Warnings

This is rated M for safety.

Contains mentions of cannibalism, gore, and suicide. Seek safer stories elsewhere if not interested.

Dear Everyone,

If you are reading this, you will know what I have done. You will likely have seen my body just to be sure that I am not lying. I know millions of questions will be racing through your heads. The biggest one will be the most obvious one. Why did I do it?

The answer is worse than anything you're probably thinking of.

As you well know, something is taking over the world. We've seen the news reports. We've seen the footage from Europe. The Illness. The Plague, as its known in Europe. The thing that is turning normal human beings into cannibals. Despite official promises of a vaccine against it, they're losing the war. The Illness is too strong. I should know. I am infected with it.

That's right. I am infected with the Illness.

You're probably thinking I've lost my mind. After all, no one has proven the existence of the Illness scientifically or medically. I can tell you that all the rumors and hearsay are true. If you still think I'm nuts, allow me to offer a few examples.

JJ, remember when that unsub's father almost severed your arm with his machete? Remember how you had to yell at me to help you because I was staring at your arm? You asked me why I froze up afterwards. I told you that I couldn't explain why I froze. That was a lie. The truth is, I didn't want to bandage your arm. I wanted to watch your blood slither down your arm. The worst part was that I wanted to pounce on you and lick the blood off your arm. I wanted to lap up every drop that you had to offer. I froze because the sane part of me realized what I wanted to do.

Dave, remember when I got sick while we were in Miami? Remember when we went to that murder scene and saw how horribly mutilated that guy's body was? Remember how I suddenly ran off and you found me in the bathroom of the nearby park, vomiting my guts out? You asked me what had happened. I told you that I was battling a strong stomach bug and the sight of that corpse made me sick. I knew by the look in your eyes that you knew I wasn't being honest with you, but you accepted my answer. Bless you for that. Truth is, I was puking because of what I wanted to do when I saw that guy's corpse.

I didn't see him as a victim. I didn't see him as a son and father who now left behind a wife and three adorable children. I saw him as a fresh meal. I saw him as a pile of meat dripping with sweet blood. I wanted push all you out of my way and claim that meat as mine. I wanted to grab the biggest, fattest piece of him and tear into it. I wanted to savor that rich taste. I wanted to gorge on that meat until I burst. Afterwards, I could slake my thirst with blood and pick my teeth clean with one of his ribs. The sane part of me took over and made me run off before I could do that.

I think my eating habits over these last few weeks gave all of you a hint that something was wrong. I no longer ate with you while we had cases. I got sick every time I ate the little bits of food you demanded I eat. Oh, Garcia, I wish I could have eaten that cake you made for Derek for his birthday. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings when I refused to have a piece. Truth is, I couldn't have kept it down. Over these last few weeks, I have lost all need or desire for regular food and drink. All the foods that I used to love are now forbidden to me. I made the mistake last night of trying a small piece of apple pie a neighbor gave to me as thanks for watching her apartment. I spent two hours in bathroom with my head in the toilet.

The change has been gradual. I can still drink water, but coffee, tea, anything alcoholic, and soda are no longer options. For food, I'm sorry to say, but I've been eating raw meat. Not human, mind you, but the meat you buy from a store. As you'll notice from my freezer and fridge, they're filled with containers and packages of raw meat. This is all I can eat now. It's easy to hide when I'm home, but it's hard when we're on the road. I have to sneak out of whatever hotel we're staying at, run to a store, buy a bunch of packages, and then find some secluded spot to eat. What you only notice is how tired I am in the mornings.

The writer paused in their typing to sit up and stretch. They reached for their mug of water and sipped. They then sat down to continue.

By this point, I hope you believe me. I hope you remember and realize that my oddness was in fact sickness. If there are still doubts, I present this final example. As the Illness as spread along the eastern seaboard, pharmaceutical companies have been developing so-called vaccines. As government employees, we were given a higher priority. All of us were dosed and led to believe that we would be spared the Illness's wrath. That is a lie. My symptoms began to manifest months after I had been vaccinated. Multiple doctor visits confirmed the worst. Thanks to some genetic abnormality on my part, the vaccine was useless for me. What was supposed to protect me was nothing more than a sugar pill. I hope the rest of you will fare better than me.

The writer paused again, pondering what else to add. After a moment of silence and with increasing dread, they began the end of their letter.

I wish I could tell you how I became infected with the Illness. As with the other cases, no one knows. I'm just thankful that I still have enough of my faculties to say goodbye. And this is goodbye. There will be no happy ending for me or the countless others who fall victim to the Illness. The least I can do is ensure that I never become a mindless beast who will not recognize anything. I will not have any of you bear the burden of having to kill me if I decide to live. I choose death because it is the easiest way to beat the Illness.

