It was cold in the car, but he didn't want to get out, he wanted to listen to her voice for another moment, she was being ridiculous again, but that's why he fell in love with her in the first place. "Sorry, Rob!" She said quickly, her voice sounding hollow through his cell phone's speaker, "I tried to catch you before you left, I was wondering if you could pick up some milk while you're out?"
"Sure, Babe." He answered. Rob knew this routine already. He'd head out like every other night for the last two months to get his pregnant wife a bag of chocolate pretzels, get home, and find her already sound asleep, gently snoring. Then she'd eat the whole bag between bouts of morning sickness while he's at work the next morning. He smiled slightly and, tossing his cell onto the passenger seat, he headed out , wincing at the bright bluish light from the gas station. He was in the middle of nowhere, but it was a nice night, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. As he reached for the door handle the was a sharp click near his ear.
"Don't move. Don't even breathe."
Derek Morgan, coffee in hand, slumped down into his chair and let his head bump down on the table-top. He groaned, looking up and squinting at the circle of faces as they took their seats as well.
"You know," The young man beside him began, "Caffeine addiction is becoming more and more common. It starts as a berry, because the bean used to produce it is actually a seed that-"
"Seriously, Reid," Morgan commanded, "Enough." He sat up in his chair, struggling not to yawn as Hotch sat down at the head of the table, spreading out the latest case file for everyone to see. JJ shuffled up some of the papers, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face as she looked at them, pinning them up one at one time on the bulletin board behind her.
"AR?" Emily asked, holding up one of the pictures.
"It's on all of the victim's foreheads." Reid answered, staring intently, waiting for JJ to begin. She wasted no time launching into the briefing, pinning up three photographs.
"Three identical patterns but…three completely different victims." Morgan murmured, shifting in his chair. And he was right, They were gruesomely displayed, uncovered and right in eye sight. It was as if the killer was simply begging for his work to be seen, to be looked at. He wants to be justified and admired, Reid realized. They were each tied in a tight contortion, their legs curled into their chests and their arms bound under them. On the foreheads, in red ragged lines carved into the flesh were the initials AR.
"Three murders over the course of two weeks." JJ informed, "All taking place in Valeria County."
"Initials on the forehead," Hotch broke in, his eyes intense, "He wants credit for the kill, he's proud of it and believes it to be an accomplishment."
"Victim's don't seem to have an age or gender restriction, the oldest is Robert Mallort."
"He was thirty-six," Reid said, picking up on his train of thought, "But Catie Jefferson was only nineteen, and Allen Farley was just twelve."
"Closer to home this time." Emily Prentiss clarified.
"Let's get going."
He stared at it, his work, and his kill. He'll see this, right? God he hoped so. What was the point if he didn't receive the gifts he left? His idol, his hero. So young, so smart. I am the closest to being his equal. The dark man lives an illusion. If his hero sees his victims, will he finally be seen by him? The dark man lives to challenge others, to give gifts. What a challenge, to give without being taken. He flipped out knife and knelt down beside the gnarled body, pressing the knife to it's forehead. It was a title, a gift label, letting the world know who this bloodied present was for.