"Ms. Rosen, I'd like to conduct a cognitive interview with you, if you don't mind?" It was the dark-haired, serious looking agent who spoke to me. They were all pretty serious looking, but to be fair, it was a pretty serious situation.

I numbly bobbed my head once, starring vacantly at the floor of my apartment and biting at a hangnail on my thumb. Then I tilted my head slightly and stuttered out, "Wh-what is…what is that, exactly?"

I heard someone clearing their throat and looked up, letting my hand fall away from my mouth and into my lap, where its partner began picking at the hangnail in lieu of my teeth. I blinked hard to try to force my eyes into focusing on the people in front of me. They had introduced themselves, but I was in too much of a fog to remember their names.

The dark-haired agent who first addressed me was all angles. He had a deep-set mouth that made him look grim and his eyebrows were low and straight, giving him a determinedly fierce look. He had a rather basic crew cut hairstyle, which mixed with his official-looking suit and altogether serious ambiance, worked to heighten his quality of authority.

The man who had cleared his throat just barely qualified as a man. He looked as young as me, if not younger; that was to say, college-aged. His hair was also in somewhat of a crew cut, but it was a bit longer and it curled at the edges, giving it a purposefully unruly look. Just like the serious-looking man, the younger man was wearing a nice button down shirt and a tie, but instead of a suit jacket, he sported a sweater vest.

Both of the men were looking at me expectantly and I realized two things at once: the younger one had said something to me that I had missed and I had brought my thumb back up to my mouth to try to bite off the hangnail again. I jerked my hand away from my face and sat on both of my hands to squash my nervous habit.

Sighing, I shook my head once before sheepishly admitting, "I'm sorry, I missed that."

The agents exchanged a look.

"Sometimes when people undergo traumatic events, their minds repress certain details to protect itself. We use cognitive interviews as a sensory-based method of recalling those details that you might not be able to picture right now," the younger one explained. The way his voice lilted over his sentences, starting off higher in the beginning and quickly tumbling into a deeper pitch and lower volume somehow gave off a very confident and well-informed vibe. It established credibility and I found myself unquestioningly trusting him.

"Oh, okay," I nodded a few more times as I processed the information. "Are you going to, like, hypnotize me?"

"No," the serious agent responded quickly. "All we ask is that you close your eyes and try to imagine what was happening right before the intruder came in. What were you doing?"

"I was working on homework," I answered as my eyes fluttered closed, sounding unsure even to myself.

"Okay, now picture yourself doing your homework," the serious agent said. "Where were you sitting?"

"At the table," I opened my eyes to point across the small living room at the table in question.

The serious agent glanced over at the table.

"Ms. Rosen," the younger agent began. He waited until I looked over at him to continue, "For this interview to work properly, you're going to have to relax. Lean back and really picture yourself doing these things, then just narrate to us what's happening."

I took a deep breath in and when I exhaled, I forced my muscles to relax and let myself sink into my couch. I even tilted my head back slightly on the back of the couch.

"Very good," came the whimsical voice of the younger agent from across the coffee table in front of me. "You were working on homework at the table. What homework were you doing?"

I pictured myself sitting at the table. "Advanced Organic Chemistry. I was analyzing IR and NMR spectra from some lab work I did on Tuesday as a part of my Masters research. I was getting really frustrated because my spectra weren't matching the melting points I had collected. I remember taking my glasses off and resting my forehead on the table because I was getting a headache from concentrating on the small print. That's when I heard it."

"What did you hear, Ms. Rosen?"

"The screen door opening. I can always tell when someone's about to knock on the door because they open the screen door first, but this time there's no knock. I remember feeling a tingle go down my spine. Why aren't they knocking? I stand up to look through the peep hole, but wait- my glasses. I turn back, grab my glasses off the table and there's a loud thud. The person at the door is trying to get in," I felt my palms get sweaty. There was a small part of my brain that knew this was just a memory, but I'm locked in the fear I had experienced in real life only an hour or two ago.

"What happens next? Is he in the apartment, yet?"

