A/N: The almighty disclaimer can be found in the first chapter. I'm still getting there in terms of writing the actual story and thank you in advance for your patience in the matter. I am still in search for the un-sub, once it becomes clear the end should be just around the bend. Feel free to make suggestions. It always helps when input is added to the mix. Thanks against to those who have taken the time to read and review... I know it's summer and there are so many other things that one could be doing.


The morning breeze plays with the light sheers that filter the sun's rays. Opening her eyes, she shifts and stretches like a cat. Flinging the covers from her slender body, she swings her long lean legs over the edge and slips her feet into her awaiting slippers. Stretching her arms over her head, with another yawn, she reaches towards her housecoat.

"HOLY SHIT!" her exclamation fills her empty room. Up her arms runs rust coloured splatters of something that smells a lot like iron. She looks down at her silken shift, her eyes begin to well up with tears, and her body begins to tremble. "What do I do?" she whispers to herself, springing from her bed and nearly running to the bathroom to wash the caked on blood from her porcelain skin. Tossing the shift into the trash, she steps into the shower and nearly scalds her skin with hot water. Rubbing her arms, slathering soap over her body she continues to whisper, "what do I do?" as the tears continue to fall over the ridge of her now rose cheeks. Even the towel, she dries herself with doesn't seem to help her feel any cleaner. Sitting on the edge of the tub, contemplating her options, her eyes rest upon the wastepaper basket and the shift that haphazardly hangs over the edge. Squinting, she gingerly reaches for it and slowly pulls it from the basket with a gentle swish. "What?" her voice puzzled in her own ears as the shift is pristine. Not a drop of dried, rust coloured blood. Breathing slowly to regain her head, she collapses to the floor sobbing.


"Agent Gideon, I assure you that she didn't do it." Henderson barks into his phone. "She's our top forensic scientist. She provides the DA with essential testimony."

"Detective Henderson, we are not accusing Belinda of any wrong doing, we merely wish to question her. Its standard procedure."

"She didn't do it." He states, possibly in an attempt to reassure himself of her innocence.

"Right now, the evidence appears to be stating otherwise." Gideon says in a quiet, controlled manner.

"I don't care what you say. Belinda didn't kill those men. Give me a motive. Convince a jury of her guilt." He adds hotly.

"I think that's getting a little too far ahead." Gideon says coolly.

"What will you have me do?"

"I'm sure she is well aware of the situation. One of her co-workers would probably have mentioned something to her about it. She may have even done the test herself. Now if you were to attempt to get in touch with her for questioning, and she has somehow managed to disappear, I would say we have our un-sub. However, I highly doubt that to be the case."

"I suppose your team will head the questioning?" he inquires with a sigh.

"At this point, as it would appear that you're a bit close, I think it best."

"I'll have her brought into the station then. I'll instruct them not to begin until you and your team arrive."

"I appreciate that." Gideon replies ringing off.

"Gideon, what is it?" Hotchner asks, poised to knock on the doorframe.

"The DNA on the strand of hair belongs to Belinda Edwards."

"She's one of the top forensic scientists in the country."

"I know," he pauses as he stands, "and we had better get to the station." Hotchner nods.

"Will we need the team?" Hotchner inquires.

"I don't believe so. Reid is capable of leading this." He replies stopping at the younger man's desk. Reid's hair falls from its place tucked behind his ear as he lifts his head. "Detective Henderson called to let us know the result of the DNA on the hair that Elle found at the last crime scene." Upon hearing her name, Elle raises her head.

"That was fairly quick. Usually it takes weeks, even months for conclusive results." Her expression is quizzical and Gideon wonders if it isn't slightly on the sceptical side.

"I suppose there was a rush ordered." He places his hands on Reid's desk. "Reid, I would like you to lead the questioning. Hotchner will accompany you." He gives Reid an encouraging look and the younger man nods his head and collects a file. "Keep me informed. Hotchner will brief you on your way." He adds over his shoulder going back to his office.

"Thanks." Reid says under his breath and he shoves the file into his messenger bag. "Belinda Edwards?"

"I know. I can't help but think of some sort of set up."

"Very possible. I don't recall seeing her at the crime scene."

"I believe she had already completed her initial report before we arrived. I highly doubt that she would have gone into the adjoining bathroom. She may have been observing or training a new hire." Hotchner turns into the Virginia police parking lot. "Don't forget, we're fairly certain that it isn't her. We just want to verify that." He doesn't see Reid roll his eyes, recalling his last solo endeavour, in which case he had been merciless.

