I don't own Criminal Minds or the Supernatural influence/parts. All I own is my original character. I've never written for a series like CM, so I hope it translates well with my usual way of writing. This legit starts on the first episode and will continue until I find a good conclusion or die. Whichever happens first, tbh. Please be warned there will be triggers in this story! If you ever feel uncomfortable, please know I will never be upset about someone leaving or dropping it! Take care of y'all's mentals.
1
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think have I ended up where I intended to be." -Douglas Addams.
One Jason Gideon knew that life had the ability to throw curve balls in his direction. The case of one Adriane Bale had taught him that. Far too well. So, as he sat in his home, a book in his hands and the radio playing soft jazz in the background, it was no surprise to him when someone slammed into his coffee table. The wood let out a loud groan before breaking in two, causing the figure to hit the white rug he had placed down years before. He put a marker in this book and reached for the pistol that sat on an end table. The figure stirred and glanced up at him through curly dark-red hair. They didn't really move much but hissed when they shifted their weight.
"I'm not armed," they hoarsely stated, coughing slightly at the end.
"Who are you?" Jason asked.
"Charlotte Singer," the figure answered, not moving while the gun was trained on them, rather her.
"You from the south?" Jason pressed, recognizing the accent.
"Wyoming," Charlotte stated. "Is it all right if I at least sit up?"
Jason nodded, and she slowly pushed herself off the floor, allowing him to see her hands at all times. His mind immediately took note of her behaviour. She had trouble keeping eye contact, and he noted that she didn't blink much. She was intensely focused on him. A smart woman, one who was trained to focus on a perceived threat. Someone who seemed used to being at the end of a gun. With her up off the floor, he could see a large duffle bag sitting there.
Charlotte found herself sitting, with handcuffs at that, and watching as he ruffled through her things. She didn't take her eyes off him but slowly grew intrigued with the books that were neatly placed on shelves. She could distinctly see some psychology books mixed in with the books on birds, and she quirked a brow up. She hadn't pegged the man for a psychologist. She tilted her head when he found her phone. No, the man was a bit too analytical for that.
"Gershwin, Porgy and Bess," Charlotte noted the song. "Interesting choice."
"You're a fan of jazz?" Jason asked, putting the phone down before settling back down in his chair.
"Not much else to do when waiting for something," she shrugged, and a sardonic smile appeared on her face. "You've noticed, so what do you think?"
Jason thought that he now had an interesting case on his hands. There was no way that the woman could be anything but an incredibly strange occurrence. The items that she owned were too advanced for the current year, and one of them was trademarked for the late 2010s. She was a conundrum, too, with the weapons in her bag that were wrapped up in clothing that wouldn't look out of place in his office. Charlotte shifted her weight slightly, trying to eliminate some of the numbing in her wrists.
"The question is how you did it," Jason commented.
"How willing are you to believe in the supernatural?"
His brows raised. It was going to be a long night.
Charlotte looked at the badge that she had been given the second that Jason signed her up for the FBI. How he pulled such strings, she didn't know, and she didn't want to know. Plausible deniability and all that. That and he had been more than willing to listen to her story. Making him reach for a tumbler of whiskey. She didn't blame him. Learning that all the things that go bump in the night existed would be enough to cause anyone to drink. She had joined him when he offered her one. Her mind still replayed those horrible memories she liked to pretend didn't exist.
"You profile people," Charlotte softly said as she put the badge away in her small messenger bag that she dragged everywhere with her. "It's a lot like what hunters do to get a feel of what kind of creature we're looking for."
"Any of them interlope?" He asked, not looking up from his newspaper.
"A few, sometimes skinwalkers are very similar to werewolves due to their ability to shift," she answered, reaching for the paper cup of coffee he had ordered for her. "But their attacks don't look the same… why believe me?"
Jason finally looked up; the young woman was giving him a piercing look. Her silver eyes were sharp and unyielding. He believed her because she didn't have anything to gain by lying. She also appeared out of nowhere from his ceiling. Her name, he learned that her surname was from her mother, showed up in a few records, and she had been surprised by that. He noted that most of them were brand new like someone had just entered her into the system. She rubbed the back of her neck, the tips of her curly red hair brushing against her fingers from the ponytail she'd put up the mass in. She looked relatively put together but normal enough to act as a civilian.
