Author's Note: Hey, readers and reviewers! Thank you all so very much for the positive feedback! :) Just in case you don't know for sure, Jayne Adams (a.k.a. the unsub) is all mine. I'm really excited for this chapter-it flashes back to when JJ is not yet in the hands of our dreaded killer. And we see some Garcia! (thank God, I haven't been able to fit her into my storyline until now!) I know I'm ending this on a slight cliffhanger, but I want to make the next chapter worthy of your praise. Which it will be.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for my creepy unsub. *nods head*

CHAPTER 4

"Fantasy abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters." ~Francisco Goya

36 Hours Earlier

JJ closed the case file she had been looking at. Every day, I see something else, something no one should ever have to see…people ripped to pieces, children slaughtered in their beds…and I have to choose. Who to save and who to let go. It's an impossible choice…and I have to make it. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes—God, this guy's a sick bastard…taking women, burning them, strangling them, getting off on their pain… She stood up from her desk, but not before looking at the picture Garcia had taken a few months ago. It was of her and Henry, sitting on a BAU couch, laughing. We don't get enough of that around here… She smiled sadly at the picture, then turned and walked out of her office, case file in hand.

"Hey, Reid!"

The genius looked up from the book he was reading, just in time to catch a wad of paper—with his face.

His attacker snorted with laughter, almost falling out of his chair.

"Morgan!"

Reid glared at the muscular agent, who, having finished guffawing, raised his hands above his head, his face a mask of innocence.

"I don't know what you're going at, kid, but I didn't do anything." He looked over at Emily Prentiss, who was grinning widely.

"Emily?" Reid asked in disbelief.

"Guess again, Doctor!"

Reid turned back to Morgan—whack!

"Dammit, Morgan!"

The indignant look on Reid's face sent Derek Morgan tumbling out of his chair, laughing.

Emily joined in, shaking with mirth.

Reid tried—and failed—to keep his expression serious—after a few seconds of watching his colleagues, he burst out into peals of uncontrollable laughter.

Neither agent noticed the blonde woman, her face grim, walk past them and enter their boss's office.

Ohio, twelve murders, women in their late 30's, kidnapped within 4 days of each other, murdered and dumped within 2 days of each other…Kevin Thompson, captured 7/08, SOLVED.

Aaron Hotchner closed the file, and moved on to another.

Maine, two murders, bodies torn in half, dumped side-by-side…Julian Dobson, killed 7/13, SOLVED.

And another.

Wisconsin, twenty murders, varied victims, 13 found buried in unsub #1's backyard, 7 found in Cleaver Creek, 3 unsubs…John Hummus, Andrew Phelps, Phillip Xavier, 2 captured, one killed 7/18, SOLVED.

And another.

Maryland, eight murders, dark-brown/black-haired women in their late 20's/early 30's, burned, tortured, death by asphyxiation… UNSOLVED.

Hotch sighed. It never ends…

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, his eyes flickering over to where his team sat in the bullpen. His agents were laughing, and Reid just looked confused. He grinned. They've really got to stop torturing him… He closed his eyes, the smile still visible on his face. We take the moments we can get, and we do our best with them…

A light knock on his door pulled him out of his reverie.

He glanced up at—"Hey, JJ."

"Hotch." The media liaison nodded a quick greeting, and then held up a case file.

"I take it you've read up on the latest unsolved case? Maryland, eight murders?"

Hotch studied her face. She looked pale, troubled. He brushed it off. She should be troubled…this one's horrific…

"Yeah."

"Are we taking it?"

He nodded, and she turned to leave.

"JJ?"

She stopped in the doorway, but paused before slowly turning around to face him.

Hotch met her eyes with his. She held his gaze evenly.

"Yes?"

Something's definitely wrong…

"I—no, this isn't the time, talk with her later—I need the team assembled in the conference room in less than 10 minutes."

She nodded.

"Of course, Hotch." She answered, then shifted her gaze downward.

"And JJ?"

She looked back up at him.

"Hmm?"

"Sooner would be better than later. It looks like Reid's in need of some rescuing…"

She followed his gaze out into the bullpen, where Reid was—once again—being pelted with paper balls. She grinned.

