Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.

Authors Note: The title is tentative and as the stroy unfolds, will be updated accordingly. Please also note that this takes place after Nearly A Dozen, but will be the final in another three-piece mini-series. I have yet to pen the middle story, but it will encompass the case mentioned in this story (San Francisco). You will not doubt find the linkage with Nearly A Dozen.

Turning the Tables

Ever so slowly, his eyes flutter open. It almost feels like eternity and his mind continues to whirl in protest as his eyes adjust to the familiar shadows of his bedroom. The sliver of moonlight cuts through the only opening between the heavy drapes blinds him momentarily, slicing pain through his head. His arms are throbbing, the pins and needles jagged and running up and down his muscular arms. In an attempt to shift onto his lean side, he realises that his arms are artfully restrained over his head. With his mind still in a daze, he takes a shallow breath. How much did I drink? He ponders, managing a few quick calculations. Surely not enough to feel like this, he rests his head on his arm with a heavy sigh of defeat.

"What the hell?" he barks, dry mouthed at the empty room, or at least he believes the room to be so, as a slight shadow moves sensually towards the bed from the threshold. Stopping beside him, the shadow pauses only slightly, not in hesitation rather to lean in over him; the body heat radiates from her slight form and is felt by him.

"You're awake." Her voice is a whisper something akin to the glide of silk in his ear, her breath warm and inviting against his skin and is fragranced with the drinks consumed earlier. Attempting to move again, the restraints dig into his wrists, reminding him of his predicament. "Easy there big boy." She adds, letting her soft petal like lips graze his earlobe, then just as deliberately marks a trail along his strong jaw, all the while gagging his reaction with each kiss. "This is what you had in mind when you invited me in," she draws another breath, "is it not?" she continues her ministrations, teasing him by running knowing fingers across and down the expanse of his broad chest. His breath becomes caught in his throat as whatever had caused his head to spin appears to be wearing off, again he forgets the restraints and attempts to reach out towards her, only to hear the clink of metal on the cast iron headboard.

"How about unlocking these and we finish what we started?" he says in a raspy, husky tone, a tone that has probably aided him in his seduction of the ladies he has hunted. Leaning over him once more, she lets her satin covered breasts brush ever so gently against his bare torso.

"Perhaps in another lifetime." Her reply is coy as she abruptly moves off the bed towards the chair where her handbag resides. His eye widen, nearly bug out of their sockets when he catches the glimmer of the item she removes from the bag. "I find it rather ironic that scum, such as yourself, deem yourself worthy of being with a woman like me. If you didn't know it then, you will now. I'm far too good for you. Perhaps the others fell into your little trap, but tonight, tonight you fell into mine." Her laugh or giggle that emits from her throat is dark and sinister, reminiscent of those in the movies. Her eyes are dark and quickly scan the room searching for something, resting upon the clothing strewn haphazardly about the bedroom. She reaches for a sock and shoves it into his mouth to muffle his screams.

He moans against the sock, she pauses in surprise of how similar to the sound of one pleading for his life they are. With great skill, she artfully runs the knife along and up, then back down his chest careful not to draw blood. Enjoying the pleasure coursing through her tiny core as she watches his reactions, she revels in the pleasure of being in control. The fear in his eyes, the sweat creeping down his temple and his continuing moans only add to her quasi-euphoric state.

Growing tired of her game, she falls into her rhythm and settles herself into her groove. With the skill of a surgeon, she is quick in locating the radial artery in both of his muscular arms and just so, and runs the knife deeply along them one at a time, both oozing blood. Unsuccessful in spitting out the sock, his body begins to go into shock, and violently shakes in protest. Watching him for a long moment, a trance like state washes over her and just as suddenly she comes out of it. Running the blade across his throat, the blood sputters and covers her satin shift and porcelain skin. Although she is certain that he is dead, she plunges the knife into his chest, making sure that it pierces his heart. Staring at him for a long moment, she finally removes the sock and gently kisses his lips then saunters towards the bathroom.

Stepping into the glass walled, marble shower stall, she turns on the water. Standing underneath the water, she enjoys the way the water rushes over and caresses her body as it removes most of the blood. Gliding the soap across her chest, up and down her long lean legs, she sighs contently and rinses the shampoo from her raven locks, then the soap from her body. Turning off the water, she carefully steps out of the shower, then pats her skin dry with a fluffy towel; all the while humming Chopin's Funeral March. Once dressed, she wraps everything up in the used towel, removes the restraints, plucks the bloodied knife from his chest, and surveys the room for any 'evidence' of her visit. Content, she picks up her purse and makes her way out of his apartment through a side entrance. Tossing the bundle into one of the trash bins, she walks down the deserted, familiar streets towards her own apartment, continuing to hum the Funeral March. Opening the door, she flips on the light and goes straight to her bedroom to get ready for bed, her last thought is that it is well past three in the morning and beyond the witching hour.


