MONDAY, APRIL 29, 2013 | SUSSEX COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE
The next morning saw Aaron, David, Alex, and Spencer tasked with looking through lists, manning the tip lines, and following up with people who continued to bring items that belonged to their missing loved ones. Jennifer and Derek were each overseeing the goings on of the search parties at both forests. All of this had mushroomed now that an additional forest—that of Worthington State Forest—was now a potential disposal or burial site. Rangers, volunteer workers, and groundskeepers—both current and retired, fired, or otherwise—needed to be added into the mix of potential suspects who had no affiliation with the forest at all. As this was too much work for the four agents to cover over, deputies here and at the Warren County Sheriff precinct were dividing the tasks.
Wired with coffee and an exigency to find this perpetrator, Spencer had started with thrumming energy. By the early afternoon, this stamina was waning, and words were blurring and doubling before his eyes, and he was fighting to concentrate beyond the beginnings of a piercing headache. Thoughts of Maeve—pleasant thoughts and images that were conjured before his mind's eye at the behest of Alex and David—kept him up throughout the night. The trickle had turned into a waterfall, and he threw himself over its edge. Neither of them was to blame for his performance, and he was—in truth—grateful to the both of them.
That gratefulness didn't abate the throbbing, the eye rubbing, the exhalations through his nose at the false attempt of recalibrating himself.
Aaron, who wasn't the only one, caught on and paid attention whenever his eyes would gloss to where his subordinate was going over folders and folders of paperwork. This was enough, he decided.
"Reid, a word?" Aaron stood over where Spencer sat, curled over the table with his pile of papers.
This was a long time coming. Resigned, Spencer cleared his throat, stood, and followed Aaron, who walked through the bullpen, past the back doors, and outside.
"Sit." The monosyllabic order was said in a soft rumble, with an open hand pointing to a bench.
The brightness pierced their eyes, causing them both to squint until Spencer sat at the bench under the shade.
Aaron said nothing, and he hadn't sat.
Spencer's leg began bouncing. "Hotch, did you want to—"
"I said, A word, Reid." Aaron's abrupt and succinct interruption was coupled with the rare ghost of a smile crooking the corner of his lips. He could tell that Spencer hadn't expected it. "Was trying to keep it at that with the Sit."
"Oh," Spencer said, chuckling in hesitant mirth.
"But. Since you're asking." Aaron sat down. "I just wanted you to step out. Get a little fresh air."
Spencer blinked, averting his gaze.
"I'm sure you understand why, Reid."
"I do, Hotch, and I can assure you that I'm . . . I'm taking steps to correct my performance for this case, as well as further cases moving forward."
"Mm. We'll not be here much longer," Aaron declared, not yet looking at Spencer. "I spoke with Strauss earlier and if there's nothing significant for us to turn over in the next day or so, she wants us to head back before the director forces her hand. There's the other case—the one in California—that we should prioritize soon since we know the timeline of that unsub. In the meantime . . ." Aaron's voice then softened and he at last looked at his subordinate, who had peered back at him due to the stretch of silence. "I think I can take just a few minutes from this case to make sure that a friend is doing well."
Upon the emphasized word, Spencer swallowed, tongue dry, and his blinking increased manyfold.
"Even if we had pressing matters to attend to, Reid, I wouldn't dismiss what you're clearly struggling with. It's just a few minutes."
Struggling. Spencer came to hate that word. He had used it with Jason and its association was undesirable. He cleared his throat and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "I'm—I'm fine, Hotch, really. Thank you."
"Reid. I know how difficult these last few months have been for you. I'm not saying that our situation is the same. There are vast differences. But." Aaron gave Spencer a grave look. "I know, Reid, where that seed of hurt is growing from, and I know you're not fine."
Spencer's eyes flitted down.
"I hope you understand that your productivity, Reid, is low on the list of my concerns. My greatest concern is for your mental and emotional well-being, and your behavior with this team. I told Prentiss this when she came back and it was clear that she was overcompensating in her work and in her interpersonal relationships: You're gonna have a bad day. Just let me know when you do ." He breathed, letting the words sink in. "Reid, I trust all of you to let me know when you have these bad days. But I feel like over the years, this is one of your deficits and one of the things you haven't learned.
"I'm not your enemy and you have nothing to fear from me or to prove to me. If at any point you feel overwhelmed, I need you to tell me. I want you to feel comfortable approaching me. But we've gotten beyond that point of you approaching me. Instead, I'm now approaching you. It shouldn't be this way. I don't want you to feel pressured that you have to come in to work like you did so soon after—"
"You barely took time off when—" Spencer began to argue but decided not to go in that direction. His voice was coming out thready, wavering. He hated when this happened and knew what it meant. "I'm not incapable. I can still do my work."
"Reid. I think you forget. I told you when you approached me that day when you suspected that Maeve was in trouble that you were a victim in that situation."
Spencer breathed out a nasal puff. His Adam's apple bobbed.
