TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 2013 AT 3:07 PM EN ROUTE

The jet was en route to north New Jersey, where it would land in an airstrip and require a 45-minute drive to the Sussex County Sheriff's office. There, the team would be basing their operations.

As they traveled to their destination, David was called to discuss the case as he himself was driving up to the Sheriff's office.

"So . . . why Stokes State Forest?" Alex looked up from her tablet and posed the question to everyone. To her left sat Aaron; across from her, Jennifer. Derek was standing, bent over Jennifer's seat, resting his crossed arms atop the headrest.

Spencer, sitting a secluded corner, closed his eyes and pinched the flesh between his thumb and index finger, a pressure point he knew helped—for all it was worth—quell headaches.

It was he who answered Alex's question. He was holding a book that went into detail about deciduous forests of the United States. The words poured from his lips, unrushed and dispassionate: "Our unsub chose an interesting burial site. Aside from being part of the Appalachian Trail, Stokes State Forest is popular for other trails and multiple campsites. It generates as much foot traffic as 763 people in any given week from Spring to Fall, which breaks down to 109 visitors daily or about 9.1 people per hour if they're traveling only from the hours of dawn until dusk. It's also only 16,477 acres, which is considerably small and might seem like a poor choice to hide a body considering the foot traffic. But Stokes State Forest borders High Point State Park, which is in itself 15,413 acres, as well as the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area, another 66,741 acres. Given that the victim's only about a half a mile away from the closest trail, the unsub risks being seen despite flora and fauna. The National Recreation Area may have been a better choice. But the total acreage somewhat makes up for this oversight."

"And that is? The total acreage, I mean." David's voice came from the phone below them all. "Don't skimp out on that last scrap of information."

"Ah, that's a total of 98,631 acres—nearly 155 square miles."

"Okay. And what does that tell you about the profile? What are you trying to tell us?"

"That digging the graves at the depth he's done so at any time of day is a time-consuming task, and the care that these bodies have been given in positioning indicates a level of intimacy that might further suggest that this was done in an unhurried pace, likely by nightfall. The point is this: the unsub could have chosen another more inconspicuous area, but he chose here. There has to be an emotional tie."

"On that note, we also may have to tread carefully," Aaron stated with the lilt of his voice, quirking an eyebrow. "As in the case of the serial killer Brian Matloff[1, he was a Forest Service employee that inserted himself into the investigation. Our unsub could very well be an employee, volunteer, or groundskeeper, and if so, we have to let him believe that he's off any suspect list that we generate."

"Brian Matloff," Alex murmured, furrowing her eyebrows in thought as she tilted her head. "The one the media dubbed as The Blue Ridge Strangler, right?" She clicked her tongue in a tsk. "Boy, that one must have been frustrating for you guys, having your viable suspect diagnosed with focal retrograde amnesia after he'd convalesced from his coma."

"The worst," Jennifer agreed, kicking her head back and rolling her eyes in long-suffering. "But also . . . I dunno. I'd say kinda tragic? Considering that he didn't remember those killings. Our inquisition eventually resurfaced the memories, but if we'd let him alone, I wonder what would've happened."

"Hmm." Derek hummed.

David, however, retorted, "Mm-neh. He got what he deserved for those murders, and he knew it. Whether or not he remembered what he did, those girls demanded justice." The lack of visual confirmation didn't prevent them from seeing him roll his eyes.

Aaron, about to disrupt them lest they derail onto a tangent, was himself interrupted.

"Hey guys." Penelope's face popped up from the laptop below and on the screens embedded in the walls of the jet. "Just a teensy update for you."

"Rossi is patched in. Watcha got for us, mama?" Derek asked.

Penelope grinned. "Oh, buon giornata, babbo Rossi. And I'm glad you asked, angelfish, as I am always ready to dispense findings from the great binary lords. I just heard back from Sheriff Reiner. CSU has already called in a team of forensic anthropologists to look over Victim B. Photographs haven't trickled in yet, though, so sorry in advance. A few discoveries to note for Victim B: he looks to also be male; there was adipocere preservation of some body parts, mainly in the torso, but it's looking like he's been dead for months. Evidence is already showing similar victimology: so far, the body was wrapped in fabric, clothed in a t-shirt and underwear, there's fabric around his eyes, and since the linen sheet more or less kept the body pretty intact during decomp, it looks like the hands are also missing."