I felt my head shake, but my closed eyes are still seeing the shaking door in my memory. "No, he's still outside. Kicking at it, I think, but he isn't strong enough to break it down. Thank God I just got the chain replaced. There's another thud, this one is louder. I think he's almost inside. I'm run to the bathroom. I lock it just as I hear a crashing. He's inside. He's going to kill me," my breathing turned erratic and I could hear my heart thumping.

"Ms. Rosen, you aren't in any danger," a deeper voice than before said. The serious agent. It reminded me that I wasn't actually locked in the bathroom. My breathing evened out and I nodded once. The agent continued, "You locked yourself in the bathroom, is that when you called 911?"

"Yes," I answered confidently. The question triggered something, though. "Oh," I suddenly heard a whisper of a voice that terrified me and my eyes fling open.

"What is it, Ms. Rosen?" The serious agent asked gently.

"He told me to," I whispered, my eyes flickering between the two men in front of me, as they well with tears of fear. "As he was banging on the door, he was yelling."

The agents exchanged another look before simultaneously leaning closer to me. The dark haired agent's serious gaze held mine, "What did he say, Ms. Rosen?"

I squeezed my eyes shut as a tear ran down my cheek and repeated the words that I had blocked out of my mind, "Wanna play a game? Call 911. Let's see if the cops can get here in time to save you. If they come in time, you win. If not, you die. So far I'm 8 for 8, so don't get your hopes up."

"Are you sure those are the exact words he said?"

I looked at the dark haired man and felt tears start to stream out of my now opened eyes. I nodded once, not trusting my voice.

"Thank you, Ms. Rosen. I'm sure you didn't want to remember that, but it will help us find him," he said determinedly. He slid a box of tissues closer to me and I tried to stop the flow of tears. "Do you think you can continue, to see if there's anything else that might help us?"

I let out a shaky sigh, "Not much else happened. The cops got here right as he kicked the bathroom door in. But if you think, it'll help," I let my voice trail off.

The serious agent nodded once and I sighed again before closing my eyes once more.

"I called 911 and told the operator there was someone in my apartment," my voice was thick with tears, but I did my best to keep it even. "He stayed quiet the whole time he was in my apartment. For a while, I- it's stupid, but for a while I thought he had left. Then I heard the bathroom door handle rattling. He was trying to get inside. After a few tries, he started knocking lightly. I plugged both my curling iron and straightener on and hung them from a towel hook just inside the door, hoping he'd burn himself if he got in. The knocking got louder and I climbed into the tub with a can of hairspray. I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible."

"And what was the hairspray for?" The younger agent asked.

"Self defense. If he got in, I was going to spray it in his eyes and try to run."

There was a beat of silence in which I was stuck, frozen with fear and crouched in the bathtub in my mind's eye, before the serious agent said, "So you're in the tub with your hairspray. Can you still hear him knocking?"

"Yes," I nodded my head. "Only it's much louder now. Almost like he's banging on the door. The way it sounded right before he broke into my apartment. Oh my god, he's going to kick down the door again. What if my plan doesn't work and he doesn't get burned and the hairspray doesn't blind him?"

"He won't get you, Ms. Rosen. He isn't here," the serious one said. "What happens when he breaks the door down?"

"I hear a clatter and he hisses sort of like he's in pain. He must have burned his arm like I hoped and I'm preparing myself to jump out of the tub and make a run for it but there's another commotion. Footsteps and shouting," my breathing had gotten heavy again in the adrenaline rush.

"The police," the younger agent surmised.

"Okay, Ms. Rosen, you can open your eyes now," I opened them to see the dark haired agent smiling slightly. Well, he was more not-frowning than smiling. "Thank you, you've helped us quite a bit with what you remember."

"Really?" I felt my eyebrows pinch together. I wiped under my nose with the tissue. "I didn't feel helpful, at all."

"Actually, you gave us a lot to go off of," the younger agent stated matter-of-factly. "We know more about how the unsub thinks based on what he said to you. We also now know that he has had 8 victims when we previously only knew of 5. And most importantly, we know to look for someone suffering from a recent burn on their upper body. Using your hair equipment was a rather ingenious plan."

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up a little at his formal way of talking and heard the serious agent let out a huff of a laugh.

"What?" The younger agent innocently questioned, glancing between the agent and myself.

