TWO | cult-ured conflicts
❝ What good are wings
without the courage to fly? ❞
atticus
FBI HQ, QUANTICO [ VA ]
OCTOBER 2005
KNOCKING ON AN OFFICE DOOR never seemed such a terrifying feat until the silver plaque staring back at her held the words SAA Aaron Hotchner.
Charlotte tried to subtly peer through the thick blinds that shielded the inside of the office from view, but without any result. Her fist hesitated to come into contact with the wood of the door; with one more critical glance at the black suit pants and one of her favourite neutral jumpers, the young brunette pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and made a move.
It wasn't hard to find the office; after she wandered into the bullpens, careful not to bump into anyone again after the embarrassing ordeal by the elevator, she was approached by blonde woman, seemingly not much older than herself. The charming woman that revealed herself as the unit's communications liaison politely directed her up the stairs, sending a reassuring smile her way to calm her nerves.
It didn't help at all, but she appreciated her friendly gesture.
A muffled come in sounded from the other side, and Charlotte braved herself to open the door. Her legs were lead and cotton all at once.
"Agent Hotchner?"
She closed the door behind her, crossing the room to the heavy set desk where the man sat. A couch behind the door and the row of windows on the lower side of the office served as a proof of its size.
Aaron Hotchner straightened up in his seat, "Charlotte Harrow," he stood up, peeling himself away from the paperwork neatly scattered in piles on his desk.
"Take a seat."
Brown eyes cast a quick glance around the unfamiliar office, taking in the dark mahogany shelves lining the walls, filled with the Bureau standard issue manuals, all leather bound and perfectly ordered. She was sure she spotted some law books lost among them as well.
Only two picture frames laid on the side of the desk, a posed one with a lovely blonde in a wedding dress, and another of a much younger man in graduation robes. Good at compartmentalisation, Charlie concluded with surety. The space was strict and cool, just like his reserved expression that was currently trained on her.
"I trust you brought the paperwork with you," he looked up at her expectantly. The documents she had been grasping tightly to her chest quickly exchanged hands.
Charlotte quickly took a seat opposite of the BAU unit chief, folding her hands in her lap, "This is the file, sir. I've compiled the forensic analysis we received from the San Diego PD lab and the official autopsy reports, and added my observations at the end."
Agent Hotchner nodded in recognition, his eyes flitting through the pages with crisp brevity. When he was done, he crossed his hands over the closed file and met her anxious gaze with a steady one.
"Your work is more than satisfactory, Agent Harrow, and your insight has been helpful in the recent cases."
Charlie released a short breath through her nose she didn't know she was holding, "Not an agent yet," she grimaced slightly, trying not to fiddle with her fingers. They dug into the scratchy material of her trousers instead,
"I should be graduating with the May cohort. May fifteenth, to be precise." If I pass those damned physical exams.
Agent Hotchner reached into one of the cupboards in his desk, taking out yet another brown file with the Bureau stamp on the cover. He flipped it open to the first page, making her chest constrict for a moment. It was a file on her, complimented with the unflattering photo with a blue background she had to have taken for her official FBI identification.
The unit chief narrated what seemed to be written inside, "Born in 1982, in Boston, you received your first BA in Archeology and Anthropology at nineteen and the second in Criminology and Sociology at twenty one, and then proceeded to enrol into the FBI Academy as one of the youngest trainees they ever had,"
Of course, she was sure they were both aware of the facts written in her file. She had been sure she wanted to work for the Bureau after finishing her first degree, but the Academy wouldn't let her in before she was twenty-one. Too much paperwork, they meant. So she decided a criminology degree might benefit her career in the long run.
"I see you also deferred a place in the graduate program at Georgetown University for 2006," he looked up for a moment. It was phrased as a question, rather than a simple sentence.
The nod of her head made her chestnut waves move along with it, "Rent in D.C. is quite high, and I believe it would be more useful for me to spend a couple of years working in the Bureau before I returned to the academia," she said, carefully omitting the other side of the truth. Technically, she wasn't lying.
Still, it felt oddly like an interrogation, rather than a case file debriefing.
The unit chief was studying her, intently so, and making no effort to mask it. Charlotte felt small under his scrutiny, but determined not to let it show in the slightest. The man was one of the most prominent agents in the Bureau, and she'd be damned if she ruined the chance to impress him.
"Are you interested in psychology?" He asked finally, giving her an expectant look.
Charlotte gave a light shrug, "I read on the subject sometimes, but my strongest suit is anthropology. I attended a couple of optional seminars in the Academy this year." More like 'sneaked into the auditorium with one of her friend's student id,' but the senior agent didn't need to know the details.