"Not just the day she died, Reid, but in the days and weeks leading up to it. You were stalked, Reid. Her stalker turned her attention on you. Do you even remember the detailed account you gave?"
Aaron was sure Spencer hadn't. Even though Spencer was able to recount the whole event, he had still been in a psychological state of shock when he gave his statement. His distress mounted as the events of that night escalated to their final culmination. He couldn't stop blinking, as if he hadn't known where he was and as if he couldn't clear something out of his eyes. As soon as he'd gotten to the point where he repeated Diane's last word—No.—just before she shot herself, his head kicked back as he looked upward while his eyes fluttered. It was as if he instead had been struck with a bullet. He had barked a single, breathless, softened sound before his body had begun to tip—forward and back, forward and back—in the smallest fractions. Beneath the table, his hands had begun to rub against his legs.
Aaron and Erin had both been perturbed. In a rare display of compassion, she reached her hand forward. Aaron stayed her hand and directed her not to touch Spencer for fear that would become unhinged by even the simplest touch and have an adverse, visceral reaction. He instead repeated Spencer's name, asked him to look around the room, trying to ground him. It was fleeting; lasting mere minutes before it came to a sudden halt. To them, it felt as if time had frozen. Spencer hummed out a questioning sound of curiosity. It was as if nothing at all had happened, and he asked if that was everything they needed to know and before stating that he needed to go home.
Aaron knew it for what it was. Not only had Spencer dissociated but he had engaged in self-stimulatory behavior.
"Diane made you blindfold yourself, unbuttoned your shirt, and fondled you"—Aaron saw Spencer wince—"and then you were put in the situation where she ushered your compliance to kiss her before her murder-suicide of the person you loved. Reid, this isn't something that you get over in two weeks. It might seem minor, but if the tables had been turned—if it were a man doing that to a woman, it would be called out for what it was: assault, and psychological terrorization at that."
Spencer's tongue became dry, and though he tried to swallow, it couldn't be fulfilled. He wondered if Aaron knew what Alex knew: that the same thing had occurred when he was twelve, enacted by an eighteen-year-old. The blindfold, which he had thought innocuous; the removal of his shirt that had been accompanied by wandering hands, which had confused him; the laughter and mockery of his peers, which had unhinged him.
"I don't claim to know your exact thoughts, Spencer, but I feel like over the years I better understand how you think. Do you think if you'd done a better job at kissing Diane that night, that she wouldn't have detected your lie? That she would have been satisfied? That Maeve would be alive right now and that you could pursue a normal relationship with her?"
Spencer didn't respond. He thought about that very thing often. He did. If he'd—if he'd just done better. If he'd just done the things he'd learned many years ago. If he'd touched her the way he was told many people liked to be touched when kissed, if he'd reacted appropriately to it, Maeve would be alive. It was his fault.
Oh god.
He felt heat pooling behind his eyes and blinked rapidly, hand pressing against his belly.
He couldn't do this right now. He couldn't. This was a door that he kept closed, that he didn't want explored, but that stood in the same hall wherein Maeve's murder was located. It wasn't tangential, but part of a vicious web.
"Reid." Within the breadth of time that Spencer couldn't respond, Aaron sought to change his tone. It softened, and every edge he spoke with dissipated. A tenderness that he layered underneath his cool exterior, one that he elected to use with his son, was laid bare. "Spencer, I need you to realize that what happened wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do in that situation. Do you understand that? And nothing might have changed her determination."
Spencer's hand shook, and he began to swipe it on his thigh.
Aaron's perceptive eyes flitted to the motion before they returned upon Spencer's face. "Do you understand, also, that some of the symptoms you've been displaying, Spencer, are all hallmarks of post-traumatic stress disorder? I'm not surprised that you were cleared to return to duty—you can work around the questioning all day. But we know you best—not some person behind a desk, and we're all concerned for you. What you're doing to yourself—pushing yourself—is not healthy physically, mentally, or emotionally, and I hate to see it. You're smart enough to see things in other people, but you don't see things in yourself."
Spencer was silent. His adulation for Aaron was long ago solidified, but that had flickered with the deception of Emily's death. That didn't diminish the small person within him that still looked up to Aaron though they stood eye to eye. He felt ashamed.
And one deceit would only lead to more deceit. If he elected to be honest with Aaron in any manner, he would need to be honest in all manners.
"Hotch, I may have compromised evidence from this case. On Tuesday"—he swallowed—"at the crime scene on Tuesday, I—"
"I know, Reid. And thank you for coming clean about that. I already knew about it."
Spencer's eyebrows furrowed. "You kn—why didn't you—Hotch, from a legal standpoint, if we catch this unsub, this could very well cause a mistrial."
Aaron lifted his brows and made a face that showed his agreement. "Only if there's transference of DNA. Dr Bates mentioned it to Dave and me when we went to see Victim C." He was selective in leaving Alex out of this. "I've spoken with Dr Dale and the forensics techs, and you're good. They had to open up an incident report, of course, but there was no evidence of DNA to be found on Noah. That includes yours."