With another rough and highly emotional case behind them, the team board the plane in an eerie silence, each left with the bittersweet aftertaste of victory in their mouths. Special Agent Jason Gideon in particular has taken the result of their latest endeavour badly and the ever so observant Hotchner immediately notices his closed behaviour. Content to sit away from the rest of the team, the seasoned profiler shifts in his usual tan seat near the rear of the cabin. Gideon lets his head sink into the headrest and recounts the case from the beginning to its inevitable conclusion. Mere moments after receiving the news that he has been deemed to return to full duty, J.J. quickly informed him of the San Francisco police departments request for their assistance in a series of abductions. The un-sub had taken to kidnapping little girls, dressing them up like dolls before violently taking from them their innocence; then torturing and murdering them.

With the onset of a headache, Gideon closes his eyes against the tension, but cannot shake the crime scene that seems to have seared itself into his memory, from playing out. He attempts to steady his breathing, yet behind his eyelids he re-experiences his discovery. He cautiously travels down the dark hallway; with gun poised to fire if need be. He kicks the door in, gasping in shock when his eyes rest upon seven-year-old Cassandra Clinton, who despite having endured all that she has, appears serene, almost angelic in her pose. He surveys the room, ensuring the un-sub's absence and places his gun back in its holster. Pausing at her bedside, he curses himself for being too late and he can feel his heart as it shatters, falling into his shoes, along with the blood that drains from his body. His stomach seems to follow suit, suddenly churning violently, nearly causing him to retch, which he thankfully manages to avoid.

She's just a little girl, he thinks to himself as he mentally notes how tender the un-sub had been in his twisted way. Cassandra had been cleaned up, dressed in a clean, frilly nightgown, her hair even braided in pigtails. The un-sub had just as kindly, placed her upon the bed, covering her with the blankets as though putting her to bed for the evening, even wrapping her delicate arms around a teddy bear. The fact that they had been successful in apprehending the un-sub, they had been too late to save Cassandra from his clutches. The feeling of defeat, leaving Gideon empty as he is now left with crime scene photographs and an autopsy report, rather than a photograph of a smiling little girl to add to his already cluttered cabinet in his very well lived in office.

Sighing heavily and letting his head fall against his chest, he senses someone watching him. Opening his eyes and slowly lifting his head, he's not surprised to find Doctor Spencer Reid wearing an equally tired expression. Mixed within near exhaustion is concern for the object of study. Careful not to break eye contact, Gideon quietly shakes his head as an indication that he is all right; however, in truth, he is far from it. Somehow, he hopes that his façade of strength will offer the younger man some comfort.

Reid offers a small smile, which Gideon immediately reads as a bit on the stiff side and instead of commenting, he reaches towards the chessboard and slides it between them. Unable to refuse a game of chess as a diversion, Reid opens the box, and with slender fingers, begins to set the pieces in their respective places on the board.

"How long have the two of you been at it?" Elle's voice is still thick with sleep and Gideon watches as she swings her long legs over the edge of the small sofa, the blanket he had draped over her earlier, falling to the floor in a pool around her ankles.

"Not long." Reid replies and tries to read Gideon's expression before moving his knight.

"Are you all right?" she inquires picking up the fallen blanket, folding it, she places it beside her. Gideon looks at her for a long moment, his expression remains stoic and she presumes that he is stalling. Concluding that he isn't ready to discuss his experience, she nods. "It's okay," she pauses, "uh, Reid."

"Yes?" his attention pulled towards her.

"I wouldn't do that." She adds getting up and heading towards the restroom to freshen up. Returning, she picks up the blanket, drapes it around her strong shoulders, scoots Gideon over and sits next to him while he and Reid continue their game. Smirking, she notes that Reid's knight proudly stands upon the tabletop on Gideon's side of the board with the other captured pieces. "That's why." She cannot help herself, and Reid sends her a quick glare. Pausing in thought, Gideon turns to face her.

"You play?" she nods and continues to study the board, discreetly eyeing potential moves for both players. "Well then, one day you and I will have to have a game," he moves his bishop. "Check in three." Adding with a warm smile, he sits back in the leather seat and waits for Reid's reaction.