"And do you know what we do here, in the Behavioural Analysis Unit?"
"I know the basics we were taught at the Academy, it was established by Agent Jason Gideon and David Rossi in the seventies. You profile serial killers, use psychology to determine their next move and consult on cases you're called on for," she recited, trying not to express her confusion. Why is he asking me this?
Hotchner hummed in agreement, as if he was confirming some unknown theory only he was aware of,
"Have you though what you're going to do after graduation? You have a very promising set of qualifications that could certainly lead you to a prominent place in the Bureau."
Charlie gave a light chuckle, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, "I like my Petri dishes and bones, for now at least. But, uh, I have to be honest sir, I've enjoyed consulting your unit."
For the first time during their meeting, Agent Hotchner appeared to sport a half-smile, tugging and releasing his lip in a millisecond, "Good, I'm glad. I'd like to stay in contact, if that's okay with you."
"I would like that very much, sir," Charlie couldn't stop the wide smile growing on her face as they both stood up and shook hands. Oddly enough, it felt like an unspoken beginning of something important.
FBI HQ, QUANTICO [ VA ]
NOVEMBER 2005
TUESDAY MORNINGS MEANT that Charlotte was at the lab grumpy and exhausted, and too early for her liking. Coming to a close of her Academy training meant that her physical examinations became more frequent than before, and more intense. That particular morning they were subjected to a harsh obstacle course that she was sure left half a dozen nasty bruises all over her body.
She'd never been a particularly fit person. No, scratch that, she was positively dreadful — those genes seemed to have skipped her entirely for her younger sister, the only known running aficionado on the family tree. The sheer prospect of a fitness test being a determining qualification for her agent status filled her with dread.
Early mornings, however, also meant that there was no one to interrupt her while she was enjoying the cookies she made the night prior. As the stress levels seemed to rise, so did her midnight baking habit. Her lab partners could hardly complain, every couple days greeted by the sight and smell of wonky looking, slightly burnt but delicious pastries.
Charlie sat down in the office kitchenette, practically inhaling one of them while the coffee machine coughed and spluttered, only to produce a trickle of brown sludge that posed as coffee.
A napkin was placed over her lap, the fresh cup of coffee radiating warmth against her skin. Charlotte lowered her nose to the rim, momentarily imagining she was at her favourite cafe instead of the frosty lab. As soon as the sweet combination of caffeine and cookie dough hit her senses she leaned back into her chair with a sigh.
"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of you life—"
Her phone vibrated, blasting a familiar tune she'd picked out for her new friend on the sixth floor. It felt oddly appropriate for the quirky technical analyst, in the best possible way. Still, a groan escaped her mouth, having to lower the food that had been centimetres away from her mouth to pick up the device bouncing against the table.
"Morning, Penny."
Garcia's voice came through the speaker, "Good morning, my lovely, Hotch wanted me to let you know we have a case and he wants you upstairs as soon as possible."
"Me?" She straightened in her seat. Consulting over the phone was one thing, but this could get her in trouble with the higher ups, a risk that she wasn't sure was worth taking,
"With the rest of the team?"
"That is correctamundo," Penelope chirped over the connection, far too cheery for that time of the morning, "And bring me one of those delectable cookies you're holding right now. PG out."
With that the call was over, and Charlie was left wondering how the hell did Penelope know she was currently eating a cookie— that is, until she saw the security camera on the wall opposite of her turn slightly to the right.
Penelope Garcia, subtlety is not in your vocabulary.
"It's rude to spy on people!" she stuck her tongue out to the security camera, unable to stop the earnest smile spreading over her lips.
After dropping a post it note with the reason for her absence on Dr Morris' desk, Charlotte headed for the sixth floor, tightly grasping the paper bag that still held three cookies for Penelope.
A pop of colour and tousled waves of blonde hair was strutting down the corridor as soon as she was out of the elevator, a bright grin painted over her bright pink lips. There was something about the woman's presence that seemed to brighten even the gloomiest mornings,
"Oooh my darling, what a lifesaver you are!" Penelope plucked the paper bag from her hands, enveloping her in a tight side hug. Her signature scent, flowery with a hint of vanilla, comforted Charlie's bubbling anxiety.
"Come, I'll show you to the briefing room," she hooked her arm around Charlotte's, pulling her along through the bullpens. Just as they were climbing up the stairs leading to the gallery, Aaron Hotchner emerged from his office, a sharp dark suit giving him up even from miles away.
"Agent Hotchner, hello," Charlotte straightened up immediately, giving a curt nod which was immediately returned.
"Good, we can begin now. Thank you, Penelope," he shot her a thankful look, in a manner saying that he would take it from there.