"You weren't lying," he answered, picking up his own cup of coffee. "You had no reason to."
"My ma always told me honesty was the best policy," she murmured.
She was attached to her mother but not her father. He hadn't heard anything about a father, just her Ma. She looked at the small café they were in. He had a lecture in a few minutes, something his leave permitted him to do, and she had agreed to be there so he could keep an eye on her. He didn't trust her not to fly off the handle yet, but he trusted her enough to believe he wouldn't be in any danger. She didn't understand his reasoning but knew she would eventually.
"Sound reasoning," Jason dryly commented.
She nodded her agreement and got up when he did. The walk to the classroom was quiet, allowing Charlotte to look around. Jason watched the paranoid actions, knowing that she was subconsciously looking for escape routes if something were to happen. She stopped when they walked by a group of young men, her expression darkening as she glared at them. Jason gave the slightest of smiles. It was a glare of distaste towards their behaviour. They were catcalling women on the campus, and she ended up being one of them, much to her chagrin.
Charlotte sat at a desk and listened to his lecture on the different mindsets of criminals was fascinating. And it shed some light on certain cases that she had. She brought a hand up and absent-mindedly rubbed at her forearm, the bumpy skin reminding her of her mistakes. A lanky man, somewhere around her age, walked into the room. He frowned at her presence when she nodded her head in greeting and motioned for him to take a seat near her. It was the closest to Jason and would make it so people wouldn't say anything to him. He tentatively sat down and eyed her curiously.
"Charlotte Singer," she quietly introduced.
"Doctor Spencer Reid," he said, they shook hands, and he frowned slightly. "You wouldn't happen to be the agent that Gideon recommended."
"I am," she slowly admitted. "I specialize in the occult and body language."
There, it was the small fib that Jason had used to even get her through the door. She fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket as Jason talked about a killer. He finally looked over, and Spencer held up a file, tapping it. It seemed that his break was over. He excused himself from the class, and the three headed out.
"They're calling him the Seattle strangler," Spencer informed them, and Charlotte raised her brows. "Four victims in four months. He keeps them alive for seven days. The handle serves as a crank."
"Allowing him to control the rate of suffocation," Jason agreed.
"He's doing it for enjoyment, isn't he?" Charlotte asked, and Jason was the slightest bit impressed.
"Did Seattle hit a wall?" Jason asked.
"Physical evidence is nonexistent," Spencer commented. "There are no tangible leads."
"And another girl is missing," Jason said, taking the photo of said woman away from Spencer.
They entered Jason's office, and Charlotte leaned against a wall. She had a thoughtful expression on her face as Jason checked his files. He quickly moved through them. The squared-framed glasses perched on his nose brought an amused smile to Charlotte's face. She crossed her arms across her chest in thought. She'd always wanted to work for the FBI. It was strange that it was happening after so much loss.
"I looked the case file over," Jason said. "I'll get some thoughts to you asap."
"You're going to be with us in Seattle asap," a new voice said.
Jason saw Charlotte tense in response to the unknown man, and she narrowed her eyes. She discreetly studied the newcomer. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a nicely tailored suit. The Rolex on his wrist spoke of money, but his demeanour informed her that it was his own. So, he had to have been something else before he became an agent. The FBI paid quite a bit, but not enough to have nice suits and Rolexes. The man's eyes met her own, and she gave a pleasant nod in greeting. She knew that he had already heard of her, smart man didn't have to ask anything. She caught sight of the gold on his ring finger and gave a single amused thought. It was always the good-looking ones that were taken. She looked towards the dark-skinned man that entered as well. His entire demeanour was serious, but his build told her that he had been an athlete. Football, perhaps? He gave her a once over, and she raised a brow.
"Twenty-two-year-old Heather Woodland," the second man stated.
"Before she left for lunch, she downloaded an email with a time-delayed virus attached," the first man stated. "The killer's virus wiped her hard drive and left this on her screen."
