhone out of my pocket and looked to see if I had any texts. I didn't, and it also said that Eli had read the one I'd sent him when I'd arrived.
"Maybe he's not home," I muttered to myself. I sighed. "He could've at least told me that he would be late. I could've gone somewhere and gotten something decent to eat." I hit the call button on Eli's contact and pressed the phone to my ear. While I waited for him to pick up, I rifled through his closet.
A minute later, a song drifted through the air. It was "Little Bit Gypsy" by Kellie Pickler. Eli absolutely hated the song, but since it apparently described me so well, he had set it as his ringtone for me. I spun around and stared at the door on the other side of the bedroom where the song was coming from. I ended my call and the music stopped.
With a smile, I skipped over to the bathroom door and knocked twice again. I barged in with my eyes closed and proceeded to lecture. "Eli, you could've let me know you were taking a bath or something. There's no need to let me freak myself out. I was seriously worried that you would think someone had broken into your house and then you'd accidently shoot me by mistake. Of course, I would have no worries at all if you did that. I'd be seeing you up in Heaven pretty quick cuz Mum would kill you when she found out what you did…. Are you even listening to me?"
I stayed silent, expecting a response. Nothing. Not even a splash from the tub.
"Eli, don't play games with me. Are you dressed and staring at me like an idiot or what? Can I open my eyes?"
No answer.
"I'm opening them. 3…2…1…." I opened my eyes and screamed.
My brother's body was floating face down in the bathtub. He still had his scrubs on from his assistant job. He hadn't even taken his shoes off yet. His neck was purple and bruised like someone had held him down under the water.
I waited for him to jump up and say "Gotcha," or for a bubble to roll out of his mouth. Something to show that he still had air, that he was still alive. Once again, there was nothing. The water didn't even ripple.
I don't know how long I stood there, absolutely paralyzed. I was frozen in the shock, anger, and hurt of losing my brother. I was frozen in the fear that the killer might be lurking right behind me. I was frozen because I had no clue what to do. Should I call Mom or 911? Should I look for the guy who did this or should I sit down and cry? Do I stay here or do I leave?
In the end, I managed to jerk myself back into the bedroom, sit on the bed, and call 911.
"911, what's your emergency?" the chipper voice on the other end of the phone line asked.
"My…my…," I couldn't say it.
"Could you repeat that please?"
"…Dead—Elijah," I struggled to get the words out.
"Take a deep breath, and tell me what's wrong, okay?"
I tried to take a deep breath, but I still felt like I was going to puke. Finally I closed my eyes, and blurted out, "My brother's dead!"
"Alright, stay where you are. I'm sending someone to your right now."
I nodded even though I knew she couldn't see me. Then I hung up, flopped over on the bed, and cried and screamed till I couldn't anymore.
00000
"Elijah Crowley, age 25, lived just outside Hope, Mississippi. His body was found by his sister about 3 hours ago." JJ tossed a pile of case files into the middle of the round table. While the other agents each grabbed one, she continued on, "He is the third victim in four weeks to be found drowned in a bathtub after arriving home." JJ pushed a button on the remote and pictures of the other victims and the crime scenes appeared on the screen.
Morgan flipped through the case file. "They all live in pretty remote areas too."
"I'd say," Prentiss stated. "Elijah Crowley had a mile and a half long driveway. You can't find that in a city."
"I'm surprised you could find that anywhere," Morgan stated. "Did he own any farmland? Having that much land in rural Mississippi must mean he has a farm of some sort."
"Actually, Mississippi has a lot less farmland than people typically think," Reid interjected. "Only about 37% of the land is used for farming. Compared to Nebraska where 93% of land is for crops, it's a very small percentage."
"And you know that why?" Rossi asked.
"Have you ever even been to Mississippi?" Before Reid could even attempt to answer Morgan's question, Garcia stormed in, bringing along her ever colorful wardrobe.
"I heard every word mes amours, and as always our very own Walking Talking Encyclopedia is right." Garcia plopped down in the empty seat next to Morgan and set her laptop gently onto the table. "Mississippi still has more than its fair share of farmers, cattle owners, and other farming-type people, but Elijah Crowley was not one of them. His grandparents are, but there is no record of him ever even looking into buying a tractor."
"Thanks Garcia." Hotch's voice was strong and firm like it was at the beginning of each new case. "I want everyone to look over the case files and get your go bags. Wheels up in 30."
So, that's it for right now, but I'll most likely be writing more of it soon. If I do end up trying to finish this story, it'll probably only be about 10 chapters long.
What do you think of it so far?