Penny turned to the brunette, giving her a two finger salute, "That's my cue to go back to the bat-cave. See you later, sugar snap," then, with a much more serious nod to Hotchner, "On call, sir," and scurried away, only leaving a click-clack of heels resonating in the distance.
Hotchner gave a movement of hand, signalling for he to follow along. "This way, please. And it's Hotch, Agent Hotchner is far too formal."
The conference room, where the rest of the team was assembled, was much closer than expected. Five heads turned as soon as Agent Hotchner stepped in the room with Charlotte in tow. If she couldn't feel her pulse before, she sure could now, as it was drumming violently in her throat.
"Everyone, this is Charlotte Harrow, from the Forensic Anthropology Lab. She's been consulting us on our cases, through me, for the last month and I've called her in today because I believe her expertise might help us with today's case," he stepped aside, providing the space for her to make introductions.
The familiar, pretty blonde in a green turtleneck took the first step, outstretching a free hand for Charlotte to take,
"Nice to properly meet you, I'm Jeniffer Jareau, the communications and media liaison," her bright smile was disarmingly charming as the first time they met, and Charlotte shook her hand with an equally eager smile,
"You can call me JJ."
A lean brunette was next in line, "I'm Elle. Elle Greenaway, nice to meet you," she drawled, the parting of her hair making it sweep across her forhead. Charlie tried to momentarily place her accent, but with no luck.
There was a familiar face among the agents standing in the room, one that Charlie remembered vividly from the lecture halls,
"Jason Gideon," a genuine, although hesitant, smile followed a handshake. A part of Charlie's brain was screaming ecstatically at the thought that she was shaking hands with one if the legends of the Bureau.
"It's an honour, sir," she breathed out, containing the multitude of questions she wanted to sprout on the spot, "I loved the presentation on the Footpath killer you held at the Academy."
He raised a surprised eyebrow, "Unusual to have an anthropologist on a profiling seminar, but I can't say I disapprove."
"One can never have too many hobbies," Charlie let her teeth show with a smile.
The tall, muscular guy that opened the doors for her a week ago stepped in right after Gideon, "Derek Morgan. Garcia hasn't stopped talking about you," he shook her hand with a firm grip and a warm smile which undoubtedly left many women defenceless.
"Only the best I hope," she retorted with the shared sentiment.
One team member, however, made no effort to join in. Hotch cleared his throat, gesturing at the lanky figure with a terrible posture and a brown hair slicked behind his ears,
"And this is our resident genius, Doctor Spencer Reid."
With a hesitant smile that threatened to turn into an awkward grimace, Charlie turned to the familiar figure. A wave of embarrassment poured over her as she recounted the collision they had a couple of days ago. Why did she have to be so unnecessarily rude?
"I don't shake hands," the young man replied bluntly, eyes trained firmly on the cup of coffee he was stirring in his hands. A strand of hair fell over eyes, almost as purposefully as with a mind of its own.
"Right.." Charlie quickly retracted her hand, half embarrassed, choosing to push them in the pockets of her jacket instead. Maybe she shouldn't feel that guilty.
Thankfully, JJ took that as an excellent moment to start briefing them about the latest case and the reason Charlie was brought from the lab.
The media liaison pulled out a file, taking several printed photographs out of it and spreading them across the conference table, "Mcallister. Western slope of Massanutten Mountain in Virginia. Two bodies discovered in the woods both with apparent blunt trauma to the head."
"Skeletons?" asked Dr Reid, bending slightly over the table to take a better look at the photographs. The rest of them followed his lead.
JJ nodded in agreement. "One of them. The second victim was just killed this morning."
A photograph was passed into her hands by Morgan, and Charlie studied it carefully. The skeleton was carefully positioned at the bottom of a tree, though she couldn't determine how old it was from the picture. A definitive reason why Hotch would take it suitable for her to 'consult' on this case.
"How do we know there's a connection?" Elle questioned skeptically.
"They were found about 75 feet apart with nearly identical head wounds," answered Hotch.
"Where's the rest of the case file?" Derek asked what they were all wondering.
"There isn't one. The sheriffs are on the scene waiting for us. Their location is only a half hour away by plane."
There was an uneasy change of air in the room, "What's the rush?" Charlie assumed they never assembled and packed up this quickly.
The unit chief's expression turned into a hesitant grimace, "Well, there was evidence on the scene that could cause a bit of a public uproar."
The zoomed out photograph of the victim and its resting place was more visible, the better of controversy now visible. The skeleton was there, at the foot of the tree, with a pentagram carved into the bark above it. Words Satan Lives LOD acompanied it, cuts dripping with dark red substance, likely paint.
"A satanic cult." Gideon echoed, grim expression taking over his features.
