"That dog was psychotic."

Stephanie Carpenter has a no-nonsense vibe, and Emily appreciates her bluntness. She wants to finish this case; figure out what the story is here.

She glances at the little boy, Marcus, playing nearby.

"He's gonna have those scars forever," Stephanie mutters, taking a drag from her cigarette.

The smell is making Emily nauseous.

"And Bryce, he didn't do anything?" Derek asks, glancing at the little boy.

There's a line of scarring along his face; poor stitching done by a county hospital doctor. He has several teeth marks scarred into his left arm, and his mother had shown them the scars on his torso.

Satan, Bryce's Rottweiler, had torn into the little boy viciously.

"Fuck no," Stephanie scoffs, crushing out her smoke. "Barely listened when I went over there. I kept shoving medical bills in his mailbox. But fuck. He don't listen to nobody."

Emily swallows, looking away from Marcus.

"Police didn't come?" Derek asks, guessing the answer.

Stephanie looks at him as though he's the dumbest person she's met.

"You think people 'round here call the police? On Bryce Williams?"

Derek takes a breath, sitting back in his seat.

"So, what happened to the dog?" Emily asks, not saying the dog's odd name.

Stephanie scoffs; lights another cigarette.

Emily stops herself from glancing at Marcus, nearby but preoccupied. Inhaling so much smoke.

"We're not talking about a dog lover here," Stephanie replies dryly. "Who knows what happened to that dog. Bryce had him in dog fights. Probably died there."

Emily and Derek glance at each other.

"Thank you for your time, Ms Carpenter," Derek says, signalling the end of the meeting.

Stephanie seems unbothered by everything, and Emily knows it's partially because she's stoned.

She walks Derek and Emily to the door of her trailer, side-stepping Marcus.

"You find out who killed 'im," Stephanie says, as they step outside the door.

They turn to meet her stare.

"Thank them for me," she flicks an eyebrow and the screen door slams shut.


"Pleasant woman," Derek murmurs, as they drive away.

"An absolute delight," Emily agrees dryly, reading a text from Violet.

Derek glances at her.

"How's your girl?" he asks.

Emily smiles.

"She's good," she replies. "James is basically floating because she calls him Dad sometimes."

Derek grins.

"I heard she dropped the D bomb awhile ago," he says. "I was wondering if she'd keep it up."

"You know Vi," Emily exhales, crossing her legs. "Even I still get called Emily some days."

Derek laughs.

His phone rings and they sees Penelope's name show up on the Suburban's screen.

"Give it to me straight, baby girl," Derek answers.

Emily rolls her eyes.

Penelope, on speakerphone, makes a hesitant sound.

"It's not good news," she warns.

"You don't usually call us on the road with good news," Emily reminds her.

"Well played," Penelope gives. "We've got another victim."

Derek and Emily exchange a look.

"A bit…younger than the others," Penelope swallows.

"Same dump site?" Emily frowns.

They were just there, yesterday afternoon.

"Yep," Penelope confirms.

"How much younger?" Derek asks.

"Victim is 17," Penelope replies. "And he was, um…well."

They wait.

"Skinned," Penelope blurts, as though the word has been struggling in her throat. "He was skinned. Alive."


Emily takes a minute to call home, when they get back to the police station in Scottsdale.

"Hey," Violet answers, sounding preoccupied.

"Hey, honey," Emily says. "How's it going?"

At home, Violet finishes her last toenail and caps the polish.

"Not much going on here," Violet tells her. "James is in the shower. I'm…doing nothing."

Emily laughs dryly.

"Nothing?" she repeats.

"Well. Painted my toenails," Violet offers.

"Have you decided on a favourite brand of black nail polish, or are you still sampling?" Emily teases.

Violet laughs, stretching her legs out and looking at her feet.

"Marc Jacobs seems to be the winner so far," she answers.

"Noted," Emily smiles.

Violet listens for a moment and hears footsteps upstairs.

"James is outta the shower," she tells her mother. "You want me to get him?"

"Sure," Emily exhales.

She hears Violet attempt to cover the mic on her phone in her shirt as she yells.

"Dad!"

Emily smiles.

She never thought she'd love the sound of that word in Violet's mouth.

"What's your case?" Violet asks then.

"Um," Emily hesitates.

This is a more gruesome case, and she prefers to try and shelter Violet from these.

"Can't be worse than the guy who was eating choice cuts of human flesh," Violet reminds her.

Emily scoffs.

"Might be," she mutters.

Violet looks up, seeing James on the stairs.

"One sec," she tells her mother, and holds her phone out to James.

They chat for a few minutes. James lets her know that Violet has mostly slept, and Emily gives him a few details about the case.

"Christ," he mutters, hearing about the most recent victim.

"What?" Violet demands from the couch, looking over the back of it to see James in the kitchen. "Is it about the case? Is it that bad? What happened?"

James laughs, shaking his head.

"Watch yer Peaky Blinders, ye wee bloodthirsty beast," he replies.

Violet glares, turning back to the tv.

"Is she still watching that?" Emily asks.

"Good luck convincing her otherwise," James replies. "She's two seasons in."

Emily sighs.

"Ye alright?" James asks, frowning with concern.

"Yeah," Emily replies automatically. "Just…tired. One of the victims, his dog attacked a little boy. Really…mauled him."

James' frown remains.

"Sorry, love. Sounds like a rough one."

Emily just exhales, familiar with soothing herself and able to get a grip on her emotions.

"I just wanted to check in," she breathes. "I'll call back when I can."

After James hands Violet her phone back, she stares at him hard.

