The call came moments after the team landed at Slouinfield National Airport.

Gideon reached into his jacket pocket, anticipating the news he was about to receive.

He had been a profiler for years; he knew Deanna's chances of survival lessened with every moment that past.

It was day four of her disappearance. The average window of survival for victims of abduction was only three hours.

He brought the phone to his ear.

The rest of the team stopped on the tarmac and waited, hoping their fears would not be realized.

"Okay. Yes, we're on our way." He closed his cell phone and returned it to his pocket, a pained look on his face. "Deanna's body was just found."

The team was silent for a moment.

"Where?" Hotch asked.

"Near the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. A jogger found her body propped up on a street bench."

"Okay everyone, we've got a killer to find."

Hotch wasted no time reflecting, instead opting for the impersonal approach that always seemed to get the team moving.

"Agent Gideon and I will go to the crime scene. Agent Reid, Agent Morgan, go to Deanna Artym's home, see if you can catch anything the police didn't."

The boys nodded.

"Agents Prentiss and Jareau, head over to the station, find out what you can and try to hold off the press; Word about this is likely to get out fast, the reporters will be swarming."

Hotch looked at his watch, it was quarter to eleven already. "We'll reconvene back at the hotel at four thirty."

The team split up and headed toward the SUV's already waiting for them at the end of the tarmac.


Morgan and Reid arrived at the Artym household at about eleven thirty.

The little suburban home was covered in crime scene tape, and looked dull and lifeless without its occupants.

They crossed the tape barriers and began their search with Officer Doughty, a short muscular man, as their police escort.

The inside of the house seemed perfectly normal, with nothing unusual out of place. Children's shoes were scattered around the back door, and the adjacent laundry room had long ago reached its dirty clothing capacity.

The three split up to examine the doors and windows, running into each other again in the kitchen.

"All of the windows are locked except the bathroom," Officer Doughty stated, "it's too small to allow entrance though."

Morgan leaned against the counter, deep in thought. "There's no evidence of forced entry on the doors either."

"So she let her attacker in?" Spencer considered.

"When her kids came home from school Wednesday afternoon they noticed the door was open," Officer Doughty started, his voice deep and gravely. "Ms. Artym was supposed to go into work that morning after they left, but only until noon. They expected her to be home, so when she wasn't the oldest boy went to a neighbour and a short while after we were called in. A routine inspection was done on the house, but nothing was found. Looked like she left in a hurry though."

"Why is that?" Morgan asked.

"Left a half-made sandwich on the counter with an open jar of peanut butter, and didn't close the door behind her. That's the only reason the scene looked suspicious."

Morgan straightened as he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and quickly retrieved it, "Agent Morgan."

"Hi there sugar," came Garcia's voice from the other end.

"What do you got for me baby girl?" he asked, smiling into the phone.

"Other than a charming personality and unsurpassed beauty?" she questioned in mock innocence.

"Let me rephrase, what do you know that I don't already know?"

"Mmm, well played," she replied appreciatively.

"Thank you darling."

"Well, I looked into past missing persons reports like Gideon asked," she began, and Morgan could hear the sound of her typing, "but he didn't answer his phone when I tried him. And let me tell you, there is no shortage of missing persons in North Dakota."

"Anything matching our Unsub?"

"Possibly-- I didn't have much to go on so I narrowed it down to blondes in the Williston County area. In the last ten years seven women have been reported missing, all blondes, all unsolved cases and only four of the bodies were ever found."

"Did you go back any further?"

"I sure did, kitten. First reported female abduction matching the description was in 1903, however I kinda figured that was irrelevant since, you know, the guy would likely be dead by now, so I searched the last 50 years."

"And?"

"Everything was pretty standard until about 1985, when a string of blonde female victims started showing up. Some unsolved homicides, some just missing person's reports. Most of them were about a year apart, some of them more."

"And the police never saw it as anything suspicious?"

"Apparently not, though there was a significant amount of press coverage on some of the more prominent victims. Over half were prostitutes though, so I suppose they kind of fell through the cracks of the system. Anyway, I am sending the information to Gideon right now. Need anything else, sweetheart?"

"Nah baby doll, we don't have a whole lot to go on right now, but I'll call you if we get any leads."

"Can't wait."

He clicked the phone shut and turned back to Reid and Officer Doughty. "Garcia's sending some case information to Gideon, turns out we might have a long-term homicide pattern."

"At least we'll have more to go on," Reid added optimistically. "No suspects and no related evidence--even the most vigilant criminal has to make a mistake sometime."

Morgan couldn't stay in the depressingly empty home any longer. "There's nothing in here. Let's take a look outside."