And there it was, the second reason. Anthropological circles spent decades wrestling with the historically one of the most controversial ideological beliefs. No doubt Agent Hotchner wanted to know if she could shed a bit of light to the culprits way of life and thinking.
"Harrow, I want you to go with us today."
Charlie's mouth fell open slightly, trying to form a sentence, "But sir, what about my training? I have long distance shooting at two, I'm not exactly allowed to miss it."
Hotchner gave a little wave of dismissal. "It's been taken care of, you'll do it at earliest possible convenience."
Gideon stepped closer to Hotch, lowering his voice so only he could hear him.
"Aaron, does Strauss know about this?" He could recognise the train of thought that worked behind the younger agent's eyes, but only because it painfully reminded him of himself a little over two years ago, when he spotted a brilliant young man in one of his lectures.
The chief simply shook his head, "No, but I suspect she will by the end of the day," Hotch leaned back, speaking up towards Charlie.
"Do you have a change of clothes? We might stay in Mcallister for more than a day."
"Yeah, I've got my stuff for the academy down in my locker." She did quietly hope she could change before they get to the scene. The khaki trousers and the Academy collared shirt weren't really the serious look she was going for.
Hotch nodded, closing his copy of the case file, "Good, go pick it up and meet me in the lobby. You'll ride with me. The rest, wheels up in thirty."
They scrambled from their respective places around the table, gathering the case files to look over during the plane ride. Elle, noticing the lost expression in Charlie's eyes, gently touched her arm.
"I'll go with you, my bag's already packed," the Hispanic woman offered, leading her out of the conference room, "Hope you don't get scared of flying."
"I can't believe you guys have a plane," Charlie whisper-shouted to Elle, eyes widening. Must be wonderful to be one of Bureau's favourite departments.
Elle hummed a smile, "Oh yes. You don't?" It brought a chuckle to both of their faces as they walked down and through the bullpens where the agent picked up her bag from.
Charlotte gave a low whistle, "Should've taken psychology in college."
And for now, she disregarded the risk, and the possible consequences that might come out of this trip.
FROM HER SEAT OPPOSITE OF the team's media liaison, Charlie watched her massage her temples, looking through the thin case file they were all given. The brunette couldn't imagine how stressful the other woman's job must be, dealing with the meddling media that could endanger sensitive cases like this one.
"JJ, we need to obviously, keep this out of the press for as long as possible," Hotch reminded her lightly as he walked through the jet. The blonde nodded,
"I'll do what I can."
"Why is that so important?" wondered Elle.
Charlotte decided that was the perfect time to prove useful. Studying sociological anomalies, such as cults and more extreme religious organisations was an ever-present topic during both of her degrees. She wasn't the only one with the same idea, however.
"Well-"
"To put is simply—"
The doctor and the anthropologist caught themselves speaking up at the same moment, nearly jumping as they turned the attention of the rest of the plane onto themselves. Charlie could feel a violent blush creep up the sides of her face. As if she couldn't make a bigger fool out of herself, now she was interrupting the apparent team genius. What a splendid way to make a good first impression.
He sat up in his seat, straight as a pole. Charlie didn't know if she should be insulted with the way he refused to look in her direction.
"There was a nationwide scare in the 1980s involving satanic ritual killings and abuse," Reid started, as if he were reciting from an open book, "The satanic panic, it was called. It began after the publication of a book about repressed memories being recovered through hypnotherapy. Memories of growing up with devil worshippers who use children in their rituals and ceremonies."
"Most of the claims were later found to be false or just impossible," Charlotte piped up after him.
Reid butted back in, "Still, numerous therapists accepted the assertions as true and began searching for similar signs in their own patients. After one year, thousands of people reported the exact same repressed memories."
Hotch nodded in ageeement, "The Bureau conducted an investigation and concluded that most of the ritual killings or abuse were more urban legend than anything else."
"You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worship?" asked Elle, scepticism creeping into her voice.
"Not at all," disagreed Gideon, "But most satanism that we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries. To my knowledge there has never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States."
Morgan didn't seem so convinced by that, "Well, maybe there is now."
Charlie spoke up, "I highly doubt it. The 'Satanic rituals'" she made a quotation sign with her hands, "don't require human sacrifice," she shifted in her seat so she could see the rest of them clearly while her hands moved animatedly,
"The thing is, The Church of Satan doesn't believe in the devil. It doesn't even recognise 'Satan' as a physical or spiritual being. Satanists loyal to the Church of Satan are, in fact, atheists who accept all genders, sexualities, sexual preferences and races,"
"So the truth is, most actual satanists are not the blood-drinking, animal sacrificing kind, but just regular people who use these principles to squeeze the most out of life," Charlie gave a little shrug at the end. The rest of the team members stared at her following the river of words that spewed out of her mouth. It was Derek that finally broke it, chuckling.
