Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.
There really aren't enough words to thank you all properly for your kind comments, I just hope this continuation does not disappoint.
Constant
Part 2
By
N. J. Borba
Dressed in yoga pants and sweat jacket, Emily examined the Chinese takeout in her fridge. She couldn't quite recall when she'd ordered it, which was probably a good indication of its age. She sniffed it then opened it and wrinkled her nose at the mold growing on something that appeared to have once been chow mein. Or possibly pork fried rice. She promptly tossed it into the garbage can that had been set up in the middle of her kitchen especially for her Friday night refrigerator cleaning party.
The can was already three quarters full of old takeout food, fruit and veggies that had gone bad due to her erratic work schedule.
"I need a life," she sighed, reaching to the back of the self for a jar of something filled with green liquid. The label said pickles, but Emily still cautiously unscrewed the lid and peered inside. "Just pickles," she relaxed, plucking a dill out by two fingers. It was still reasonably firm so she took a bite. "Not bad," she crunched; resealing the jar and placing it back inside.
She'd just finished the pickle when her cell rang. Emily kicked the fridge shut, grateful for the distraction. Until she read the caller ID and spent the next two seconds pondering what to do. "Hello," she finally answered.
"Emily," Mick's accent greeted her warmly. "Sorry I haven't called you all week. I figured I'd give you some time to miss me."
Her eyes rolled. "Nope, haven't missed you a bit," she deadpanned.
"You're a tease," he responded, not seeming thwarted by her brashness. "So, dinner tonight then… pick you up at eight?"
"No," Emily calmly replied.
"Right," Mick agreed. "Better to get an early start at it. I'll see you at seven."
The line went dead before she could say another word. "Unbelievable," Emily sighed, staring at the phone. She contemplated calling him back, but she got the feeling that would only encourage him. Best just to turn off all the lights and sit in the dark waiting for him to stop knocking when he showed up. "Great plan, Em," she grumbled to herself. "While you're at it you might want to think about growing a backbone," she scolded herself.
A knock sounded at her door and she froze. Emily glanced at the clock on her microwave. It was only a quarter to six. Way too early for Mick to show up. Unless he'd called from downstairs and wanted to surprise her. She sighed, realizing that along with that backbone she should probably throw in some magic cure for paranoia. Still, she walked toward the door as quietly as possible and looked through the peep hole without making a sound.
Her lips quirked and she breathed out in relief.
Emily tumbled the lock and opened the door for Derek. "It's just you," she stepped aside, motioning him in.
She noticed he looked completely exhausted again, same as the last time he'd shown up on her doorstep a week ago. "Thanks for that enthusiastic welcome," he replied. "Look, I hate to ask again but the fumigation they did last week didn't solve the problem," Derek let her know. "I could really use a place to crash again tonight?"
"Sure," her head nodded as she spotted his bag. Emily was more curious and less tired than last week, so she attempted to pluck a bit more information out of him. "Is this one of your properties you like to keep so secretive?"
"They're not a secret," he shrugged, dropping his bag on the floor in the hall across from the kitchen. "Just something that helps me de-stress from the job." Derek sniffed and leaned toward her. "Is that the newest in pickle perfume?" he asked.
"This project sounds like more trouble than its worth, though," Emily continued her hunt, dismissing his pickle comment. "What kind of pest are you fumigating, anyhow?"
He glanced about her kitchen, noticing the garbage can. "Hmm?"
"What are you fumigating for?" she asked again.
"Oh…" Derek moved into the kitchen and opened her fridge. "Uh…" he paused again, looking around. "Ants," Morgan finally revealed. "Don't you have any beer?" He closed the fridge and looked up with questioning eyes. "I could use a drink after this long week. That stupid wedding vow case that led us nowhere," his head shook. "And then those teenagers in Fresno," he paused, "Still can't get those images out of my head."
"I have wine," she walked to the small bottle cooler across the kitchen.
Emily could not shake the odd vibe she was getting from Derek. His answer about the ants had seemed forced. But she had no idea why he'd lie about the fumigation of ants at his place. His knuckles were healed, but he still looked rather tired. And he wasn't normally one to be haunted by a case, at least not that he'd outwardly reveal. She grabbed a bottle she thought he might like and went for the corkscrew. After a few minutes she had it opened and poured. She handed Derek a glass.