Spencer blinked something out of his eyes and a weight lifted off his chest.
"I need you to know that if something grave had happened, Reid, there would have been drastic repercussions. I'd back you as far as I could, of course, but if things went beyond me, I could only help you so much."
Again, Spencer didn't know what to say. This was bad. This could have been worse.
"So, I think it's clear, Reid, that things are a little beyond you to traverse by yourself. You don't get to the point of nearly passing out at a crime scene in one day. These things build over time. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to go back to the hotel and just rest, please. If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, you come back. If you can't, be honest with me and you take tomorrow off, too. When we return to Quantico, I want us to discuss an intervention that realistically addresses your recovery from all of this, even if that includes psychological intervention. I need you to trust that we want what's best for you."
Spencer felt like he was slipping faster toward confronting the everythingness that was wrapped around this. He couldn't face it all. His voice was weak. "Hotch, I—"
"I will personally drive you to the hotel if needed."
Spencer shook his head. "I can get through the day, Hotch."
"Reid." That softness became shapely, the edges creeping in.
"I can get through the day, Hotch, and I don't want any special treatment."
"This isn't special treatment, Reid. It's a practicality. I would like to think that you of all people would know that the mind needs rest sometimes. So, let's make a deal since you're so adamant on working through the day. You stay today, and you don't come in tomorrow at all."
"I can't do that, Hotch. The team needs me."
"We'll make do, Reid. We don't need you at the expense of your well-being. Please. Let us do this for you. You can begin gathering your thoughts so that you and I can work together. You can decide if this is going to be an endeavor that involves the rest of the team, or if you want someone specifically to be your sounding board, or if we go beyond us and seek counseling. Because you can't continue like this. I can't stand for it."
Spencer's stomach fluttered in terror at all of the options that left him with no choice but to face everything. But he nodded.
"Thank you." Aaron stood. "I'm going to go inside. Take a little time, just for yourself, and come back inside when you're ready."
"Thank you."
—
Before Spencer returned, Aaron let Alex and David know of the options he'd given him— that of leaving for the rest of the day, or of taking all of tomorrow off—and he let them know of Spencer's decision.
Spencer returned in a few minutes' time and found a steaming mug of green tea and honey where he was seated before. He knew it was Alex, and he knew that had they been alone, there might be food there, too. He was grateful of their discretion in not making any to-do about his return, and he worked without any further hindrances to his performance.
The hours passed.
Jennifer and Derek returned near six in the evening. It seemed like another day without much progress. Surely, Erin would be following up with Aaron to discuss how things should proceed. They couldn't continue using federal resources to this capacity.
There were still many more names to go through, and the task would be left for the next day. They all gathered to discuss their findings with each other before heading in for the day when the bullpen burst into a flurry of activity. Sheriff Reiner came into the room, his eyes glinting.
"Agents, a body's just been reported. We're pretty sure it's Marion."
6:37PM | INTERSTATE ROUTE 80
—to you now with this breaking news. I'm currently at the I-80 eastbound scenic overlook near the Hackettstown and Allamuchy border—
—and we're live at the scene where a body was found less than an hour ago by a young couple—
—body hasn't been identified yet, it's presumed to be that of—
—Marion Knowles was reported missing early Sunday afternoon—
—It is thought that Marion went missing on Saturday night after having gone to the local gym after his work shift.
—gathered local volunteers at Worthington and Stokes State Forests—
—and as you can see teeming behind me, there are state troopers, local police—
—there's a slew of officials beyond the yellow tape including EMS responders in the hopes that Marion is still alive—
—and many others who are currently investigating the scene just beyond the yellow tape to determine what's happened here—
—with members of the FBI arriving on scene—
—possibly connected to the other bodies that were found in Stokes State Forest—
—found on Tuesday, and are still waiting for any identification on these two other victims—
—press conference on Friday with the release of a description of the type of person they might be looking for, as well as a plea for young males, especially blond males, to be vigilant—
—when he saw something wrapped in white linen sheets—
—with at least two other male victims—
—
It had been an accident, really, and a fortuitous one.
A young couple was enjoying ice cream at the scenic lookout and on Interstate 80. One of them—being a bit of a prankster—had scared his boyfriend, whose shocked reaction had resulted in his food being thrown behind him. It landed in the grove of forested area dividing the highway from the parking lot of the scenic overlook. In retrieving the sodden food, he saw beyond his periphery—amongst all of the young, lush greenery—the strange form of something wrapped in white.
It looked like it was in the shape of a human body, and from it he was sure he saw an arm and a leg peeking out. He called 911 immediately, having forgotten the Sussex County tip line and knowing that there was a young man missing. Though neither he nor his boyfriend was blond, he was still vigilant about the current goings on in the area.
Because people cottoned on quickly, a crowd had gathered, and standers-by were on their phones texting friends, snapping pictures, and soon there were various media reporters milling about to sink their teeth into whatever this was.
