Notes: I'm now taking a class over the summer, so I expect that'll affect my updating. But I'll still try and get these chapters pumped out as fast as I can. This is just a heads up in case I get bogged down.

CHAPTER FOUR

The first crime scene was a sorry sight to see. The Calmers' bedroom was a bloody mess, even though it had been weeks since he had been killed. Jenny, Andrew Calmer's wife, had been staying with her sister, too traumatized by waking up to her husband's corpse to enter the house she once called home. She had agreed to a short interrogation outside the house, but she would go no further than the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her blue eyes dull and overshadowed by the lines and shadows under her eyes that had been born from stress.

"It's alright," Prentiss said, her voice soothing. "It's perfectly understandable after what happened. But we do need to understand what happened, so could you just walk us through it?"

Jenny nodded and bit her lip. "We... we had gone to bed early. Andrew was feeling more tired from work than usual, so he went up first. I finished washing the dishes and he was already asleep when I got up there. I'm a light sleeper," she added, her voice full of anguish. "I should have heard someone coming in, I should have woken up, but I didn't. I woke up at six, just like I always do, and I turned over, an-and," she paused and took in a choking breath, tears springing to her eyes. "There he was. On his back, eyes closed, and his neck-" She gestured helplessly towards her own throat, her breath coming out in shudders now.

"It's alright," Prentiss repeated, a comforting hand on Jenny's shoulder, prompting her to continue. "What did you do next?"

"I screamed," Jenny said, a sad laugh in her words. "I screamed and jolted out of bed. I didn't want to touch him, I-I just wanted to get away. I ran down the hallway... I think I broke a lamp," she added with another heartbroken laugh. "I called 911, and Mrs. Wilfred from next door came knocking. She heard me screaming, wanted to know if everything was alright..." There was a tense moment of silence, and Prentiss watched as Jenny bit her lip again and wipe away some of the tears that had leaked out.

"Mrs. Calmer," she began, taking a quick glance back at the house where Hotch and Rossi had already gone in. "Was there anyone who might've had something against your husband? Did he receive any threats, was he involved in any altercations shortly before his death?"

Jenny shook her head. "No, no, he was well-liked wherever he went. Not the kind of guy everyone flocked to, but he was pleasant to everyone. Everyone at the diner had only nice things to say about him."

"Alright, I just have one more question," Prentiss motioned to a nearby police officer, who handed her Andrew Calmer's file. She pulled out the picture of the hex bag and showed it to the other woman. "I know police already asked you if you recognized this, but I'd like to make sure Andrew did not own anything like this."

"No, no," Jenny said, taking the picture and peering closely at it. "I've never seen it before you guys showed me these pictures. What is it?"

"It's apparently a hex bag," Prentiss said, taking the photo back. "Police opened it up and found a number of herbs, animal bones, as well as some strands of Andrew's hair."

"A hex bag?" Jenny said disbelievingly.

"It's likely that the unsub is using this as some sort of signature, or is a believer in this kind of magic. Do you... know anyone that believes this?"

"Well, there's some of the kids around here," Jenny said, rubbing her collarbone uncomfortably. "I don't personally know any Wiccans or anything, but..." She paused, thinking, but continued at Prentiss' prompting look. "There's a guy, lives around here, he's the author of this series of books, ummm, Supernatural. Some people have gotten into it. I remember a couple of years ago there were some kids playing pranks based around some of the monsters, calling themselves indigos or something like that. But Andrew and I have never met the guy, so..."

"That's fine. Thank you for your time," Prentiss said, and Jenny gave her a quick, tight smile. She turned back to the car she had driven in, giving the house one last, lingering look before driving away.

Prentiss entered the house, the soft sounds of Hotch and Rossi drifting down the silent building, guiding her up the stairs and into the bedroom. The crime scene was messy, and there were signs of police work shifting things around as they gathered evidence. The broken lamp Jenny had mentioned was cleaned up, but it was obvious not much else had been done. The bloodstain on the bed was old and brown, the sheets crinkled beneath it.

"What have you got?" she asked the men as she looked around the room.

"Not much," Rossi said, a huffy sigh escaping his lips. "He seems like a very average guy. Twenty-five, married to his childhood sweetheart. Looks like they were thinking about having a baby," he added, taking some pregnancy pamphlets out of the bedside drawer."

"What did the widow have to say?" Hotch asked, turning from the closet to look at Prentiss.

"Well, she seems genuinely traumatized. Says that even though she's a light sleeper, she didn't hear anybody come in." Rossi made a noise of mild disbelief.

