"Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there." - Will Rogers


Morgan and Prentiss arrived at one of the most recent crime scenes, a local pub called Command Post. Days before leaving for Wyoming, Derek had gone to the bar with Garcia and Prentiss, trying to 'lie back' a little. Hotch and Reid had politely declined, like always, and Rossi never gave an answer, he just left for the day without notifying the team.

The team was like one family, but after hours everyone did have their own lives.

Normally Morgan would go home to Clooney and pour himself a glass of some odd-labeled liquor, normally Bacardi or Smirnoff. The taste to him was exquisite; he wasn't the type to get drunk, just buzzed enough to make himself crash soon after getting home.

Hotch and Reid were alike, well, in the way their lives ran after getting home. Most of the case profiling paperwork got dumped on the two of them, so they stayed at the office the longest, Hotch sometimes giving Reid rides back home since the young agent normally took public forms of transportation. Trains weren't the best place to be at night, especially on the East coast. It was like asking for a beating.

Penelope Garcia, along with Kevin Lynch, went back to her house on a normal night after a long days work at the BAU. They were both techies, which might have attracted one to the other, or possibly the fact they're both skilled hackers and both on the FBI's watch list. Besides the fact that they go home together, Jason Gideon, one of the first member's on the team, had caught them in the shower together before. Maybe that's what they did after going back to Garcia's house.

Prentiss simply went home and crashed, sometimes reading part of a book. It never differed, unless she was called sometime in the night by the office declaring there was another case.

Rossi, well none of them really knew about Rossi. He might go home to an empty house, but the possibilities of what he did there were absolutely endless. Garcia once thought to put cameras in his house to find out, but was discouraged by the brilliant Dr. Reid.

Since all the paperwork was done on the flight back from Wyoming, it was going to be an easy night for the entire team. Well, maybe a little hard, considering they were being watched by an unknown spectator. Reid and Hotch wouldn't have endless desk work shuffled onto them; they already knew every place they were at before leaving the state, since Garcia had already tracked down every location they might have been at. And since Reid had an eidetic memory… well, the point is made. They only thing they really needed to worry about in the slightest was the fact that someone might end up dying since they decided to step out for a coffee or a smoke, well, none of them smoke so not necessarily a cigarette. Maybe something simple like Morgan going out to walk Clooney, and this sick bastard would go on out and shoot some innocent bystander who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Morgan shook the ceaseless thoughts from his head as they flooded in. There was no use in fretting over something that was out of your control, he reminded himself as another officer walked out from the back of the bar.

"I'm Officer Harris," the man said, reaching his arm out towards Morgan in an attempt for a handshake.

"SSA Derek Morgan," Morgan replied, leaning forward to accept the commercial gesture. "This is SSA Emily Prentiss," he continued, scooting out of the way if Prentiss felt like shaking the officer's hand also.

After she did so, the man who introduced himself as Harris lead both Morgan and Prentiss to the back of the bar, letting the agents examine the crime scene for themselves.

It was obviously touched. Apparently uniforms these days didn't understand that crime scenes are always left alone. They might have already destroyed any fingerprints that could've been IDed. There was barely any hope that they could ID a positive suspect from any of the information they would end up gathering at this sight.

"How many officers have been through here? And do they know the regulations of a crime scene?" Morgan asked, his voice giving out hints of annoyance and his face showed that he was a little more than just ticked off.

He continued to examine the room, small numbered flags thrown out around the room. The bar was somewhat demolished, little parts of the room thrown everywhere. It was obvious that the bar stools weren't normally tossed over the bar itself and missing legs.

The body was gone, but the chalk line gave out an approximate location of where it ended up being. The kill, from what Derek had read in files, was apparently clean cut and the victim wasn't hurt more than a little kid getting a haircut. Pretty much, they think it's going to hurt, and then all they actually feel is the hair flowing along them. But in this case it's not the hair, it's the actual victim's life, like, flashing before their eyes.

It made Morgan sick.

"Huh?" Harris asked, looking over his shoulder at the young agent.

"How many officers have been through here? And why has the crime scene been messed with?"

Harris narrowed his eyes at Morgan. "Only my men have been through here-"

"Well, they obviously have no idea what they're doing," Morgan said, interrupting.

Prentiss stayed silent as she looked over what was still able to be made out as a crime.

"Excuse me, Agent Morgan?" Harris spoke again, completely ignoring Prentiss and the entire nothing she was up to.

Derek Morgan turned over his shoulder to eye the older officer. "I said they were lacking in proper teachings. Officers do not touch a crime scene, Harris. It's against protocol, always has been and always will be. Since when have your men forgotten that?"