Four FBI agents and the Sussex County Sheriff had arrived at the scene within fifteen minutes of being alerted of the sighting—lights flashing and sirens blaring—and were bombarded by reporters before even taking a step outside the vehicle.
"What can you tell us about the development of the other missing bodies?"
"Is it confirmed that this recent murder victim is Marion Knowles?"
"What's being done to find the perpetrator of this crime?"
"Was Marion's disappearance in connection to the bodies found in Stokes State Forest?"
"Are there more bodies beyond the two that were found in Stokes State Forest?"
The agents shuffled past the throng of people and headed to the yellow tape. They threw the customary No comment over their shoulders without sparing anyone a glance.
That was all the reporters were given. They were otherwise ignored as the agents dipped under the crime scene tape to investigate.
—
It was irritating. Firstly, the Knowles family had to be kept in the dark about the report of the body. A pair of Sheriff Reiner's deputies was with them in their hotel room at all times, and one of them had to step out of the room to take the call that informed her of the dead body that was presumed to be Marion. Until it was confirmed, they would keep mum about it and make sure that the family didn't turn on the television.
"People are gettin' real antsy," Derek murmured in irritation as he put on a pair of gloves and booties.
"Mm-hmm," David murmured, doing the same with his PPE.
Aaron and Jennifer sighed. The four slowed as they came upon the body of Marion Knowles. There was no mistaking that it was him. Aside from the obvious difference in his death—that of only missing for about 48 hours—this scene left them troubled.
Spencer, still at the precinct with Alex, had been the first to state it: 'Is this even the same unsub? He takes the time to bury their bodies in the forest. Disposing shows little care for someone that our unsub has abducted. And it's been less than 48 hours.'
And it was true. Even if this was the same unsub, he wouldn't have panicked to such a degree. He would have at least laid low and waited for the fervor to die down.
Between letting CSU do their work, Aaron, Derek, Jennifer, David, and Sheriff Reiner were either talking to the officers to make sure that they would oversee federal jurisdiction over Marion's body to protect the chain of custody of the evidence, they were interviewing the couple that had discovered Marion's body while CSU worked at taking photographs, or they were looking at the area itself.
Dr Dale hung back until CSU was done taking the pictures before she was invited to give Marion's body a light perusal before CSU would collect evidence.
At that point, Derek, Jennifer, and David also gave the body their full and undivided attention. Aaron and Sheriff Reiner remained with the state police who'd arrived on the scene.
"It's nice to meet you agents despite the circumstances," Dr Dale said behind her mask. She then began the gentle and non-invasive assessment of his body, checking his temperature topically, checking under his eyes, and picking up a finger to check for rigor mortis. The three exchanged pleasantries with her as she collected some of the calliphoridae and other insects crawling on or flying around and landing upon the body. There were a few bite marks indicating that wild animals had already started nibbling at him.
Jennifer took a sweeping look around and then peered over Marion's body. "Do we think this is a different unsub? This place is impersonal. And his body was just . . . dumped here."
Derek also leaned over the body, bending down for a better look at his distance. He pointed at Marion's neck. "No signs of strangulation. But there's not always visual, outward signs. Could still be there."
Dr Dale was silent as she kept skimming over his body.
"White t-shirt and underwear, as well as the linen sheet, though," Jennifer continued.
"But . . . let's address the other elephant in the room," David murmured.
Marion's hands weren't missing, neither his eyes nor his mouth were covered, and his wounds looked minor.
"So something about this is off," Jennifer muttered. The wind blew, her brows puckered as she made an aborted sound, and she bent lower alongside Derek. "You smelled that, right?"
"Mm-hmm." He'd stretched his neck toward Marion.
Tilting her head forward, Jennifer waved her hand in front of her face in circles, wafting air toward her and sniffing. "Javier said that the bathroom had been cleaned but the chemicals didn't smell overly caustic, right?" She turned her gaze to the others.
"Yeah?" David's voice rumbled from above them.
"It smells like Marion's been dunked in bleach. He was cleaned before he was dumped here."
"Like Noah," David observed. "Of, course, Noah's burial hadn't been fresh, so there was time to let the scent of bleach dissipate from his skin, but he was cleaned. But the unsub hasn't taken the other forensic countermeasures to ensure that Marion would be difficult to identify. We don't know yet about the teeth. Dr Dale?"
At that prompting, Dr Dale used a couple of evidentiary wooden sticks to peel his lips and peer into his mouth. "No teeth missing that I can see," she declared. She put the two sticks in an evidence bag for further analysis.
"Did he not care if Marion was found?" Jennifer's eyebrows were furled in confusion.
"Whaddya think?" David spread his arms to the area around him.
"That'd suggest that the unsub wanted the exposure, that he wanted Marion's body to be found." Derek's face betrayed his disbelief in the notion. This unsub wasn't dumb, and he wasn't brash. So, yes, as Jennifer said: something was off.
Dr Dale gave the barest tug under Marion's t-shirt and saw something on his chest. "Hm!"
