I don't really know the point of this little guy. Mostly just my extreme need to post something. In case you didn't realize, this is CRIMINAL'S POV. Also, this isn't intended as slash, but it could be read that way.

For those of you who follow my latest Reid whumpage, Everybody Talks, I'll be updating soon, probably on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Thanks for reiding and please please REVIEW!

This was a mess.

The whole thing was an absolute mess. I knew it as soon as I heard the sirens. I'd dug myself a nice little hole and left my ladder at the top.

I was going to jail, probably for a very, very long time. It wasn't supposed to go this far. I'd taken the first girl on whim, just because she looked like my recently deceased wife, Jennifer, with her soft red hair and pale complexion. I'd taken her and I'd given her everything, let her sleep in my bed whilst I took the couch, cooked her the best meals I could, even bought her a necklace. But she wouldn't love me back. Said she could never love a man who couldn't offer her freedom.

Ungrateful bitch.

And one night she'd really pissed me off by bursting into tears at dinner and began screaming at me that I was a monster and should go to hell.

I'd only intended a hit or two, just to put her in her place. But next thing I knew her dead body was lying bloodied on the floor, glassy eyes staring straight at me. I buried her in the back, even made a little cross.

The second girl was because I was lonely. She too looked like Jenny. I saw her sitting outside a church crying, so I went up and asked what was wrong. She said her husband died.

I thought it was sign. We were meant for each other. So I took her back and gave her everything. She too refused my efforts.

It dawned on me, as I stared at yet another bloodied body lying on my dining room floor with glassy eyes that stared straight at me. The redheads with the pale complexions and the sharp cheek bones with piercing brown eyes would never be grateful. But I still wanted one desperately. I needed my Jenny.

So despite my realization, I took yet another. This one – I never learned their names, they were all only Jenny to me – was different. She never fought back. She accepted the gifts with thanks and whimpered how much she loved me when I asked her. But each night I heard her cry and pray to be found. I didn't like her as much, but she never irritated me at all. And she never had that point in which she broke and threw a fit. So I snuck into her room one night and killed her with a single shot in the head. They don't know that was me. I saw the report on TV and she wasn't listed as one of my victims. Victims. What a word. Like I treat them foully. More like ungrateful little shits who got what they deserved.

There were five in total. Six if you counted the one who was still alive locked in my house nearly two miles away. I was at work, part time in a book shop, when I heard the sirens. And I went running to our back room. There was a small staircase that lead down to the basement and it was there I took shelter.

Footsteps thundered across the floorboards and I waited. There didn't seem to be many, maybe five or six. I knew some were FBI and some were local. It didn't take a genius to figure that more were at my house right now, probably found Jenny 6.0 too.

I didn't care about the woman anymore. I didn't even care about my original Jenny anymore, in fact, her imagine and the memories in my mind were so mixed and melded with the other girls that I wasn't sure what she looked like anymore. I just didn't want to go to jail. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

Flashlight beams cut sharply through the dark of the basement and I hear more than see the first of them come down the stairs. There are three with blue bulletproof vest with FBI printed on it as well as two local guys. Each of them held a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, hands crossed in front of them so they could see and be ready to shoot at the same time.

I raised my own weapon just as one of the police turned on the lights. I felt like a raccoon caught stealing garbage from a trash can. Startled and caught, needing a way out.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands above your head!" One of the FBI shouted. Yeah, that was gonna happen. Just hand me a death sentence to sign.

All three of the FBI agents were men. The one standing close to me was tall with short dark hair and a no-nonsense look about him. His eyes were dark and focused, seeming to pin me in my spot. To me though, he seemed like a family man type guy. Probably had himself a nice wife, kids, house maybe even a dog.

Just behind him, to the left, was a dark skinned man who was very muscular. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down his sight, probably aiming at my chest, maybe even my heart. Bet he had all the ladies hanging off of him. Single though, never more than a one night stand.

It was the last one the interested me the most. He looked too young to be out of college, let alone an FBI agent. His had long, light brown hair, a sharp jaw line, and a rail thin frame with next to no muscle. How he passed the physical exams is anyone's guess. But he looked just as firmly at me, seeming in his element. But I could see though it. Deep down, he was probably just a little kid, insecure and scared.