Spencer and Derek headed for the backyard while Officer Doughty made a call in the kitchen.

They moved slowly, taking in their surroundings and storing each detail neatly in their minds.

The yard was surprisingly well kept considering the state of the house itself. Several trees lined the property, and the space behind the three-foot picket fence was rich with growth and backed on to the beginnings of a park.

Finding nothing in the yard after thorough inspection, they turned to leave.

Morgan stopped abruptly, Spencer nearly walking into him.

"What is it?" Spencer whispered.

"See that glass patio door? If you stand the right way you can see almost the whole first floor."

"You think he cased the house?" The question was rhetorical.

"I woulda. He could get a pretty good idea of Deanna's life style, monitor their schedule and figure out how to get access without leaving a trace."

"That would suggest him to be an organized killer," Spencer concluded. "He would have to do it without being seen though. The trees here have at least ten feet between them, he wouldn't be concealed."

"You're right. He would have to be farther back, maybe in the over-growth behind the fence."

The two agents walked to the fence, through the little gate leading out and then worked their way toward a position where they could clearly see through the glass door.

They halted when they came to a large pile of cigarette butts on the ground.

Morgan stood directly behind them and looked up towards the house.

He could see inside perfectly. "Bingo."

Spencer knelt on the ground, just close enough to view but not jeopardize the newly discovered evidence.

Surveying the immediate area he noticed what appeared to be dried blood by the stem of a particularly unpleasant looking weed.

He pointed to it silently and Morgan removed some collection bags from his pocket.

"I think we just found our evidence," Spencer declared.

Morgan grinned. "Let's get this to the lab and track down our Unsub."


As Hotch and Gideon rounded the corner, heading toward the crime scene, they were surprised to find that it was not yet flooded with reporters. Apparently the news got to them first.

A few residents of nearby homes were watching with curiosity from behind the yellow tape.

The scene was dreary. The sun had only just begun the task of dismissing the morning fog even though it was already quarter after eleven.

Hotch parked behind one of the cop cars lining the road, and, without speaking, the two got out of the car, leaving their briefcases behind.

They walked past the crime scene tape and flashed their badges to the young officer trying to tame the ever-growing crowd.

A senior officer greeted them as they approached, offering his hand which was respectfully accepted by Hotch as Gideon walked on toward the black body bag that lay on the cold, damp earth below a blood stained park bench.

Gideon eyed the bench suspiciously.

Though there was blood on the bench, it was really more of a smudge than anything else. She had obviously not been killed here.

Hotch walked up behind Gideon, allowing the man a few feet of space in which to contemplate.

An older officer approached the agents with something akin to awe and jealousy. "Jogger found her a couple hours ago, just sitting on that bench. She looks pretty bad, I reckon. All cut-up like. You boys think we got ourselves a serial killer?"

"I'm afraid it's too early to say, sir," Gideon replied with a soft smile.

"Do you mind if we take a look at the body?" Hotch requested.

"Knock yourselves out." He motioned to the black bag as he turned and walked toward another officer.

Hotch knelt and brought the zipper down just past her face, his back shielding her from prying eyes. "It's definitely her."

Gideon joined him. Hotch pulled the zipper down as far as it would go and quickly gloved his hands. She looked sickly pale.

He lifted her right arm and examined the deep cut along her wrist-- horizontal, not enough to do serious damage. "He's either an amateur or he just wanted to prolong her death."

"What does that look like to you?" Gideon asked, pointing to the two dark marks on her forearm.

"Could be a burn."

"Just like Nicole Lasica had on her arms and legs."

"C.O.D was almost certainly exsanguination."

"Looks like we found a pattern." Gideon's voice became concerned but thoughtful, "He used to try and hide his victims, conceal his crimes, now he puts them on display."

"Maybe he's getting bolder," Hotch suggested.

"Or more desperate." Gideon turned Deanna's other arm over and took note of the cuts and bruising there. "He's spending more time with his victims yet taking less time between them."

"Judging by the rapid pace of his evolution, he could strike again within days. Perhaps he's becoming less satisfied with his kills."

Hotch stood up as he noticed a flash come from behind him.

The first of the vultures had arrived.

He motioned to Gideon, who was already zipping up the body bag. "Let's see what the autopsy report says, and then we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Gideon pulled himself up, and the two began their journey back to the car, past the crowd of frenzied reporters and bystanders.


Emily relaxed into the couch in the waiting room, staring up at the solid oak doors that J.J had gone through over two hours ago.

After Emily had dug around the police station for a significant period of time, checking through files and chatting with the officers who had worked the cases, she found that she had reached a stand-still.

