"Mother, we cannot have dinner this late. We are far past our scheduled time slot and now it is almost time for bed," 15-year-old Lucas George explained as his mother grabbed a hot plate out of the microwave. "Ten minutes and forty seconds, mother – ten minutes and thirty seven seconds…"

"Lucas, you have to eat," his mother Alice said. "You can't just skip dinner."

"I would not have to skip dinner if you had not forced me to eat dinner at 9:51," he said. "Dinner is at 6:30 sharp, mother."

Alice dropped the plate covered in some unrecognizable frozen dinner onto the table in front of him. His face dropped.

"This is not spaghetti. Tonight is spaghetti night."

He picked at the plate. He assumed it was supposed to be meatloaf; possibly served with mashed potatoes and some kind of green vegetable.

All he knew was it wasn't spaghetti without the sauce like he liked.

"Lucas, please," Alice said, rubbing her face. "I had to work a second shift at the store, you know that. I didn't have time to make spaghetti. Don't you have a time limit to attend to?"

"This plate is not yellow. In fact, it has nothing yellow on it. I do not want it. Good night, mother," Lucas said, stepping off the bar stool and walking up the stairs to his bedroom.

Alice George knew having a child at 14 was going to be hard. But having an autistic child as a teenager was harder. She grabbed the plate of rejected dinner and tossed it in the trash.

She never even noticed the man dressed in black right behind her.

"There have been a series of murders in the Las Vegas area," Agent Aaron Hotchner said, bringing up several pictures on the screen in front of the team.

"This isn't out of the ordinary for Las Vegas, or any area with a high population of people between the ages of 18 to 35," Agent Spencer Reid said. "An interesting statistic found that—"

"Yes, well these murders are slightly more specific than that," Hotch said as he pulled up three separate headshots of women. "Erin St. James, 27, murdered in her bedroom. No sign of forced entry, her throat was slit. Alice George, 29. It's apparent that she was attacked in her kitchen from drag marks seen on the floor, and subsequently dragged upstairs to her bedroom where he finished the murder..."

Reid couldn't help but feel a tinge of familiarity when he heard Alice's name. After taking a closer look at her picture, he knew why.

She was the only person his age that would talk to him when he was younger. When he visited from college to check on his mom, she was always there to keep him company.

And now she was dead.

"…Alexandra Spicolli, 25, murdered in her car and dragged into her home to be left in her bedroom."

"He's bold. Taking a big risk dragging them back to their rooms to die," Agent Derek Morgan said.

"The risk is even greater in these three cases – each of the women had children in the house at the time of the murders," Hotch said. "Alexandra Spicolli had a son in the car. He was asleep at the time. Erin St. James had 5-year-old twin girls in the bathtub when she died. Alice George had a 15-year-old son in the next room."

"And he didn't hear anything?" Agent Emily Prentiss asked.

"He won't answer any questions right now," Hotch said. "He's currently a ward of the state."

"And he's our only witness," Reid said, sighing.

Reid was silent for the first half of the trip to Las Vegas. He had a lot to think about. For one, his only childhood friend was dead. And she had a 15-year-old son. Spencer Reid wasn't a mathematician, but he could do simple subtraction.

The last time he saw Alice, they were 14.

He had to go back to college, and she, after being understanding about the situation for so long, didn't want him to go back.

He was trying to get a Master's degree. Staying in Las Vegas wasn't an option.

Obviously, she didn't take this well.

Although most of the team saw Reid as some sort of asexual robot, he wasn't. His relationship with Alice was proof of that.

"Reid? Reid," Prentiss said, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Oh, thanks," he said, putting it to the side.

"You've been quiet for the entire trip. Something on your mind?" she asked, taking a seat across from him.

Reid shook his head.

"What?"

"I haven't been quiet for the 'entire' trip; the trip is only halfway finished. The 'entire' trip would mean the whole of the trip, and we're only half of the way there. It's illogical," he rambled.

"Look, Reid, if you have a problem with me, that's fine. I was just wondering what was wrong because you've been looking a little shaken lately," she said, getting up.

"Wait. Emily, wait," he said.

"First name basis – this must be serious," she said. "So are you gonna spill your guts or are you just going to leave the feelings bottled up?"

"One of the victims," Reid said, gulping hard. "I know—knew her."

"Oh my god, I'm…so sorry."

"Yeah…so am I," he said, opening the manila folder on his lap and pulling out the clean, beautiful headshot of Alice George, the most recent victim.

"She was gorgeous," Prentiss said, looking down at the photograph.

And she was; long blonde hair that reached below her shoulders, large dark blue eyes, and a set of orangey-red freckles that seemed out of place on her.

Reid remembered back to when they were 13.

Alice had on a frilly white dress with a blue ribbon around the waist. Her mother made her wear it, and she hated it. They had just come from a funeral service for Alice's grandmother. She had asked Spencer to come with her – she didn't want to have to say goodbye to her grandmother alone.

Alice's mother was in the hospital at the time. Cancer had stripped her of the vibrant life that she always used to exude. Alice's father died when she was four in a bar fight. All that Alice had left was her mother and grandmother.

Now she only had her mother.

Spencer hated the suit that his mom made him wear. Alice and Spencer complained about their parent's choice in wardrobe during the wake.

The farm where the wake was held used to belong to Alice's grandparents. It lied on a sprawling piece of land covered in daisies and huge oak trees. It had a tire swing and a tree house on the outskirts of the field.

That's where they spent the majority of the wake. Sitting on the tire swing that fit them both, telling stories and jokes.

Life away at college was strange for Spencer. Being a 13-year-old living on a college campus was strange, especially when you were living without a parent. So he always cherished these small moments he got to spend with Alice. The moments when he could just be a "normal" teenage boy.

The moments when he could have friends – maybe even a girlfriend.

That day including conversations about that horrible girl Anna down the road. She had been messing with Alice since she moved here six months ago.

Things had since cooled off between the pair, but Spencer couldn't help feeling like he missed something – a crucial part of his friend's summer. No matter how insignificant it seemed.

"She said that I must be a redhead because I have freckles. I told her no, but she didn't believe me."

"She's just jealous. And even if you were a redhead, you'd still be pretty."

Things like that were rewarded in smiles. She had the prettiest smile Spencer had ever seen.

She was lucky and never needed braces. Her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight; a rarity for someone their age.

Alice always smiled with her teeth. She thought smiles without teeth were like bunnies without fur.

"Lies," she said, giggling.

"What I wouldn't give to see that smile again," Reid said, looking down at the headshot in his hands.

She was smiling. With her teeth.

A/N: Sorry for the crazy amount of stacking quotes in the story so far. I had a lot to set up. Next chapter, coming soon. Reviews are great. :)