"What is it?" It was asked in unison.
"Without moving the t-shirt too much, I can't truly tell but—"
"But?" Derek asked.
"I don't know. It looks to be a small incision wound? Don't want to shift too much for collective evidentiary purposes."
"That's not a part of our unsub's signature," declared Derek. "Noah's body—and for that matter the state of the other bodies—doesn't indicate that the unsub has a predilection for using sharp weapons. Except for the final swing of the axe to take the hands. A belt—yeah—and possibly electric cord, but nothing blunt or sharp."
"It could just be topical," Dr Dale added before she went back to her silent observations. "It could have been obtained in a struggle. I'll better determine that later."
Jennifer blinked and turned to Derek and David. "To answer your suggestion that the unsub wanted Marion to be found: if this is the same unsub, maybe he did. I do think the bleach is the forensic countermeasure. But what if removing the teeth had nothing to do with that at all? Spence suggested days ago that it might be another way to torture his victims since it's not all done at the same time. The teeth could even be important to the unsub, like the hands and the tongue."
"And this victim—Marion—was in no way important to the unsub," David stated.
Derek hummed. "Mm. You don't care for someone that's disposable to you. Alex said that a few days ago."
"Okay. Let's say this is the same unsub and not a copycat, for obvious reasons—the clothes and the bedsheet." Derek's hands waved out in a flourish near Marion's body. "That's information that was never released to the public. Maybe . . . this abduction and murder could have been just to tide over a more basic need to kill. This is impersonal."
Jennifer looked down in thought and then tilted her head. "Do you think there are other victims like this that he killed between the longer captivities? Could we have missed that?"
David stood straight and looked around again. It was before dusk, but there were floodlights all around keeping the disposal site illuminated. "That could be something. This could just be a victim of opportunity, and the others could have been stalked, hunted, and then abducted for the longer durations because they serve a different purpose."
"But VICAP would have been alerted to this similar enough signature if that were the case—if there were other victims who were just dumped like this and left for anyone to find," Jennifer reasoned. "The bedsheets and the white underwear and shirt would have been catalogued."
"Yeah, but we gotta remember that he's built up to this," Derek countered. "Somewhere along the lines one of his victims caused him to shift his signature. So maybe he didn't always re-dress his victims and put them in white bed sheets."
"So let me get this straight, JJ," David began. "You're suggesting that this is the first time our unsub is combining the re-dressing and white-linen wrapping with the stabbing and dumping of previous victims because it's become an emotional component that he can't divorce himself from."
"Yes." Jennifer nodded up at David. "Taking the teeth and the hands, covering the eyes and mouth, excessive physical assault, and strangulation—those are what he finds important. Those are where the emotional ties are." She then looked at Marion again. "Those are what we don't see here. What does it all say if it's the same unsub? If he doesn't care if Marion was found, especially when everyone is being vigilant and there is federal presence?"
David's eye twitched and his lip quirked. "Maybe he's saying, I'm watching. You can't find me, and I'm not gonna stop." He rolled his eyes. "What a jagoff; he thinks he's smarter than us."
"That can't be it." Derek shook his head, unconvinced. "He's too secretive to engage with authorities. That's Zodiac Killer type of nonsense to play those kinds of games. This cat . . . he wants his privacy. Could the simpler answer be that he's devolving?"
Aaron was walking over to the group and caught the tail end of what Derek had said. "Devolving? What's up? What do we have?"
"We were just saying that we don't know exactly what we have, Aaron," David offered. "Marion's murder just doesn't fit in with the other murders. Derek suggested that Marion might have been a victim to tide the unsub over, and JJ thinks that if that's the case, there might be other victims like this that the unsub may have killed between longer abductions."
"And if that's the case, that would explain the impersonal nature of this murder as well as dumping him here," Aaron concluded, eyebrows furrowing. "Marion's murder was cold, and it holds no value to the unsub."
Derek spoke up. "That means that the other victims, like Noah and Victims B and C were special to the unsub. Like Reid suggested, there's no love here; but it's found in spades with the other victims. Which means that maybe his next victim is the real target and is also someone special."
"And we still don't know what makes those victims more special," Jennifer groused in frustration.
"Or the simple answer is that he's devolving, like you said, Morgan," David supplied. "Our presence has spooked him and he's just going to go after any victim of opportunity."
"If that's the case then he's going to go on a spree, and many male residents in this area are in real danger." Aaron's hard expression belied the troubling feeling he had for locals.
"So this could go in two different ways: he's either waiting for things to slow down so he can get to his real target, or he's devolving, and things might be ending sooner than we think if that's the case. Someone who needs as much control as he does is going to spiral uncontrollably, and quickly at that."
"Hm." Aaron wrinkled an eyebrow. "We'll continue to assist here as much is needed, but it's been nearly a week now. Although this is a significant break, we may only be able to stay for just a couple more days. I've already spoken with Strauss earlier and she wants us back in Quantico before the director gets on her case so we can deal with other pressing cases. We've given the locals here more than enough to work with."