Out of sheer boredom had she finally given up pestering the police, and taken a seat in the waiting room to wait for J.J.

Surely she should have been back by now, a press conference could logically only take so long.

After the body of Deanna Artym had been found this morning, the reporters had started swarming in with cameras and microphones. She didn't know how J.J could handle them all at once like that.

They didn't even have any conclusive evidence on the case to present the press with, so she knew all J.J could do was cleverly dodge questions the entire time.

Even though Emily was fairly new to the Bureau, she learned quickly to have faith in J.J's ability to hold her own.

If anybody could handle the scavengers, it was her.

Emily identified with J.J more than her other team mates, if only because they shared the same fondness for self-control, but she knew she wouldn't be able to handle any more than ten minutes in a room full of loud, obnoxious reporters.

She crossed her legs and placed a folder on her lap, one of many she had gotten copies of from the station.

There seemed to be no shortage of victims these days.

After the call she had received from Garcia thirty minutes ago, Emily had managed to round up a daunting pile of potentially-related missing persons reports.

After another twenty minutes, four rejected folders and a stack of other potentials, J.J came through the oak doors.

Her relief at finally being on the quiet side of the doors was tangible in her body language.

She dropped down next to Emily, "Thank god that's over. Did you find anything?"

"Just a never ending pile of missing persons in the Williston County area. Garcia dug them up for me. But it looks like the boys were more successful." There's a sentence she never thought she'd say. "They may have secured some DNA evidence on our Unsub. They're running it through North Dakota's criminal database right now. May just be all we need to crack this one."

"Let's hope so." J.J looked completely worn out.

Emily started to feel the awkward silence kicking in. "So, pretty tough crowd in there hey?"

"You think I can't handle it?" J.J was suddenly on the defensive and Emily wasn't sure how she had set her off so fast.

"No. No, I- I just thought--" She had never been very good with small talk, or the whole 'making friends' thing.

J.J sighed, calming down a bit, "It's okay. I'm sorry, just a little on edge right now."

Emily nodded and opted to change the subject. "So, Reid and Morgan are on their way down here to meet up with us--"

"Oh?" J.J interrupted, suddenly and visibly brightening.

"…Yeah… Then we can go through the rest of these case files."

Agent Prentiss had no idea where Jennifer's sudden burst of energy had come from, but imagined she was just happy to have returned from hell relatively unscathed.

"So what do we do now?"

Prentiss solemnly handed J.J a case file.


Constance sat on the edge of the kitchen counter watching him.

He seethed in anger and grabbed a glass off of the worn table, throwing it fiercely against the wall next to her, and just because she didn't flinch, he threw the empty flower vase too.

Now his kitchen floor was covered in shards of his fury, just as he figured it ought to be.

Suddenly a fit of coughing over took him and he dropped to his knees in defeat.

"You said it would work!" he accused between ragged breaths.

The ancient yellow-brown wallpaper seemed to mock him with its randomly flowing pattern. The more he saw it, the more he hated it.

He pulled himself up off the dirty floor with the agility of a man half his age and lunged for the wall nearest to him, ripping and tearing at the wicked pattern that defied him so.

The wallpaper was more resilient than he had expected--more so than himself, perhaps. He accomplished little more than creating a fist-sized hole in the wall, which one could scarcely notice when presented with the grotesque, unkempt appearance of the rest of the home.

The old house was falling apart from the inside, out--just like his body.

It was not until he had finally relinquished his temper-tantrum and fallen back against the wall, head in his hands, that Constance rose from her perch on the counter.

She crawled impossibly close to him, taking no precautions against the glass that littered the floor on which she now knelt.

He refused to look up at her, ashamed of his emotional outburst, though it was not unfamiliar to him.

She moved even closer, until thick strands of her long golden hair draped over him. She shushed him and whispered in his ear, rubbing his back tenderly, "…Too old baby, she was just too old, we should have known. It'll be just fine love, trust me… We'll get another one. Younger. Full of life and potential... Okay baby? Trust me?"

He nodded into his hands.

"There's a good boy, we'll do it right this time, I promise."

He raised his head slowly, unable to resist the gentle assurance in her voice.

She was right. Of course she was right. How could he have doubted her?

He brought one hand up to her face and she grasped it in her own, holding his hand to her cheek before gracing it with a kiss and releasing it. He could never fully believe how beautiful she was.

The sunlight that snuck past the brown curtains framed her delicate face and glistened on her blonde hair, giving her an ethereal glow. She looked like an angel. His angel.

Almost silently she confided, "I know just the one we need."