Criminals are pretty good profilers too.

"I said drop the weapon!" Mr. No-Nonsense yelled. Yes because at five feet away I couldn't hear him. This was it. The way I saw it there were two options.

One, I dropped my weapon and went quietly. Got there and got my however long sentence (probably life) in prison. I would take my life then, I promised myself. I wouldn't be able to live like that.

Or two, I went down fighting. I took a shot, hopefully hit someone and took them down with me. It was even possible I could make enough chaos to get up the stairs and out of the building.

No contest.

I aimed.

I fired.

Everything seemed to explode. From silence and perfect stillness to noise and running and shouting. I wasn't shot as I may have hoped. Instead, the muscular one was on me like I cat on a sleeping mouse, kneeling on my back and pressing me to the ground as he hand cuffed me.

He waited for the two local police to take over and start reading me my rights. He ran off and I finally got a clear enough view to realize I had taken a man down.

It was the young one, the one who kinda looked like a puppy dog with his shaggy brown hair. He was leaning up against the wall, blood pumping from his thigh and cloudy eyes staring. Soon he'd be just like all the other Jennies. Mr. No-Nonsense, who I was starting to think was also Mr. Bossman, was practically yelling into his cell phone, addressing someone named Prentiss. The other man, the dark skinned one, was putting pressure on the bloody wound and demanded the bleeding one stay with him. He looked calm but I could tell he was worried. There was something more than just co-workers between them. Some deep emotional tie. Something twisted in my chest.

"Hang on, kid, hang on." Kid, how affectionate. The dark skinned man pushed away a lock of hair from in front of the "kid's" face. I wanted to snarl. He wasn't hurt that bad. Probably just in shock more than anything. As long as he got something done to stop the bleeding and stop infection, he'd live to see another day.

"I'll be fine," the young one said quietly, voice only slightly hitched. Once he was off the phone the boss bent down and offered assurance to the kid that he would be fine. Morons.

As I was marched out of the house, an ambulance pulled up and EMTs rushed in. Before I was even in the cop car they came back out with a stretcher baring the injured agent. It wasn't a fatal shot, that I knew. He might need crutches for a bit and have to have blood transfusion or two, but he'd live.

I didn't shoot to kill him. There was something about him, something different. He wasn't as hardened. Perhaps it was because of his youth, but he retained some of his innocence even through horrors they surely dealt with. Horrors like me.

He was something different.

"Morgan, go with him, we'll meet you there," the boss ordered. To me it didn't seem as if Morgan needed telling. In fact I got the impression that if the boss dude told him not to go, Morgan would go anyway. Must be nice having people care about you.

As the car pulled away, just as the ambulance did, I leaned my head against the window. My job was done. I'd had my fun. I would wait a couple months then find some way or another to take my life. There was no one to mourn.

Not like that agent. He had people who cared, deeply. I never learned his name, never knew his story, but for just a moment his life was in my hands. I could have shot him in the head. It's probably nothing new for him, not with his job, but I hoped he realizes how short life is, how short it could be.

It took me less than five minutes to take the first girl from when I first laid eyes on her. It took less than three to kill her. It took less than a minute to decide between killing that agent and letting him live.

And for once I'd made the decision to grant mercy. Because there was something about him. He was important without realizing it. That much was clear in how the others reacted when he was shot.

Yes, my time was done. Redheads in the city were safe. What had I accomplished? I'd killed five, made five crosses in my back yard, traumatized one girl and for what? My Jenny was still dead and I never got her love again. I'd shot a man, which accomplished nothing at all, and was already planning my own demise.

I was a waste of life. Or maybe I had decided to waste my life. There was a difference. In fact, I realized, no one was a waste of life. It was up to us to decide what to do with our lives, what path it would lead.

If only I'd realized this before.

So there you go. Just a short little thing. Originally it was gonna be more about Reid being shot, but I didn't want to switch POVs and I decided to make it more of a moral thing. Once again, thanks and please REVIEW!