Jennifer straightened her mouth in understanding and nodded. "And they can consult with the Newark Field Office for them to continue the investigation if anything."
Aaron nodded. "What I think is best at this moment is that we make a public appeal to the unsub to turn himself in. It's not likely to work but he may feel remorse over what he's done—with Marion and with the earlier victims besides. Dr Dale, what do you have?"
The pathologist had stood straight and was gathering things she'd collected into her kit. CSU wanted to start collecting the greater evidence, and she had to let them.
"Although there's not much physical abuse, it looks like Marion took a beating with more fisticuffs than anything else," Dr Dale began. "There's a ligature mark present on his ankle and also on both of his wrists. Sliding abrasions on his hands and legs so far." She was careful to avoid drawing any lines between Marion and Noah's deaths so as to remain objective. "Like I heard one of your agents say, there's caustic chemical all over his body. I'd wager bleach, but these things will be confirmed empirically."
Aaron tipped his head. "So he cleaned the victim after he killed him and before dumping him here. Or he could have . . . he could have drowned him in it. Cause of death is inconclusive, correct?"
"Yes, correct. I didn't unhinge his jaw to check for the tongue. I want to move him as little as possible until he's in my mortuary. I'll also check for evidence of sexual assault when I examine him. I can't determine that from this scene without disturbing its integrity. I can tell you based on lividity that Marion has been dead for approximately twenty hours, though. Even then, that might not be accurate if his body was kept in a cool place."
Aaron ticked his head in irritation, air rushing out of his nose. "He was dead less than 24 hours of being abducted. Are you done here?"
"Yes, and CSU wants to wrap up. I want to look at Marion as soon as humanly possible. Do you want to have any of your agents there while I begin the general examination? I'm doing it this evening."
"Yes, I'd like my agents there. One moment." Aaron stepped away from Dr Dale and made a quick call. He spoke with Alex, and she told him that Spencer said he wanted to go. Trying to get in a last bit of work done before taking off tomorrow, he supposed. Stubborn as ever. "I've arranged for Agent Blake and Dr Reid to be there."
"Ah, my good friends," she said lightly. "I quite like the two of them. Glad to work with them again."
"Mm."
"They can swing by anytime, but I'm not likely to start the general exam before half after eight. That'll give me time to photograph the body inside the bag, run radiology, get victim info, and remove the clothes."
"Sounds good; thank you."
Arrangements were made for Marion's body to be transported to Dr Dale's lab as soon as CSU—who wouldn't be here much longer—would be done.
The four agents continued looking at the disposal site before heading back to the precinct.
8:42 PM | MORRIS COUNTY FORENSIC LABORATORY
"If this is the same perpetrator, then this case is ghastly," Dr Dale said in lieu of a greeting, chagrined. The two agents had just been led in by the lab assistant.
"It is," Alex agreed as she donned the proper PPE.
"Are you making headways with the investigation?"
Alex gave a vague answer. "Things are moving along."
Spencer, who was also donned in PPE, walked over to Marion's body, and together the three of them looked over it.
"This," Dr Dale began, pointing to Marion's chest, "is what I've found most interesting. I originally thought it was an incision. It's not. We're looking at a single stab wound.
"Mm. Thin, clean, and precise, with no sign of hesitation," Spencer observed. "Could this be what killed him?"
"This could very well be what killed him; when we assess the wound, we'll find out. It's close to where the pulmonary arteries are situated."
"Knives are rarely pushed into the body and withdrawn at exactly the same angle," Spencer continued, "unless the victim is incapacitated at the time of the assault. Looks like that was the case. He may have been drugged with the same thing that Noah was drugged with. Probably ketamine, rohypnol, or cyclobenzaprine."
"Right you are," Dr Dale said. "I'll be having the FBI lab check for toxicology."
"So, no intimacy of strangulation, it looks like" Alex said, looking at Marion's neck. "And the emotional distance and impersonal act of a single stab wound is . . ."
"An execution," Spencer finished.
"What do we think, Spencer?"
"I can't make any conjectures yet. Although stabbing someone is personal, in this case, it's impersonal, clinical. And, of course, we know what it might indicate regarding impotence. Can we see inside his mouth?" Spencer tilted his head up toward Dr Dale.
"Sure." Dr Dale unhinged Marion's jaw easily.
"Hmm." Eyebrows furled, Spencer looked into Marion's mouth and shook his head. "Teeth definitely not missing, and neither is the tongue."
"What does that mean to you?" Dr Dale asked. "I found it curious."
"It means," began Alex, "that the tongue, which is important to the unsub, was not important to him in Marion's case. The same goes for the hands. Across the board with all the victims we've found so far, the hands and at least Noah's tongue are some kind of trophy for the unsub. Something made them special. Even though we couldn't truly tell about tongue removal for the older victims, the fabric over the mouths is a good enough indicator that they were also removed."
