Chapter six: contents under pressure
"We are looking for a black male in his mid to late 40's. He is armed and dangerous with a severe case of what we suspect to be a shared psychotic disorder." The Sheriff's office is attentive, listening to every word carefully as Gideon taps his knuckle on the rough police sketch they could get of the man. Considering the short timeframe and shaken witness, it'll have to do.
"What do we know about this guy?" Sheriff Forbes questions, arms crossed and lips pursed.
"From what little information we have managed to gather from witness statements and those we already have in custody, he won't go far. This is a tight knit group. Most likely they have spent most if not all of their time on the outskirts of society, leaning on each other to survive." Spencer says, adam's apple bobbing. He shuffles towards the wide map of Senoia and the surrounding towns posted up on the bulletin, gesturing towards the few markers placed. "He interrogated one of the witnesses here, our assumption is that he won't branch out past this radius."
"He'll want to stay close to 'his people.' Make no mistake here, it is them against the world right now. This man will do almost anything it takes to get his people back." Gideon leans against the table, crossing his arms. "As far as we know he is working alone right now, from what we've gathered we can assume they do everything in their power to remain in a group."
"I've never heard of a 'shared psychotic disorder' before." One of the more concerned looking deputies says, tapping the duck lip of his hat on his knee.
Spencer nods his head, pocketing his hands. "It's not as rare as one would think. Cults, for example, follow a very similar dynamic. More than likely these individuals pulled into the group already suffered from mental illnesses or medical issues before they were brought into the delusion, either through exposure or, uh, other methods. These delusions can be anything really, whatever the inducer's reality is, spreads to those vulnerable around him like an infection. Add in extreme isolation and violence, the secondaries find themselves drawn more and more into the delusion until what is reality and what is not is indiscernible."
"What their specific delusion is, we cannot say yet," Hotch adds, a frown in his brows. "That, they have been tight lipped about. What we do know is that it keeps them away from people. They've lived off of the grid for years now, undetected at that. They are crafty and dangerous. We can only assume the blood is from those who have stumbled upon camps of theirs, or have tried to be brought into the group and could never make that final step to truly believe what they do."
"And what abou' what the labs were sayin'? How do you explain tha'?"
Hotch explains. "We can estimate from that that something in their delusion has them returning to the bodies. What they do to them or why is still not certain."
"Could they just be checking on them? You know, to make sure nobody has found them?"
Gideon stands up, spreading his hands out. "That wouldn't explain the blood splatter patterns, no, our best guess would be they are dismembering them, perhaps performing a certain ritual their specific delusion may require."
"What? Dismembering the dead? Why would anyone ever want to do such a thing?"
"That we are still figuring out. For now, we need to set out a manhunt to find this man. Until he is brought into custody we won't get the full picture of what is going on here. Sheriff Forbes has already been given your grid search assignments. Let's get to it."
The minute silence quickly turns into shuffling and busy chatter, Sheriff Forbes begins to instruct her deputies. Hotch turns around when Spencer doesn't move from watching the map with an almost contrite expression.
"What is it?"
"It's just, what she said got me thinking. Why is dismembering the dead such a vital asset to the delusion? And then it got me thinking of this book I read when I was younger, about where the dead came back to life and the main protagonist had to dismember his undead family in order to save himself. The only way they couldn't get to him is if he cut off their arms and legs because he was too devastated to go for the brain."
"Remind me to not have you reading any bedtime stories to Jack anytime soon." Hotch quips, although seriously considering the idea he's proposing.
"What, like zombies?" Morgan clarifies, not seeming all too put off from the idea himself. "That.. could work. It fits the MO of the group regarding the blood and traces of brain matter post mortem and viscera on the weapons."
"It's worth looking into," Hotch agrees, turning towards a nearby deputy. "Excuse me, is there a graveyard nearby?"
"Graveyard? Uh, yeah, up on Clemmins road."
"Morgan and I will go check it out, see if any graves have recently been disturbed. I'll go talk to the Sheriff now. Reid, see if you can find a copy of that book."
"Zombies? As in the living dead, hungry for brains?" Prentiss raises an eyebrow at the possibility, turning to look at the frustrated, grimy man pacing inside of the interrogation room. "We've had stranger things happen." She concedes after a moment of thought.
"Hotch and Morgan are off to scout the closest graveyard now. See if any graves have been tampered with. It's a long shot, but it's something." Gideon wipes at his mouth before lowering his arms into crossing, gesturing towards the man in the interrogation room. "They're getting restless."
"Yet the situation still doesn't seem all too unfamiliar to them," Prentiss points out, intrigued. "You'd think after murdering god knows how many people and being off the grid for years, they'd shake a bit under the pressure. It's almost as if they're used to this level of confrontation."