"Want to sit?" she asked.
They moved into her living room and sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Derek realized it was a pretty short couch as she'd mentioned. "I can take the sofa tonight," he offered nonetheless. "I don't want to kick you out of your bed again. I could probably sleep anywhere at this point. Even the floor if you want."
She shook her head. "I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor. Unless you cheated on me or something," Emily grinned. But he didn't smile or respond in a jovial manner at all. His eyes were down cast, his jaw set tight, shoulders slumped again. "Are you okay?" she finally asked, hoping he might open up, even though he'd asked her not to ask questions.
"Just a long week," he repeated what he'd touched on earlier.
Quiet blanketed them for a long time as they sipped wine. Emily refilled their glasses once, and then a second time. She had just settled back on the sofa when another knock came at her door. "Crap," she mumbled. "I almost forgot."
"Forgot what?" Morgan queried.
"Rawson," she sighed.
Derek was crushed for a moment. "You have a date?"
"No," Emily quickly replied. "Well, sort of… he thinks so, anyhow. I told him no, but…" she didn't get a chance to say anything more when Derek shot to his feet. For seeming so tired, she marveled at the speed with which he crossed the room and threw open her door.
"Did you not get the message before?" Morgan growled at the man standing before him. "She's not interested."
Mick stood his ground, a bunch of roses clutched in one hand. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" He looked past Derek to spot Emily walking toward the door. "Admittedly, I've been a bit pushy," Rawson spoke to her, still blocked by Morgan's girth in the doorway. "I just thought you were playing hard to get. I enjoyed our time together, but you obviously have something going on here that I probably can't compete with," he guessed.
"Wise move," Derek replied.
Emily pushed past Morgan. "It's not like that," she tried to explain, but found she wasn't exactly sure what to say. "Like I told you last week, I just think its best that we don't try to pursue this," she honestly informed him.
"Right," Mick nodded. "Well, here," he handed her the pink roses. "I don't have much use for them."
With that he turned and walked away.
Derek watched Emily as she closed the door and sniffed the flowers. For some reason he had a feeling not a lot of men had given her flowers, which only served to sadden him. "I'm sorry for that," he said as they walked down the hall. Emily stopped at the kitchen, grabbing a vase for the flowers. Derek went to retrieve their wine glasses from the living room. "It was rude of me to insinuate there was anything going on between us."
"I doubt he'll say anything," Emily sighed. "Not that it matters, because there's nothing going on between us. Actually, I'm glad you were here. There's something I find strange about the guy, but I'm just too damn polite to tell him off. And he's been very persistent," she admitted.
Morgan stiffened. "He never tried to…"
"No," Emily knew exactly where his mind had gone. "Not at all," she assured him.
"Good," he took a relieved breath. Derek rinsed the wine glasses in the sink then sat them out to dry. "I think I'm going to turn in early," he announced.
Her eyes widened. "It's only ten after seven. That's more than early."
"It's been a long week," he repeated. "I'm not going to bother you by being in the living room, am I? I have been told I snore a little."
She smiled at that, recalling the soft snore she'd heard from him the last time he spend the night. "Why don't you take my bed," Emily offered. "At least for now," she amended before he could protest. "I'll wake you up a little after midnight, which should give you plenty of time to rest. Then you can do battle with the sofa and I'll get my bed for the remainder of the night. Don't bother arguing, I rarely get to sleep before midnight, anyhow."
Morgan nodded. "It's a deal."
He took his leave and Emily returned to cleaning out her fridge. Her thoughts drifted from Mick to Morgan and everywhere in between. The cleaning shifted from the fridge to mopping the floor, scrubbing the sink and even wiping down cupboard shelves. The activities helped to release pent up tension she hadn't realized was there. But by midnight she was still too fired up to sleep. Emily padded past her bedroom, hearing Derek's snore from the half-opened door. She continued to the back stairs.