"Interesting," Dr Dale noted. "If that's the case, I think it's important to note that upon my assessment of his internal temperature, there were also no signs at all of recent sexual activity."
"Recent?"
"There are signs of sexual activity, but not recent."
"Which might be a sign of consensual sex. We hadn't determined if Marion was gay."
"He doesn't necessarily have to be gay to engage in anal sex," Alex corrected.
"This is true. But now we have to put that possibility on the table and consider it."
"Noah was engaged to a woman, though," Alex countered. "So if Marion's gay, then one of these two is an outlier, or just a coincidence."
"True, yes. But if we put the possibility on the table that Marion might be gay, then we can propose the possibility that Noah could—at the least—be bisexual, and that the unsub is targeting people in this community."
"Ack. This opens up a whole other can of worms."
"Mm-hmm." Spencer turned back to Dr Dale. "So no recent signs?
"Physically, none. Swabbing of his penis may yield different results. I'll also do a buccal swab for potential transferred DNA."
"So Noah was raped and dismembered, but Marion wasn't." Spencer tilted his head left and right, staring at Marion's head. "His hair wasn't cut, either. Another indicator that Marion didn't fit into the unsub's fantasy. The other victims had a similar coif. And." He bent forward, peering. "Ah, may I?" He wriggled his gloved fingers.
"Sure. You're fine this time around."
Spencer puffed out a humored breath before he bent forward. He brushed his gloved fingers through Marion's hair, padding his fingers against the scalp. He felt, beyond the vinyl of his gloves, a cord of flesh. "Blunt force trauma, I'm sure," he said. He tilted Marion's head and parted the hair on the right side, and they looked. It was an angled wound, a bump that at its center had some torn flesh. "Based on the angle," he began, "I would wager to say that this was done by a left-handed person. So, given some of the other evidence, the likelihood is that we're still looking at the work of the same unsub."
"I think you're in the wrong profession, Dr Reid," Dr Dale quipped.
Spencer's lip tilted to a quick smile.
Alex then pointed. "What about his hands?" They all looked at the hands, which were meticulously cleaned. There were topical sliding abrasions on the palms and on the back of his hands.
"This finger here is swollen." Spencer pointed to Marion's right middle finger. "Is it broken?"
"Yep; according to the x-ray, it's an intraarticular fracture. It's difficult to determine what caused it, though."
"Hmm."
"What else?" Alex asked.
"No foreign material found in the abrasions, and nothing found under the nails."
"So the unsub made sure to clean them thoroughly along with the rest of the body," Spencer noted. "Ligature marks present on the wrists as well, so now we know that he keeps their arms bound."
"It's definitely the same hallmark of our unsub," started Alex. "But things are vastly different. What does that all mean?"
Spencer shook his head, standing straight and squinting under the bright fluorescent light. His voice came out soft. "That they were right: Marion meant nothing to the unsub."
"The unsub knows we're here. Why would he do this?"
Above the three living people and the dead man lying beneath them, the bright lights hummed, flickered.
Spencer's voice cut through in a drawl as he shook his head. "I dunno."
—
Alex turned out of the parking lot and onto the road, suppressing a yawn. They'd stayed for another few minutes looking over Marion's body. "I'm ready for bed, Spencer," she murmured. "This case has exhausted me."
"I concur," Spencer said. "This has thrown everything off."
"What we saw back there was a far cry from what happened to Noah Turner."
"Our unsub knows we're here. He could be panicking and going on a spree, like the others thought."
"No." Alex shook her head. "It's more than that. Marion was still in the white sheet; he was still wearing the white t-shirt and the white boxers. And he was doused in chemicals and cleaned meticulously. What does it mean?" Alex murmured. "How was it that Derek put it while we were driving here?"
"Ah, he said verbatim, Either our unsub is devolving, or Marion's murder could be to bide his murderous urges before he selects or abducts his true target. If it's the latter, we're thinkin' there might be other unknown victims who were killed like Marion before the unsub added the white clothes and linen to his signature. If that's the case, the next victim's gonna be special to him, like Noah and the previous victims."
"I'm very keen to believe either theory," Alex murmured. "The first would make sense if he's panicking and no longer has a sense of self-preservation. That truly means that the cleaning, the tooth extraction, and the clothes-changing is ritual." She tilted her head left and right. "Or."
Spencer lifted his brows at her. "Or?"
"Or there could be a third possibility. This could be the unsub reaching out to us directly."
"What—like a cry for help?"
"Possibly. He could be so overcome with his compulsions that he can't stop even though he wants to. Maybe he wants to get caught. It's where the guilt plays into the picture. Perhaps—with so many eyes on the investigation and with his burial site now revealed—he wanted to keep Marion, but he knew it to be a transgressive inclination."
Spencer nodded gravely, cottoning on to Alex's supposition. "But he couldn't just give him back or let him go because death is—to this unsub—a necessary release."
"Mm-hmm."
"It's all so nebulous," Spencer murmured. "What is it indeed that makes the other victims so special, like Rossi asked."