Charlotte moved to look over Jason's shoulder and frowned at the words. I cannot control myself? She wondered how true that was and why it seemed so familiar. She watched as Jason walked over to his wall, and she inwardly cursed upon seeing the photograph. The Lipstick killer, right she remembered reading about that years ago.
"He never keeps them for more than seven days, which means we have fewer than thirty-six hours to find her," the first man said.
"They want you back in the saddle. You ready?" The second man said.
"Looks like the medical leave is over, boss," Spencer stated.
"They sure they want me?" Jason asked.
"The order came from the director," the first man informed him.
"Well, we better get started," Jason said.
Charlotte gave Spencer an amused smile at his enthusiastic demeanour. It vanished quickly when a hand was held out to her. She looked at the second man before reaching out with her own. They clasped hands, two strong grips against one another. Well, at least she knew someone else who could physically have her back.
"Derek Morgan," the man introduced.
"Charlotte Singer," she said, smiling pleasantly like she'd practised for years.
"How are you with planes?" He asked as the strange group headed out of Jason's office.
"Hate 'em," she admitted; a nasty memory of a demon crashing a plane surfaced in her mind. "But I can deal."
"We'll see, Shortie," Derek stated, and she rolled her eyes.
She was almost as tall as him. She sighed as they left the building completely. Her hands were in the pocket of her jacket as they headed towards the black vans. She gathered the FBI really had no idea how to be nondescript. She took out a small book, The Satanic Bible, and ignored the strange looks she got. Derek had heard she was their new occult specialist, but it was still weird to see. Spencer looked over her shoulder, trying to read the book and doing so faster than her.
"I have the next book in the series if you want to read it," she offered without looking up. "These are more of a… fantastical look on satanism, but some people do take them as gospel."
He accepted the offer and was soon looking at the book's companion, The Satanic Rituals. He could see where she was coming from and could make out the small notes she'd left in the margin. Her commentary was oddly dry and humorous. Derek shared a look with the other man that had been with them, the one who hadn't introduced himself. They had two Reid's now, and one of them believed in the occult. The ride to the airport was short, and soon Charlotte handed over the first book upon noticing Spencer had finished the second. She walked beside Jason as they got out of the van and onto the private jet. She eyed it warily, not liking the look of it.
"You're being watched," she quietly said to Jason.
"I know," he murmured back. "Have you ever heard of Joseph Conrad?"
"The belief in the supernatural source of evil is not necessary," she quoted, frowning slightly. "Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness. It's why I've always thought that normal people were scarier than the supernatural. At least with them, I know what I'm getting."
She entered the plane and took a seat. The other members of her new "team" soon took their own seats. She ended up across from her unknown teammate and watched as Jason stood a little further away from them. He seemed happy to just stand by until needed. Charlotte had been like that after her first hunt when the family she'd been keeping safe was dragged under the surface of a lake. They drowned, and there was nothing she could've done. She sat up straight when Spencer opened the folder.
"His first victim was twenty-six-year-old Melissa Kirsh," Spencer informed them as he held a single paper up. "Stab wounds, strangulation."
"Wait, back it up," Derek said, noting the frown on Charlotte's face. "He stabbed her and then strangled her to finish her off?"
"Other way around," the unknown man said.
"That must be why he started using a belt with the subsequent murders," Charlotte said, rubbing her finger against her lower lip in thought. "A belt would be faster than his bare hands."
"He most likely found that bare hands took too long," Spencer added, agreeing with the strange woman.
"So, he stabbed her instead," Derek finished.
"And realized that it would be hours of cleaning up the blood," the unknown said, and Charlotte started thinking she needed to know his name.
"And next time, our boy's got a method, the belt," Derek said.
"He's learning, perfecting his scenario," Jason compiled. "Becoming a better killer."
"And when they get better, they get faster," Charlotte stated, her features showing her dislike of that. "Ms Woodland might not have as long as the other victims."
There was a long line of silence as everyone read through the folder. Jason studied the hunter across from him, watching as she carefully read through it. She hadn't been lying at all when she said that one of her more important skills was blending in. She did, however, struggle with reigning in her compassion. She didn't like what was happening with the women. Good, compassion was a sign that she was unlikely to harm one of them. She looked up from the folder and ran a hand down her face. She met his eyes, and he saw that the dark circles underneath had grown.