"Well, the unsub's signature is consistent," Jennifer said, alternating her gaze to a few members of the team. "And it seems he might prefer males. What about the hair?"

"It's looking to be blond, too, but the forensic anthropologist isn't too quick to jump on that, since it can't be determined how long this person has been dead and—you know—hair color changes as a body decays and all."

"Well, we've got something going for us: males, and probably blond ones at that," Derek murmured. He then continued, "Hey, Baby Girl. They been able to identify the approximate age yet?"

"I'm afraid that won't be better determined until the—whole"—she circled her hand around her head a few times—"blindfolds and stuff are removed. Or the femur-age-comparison thingy is done for Victim B. But," she rushed out, voice raising in intonation, "I'm running an analysis to see about any missing reports for men that match the height and hair color for Victim A within Sussex County and will get back to you pronto. And god speed, my friends? Travelling from the air strip to your locations might take forever. Apparently, traffic tends to jam at this time of day on the routes you'll be using to get there."

"I dunno," Jennifer murmured, resting her head back and closing her eyes. "No complaints on my end. Sounds like more time to rest to me."

Penelope barked in laughter.

"Thanks, Garcia," Aaron said, allowing her to bid an adieu before disconnecting.

"She didn't lie about this traffic, though," David groused. "I left Newark about forty-five minutes ago and I won't reach the station for another half an hour, apparently."

"Oof."

"So, if the unsub's victim pool is potentially gender-specific, maybe we can also assume that he's age specific as well rather than opportunistic," Derek concluded. "I mean, the signature says that this cat is organized and has enough control. These show in how he keeps his victims captive for at least days or a couple of weeks, and with how he disposes of them. This level of organization indicates premeditation, planning, possibly even stalking for the right victim for a few days."

"And we just need to know what made these two men the right victims," said Jennifer.

"Garcia just mentioned that the other victim's hands were possibly also cut off?" David's voice came through the speaker phone. "This can be a forensic countermeasure, but it just might be need-based instead."

"Mm. Dave, after you're done setting up at the precinct, why don't you head to the Head Ranger's station to investigate the property there," Aaron began. "Garcia has arranged for the Sanders family to arrive there for additional questioning. Apparently, the parents were wary of bringing him to a police precinct in case DJ feels like he's in trouble. You and Morgan can take point on that. Blake and Reid, you'll head to the burial site to examine the surroundings and the site itself. You can drop off Morgan at the Ranger's station. GPS coordinates are already input in the SUV for where Garcia will arrange you meet with Head Ranger Fernandez. I'll have Garcia text you the address of the Ranger's Station, Dave.

"JJ, you and I will meet Sheriff Reiner at the precinct and determine a strategy to minimize media interference should there be any premature exposure. He said that other off-path hikers may have gotten too close to the site, so we need to prepare for reporters and other locals infringing with our investigation within the next couple of days. Let's rest a little; we'll have a lot of work to do when we hit the ground."

With that note of finality, the rest of the trip was spent in silence. There was little to discuss as a team as there still wasn't enough intel to build upon.

Spencer laid down on the couch for the rest of their remaining flight. If his headache would peter out, he might be able to survive the rest of the day without incident upon taking in a quick nap. Last night, not unlike many recent nights, he hadn't slept well, plagued with horrific scenes and assaulted by voices that didn't allow him any rest.

He couldn't do anything—sleep, eat, work—without thinking of Maeve, or without seeing her where he knew she wasn't. He couldn't focus on a task before he was bombarded with memories, feelings, pangs. As time passed, these were worsening, not ebbing.

He wondered before drifting off if Aaron had designed to pair him with Alex because she seemed to get through to him, as it were. It irritated him how much they coddled him like he was about to break.

