Author's Note: Yay for the first review! Not even twenty four hours and I got a review and two subscriptions! That makes me a happy fanfic writer. And anyone who knows me can tell you, happy Amaya means less torturing of the characters in this chapter! It's actually a toss-up wether of not a happy me means more torturing and angsty goodness or less, but at the moment it means less! So, sit back and enjoy the ride! Coming at you all is Chapter One of Angelus Lacrima!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds; Someday I will be Queen of the BAU, though. Seriously! Oh, CBS owns CM, not me. Acronyms galore. Also, Shakespeare is owned buy… no one, really. You don't have to pay royalties to preform it… ^^;;

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Chapter One

Seventeen

'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.'

– Auric Goldfinger

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Nice white button-up shirt, deep forest green tie, a new gray sweater vest, nice black pants, the usual purple scarf. Hair combed and nice, teeth brushed, bath taken. Minimal breakfast of a cup of coffee, heaping tablespoons of sugar, and a plain bagel. No time to toast bread; I had work soon. Keep up routine as much as possible; reduce stress wherever and whenever possible. Stress and anxiety can lead to a relapse. I would not go spiraling down that dark abyss again. No light at the end, no reason reaching my ears; just the uncontrollable need for an outside substance in order to make myself feel better. Take something from out there, put it in here, and feel better; in reality far worse. I would not break routine; my daily rituals were important to my sanity. Kept the need in check. I had been cleaned for a few months short of a year now; nothing would change that. Absolutely nothing.

Knowing about it all, why did Morgan see fit use the last of the sugar?

"Uh… Morgan?" I turned to my companion upon realization that the break room seemed to lack any trace of my sugary addiction. The one that never sent me into rehab.

"What is it, Reid?" Morgan turned to me, just finishing up stirring in the last bit of sugar into his own cup. An empty packet lay on the counter buy his side.

Did I just twitch? "Morgan, there's no more sugar left."

"Yeah, I just used the last of it, wh…" A look of realization dawned over Morgan's eyes, slightly wider then they had been a half a second before. He looked down at the cup in his hands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Nervous, "Oh man… sorry Reid, I forgot how much you love sugar. How about we switch? I can deal with just creamer." Morgan then held the cup out towards me with one hand, the other reaching towards the cup in my own hands.

"No, it's fine…" I sighed and shook my head. It had been pure cane sugar too… I walked passed Morgan and out of the break room with my unsweetened pure black coffee and began to make my way towards the desk. Thirty-two folders of paperwork… a new record, even for the BAU. I turned my head to the side, craning my neck for a moment to get a look at the piles on the others desks. Significantly shorter, maybe around ten. 'Figures…' I thought, sighing as I sat down, 'Pile the paperwork on the only one who can read twenty-thousand words a minute and uses words in normal speech you'd only find in a dusty copy of Webster's…' Sometimes my teammates could be so predictable. Ever since Elle had started the trend oh so long ago, the rest of them usually slipped me a couple of their folders after every case. Granted, I could still get them done in half the time it took for them to finish their's, but it was still vaguely annoying.

To further compound on my paperwork predicament, Hotch came out of his office with a hard look on his face. That determined, tunnel-vision look that told the rest of us only one thing; we have a case. I had not even sat down in my chair when he came out, a large manila folder in his hands. In fact, I was caught halfway kneeling into the chair, about to set my 'coffee' – I shuddered at the thought of calling it thus, unsweetened as it was – down on my desk. The others looked up at him with expressions that mirrored mine; though their's lacked the relief at an opportunity to put off the paperwork for at least a little bit longer.

"New case; up to the round-table room," was all that left our bosses lips before he turned heel and went right back up the stairs. That phrase 'round-table room'… what was the BAU, King Arthur's Knights? What would that make Hotch; King Arthur?

It took me a moment to realize I had just made somewhat of a joke. Too bad Morgan wasn't a Betazoid.

Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, J.J, and I made our way up to the room in question. Being the last one in, I wondered what the faces of shock on my partners were for. Then I saw the pile. Boxes stacked high on the table, manila folders and pictures spread all around the open space. Most of the pictures were covered by folders, but my mind saw all; little hands sticking out from the corners of the folders. Children? No, younger…

Babies.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joesph Hotch!" Morgan exclaimed as he attempted to find an open spot at the table. The rest of us found seats; I, being the last in, got the seat behind all the boxes. It took only seconds for me to resign to standing.

Emily picked up a nearby folder, eying it suspiciously, "I thought you said we had 'a' case, Hotch."

"You're right," Hotchner nodded, setting down his folder, "This is all from one case."

"Seriously?" Morgan leaned back a bit, "Damn, this one's gonna be a bad one, isn't it?"

"Seventeen murders over a thirteen year period," Hotch explained, "All newborns. Coroner reports state that they were all barely hours old, but every one had take a breath, thus making this murder."

That wasn't completely right… "Actually, there are differing opinions as to what constitutes a 'first breath'. There are also several bills being pushed through in many states to classify the murder of an unborn child… well, a murder. One case is that of Oregon, where–"

"Not now, hot shot," Morgan interrupted.

