My Own Backyard

Summary: Part of the team is on a routine interview when something goes awry. Now they've discovered a serial killer that no one knew about, and are intent to find who it is.

Legality: I do not own anything Criminal Minds, I am just borrowing the universe and characters to tell a story.

Author's Note: Thank you again to everyone who added the story to their alerts and favorites, and thank you for the reviews! You're all wonderful. Now let's get on with it.

Chapter Three

"That's my son! That's my boy!" Ranger Bob crumpled to his knees in front of the lawn chair where young Clyde sat lifeless, the blue of his eyes staring out hauntingly with a glaze of death over them. Bob's enormous body became a mass of heaves as he screamed to the heavens, "What did he do? My boy, my son, what did he do for this?!" His face writhed in pain and Jason Gideon stepped up to pull the large man off the ground.

"We're going to find who did this, Bob," he told him, pulling his arm to escort him from the crime scene. "I swear to you, we will find him."

Ranger Bob hunched over himself while standing, the large man suddenly seeming so small as his shoulders shook with grief. He looked back to where his son sat, and the anguish washed over his face again before he moved to go back to the boy.

Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon each grabbed Ranger Bob's arms and held the wailing man back. They each knew his pain in their own ways, and knew nothing would help but taking him away from the body, no matter how badly he wanted to hold his dead son. Gideon placed one hand on Bob's chest saying, "look at me, Bob. We're going to get you out of here. He's in good hands, let's go get some coffee."

"I'll come with you," JJ added, putting a hand on Bob's shoulder as Gideon took him to the truck. After he passed, Hotchner looked at JJ, his face mirroring the pain on Bob's. "There have been positive IDs on the other bodies, and someone needs to break the news to the parents. I don't think it should have to be Ranger Bob."

Hotchner looked at the sobbing man before looking back at her. He nodded at and walked with her to the Truck.

Rossi, Prentiss, Reid, and Morgan gathered around the young man they had met the day before, and in solemn silence, began to look him over. In his lap was a bud of weed, and his shirt pocket had a piece of paper stuffed inside. The coroner came over to look over the body with them, and some of the CSIs began collecting the evidence.

"Hey," Morgan said to one of the CSIs, "that joint? Can you make sure to do a drug and tox screen on the kid? And maybe follow up with the other bodies too?"

"Sure thing," the CSI responded. "We don't actually have a lab for that here, but there's a city up north, 'bout an hour drive, we'll call in and ask to use their equipment."

"Great."

"Morgan?" Rossi asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I get it." Reid answered for him. "There's nothing that really ties these kids together other than a general age range. Four of them weren't even from the town. Clyde was, what, 28? He doesn't fit, and neither does the marijuana, but that's only because we didn't think to check for drugs in the other kids. Maybe that'll be the link."

"I guess no town is safe," Prentiss added.

"If he dumps the body in the same lawn chair," Reid continued, "then it stands to reason that he dumped all the bodies here, right? But why the change? Why go back and bury them?"

"The chair shows pride," Rossi answered, "the graves show remorse."

"So what," Morgan joined the brainstorm, "maybe we're looking at two UnSubs? One that kills and puts on the display. The other that knows what's happening and doesn't stop it, just goes to bury the dead?"

"Yeah, but these kids have to be connected somehow. Look, he strangled them with his hands, that's personal. They wouldn't just be random kids if he had to get in their faces to kill them." Prentiss thought aloud.

"What did these kids do to you?" Morgan asked to nothingness while looking at the body. Looking up over the terrain, he added, "I think we're almost ready for a profile. 'Sides, there's not much left we can do to help here."

The police station was small, cramped and hot. There were three rooms in the station that were not open to the rest of the offices, or divided merely by cubicle walls: the bathroom, the interrogation room, and the police chief's office. True to being polite in the small-town-charm kind of way, Police Chief Davies offered his office to the team to work in private. His wife, a second-grade teacher brought in her classroom white board to give them a place to write out their thoughts. Though the office was cramped, the team was genuinely grateful for what the town gave them to help.