In truth, though, he felt as of late that he was reaching that point. He was at the end of his tether, no longer able to bring himself to bubble forth with the same readiness to fight against miscarriages of justice. What was the purpose of what he strived for, if he hadn't been able to protect Maeve? What was the purpose in anything? While he knew that there were far more important things to worry over macroscopically, there were pockets of moments where it felt like this inconsequential blip in the universe reframed and unbalanced all existence. Something that should be there was missing, and he didn't understand how everything and everyone around him could continue to function without feeling that occasional pang of disorder and wrongness.

But he knew, realistically, scientifically, that he was being unreasonable. So it was a constant fight to move on, move past, to not dwell on.

It didn't mean that he didn't contemplate on retreating until he disappeared—going somewhere where he didn't have to worry about anything or anything except the brainwork. Or nothing.

Weltschmerz, it was called, a melancholy and a world-weariness that he felt in his bones. Before he let it deepen, he would take a few days off soon—visit his mother for a week, then return and catch up to his much-neglected studies—and hope that such distractions might reorder things.

He wouldn't bother them, and he would be fine.

STOKES STATE FOREST

Derek, sensing that Spencer was feeling unwell, hadn't said anything beyond You okay, kid? when he, sitting at the driver's seat, and Spencer, sitting at the passenger seat, were alone for a moment. They stopped quickly at a nearby café and Alex had gone inside to use the bathroom, unable to wait until they reached the ranger's station. Spencer, in turn, had replied in a soft tone that he was okay, that he was just trying to stave off a migraine. Derek murmured a gentle apology but couldn't refrain from clapping Spencer affectionately on the jaw with a fist. When Alex returned and sat behind Derek, they drove off in silence.

They three arrived at the ranger's station, Derek got out, and Alex took the driver's seat. From there, she was quiet on the ride to their GPS location, and wanted to give Spencer a moment of peace. She knew that as soon as he stepped into the blazing sun, he would be sure to stand aright, speak clearly, and seem unfazed by the pain in his head while internally wishing to retreat into a dark space for quiet to unburden his senses.

She wished that she could help him more. Her fingers beat ever so lightly to a familiar tune on the steering wheel to ease her mind. So, when he broke the quiet—a thing that was becoming a rarity—she was caught off guard.

"Something's bothering you."

Alex, lifting her eyebrows while keeping her eyes on the road, gave a noncommittal hum. "Hmm?" She then shook her head reassuringly. "Oh, no. Nothing's bothering me."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw him shift, straightening in his seat where before he'd be leaning his head against the window, turning to her. "Something's definitely bothering you."

To Alex's surprise, his next statement was spoken with puckish confidence. "I can always tell when you're bothered because you whisper lyrics to yourself. Hip hop specifically. I thought it was odd at first, but . . ." She saw him tilt his head and wrinkle his eyebrows. "Then I remembered your dissertation was on the fluidity of metaphor. You seem to have a particular fondness for Nas."

"Wow." Alex couldn't help but divert her eyes from the road for a moment in wonder, duly tickled. "How did you know?" She focused her eyes forward again.

He sighed. "Morgan made me listen to him when we started working together." His tone was a mixture of fond and equally irritated. "He said, 'Anybody that can't quote Illmatic is ignorant.'"

Alex chortled in response and shook her head at him. She was glad to see this side of her companion and would try to milk it for as long as possible. "He made you listen to him, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he made me," he responded with a knowing smile, voice cracking drily. "I listened to the album a couple of times before I decided that what was committed to my memory was sufficient enough."

"Mm-hmm! Can Dr Spencer Reid spit some lyrics to the beat?"

"I can. Music involves creating a pattern of sounds. It's mathematics just as much as it is art. So's rap. Easy enough."

"And you're a veritable wordsmith. I'm intrigued. I might need a demonstration."

"You will not get a demonstration."

"Hah!"

The GPS interrupted the natural and uninhibited conversation to inform them of an upcoming turn. They would be reaching the specific location in another few minutes.

