"SENE ONE ACT THREE! NOW! ACTION!"
The man was undoubtedly upset, due to the previous encounter with Jessica, who remained alive and still pissed off. Grayson knew that the man had finally realized the reasons for which he created this mess. But now wasn't the time to dwell, it was time to perform.
"Down with him, the father. We must kill him. And we must do it soon."
"For he is evil"
"Pure evil"
"CUT! I WILL RETURN SHORTLY!"
His eyes shrunk to slits and stared at the empty set of chains hanging from the ceiling and over the stage.
"The little tiff with red over here almost made me forget I was supposed to pick up my newest puppet. Hm, shall I get a man again? No they are too much work, so strong physically, yet so awfully ignorant. Like my father. I need a woman, not a girl, a gorgeous woman for my gang."
His eyes enlarged and he blew two kisses, one to Jessica and one to Grayson. Then he looked at the vacant chains and blew a third kiss toward them. Grayson felt as though she had been pelted with thumbtacks as the imaginary kiss landed on her cheek. She remembered a small boy that she used to blow kisses to in the neighborhood; he would scrape them off with the heel of his petite hand and blush. Grayson would giggle and he would run home. They did that every day when the boy got off the school bus, it was sort of a ritual. Grayson wished she could scrub the invisible peck from her complexion. But then again, she wished she could burn the man in the mask's face off with a blowtorch. Neither desire would be fulfilled any time soon.
"Goodbye." Bellowed the man, and he went on his way with a knife and a rope in hand.
J.J. hung up the cell phone she was listening to, and looked at the team that remained at the station for the time being, which was basically all they could do at the moment.
"Franklin Barnes' body was found in the same park that Rachael's body was, just a different section. Um, and the crime scene investigator would like to speak with a few of us about something."
Hotch stirred in his seat.
"Prentiss, why don't you and I go this time?"
"Ok, sir."
They both vacated the meeting room and headed toward the SUV that was parked outside the station.
When they arrived at the park, it was flooded with police cars and people of all different occupations, policemen, morticians, forensic investigators, and now, FBI, all coming together and forming a sea of chaos and disorganization. Aaron and Emily weaved through the mess and made their way to the body. There, they began to converse with the policeman that contacted Jennifer Jareau.
"We found his body like the little girls, bad scars, completely naked, covered in leaves and he was wearing stage makeup."
"Uh, Agent Jareau said there was something else you wanted to speak to us about?" Emily piped.
"Yes, of course. This park seems to be the key dump site, so we used some technology to see if there were any more bodies, just in case. We did not find any but we did find something that might be of use to you."
The officer traveled to his police car and opened the door. He picked up a cardboard box and set it down in front of the confused agents. Prentiss pulled a blue latex glove from her coat pocket and slipped it on her manicured hand. She leaned over the box and picked up an old puppet. Her lips parted slightly as she studied the toy. This one was a male, with untidy orange hair and an olive green, corduroy suit. She looked at the tattered plaything and noticed a carving on the bottom of its foot.
Made in Paris
Hotch peered over Emily's shoulder and at the toy. She leaned over again and placed it back into the box. She picked up another puppet. This one happened to be a woman in a blue dress and white apron. She had blond curly hair and was hand painted. The strings were tangled and knotted, her eye sockets were caked with dirt and her attire was stained. Prentiss turned the doll over and looked at the stitching on the back of the dress. It was a disheveled attempt at a embroider, but it read,
Property of Gene. Master puppeteer.
"These were his puppets."
The man in the mask, formally known as Gene Dunfeild, sat in the front seat of his van. He peered over at the chaotic hole that once was an innocent park, although not so innocent to Gene. This is the very same park where he used to perform puppet shows in the trees, and wandering children would sit and watch the playthings dance across his makeshift stage. Gene would flick his wrists and make the Parisian marionettes tell wonderful stories. One day, though, his father found him setting up in the brush and kicked his beloved Leah, his favorite puppet, into the mud.
"Get a real job you son of a bitch! Merde!"