"It's always like this," he answered her unasked question.
"So, I'm only missing one person's name from the plane," she quietly admitted.
"Aaron Hotchner," the sudden voice caused her to jump, and Jason was quite glad she was sitting down.
Charlotte had a bad habit of pinning people to the ground when startled. He watched as she narrowed her eyes at Aaron before nodding slightly. Jason was amused by her reaction. So, it seemed she didn't dislike their team. She just wasn't used to one. Or rather, she didn't know what to make of them yet.
"Right, now I know who to refer the doctors to when I have a heart attack next time you do that," she muttered before looking back down at the file.
"Please remember that you are on probation, Probationary Agent Singer," Aaron informed her, and she nodded.
He didn't seem to like her sense of humour. Granted, she was difficult to understand sometimes. Her monotone usually sounded serious, even when she was joking. The jet shuttered due to turbulence, and she clenched her jaw before taking a deep breath. It didn't unnoticed by anyone in the small confines of the jet. Aaron wondered where Jason had found the woman and why he had gotten her into the FBI. Her analysis of the criminal was solid and easily flowed with Spencer, but they didn't need an occultist on the team. She looked up from the file again and raised a brow. Nothing more was said.
Seattle was relatively nice, if not a bit cold. Jason and Charlotte walked in first and had their bags checked. She hadn't been cleared for gun use yet, and she was smart enough to leave her weapons behind in Jason's home. She heard Derek and Spencer talking behind her and made a slight face. She looked back when she noted they'd stopped. Spencer gave her a slight wave, and she raised a brow. Strange kid. She took up her new spot behind Jason and waited as Aaron walked in front of them to begin introductions.
"This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan our expert on obsessional crimes," Aaron introduced, "special agent Reid."
"Doctor Reid," Jason corrected as they took off their jackets and placed them on the back of a chair.
Charlotte blinked when Derek did a double check when he noted her scars and tattoos. Hey, ink helped keep away certain demons and angels. She was going to take the tatted-up look with ease. She caught Spencer looking at her tattoos in an attempt to figure them out. Most of her scars looked like animal attacks, except for the large hand print on her forearm. Aaron quickly continued his introductions.
"Doctor Reid, our expert in, well, everything," he said as Spencer gave someone a handshake. "Our newest member, Probationary agent Singer, our expert in the occult."
That got her a few looks, and she gave a half-assed wave before moving to look at the wall. It was a map of the area where the kidnappings happened and where the bodies appeared. She contemplated the rather large area and the distance between the bodies. With large dumping grounds, this killer wasn't afraid to travel with the body. It was like they didn't believe they'd be caught. Arrogant or overly confident. Charlotte would be hard-pressed to find the difference if she was being honest.
"He's willing the travel with the body," Jason stated.
"Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one," Aaron stated.
"He's got to. It has to be a semi-large vehicle," Charlotte agreed. "You'd have to have something to easily conceal a body… like a sedan or SUV."
"One in seven point four drivers in Seattle owns an SUV," Spencer informed them.
"Explorers with tinted windows," Derek suggested.
"Explorers rate higher with women," Spencer shot down.
"A jeep?" Charlotte suggested. "While it's not a complete muscle car, a man is likelier to have one than a woman."
"We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity," Jason said, removing his glasses.
"When did the bureau become involved in the case?" Aaron asked.
"After the fourth body," an agent answered. "He dumped that one out of state."
"That's a purposeful move," Charlotte muttered to herself, looking back at the map.
"Knowledge of law enforcement does suggest a criminal record," Spencer commented.
"Or he watches television," Derek stated. "May I?"
"So you want to see our suspect list?" An agent asked.
"No, we won't look at a suspect list until after we come up with a profile," Aaron answered. "It keeps our perspective unbiased."
"When do we sit down with your task force?" Jason questioned.
"Four o'clock," was the answer.
"An accurate profile by four o'clock today?" Derek asked.
"That's not a problem," Jason informed him.
"Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?" Aaron asked.