The remainder of the car ride was spent in an amiable and comfortable silence and Alex's heart warmed. Their coordinates took them off main roads to a more shrouded and isolated road for another couple of minutes before zeroing in on a specific location, a gravel covered road that ended with a gritty path, where many other vehicles belonging to officials and investigators were also parked. There they parked the car, and a ranger—already waiting for them in his own vehicle—walked up to theirs.

"Well, this is remote," Alex observed before she rolled down the window.

"Mm. Only someone familiar with the area could have found this road," Spencer added as he watched the ranger from behind his sunglasses. He was a deeply tanned man who looked to be in early- to mid-thirties (though they were sure to add ten years due to the crow's feet around his eyes and the grey patches of hair peeking underneath his hat), standing a couple of inches shy of six feet, average in build.

"Heyo, there! I'm Marcus Fernandez. Thanks for meeting me here," the park ranger said, shaking Alex's hand through the window and nodding his head at Spencer, who just gave a single wave from his seat. "Had the pleasure of meeting Agent Rossi a little earlier. We should move quickly to get in as much information before we lose daylight. From here we need to travel by foot for about three-quarters a mile."

"Three-quarters?" Spencer parroted as he took off his seatbelt and opened his door.

"Yep," Ranger Fernandez responded. "The trees and brush are a little too dense to get to the burial site any other way."

"And from the actual trail that the Sanders family walked off of, it's a little over a half mile," Spencer supplied, observations already firing off in his mind, sure that Alex was doing the same. Once they began, he looked at his watch to time this.

They huffed along, coming across moss covered boulders and trees and cobbles, ferns, and many other flora. "This isn't what people think of when they think of New Jersey," said Alex.

The ranger laughed. "Yeah, they think of the Newark Airport and surrounding areas and that's the snap judgement. But the Northern counties are pretty nice. Some places and people are a little backwards—especially around these parts—but the scenery here is nice."

As they continued their trek, Alex asked, "So how long have you been working for Stokes State?"

"Oh, pff," Ranger Fernandez started, expelling some air as he thought. "It's gotta be about thirteen years now? Started here when I was twenty-seven when I moved up to Jersey."

"Where'd you live before?"

"North Carolina."

"Why come up to New Jersey? New York City is just around the corner."

"My wife. She's lived up here all her life. Man's gotta make changes in his life when he meets the girl he loves."

"Hah! Not every man thinks like that."

"I'm a nature-loving romantic, Agent Blake. Consider me the exception to the rule."

Alex smiled and turned the conversation. "So, thirteen years. You would know"—she balanced herself as she stepped on a slippery stone that nearly felled her—"if there were a faster way to get to the burial site from where we parked."

"Yes ma'am," he answered. "Right now, we're on the shortest and straightest path from our cars."

"Hmm. The distance from the closest trail is far to carry a body on foot. If he's actually carrying his victims, we're talking strength and stamina," Alex observed.

"Aside from the hands, he doesn't otherwise dismember the bodies, so he doesn't go back and forth," Spencer huffed, voice whispery. "If he's using something like a wheelbarrow, it might facilitate travelling the distance."

"Huh. Maybe," Alex began. She thought it over and then continued. "Okay, so, say he is using a wheelbarrow. Or possibly a heavy-duty utility cart, which I'm more inclined to believe. That means his vehicle has to be able to accommodate something that size."

"Damn." Ranger Fernandez, impressed with their quick observations, gave Alex an appraising look. In just a few moments, they were able to narrow down their suspect pool to men of above-average builds who owned vehicles with the capacity to accommodate large loads. "You guys really know your stuff."

"Mm."

What Alex didn't say—what was shared in a knowing look between herself and Spencer once Ranger Fernandez turned his gaze ahead—was that a park employee or volunteer wouldn't have looked suspicious with either of those things.

"I mean, that's good and all, but in this part of Jersey, that's nearly everyone," Ranger Fernandez then said in chagrin.

"We're gathering that impression, yes."