"Details," she demands.

"That fella's Irish, y'know," James says, pointing at the tv as he heads back upstairs. "Does a decent Birmingham accent, though."

Violet frowns, interested in the little detail, but still wondering about her mother's case.

"Stop avoiding," she calls to James.

"Ye hungry?" is his answer.

Violet grumbles, turning her attention back to the tv.


Emily isn't sure what she was expecting, but the sight of a skinned human being ends up being rather interesting.

She and Spencer are the only ones standing close, examining the body.

Hotch, Rossi, and Derek are further away, discussing.

"What the hell is the connection here, Spence?" Emily murmurs, staring.

"I'm not sure yet," Spencer replies, in the same distracted tone.

They stare at the body, baking in the Arizona heat.

"But whoever it is, does not care about mercy," he adds.

Debra Callingwood's home was deemed clear, and already it's being cleared out by the time Emily calls the sheriff to ask if they can look through it again.

"It wasn't the site of her murder," Mackey reminds her. "No clues there."

Emily hands up, curiosity flowing through her veins.

"Maybe we missed something," she murmurs.

"At Debra's?" Derek says, glancing over at her as he drives. "Not even an unlocked window. No blood. Nothing."

"I know," Emily exhales. "But we're missing something."

They drive to the home of Jasper Clemmons, their most recent victim.

It's a nicer area of town than the other victims, though this victim is a teenager who lives with his parents.

They're greeted at the door by a timid blonde woman.

"You're here about Jasper," she manages, her voice light and wispy.

"Yes, ma'am," Emily confirms.

The woman hesitates and then invites them in.

"He was such a good boy," Miriam Clemmons murmurs, staring at the carpet.

They were led into a sitting room. Expensive Persian rug; china tea settings; a chandelier. This family has money.

"When he was little," Miriam adds.

"Not lately?" Derek says, by way of encouraging her to go on.

Miriam worries a linen napkin in her lap.

"Around…ten. Or 11," she responds softly. "He changed."

Emily and Derek wait.

"I thought it was just…him maturing. Needing…privacy. That sort of thing," Miriam tells them.

They all have cups of tea, but no one has touched a drop.

"How'd he change?" Derek presses.

"Oh, you know," Miriam swallows, staring at the napkin. "He became…angry. Spent all of his time in his room. Alone."

Emily frowns.

"Angry?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," Miriam's eyes widen a little, and it's the most animated they've seen her. "The littlest thing would set him off. George and I didn't know what to do with him."

"Jasper's father?" Emily asks.

Miriam nods.

"They weren't close," she admits, glancing at them.

"Does he live in the home?" Derek asks.

The only person they've seen is Miriam.

"Yes," she replies quickly, then hesitates as she goes back to fiddling with her napkin. "He works. Away. He's gone a lot."

Emily nods slowly, glancing around the room.

"Do you mind if we take a look at Jasper's room?" she asks.

Miriam swallows, debating with herself, and then leads them upstairs.

It's pretty typical for a teenage boy's room, Emily figures.

Band posters, clothes on the floor, a dirty plate beside his bed on a side table.

"The housekeeper comes on Fridays," Miriam says suddenly, setting her napkin over the dirty plate.

Emily and Derek are busy, looking around.

"Did he have many friends? Acquaintances?" Emily asks.

Miriam is slow to respond, the first word trapped between her teeth.

"Nnnno," she manages, now fidgeting with her fingers. "Jasper liked to be alone."

Emily and Derek share a look.

Most killers do, they think.

There's a framed photo, half-hidden underneath Jasper's bed.

Emily moves it gently with her foot.

It's an old photo. Jasper looks to be about 10. He's smiling, one arm around a small white dog.

"Who's this?" Emily asks, finding Miriam's eyes.

She sees the photo and swallows hard; a look passing over her face.

Pain, Emily recognizes.

"That…was years ago," Miriam clears her throat, reaching down.

She picks up the photo and wipes at it, but it's stained with food and dusty.

"That his dog?" Derek asks, still looking around.

"Yes," Miriam almost whispers. "Dewey. They were…inseparable."

Emily sees her sad face and looks away, trying to find some sort of clue about Jasper. About his life. About why someone might want to skin the kid alive.


She paces her hotel room that night, after Hotch calls it for the day.

Her mind tries to find some sort of link.

After a few hours, she calls home.

James and Violet are watching a movie, and Violet is only too eager to talk to her mother and hear about her day.

"You sound weird," Violet says.

"Just a long day, baby," Emily replies.

"No, it's different," Violet murmurs, thinking.

"Well," Emily says, and then takes a deep breath.

"Mom, I've heard of basically every case you've been on," Violet says, exasperated. "Why is this one different?"

"It's…gory, Vi," Emily explains.

"Yeah. And?" Violet replies, sounding very 15.

"Newest victim was skinned alive," Emily relents, telling her.

James sees Violet's eyes widen.

"Shut. Up."

Emily scoffs, pacing again.

"Every victim has been…tortured," Emily explains.

"Well, tell me. Tell us. Maybe we have ideas," Violet presses.

She puts the phone on speaker, so James can hear.

Emily takes a deep, tired breath and then explains, briefly, each victim.

"Gross," Violet mutters, imagining the woman squished into the cage. "Like some sort of animal."

"Yeah," Emily murmurs.

Then she freezes.

Animal.

"Vi, what was that story you were telling me about? Months ago? The brothers that killed their dog?" she demands.

Violet closes her eyes, wishing the images out of her mind. The story had haunted her for days.

She recounts the tale for her mother, and Emily's mind starts to race.