On an official note, I have left two files in the top drawer of my desk. They contain medical and financial information relevant to my life as I succumbed. You will also find the number of a lawyer I consulted. As much as it will depress you, know that I have left behind a will. I have left my dearest possessions to each of you. I picked what I thought best suited you. Related information is in one of the files.

On a final note, I will say this.

Penelope Garcia, you are a treasure. A kooky, sweet, adorable treasure. No matter how dark cases got for us, you were a ray of light. You reminded me of the goodness in the world that is worth protecting. Though I was never worthy of it, your friendship was invaluable. Even if I was angry, I always knew I could count on you for a shoulder to lean on. Know that I am honored to have been your friend. Please don't be angry with me for what I have done. Love Kevin with all the sunshine your heart has.

JJ, my dear blonde angel. What I owe you can never be repaid. Do not think ill of me for what I have done. Remember the good times that we had. I will take with me memories of your strength, courage and friendship. Always keep Henry close and safe. Love him and cling onto him if the world falls apart completely.

Derek Morgan, you will likely never forgive me for what I have done. You will probably hate me until the day you die. I accept that. I know that are relationship has not been the best as of late. Unlike other people, I accept my share of the blame. Hell, I'll take it all if it means the burden is lighter for you. Just know that you have been a true friend despite all the bullshit you have had to endure as a result of my stupidity. Other men would have broken all ties with me. You gave me multiple chances and I will be forever grateful. Be safe. Don't do anything stupid and keep an eye on Garcia.

David Rossi, patron saint of good listeners. No matter how hard things got, I could always count on you for an ear and a shoulder. Even if you didn't agree with me, you always listened. Be it minor things or emergencies, you were always willing to put aside what you were doing and listen. For that, I am forever in your debt. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you.

Spencer Reid, dearest genius. I know you will try to understand my motives. You will puzzle over how you could have missed the signs of my impending doom. Don't waste your energy on such tasks. I know our relationship has been pretty bumpy, but know that I will always remember you with the deepest warmth and love I have. Should you ever feel the need to curse me for my actions, do not hesitate to do so. I will understand.

To you Aaron Hotchner, I will only say this. In one of the files, I have left the name and address of a bank. This bank holds hundreds of safety deposit boxes. Upon my death, one of them will revert to your possession. Within this box are all the things I wish I could have given you, but was too cowardly to do. Be safe. Love Jack and keep him safe.

Forgive me

Remember me as I was

Forgive me

With deepest love and regret,

Emily

As the Illness had spread along the East Coast, special crisis call centers were created to handle the deluge of Illness-related emergencies. These centers were set up in every available large space. Volunteers worked the phone lines at all hours. Depending on the emergency, volunteers could soothe fears, promise immediate medical response, or, in the rarest cases, send military response to eliminate the threat.

The call that came in at 11:57 p.m. was relayed to a crisis center at a local elementary school. The school had closed due to budget cuts, but was reopened for emergency usage. The call center was in the cafeteria. 150 volunteers sat at small tables. Their tools were wireless headsets and tablets that allowed them to relay the information to the proper channels. The volunteer who picked up this call was a wearied blond man clad in a white shirt, Batman boxers, and a red bathrobe.

"St. Sebastian Call Center," said the man as he stifled a yawn, "where is your emergency?"

The voice on the other end, a woman's hushed tone, provided the information.

The man entered it into his tablet and asked, "What is the emergency?"

"There is a woman in apartment four-six named Emily Prentiss," said the woman, "she's been infected with the Illness for the past few months. She is planning on committing suicide."

The man wakened sharply as he heard this. "Ma'am, may I ask how you know this?"

The woman continued on as though she had not heard him. "She has left behind a note on her laptop. Inform the responders to take extra precautions upon entering as she will be using her gun to commit suicide."

The man entered the information and repeated his question. "Ma'am, how do you know this?"

There was silence.

"Ma'am!"

There was a sigh. "I know this because the woman is me. My name is Emily Prentiss and the suicide you'll be responding to is mi-"

At this point, the man was to have heard a single gunshot. This did not happen.

First, he heard a loud shuffling noise. He then heard Emily's low curse. This was followed by a loud crash and the tinkering of shattered glass. Before the line went dead, the man heard a noise that made his heart stop.

The low, guttural growl of one the Infected.

To all readers: Thank you taking the time to read this. I hope this makes sense as is. Unless any of you wish for one, I'll leave things as they ended. Again, thank you for reading.

To any of the Sherlock readers: Greetings! In case you're wondering why I haven't updated my WIP, the answer is simple. One is that ch. 4 is proving to be a bastard to write. The other is that sickness has been the order of January and February. All three of us here have fallen ill and two of us have had serious medical emergencies. I don't know if I'll get 4 up anytime soon. Consider this, though, an expansion of what's going on in the other story. If you don't see anything in the Sherlock section from me anytime soon, try finding me in the CSI: NY or H50 sections.