His father kicked him in the face, and stomped on Gene's puppets. That was the day that Gene finally had enough, he decided to give up, and he buried his puppets in the earth and never returned.
Gene's neck jerked at the memory.
Gene had given up on his father then, he went out to find a real career, and then his dreams were shattered like a bullet to thin glass. He saw his father, at a carnival, with an armful of brand new puppets. He was carrying them toward a grand puppet stage and began to get ready for the show. A red lighted sign blinked above the stage.
James! Masterful Puppeteer!
Gene grumbled, then screamed and jolted toward his two-faced father. He knocked the old man to the ground and put his large hands around his neck. Gene squeezed, until his father's eyes bulged from their sockets, and his face turned an array of colors. Soon, the life left his body and Gene stood up, proud and satisfied. He gave his father a good swift kick in the side, twitched his nose, and left the scene.
Gene remembered that afternoon, clear as day. He would never forget. Ever. He blinked rapidly and the memory faded, as he found himself in the van once again. He wiped away beads of salty sweat from his forehead and pivoted his neck toward the park. There she was. Leah. Her blonde hair, her dress, her, her everything, she was right there! A wave of anger suddenly came crashing down on the distraught man, he banged the steering wheel, writhed in his seat, and jerked the seatbelt.
"NO ONE TOUCHES HER! NO ONE!"
He let out a long, yet staggered breath as his eyes misted up. He peered out the window again and looked at his beloved Leah, but he did not stop his eyes. He saw the blue clad hand clutching her, and he traveled up the arm, he hit a shoulder, then a neck wrapped in a black scarf, then a face. Her face. She was ivory and had large, dark eyes surrounded by long ebony lashes. Her hair was tied in the back, and she had thick bangs. He could see that her hair was a deep, dark, brown, and could easily be mistaken for black from this distance. Her nose was pointed at the tip and her lips were pressed shut. He fiddled around for the knife under the seat, not taking his eyes off the woman, as if they were cemented to her. When he retrieved the blade, he lifted it up, pressed the unsharpened side of the cool metal to his broad nose, and curled the edges of his lips upward, forming a masochistic grin. Who said he couldn't change it up a bit?
"Prentiss carefully placed the shabby old doll back in the box, and removed the glove from her hand. She stuffed it back in her pocket, only to have Hotch reach in and remove it again.
"What are you doing?"
"You're going to need it, I want to you start looking at the body, while I put these puppets in the SUV. I will join you shortly." He flatly stated.
"Alright."
She snatched the blue glove from his fingers and made her way to the body.
Gene exited his vehicle after grabbing his mask from under the seat. He walked up the sidewalk and made his way to the edge of the woods. Gene stared at the green and brown, tangled, mess of leaves and wood, but he knew how to travel though without making a sound. He slid the plaster disguise over his face, and stepped into the trees.
The body was at the edge of the woods. Prentiss kneeled down near who used to be Franklin Barnes, beloved drama teacher, and lifted his lifeless arm. She ran a gloved finger over the thick stitches, and gently placed it down again. She put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up into the standing position, and peered over the array of heads in the park, to see if Hotch was coming to help her.
He was in perfect position. She was right there. Right in front of him. He stepped a hair closer and lifted his blade. Gene moved his arm back, and then plunged the knife into the woman's right shoulder. He pulled th bloody knife out of her, then proceeded to jam it back it, lower this time, and he repeated. The woman yelped, and her knees unhinged and she stumbled, blood coursing down her back; Gene soon realized that he had made a mistake, he had gotten too worked up over her and forgot that he was standing near a sea of cops. The woman choked on her breath and whipped her head around, she saw him. Gene began to run.
Emily winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder, and it continued to grow until moist warmth cascaded down her skin, she screamed, then lost balance. She turned her head, and saw the mask, it was worse than in the video. It was real, live, and right in front of her eyes. Prentiss grabbed her shoulder and started to feel dizzy. She took her hand off of her throbbing shoulder and wiped it across her pale face, then the park became blotchy, and she collapsed in top of Franklin Barnes. The world became muffled and the last thing she heard before she passed out was Agent Hotchner.
"Emily!"