"Now I'm convinced you and the pretty boy come from the same planet, trainee."
They all pulled a smile of their own, except the young doctor, she realised later, who sunk into the leather of the jet's seats, as if he were trying to disappear into the seams.
MCALLISTER, [ VA ]
TWO HOURS LATER
CHARLOTTE THANKED ANY DEITY that might have listened at that moment that the vehicle that took them up the mountain finally stopped, after half an hour of nausea-inducing bends and gravely terrain. She took a step out of the SUV, only for her shoe to sink in the mixture of dirt and fallen leaves.
Charlie glanced sadly at her trainers, half submerged in the fresh mud. She seemed to have forgotten what kind of terrain they would be facing.
A tired looking police chief approached them, "Mornin', John Bridges."
JJ made an immediate connection with the name, "We spoke on the phone. I'm Agent Jareau, and these are Agent Gideon, Dr. Reid and our forensic consultant Harrow with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit." Charlie couldn't help but think how forensic consultant had quite a nice ring to it.
"Hi. Thank's for coming out so fast." He shook Gideon's hand, shoulders slightly slagging. Small towns like this one surely didn't get controversial cases very often.
"So, you guys must get a lot of this, huh? Satanic stuff?" Asked the sheriff.
"Not really," the senior agent retorted drily, scanning the terrain that surrounded them now. He turned to the Sheriff,
"Who found the bodies?"
"A hiker found the first one at the trail," he pointed towards the western side of the forest, "and my deputies located this one while searching for evidence. We don't even know if it's a man or a woman."
"Harrow, come take a look at this." Gideon called from underneath a tree, She was beaten there by the lanky doctor whose long legs shortened the trek considerably. He was crouching by the skeleton, poking around it with a stick.
"The male pelvis is more narrow, and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval of the female skeleton," Reid explained, looking up to the rest of group on the hill.
Charlotte found there was a considerable lack of space underneath the tree as she tried to take a closer look, "Can you move to the left, please? I don't want to trip and fall into the bones."
"Why?" He asked petulantly, "I'm more than capable of doing this myself." They must have looked ridiculous to an outsider's eye; two grown people fighting over who wanted to see the skeleton first.
"Because Gideon asked for my opinion, Doctor. Now move," she crouched down next to him, careful not to step into any of the remains.
"This is a male skeleton. A young male, looking at the state of the bones. This summer's weather didn't help much either, I assume," she looked up for a second,
"Does someone have a flashlight please?" The Sheriff took one off his belt and passed it to her.
"Doesn't look too old," she murmured to herself, the directed light revealing slight cuts over the bones where the flesh shriweled away and the animal life found its source of nourishment.
Dr Reid didn't bother to stifle a quiet scoff coming out of his mouth, "Genius deduction."
She made an effort to nudge him in the ribs with her elbow, "Based on the decomposition levels and the state of the bones, my estimate on the time of death is about twelve months, not less. One part of the left hand side is covered in wax."
"Candle wax?" Asked JJ.
Reid jumped at the opportunity to add onto the information, "Candles are used in rituals."
"They're also used on birthday cakes," grumbled Gideon.
"Interestingly enough, celebration of one's birth was first known as a pagan ritual," Charlotte added.
Reid nodded, "They were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. It was rejected by the christianity down to the fourth century."He clamped his mouth shut quickly, realising he just proved the point the woman next to him was talking about.
The Sheriff blinked in disbelief, looking between the two lanky kids that kept spewing facts like walking encyclopaedias. "What kind of doctors are you two?"
"I'm the only doctor here," Reid replied briskly, standing up from the squatting position by the tree and dusting off his pants.
"What do you see?" Gideon prompted them, ignoring his protégée's little outburst.
"The details don't match any specific ritual, it feels like a work of an amateur. So it's most likely that we're dealing with a young, charismatic cult leader," Charlie delivered, standing up from the ground,
"One thing is certain, this is not real Devil worship."
Gideon nodded, interested. "Does LOD mean anything to you?
"No, nothing comes to my mind," she took a moment to think, "though, the D might stand for devil, if that's in any way helpful."
"I could have Garcia research this LOD thing if I could get a call out," JJ said, waving her phone around in a desperate hope to catch a signal.
The Sheriff gave her an apologetic grimace, "Not much of a chance for that out here."
"Are there any cults in the area that you know about? Secret groups? People you see around but you don't know much about? People who stay to themselves mostly," Gideon asked Sheriff Bridges. It earned him a regretful shake of head.