"Again?"

Hotch laughed. Good to see that smile, girl. We need as much of it as we can get.

Rossi was interrupted from his slumber—how the hell did I fall asleep…damn it, this week's been rough…—by loud laughter. Where—who—the hell!

He got up from his desk and stormed over to his door. He pulled it open forcefully—and was greeted by a happy sight.

Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan sat—well, Morgan was on the floor—in the bullpen, laughing hysterically. Every few seconds, the latter chucked a wad of paper at Reid, who was struggling to keep the grin off his face—he did give Morgan the occasional, well-deserved glare.

Rossi crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, just listening. I could get used to that sound…

He opened his eyes just in time to see JJ walk out of Hotch's office. She looked stressed—as she should—but she was smiling. That's something. And then he noticed the case file tucked under her arm. Damn it.

Eight minutes later, the team sat around the large, round table in the BAU conference room.

"What've we got?" Morgan looked up at JJ, who stood at the front of the room.

Four pairs of eyes joined his, all eager for the answer to his question.

JJ took a deep breath. Death, blood, fire…what else..?

"Eight victims, all dark-haired women in their late 20's or early 30's. Each woman was abducted in a public area, crowded with plenty of potential witnesses, within two weeks of each other. The unsub keeps his victim for that time, tortures her repeatedly, and, finally, strangles her to death with his bare hands."

Silence.

Then…

"He's obviously sadistic," Reid piped up, "why else would he keep a victim for so long…"

"Gotta agree with you there, kid." Morgan ran his hand over his head. We haven't seen this level of torture since—in a while… "But he's something else…he's—"

"Guys?"

A small voice came out of the computer screen. It was accompanied by the visual image of bright blonde hair, fuzzy pens, troll dolls, and radish earrings. The agents all turned to face Penelope Garcia, their expressions somewhat happier than they had been just moments before.

Morgan stopped midsentence as he turned to greet his favorite tech-wiz. "Baby girl!"

"Hey there, my sweet hunk of chocolate-caramel!"

JJ couldn't keep the smile off of her face. Pen, only you can make light shine in the darkest of places…

"Where's my Jayje? "

"Right here, Garcia." JJ waved at her best friend, who clapped her hands in delight before responding enthusiastically.

"Oh good! Well, sweet cheeks, this will teach you—all of you—to never again doubt my genius, amazingly-awesome abilities!"

"Since when have I—we—"

"Shhh!" Garcia cut JJ off. "It doesn't matter—mmhmm, sure it doesn't—but on with my awesomeness! Given what little—yes, I said little—" She gave JJ a knowing look, "information you gave me, I've been able to pinpoint the area our unsub lives in."

She waited for the collective gasps to die down before she continued.

"I've sent you all the information, downloaded the location, everything."

Hotch looked around at his team. Their faces had visibly relaxed—what would we do without you, Garcia…

"Thanks Garcia, you're a lifesaver." He gave her a small smile.

She nodded. "Don't you ever forget it, bossman."

She winked.

Prentiss groaned.

"Call me if you need me!" She paused. "Or if your name is Derek Morgan."

Smiling at his laugh, she finished with, "Garcia out!"

And with that, the screen went black.

Emily glanced around at the other members of the BAU unit. Her eyes fell on JJ. She took in the tired eyes, the grim expression that was cleverly hidden, but was still so clear on her friend's face. Damn, Jayje. She made a mental note to ask the media liaison what was on her mind.

"Emily?"

She turned to Morgan, who had been telling her…something.

"What?" She mentally berated herself. Now he's gonna think something's wrong with me, too. She looked at him apologetically. "Sorry."

"It's alright…" Morgan said, concerned. What's her problem..? "I was just—nevermind."

They both turned their attention over to Hotch, who had started speaking.

"At this point, I think it's best that we wait for Garcia to get back to us with more specific information before we go knocking on doors. Reid, I'd like you to try to figure out where exactly our unsub is hiding. The rest of us are going to help you with that. JJ," She met his eyes, "I want you to hold a press conference. We need to alert the media to our intentions—we've taken this case, we've gotten a lead, we're almost positive we've found the guy." She nodded. "I know this information won't completely placate the media, but we need our unsub to think we're onto him. So far, all we really know is the area he might be residing in. Which is not enough. But, for now, it'll have to be…so improvise."

