(Hey y'all! If y'all have read something of mine before, then welcome back! If not, I hope y'all enjoy! Maybe check out my Sick Days series if you're interested! I've been thinking about doing a fic focused on Rossi for awhile and the time has finally come! Story's set after the fifth season. Hope y'all enjoy! As always, Love y'all!)
Everyone inside the house was asleep. The parents, Abraham and Kara Wilson were asleep in their bed across the house. Their daughter, Taylor Wilson, was asleep in her bed in her own little room.
Her room was decorated with light grey walls, not much of a pretty color to a seven year old, but she loved it. They were decorated with stickers of soccer balls and goals. Pictures of her and her teammates were hung on the wall, as well as a couple of her with her parents after some bigs games. She had medals too, hung from the top of her bookshelf. Everything was perfect.
There had been a couple of home invasions and homicides in the Springfield area. There wasn't much information out to the public. Just a warning to stay alert and to lock all your doors and windows.
Whispers we're going around, saying that the FBI was involved. Maybe a serial killer? Nobody had really spoken about it. There was just a known silence that passed through the city. People were afraid to speak of it, thinking the worst.
The shattering of a window was heard by no ears as a man slipped through the empty frame. His heavy feet crushed the shards even more as he walked across the tile floor of an unoccupied bathroom. He glanced at his watch.
"2:07"
He nodded to himself and stepped out of the glass heap. He wiped off his shoes and opened the door. He snuck down the hall with expertise. First was to find the girl's room. It didn't take much time. The house was tiny, only a one story with a couple of rooms. The parent's room, bathroom, her room, and what looked like a home office. They didn't have much money by the looks of it.
He had seen this family at the grocery store earlier today. The child had been a little clumsy and dropped the jar of pickles that she had grabbed to put in the cart. It slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor. Glass had gotten everywhere, not to mention pickles.
The mom was the first to turn around. She gasped at the sight, grabbing onto her extended belly. By the looks of it, she had to be at least six months pregnant.
Her husband turned around next. He had already looked upset, but there wasn't a reason why. As soon as he saw the broken jar, he sighed and pulled the cart back. "God dammit Taylor." He cursed loudly.
People turned around from their tasks once they heard the glass break. Many of them shrugged and kept on their way. There wasn't much that they could do. It also wasn't their problem.
He saw though. He watched as the father chewed out the little girl, who had been dressed in a dirty white soccer uniform.
Meanwhile the child was crying, knowing that she had upset her parents. More her dad than her mom, obviously. Her mother was more worried about the broken glass and if Taylor had gotten any injuries from it. She was okay though, just a little spooked.
Her dad sighed heavily and snatched a jar of pickles from the shelf and tossed it into the cart while muttering things under his breath.
His wife turned around and lightly smacked his shoulder. "Abe, it was an accident, calm down." She tried quietly, knowing that he had quite the temper.
Her husband, Abe was it? Abe shook his head. "Kara, she does this all the time. If it's not the pickle jar, it's the vase or the lamp."
"Exactly." The wife, Kara, responded. "You should be used to it by now. And she's seven Abe, shit happens. She literally plays soccer. Usually when she's kicking the ball around the house is because you said you were "too busy" to play with her." She rolled her eyes.
"I am busy!"
"Trying to become a rock star and making music with your brother, isn't busy enough that you can't kick the ball around with your daughter for thirty minutes."
By now a couple of workers had gotten wind of the accident. One showed up with a mop, while a manager followed suit. They didn't demand any money from the family, but Kara had decided to pay anyway. Then they were on their way.
He didn't exactly follow them around the store, no he knew better than that. Instead he headed back to his car, watching the entrance carefully, waiting to see when they stepped out and headed to their cars.
That was how he ended up here, at the Wilson house. He had scanned the outside and walked the perimeter for about twenty minutes trying to find his point of access. He was always fond of the bathroom window entrances. It was the least likely place one of the three household members would be. Chances were always in his favor.
Now he was inside. He had found the girls room. Taylor's room. He would save her from this hell, after all that was his job. Ever since he saw the so called family this morning, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about this.
He carefully turned the knob and pushed open the door. The walls weren't as flashy as the others. Usually seven year olds have pink, or blue walls with fairy or princess stickers everywhere. This was different. Did her parents not let her indulge in the lifestyle of a child? With this house and everything her parents did, they probably couldn't afford it and stuck her with the original paint. The base coat.