Harris was obviously fuming. Prentiss could feel the tension from halfway across the room. Time to intervene.

"Hey, Morgan? I think I might have something over here."

The other agent broke glance and strode over to Emily, hoping that something she was talking about might give them the slightest of a lead.

"What is it, Prentiss?" Morgan asked, leaning over where the female was to get a better look at whatever she was talking about.

Somewhere underneath the hovering hand of Prentiss, covered in latex of course, was the slightest version of this serial killer's signature.


Spencer Reid was probably the smartest member of the team. He graduated from high school at age 12 and got his first degree when he was sixteen. Not to mention the fact that he held an eidetic memory and the ability to read around 20,000 words a minute. Apparently, the conscious mind can only generate under 1,000, but the subconscious state, well, the world may never know.

He was the youngest member of the team even though he held the most intellect, something the unsub had already deluded. He knew everything about their lives; their schedules, where they went, the ways they got to-and-from work. Everything.

Something about this case just didn't seem right to him, though. It's not like any case has a certain feeling, but he felt like they were missing something. Something large.

From the bottom of his pocket he felt the instant vibrate flood up his thigh, mentally commenting that it was a slower reaction than it would have been if the brain didn't have to process the frequencies.

Reid held his hand to his face, eyeing the phone, and reading the ID; Morgan. Hitting the small green button, he started to answer.

"Rei-"

"Reid, I need you to look up a certain word and an acronym that might be related," Morgan spoke through the phone.

"Shoot," Spence said, sitting down in front of the laptop that was resting on the conference room's table.

"The word is Aenema and the letters are LTS." Morgan paused for a quick moment as he could hear the endless keying from the other end. "Check the word first and then look for the letters on whatever you get out of the search."

"I got it," Reid said, almost too late, since Morgan was ready hang up. "The name Aenema is the title of a song by an art rock band named Tool, and the song is mostly talking about LA and the collective hatred towards it. I'm guessing LTS is 'Learn to Swim.' The small phrase is mentioned eighteen times throughout the song, five times in collective threes and three after the end of verses which at the first time are separated by only one verse but then later it's separated by two, one similar to the first one and the other something completely different. For the similar ones, the first time it's 'Bullshit three ring circus sideshow full of freaks.' The second time it just adds 'It's a,' which is probably a meaningless subordinate clause that just fit well to the writers."

"Alright, Spencer," Morgan said, giving a short chuckle. Does that boy even breathe? "Did you find out anything else? Possibly about the group or the album?"

"Well, in the song it says Arizona Bay multiple times which is actually meaning the comedy album by Bill Hicks and the album was actually focused on his hatred towards LA, which is the main topic of Aenima and Aenema."

"Aenima and Aenima?" Morgan asked, wondering if Spencer was stuck on repeat.

"Yes, Aenima and Aenema. The titled track is spelled a-e-n-e-m-a when the album has an 'I' taking the space of the second 'e.'" Reid paused, letting Morgan catch up before resuming his weird form of an informative lecture. "The verse that's different from the first two by the longest shot has eight lines, all beginning with 'Fret for Your- the ends go 'figure and,' 'latte and,' 'lawsuit and,' 'hairpiece and,' 'Prozac and,' 'pilot and,' 'contract and,' and 'car,' respectively."

"Okay, Reid, thanks. Can you take the letters from all the words and give Garcia a list of possible names? Make sure you use the same pattern, like, if you were to use car and latte, 'c' and 'l' would have to be paired. And the last two letters on latte wouldn't be able to be used, but make sure you do it with the entire group. I doubt it will give us anything but it might be of help."

The young agent nodded, now holding his phone with the side of his head and his shoulder. "It will get done faster if I hang up, though. So I think I'm going to end this call, and call you back if we get anything that might give us a lead."

"That's fine; Reid, don't forget to search the agency, too. We have our unsub here, but he has some form of power. Maybe even in our division."

Maybe even in our team… Reid thought, then dismissed the thought from his head. There was no way someone on his team would be able to kill someone, well, unless someone else's life depended on their demise. He guessed that wasn't really the right way to do it, but there wasn't really as right way. Spencer nodded again, knowing in his mind that Derek Morgan couldn't see him. "I'll call you when I get anything that might help us."

Reid could feel Morgan's smile though the phone before the line went dead. "Thanks, Reid."

"No problem…" Reid mumbled before closing his phone and resting his hands strictly on the keyboard of the computer.

He had the map of letters already complete in his mind, he just hoped he wasn't wasting his time on something that wouldn't help them at all.


As Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider once wrote, "It's no accident that the church and the graveyard stand side by side. The city of the dead sleeps encircled by the city of the living."