Infinite Possibilities
Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there.
Eric Hoffer
***
IV
Spencer Reid studied the profile with a genuine air of interest. He had read hundreds of books on the subject of Criminology, but it was always more appealing to see it put into practice.
'Cluster B' he said, as if testing out the phrase. 'What does that mean?'
'Cluster B is a series of personality disorders which focus on dramatic emotional or erratic symptoms. With this unsub – that's unknown subject – he's shown to have some characteristics of both Anti-Social personality and Narcissistic Personality disorder.'
'You can tell all of that just by looking at the crime scene?' Spencer Reid feigned awe. 'Wow.'
'Many elements are used in determining the criminal profile,' Rossi explained. 'Including, but not limited to the physical characteristics of the victims, the ways in which our unsub likes to kill, superfluities unique to the killer, the amount of preparation he puts into each kill, and so on.'
Spencer nodded. 'What can I do to help?'
Rossi thought for a second. Hotch and JJ were out doing interviews. Morgan and Prentiss had just returned from talking to Bill Walton, and would soon depart to talk to the countless other families who had lost someone. Strictly speaking, the profilers could very easily handle the situation on their own, but Rossi felt a strange connection with this young officer; a student to his mentor.
'Agents Morgan and Prentiss are leaving now. Sit in on their interviews; see what you can pick up.'
Spencer nodded and left Agent Rossi to his whiteboard. Rossi stared at the list of characteristics underneath Anti-Social Personality Disorder. His pen hovered near the words "Superficial charm."
***
Morgan caught up with Prentiss as she was refilling her travel mug.
'Rossi's sending a uni with us as ride-along,' he told her.
She raised an eyebrow. 'When has Rossi ever done anything like that?' The Rossi they knew was about personal growth – he would instruct, would teach when it was needed, but when it came to opportunity he expected you to get your own ass out the door.
Morgan shrugged. 'There he is.'
Officer Spencer Reid was slim, but by no means gaunt. His muscles were not overdeveloped, nor were they non-existent. His wavy hair curled down to his ears. There was nothing particularly defining about him.
'Hi,' he greeted them. To their ears, it sounded as though he was nervous.
He wasn't nervous.
'Derek Morgan.' He held out a hand for the young officer to shake, which he did so with enthusiasm.
'Emily Prentiss.' The hand-shake was imperceptibly less enthusiastic. Spencer Reid had deep-seated issues with women in his life, a fact that was evidenced by the bodies he had been accumulating.
He wondered if she would be the next one.
***
'So where're you from, Spence?' Morgan made conversation as Prentiss drove to the first location on their list.
'Uh, I was born in Vegas,' he said, with a half-stutter. He found it easier to tell the truth about his origins, or at least part of the truth. 'Dad left when I was ten. My mother raised me.' That was part falsehood – he raising his mother was probably closer to the truth. 'I joined the academy as soon as I finished high school.'
Morgan nodded. He had been to the academy himself after college. 'Got anyone special?' In the driver's seat, Prentiss snorted. It always came back to that with Morgan.
Spencer misinterpreted the sound, but kept his opinions unvoiced. 'No…just Mom, I guess.'
Morgan grinned. 'We can't go abandoning our mothers, now, can we?'
'No,' mused Spencer. 'That we can't.'
***
By the time they got to the sixth name on their list, JJ was growing bored. It didn't help matters that new identifications were being made by the hour, their list burgeoning by gargantuan amounts.
'Do you know of anyone who might have reason to have killed your wife?' She asked the question for what felt like the hundredth time, the only difference being the closing noun. Wife, sister, daughter. Today, she'd used them all.
And yet, the answer remained the same. There was, so far, no discernable connection between any of the victims, apart from the obvious fact that they were victims. Garcia was running all the checks she could, but with this many victims, there was bound to be some overlap.
'I don't think we're getting anywhere with these interviews,' she told Hotch bluntly, and to her surprise, he agreed.
'We need to do them anyway, though,' he added, getting a dark look from JJ.
This would be the death of her.
***
'I don't think she likes me,' Spencer whispered to Morgan as Prentiss walked ahead of them to the house.
'She takes a while to warm up sometimes,' Morgan responded in a voice that was equally low. It wouldn't do to have Prentiss hear them. 'She's got some trust issues.'
'Oh.'
'Though paranoia is an equally accurate term.'
Spencer nodded. 'Of course.'
They stood in a small cluster as Morgan rang the doorbell. After a while, it opened to a disheveled looking man of about forty.
'Mr. Hill?' The disheveled man nodded.
'Agents Morgan and Prentiss, FBI. This is Officer Reid. Could we come in please?'
Reid entered the house with some semblance of curiosity.
He'd never talked to the families before.