Hotch let out a breath, shaking his head. Emily shifted somewhat restlessly, looking across the table at Hotch, "… It took thirteen years for all these murders to be connected? Why?"

"They were spread out all over the country; it isn't until lately that they've begun to be centralized. Each murder had a completely different MO minus a few common details. After the local police began to notice a connection, forensic testing found something else."

"What was it?" Rossi leaned forward somewhat, placing his elbows on the the table on top of some of the folders.

"All the victims were found about nine months from each other, give or take a few weeks or so. They all… had the same mother, but no two had the same father," Hotchner looked down at the folders. He reached up and, with both hands, began to clear off some of the folders that covered the bulk of the pictures.

"Oh my… oh my god!" J.J.'s eyes widened and she near immediately turned away.

There were dozens of pictures. Red stains everywhere. Some were hung from trees, others drowned… even more butchered, dismembered… like animals. All newborn babes; though at this point only a few could recognizably be called thus. Cuts and bruises marred the bodies and all were a ghostly pale, as if they had been drained of their blood. From some of the photos… it was obvious where that missing blood had gone.

Even I looked away, knowing that those images would still stay in my mind forever. Under the table, my hands were clenched into tight fists, my knuckles turning as pale at the dead babes.

"Evidence… evidence suggests that all of the… the victims were killed via some sort of injection, overdose, or the presence of something to numb the body completely. In all the cases, death would have been… painless. The bruises, cuts and… the rest were all done post-mortem," Hotchner placed the folders back on the table, this time in a stack. The pictures still shone through clear as day.

It was silent for a moment before I heard Rossi speak up from next to Hotch, "… Where are we heading? You said that the murders had begun to be centralized."

"Las Vegas, Nevada," Hotchner said quietly, "The last victim was found there about eight and a half months ago."

"Why weren't we on this sooner, then?" Emily crossed her arms, trying hard not to look at the table. Those pictures were absolutely horrific, even for us.

Hotchner shook his head once more, as if to chase something out of his head, "The murders had begun to be centralized in and around Las Vegas, that much is true… but the local police thought that they could handle it; they didn't know about the other cases."

"Just how many were discovered in that area?" Rossi asked.

"Six," Hotchner said, looking down at the photos, "And at the moment, it seems we are due for number seven."

"That can't be it, Hotch," Morgan said, leaning forward, "Why'd they ask for us now, if there had already been six murders?"

"This," Hotchner reached into one of the boxes – I saw, for a brief moment, that they were mostly more files and photos – and pulled out a folded paper, "It was left stuck in the door of the Las Vegas Police Department… along with a missing part… of the seventeenth victim." it was small, like a letter without an envelope. He set it on the table and soon thereafter Morgan picked it up. He slowly unfolded it and stared. I could see his dark eyes running through it line by line. Once they had reached the bottom, he set the letter down. Morgan shook his head, raising a hand to cover his eyes. No one did anything, so I slowly reached for the open letter and began reading it out loud.

"We are the shadows. They are our light, our sun children. We do not want the sun; we need the darkness. The moon. They are failures, expendable. The Holy mother awaits her dark lover at the place where it all began. None of Our number have proved worthy to be the father of the messiah. How could you Lessers not have realized the coming is upon You? Perhaps it is the Mere fact you are unevolved, unable to piece together the mysteries and secrets, the codes by which we abide. She is Ours. Seventeen sun children you have found; Two more still lie Here rotting with us. Bastard twins of the others, Earthen ones. Another has nearly come to fruition; soon there will be twenty on your hands. You should Rejoice, for Now is the time! Why do you Each not see it yet? Must we lead you on by hand? Yes, yes, it seems so. Your vision is clouded, the Peripheral abolished. Send them; your best. Your brightest. May they see with their own eyes the truth. May they be Holy to be It. One among them is worthy of being the dark patriarch. One with a mind that excels those of our number. Knowledge is power; it is Love; it is all.

Send them; you want us stopped, do you not? What we do in It's name, no Matter how noble and god-sent our mission is, it is against the principles of your society. Stop us, if you can! Entertain us, if you will!

We will not falter. We will not stop. We will never fail.

Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI.

I am the oracle."

Things became very silent after I finished reading the letter. Something was bothering me about that letter. Besides the obviously insane matter in which it was written. Something about it… I felt like I was missing something very important. My brows pulled together in utter frustration. It was almost like a message was aimed directly for me and I just wasn't catching it before it slipped through my fingers. Was it the wording? Something this person had written? Did I recognize the handwriting? 'No' I quickly rationalized, 'With my memory, there is no way I would forget something like that… maybe…'

"… I maybe be going on a limb to say this guys, but I think that we're dealing with some sort of cult," Morgan said, first to break the silence.

Hotch pushed his chair back as he stood; I jumped at the noise, "There is still more in Las Vegas that we haven't seen yet. Let's head out." He turned and left without another word.

Emily was next to stand. Then J.J., next Rossi, and finally Morgan. I stayed seated until Morgan prodded my shoulder. Something really did bother me about that letter.