"Unfortunately, we're not fully able to determine that this is definitely the perpetrator's path. There's so much underbrush here that the disturbance can be man-made or done by animals. And, this person knows how to cover their tracks well. We were unable to find footprints, and if they used anything with wheels that couldn't be determined either. Likely they wrapped layers of fabric around their shoes to keep from leaving behind tread marks."

"Duly noted," Spencer said.

The ranger stopped for a quick moment and showed them examples of where some investigators had marked off the ground with a flag.

They continued on through their path, which meandered little. The ground swelled and valleyed. It left them huffing with sweat forming at their brows, and if they were doing so without the burden of lugging a body, then they couldn't imagine what their unsub had gone through if he hadn't used any type of wheeled contraption.

They were near their burial site, as they could hear voices and other sounds attributed to the general hubbub of a crime scene investigation unit. A couple of minutes later, they reached a clearing that had fewer trees, where the ground was loose enough for a child like DJ Sanders to shovel and claw through.

Spencer looked at his watch again. The clock face blurred and shifted in before his eyes and he stifled a groan. In total, it took them sixteen minutes to get to the burial site with a couple of the tricky inclines and declines and barring the pause they took to look at some things that Ranger Fernandez pointed out to them. The walk had enervated him, honestly, and his head was beginning to thrum. He could also just be out of shape.

"This might be hallowed ground to our unsub." Alex looked up at the surroundings in awe. The wide gully where they stood was speckled with patches of white flowers here and there, and they were surrounded by a grove of beautiful birch trees.

"Mm," Spencer agreed. He looked to his left, up, and saw a wall of earth and stones upon which was a large boulder at its edge. At its top sat a fat birch tree with its roots growing around it.

"SSA Alex Blake," Alex said as soon as the Crime Scene Unit team leader abruptly turned from the photographer she was talking to and walked over to them.

"Sasha Everton," she responded to Alex, giving a polite nod of her head instead of extending her hand. "I'm in charge of this unit." Her blunt, onyx bangs were pressed against her sweaty forehead, and her skin flushed from strain in patches beneath fawn-like, freckled skin.

"Doctor Reid." Spencer waved his hand from a distance.

"I didn't realize you would be bringing a doctor with you, Agent Blake," Sasha said, her confusion evident. She pointed her thumb behind her. "I was actually just talking to the head forensic anthropologist."

"Oh, they're not doctorates in any medical field," Spencer corrected without further flourish.

"Ah. Well anyway, you guys wouldn't believe this, but there just might be a third body near here." Sasha shook her head. "We've been doing wide sweeps with the Ground Penetrating Radar and there were a couple of areas that we thought might be hot spots for another body or two. Ah, here you go!" She handed Alex PPE.

"Not that I was in any doubt before, but now we're definitely looking at a serial psychopathology," Alex said, huffing in effort as she put the booties over her shoes. She turned to Spencer, who was already approaching the burial site of the most recent decedent and stooping peering to view the body, pulling up his sunglasses from his face and perching it atop his head.

"DJ and his dog were certainly goal oriented," Spencer said aloud to no one in particular, staring down at the victim. "The body is buried at a depth of about four and a half feet below the surface." A CSI handed him booties and gloves to put on, and he'd donned them, he went closer to the edge of the dig site, nearing the recent decedent's body and bending to his haunches.

"Deeper than what most predatory animals will dig for, and deeper than most murderers will dig before burying a body," rumbled a voice. A shadow stopped to stand above Spencer, and he looked up to see a man about the same age as Ranger Fernandez. "Although I don't tend to look at motive—purely at the facts before me—I'd posit that the murderer wanted to keep the elements and fauna from damaging the bodies."

From his bent position, Spencer looked up at him and squinted as the blurred face came into focus. With a deep olive-brown tone not unlike Derek's, symmetrical features, hazel eyes, and thick, curly auburn hair, Spencer found that people would find him attractive.

"Dr Bates, Head Forensic Anthropologist," he introduced himself. "I'm dealing with that guy over there." He kicked his head in the direction of Victim B. There was someone else—his assistant, Spencer surmised—looking over the site along with a couple of crime scene technicians. "The ME, Dr Dale—she and her assistant are pretty tied up today in legal rigamarole and left early this morning after doing their routine assessment. I personally don't really like working with bones that are still so . . ." He paused in thought. He then made a disgruntled face as he finished. "Fleshy."

