Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter! I really need inspiration now! I was off work last week sick, but managed to do a lot of work on this. I'm currently blocking on Chapter 12, and could do with some encouragement.

Thank you once again to Lily Moonlight. You'll notice I took your advice, but I know a lot about dreams now!

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.' – Virginia Woolf.

Chapter 7

The lock on the door next to hers clicked shut and she heard footsteps pace about the room. Emily sat on her bed and listened as Hotch got ready for bed. She heard the water running for him to wash his face; the toilet flush; a noise from his cell phone, checking for messages and the wardrobe door open, the wooden handle hitting their shared wall.

Emily slipped off her jeans and top, pulling on an old nightdress and slid into bed, the headboard banging against the wall. She realised she'd not set the alarm on her cell, and reached over to get it, knocking her glass of water over in the process. Too unmotivated to pick it up, she pulled the duvet over most of her head and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the silence and fall to sleep.

It didn't happen.

Maybe she was overtired; maybe the rather heated conversation with Hotch had stimulated her senses too much; maybe it was the thought of the day ahead and the knowledge that another girl could go missing or maybe it was the sentence she hadn't ended before. Like a fifteen year old whose mom mentions a boy she... She what? Likes? Has a crush on? Wants to break the icy cold exterior and find out just how hot he can be?

Emily turned over and bit her lip.

Hotch was a profiler, one of the best. He was perceptive and intelligent and... this was not helping. She had gone to his room at a quarter to eleven at night and told him that he was basically cold and a loner, and had probably contemplated an affair. Yep, great work, Em. Good way to completely get on the wrong side of your boss.

She turned onto her back.

Yet he hadn't been mad. He'd apologised. He'd told her that he needed her – awake, needed her awake. She bit her lip again, pushing thoughts of what had happened into a box in a very far corner of her mind, and instead of an image of Hotch, a picture of Rossi in his shorts and t-shirt came into view. She laughed in the duvet, which made her feel better, made her relax.

She turned onto her side without thinking about it, curled up into the foetus position, and the vision of Rossi in his pyjamas began to drift from her consciousness, dispersing into fragments of colour and blurred images, scenes her mind hadn't processed.

Emily dreamed of mountains, of standing at the edge and looking down, far down, to where Detective Mallory was stood. He shouted to her, but she couldn't hear him. Again and again she asked him to repeat, but she never heard. And then he laughed and she was sitting in a copse, looking for Hotch, who couldn't be found. He was hiding. She was meant to be counting, but she couldn't count high enough and she had forgotten where she was up to and now she had lost him. It's okay, Emily, Rossi said. Mallory knows where he is. Mallory knows where he is. Mallory knows where... And then the girls were there, sat on the bench dedicated to Andrew Rawlins, all wearing Rossi's shorts and t-shirts, all with FBI emblems on them.

Then she was back at the bureau, sat in the bull pen, watching the others circle someone, like vultures. Morgan was standing at the back, shouting instructions, and she realised they were for her, but again she didn't understand, she just kept telling him that she spoke Russian.

Fields flew by underneath her and she went higher and higher, until the mountains were a dot, a mere dot, and then she began to fall, calling someone's name, but she didn't know who. She fell into colour and saw Jolene and Rossi, and then she saw Hotch and tried to tell him something, that someone was watching.

Emily opened her eyes and had to think for a second about where she was. She heard silence, and then a slight cry. Henry. Henry was crying and it had woken her. She pulled the duvet up, faintly hearing JJ's voice as she sang some soft lullaby, sending Emily back to sleep as well as her son.

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"Where's Hotch?" Morgan sat down next to her in the same diner they'd had breakfast yesterday. He smelt strongly of aftershave – not an unpleasant smell, but a strong one, one that meant he wouldn't be missed.

"I don't know and who are you trying to impress?" she said, sticking her fork into the blueberry pancakes she'd ordered.

"Some cop," Reid sat down opposite her. "I think I might have an omelette. Was it good yesterday, Emily?"

"Well, Hotch seemed to enjoy it," Morgan said from behind the menu.

She closed her eyes and huffed indignantly. There would be another dead body in Calverville Point by the end of the day. Derek's. "The omelette was great, Reid. The pancakes are even better but it depends what you're in the mood for. Now, tell me about the girl Morgan's got his eye on."

"She's called Katie and she's not interested because I think she's gay, but Morgan is determined to show himself up anyway," Reid said without looking up from the menu, which he'd probably memorised anyway. Emily figured he was just trying to avoid making eye contact with Morgan.

"Derek, can you not try to keep it in your trousers for a few days at least. I'm sure your night time honey at home will be on call when you get back," she frowned at him, hoping it would detract him further from the topic of Hotch.

She'd dreamt about him three times last night. The first dream was strange and would have provided Reid with enough material to analyse for the plane trip back. The second was slightly less weird, consisting of them walking around a lake with no water in it, and the third she couldn't remember without blushing.

"Hey," Morgan glared back. "I'm not intending to come on to her or anything. I simply said that she was cute." He sniffed a little like a dog smelling for sausages. "Have I put too much on?"