"At the site of the last murder," Jason answered.
Charlotte winced as they were taken to the site. It was an underpass filled with debris. Charlotte walked around with the older man and noted just how loud it was. A constant string of traffic was moving about above them. She caught her footing when some of the debris shifted underneath her. She looked at the crime scene photograph in her hand, a copy provided by the department. A kind gesture that she was sure was unneeded. She slowly moved towards the spot and looked down at it. It was clear, as though no body had ever been there. She gained a saddened expression before twitching when a woman screamed. Well, Anne Cushing was reliving her death. She was stuck in a permanent loop and most likely would be until her killer was caught. Some spirits never got out of their loops. Others became at peace when their killer died. She wondered if that was because they would meet them in the next adventure and throw hands at them. She hoped so because heaven had been boring. Hell… hell hadn't been the best.
"She was found here, right?" Charlotte asked Derek.
"Yeah, her nails were clipped just like the others," Derek answered, and Jason looked at his copy of the photograph. "He wants them to fight back."
"But not enough to hurt him," Jason pointed out. "And he left the belt around her neck. He's probably in his early twenties."
"What's your reasoning?" Derek questioned, and even Charlotte was confused by that.
"Youthful arrogance," Jason said, as though it was the simplest thing.
"He clothed the body before dumping it," Derek pointed out.
"That's a sign of remorse," Jason commented.
"Inconsistent," Charlotte piped up. "He dumps her body in a place like this but also takes the time to clothe her. Why do this if the killer believes women to be disposable?"
"Let's head back," Derek suggested.
Anne let out another scream, this one causing Charlotte to flinch slightly. She waved it off as though she had lost her footing again. They got into a car, Derek being the one to drive them, and headed back to the office. Aaron and Spencer were talking to their current victim's brother, hoping he might be able to shed light on what happened to his sister. Charlotte stopped at a vending machine in the building, getting herself a large Red Bull and water before heading to the conference room. She took a seat and shrugged her jacket off, the black leather making a soft sound.
"I don't even want to know what you did to get those scars," Derek whistled.
"Many…many dogs," she winced. "I'm unsure of the one on my arm, but I'll live."
"The tattoos?" He asked.
"It's a pentagram. In old medieval culture, it was used to ward off demons and witches," she informed him. "It's still seen as a protective symbol even if current media's gotten a hold of it and made it seem evil. They should've taken the spells from the book of Solomon."
"Occult expert," Derek stated, slightly humoured.
"If it makes you feel any better, I can put the jacket back on," she offered. She knew it bothered people. "I know the Anasazi symbols upset a lot of people."
"Anasazi?" Derek asked.
"They were the native tribe that came before the Pueblo natives," she answered. "No one really knows why they vanished, but it might've had something to do with a lack of resources. Or the Toltecs. As I said, no one really knows."
Derek wondered why he asked. Granted, he should've been used to Reid. But a female version that had an old native culture tattooed on her? He had trouble with that one. He looked at the symbols that circled around the pentagram and wondered why she chose her left shoulder blade. She was left-handed, and she willingly handicapped herself doing that. Spencer and Aaron returned, and Spencer took a seat next to their occult expert. Jason left to talk to Aaron. The two then came back in, Aaron sitting down and waiting for one of them to begin talking.
"So far, we have the killer showing remorse for his victims but at the same time dumping them like he thinks they're trash," Charlotte stated.
"And he also shows traits of paranoid psychosis," Derek pointed out. "The autopsy protocol says more than that."
"Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victim's eyes," Spencer pointed out, swivelling in his chair.
"He knows he wants to kill them, but he covers their eyes," Derek added.
"He doesn't like being looked at?" Charlotte asked in disbelief. "But that makes no sense with what he does to them afterwards."
"He dumps them right in the open, with the murder weapon nearby," Derek said, agreeing with her on that one.
"Not the M.O. of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled," Spencer stated.
"Paranoid psychosis, but behaviour that's not paranoid," Derek stated.
"No, this guy is something else," Charlotte stated, frowning in thought. "He's oddly organized."
"Maybe he's schizophrenic," Aaron suggested.