The board had the pictures of (now nine) strangled teenagers that had been found in the desert. Outside, JJ sat with a circle of large, silent men in cowboy hats and their grieving wives as she explained to them that no, their children hadn't run away, they had been murdered. And yes, they were going to do everything possible to figure who did.

Two of the parents looked much older than the rest, and told JJ that their daughter had gone missing at eighteen, over twenty years ago. They had just assumed she went to Vegas or LA or any other large city, though in their hearts, they always knew it wasn't right.

Hers was the oldest skeleton the search team had found, Peggy Janes.

Prentiss entered the office with a clear plastic bag containing a creased slip of paper. "The paper left in Clyde's pocket," she explained, "It's a note."

She posted it on the board and read it aloud:

They do not respect the desert.
They abuse her and take from her.
So we take back what they stole
And give the life back to Her.

"'We'," quoted Morgan, "so there is more than one."

"Look at how he capitalizes 'Her', like the desert is a god of some sort," Rossi added.

"Yeah, but now he's reaching out and trying to justify," Reid's mind was obviously turning over in his head as he analyzed, "It shows the remorse element again, even though he doesn't apologize, but rather like it's something we're supposed to already understand."

Prentiss offered the other bit of new information, "Tox screens came back on all the kids. The two sixteen year-olds were drunk, and the others were all intoxicated with some sort of street drug. Nothing too hard, mostly just THC."

"Even though it's all illegal, I don't see how any of this takes from the desert." Morgan chimed.

"Parties," said Gideon, "they leave trash, build fires, and kill what little life is left out there. Not to mention what could happen on the plain by yourself: hungry coyotes, large distances to fall, plus everything looks the same, so it's easy to get lost even when you're sober. Add to it the party, who's to say these kids didn't wander themselves into some kind of trap?"

"Are you suggesting it's the fault of the children that this happened?" Rossi looked over Gideon with a critical eye.

"Not at all," Gideon responded in his typical, cool tone, "just trying to understand what the killer was thinking. You see, it's not what my opinions of these kids are, it's what his opinions are. We need to find those."

Rossi did not handle correction well, and swiftly changed the subject. "So what have we got?"

"White male," Prentiss started, "The timing of the first killing puts him close to sixty. Would have suffered some sort of great loss about twenty years ago, something he would have blamed on the desert."

"He's doing all the work, but someone out there knows it's him," Reid continued for her, "They go back and do the clean up for him. Over time, they would have justified his actions and made excuses for him."

"The time he spends wandering around in the open," Morgan continued, "shows that not only does he know the land, but that he has the freedom to wander it. He's a local. Look for someone very independent, most likely living with the one other person who's helping him. He acts with an air of entitlement; the other, the submissive one, seems normal. The submissive blends in with society well, works to keep up appearances for them both."

"It's good." Hotchner nodded to the team and added, "Call Garcia and have her give us a registry of everyone in the town. It's important not to tell the local law enforcement of the profile just yet; this town is small and we have no reason not to rule them out as an UnSub."

Hotchner left the room and went to sit with Ranger Bob again, as Morgan pulled out the lap top and opened the screen to chat with Penelope Garcia.

Her smiling face appeared, and beamed brighter once she realized that it was Morgan staring back at her, "How you doing, Hot Stuff?" She said to him.

"You know, hanging in there, Baby Girl," he grinned back. "I have a favor to ask." He said to her.

"First, you tell me: that plane crash, was it awful? Did you have to remove your shirt to stop someone's bleeding? Do tell!"

"Not awful, Baby. We all made it out without a scratch. Though, I did remove my shirt to go work in the valley, just for you."

"My stud!" She feigned swooning before getting back off track and adding, "Is it true? You found Gideon? Where is he? Is he still creepy-cryptic man?"

