Chapter One

Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid stepped out of the stench of the blood-filled barn and into the soul-cleansing sunlight. He turned his face up into the breeze, closing his eyes for just a moment to better sense it's fingers on his face. After nearly seven years of spending sixty to eighty hours every week swimming in the cesspool of criminal minds into which he was forced to forage, he had learned to carefully pick out the tiny moments in a day...healing moments that were helping him to keep his sanity intact. Today he must wallow again in the blood, the evil, the selfish compulsions of those creatures that society insisted upon naming "human". Today he would turn 29 years old.

"Dr. Reid, where are you all going to begin with this?" The local sheriff, Jim Bontrager, stopped beside Reid and removed his hat. His sparse hair clung damply to his head. He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun and looked out over the cornfields. "These people aren't going to talk to you, you know. They don't even believe in the legal system. They don't believe in punishment - an eye for an eye - like we "Englishers" do... they aren't going to talk. You just wait..."

Reid inhaled the aroma of green fields and black earth, breathing out slowly. "I hear that you grew up Amish, Sheriff?"

"Yes, Sir. Born right over in the next county."

"How'd you come to be ... outside the Amish?" If he could do anything, Reid could use charm and his gentle, well-bred demeanor to coax information out of a person and he knew it. Unsub, sheriff, whatever. Brunsager could be a good resource, best not to alienate him. Best to keep him close from the beginning. But Reid was not without compassion, and genuine curiosity.

Brunsager looked at the ground and shifted his weight. "Well, my father was killed in a farming accident with a horse - my mother went back to her people outside the Amish." He lifted his chin, "I was eight. My father's family kept me with them. I was sixteen before I left. Went to live with my mom and stayed."

Reid thought to ask why he never went back, but thought better of it. The world was full of stories for Dr. Reid, full of answers to a million questions. And his dogged pursuit of answers - any answers to any questions that entered his brilliant inquisitive mind - frequently left him sidetracked and unfocused. Hotch had taught him that. Stay on track, stay focused, get to the point of the matter, get the case solved.

Inside, the forensics team was finishing with the bodies. They would be placed into bags and taken out, put not into buggies but into ambulances for the trip out of the idyllic countryside in which they had lived peacefully until last night, and into the nearest city for full autopsy. A 40-year-old woman, hands callused from hard work, washing, mending, tilling and weeding a garden. She had died after a brutal sexual assault that had ended in her hanging. A younger woman, her sister, had died in much the same way, but had been strangled on the floor of the barn, where the wooden planks showed scratched evidence of her frantic last moments. A 14-year-old boy was missing, as was an 11-year-old girl.

"Reid, come with me." Special Agent David Rossi walked past Reid toward the farmhouse. His brows were furrowed, his pace determined. Reid recognized this demeanor - the one Rossi took on when he was particularly incensed by the crime. He knew Rossi would want Reid to talk to the survivor, because any time a young victim was involved, they always called on Reid. He couldn't remember how this had come about: it seemed only yesterday that he was the youngster, the incompetent rookie fresh from college, unable to hit a target, afraid of his gun, afraid of unsubs, shadows, the dark... and now somehow they expected him to be the one to draw out a victim. And to his great surprise, they were usually right.

Inside the darkened kitchen, the breeze through the open windows offered a solace from the summer heat. A young girl sat quietly on a wooden chair, hands folded neatly in her lap, head bowed. She wore the tradional "kapp" of the Amish on her head - the black of an unmarried girl. Leah Troyer was just 16. Although Reid heard not a sound from her, he saw that there was a dark spot on the lap of her dress where a steady drip of tears had fallen. An older Amish woman sat near the window, sewing. Listening.

Reid glanced at Rossi, then slowly picked up a chair and sat it down opposite the girl. He sat down and waited a moment before speaking - he could sense her tense when he neared her. He waited for her to understand that he was no enemy. "Hello, Leah."

She didn't respond, didn't look up. "Leah, my name is Spencer. I'm with the FBI - uh...do you know what the FBI is?"

"The police," she whispered.

"Well, yes, kind of...but I'm here to figure out who did this, that's all. Do you think you could help me? Can I ask you a few questions?"

She nodded, still looking down. Reid briefly wondered who was to be coming for her - who would take care of her tonight. Surely getting her away from this house, from the scene of the horrible past night - would be the first step in her healing - if she would ever hope to have healing. He had seen the bodies, the state of the barn. His experience told him clearly what those hours had been like - the sounds, the smell, the terror. The disruption of peace, the invasion of the integrity of the safety of a home.