"Doctor Reid," Spencer said by way of introduction, leaving it at that and not entertaining a conversation.

Alex observed the area with a slow spinning of her body. "No markings on the trees to help our unsub find his burial site that I can see. But that large boulder over there can certainly be used as a landmark for him." They three looked at the boulder she was referring to.

"As well as this whole grove of birch trees," Spencer added, looking back down at the body he was hunched over. "It's a beacon if one knows to look for it."

The dirt had been dug away in a large, perfect rectangle around the victim, and the white sheet was spread open. Seeing this victim from this close range stirred something in him. The victim was still blindfolded and there was nary a crease to be found in the fabric that wasn't there out of necessity. The same could be seen of the stubs where his hands should be. The sheet that he'd been wrapped in was also pressed well. Yet he could see the patchy bruising on the victim's neck, and the darker ones on his cheek, on his arms, on his legs. Abrasions here, a slightly protruding bone there. This person's life had ended in suffering. Spencer was curious about the eyes, and about what he saw last before he saw nothing more.

He cleared the thoughts away. They were here primarily to look at the area and get better insight on the perpetrator. He made to stand, and before he could reach his full height, the blood rushed and a pang lanced through his head. He lost his balance; down he went, narrowly missing falling atop the victim. He'd managed to brace his hands against the edges, but the jarring motion sent the shades he had atop his head tumbling off their perch.

Dr Bates' hand shot out like a striking snake, catching the glasses before they could fall into the burial site.

"You okay, Spencer?" Alex called out in concern, making her way over to him.

Damn it. Peddling his hands backward until he was standing upright, he suppressed a groan at feeling his previously injured knee zing in protest.

The scene had caused nearly everyone to stop with bated breath. Although that could have ended much worse, with the well-preserved body being heavily degraded, it wasn't very good. There had to be transference. Someone groaned and turned to her clipboard, pressing it twice against her forehead.

Dr Bates handed Spencer his glasses, his light and congenial manner gone. "Don't be too quick to rush to your death. You okay?"

Spencer hummed.

"I'm gonna ask you now to give these sites a wide berth. I'm sure you understand. We can't have something like that happen again."

Spencer, whose head pulsed while sounds shifted in and out of focus, cleared his throat and swallowed. "Yeah. Um, I'm—"

"No hard feelings. Just. Please, agent." He made a gentle shooing motion with his hand.

After righting himself, Spencer spun in his awkward, graceless manner, then walked toward the other dig site, doing exactly as requested and not nearing it. Much of the body was disinterred, and it looked to be in the same condition as Victim A. Except for the much more dead part, that was.

He looked overhead at the trees, then back down at the body. Then he walked over to the other dig site again. "Hm."

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"Is Victim B also in situ?" Spencer looked back up at the treetops again, then back at the two bodies.

"Yep," Dr Bates answered.

"Why, Spencer?"

"I'm not sure," he murmured.

"Gears turning in that guy's brain?" asked Dr Bates.

"You recognize the look," Alex responded in appraisal.

"Agents?" spoke Sasha. She pocketed her phone. "We've arranged for these two bodies to be taken to the lab in Morris Plains once they're ready to go."

"Perfect," Alex said. "Believe it or not, we've already gathered a lot of information from this site as is. Right, Spencer?" she asked.

"Yeah." His answer came out as a distracted drawl.

"We found with data reading from our GPR that over there"—Sasha turned and pointed to a spot about ten or so yards away that was marked with a little neon-colored flag—"is definitely something else sizable. We're not sure yet if it's human remains or not, but if so, we'll confirm with you and have it transported to Morris Plains as soon as we're done with it. Might take us 'til the morning what with the second one."

"Got it," Alex said. She turned to Reid. "Let's look around here some more and afterwards we'll head out?"