I shook my head slightly, "Nothing, really, it's just… you called it 'hair equipment.'"

"Oh," was all he said for a moment, looking at the floor. Then he blinked rapidly a few times and looked back at me, "I don't see the humor."

His naivety was adorable and actually coerced an amused half-smile from me, even as the tears continued to gather in the corner of my eyes. I was surprised that I could smile in a time like this.

"Hotch," a voice to my left called, reminding me that the serious looking agent had identified himself as Agent Hotchner to me. I turned to see a pair of agents walking through my doorway where men were working to attach a new door. The man who spoke was African American and dominatingly handsome. The woman behind him seemed somewhat exotic with the startling contrast between her pale skin and jet black hair.

Agent Hotchner excused himself and walked a few feet away with the two new agents, where they began speaking in hushed, somber tones. I turned to look at the younger agent. He was already looking at me.

"Any idea what that's about?" I tilted my head towards the huddle of authority standing in my tiny kitchen. My hand lifted to my mouth again of its own accord and I gave into the habit, attempting to bite the hangnail off once and for all.

I had never cared about the size of my apartment before now. With two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room and kitchen, it was the perfect size for me and my roommate who were just trying to get through college. But looking around at the dozen or so people trying to shift around each other to collect crime scene photos, or whatever, had me a bit self-conscious.

"They're probably just updating him on the case," he stated, glancing over at his coworkers for a few seconds. Then he met my eye again, "Picking or biting at the skin around your nails is a nervous habit that, if allowed to spiral, can lead to a disorder called excoriation or dermatillomania, more commonly. It can be caused by anxiety or depression or both. People who suffer from dermatillomania pick at hangnails so often that they start to bleed and scab over and then they pick at those scabs, too. It's actually related to obsessive compulsion disorder."

I instantly shoved my hand back under my leg, eyes wide with worry, "I have a disorder?"

"No," his eyebrows knit together like he didn't understand why I had asked that. Then they shot up and his eyes widened, "I didn't mean that you had dermatillomania. You were just displaying a nervous tic, not signs of a disorder. I apologize if I sounded like I was diagnosing you, I was just merely stating facts."

"Oh," I let a sigh out. "No don't worry about it. I've never heard of that disorder before, where'd you learn that?"

He shrugged one shoulder and looked down sheepishly, "I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything I read."

"You remember everything?" The incredulity in my voice had him looking up at me in surprise.

"It's mostly related to things I read," his voice ended in a higher pitch than it began, almost like he was unsure of his own words. Like he was used to people seeing this as a fault and therefore tried to downplay it.

"'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,'" I quoted as a challenge.

"I'm sorry, what?" The striking woman asked with her dark eyebrows pulled together.

I turned to see that the three agents had walked over to us. I blushed and looked away from their confused and questioning faces.

"It's the first sentence of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen," the younger agent clarified. Then he turned to me and quoted, "'However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.'"

I felt a grin of awe slowly steal its way across my face. Aware of the other agents, I tried to reign in my amazement. My head tilted slightly to the side as I examined the brilliant young man in front of me. Before my brain had a chance to stop my mouth, I breathed out, "Amazing."

Someone cleared their throat. I glanced away from Dr. Reid's embarrassed looking smile and met Agent Hotchner's gaze, "Ms. Rosen, we have reason to believe that this isn't over. This man will try to come back and finish what he started."

Reality came crashing in around me. A man had broken into my house and the FBI thought he was going to try it again. I started blinking rapidly to try to keep the tears at bay, "He's going to try to kill me, isn't he? He's not going to stop until he does."

"We won't let that happen," the woman interjected.

"Ms. Rosen, these are Special Agents Morgan and Prentiss," Agent Hotchner introduced them with a small gesture towards each as he identified them. "They work with Dr. Reid and I at the BAU, the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We have three other teammates and I assure you that not a single one of us will rest until we make sure this man is put away and you are safe."

His words had their intended effect, I was already calming down somewhat. It was still terrifying to know that there was a man out there who wanted to kill me for some unknown reason, but it helped to know there was a whole team of FBI agents working to keep me safe.

"In order to do that, though, we might need your help," Agent Morgan said, crossing his arms as if he didn't like admitting that.