She nodded. "It's giving my blueberries an extra tang. Maybe you're starting with a cold."

Morgan shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, has Hotch been here?"

"I haven't seen him this morning. My guess is that he ate early and went to the station." She popped the last bit of pancake into her mouth and stood up to go. "You want him for anything in particular."

Morgan nodded. "If you see him, just tell him that I'm going to see the coroner before we give the profile. I tried to find him yesterday, but he was out of state at a conference. Something's not sitting right, but I can't put my finger on it," he said. "I'll ask about the pregnancy tests too."

"Okay, I'll see you at nine for the profile." She pulled her coat on, buttoning it up as far as it would go. Outside was cold, and the light layer of snow that had come down during dinner time yesterday had been added to in the early hours.

The station was a couple of minutes away on foot; in fact, most things in Calverville Point were a couple of minutes away. The chocolate shop Garcia had mentioned was facing the station; its window decorated for autumn and Halloween, which would arrive in three weeks. A shiver tickled down her spine and she realised she didn't want to be in this place when October 31 came around. For a brief moment she felt homesick, wishing she was in her apartment with a hot pot of coffee, or even at the BAU researching, than here in the back of beyond, however beautiful that beyond was.

Hotch was already in the small room Detective Winters had given them for the duration of their stay. No one else had arrived there yet: JJ was probably still sorting out Henry, and Rossi frequently rose early to write a few pages of his latest book. It was only just 7am, which gave them almost two hours before Winters was bringing in the troops.

"There's a fresh pot of coffee made." Hotch gestured to the table, looking up from the post-mortem photographs of the girls. "Did you sleep well?"

The question was unexpected. Hotch generally didn't ask how they'd slept. She wondered if she'd been talking in her sleep; the walls were paper thin, and the thought of what she might have been saying, particularly during dream number three, gave her cheeks an extra glow. "I think so. I dreamt a lot though." She picked up the coffee pot and poured. "Coffee – you must be a mind reader."

He smiled briefly at her joke. "I wish I was," he said quietly. "Good dreams?"

"Strange ones. Detective Mallory was in one," she explained, adding a little more detail. "I might tell Reid, see what he makes of it." She sighed, picking up her coffee and putting it straight back down again. "Hotch – about last night."

"We made a good start on the second case." His face was stoical as always. "Depending on the rest of today, we could start to try and build a profile later."

Emily nodded. "That's fine. But, Hotch, the things I said – about Kate and your marriage..." Her mother always told her 'least said, soonest mended', but she'd never been able to stick to that. Not when something was eating at her.

"You were right, and I don't resent you for saying what you did, but let's continue the conversation another time." Hotch looked up at the door, and Emily realised he was anxious about them being overheard.

She gave him a slight smile, the butterflies from a few days ago returning for a second, then she gave a genuine smile. "I dreamt about Rossi in his nightwear," she confessed.

He gave a low chuckle. And that is a nightmare."

"What do you think he thought when he heard us?" She knew he'd said to leave it till later, but she was intrigued.

Hotch refilled his own mug. "I think he probably thought I was reprimanding you unnecessarily."

"I don't want him to think that, Hotch. I don't want him to think that you were being unfair." She found she felt quite passionate about it, wanting to find Rossi and explain. But explain what?

"He'll work it out for himself, Emily. Here," he pulled his chair out of the way. "Take a look at these photos. They've just been passed on by the coroner."

She studied them, trying not to be aware of her boss' close proximity, and not to think about what it was. "The stab wounds are in almost exactly the same place in the last two victims. And, if you look at the second victim, they're in a similar position. He didn't lose control, Hotch, he isn't devolving. If anything he's evolving." She felt a little horror-stricken. She'd seen this before although it wasn't a regular occurrence.

"It doesn't matter about the stresser anymore; he's started to enjoy the kill." Hotch said.

"So he won't necessarily be as picky about his victims. Great." She tipped her head back and tapped a pen on the table.

The door swung open and Rossi entered, unzipping the thick waterproof coat he brought out for cold weather. "How hot's that coffee?"

"It's reasonably fresh, but if you want to make some more you're welcome," Hotch said, only briefly glancing up at him from the photographs.

"I'll make do. What've you got there?" Rossi stood behind Emily looking at the photos. "These tell us something new." Hotch filled him in on their conversation.

"We need to start a suspect list as soon as possible," Rossi said. He looked outside. "The weather looks like its worsening. Apparently, snow at this time isn't unusual, but dense snow storms are."

"And we can't necessarily think that the weather will hinder the UnSub. If he knows the terrain well, and has all the necessary equipment, then he's potentially more dangerous. People will be thinking about the weather instead of him." Hotch went over to the window and looked outside. "JJ and Reid are here. Let's go over the profile."

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Usually, there were a few cops who didn't like the idea of profiling; they tended to stand at the back, close together and watch with scepticism on their faces. Today, there were no more than two stood with their hands in their pockets. The rest seemed keen to listen, a few held notebooks and pens, including the cute cop from yesterday.