"She could be telling the truth," Hotch said. "It would mean that the unsub is very prepared and sneaky. He would have to know the layout of the house, as well as the habits of both Mr. and Mrs. Calmer. The unsub must have had a key, because there was no sign of forced entry on any doors or windows."

"Are we sure Mrs. Calmer couldn't have done this?" Rossi asked.

"Well, what reason would she have to kill the other victims?" Prentiss asked. "We shouldn't eliminate the possibility, but I don't think she did it."

Hotch's cell phone rang out and he took a moment to talk to the person on the other end. Prentiss took the time to look around, looking at the pictures on the shelves, most of them involving the two Calmers. There were a few with other people, arms slung casually over shoulders, and a good number of them taking place in a place called Kripke's Hollow Diner, where Andrew worked.

Hotch hung up and turned to the two with a gaze even more serious than usual. "Officers at the second scene were searching and they found another hex bag."

"Really?" Rossi said, an eyebrow climbing into his brow line. "Looks like we may have a signature."

"That reminds me," Prentiss said, looking thoughtful. "Jenny said that there was an author around here that writes the Supernatural books, and the town's had some trouble with kids imitating the crimes in the books."

"Supernatural?" Rossi asked. "Aren't those the books that Garcia and Reid have been reading?"

"The one and the same," Prentiss nodded. "Jenny said she doesn't know anyone personally who follows the series, or uses witchcraft, and she's never met the author, but there might be link there."

"Alright," Hotch said with one final glance around the room. "Let's check the other crime scenes first, find the other hex bags, then meet everyone back at the station and find out what everyone else has got."

Prentiss and Rossi both gave a short nod and they filed out of the room, reconvening with the police officers and driving towards their next houses.

Garcia fidgeted in her seat as Morgan gripped the steering wheel beside her, turning away from the publishing house as they made their way out of Holt. The page of black-listed authors was in her hands, but it didn't give her any information other than their names and the reason they were banned.

Joey Grace – talented artist, but refuses to work with others, terrible story-telling skills in both novel and graphic novel format

Katherine Nate – a complete lack of knowledge about the simplest grammatical terms

Joyce Pestle – after tenth rejected story, threw chair at me

"Something interesting on there?" Morgan's voice interrupted her thoughts and she jumped a little, the seat belt jerking against her hips. Morgan chuckled and flipped his turn signal.

"Um, yeah, there are some pretty crazy wannabe authors in this area," she chuckled, waving the piece of paper around a little. "This lady, Joyce Pestle, apparently threw a chair at Vincent when he rejected yet another of her stories. "

"What?"

"Yeah, and she wasn't the only one to sip the crazy juice. It says here that a Harvey Radin started beating Vincent's desk with the chair he was sitting in, and two more ladies, Ellie Criss and Vanessa Barsky threw various items from his desk at him, including a picture frame."

Morgan whistled. "Damn, it'll be a bitch narrowing it down from there."

"Well, sugar, that's what we're meeting at the station for," Garcia said, patting his knee. "So that we may all put our delicious brains together to figure out this icky mess."

"Delicious? What, you some kind of zombie now?" Morgan snorted, flashing Garcia a playful grin.

"Oh, you don't need to worry, honey," she cooed. "I save the best for last."

They laughed together and Morgan returned his full attention to the highway before him, not noticing as Garcia sneacked a glance at a scrap of paper tucked into her bra. She adjusted the seat belt, using the motion to tuck the paper further into her bosom, covering the list of numbers and letters that followed Chuck Shurley's name.

Reid and Knightly rejoined JJ at the station after going over the other bodies with Dr. Hayes and still finding nothing. It was too late to look at the bodies for traces of whatever drug had been used, and a thorough drug test had been done on Vincent Carter's body when he came in, but there was nothing to be found.

JJ had been busy at work, and the board behind her was full of pictures of the victims, the crime scenes, the hex bag, a map of the town. Files were spread out on the table in front of her and she seemed to be picking and choosing various pages and pictures to put up on the board under their corresponding victim.

She looked up as they approached and gave them a small smile. "Hey, what did you find?"

"A fat load of nothing," Knightly muttered as he walked up to the board to look at it.

"There are no visible injection sites," Reid said, pulling his bag over his head and placing it down next to the desk. "And based on how quickly the tests were run, there's either no drugs used, which doesn't make much sense, or the injection site was at the neck itself."

"How would the unsub be able to get that close?" JJ asked, wrinkling her nose. "I get that the unsub must have been someone non-threatening, but I think someone would have fought back if they saw a needle coming for their neck."