"Maybe we don't have enough for a complete profile," Derek sighed.
"We need to narrow our list of suspects," Aaron stated, and Charlotte sat back.
She let them argue and looked towards Jason. He was figuring something out. Something that only he was connecting. She brought a hand up and rubbed at her temples. Their bickering wasn't going to help that woman. She let her frown reappear. Just what was this killer's motive? The reason he started to kill?
"All right, enough," Jason ordered. "Hotch, tell them we're ready."
"We're ready?" Derek incredulously asked.
Charlotte snorted slightly and stood up, her badge hitting the table from its place on her waist. The jeans she wore did the job of keeping it there. She briskly exited the office, simply making space for Jason to walk back and grab something he had forgotten. She stood with Aaron, or rather Hotch as he seemed to prefer being called, and studied the rest of the room. He shifted his weight slightly, and she noted the different sound it made. So, he carried a concealed weapon around his leg. Smart man.
"What made you want to join the BAU?" Hotch asked, the polite conversation happening while they waited for Jason.
"I always wanted to be part of the FBI," she shrugged. "I wanted to help give people a chance to survive something horrible."
The conversation died upon the sight of Jason. Hotch crossed his arms across his chest. The rest of the team joined them. Lining up against a wall to watch or add their own words into the mix if clarification was needed. Jason rubbed his hands together as though nervous or in thought. He walked to the centre of the room. His audience of agents keenly watched his movements.
"The unidentified subject is white and in his late twenties," Jason informed them, and Charlotte grabbed a small black notebook from her bag and started to write it down, slowly sketching an idea of the unsub as she went. "He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record- petty crimes, maybe auto theft."
Charlotte wrote that down and slowly erased the beard she had begun to give him. She then did something strange; she gave him a bit of a baby face. She paused. She had drawn the face of someone killed in a hunt years ago. She had just been starting when this guy got in the way of a case, getting his chest torn open by an angry werewolf.
"We've classified him as an organized killer-careful," Jason continued. It was as though he was in his own little world. "Psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news and has good hygiene. He's smart."
Her drawing of him didn't change, and she hated it. Usually, when she zoned out, she could find the person behind her cases. She inwardly cursed the archangel Ramiel for giving her foresight. That's what she gets for dying. She wrote down the information about the unsub's inadequacy regarding sex. She paused for a few seconds, and a part of her wondered if there were two people involved. She'd bring it up later or at the most opportune time.
"Which is why I also think…in fact, I know you have already interviewed him," Jason informed everyone.
"So, who do you have in mind?" Charlotte asked, tapping her eraser against her chin.
"Richard Slessman," Jason informed them. "We'll start there."
Hotch and Charlotte were placed on a team together. They were posted outside a house, waiting for Richard to enter. There was another agent acting as a house sitter. Charlotte didn't really get to meet her yet. She watched as they entered the home. Richard really did look like her sketch. One thing also got her attention.
"That man is not going to talk," she stated, and Hotch nodded his agreement. "What's the plan, sir?"
"I want you to investigate with Reid," he informed her, hearing her zip up her jacket before opening the car door. "And make sure he and Morgan don't fight."
"Right, I can be a mediator," she said, nodding in amusement.
The house was pandemonium. Derek gave Charlotte a strained nod as she entered and looked around. Richard was well-liked by his family. She took one look at the crying old woman and sighed. Grandmother. She was too old to be his actual mother. She moved further into the house, grabbing some blue latex gloves provided by the police. She pulled them on and put her hands behind her back. She came across a woman with dark brown hair and tanned skin.
"You must be probationary agent Singer," the woman said, giving a pleasant smile.
"Greenway?" Charlotte asked, a pleasant smile of her own appearing.
"Elle," Greenway stated.
"It was a brilliant idea to lead him away," Charlotte complimented. "I'm glad that a child wasn't harmed."
"Of course, please excuse me," Elle requested.
Charlotte nodded her agreement and quickly headed up the stairs into the suspect's room. It reminded her more of a child's room, with planes on the walls and several racks filled with CDs. She studied a Metallica one and raised her brows. He was keen on metal, old-style metal at that. She knelt and sighed. A few officers entered the room and her body tensed before she relaxed. They were just there to look at the computer. She got up and went towards the attic, and a small smile appeared on her face.