Once the plane lands and the team collect their effects, they quickly disembark, and walk through the still dark parking lot to their respective cars.

"See you in a couple of hours." Hotchner says to the team, as they part.

"Yeah, a couple of hours." Elle smirks, closing her door; she starts the engine and turns on the radio before pulling out of the slot.

"What's with her?" Reid inquires.

"She needs her beauty sleep." Morgan quips, snickering, then flashes a toothy grin.

"You can ask her in the morning." Gideon replies stifling a yawn.

"It is morning." Reid replies, unable to stop a yawn.

"See you later then." Gideon closes the door of his black SUV.


With very little sleep under her belt, Elle manages to drag herself into work. Gracelessly plopping herself into her chair, she grabs the coffee cup and takes another sip while reading through the file from their last case. Morgan and Reid are almost as drained as she is. Morgan nearly nods off. Lifting her head, Elle catches J.J., who is extremely hard to miss buzzing around the office and they quickly deduce that something is brewing. Even Morgan notices as J.J. dashes from her office to Gideon's; then just as quickly nearly jogs to Hotchner's with her arms full of files in varying weight and thickness.

"That looks like a biggie." Morgan states under his breath. Elle manages a sigh, then closes her eyes for a moment.

"I thought we just finished a biggie." She waits for the tell-tail signal from J.J., Gideon, or Hotch that indicates their assembling in one of the many conference rooms.

"Elle, you know as well as I do that just because we've finished a difficult case, it doesn't mean the bad guys take time off." Morgan says and lets the file lie open on his desk.

"I know, I just need a real vacation." She rubs the back of her neck and lets her gaze rest on Gideon's door.

"BAU team, please assemble in the media room." Hotchner announces as he literally flies from Gideon's office to his own, with J.J. on his heels.

"See?" Elle rolls her eyes as the three of them collect their needed pens, pencils, and pads or notebooks.

"The latest victim is or rather was Ian Byrnes." J.J. begins, handing out the files she had prepared for the team. "Local PD believe that he is the tenth victim in their fifth three week cycle."

"A cycle?" Reid lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers and he just as quickly looks away.

"Apparently, there have been five, separate three week cycles in the past year alone." Hotchner fills in the details. "Granted, the cases have been published in local papers; however, the media haven't found reason to connect the deaths. From the evidence provided these murders are defiantly the work of a serial killer. All of the victims are male, there is no sign of sexual assault; rather a great, very deliberate display of power." Gideon takes to pacing the room.

"The un-sub is confident in his ability." He pauses waving a hand through the air. "They meet their prey at the local bar or club." He turns, glances at one of the screens. "He is able to overpower his victim." Gideon rattles off the textbook un-sub with ease. Morgan thinks for a moment, his eyebrows furrow.

"Have there been any actual leads in the case?" he inquires staring at the crime scene photos that J.J. had brought up on the various screens that had been set up in the space.

"No one seems to know or have seen anything." J.J. sits in her seat and sighs. "I've poked about my media connections. They seem just as baffled as the police." Collecting her files, she stands. "I'll make the arrangements and cut through some of the red tape. Hopefully, it will make it easier for you." Adding, she exits and dashes off to her office.

"Morgan, I think it's best that you go through all of the crime scene photographs with as fine a toothed comb as you can. I want to know exactly what is going through this un-sub's mind." Gideon instructs him, plucks a file out of his pile, and hands it, a very thick, quasi-volume of a file that contains most if not the entire collection of crime scene photographs, to him. Elle watches Morgan to gage his reaction and is slightly surprised when he doesn't even flinch.

"Reid, can you give him a hand with that, we're going to need your memory." He adds then turns his attention towards Elle.

"You mentioned that this un-sub expresses a great deal of power. I realise that your main focus is on that primary display, but I'm almost certain that sexuality is indeed a contributing factor." She says, almost as though knowing his thoughts, before he has the chance to address her. She turns herself, looks up at Gideon intently. "I would like to go over the other crime scene photographs with Morgan and Reid. That will definitely assist in establishing the exact extent to which the imbalance between sex/sexuality and power lie. Is Garcia able to put them up on these screens? I think it would be more efficient then passing around the photos." Glancing down at the file in front of her for a moment, she bites at the bottom of her berry painted lip.

"What is it?"

"I'm not quite sure. I should, rather, I will have a definitive answer as soon as we've been through those photographs." Adding, she lets her rigid posture relax and she sits back in her seat. Gideon nods, impressed at the speed with which the team seems to have come alive after such a trying case.

To Be Continued…