"Leah, I know you hid in the woods, is that right?" Reid's mind raced - he knew the probable survivor's guilt that rendered her mute, along with shock. And how much was the Amish culture? He found himself uncomfortable, treading on foreign ground here. He knew that Amish women were reserved with male strangers, and particularly those outside the Amish culture. He wondered if her English was very practiced, knowing that the Amish learned it at school and on infrequent visits outside the community, but spoke a German dialect amongst themselves. He continued slowly, "Can you close your eyes, Leah? Can you do that for me? Can you remember waking up? What did you hear when you woke up?"

He waited. He heard Rossi clear his throat behind him. He heard cars starting their engines outside and cars arriving to the scene. This place that had been a quiet farm, where no automobiles came. He heard the bark of a dog, and realized the canine team had arrived to search the woods for the missing children. For a trail, or for bodies - whatever they could find.

"I heard Mama," came the whispered answer. Soft brown eyes, red-rimmed and wet, met his. "I heard Mama screaming."

Reid nodded and waited, his eyes fixed on hers, willing her gently to continue. "I heard voices. Men. The English." The new-found intimacy left her eyes at the words, and she looked down again. "English." Her voice came harder now. "I heard their boots on the floor. They sounded loud when they talked to Mama and Aunt Lydie. Loud and mean"

The kitchen door swung open behind him and Reid turned to see two Amish men enter. They nodded toward Rossi and Reid without smiling. "We come to take Leah now." The interview was over. Reid rose to shake their hands, knowing that it would be important to establish some relationship because Leah would need to talk more later, and it would be easier for her if her family was not fighting the FBI. The older woman rose and helped Leah gather a small suitcase of belongings and a shawl, and the four exited quickly without a farewell.

Reid watched from the window as the men helped the two women into the waiting buggy. The horse stomped impatiently. He saw the reins snap and the buggy started down the lane toward the county road. "There were at least two men," Rossi said aloud to himself. "Their shoes were heavy. There were some imprints taken from the dirt in the barn."

"Everyone here wears heavy workshoes," said Reid. "But...the women were here alone for three days, while the men were away. So if there were larger imprints...maybe..."

"Let's go see what the team found out," said Rossi. As they headed out into the farmyard, Reid watched several dairy cows in a corral which was attached to the barn. They grazed on feed and bellowed, curious at the comings and goings, but oblivious to the meaning of the commotion... life on this little piece of land would never be the same. Some memories change things forever.

~/~

By the time the dogs were coming back, dusk was falling. Reid looked out at the mist gathering and hanging above the July corn crop, and listened to the cicadas in the fields, startled by the loudness of their buzzing. He had grown up in the city, in Las Vegas, and he had sometimes wondered if he would have been better off somewhere else . . somewhere quieter. He envied these people their lifestyle. He smelled the heaviness of the damp earth as cooler air moved in, and heard the coo of mourning doves. He watched a nighthawk dive for insects in the sky above the barn, and thought of Gideon and his obsession with birds. Gideon. . who had been the closest to a father Reid had ever had. .. the second father who had abandonned him. And here he was, a man, and he often felt himself a poor excuse for one. He had his intellect and a good knowledge of social etiquette, but he felt his face flush as he thought of his frequent social faux-pas. He knew he lacked social common sense. Worst of all, he lacked the common sense to approach a woman without making a fool of himself.

And so on this night Spencer Reid sat on the steps of the Amish farm house, and pushed away feelings of loneliness. He was watching one more crime scene being analyzed, confident in his skill as a behavioral analyst, a job he loved - and terrified for the future of his personal life. He watched as a young Amish man fed the livestock and bedded them down for the night...a skill set that he himself little understood, despite all his sophistication and schooling. He looked at a buggy parked alongside the barn, and wondered how one went about harnessing a horse to it. He gazed at the household vegetable garden and wondered how one kept insects from eating everything that grew there, and still harvested enough to can for the winter - enough to feed a large Amish family. He wondered if anyone like him existed in their world, any man so inept, so unable to establish ties. He had been so cheated as a child - a father who ran, a mother consumed by the demons of mental illness. And now so cheated of a love, a family, and . . he hardly dared to imagine it - a child of his own. He was 29 this day, and his heart hurt.

