A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm trying pretty hard to follow the format of the show and all, because I want to make it seem like a convincing case file and such. I really hope I'm doing a goodjob. This is the first casefile type of fic I've ever written, andalso myfirst Criminal Mindsfic (as I believe I've mentioned). Anyways, let me know what you think, if you'd like:)
Oh yes, and I forgot the disclaimer. I don't own any of these characters, I'm merely borrowing them. I promise to return them later.
Chapter 1
Eugene Ionesco Decouvertes once said, "It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question."
Spencer Reid stared at his reflection in the black coffee in his mug before taking another sip. The others were discussing matters and going over research pertaining to the case, but the young man's mind was most definitely elsewhere.
"So, what do we know about power seekers?" Jason Gideon questioned.
Everyone turned to look in the direction of Spencer Reid. He was the one with all of the statistics and facts that were always very helpful towards the cases. However trivial or slightly annoying they may seem to be.
"Reid?" Derek Morgan looked in the direction of the young man and noticed that he was staring blankly into his coffee cup again.
"Huh? Oh, sorry," Reid look up again from his cup and turned to face the rest of the group.
"Man, you shouldn't drink that stuff on a plane. The second we hit turbulence, BAM, that's going to go all over you," Morgan half laughed - half warned.
"I was thirsty, and there were no more paper cups."
Gideon then decided it was time to change the subject back to the case that they were discussing before, and repeated the question. Reid then enlightened the group with information he pulled from inside his head. The others didn't know how he managed to memorize all of these facts, but they were always helpful.
"These type of killers are usually males, andmost likelynarcissistic -- they have an inflated sense of self worth," he explained.
"He's looking for attention. He wants the media involved. He's full of himself, he doesn't think he'll get caught. And he won't stop until he does get caught," Gideon added.
Aaron Hotchner ruffled through some papers he had placed on his lap as he spoke, "It also says here that the victims were all raped, and most likely tortured before they were killed. There are cigarette burns and lacerations on their arms and legs." His eyes didn't look up from the papers as he spoke.
"That could suggest sadism. Feeling the need for dominance-- power over the victims. It could be why he's targeting women so young," Elle Greenaway pointed out.
"Or he could be trying to live out some sort of fantasy. All of the victims had very similar physical appearances," Morgan added onto Elle's statement, "Somewhat tall, long hair, brunette, brown eyes..."
Everyone in the room turned their attention to Elle.
"What, do I look 18 to you?" she questioned, with a slightly sarcastic tone to her voice before she changed the subject.
20 year old, college student, Candice Parker tried to balance her grocery bags as she carried them into the parking lot in the direction of her car. She'd put off grocery shopping for quite some time, so the items she needed to buy added up quickly, and she was beginning to feel like she had bought half the store.
Carrying the many bags to her car was a chore. She was beginning to wish that she'd taken the shopping cart when the lady at the counter had offered. Oh well, it was too late now, she's almost reached her destination.
Once she'd finally reached it, she placed the bags on the roof and reached into her purse trying to find her keys. Her hand felt around inside, but still, she couldn't seem to find them.
"Damn," she muttered to herself, "Did I leave them in the store?"
Wondering if maybe she'd put them in her pocket, she stuck her hand inside. Success. The keys were in her pocket.
She stuck the key in the hole and went to turn it, when she realized that the door was already unlocked. Slightly surprised, she opened it and popped open the trunk to put the grocery bags inside. She could have sworn she'd locked that door when she had gone into the store.
Nevertheless, shebrushed a strand of her long brunette hair out of her face, shrugged off the weird feeling and closed the trunk before getting inside of her car and pulling out of the parking lot.
Not long after, she felt the same cool feeling of something metal touch the back of her neck, just as Elizabeth Bent had felt, and heard the same deep voice giving her strict directions on where to drive. Tinted windows didn't seem like much of a nifty idea after all...
"Take a left here," the voice commanded, not taking the gun away from the back of her neck. Candice did as she was told, and after an hour or longer of driving around, the voice ordered her to drive down a long dirt road, and stop at the small cottage like house at the end of it.
"Get out of the car," the man behind her shoved the gun slightly into her neck, as if to remind her it was still there, and that he would kill her on the spot if she tried to scream or run away.
Once Candice was out of the car, she looked around in hopes that someone might be seeing what was going on. That someone might be able to help her. But the house was surrounded by trees, and there were no other houses in sight. No body was there to save her from this.
The man lead her inside of the house and bound her hands and feet with rope, and then proceeded to place duct tape around her mouth so she couldn't scream.
She thought that she would get a good look at her attacker, but unfortunately, he was wearing some sort of a ski-mask. His hands were covered with gloves... and Candice knew he was going to kill her. He needed the gloves to make sure he didn't leave any fingerprints to help the police catch him.
Candice knew she wasn't going to give up without a fight. There was no way she was letting him get her this easy. She looked directly into his eyes-- the only part of him that she could actually get a good look at. He knew. She could tell that he knew. He knew she was going to be a fighter.