I nodded my head vigorously, using the comfort their presence brought me to try to build my courage. "I'll help in whatever way I can. My roommate gets back from her semester abroad in two weeks. I won't put her in danger," my voice sounded steely even to myself. Feeling pain in my palm, I immediately loosed my fist which I had instinctively curled in anger.

"That's very brave of you, Ms. Rosen, but perhaps you should hear our idea before you agree to anything. What we're asking of you isn't easy and we don't have any expectations of you. We fully understand if you aren't comfortable with what we ask," Agent Hotchner warned.

Before I could respond, the woman- Agent Prentiss- laid a friendly hand on my shoulder and said, "I don't know, Hotch. She's not just brave, she's strong. She's a fighter. I believe she can do this."

There was a warmth behind her words. A warmth that took root in my chest somewhere, but the chill of fear that hadn't completely thawed out, yet, stopped it from spreading. Still, I aimed a weak smile up at the woman standing beside me.

"Regardless," Agent Hotchner's eyes narrowed slightly at Agent Prentiss for undermining him, before they cut to me and softened slightly. "We'll need to bring you back to the local police station where we're set up to brief you on the case and our proposal. Whether you agree to help or not, we'll at least be able to set up a security detail for you and allow time for your doors to be reinstalled while we're there."

I nodded my head numbly. It was all starting to become too much. Too much emotion, too much information, too much crying. My head throbbed.

My hand shot up to my temple in an attempt to assuage the headache.

"Water," the soft voice of Dr. Reid broke the silence. "She needs water and aspirin."

"By my bed," came my monotone reply and my head swam as I stood to retrieve the items. Agent Prentiss' hand on my shoulder pushed me gently back down to the couch.

I looked pleadingly up at her, but her face- though kind- was firm. My eyes jumped to Dr. Reid.

He nodded once, "I'll get them."

I stared at the worn edges of my coffee table once again. Only a small fraction of my brain was embarrassed as he walked towards the hallway. Even though I had bigger things to worry about, I couldn't help but think of the Star Wars comforter I had bought in the children's section of Walmart and the bras I had hanging out to dry from this morning's load of laundry. Not to mention the stack of overly cheesy romance novels sitting on my night stand.

I sighed heavily, then chastised myself for worrying about such trivial things while a mass murderer had a target painted on my back. A frown tugged at my lips at that thought, before a shiver wracked through my body.

"Shock," I heard Agent Prentiss mutter softly- to who, I didn't really care enough to figure out. Her hand left my shoulder, "I'll find her a coat or something. And a change of clothes for the station."

Footsteps. I looked up from the table to see Dr. Reid and Agent Prentiss squeezing past each other in the doorway to my bedroom. The other agents had moved away from me again, although there wasn't much space to be put between us in my small apartment. Agent Morgan listened attentively to Agent Hotchner's side of a phone conversation, both men had a hand resting lightly on their holstered weapon- an unconscious behavior. One built in a life of danger and life or death situations.

I quickly averted my eyes, not wanting to linger on that subject of thought.

Dr. Reid had my reusable water bottle in one hand, the other turned upwards, but with the fingers curled closed. He bypassed the chair he had been sitting in earlier and rounded the coffee table to sit beside me on the couch. Slowly, he extended the closed hand, as if he were trying not to scare a wounded animal.

My lips twitched in amusement at the thought. I held out my hand, palm up, and accepted the pills he dropped into it. It wasn't until I chased the medicine down with the water that I realized how thirsty I was.

I greedily took a large gulp of water, but was stopped by Dr. Reid as he lightly pulled the bottle away from my mouth.

"What are you doing?" I complained, more shocked than anything else. "I'm thirsty."

For such a lean man, Dr. Reid was surprisingly strong. He managed to wrest the bottle from my grasp with very little effort. "You're in shock," was his offered excuse.

"I thought so," the proximity of Agent Prentiss' voice startled me. I hadn't realized she was back from my room, let alone so close. Before I could respond, I felt a weight on my shoulders.

I glanced up at her to see her eyebrows pinched in worry. Something tugged on my hand. I looked down. It was Agent Prentiss, she was trying to coerce my arm into a coat sleeve- my coat's sleeve. Which was what she had settled on my shoulders.