In his eyes, she was worth more than just the base coat of paint.
She was asleep in her bed, not having moved since he came in. As he approached her, she stirred a little.
He stood above her, casting a shadow from the moonlight. Her eyes slowly opened. Sleepily, she stared up at him, wide eyed and confused. She hadn't moved.
"Shhh." He breathed as he crouched down. "I need you to be absolutely quiet okay? Can you do that for me?" He spoke softly, afraid that if his voice was too loud he would scare her.
Slowly, she nodded. She didn't speak as he held out his hand for her. She didn't move, frozen in her bed with fear.
He sighed. "Okay. If you're going to be like that." He shook his head and grabbed the nearest chair. It was a small chair at a small desk that had been scattered with doodles of soccer balls and stick figures, a couple animals here and there. He pulled he rope from his pocket. "Okay kid, I'm going to need you to sit here." He said as he lightly tapped the chair.
Again, she didn't move.
"Please?" He added. "I'm only trying to help."
Slowly she slid from her bed. She had no idea what would even happen. She just knew that something bad would happen either way. She swallowed and sat on the chair. She wiped the tears from her eyes, her mom's voice playing in her head, telling her to be strong and to push through. She closed her eyes and obeyed.
"Good, now hold still." He said as he began to tie her to the chair. He tied her hands to the tiny arm rests, attaching her legs to the legs of the chair as well.
"Now I'm going to need you to promise that you'll be absolutely silent okay?"
She nodded, tears sparkling on her face.
He crouched down and wiped them away with his thumb just as fresh ones fell. "Hey, it's okay. I promise I'm only here to help." He picked up the chair, and held it perfectly so she was upright the entire time.
He found the parents room without a hitch. He set down the chair, only so he could open the door. Again he crept in, bringing her with.
He set the chair at the foot of the bed, right in the middle so that she could see her sleeping parents. He kneeled in front of her and again wiped away her tears. "Don't worry." He whispered. "You're safe now." He brushed her hair behind her ears and stood up.
First to go was always the husband, but of course it was easier if they both died at the same time. He pulled his two weapons from his belt, his knife was commonly used on this husband. His gun was saved for the wife.
He stepped up to the husband's side of the bed. He raised his knife, a devilish grin on his face as he brought it down, straight through his chest.
The child screamed bloody murder, tears spilling from her eyes as she struggled against her bonds.
The father woke up, a pain stricken look on his face as he coughed, wincing as the knife was driven deeper into his chest. Wouldn't be long now.
The wife had woken up to. Once she saw the knife in her husbands chest, and the dark figure, she tried to scramble out of the bed, only to end up falling to the floor and pleading for her life.
He sighed and walked around the bed. He lifted his gun. When she asked why he was doing this, all he said was, "you don't deserve another." And pulled the trigger. She was gone instantly.
The father had passed too, the knife still protruding from his chest.
He walked around the bed and pulled his knife from the victim, cleaning it off on the stained sheets. He looked at the little girl, still stuck to the chair. She was wailing, crying out for her parents, crying even harder when she didn't hear a response.
"Everything will get better, I promise." He kneeled beside her and kissed her forehead. He pushed her hair from her face and wiped away her tears. "You're welcome Taylor. I know you'll be happier now. It always gets better."
And with that, he was gone. He left the house the way he had come in. The snow underfoot slowed down his escape, but it wasn't like anybody was awake at three in the morning anyway.
He walked about a block in the freezing weather before pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed the familiar number of the FBI tip line.
An agent answered on the other line, asking for his name and information. He didn't bother and instead went right down to business. They would know it was him, he was almost certain.
"Two more are dead. The girls fine." He said as he started saying the address. As soon as he was finished, he hung up and dropped he phone into the thick snow. Sure it was a burn phone, but it was better to cover up his tracks every so often if he wanted to continue on. After all this was his job. He needed to rid the world of the bad parents. It was his only way to contribute to society and the future. If he didn't, who would? Nobody.
When police and agents arrived at the scene, their hearts were shattered yet again as they found the same scene as the first two. A young daughter, not even ten, crying for her parents, chocking on her own words as she begged and pleaded them to answer her, but no response ever came, and none ever would again.