"This is a very religious area. Church on Sundays, fellowship on Wednesdays, bible classes," said he, "If there was a secret group I'd probably know about it."
Dr Reid chuckled, "That's an inherent contradiction."
"Excuse me?" Bridges turned to him in a nearly offended manner.
"He means if there was a group being secretive, you probably wouldn't know," Gideon explained to him as lightly as possible.
"Look, people out here just want a quiet place to raise their kids. What I know is, none of them are capable of doing this," the Sheriff said with surety before walking ahead of them towards the other officers gathered around the crime scene.
Charlotte waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to Gideon, "The thing is, that's exactly the kind of environment that breeds cultism. A cookie-cutter, white picket fence community tends to suffocate an exceptional or simply unconventional individuals."
The older agent nodded grimly, "Add in the extremely religious aspect and you have a textbook cult making."
The trek back to the main trail took a laborous ten minute walk, and by the time they reunited with the rest of the team, the
"Find anything interesting down there?" greeted Hotch from the hilltop.
"Yeah, it does look like some kind of ritual site. Harrow determined its definitely amateur stuff," said Gideon.
"First crime scene?" Morgan asked, giving Charlie a hand as she struggled to get up the steep incline of the hill.
"Yeah," Charlie breathed out, straightening her muddied clothes, "first that's not on pictures or a fake training course. It's one thing looking at bodies on a slab, and a whole another in their... 'natural habitat'."
"You'll better get used to it if you intend to stick around, trainee," he winked, the two of them rejoining the group.
"Oh, it's not that," Charlie huffed a little laugh, "my area of expertise is reading into bones and unidentifiable remains. A little skeleton is hardly gonna rattle my feathers. But being a part of an active case, that's getting the adrenaline rushing."
It seemed as if they were allowed only a second of rest before there was commotion beyond the police tape.
"Cherish? Cherish!?" A woman was being restrained by an officer a couple of feet away from them. Charlotte turned her head around at her anguished screams,
"It's okay, Harris. Let her in," Sheriff Bridges waved for him to let the woman go. Immediately, she ran straight into the Sheriff,
"Was Adam Lloyd killed out here?" She demanded wildly. They could all see fresh tears streaming down her face,
"Who told you that, Veronica?"
"Was he? My daughter was with him. They were out running together this morning. Oh my God, I can't find her!" She grabbed the sheriff's coat in a deathly grip, her posture trembling in fear, "Cherish is missing!"
Charlie glanced to the side at Gideon, "Does this mean we might have a hostage situation?"
It was the young doctor who answered her question instead, "It certainly fits in with the cult theory. More than one unsub can control more than one victim."
A chill breeze picked up around them, and Charlie shuffled her FBI jacket a little tighter around her body.
"But if the attack were ferocious enough, a single unsub could, too. Kill Adam and grab the girl while she was in shock," Hotch countered. They stood around in a wide circle, each of them mulling over the possibilities
"This is some rough country," commented Elle once her and Morgan checked the area once again, "we only went a quarter of a mile and we almost got lost."
"The unsub is most definitely local," Charlotte added determinedly, "Experienced enough to know the hidden paths and the trail well, and I suspect, unassuming enough to raise suspicion if someone spotted him here. We heard the sheriff, it's a popular jogging and tourist route."
Gideon agreed, eyes searching for the media liaison still trying to get cell service, "JJ, where'd the sheriff go?"
"He's setting up a search party," she replied.
"Tell him I want to use volunteers from the area. Locals."
JJ finally looked up from the phone, frowning, "Do you want him to know why?"
"No, not yet," he shook his head.
"Is it wise to alienate him?" Charlotte asked.
"Well, he thinks we're looking for a monster," Gideon explained, "If we tell him we're looking for volunteers so we can profile who shows up, he might call the whole thing off."
"Huh," Charlotte thought out loud. The Sheriff was already a man full of suspicions, and it would not help the investigation if he was faced into not trusting the members of his community. "Makes sense."
Hotch materialised beside her, equally grim as the chill picking up around them.
"One of the basics of psychological profiling course taught at the Academy."
Knowing better than to chuckle on a crime scene, she quirked her lip in a slight smile, "I'll keep that in mind, sir."
The sheriff returner an hour later, three dozen of locals eager to help in tow, ordinary townspeople, high school teens, even the local priest.
"This type of unsub can't resist injecting himself into a show like this. He's here with us," Gideon announced to them, taking a look at the sign-in sheet in JJ's hands. He turned to his right,
"Harrow, will you be okay with taking a group of locals?"
"Technically, I really shouldn't," she reminded him, "I don't have any fieldwork experience."