"I haven't seen a Wei-chi board in a hot minute," Charlotte couldn't help but say.
"Wei-chi?" Elle asked, slightly surprised by the red-heads appearance.
"Here, we call it "go"," Spencer informed her, watching as Charlotte studied the pieces. "It's considered to be the most difficult board game ever conceived."
"Chairman Mao required his generals to learn it," Jason stated, startling the room and making the agents look towards him.
"Oh, this is a beautiful game right here," Charlotte muttered, more to herself as she studied the board. "He's aggressive in this game, even against himself."
"How can you tell?" Elle asked, and she got a grin in response.
"Well, in Wei-chi, you must protect your territories," she tried to explain. "Notice how several of the white pieces are surrounded completely? That's an aggressive way of playing. I've only ever been up against three aggressive players before. It's such a particular way of playing."
"There are profiles for every player," Spencer delved in deeper to explain the psychological aspect of it as Charlotte continued to study the board. "The conservative point counter, the aggressor, the finesser, and the defensive types. Slessman is an extreme aggressor."
"Which really makes this game interesting to look at when you know about the different types," Charlotte commented, standing back a bit.
Hotch had them all move downstairs again, and Charlotte lightly wondered when he had come in during her and Spencer's trivia on Go. She reentered Slessman's room and gave it a slight wince. It really did remind her of a child's room, and it almost made her feel bad for the guy. Almost. He still killed several women and most likely did horrible things to them. Her feelings of sympathy vanished at that reminder.
"Here we go," Derek stated as he looked at the computer that was on a blank screen with the number six at the bottom of it.
"What's the number six at the bottom of the screen?" Elle asked.
"Number of password attempts before the program wipes the hard drive," Derek answered.
"There could be an email or a journal in the computer," Elle suggested. "Something that tells us where Heather is."
"Think you can get in?" Charlotte asked, scrutinizing the screen.
"In six tries?" Derek questioned, raising a brow.
"Try again, fail again," Jason quoted. "Fail better."
"Samuel Beckett," Spencer said in tangent with Charlotte saying 'nice'.
"Try not. Do or do not," Derek quoted back.
"Yoda," Spencer stated, and Charlotte shook her head at how awkward he was.
Jason looked around the room a bit more, checking the books. He opened one, and his expression became grim. Charlotte coughed slightly and moved to look at the CDs again. There genuinely were a lot of them. It was impressive that there were. She heard footsteps, signifying more people were leaving the room and heading downstairs.
"I want to talk to him," Jason stated, heading back down the stairs.
"I'll call our tech support," Derek stated. "And I'll put her on speaker so we can all hear here."
"You've reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI's office of supreme genius," a voice chirped after a couple of rings.
"I love her," Charlotte stated, and a chuckle came out of Derek at that.
"Hey, it's Morgan," Derek stated as Penelope gave a happy sigh from the confession, "I need you to work me some magic here. I've got a Deadbolt Defence program and a girl with only a couple of hours to live."
"You've got a problem," Penelope informed him. "Deadbolt's the number one password crack-resistant software out there. You're gonna have to get inside this guy's head to get the password."
"I thought I was calling the office of supreme genius," Derek stated.
"Well, gorgeous, you've been rerouted to the office of too friggin' bad," Penelope stated, and Charlotte let out a slight snort.
"I think we're going to be good friends, Darlin'," Charlotte stated before she could stop herself.
"You as well, Muffin," Penelope said before hanging up on them.
"She speaks my lingo," Charlotte muttered in amusement. "Be still my beating heart."
"Okay, so there has to be something that'll give us a clue as to his password," Derek stated, walking around the room and entering the adjoining bathroom. "My name is Richard Slessman, and I have trouble sleeping. Okay, what do I do when I'm trying to sleep?"
Derek came back into the main room and flopped on Slessman's bed. Charlotte held back her sarcastic comment and sat down in the chair. Her fingers gently danced against the underside of the desk. She was trying to find anything that could've been hidden. She touched a notch in the wood and shuddered slightly. She didn't want to know what it actually was.