One of the biggest selling points to her condo had been the private stairway to the also private roof terrace. She stepped into the warm night air and inhaled deeply. The freshness of it filled her with a sense of calm. Emily situated herself onto the new chaise lounge that she'd purchased a month ago. She pulled a throw over her legs and gazed up at the sky. An array of stars greeted her. The terrace was situated somewhat away from the city lights, although there was still the occasional airplane blink mistaken for a star.
But for the most part, it was a perfect star gazing viewpoint.
Half an hour later Derek's deep, yet sleepy, voice interrupted her solitude. "I didn't even know this was up here," he said, walking toward her. Morgan spotted a large item in the corner of the space that made him smile. "So, the mystery of your hot tub location has been solved," he noted.
A slightly annoyed sigh escaped as she turned to face him. "I thought you were sleeping," she said.
"I set an alarm so we could trade off like agreed," Morgan explained, settling onto a wood Adirondack chair beside her. "Then I went looking for you and worried when I couldn't find you. Thankfully I noticed the stairway up here before calling out a search party."
"Or…" she pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweat jacket. "You could have just called me."
Derek flashed a sheepish grin her way. "Sorry," he shrugged.
She relaxed again and stared upward. "I wandered off by myself, in the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time looked up in perfect silence at the stars."
"Walt Whitman," Derek responded.
Her head turned toward him again. "Not bad." His knowledge of that quote made her a little less annoyed by his intrusion of her sanctuary.
"But I thought you agreed with me that astrology was a bunch of gibberish," he said a moment later.
"Astrology, yes," she replied. "Astronomy is a very different matter," Emily quickly added. "We moved around a lot when I was growing up, new countries, new cities, new schools and new houses. It was difficult packing up and not having much of anything be the same from one place to the next," she explained. "So, every night in a new place I would plop myself in front of my bedroom window and wait for the stars to come out. I never felt settled until I saw them."
He smiled at that. "Not so easy to see stars from a Chicago apartment."
Emily understood. "When we moved to the Ukraine we lived in the middle of a busy, compact city. I spent the first six nights there trying desperately to see some stars," she sighed. "I couldn't get to sleep for hours at night and was groggy all week long at my new school. Then, finally, on the seventh night the sky was clear and I spotted a single star twinkling up there. I slept like the dead that night and felt completely renewed in the morning."
She shrugged. "That's silly, I suppose. But the stars became my constant; the thing I looked to for stability, the thing that always made me feel at home."
"I don't think that's silly at all," he assured her. "My dad used to take me to Illinois Beach State Park, about an hour north of the city," Derek recalled. "Guys-only fishing trips, though we never caught much of anything. I think it was just an excuse my dad used to get away from the city once in a while. Mama loves the city, hates to leave it," he smiled. "The sky out there was always so huge, and the stars felt so close you could touch them. I was more of a city boy, too, but those trips were the best," he concluded.
"Because you were with your dad," she guessed. "The stars I observed in the French Alps when I would stay with my grandfather, they were the best," Emily paused. "But I think his company was what I liked the most. He was the Astrology buff. He taught me all about the night sky."
Derek nodded. "That's right. During the angel maker copycat case you identified that those puncture wounds were patterned after star formations," he recalled.
Her whole face fell and she glared at him. "Way to ruin the mood, Morgan," she threw back her blanket and stood. Emily had been glad at the time that her knowledge of the night sky had helped with that case, but it still tainted her love of the stars a little bit to think about what that man and woman had done. "I'm going to reclaim my bed now, so please lock the door up here when you come back inside," Emily instructed before taking off.
As she settled into her warm, cozy bed, Emily instantly noticed that her sheets smelled like Derek. It sent a spike of heat to her core, which she promptly tried to quell by distracting herself. She fished her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweat jacket which lay on the side of the bed. Emily was about to place it on the nightstand when she noticed a text message she'd missed. She pulled up the message and read in a whispered tone, "What part of: until death do us part, don't you understand? Stay away from him."
Two wrong messages were still within the realm of possibility. But the fact that they'd both come on a night when Rawson had been to her place did not bode well.
xxx
"How many weekends in a row have we had to work?" Reid grumbled tiredly as several members of the team filed into the conference room on a sunny Saturday morning. He sat down beside Garcia who was nursing a large paper cup filled with her favorite caffeinated brew.