"Mm. Ranger Fernandez," Spencer called out. The head ranger swiveled around and sauntered over to him. "Would you show us the path that the Sanderses took to get here?"

"Oh yeah, for sure," the man answered, pointing toward the boulder. "They came this way."

SUSSEX COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

"SSA Hotchner, SSA Jareau. Forgive me," Sheriff Reiner began as he extended a hand toward Jennifer and Aaron, "but I was under the impression from Agent Rossi that there'd be more of you guys?"

"Yes, hello, Sheriff Reiner; we've already sent them to the burial site and to the Head Ranger's Office," Aaron supplied quickly as he and JJ followed the county sheriff into his office.

"Oh, you guys don't mess around!" he barked in surprise.

"Nope. We try to handle cases such as these swiftly. We're also soon to lose daylight, and we want to gather as much information from and surrounding the actual burial site as possible while it's fresh," Jennifer responded. "Have there been any media leaks?" she asked as she followed him through the department and into his office.

"None at all yet," he answered, bracing his hands on his hips as he stood behind his desk. "We were able to reach out to the Sanderses to have them keep a tight lid as this is ongoing. That poor kid that dug up one of the Johns was so spooked. Smart as a whip, but I don't anticipate that he's gonna do any more digging for a while."

Jennifer hummed. She took the folder that Sheriff Reiner handed to them and peered into its contents. "It looks like they were interviewed very thoroughly." She handed the folder to Aaron, who opened it as well. "We just had a few other questions to ask them."

"If I might ask, Why don't we want this to be exposed to the public yet with two people dead? We might be looking for a serial killer and it's better to warn people, innit?"

Aaron, who had been focusing on the file, bore his gaze into Sheriff Reiner's. "Ah, media exposure tends to have adverse effects on cases like these. For now, we want our unsub to continue feeling secure that he hasn't been exposed yet. He's thriving on the presumption that he can continue to maintain his privacy as he buries these bodies in Stokes State Forest, something that takes time and patience. This indicates that he feels confident that he won't be caught during the act. Exposure takes all of that away and may cause him to panic. As a result, there are many variables as to how he might react: he may feel pressured to accelerate his timeline if he already has a new victim with him; it may cause him to go into hiding completely, in which case it will be even more difficult to catch him; or in other cases he may just move onto another place to bury his victims. Either way, it makes it difficult for us to help you apprehend him."

Sheriff Reiner pursed his lips and gave a solemn nod in understanding. He then admitted, "We've done our best to keep a tight lid on it, agents, but a couple of off-trail hikers did get close to the site early this morning. We were able to control them before they got too close, but you know how it is: word just spreads. My guess is it won't be too long before people start to speculate and get curious and local news is at it."

"Given the distance from the burial site to main trails, it's an undesirable but inevitable outcome," Aaron reassured him. "Discretion is absolutely key in the initial phase of cases like these. We'll devise a tactical strategy with your media unit if there should be any premature exposure, however due to the nature of this investigation, it's imperative that critical information about this is released to the public in a controlled manner."

"I gotcha, Agent Hotchner. We'll help you guys out as much as we can." He pulled up his belt a little in uneasiness. "We haven't really dealt with this kind of crime over here. A shootin' or a hostage situation and lots of drugs, sure. But this is like—it's something you see in those crime shows, but now it's a reality and we're not unlike headless chickens over here. As you can see, we're pretty small."

There were only two handfuls of officers milling about, and some were, of course, on duty.

Aaron, maintaining his professional air, politely corrected Sheriff Reiner: "We're here to help you, Sheriff. This is your jurisdiction, and we do our best to cooperate with you. We're merely here to enlighten you on the potential behavior of an assailant and assist you the best we can in his arrest, or at best give you enough information so that you can eventually make an arrest in due time."

The sheriff nodded in understanding. "You can tell I've never dealt with FBI, hah! So, what steps should we take if this does go public? While we've had our string of weirdos around here, we haven't quite had something like this, so I want to make sure that we get this right so we can catch this guy."

"We're here to walk you through it," Jennifer said with a nod and a smile.