JJ nodded once and stood up, ignoring the curious glances she got from her team members. God, I hate working with profilers... She grabbed the case file, glanced once more at the group…and met Emily's eyes. Hers were the most concerned out of the groups'. I'm okay, Em. Just tired…sick of all this…hopeful we'll catch this sick bastard before he hurts anyone else… Tearing her eyes away from her friend's, she walked out of the conference room.

All heads turned to Hotch as soon as JJ left the room.

Already aware of the questions in their heads, Hotch told them what they so badly needed to hear.

"She's fine, guys. Just tired…she's had a long week, and she's just having trouble dealing with this particular case." Translation: she's not fine, she's exhausted—aren't we all…she's reached her limit…the cases we deal with are horrible, most deal with women, and she has to choose which is worse, which people to save out of thousands…it's tearing her up inside, and there's nothing any of us can do but watch her fall apart…and it's frustrating as hell.

Morgan shook his head. Translation: after the month we've had, this case is just one too many…she's desperate to save the victims, and she's beating herself up because she can't save them all…

Emily sighed. Translation: she can't stop wondering if she picked the wrong case, if she could have saved more lives by choosing a different one…but she wants to get this guy, she's sickened by what he's done to those poor women, and she's frustrated because once we get this guy, there'll be another…and another…she wants to be strong, but she needs to break down…before she's completely consumed…or becomes jaded…

Rossi leaned back in his chair. Translation: she's giving this case her all, trying to save—well—everyone, and no matter how hard she tries, she can't save them all…and it's killing her…

Reid blinked tiredly. Translation: she has to sit at her desk every day and sift through piles of case files just like this one…and every day she has to choose who lives and who dies…all she wants is to laugh, to smile, and she can't because she's forgotten how…all that she remembers are the cases, the victims, the psychopaths…and it's scaring her because she wants so desperately to feel again…

The team sat in thoughtful silence, waiting for their girl to come back.

37 Hours Earlier (before the team arrives)

Jayne Adams waited.

He knew the FBI had been called in—about time—but he was fully confident in his abilities. Try all they want to figure me out, they ain't gonna. Even if they do, I'll be plenty of steps ahead of 'em. He grinned. They'll be too busy with their own problems… He twisted in his seat and looked out the rear window of his '96 Honda Accord. Oh! There they are…right on time… He watched as two black SUVs—BAU-licensed vehicles—pulled up outside the police station. Five agents walked up the steps, but only one caught his practiced eye. Jennifer "JJ" Jareau…media liaison for the BAU…young, beautiful…ahh, but you'd look better with scars… He chuckled darkly, and then looked down at his watch. Almost time.

An hour later, he was ready. News vans had completely blocked his view of the station, but he could still hear reporters' voices.

"We're going live in six minutes!"

Smiling contently, he leaned across to the passenger seat of his car and grabbed two dark objects. A taser…and a gun. Time's up, Agent Jareau. He stepped out of his car, hid the weapons in his jacket pocket, and walked across the street to join the media.

"Two minutes!"

He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. This is it! He was trembling with excitement. This move will get everyone's attention. I'll be famous...forever…

"20 seconds!"

He closed his eyes.

"9 seconds!"

He breathed in the sweet smell of summer air.

"Live!"

A hush fell over the crowd. Tap, tap, tap, tap. A woman walked up to the podium, took a deep breath and spoke. But Jayne Adams didn't hear a word of what she said. He had opened his eyes. And he was entranced. Hello, Ms. Jareau. He curled his fingers around the gun in his pocket, and reached in with his free hand to grab the taser. Time for some thrilling heroics. Smiling at the irony in that, he stepped to the side, until he was out of the agent's sight. And then he lunged forward, his plan in motion, a thousand volts of electricity at his disposal, and an oblivious BAU team—the best of the FBI, yeah right—a couple hundred feet and a few doors to his left.