I tried to shake away whatever fog was starting to cloud my mind.

Muscle memory kicked in and I shoved both arms into their sleeves and deftly buttoned up the front of the coat, popping up the collar as I suddenly noticed just how cold I was. The high today had been 38 degrees Fahrenheit, but with the sun down and no front door, it must have been around 20 in my apartment.

I nodded at Agent Prentiss in gratitude, before turning back to Dr. Reid, "Why no water?"

"When you go into shock, your organs start to shut down. One of the first is the digestive system," he said, by way of explanation.

"English, Reid," Agent Prentiss demanded in a joking tone. They seemed to typically refer to each other by last name, without the title of Agent or Doctor in front of it. Agents Prentiss and Morgan had even gone so far as to use a nick name of Agent Hotchner's last name- Hotch.

I looked up at her and translated, "I'd just vomit it back up."

Her eyes, which had been turned to Dr. Reid in expectation of a response, shot to me in surprise. I watched as her mouth opened once, twice- unsure how to respond. She inhaled a large breath, then she closed her lips and let the air expel from between them. My eyebrows shot up in amusement from her small puff of shock.

I glanced over at Dr. Reid to see if he was also confused by her action, but he was looking at me with his head angled and his eyebrows furrowed. It felt like I was a puzzle he was trying- and failing- to solve. I looked back over to Agent Prentiss, instead.

"I've never met anyone who spoke Reid," she explained, using his name as if it were the name of some foreign language. She glanced between the two of us for a few seconds before shrugging. "I grabbed you a change of clothes. Would you like to change here or at the station?"

My first thought was changing in the bathroom, my eyes landing on the broken door, and I shook my head rapidly. She turned her head to follow my line of sight.

Agent Prentiss lowered herself on the couch beside me. I felt more comfortable sandwiched between the two FBI agents, but I couldn't look away from the bathroom and it was giving me a terrible feeling. Ice slid slowly down my spine even as I huddled in my coat.

"Hey," she softly laid her hand on top of the two of mine, where they rested in my lap. At the contact, my eyes snapped to hers and the icy feeling slowed to a stop. "It doesn't have to be there and it doesn't have to be alone. We can go in your room; I'll turn my back. Or we can wait until we get to the station."

A gust of wind blew through the open doorway and danced around my ankles, chilling my legs through my flimsy pajama pants.

I shook my head and took a deep breath of determination. I won't be afraid in my own home ever again, I told myself, hoping if I said it enough it would be true.

Without responding, I stood. As her hand fell from my lap, Agent Prentiss took my cue and stood as well. She turned and led me around the coffee table and into my bedroom. A stack of clothes was on my bed, presumably what Agent Prentiss had been referring to.

I waited until I heard the door click shut and then I started to change into the pants and sweater she had picked out. I wasn't really focusing on the act, just frantically going through the motions, because even as I tried to hold onto the comfort I had felt surrounded by agents just a few seconds earlier, not having an agent in my line of sight was a terrifying feeling. I knew logically that Agent Prentiss was behind me, but the illogical part of my brain was telling me it was him behind me. That he was back to finish the job.

I shook my head and forced myself to move faster.

As I shoved my arms into the sleeves, a small part of my brain registered that Agent Prentiss had miraculously chosen my favorite sweater. It was loosely knitted and made of thick, blue wool with specks of red and tan in it. Probably the most comfortable thing I owned.

I spun around as I was buttoning my jeans, eager to once again feel the comfort and safety that being in a room full of agents had brought me.

"Okay," I said hastily, pulling one boot on and reaching for the other. "You can turn around."

Agent Prentiss did without comment, seeming to hear the panic in my voice. She smiled sympathetically and then surprised me, by walking over to my closet and pulling my box of beanies, scarves and mittens from the shelf.

"Saw these when I was looking for your coat," she explained.

As I zipped up both boots and tugged my coat back on, Agent Prentiss pulled out a beanie and matching scarf. Before she could dig around for mittens, I pulled a pair out from my coat pocket.

"Always be prepared," I muttered as an explanation, pulling them on.

She handed me the beanie and scarf, before turning to put the box away, "Isn't that the Boy Scout motto?"