"You're starting today. B6 is all yours," he gave her shoulder a supportive pat, before walking over to Elle and Morgan to give them instructions.
Her group consisted of a pair of teenage girls, a middle aged lady she could swear had a few stray curlers in her hair, and an older, bearded man that smelled distinctly of fish.
It was just like she was reliving that morning's training all over again, the rough terrain reminding her of the exhaustion in her limbs. She pushed it down to the back of her mind, eyes trained forward so she wouldn't trip on a low bush or a branch laying on the ground.
It seemed as if there wouldn't be much luck in this search. Charlie's hand was on her walkie-talkie, about to make a call and tell Sheriff they were done searching through the sector when they heard someone call.
"Hey guys, I found something." It was Elle coming up from the eastern side of the forrest, a piece of paper in her hands. A blood-stained, threatening message had turned the case in a run against the time.
THE POLICE STATION WAS BUSTLING with questions, resigned as they returned from the search party empty handed save the ominous message Elle found. Garcia had little luck as well, searching through the records of the volunteers. They all came up clean, bringing them to an absolute zero.
All they could rely on was a well built profile to possibly weed out suspects among the wider population of the town.
Charlie tried to keep herself pasted to any of the team members side, anxious at the thought of being left alone in a room full of people she didn't know. Clutching a paper cup of surprisingly good office coffee, she mulled over the preliminary coroner's report for the two victims they had seen today. Nothing was adding up, a frustrating sentiment that overwhelmed all of them.
"They're ready," JJ announced finally, causing them to close the files and move. Charlie felt a hand on her shoulder, only to reveal Hotch.
"Harrow, you're presenting first."
"Agent Hotcher, I really shouldn't. Not only am I not an agent, but technically, I shouldn't even be here," she insisted for what seemed the millionth time that day.
"Sir, do you know how many protocols she's already breaking?" Reid pipped up from behind them. Hotch levelled him with a look,
"Yes, Reid, and it will be sorted out," he turned back to Charlotte, "Just the basics, what you know from your side of expertise."
took a place place at the front of the room. Over the heads of the officers, her eyes briefly found Gideon's, who sent a reassuring nod her way. She took a deep breath, and cleared her throat,
"Contrary to the popular belief there's never been a proven case of satanic ritual killing. Never a verified human sacrifice. Having said that, there have been isolated cases of animal sacrifice. And many violent acts preformed in the name of Satan," Charlotte listed rapidly, trying not to make eye contact with any of the officers listening intently at her.
"Killer cults do exist, and they all have one thing in common; invariably, they are headed by charismatic megalomaniacs," Elle took over.
"You're looking for that leader. He's who will stand out. He'll be memorable to somebody, people who aren't in his group will see him as strange, weird, scary."
Hotch walked the room, taking a stand beside Charlotte at the front, "Since we're dealing with a professed satanists, which is often practiced by younger males, we may be looking for teenagers. Heavy metal music is often associated with satanism, these kids and their leader may reflect that in their look."
"And he is from the area. He's definitely local," he said.
"These woods are too thick and comfusing for a visitor get around in," Charlotte added quickly after.
A murmur of disagreement rang among the officers gathered, the men exchanging nervous glances.
"You think one of our own people is doing this?" The Sheriff demanded, turning defensive as soon as the words came out.
"We're sure of it," Hotch confirmed with a nod.
The Sheriff shook his head,"I would know if someone was capable of doing—"
"Dad, I know sombody like that," a blond kid Morgan told her was the Sheriff's son stepped forward.
The kid described the possible unsub as a guy in his 20s, who still hangs out with highschoolers. He has a following, a group he listens to heavy metal with and gets high. The guy fit the profile almost perfectly to a t.
"He calls them the Lords of Destruction," said Cory finally, opening their eyes to the meaning of LOD carved into the tree bark.
They grouped quickly for a raid, a dozen of Sheriff's officers in their cars and the team squeezing in one SUVs. Only JJ and Gideon remained at the station, the latter disappearing after some unknown clue. It didn't seem to be an alarming occurence, as the rest of the team made no comment on it.
Charlotte could barely breath, squished against the window with one of Elle's elbows poking her side uncomfortably. When they arrived at the place Cory directed them at Hotch turned around, "Stay by the car, we'll call you in as soon as it's clear."
They cleared the premises quickly, a bunch of high and drunk kids stumbling out of the house and tripping over their feet. When she saw Zizzo being cuffed and led out, Charlie took it as a clear sign to enter the house and see what clue she could find.
She stepped in carefully around the rooms, mostly in order not to trip over the broken bottles and beer cans. It was filled with posters of heavy metal bands, and walls painted deep red with words and pentagrams. It looked threatening to an outsider stepping in, but it could hardly be called a killer's lair. Only a weed den for rebellious teenagers.