Rossi sauntered into the room, appearing rather cheerful. He grinned as he poured himself a mug full of steaming coffee. "And what exactly would you do with a weekend off?" Dave asked the younger man. "Study your chess books for the thirtieth time this month?" he teased.
Spencer pretended to be hurt by the comment as Emily and Garcia shared a quiet laugh. Derek slid into the seat beside Prentiss at the round table. "I'm not sure who the bigger nerd is, Reid with his chess," Morgan's eyes turned to Emily. "Or you last night, staying up past midnight to study stars on your terrace," he recalled. It didn't take him long to see all eyes aimed his way. "I stayed at her place last night," Derek tried to clarify, but realized he'd made things even worse.
"Ants," Emily quickly tried to rectify the mess he'd created. "He has ants." She sighed, wondering why Morgan's first minimally chipper mood had come at her expense. Emily was just grateful that Hotch hadn't been there to overhear.
"I guess that's better than having crabs," Rossi chuckled.
Garcia nearly choked on her coffee. Reid looked confused. Thankfully the uncomfortable conversation ended when JJ and Hotch entered the conference room. JJ instantly pulled up images on the big screen. The first three revealed the bloody door messages from the cases they'd come to a stalemate on last week. The fourth was another door with a new message, which also appeared to be written in blood. "In holy matrimony…" JJ read.
"We have a fourth victim," Hotch needlessly announced. "Margaret Bateman. Thirty-eight years old, recently divorced, lawyer."
Emily's stomach tied in a knot as she thought about the second text message she'd received. "Same pattern?" she asked.
JJ brought up more images, this time of the dead woman. Her dark hair was matted with blood. A close-up revealed a line of small cuts along her left arm. "Sexually assaulted, then stabbed," Hotch spoke as the images continued to cycle on screen. They stopped with a shot of the woman's forehead. "Actual cause of death was a single gunshot to the head."
"Same as the others," Rossi noted with disgust.
"Those cuts," Reid leaned forward to take a better look. "They're all shallow, like on Kayla's body," which he'd had a chance to see in person. "This guy is torturing them with the knife before he shoots them. He's intentionally prolonging the process."
"He wants them to suffer," Morgan spat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"What if it's not a man we're looking for?" Emily blurted out. All eyes instantly turned her way.
"You mean a team?" Derek questioned.
"I mean a woman," she replied.
Dave's head cocked. "You think a woman would do all this? It's not typical of a female UnSub," he pointed out.
"The sexual assault strongly suggests a male UnSub," Reid concurred with the older agent.
"What about Chloe Kelcher?" Emily proposed, having recently been reminded of that case by Derek. "She was a woman and she made her murders look just like the original, even the sexual assault," she reminded them. "Our guy supposedly covers up, leaves no DNA. That could easily be a sign that our UnSub is actually a woman," Emily maintained, daring someone to shoot holes in her theory.
"A pretty sadistic one," JJ voiced.
"Prentiss does have a point," Dave jumped in. "Kelcher bludgeoned her victims with a hammer and then poked holes in their stomachs. Not entirely dissimilar to our wedding vow killer."
"We are not putting that label on this guy," Hotch warned.
Spencer cleared his throat. "But one could argue that Kelcher was only copying the angel maker's murders. The MO was never hers."
Hotch listened to both sides, but he addressed Emily. "None of what you pointed out is what lead you to think our UnSub could be a woman, is it?"
"No," she replied, still keeping mute on her text messages. "It's more about the wedding vows. How many men would put that much effort into it? Men use sex and violence as their weapons, not emotion. Guys typically show up for the wedding, but it's the women who fuss over every detail, painstakingly picking out the vows they plan to use at their ceremony."
"From that perspective, it does make some sense," Hotch cautiously agreed. He eyed Dave. "You ever write your own vows?"
Rossi's head shook. "No, I was the kind to just show up."
Emily wasn't completely sold on the idea either, but she kept rolling with it since the team was starting to be receptive. "What about Kayla Francis?" she asked. "In all these years she's never changed her last name back to her maiden name?"