"Well, Calmer and Conner could have already been asleep at the time of injection, and Carter was working from his computer, so it might have been easy to sneak up on him."

"William Gull was in the kitchen," JJ said, glancing over to the pictures of the second victim. "He could have been snuck up on, especially if he trusted the unsub, but it takes time for any kind of drug to work. There was a knife on the counter, he should have been able to fight back."

The doors to the station opened as Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss entered with some police officers, holding a stack of photos and some evidence bags.

"We found more hex bags," Hotch said and posted the pictures up on the board. "Gull's was found taped to the underside of the kitchen sink, Conner's was inside his couch cushions, and Carter's was found inside a secret compartment of his laptop case."

"That sounds like someone's trying for them not to be found," JJ mused.

"We thought they might have been hidden before the murders took place," Rossi said, holding up a bag to look at it. "It's most likely that the victims are being stalked, targeted specifically, and the unsub learns their patterns, gets close to them before the strike."

"And we have a list of suspects from Vincent Carter's computer," Morgan said from the doorway, holding it open as Garcia walked in. "It looks like they have a problem with authors, and Carter's got a black-list full of people with anger issues."

Garcia handed the paper over and let the agents look over it, watching as the eyebrows raised. Reid glanced at her quickly before looking at the paper, reading the names. None of them he had seen in correlation to the other victims, but the paperwork the police were able to scrounge up about them involved mostly their professional lives. Andrew Calmer was a waiter at Kripke's Hollow Diner, and William Gull was a cook at the same place. Michael Conner was a bartender, and Vincent Carter an editor. None of them ever had a criminal record, or every pressed charges against someone, or were involved in any kind of drama, save for Carter, who had successfully sued Joyce Pestle for her chair attack.

The agents talked about the links between the victims while Garcia was escorted to a cheap computer. She used it to look up the black-listed authors and get all the information she could. She printed off images of their drivers licenses, or work IDs, anything she could. Nine of them lived in Kripke's Hollow, and twelve more in Holt. She brought the information to the team, who looked over it as the sun set.

"We'll need to talk with these people," Hotch said. "Find any connection to the victims. These attacks were personal," he addressed the police officers who had gathered. "This unsub is an organized killer targeting people he thinks have wronged him. The first three victims have similar features, a type, which suggests an attraction. It's highly possible the unsub is either a homosexual male, or a woman. The lack of sexual violence supports the woman theory, but don't rule anything out."

"The unsub will be small physically, whether male or female, someone the victims felt comfortable with letting their guard down around. They don't appear to be a threat, but that's the wrong assumption," Morgan said. "It's possible the unsub had a sexual or romantic encounter with the first three victims, or tried to. They will have been rejected, or insulted, something to trigger this unsub's need for vengeance."

"Tomorrow we'll check at the diner, but the bar Michael Conner worked at is worth checking out tonight," Hotch said, nodding to the officers in front of him. He turned back to the team, looking at Reid and Garcia standing next to each other. "I'm sure you've already found out the author of Supernatural lives here," he said, looking pointedly at Garcia, who gave him a nervous smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I want you to see him tomorrow morning, see if he knows any of the authors personally. He's a hit author and this town has had people imitating his stories in the past. He might have some link to the hex bags and the Wicca community, whether he reached out to them, or they reached out to him. But," he added harshly, eyes narrowing at the grin slowly making it's way across Garcia's face. "I'm expecting you to represent the BAU. Be professional. I know you'd sneak away to see him anyways," Reid made sure to suppress his flinch at the accurate words. "Just make sure you get whatever information you can when you're there."

"Roger Dodger, bossman!" Garcia chirped happily, resisting the urge to pat the piece of paper in her bra. She didn't even need to sneak a peek at his address in Carter's laptop.

"We will," Reid said, much more subdued than Garcia, but he was humming underneath his skin. He was so close to the answers he needed.

He didn't go with the others to the bar to question Conner's fellow employees and loyal customers, choosing to try and get some sleep. But he lay on the mattress, closed his eyes and found his mind going from thought to thought at an alarming rate. He was going in circles, pulling out memories from his rescue, his dreams, the books, and his research into the real identities of two of his saviours.

Eventually his mind burned itself out and he slipped into a dream, the smell of old leather and gunpowder sharp in his nose, but the sound of a purring engine cradled him as he looked into harsh blue eyes.

"Soon," he murmured, feeling tired from the memory. "I'll find out what's going on soon."

The man in front of him simply nodded, never blinking, as Reid drifted back into a restless darkness.