With one last look at the interior, Charlie truged out of the house and onto the porch.
"It would be too easy, almost purposefully," she said to no one in particular, though Reid stood a couple of feet away.
She hesitated, before walking down the steps to join him, "The mere existence of this LOD thing with Mike Zizzo could serve as a perfect sacrificial lamb for the actual killer. I mean, in a community like this, the first suspect would be someone associated with the cliches such as heavy metal music."
"Sorry it's not complicated enough for you," Reid scoffed disinterestedly, the roll of his eyes almost audible. A spike of annoyance ran up Charlie's body. She'd had more than enough of his sneering, and biting comments.
"What is your problem with me?" She crossed her arms, stepping closer to look him straight in the eye.
Reid blinked back, almost offendedly, "What's my problem? We don't need a forensic anthropologist on the team," the pitch of his voice increased with every next word,
"I think you're wasting everyone's time by interfering with active cases." His words had no right to sting so hard, and yet they did, playing right into her insecurity.
"Yeah, well, I'm staying for as long as Agent Hotchner thinks I'm necessary. And you'll just have to deal with it." With one last glare sent in his direction, Charlotte stalked off to where the rest of the officers were packing up to follow the Sheriff with the suspect in custody.
Charlie stopped one of them with an awkward wave,
"You going back to the station? Got a free seat?" the officer nodded, gesturing for her to take the shotgun.
Charlotte leaned back into the seat with a huff, thinking how much she detested the lanky, know-it-all doctor, and his silly little purple scarf, and the fact that he was undeniably right.
THE CASE UNRAVELS ITSELF QUICKLY after that; the body under the pentagram had been some tourist who had the misfortune to fall down the ditch and crack his head open. He was found by the high school kids, who then proceeded to watch him decompose for a year.
Charlotte found it bizarre, shuddering at the reminder of something she'd read in a book about Jeffrey Dahmer. He found a dead deer in the forrest when he was teenager, laid down with it every day while it decayed, a spectator with a morbid curiosity.. With a low voice she recounted it to Gideon back at the station, watching as Brandy Dreifort gave her official statement to the officers about the skeleton.
Wanting to witness death, only to feel more alive.
And the true killer ended up being the Sheriff's son, caught after he held Morgan and Reid at gunpoint behind Mike Zizzo's house. Who would have thought a couple of hours ago that this Nietzche obssessed teen would be the manipulative killer behind Cherish's demise?
The plane ride back to Quantico was too short to take a nap, and Charlie found herself gravitating towards Elle, the only other awake woman on the flight. Unsurprisingly, she proved to be a dynamic conversationalist, entertaining her with wild stories of her Academy days, slowly pulling at the protective walls Charlotte firmly planted around her.
She couldn't afford attaching herself to these people, as brilliant and dynamic they were, although they accepted her in a blink of an eye. That is, except for the young doctor, whom she caught throwing dirty looks at her every time their eyes met over the jet's seats.
Though it was nearly morning by the time the returned back to Quantico, the team and Charlotte in tow, had to go up to the sixth floor again to debrief the details of the case before they could all go home for a few hours of sleep.
Charlotte leaned against a side of the elevator, squished next to Elle and Morgan who kept bickering about something.
"So, Charlotte," started Elle, "have you thought about applying to the unit after you graduate?"
The young woman hesitated, mulling over what to say, "Honestly, I haven't had the time to think about it. But I genuinely enjoyed today." She would be a fool not to admit she felt the rush of adrenaline while they went around the crime scene, building a profile in order to catch the killer.
Being a forensic anthropologist had been her life's wish for as long as she had known. There was a conflict brewing in her heart and mind. Was it possible that something she wanted for so long just wasn't what she was supposed to do? Why did this dangerous, dynamic job make her feel so at ease?
Elle gave her a small smile, "Think about it. We could use with more girls around the office. I swear, the testosterone flood is suffocating," then she proceeded to poke Morgan in the ribs.
"Hey, Greenaway, we're not all that bad," said Derek, throwing one of his buff arms around the brunette's shoulders. The only answer he received was an exaggerated eye roll.
Charlotte let out a quiet chuckle just as the elevator opened to reveal the sixth floor. She picked up her duffle bag from the floor, throwing it over her shoulder. Her muscles ached from exhaustion of the day, and all she could think about was a long, hot shower.
Not even two steps out of the elevator, and they were stopped in their tracks by a middle aged woman waiting on the other side.
Even with no introductions she knew the woman that stood arms crossed and a frown pulling her face down was Erin Strauss, the unit section chief.
"Agent Hotchener. Harrow. My office, right now."