"I had a cousin who was a Boy Scout for 12 years," I answered, wrapping the scarf around my neck and tucking the ends into my coat. I looked into the mirror to situate my hair under the beanie.

"That should keep you nice and warm," she nodded in approval. Then she walked to the door and started to lead me out.

My hands instinctively tucked themselves into my coat pocket and I felt suddenly very aware of the absence of my phone.

"I don't remember where I put my phone," I called out, turning to survey the room.

A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped. My heart raced, even as I glanced over my shoulder to see that it was just Agent Prentiss. Her eyes shone with compassion and she mercifully didn't mention the scare.

"It's out there on the coffee table," she said softly and gestured for me to walk in front of her to the living room.

As I entered the living room, I saw that most of the room had cleared out. The two guys who had been working on installing a new front door were now working on a new bathroom door. Even though I averted my eyes from that room as quickly as possible, I could see that the agents who had been processing the evidence in there were now gone. And only Dr. Reid remained of the BAU members who I had met so far.

He stood in front of the bookshelf that was built into the wall on the apartment and housed not only books, but also our TV, movies and a few empty notebooks waiting to be used. His lips moved silently, reading the titles of the books to himself, I supposed. In his hands, he fiddled with a pen, rotating it expertly around his fingers.

I headed over to the coffee table to grab my phone and saw Agent Prentiss walk over to Dr. Reid. In the tiny space of my apartment, I could almost make out their hushed conversation. She was probably telling him about my heightened nerves and maybe it was a good thing for a doctor to know that.

My finger hovered over the home button as I tried to make a decision. If I called my parents to tell them now, I'd only start crying again. But shouldn't they know? Didn't they have a right to know?

I stared at my reflection in the black screen. The puffy eyes, the red nose. If I called them now, I would have an even harder time focusing and I wanted to do whatever I could to help the FBI catch this man, so I could have a chance at feeling safe again. Not yet.

I pocketed the phone.

"Ms. Rosen," Agent Prentiss called gently. Trying not to startle me again, probably.

I lifted my head to look at her and saw Dr. Reid standing close behind her- both worried. I tried to smile to ease their concern, "Please, call me Amelia."

Agent Prentiss smiled in return, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. "We're ready to go now, Amelia. Hoth and Morgan went ahead to brief the others. Reid and I will drive you to the station, if that's okay."

I nodded my consent, then took in a large breath to steady myself before asking, "Agent Prentiss, do you know if anyone's called my parents?"

"Actually, in this type of situation where the victim is no longer a minor, found conscious and doesn't require medical attention, it's left up to him or her to call any kin," Dr. Reid informed me, matter-of-factly.

Agent Prentiss turned to him with a small smirk on her face, "Thank you, Agent Prentiss."

Dr. Reid mumbled something under his breath, but found the floor suddenly very intriguing as his cheeks colored.

"And you can call me Emily," this was directed at me. My eyes shot to hers and I saw compassion in them once more. And there was that warmth again in my chest, only this time it spread and pulled the corners of my smile even wider.

Being an only child, I didn't know what it felt like to have a sister, but I imagined it felt a little like this. Like there was someone who was watching your back, even if you did nothing to deserve it. Like there was someone who would offer you comfort and kindness, even without having to ask for it. It felt nice.

"Everyone on the team calls me Reid, without the doctor, so you can do that too, if you'd like. Or Dr. Spencer Reid. Or just Spencer, although not very many people call me that. Actually, sometimes JJ calls me 'Spence,' but she's the only one. Not that you can't. You haven't met JJ, yet. She's a part of the team. She's at the station with the rest of them right now," Dr. Reid rambled until Emily gently touched his elbow.

My smile was officially a grin now, teeth and all.

"Spencer Reid Without the Doctor," I made a show of playfully considering the name before nodding in approval. "I like it"

That earned me an amused smile from Emily and a shy one from Spencer.

"Alright, you two," Emily admonished with a chuckle. "Hotch is waiting on us."

They led me out to a black SUV, where the two agents sat up front with Emily behind the wheel. I absentmindedly watched her ponytail swing as we hit a pothole and prepared myself for the rest of the night.