Reid follows Hotchner into the smaller room that adjoins the interrogation room where Belinda Edwards sits in wait. Reid nervously licks his lips. Hotchner stands at the one-way glass, arms crossed tightly, watching the thirty-something year old woman sitting in the uncomfortable chair, her head in her hand in thought. He does not see what he should in an innocent individual. Something about her screams that she is definitely hiding something, what exactly, he remains unsure. Reid clears his throat.

"Show time." He states and taps the door before opening it. She lifts her head and stares at the young man, Hotchner wonders if it is an attempt to intimidate him, or just get a read on him.

"Belinda Edwards?" He hears Reid's voice over the speaker in the adjoining room; Hotchner listens intently, so much so the detective standing beside him can see his jaw tighten. Lifting her head, her dark raven locks fall from behind her ear. "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid." He continues.

"I've read a lot about you." She replies calmly. He tries not to blush, but can feel the heat of modesty rise from his toes. Attempting to maintain his composure, he smiles. "This case has taken quite the turn." She adds tilting her head.

"I have to concur, at this point the only physical evidence is the single raven strand."

"I could hardly believe it. Detective Henderson put a rush on it. I'm surprised I had managed to conduct the proper testing in a matter of days rather than weeks."

"When you realised that the DNA markers were your own." He stops and looks at the one-way glass.

"I admit that I was shocked and immediately had my colleague, Kip Kingston, complete the remainder of the tests. I'm sure that you are well aware that we compared the sample with those in our databases." Reid leans in towards her. "My understanding is that all of this is a formality; however, I'm not doing my job right now and there's a sick psycho murdering men. The only thing I can think of is a hair had come out of my braid, or something to that effect. It has been known to happen."

"If I recall correctly the Turner case had been turned on its head when the sample collected at the crime scene belonged to one of the officers."

"Exactly. You can imagine how I have been feeling. I thought it best to get this part done so that I can at least get back to the samples for other cases that are pending."

"I appreciate your time Dr. Edwards." Reid shuffles through the files contents, straightening the pages then closes the file.

"Belinda is fine." Her smile that accompanies the correction is warm and inviting. "It's been a pleasure." She extends her hand and he shakes it quickly before leaving the room. She remains seated for a moment, possibly expecting a second round, but Hotchner is certain that Gideon's take on the situation must be correct and they head back to Quantico.

"One down. The real un-sub to go." Hotchner utters under his breath in the elevator as it stops at their floor.

"There's still something not right Hotch." Reid runs slender fingers through his tousled hair. "Why didn't you want to question her?"

"She told the truth. Besides, we've always known that it wasn't her." He says, heading to Gideon's office. Brushing his knuckles against the door as he opens it, he pauses. "Sorry Jason, I'll come back later."

"No, that's okay. This is Jane Martin." Gideon gestures towards the woman seated in front of him. He nods curtly and waits for her to turn towards Gideon before giving him an incredibly puzzled expression. "She might have some insight pertaining to our recent case."

"Not to be rude Jason, but we haven't made enough information available to the public."

"I realise that, however, Henderson thought that we might want to hear what she has to say."

"That being?"

"This is going to sound crazy, and I seriously thought that I was in the process of loosing it." She turns her attention towards Hotchner, he merely gestures for her to continue. "For the past several months I have awoken with the almost physical evidence of murder." She pauses.

"Nightmares?" Hotchner tries not to sound too sceptical.

"Well, I suppose they have been part of it; however, this morning was far more graphic than I could bear." Hotchner's expression seems to soften and he moves to sit in the seat across from her. "I don't know if you're familiar with the being so incredibly connected to others that you potentially 'feel' what that individual is experiencing. That imaginary thread that binds, creating a connection that far surpasses comprehension that can actually break one's concentration. Essentially, the dream aspect, or nightmares that some experience can be considered a plane upon which that individuals subconscious allows them to work through whatever issues they cannot in the waking realm. In my case, the dreams themselves pale in comparison to what I experienced this morning." She takes a steadying, deep breath and with a trembling hand, she reaches for the paper cup on Gideon's desk. Having to hold it in both hands, she takes a much-needed sip to compose herself. "I have become accustomed to having dreams so vivid I thought I was awake. Recently I have been dreaming of death, but never to the extent that I've awoken to find myself covered in blood."

"Pardon me?" he blinks.

"As I reached out towards my housecoat this morning, dried blood was all up my arm. When I looked down at my nightshift, it was covered in it as well. I could see and smell it. I will never forget it. I've never experienced that before and freaked out." She wipes her eyes with a tissue. Hotchner gives Gideon an odd look, but reaches out and runs a comforting hand along her shoulders.