HEAD RANGER'S STATION

Soon after leaving the burial site, Spencer had complained of feeling nauseous, and Alex offered to pull the car to the side of the road. With an assurance that they could just go to the Ranger's station, Spencer went inside and returned within a few minutes. Alex thought it best to wait a few minutes until his stomach settled before driving off. During that time, she eased into light conversation to ask him if there was something that caused his nausea and the dizzy spell he had earlier. He was reluctant to answer but eventually did so in sign. Not entertaining the conversation much further, Spencer put on his glasses, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

A few people were milling about—a couple with camping gear, some groups of people with biking gear for the harder trails, a landscaper or gardener doing some work on the grounds, and a few single people off to hike.

In time and just before Alex was about to leave, she saw the Sanders family leaving the station, the short mother with her arm wrapped around her son's shoulder, and a few minutes later, Derek and David walked out.

Alex left the vehicle, not wanting to disturb Spencer, and walked over to the two of them before they reached David's SUV. "Hey. How did that actually go?" Alex asked the two.

Derek sighed, swiping his hand over his head. "Kid's a brainiac like Reid, and I think he asked us more questions than we asked the family."

Alex snickered, and David hummed in agreement with Derek.

"But it looks like this incident imprinted on him. The horror has already dissipated; according to Marcia Sanders, he's been askin' his parents about dead bodies since yesterday evening."

Alex lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "Oof. Well, that can only go one of two ways," she murmured.

"Yeah. Hopefully, the interest fades in a couple of years," David said. "Children are resilient and more interested in the macabre than adults think. Whereas adults want to shield them from it, the children are naturally curious. It should wane. DJ's case can go either way, but Morgan's not wrong. He's smart as a whip—three grades above his peers. We've suggested to the parents that they should pay attention to DJ when he speaks of this incident and not dismiss it, otherwise it'll lead him to finding other ways for him to get his answers—through research in books and on the internet, and when that dissatisfies him, through experimentation."

"So," Alex drawled, "they might need to seek counseling for him if he begins to display an unhealthy obsessive fascination with death or bones. Amazing how one little event can change someone's life and perceptions forever." She turned bodily to David. "How was your guest lecture?"

David shrugged a shoulder. "Meh, nothing new. After the lecture, the students were especially interested in questioning me about George Foyet and Billy Flynn. Oh, and Caleb Rossmore[2]."

"Ugh, don't say his name too loud," Derek said, referring to the last murderer.

"Bad history?" Alex asked.

"Yeah—with Reid. Wasn't so great; he left a message for Reid at one of the crime scenes and questioned his intellectuality." Derek's head swiveled. "Where is he, anyway?"

"You must've missed him when he went to the bathroom inside, I suppose. He's dozed off in the car," Alex answered, tilting her whole body to the vehicle to point it out.

They could see him in a repose from where they were standing.

Using the moment while Spencer wasn't in earshot, Alex admitted, "He got sick during the car ride just now. It's why we came back this way. Before that, he got light-headed at the burial site and could have compromised the evidence when he nearly toppled over the victim's body. I know I'm not the only one who thinks that this is getting out of control. He's spiraling."

"Nah, you're not the only one," Derek responded, expression grim. "I don't think he's eating or sleeping properly, either. Could've caused the light-headedness."

"We've tried reaching out to him," David asserted. "Multiple times, in fact. He's trying and failing to compartmentalize everything. He'll come around, and we'll be here for him when he needs the help."

Alex's expression betrayed her doubt. "Will he, though?"

"I hate to say it, guys, but we need to head back to the sheriff's office," Derek suggested. He looked at Alex. "We'll meet you there."

She sighed. Yes, they had a case. "And I'll follow."

While a balancing act of personal and professional wasn't difficult for them, discussing personal matters at such depth didn't give the victims the attention that should be reserved for them. None of them liked shelving each other's concerns or suffering, but in the face of justice, the victims—and the prevention of more victims—took precedence.

Spencer would have to wait.

In reference to the footnotes [1] and [2] in this chapter, you can find additional information on my tumblr.