The murders had affected them deeper than they would have city cops. Things like this didn't happen here; not once, and especially not four times. They weren't used to the violence and sadism shown on the victims, and Morgan wished that no one had to be used to it. Morgan respected their determination; some had come in early, even though their shift wasn't till the afternoon. They wanted this killer off their streets before he took another victim, another of their girls.

"This," Hotch began, is a working profile. More maybe added to it as the investigation progresses. The killer is male and in his early to late twenties. He is most likely local to the Black Hills region, or has a job or interest which means he knows the area well. In all probability it will be both of these things. We are looking at people involved in the ranger service and mountain rescue teams particularly, as our UnSub is likely to prefer being alone than walking or hiking as part of a group, although we can't rule that out."

"He's tall, in excess of six foot, and he's strong. He works out and he's proud of his physique," Emily stepped forward. Morgan noticed the eyes of a couple of the men slipping southwards. Not an uncommon occurrence. "He will be a member of a gym, where he will be competitive. There may have been complaints about him being aggressive toward other men who he sees as competition, and by women who he may stare at. However, he has not always been this way. As a high school pupil he will have been thin to the point of being called weedy. He will not have been chosen for any sports teams and will have been teased because of his stature." She took a step back, resuming her place next to Hotch, and Morgan noticed that she stood closer to him than to Rossi.

Rossi didn't move. "The UnSub's father will have been known to you. He will have been involved in domestic violence that was never proven, he will have been at the centre of bar fights, and he most likely will have had a drink problem. The UnSub's mother will have upped and left when the UnSub was in his mid to late teens, leaving the UnSub with his father who would have physically and mentally bullied him. He may well have had a sister whom he bullied himself. At some point during high school, he was rejected and humiliated by one of the popular girls, and we know she would have had brown eyes and would have been in her junior year. This is how he chooses his victims; he is seeking revenge for this rejection."

"He has been harbouring violent thoughts for most of his life, and the rape and murder of Isabel Malone is not his first violent act. He will have acted aggressively toward past girlfriends, and there will have been a change in his their behaviour once the relationship has started," Emily said, her voice authoritative. She'd hated doing this at first, he remembered. Now it was second nature. "His relationships will have ended badly, and there may have been reports of stalking or aggressive behaviour following the break-up."

Reid stood forward, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "He has recently undergone some form of 'stresser', an incident which has created a compulsion to become more violent than before. We suspect that his most recent girlfriend has undergone an abortion, thus making the UnSub feel out-of-control," Reid said, the hand that was out of his pocket gesticulating madly. "He seeks out his victims via the media; school publications and website and the local press. He is looking for brown-eyes girls that remind him of his initial rejection. He abducts them easily as he knows their routines, and it's probable that he has chosen his next victim before he has dumped the body of his last. He holds them hostage for around four week. This length of time is important to him as it's the amount of time he thinks he needs to get them pregnant. Amy and Isabel were both in the very early stages of pregnancy when they were killed. He also has a place where he is able to keep the girls without them being heard or there being any chance of visitors. This place will be accessible by car, and he will own a four wheeled drive or a pick up that may also be used for work."

Morgan let Reid's words settle in, looks of disgust on the officer's faces. "His first two murders, that of Isabel and Amy, showed signs of rage and overkill through the amount of times he stabbed them. He also disposed of the bodies in areas that were more remote, lacking confidence and possibly wanting to spend time with them. He may also have taken photographs of the scene so he can relive it."

"He has now developed a taste for the kill." Hotch began again. "He likes to watch his victims die, so chooses to stab them in areas away from arteries, meaning they bleed out slowly. He keeps them for up to a week before transporting the bodies in a large - probably 150 litre- rucksack to a place of importance for him. The bodies of the first two victims showed post mortem trauma to the bones as his manipulated them to get them into a smaller space. The last two victims were positioned before rigor mortis set in, making them easier to transport."

"Because he is starting to enjoy the kill," Morgan said, "the victim type is becoming less important to him, and the feelings of control and power are taking over. He is evolving rather than devolving and he is becoming confident. He may become over confident and fail to conceal his actions. Be on the lookout for reports of attempted abductions, and do not rely on the two week gap between a body being discovered and a new girl being taken. He will have already chosen his next victim and the urge to kill will be growing stronger each time, shortening the length of time he can wait."

Hotch began the conclusion. "When speaking to him, he comes across as being domineering but likeable. He is also becoming more confident at work and socially. At some point, one or more of you will have come across this man. His is a violent, sexual sadist whose previous victims have always withdrawn any complaint they have made, not necessarily to the police, but to student counselling services or anonymous help lines. He is going to kill again. We urgently need a suspect list from you. Anyone who you have thought of during the profile, anyone whose name has come into your head, please tell us. Detective Winters will issue you your roles."

Morgan looked around the rest of the team. He had that sinking feeling he got when he knew it was going to get worse before it got better, and by the look on everyone's faces, they felt the same.

Way back when I first started writing Fanfiction (nearly 4 years ago) I used to put a dream sequence into most of my Tamora Pierce fics, as it suited the genre. This is a little bit of a homage to those, as I used to love delving into the character's psyche, and it's probably the last proper fic I'll write for a while at least, as I need to return to the 'Novel'!

I really could do with some encouragement – please review!