"When you say that you were there at the crime scenes, do you mean as the murderer, or an observer?" Hotchner hears the words before thought. She looks down at her trembling hands in her lap. Hoping that another deep breath will help, she looks up at him, fear etched upon her pale face.

"It is through the murderers eyes that I see what is happening." She replies.

"How long have you been having these nightmares?"

"Ever since I can recall, I've been blessed or in some cases cursed with this. Agent Gideon," she pauses looking at him. "I have yet to be wrong." Her shoulders slump.

"Will you excuses us for a moment please? Jason." They exchange quick glances and head out of the office. "What the hell is that?"

"Henderson had an officer bring her over."

"You can't seriously be considering her 'story' are you?" he snaps.

"Well, right now we have nothing but a profile."

"Have you considered the possibility that she is the un-sub?"

"Injecting herself within the investigation to control if and or when we find the final nail?"

"Exactly."

"I've thought about it," he holds his hand out palms up. "Highly doubt it though."

"You are unbelievable. In all the years that we have worked together, I've never known you to fly so far out in left field that I am seriously considering the level of your sanity."

"I'll keep that in mind." He turns back to his office and Hotchner nearly storms off in frustration to his own. He knows as well as everyone else on the case that the probability of more victims is nil. Unfortunately, this will leave them with a cold trail that will only freeze until the un-sub's next cycle.

"Agent Gideon, I think I know who you're looking for." She turns in her seat towards the open door. He pauses, his lips part as if to say something, but all he can manage is a nod of encouragement. She rests her elbows on her thighs and lets her head fall into her hands. He rests a comforting hand on her shoulder and then kneels beside her. She sighs and turns to face him.

Leading her from his office, Gideon tries to make her feel as though she has done the right thing, a warm, comforting expression on his face seems to do the trick and she reciprocates with a timid smile of her own as the elevator doors close.


The room is cold, not just in temperature, but its reflected in décor as well as the stiff unfeeling officer that stands at the door. She shifts in the uncomfortable metal chair, her heart pounding in her ears, her slender fingers like ice cubes, her alabaster skin drained of any blood, and her eyes remain fixated upon the tabletop. Hotchner, Morgan and Reid are the first group to arrive at the station. They wait patiently in the adjoining room, observing her through the one-way glass. Hotchner gets a read on the young women. When she briefly looks up, fear is the only reflection in her eyes and his jaw involuntarily tightens in anticipation of the up coming resolution.

"How long do we wait?" Morgan inquires impatiently.

"They're stuck in traffic." Hotchner replies as he tightens his arms across his chest.

"I don't think that she can take much more." Reid observes. "I think you may want to begin the interview."

"We wait until Gideon arrives. I think it best that he conduct the interview. From what he has told me about her." He stops himself.

"What?"

"Let's just say that this is a very delicate case." He corrects himself and the door opens.

"Gideon, I'm glad you're here. Hotchner refused to begin the interview without you conducting it." Reid says as Elle hands Gideon a file containing crime scene photographs and other significant information pertaining to the case.

"Thank you." He smiles warmly, she nods and mouths good luck before he enters the interrogation room. Hotchner flips the switch, allowing them to hear the conversation.

Gideon closes the door behind him, takes his time in gathering himself, then sits himself in the chair across from her. He is slightly surprised by her response, her eyes never leaving the tabletop.

"Sarah Martin is it?" he inquires in a kindly tone, reflecting in his soft, caring expression, which she would see if she would only look up at him.

"Yes." Her voice is small and timid. Fear, plain and simply is etched in her tone and her posture. He wonders which method will best suit coaxing her out of the shadow.

"I'm Agent Jason Gideon. I understand that you have full knowledge as to why you are here." She merely nods; her eyes remain glued to the table. "Sarah, I need your help in understanding what's happened." He continues to coax her out of her shell. Sitting for a long moment, she finally tucks a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Slowly, she looks up and takes in the man sitting in front of her, she allows herself to relax.

"They told me that I killed several men."

"Twelve to be exact."

"I would never do that. I didn't do that. I haven't done anything wrong." She tilts her head to avoid looking at him and he can see the onset of tears.

"Okay, so what you're saying is that you had nothing to do with the recent string of murders?" he cannot help but be blunt, had he continued to pussy foot, he knows he would get nothing.

"Murders?" her eyes widen in shock as though hearing the word for the first time. Hotchner taps the glass gently. Gideon opens the file and removes the most recent photo.

"Vince Jones."

"Who?"

"A real estate broker you picked up at a nearby night spot." He lets her take the photograph and look at it for a moment.

"I don't go out at night." She replies calmly, realising that there would have been no way for her to commit the crimes they are accusing her of. "I don't really have a job that lends itself to having the time to commit such acts."