"Come on, Reid," Morgan nodded towards the door, "Get home and back. I'm thinking Hotch is gonna want us gone as soon as possible. This one's bad, and who knows when the next baby is going to show up."

"Yeah…"

Nothing escapes Morgan with it comes to behavior. My behavior in particular, "What's wrong, Reid?"

"Nothing…" I stood up, shaking my head as we left the room, "I just feel like I recognize something about that letter, is all." I put a hand on my chin, looking down as I made my way to the elevator.
There was precious time to pack.

I would have to ask Garcia to throw my coffee out for me.

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Only the bare essentials. It's not like I would need much more on this trip. Hopefully we could solve this case as soon as possible. It was not like I didn't like to visit my hometown every once in a while. It was just hard sometimes. Hard to bring up the memories I could never seem to run away from. Never seem to forget, no matter how much I tried.

Sometimes being a genius is a bad thing.

We were on the plane now; everyone was here but Garcia, who stayed back in Quantico as usual. J.J. had left Henry with Will. She was originally going to stay behind, but I think after reviewing the case further she realized that this was a big one. If anything got out to the press, anything at all, there would be a nationwide media uproar. Unstoppable, in most cases. Thanks fully the LVPD had been able to keep it under wraps as best they could.

"I swear to god, Reid, you cheat!" Morgan threw his cards down on the table. Rossi and J.J. were asleep and the rest of us were playing poker. I had one every hand thus far, and that fact was starting to grate on Morgan's nerves.

I sighed, "Card games are simple mathematics, Morgan. One of the PhD's happens to be in Mathematics. It does not go too far to say that I would be good at cards. It's all numbers."

"I KNEW IT!" Morgan roared.

Emily smacked him in the arm, "Morgan, keep your voice down!"

"He's counting cards!" Morgan waved a finger at me. It was so childish I had to resist the urge to laugh. In response to his accusation, I merely smiled lopsidedly like usual.

"It's more then that," I explained, "The behavior of the other players, the number of cards dealt minus the cards I have and their types gives me the probability of who has what. As the game progresses, these probabilities grow and thus, if you know what you're doing, then poker becomes easy. Of course, that is only one of many methods that insure success in card games."

Morgan huffed and threw his cards down, getting up to go lay down on one of the couches. I could tell he wasn't really mad; just acting thus for some mischievous end, I was sure. "Yeah, well… you can't play video games to save you're life and they are far better anyway."

"Au Contraire," I shook my head lightly despite the fact he could no longer see me, "I am quite good as the roleplaying video game genre, the action, adventure, and horror genres. Many others as well, just not shooters. Any game can be dissected in the mind to provide an adequate and easy solution to any given problem or puzzle. Much like–"

He groaned, "Reid, seriously man… shut up."

Emily giggled next to me and I felt the familiar rush of heat to my face. I looked down at the cards in my hand, embarrassed. I really wasn't that annoying, was I? I tired not to be, but it seemed that – at least to Morgan – my attempts were failures before they had even begun. 'Ah, there's the rub' I thought, shaking my head lightly. The card game had dissolved into nothingness and soon Emily was asleep in her chair. Hotch was putting the cards away and looked like he could use some rest as well. I sighed; something was keeping me up. What was it again? Oh yes; that letter. I knew it from somewhere. It was vital, I know… where I had I seen it before? Something like it maybe? The handwriting was straight and appeared right handed, though towards the end it was almost as if the writer had lost themselves for a moment before regaining composure for the last line. What was it about that letter? Where had I…?

It then hit me like a ton of bricks. I jumped up and all but flew to the end of the cabin, where the boxes were stowed away. Ripping open the top one, I found the letter sitting neatly on top; just where it had been packed. I tore it open and stared at the writing. How could I have not seen it before? How could I have not realized? It was two much of a coincidence.

First, the murders had been happening within the last thirteen years.

Second, the epicenter of murders was my hometown of Las Vegas.

Third, the end of the letter… it was written in the same manic hand as the symbols all over the walls in her house.

Lastly, there were many words capitalized that did not need to be at all. Many of them made no sense whatsoever. After taking the capitalized letter of each word, I could see what they wanted us to see. The 'secret'.

"Hotch, we'll be landing soon. Get everyone up; I think I've found something."

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Author's Note: Yay, Chapter One is out! A little longer then before… I'm happy, two reviews by my finishing of this! And 80 something hits! WOOT~ Keep it up guys, keep it up. It makes me happy, and a happy me means more chapters. Send more reviews to get more chapters! It's also 12:18 am when I write this. O.o Oh, find the Shakespeare reference and get a cameo of a character of your choice! No Gideon though; I've got plans for him. I'm beginning to think this should be rated M… especially later. Feedback, onegaishimasu?

CHAPTER TWO PREVIEW

"We have to reopen the Christenson Case, Reid. What you found links it to the newborns."

"Maybe… maybe not"

"Look, with the wide range that the bodies are found, you can pretty damn well bet that this cult is National. Hopefully not International, or we're screwed."

"Fine…"

"Come on, Spence, it'll be okay."

'Why won't people just let it go? Why can't the past stay what it is; the past?'