"They've been trained well."
"Hey, assholes!" The long, greasy haired man barks, chewing at his thumb after having tossed it out in aggravation.
Prentiss raises a brow at the sudden contradiction.
"Contents under pressure tend to explode." Gideon says, turning to face the woman. "When are you heading out to Laura Bennies?"
Upon checking her watch, "Now. I'll keep you updated."
"Likewise."
After being instructed to not touch anything suspicious, Hotch, Morgan and a small team brought from the station begin to scout out the graveyard.
"It's a decent size," One of the deputies commented, squinting against the Georgia sun. "Nearby towns use the site as well."
"Thank you." The deputy nods, parting to continue searching his section.
"Already we can tell Reid's guess isn't as accurate as we had been hoping," Morgan points out, gesturing to the nearby visible graves as they set a pace to walk through the graveyard. "None of these graves have been disturbed. You'd think this would be the first place one would look for zombies."
"It was an estimated guess. There's a lot more zombie superstitions than Night Of The Living Dead or Thriller afterall."
"I never took you for a Micheal Jackson fan, Hotch." Morgan raises his brows teasingly.
A small, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of hotch's mouth. "There's quite a bit you don't know about me."
"Hey'ah!" One of the deputies shouted out, waving his arm wildly in their direction, starkly reminding them of the moment. "I think I got somethin' here!"
As they jog near, the crypt becomes readily apparent. So does the loose chain on the ajar, barred door. Morgan and Hotch immediately unholster their guns, gesturing with a wave of their hands for the deputy to fall back. The edging of the doorway is smeared wet, red.
Luckily the man is quick to catch on, shuffling behind them, drawing his own weapon. The shout quickly drew the other deputies to their location.
Morgan goes towards the bar door, jerking his head with a hand on the bar. Horch nods, face still as Morgan pulls the door open and they make way inside.
A stone wall blocked the entrance of the crypt, but once they turned the corner a very disturbing, empty room greeted them.
The smell was the first distinction, a very familiar smell to them. Corpse decomposition and the sharp, metallic tang of blood that settles in the back of the throat.
Blood and viscera cover the scene like paint splatter. Hotch holsters his gun, crouching to examine the bits of flesh scattered across the floor, staying clear of the blood puddled in the middle of the room, spreading out from a bloodied, tipped over coffin like spiderwebs.
"Hotch," Morgan has yet to holster his weapon, "The blood hasn't congealed, this just happened."
Hotch stands with a sharp nod, face stone. "I'll update the others. We need to expand the search. He can't be far now."
"Oh god," One of the braver deputies had followed behind them, a look of pure horror obscuring the normally professional expression as they took in the scene. They are quick to retreat not a moment later as the shock settles and the sound of belching is not far behind them.
"Who was buried here?" Morgan asks once he and Hotch retreated from the crypt, now crime scene. Hotch stepped to the side a little ways away, quietly murmuring into the phone.
A pale face deputy swallows, sending a sparse glance to the retreating back of the other. "The uh, Leonard Till. They had just put 'em in there two nights ago, not even.."
"Into the crypt? Do you know who would have access?"
"Access? Well the uh, family I suppose, or the groundskeeper."
Morgan nods, keeping a level tone which seems to help reduce the shock emulating from the deputy. "Where would I be able to find him?"
"Well, actually, we're not sure where he's at." The deputy explained upon Morgan's searching look, "Went lookin' for him when we first arrived but the office was empty, unlocked too. Which is odd, I hear the man's real paranoia because of the teens in the area, always sneakin' in to smoke."
Morgan frowns.
"Are you alright?"
"What?" Laura starts, before nodding. "Um yes, sorry. Just.."
"You don't have to worry," Prentiss smiles softly, stopping alongside Laura on the sidewalk edging her driveway. Her groceries are still scattered amongst the pavement. "We'll have a deputy stationed outside your house until we have him in custody."
"I know.." Still, she hesitates.
"Do you have somebody you can call Laura? Somebody who can spend the night with you?"
Laura considers this, chewing her lip and fidgeting with her hands. "Well, my brother.. Might be able to…"
"That's good. Thank you for letting me come and take a look. We'll be in touch, okay?"
"Okay." Laura says softly as Prentiss bids her goodbye. She really is a nice lady.. Laura is almost inclined to believe her.
As the black SUV drives away from the corner of her house, Laura sends one, short glance towards the parked squad car across the street before walking up her driveway to pick up her split groceries from just this morning.
Immediately she notices the flattened, melted kit-kat bar glued to the hot pavement.