"Apparently that takes a lot of paperwork and time," it was Rossi who responded again. "All the documents you have to have redone, driver's license, medical insurance cards. It's a major pain in the butt, or so one of my ex-wives told me," he shrugged.
Some of the team smiled, but Emily kept pushing. "Or maybe she never did it because she never stopped loving the guy."
"By that reasoning, haven't you just made Kayla Francis our top contender for being the UnSub?" Derek asked.
Her head shook. "Someone similar, a woman who never got over her ex leaving; someone who found a kindred spirit in Kayla and decided to help put her out of her misery. She could be turning her own pain into some angel of mercy mission. All the women's families report them having made a new friend recently. Candace Jennings met a woman named Patty. Alicia Witt's father said she mentioned a friend named Jenny. For Kayla it was Tammy. Those names all have a similar double-letter pattern."
Hotch considered it. "There's a lot of supposition in what you're saying, Prentiss. Garcia discovered that Brandon Francis is serving fifteen years in an Oregon prison. Kayla had no contact with him in nearly twenty years. She had a successful career. You spoke with her mother; she didn't mention Kayla being depressed or obsessed at all."
"No, but we can't know for sure that she wasn't," Emily continued to follow her gut. "Just because someone shows little outward sign of what they're experiencing, doesn't mean they aren't hurting," she spoke the words while trying hard not to look at Morgan. "All the victims had ex-husbands and mysterious new female friends. If we don't follow this theory then we have nothing to go on," that was the biggest worry on Emily's mind.
"Trust me, no one hates it more than I do that this case has gone unsolved," Derek tried to sympathize. "But we can't manufacture evidence or an UnSub where none exist."
"Our killer went from waiting five weeks between kills to one week. It'll escalate further," Emily persisted.
"Which might actually give us a better chance of finding him," Dave regrettably stated.
Emily sighed. "Or her," she maintained.
"For now, we interview Margaret Bateman's acquaintances," Hotch concluded.
xxx
Emily sat at her desk in the bullpen contemplating her cell phone. She still hadn't let anyone in on the secret of her text messages, even though they might make a more compelling argument toward their UnSub being a woman. JJ, Reid and Rossi had been chosen to do victim family interviews along with Hotch. She couldn't help feel snubbed by the team leader, but she tried to let it go while reviewing case files. What she needed was a second head in the game.
She jumped up and marched determinedly toward Derek's office. Her plan to solicit his help was put on hold as she accidently caught wind of a phone conversation from outside his door. "Walk away, walk away," she whispered. But her ears did the listening rather than her feet.
"I can't talk long…" Derek spoke. "No, I didn't really think it would be that easy, I just wish it could be done quietly… I know… Yes, I do have family and friends that will probably support me in this, but I just don't want to burden them with it right now… Not yet, not until I know for sure if it's… I might be able to meet later…"
Emily quickly scurried away from his door as quietly as possible. "Shit," she mumbled to herself. "How do I un-hear what I just heard?" Emily asked as she found herself outside of Garcia's lair. "Actually, I didn't hear anything, at least not anything I know the true meaning of," she tried to convince herself.
"You okay?" Garcia asked, coming up behind her friend, another cup of coffee in hand.
With a quick nod, Emily followed Penelope into the tech's sanctuary. "Garcia, I need you to find me some information on Mick Rawson?"
The younger woman grinned. "Thinking of a second date?"
"No," Emily's head shook. "I'm wondering if he might have something to do with our case," she revealed.
Penelope regarded her friend with concern. "What should I search for?"
"Anything," Emily sighed. "I also need to know if you can trace a text message?"
"Given the proper information," Garcia nodded, taking a seat. "I assume you have a number?" Emily searched her phone and realized each message had been sent from a different number. She rattled them off as Garcia typed. "Both numbers belong to TracFone accounts that have been disconnected, no names or credit card information that I can find," Penelope reported with regret. "What were the messages about?"
Emily bit her lip. "I think they might've been sent by our wedding vow killer."
"And you think it's Rawson?" an angry voice interrupted.
Both women were startled and turned to find Derek standing behind them.
Morgan's eyes blazed. "I'll kill him."
To Be Continued...