Well that was very exciting! I posted the last chapter before I went to bed and I woke up with 9(!) new emails so that was invigorating. Without further ado, here is chapter 4!
Reid tossed and turned in his uncomfortable hotel bed. Sighing, he got out and rearranged the sheets so they were no longer twisted around his body. Reid sat down on the foot of the bed and groaned. He flipped on the TV, noting the time, 3:12am. The news was already on the screen and Reid watched for a moment, listening to the reporter talk about the upcoming spring parade, the opening of a new coffee shop and the release of a new video game. Satisfied that the newscaster wasn't talking about the most recent murders, Reid flipped the television off and crawled into bed. A short, fitful sleep followed.
He smashed his finger down on the off button, hurling the remote off to the side where is crashed against the wall. "Video games, spring parades, I just killed three people and no one cares?" he roared.
Thrusting himself off of the couch, he launched into a violent tirade, knocking over furniture and smashing plates. Finally, with his house in shambles, he collapsed onto a chair. Breathing heavily, an idea came to him. Slowly, a grin spread onto his face and he laughed maniacally. His plan came together quickly; attention from the press would be inevitable with a crime this big. It wasn't exactly his style... but it would be worth it.
"Good morning everyone, I trust you all had a good night's sleep," Hotch greeted the team.
The team mumbled their responses in unison, complaining about their lack of sleep in the uncomfortable hotel beds the CPD had provided them with.
"Alright, alright. We have more important things to worry about. Does everyone remember your tasks for today?" Hotch asked.
A courus of "yes sir"s followed.
"Alright. Reid, let's get going," Hotch gestured for Reid to follow him outside.
Hotch's ringtone echoed throughout the interior of the car he was driving. "Hello?" Hotch answered.
"Hey, Hotch. Garcia got a partial plate number from that camera footage, first three digits A8T," Prentiss reported.
"Ok great, does that match any potential suspects?" Hotch asked.
"No, that was the weird part, it doesn't match anyone in town," Prentiss said.
"Do you think he lives somewhere outside of Cottonport?" Hotch asked.
"I don't know... it seems unlikely," Prentiss said unsurely.
"Well, we'll take it into consideration," Hotch dismissed.
"Ok, see you in an hour," Prentiss said.
"Bye," Hotch hung up.
"Prentiss?" Reid guessed.
"Yeah, Garcia got a partial plate number on the pick-up. It doesn't match anyone living in town," Hotch communicated.
"Maybe he stole it," Reid mused.
"If it had popped up on any stolen vehicle directories I think Garcia would have let us know," Hotch said.
"I think this is the house here," Reid pointed to an upcoming house.
The FBI agent's car pulled up onto the driveway, its tires crunching on the gravel. Hotch and Reid climbed out, slamming the doors behind them. A dog in the house to began to bark. Hotch noticed the unkempt lawn which was covered in trash, everything from rotting boxes to rusty bicycles. Reid used his foot to shuffle a pile of soggy newspapers sitting in front of the door out of the way. He rapped his knuckles on the door firmly, causing some dried paint flakes to fall away. The knocking sound caused the barking of the dog to intensify and footsteps were heard moving inside of the small cottage.
The door swung open to reveal a rugged man wearing a white T-shirt coated with ugly, yellow sweat stains. His chin was covered in stubble and his teeth were crooked. "What can I do for you?" he asked in a surprisingly sophisticated accent.
"Paul Wood?" Hotch asked. When Paul nodded, Hotch pulled out his credentials, "FBI."
Reid noted a look of shock flashing across Paul's face. The expression changed briefly to happiness then settled back to indifference.
"What can I do for you fine gentlemen?" Paul asked.
"We understand that you found the three young women who were murdered a couple of weeks ago?" Hotch asked.
"Yes, that was me, it was a... terrible experience for me. I've never seen anything like it," Paul said sorrowfully. "Would you like to come in? It looks like it might start to rain."
Reid glanced at Hotch who agreed, "Sure, thank you, Mr. Wood."
Mrs. Ammins held her frail hands in her lap, dark circles under her eyes accentuating her exhaustion. "Christa was a nice girl. Everyone loved her," Mrs. Ammins said as she shook her head, "I don't know why anyone would ever want to hurt my daughter."
"I know this is difficult, Mrs. Ammins, but I need to know if Christa knew any of the following women: Riley Hargreaves, Loerna Nain, Becky Winters, Sierra Shultz or Laura Ashfield," Rossi read off the names of the latest victims.
"I wouldn't know. I've certainly never heard of those girls but Christa wasn't living with me anymore. She had her own apartment, her own life. I got the weekly phone call but she rarely ever spoke about her friends or her social life. I only know of one girl who is friends with Christa and that's Tori Loppek. They've been friends since kindergarten," Mrs. Ammins informed Rossi.
"Ok, thank you, we'll talk to her. Now, did you notice anything strange about Christa during the last few days before she went missing?" Rossi asked.
"Like I said, we only talked on the phone. She seemed fine to me. She was complaining about her boss, as usual..."
"What was his name?" Rossi interrupted.
"Hal Garret," Mrs. Ammins said, watching as Rossi scribbled the name into a notebook. "She also told me that she was thinking about buying a cat. She said it would keep her company on the weekends," Mrs. Ammins said, her eyes watering.
Rossi reached out and grasped Mrs. Ammins hand, "You're doing great," he reassured her. "So she was lonely on the weekends, that means she wasn't a socialite?"
"No. She would occasionally go out with friends but only once in a while, not every weekend," Mrs. Ammins said.
"Ok, I think that's enough information for now. If you think of anything, please give me a call anytime," Rossi said, handing Mrs. Ammins his card.
"I will," she promised.
"Hey, have you seen Hotch or Reid?" Prentiss asked.
"They're not back from their interview with Wood yet?" Morgan asked.
"No, it's been over an hour and neither of them will answer their phones..." Prentiss said.
"Maybe they're running late. Give them another forty minutes," Morgan said nonchalantly.
"Alright..." Prentiss said unsurely, glancing at the clock that read 3:12pm.
Here is a nice long chapter for all of you nice fanfiction folks. It's so easy to write a long one when I have all of these reviews boosting my writing juices! Please write a review, it only takes a second and it means a lot :) Thanks for reading everyone!