"Guys, a little help!" Derek's call got her attention. "We're going through every one of these CDs- scratches, wear and tear. I want to know which CD he plays the most. Let's go."
Charlotte moved to start looking at the different CDs. She had a country CD in her hand and noted that the disk had limited scratches on it. So, he didn't listen to that one much. She frowned.
"Don't pay any attention to any country CDs," she stated. "These have only been opened once or twice."
"None on the pop music either, save for Britney Spear," Derek stated.
"It's Britney. She's a genuine icon," Charlotte shrugged. "Welcome back, Doctor."
Spencer seemed surprised that she knew it was him but took a spot and began to look through the CDs as well. It was easy to see why his team members were starting to get antsy. He took up a spot on the bed and began to twist a disk in his hands as Derek went up to the attic to search there. Charlotte leaned against the bed and crinkled her nose.
"Gotta love it when people are difficult," she muttered before sighing.
"I'll be back."
Spencer stated, and she threw her hands up in the air in disbelief. Charlotte didn't want to be stuck in a killer's room. She didn't even like being in a werewolf's room. She quickly sat up from the bed, only leaning against it because Spencer had sat down on it.
"Lottie, what would you think of when you're about to sleep and listening to Metallica?" Derek asked.
"I mean, I'd listen to opera first, but if I want to be stereotypical, then Enter Sandman," she answered before frowning. "Is that really his password?"
"We're in Lottie," Derek informed her.
"Bless your heart," she said, her smile informing him of pain if he ever called her that again.
"Call Gideon," Spencer said, looking at the screen.
A woman in a cage was on the screen. Duck tape over her eyes and barely clothed. Charlotte took in a deep breath before pulling out an old flip phone she had. Good thing she kept it. Otherwise, she'd have to explain why she didn't have one. She watched as the girl shifted, and her eyes narrowed. This was a horrible thing to do to someone. The phone rang a couple of times.
"Gideon here," Jason answered, and Derek motioned for the phone.
"Gideon, Heather's alive," Derek informed him, watching the feed with the other two. "'Cause we're watching her right now."
"We'll try and find the area she's in," Charlotte informed Jason as she accepted her phone back. "We'll give you another call when we do."
"She doesn't have much time," Jason reminded her.
"We'll be as fast as possible," she stated, frowning. "Godspeed, Jason."
Spencer looked at the screen, narrowing his eyes. It was like he noticed something that they hadn't. Charlotte watched and started to get slightly nauseous. It moved just the slightest, swaying as though it was on the water.
"Morgan, can you show me the last twelve images lined up with each other?" Spencer requested.
"Yeah," Derek said, he quickly typed something on the keyboard, and the twelve images popped up.
"Right there," Spencer pointed at the screen, right at the light. "Right there. Do you see that? The light bulb hanging from the wire?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Derek questioned.
"It's moving," Charlotte said, frowning.
"Like it's swaying," Spencer added. "Like the Earth is tilting."
"Not the Earth, doc," Derek said, quickly coming up to speed. "The ocean. Your phone."
Jason was called again and sounded worried as he was quickly informed about where Heather was. It was a waiting game on their end. All they could do was wait. Charlotte glared at her phone, waiting for it to ring. Spencer's leg bounced as he spun a disk in his hands. Derek tapped his hands against the desk. Her phone ringing loudly startled them, and she instantly picked up.
"Why do you sound in pain?" Charlotte questioned. "What happened?"
"Heathers safe. We got him," Jason informed them, and she sighed in relief. "I was shot in the arm."
Charlotte reiterated it to her new co-workers, and the tension left the room. They already figured that it had been the unsub. Charlotte hung up the phone and removed her gloves. She slowly stood up from her spot on the ground and headed down the stairs. She stepped outside and looked up at the night sky. It was a clear night and cold. Her breath came out in small white clouds. She let out a soft sigh and got into a cop car. She wanted some sleep. She needed to be ready to be turned away from being an actual agent. The BAU agents were sharp and probably noticed she wasn't telling the full truth about herself. She gave a light smile. She could be wrong. It wouldn't be impossible.