"We have eye witness reports placing you at several popular night spots." He adds.

"You must have the wrong person. There is no way that I could have done that." She points at the photograph.

"Yet your own sister claims to have experienced your actions." He lets the bomb sink in.

"No, no, no, no." she repeats quietly. "I didn't do it. I couldn't have done it." She begins to cry and her body trembles slightly. Gideon watches as her posture unexpectedly changes and just as suddenly her eyes goes dark.

"No, she didn't." the timid voice changes and is replaced with a strong tone. He watches as her eyes are nearly black and her body language changes. She appears more confident, more in control. Everyone can tell in an instant that it does not belong to the mousy woman of a moment ago.

"Oh my." Elle utters under her breath.

"What is it?" Hotchner inquires standing beside her, watching, waiting.

"This explains the missing piece." She covers her mouth. "Multiple personality disorder." She sighs.

The dark eyes that rest on Gideon are cunning and he sees the eyes of a murderer. Recognising the change in her behaviour, Gideon squares his shoulders in response to her obvious change, and hands her another photograph.

"Bruce Bennett."

"A disgusting hunter. I watched that one for a while. He always preyed upon the weakest of the group, the one who was in dire need of reassurance. He would take them back to his place and force them to have sex with him. Why does a man get away with such behaviour? What of his intended victim, as she quickly becomes labelled a slut, she can't report it? He'll only say it was consensual." She trails off a low growl. "How fair is that?"

"How fair is it that you deem yourself judge, jury, and executioner?" his tone harsh.

"I didn't kill those men. Yes, I observed them, but I'm too good for them. Tell me this. Why would I fraternise with such garbage." She snaps and seems to sink into the hard chair. As sudden as her eye turned dark, they change back to amber right before his eyes.

"Excuse me for a moment please." He stands and makes a quick exit.

"What is it Jason?" Hotchner inquires from his place.

"This is a bit more complicated then we had anticipated." He leans against the wall and scratches his chin. "Sarah didn't commit those heinous crimes."

"Gideon, she suffers from multiply personality disorder. In her mind, she wasn't there, but she could have had a black out or lost time." Reid says from his corner.

"True, but she isn't the un-sub." He turns away. Hotchner stares at the women in the next room for a long moment. "Then what are we to do? We have a profile, we know that the un-sub is female, we have Sarah Martin in custody," he pauses and his mouth nearly drops. "What a story. Frame your own sister for your actions."

Elle looks down at the floor for a moment. Without another word, she opens the door. Sarah looks up at her, amber eyes holding questions, still revealing fear and uncertainty.

"I'm Elle Greenaway. I hear that you're in a bit of a predicament." She sits in the seat vacated by Gideon.

"I work in the crime lab, always on call twenty-four seven. How could I have had the chance to do what he says I did." Elle watches her expression, confusion the only emotion washing over her. "Is my sister here? Did they call her?" she twists her hands in her lap nervously.

"What is it that they say you've done?" Elle leans in towards her resting her arms on the table.

"He said that I did that!" she points at the photograph. "There's no way I could have done that to him." She shakes and covers her face with her small hands in disgust.

"I don't know how else to tell you this, and I'm sure Gideon has already told you, there is physical evidence supporting that claim." She says stretching the truth beyond recognition, hoping to get some sort of confession, or maybe even evoke the other personality again. It doesn't work, as Sarah has convinced herself that she has done nothing wrong and sits back in her seat. "I strongly suggest representation." Elle adds making a move to stand.

"I'm so tired." She says quietly, tears of exhaustion and fatigue begin the process of setting in.

"That doesn't surprise me. If what we think is happening to you, then anyone would be exhausted." She stands and makes her way towards the door.

"Elle?"

"Yes Sarah?"

"Can you help me? I couldn't have done this." She says just above a whisper.

"We'll try." She replies stepping out and closing the door behind her.

"That's the closest thing we have to a confession." Morgan rolls his eyes. Reid steps forward, he stares at the young woman sitting on the other side of the glass.

"Reid, what is it?" Hotchner reaches out and taps the straight shoulder. Reid sighs and shakes his head.

"The best place for her would be a mental facility. A place where she can be treated for her ailment, maybe even 'cured', and I use the term loosely, then possibly reintroduced to society."

"I don't know. She's committed twelve, possibly more, murders in a span of six months." Morgan claps Reid's shoulder and smiles warmly. "I don't know what judge or jury would not want to have her pay for her crimes."

"Stop talking as though she's the un-sub. She's not." Elle snaps as they watch another officer enter the room, handcuffing her and taking her to a holding cell to await her fate.

To be continued...