Reid felt his eyes burn and stood up, ashamed of himself for this self-pity. He had known love. .. his mother had loved him fiercely. And still did, in her more lucid moments. He had known a mother's absolute adoration. Surely that was something. That was a lot.

Reid watched Hotch outside the barn, talking on the phone. They would soon return to the little police station in town for the last pow-wow of the day. He was looking forward to hearing what the dogs had picked up if anything. He thought of young Leah, and hoped she could sleep this night. His instinct told him she had not been entirely forthcoming, that there was something she couldn't bring herself to utter in the conversation in the kitchen. If only he had had twenty more minutes with her. Perhaps without Rossi there.. without another man listening.

He watched Morgan walking across the nearby field with a dog-handler and dog. That was one thing he could do better than Morgan - talk to a child, talk to a teenager, or an adult female victim. Reid was aware of his androgynous appearance, his soft voice, his non-threatening demeanor. Morgan had made fun of it at first, but over time they had all come to understand that Reid could bring the truth out of any victim. . .. simply because of his lack of manliness, of any appearance of a threat. At least he was good at that.

"Hey, Reid!" Morgan was calling, "You driving?" A joke between them. .. Reid didn't like to drive. He liked to be driven. He found the opportunity to gaze absently out the window of a moving car, without the responsibility of being behind the wheel, meditative.

Reid stood and brushed the back of his trousers off. He walked down the steps to meet Morgan and the handler. To his amazement, a young woman was attached to the end of the leash of a very large dog. He was startled by the openness of her face, the warmth in her eyes - something he often noticed about the women in small towns. But this face was. . particularly lovely. Even in the dimming light of the day, he saw the piercing blue-gray of her eyes. And as was his custom, he averted his own eyes as he reached for her outstretched hand in greeting. "Dr. Reid. Uh. . Spencer Reid. That's uh. . . a big dog."

"This is Griff. Griffon. He's a Malinois. Belgian breed." she scratched the back of Griff's neck. "He's very sweet" she laughed quietly. "And very smart. . smarter than I am." She smiled up at Reid. He found his mind racing to say something. Felt his face flushing. He was glad it was dark.

"Come on Pretty Boy, let's go" Morgan said. "Miss Bennett . . Aubrey. .. nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you again..." Morgan winked.

The young woman returned Morgan's smile as she struggled to hold the dog quiet, "I hope so," she said.

Reid waved his hand to her in farewell, cleared his throat nervously, and followed Morgan to the car, painfully aware that her gaze followed them as they left. He was relieved to slide into the SUV.

"Now that is a young lady that could prove useful in this investigation," Morgan said as he turned the key in the ignition, "She is the Sheriff's niece, and wrote a thesis on the Amish."

"So you walked across the field and now you know her life story?" Reid teased without laughing, feeling a little prickly with jealousy at Morgan's ease with the woman.

"No, just the important parts for now." Morgan winked over at Reid, grinning, "I'll learn the rest later..."

Reid rolled his eyes in the darkness, and looked out at the darkened fields. The moon was yellow and hanging low over the quiet farms. They slowed behind the red reflector on the back of a buggy, Morgan swinging far left around so as not to spook the horse. When they left the county road finally and turned onto the state highway, Reid heard the tires leave the gravel and enter the quiet of the paved road again. He felt a tinge of sadness at the thought of civilization moving nearer again. Somehow the day. . the atmosphere of the farm, in spite of the horror of the murders there. . . had changed him. He didn't understand quite how yet. It was as if his heart had understood something that his mind hadn't quite yet processed.

"Where are we going?" he asked as the SUV missed the turn toward the police station. "Aren't we supposed to meet..."

"No, Kiddo, we're meeting for pizza. You haven't had your BIRTHDAY yet!"

Reid settled back into the seat, feeling guilty for his earlier pang of jealousy toward Morgan. He knew that Morgan had his back, not just in the field but anywhere. Morgan was the big brother he never had. The one he had now. The SUV drove slowly through the darkness through the quiet streets of Youngstown and Reid's heart was full of affection for his colleagues...his only real family. And full of thoughts of the things this day had held - the despair-filled eyes of a young Amish girl, the smell of butchered women in a barn, the barking of the search dogs, and the terrifying juxtaposition of all this against the peace of the dusk in an Amish field, and the blue-gray eyes of Aubrey Bennett.