"I'm right here, Garcia," Gideon called from behind the screen, "Glad to hear you haven't changed much in your perky ways."

She blushed and mouthed oops.

"How 'bout that favor, Penny? We need a roster of everyone in the town. Include birthdates, and any criminal records they might have."

"Coming right up, my box of chocolate," she said, just before flashing her sweet smile and closing the screen. It was a grand total of a minute before the notification popped up with the 312 names on it.

"You better get cracking," Gideon announced to them.

"And where are you going?" Prentiss asked, offended.

"Never did like the paperwork."

Reid offered nonchalantly, "I'm going to step outside too. Something's not sitting with me well about the profile. Maybe looking over the desert will help."

Prentiss and Morgan looked on in disbelief as Reid up and left. Gideon chuckled to himself before exiting the room behind Spencer.

He followed him out to the front of the Police Station.

"What's bothering you, kid?"

"No offense, Gideon, but you don't really get to call me 'kid' anymore. You left, remember? And even if you hadn't, I am very much an adult now."

The kid's jump to irritability was sad in itself. He wasn't very good at keeping a person from wanting to press his buttons.

"I'm sorry, Spencer," the old man told him. "I had to leave. You know that. After Sarah…" he trailed off, and let the note hang in the air.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It isn't yours either, but you still blame yourself for it."

"She was my reason, my everything for working in this business. It meant protecting her from evil. And then I failed at it. I had to get out and find my reason again. I had to find the peace she brought my life."

"I understand that. I have, all along. It just seemed easier to blame you than face the logic of your reasons. I am sorry for that."

"It's all forgiven, Spencer. Now, tell me what's bugging you."

Reid paused and gathered his courage. He had trouble grasping his reasoning for what was bothering him. "Tobias Hankel," he said, looking at the ground.

"That was three years ago, Spencer. Is there a reason he's popped to mind?" Gideon's eyes travelled down to Reid's messenger bag, a clear indication and insinuation for Reid's old habit.

"Not that. Really. I'm not sure, but I can't…I can't get him out of my mind on this case and I don't know why."

"You're the one who lived it, Spencer. You saw him for all the people he was. If you say so, I will believe that it's possible we have a repeat of Hankel here. I will go tell the team for you, if that's what you want."

Reid remained silent, still thinking it over. Gideon went on, "There's nothing in the profile that says it couldn't be a multiple personality team working. In fact, it would fit better, being that the one has to be so…independent. What do you want, kid?"

This time, the name didn't bother him. "Tell them," he said, "but…let me think about it a bit more first. I'm going to mull it over out here. Maybe the desert will tell me 'Her' answers."

"Sure thing." Gideon turned to leave, but before getting back inside, Reid stopped him asking, "When this is all over, what will happen, Gideon?"

"What do you mean, Spencer?"

"Will we see you again? Will you come back to the team? Will we have to go searching for you again? Or do you just want to stay lost to us?"

"You won't have to go searching for me. I give you my word on that."

Reid's face told Gideon that he was satisfied with that answer, despite its cryptic nature, and so Gideon excused himself to go pitch the idea to the rest of the team.

Spencer Reid approached the bluff overlooking the vast desert below. He felt the cold flowing into the valley as the moon began its journey across the sky. He stepped to the edge, and held on to his messenger bag like it was a safety rail.

He didn't know why he went off on Gideon the way he did when the man came to talk to him, but he was glad it happened. Glad they cleared the air, though he had the feeling that after this case, he would not see his old mentor again.

Stepping even closer to the bluff, he looked at the faded orange rock below. He sat then, and swung his feet over the side. It felt nice to sit in the cool. In the quiet. It was then that he fully understood why Gideon called it his "peace".

A footstep fell behind him and he turned to look at the man approaching.

"What are you doing out here, boy?" The man said.

Author's Note: As always, any and all reviews would be greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoyed, and I hope to see you next chapter!