Alex pulled out her phone and handed it to Spencer. "Can you call Aaron and put it on speaker?"
Spencer did so with difficulty, and Alex laughed at him.
As the phone rang, Spencer flushed and grumbled defensively, "I happen to prefer the tactile allure of buttons."
"Hah!"
"Hey, Alex; I have you on speaker."
"Same here, Aaron. What do you think of the idea that the unsub is reaching out to us for help?"
"Huh." That sounded like Jennifer.
"It's a possibility," Aaron answered. "If he has uncontrollable urges. The remorse and guilt are there. What was the state of the body?"
"No missing tongue, no signs of sexual assault. Although Dr Dale is still going to check for foreign DNA. Something else that we might have to add into the mix is that Marion has had anal sex recently."
"Mm, so we have to consider the possibility that he might be gay," David's voice came through.
"Right now, since we only know the identity of two victims, we don't know which of the two might be an exception to the victimology, regardless of Noah's engagement," Aaron proposed. "We'll have to consider asking this of his friends, Mrs Turner, and possibly Sonja, as well as Marion's family."
"If this crime is motivated by hate, then we have a huge problem," Jennifer added.
"Mm-hmm."
"Could potentially speak to that religious aspect you theorized about, Morgan," Spencer suggested.
"Mm," Derek agreed. "That this might be corrective. This just adds on another layer to be considered."
Aaron sighed. "What else did you find?"
"Well," Alex continued, "when the shirt was removed, Dr Dale found a single stab wound to the chest, about an inch and a half in length."
"What?" Derek's voice came over the speaker. "A stab wound? She had thought it was a topical incision at the crime scene."
"Yes, well, removal of the shirt was able to give her more visual clarity. It's definitely a stab wound," Alex said.
"That's so inconsistent with the signature."
"Mm-hmm," Alex agreed. "It was between the first and second rib, placed in a way that it probably severed Marion's left pulmonary arteries. It looks to be an overhead style of stabbing, and it's a clean wound."
"So he either bled to death or had a pneumothorax," David proposed.
"Even though it's a slow way to die . . . could it have been a merciful killing?" Derek asked.
Alex sucked her teeth in irritation, reaching up her right hand to fiddle with her rearview mirror. The person driving behind her had the high beams on, which was understandable, as they'd reached a long stretch of road that had sparse lighting. Even she had turned on her high beams. But the driver behind her was rather close, so perhaps if she jostled the mirror a bit before repositioning it, the other driver would see the reflection of light and feel behooved to turn off his or her high beams.
"Perhaps. If it did nick the pulmonary artery, then he bled out quickly," Spencer answered. "It was an impersonal murder. A death without the torture Noah suffered, and likely the other victims. Like this victim meant nothing at all to the unsub—pretty much as you suggested earlier, Morgan."
"Even though he's blond."
"Even though he's blond," Spencer affirmed. "The unsub prefers blonds, but blondness isn't a prerequisite per se. It just completes the unsub's fantasy. You know, now that I think about it—if this were a hate crime and if Marion is gay, then the unsub had all the more reason to keep him. That would put Marion in the minority and thus make him more special in the unsub's eyes."
Alex flicked her mirror again—the high beams were still bright.
"This is true," Jennifer agreed. "So this theory might not hold any water."
"No, it might not."
"So like we theorized before, this unsub is trying to turn the victims into someone."
"What we need to figure out is what it is that makes the other victims especially targeted." David's voice came through with little patience. "We need to figure out what the fantasy is. There's something about their personality or something about what they said or did that made the unsub say that this, This is my next victim."
"We still haven't found that link, and now it's absolutely necessary, because there is one. What we really need is more conclusive data. We need to find out who Victims B and C are and that might help us to lock in on what this unsub looks for," Alex suggested.
"Any word from Garcia regarding the ID on the man in the bar the night of Noah's abduction?" Aaron asked.
"Mm, no. Nothing yet on that," Alex answered.
"That just may be a fruitless search," Aaron concluded in chagrin.
Alex tsked. It was obvious that the driver behind her didn't get the picture, and she huffed before applying her foot to the accelerator more, hoping to put a little distance between her and the other driver. The driver, however, sped up, caught up to their SUV, and overreached them, driving into the oncoming lane before finally passing in front of their vehicle to get around them.
"How irksome," Alex hissed.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
A thought came to Spencer. "There's one other thing regarding the hands. Marion's middle finger was broken. What if the unsub didn't take them because they weren't a perfect pair anymore? Like Earl Bulford, the enucleator." [1]
"Huh. Right," Jennifer drawled out. "He didn't take Wesley Damerson's eyes because one of them was damaged, and he needed sets."
"Right! Right, yeah," Spencer replied, voice lilting in that eager excitement that never belonged in such grave occasions. "What if we're looking at the same thing here?"
"Well . . . it's possible, but what's their significance? And why wouldn't he have at least taken the tongue? Was there any damage to it?" David asked.
"Mm, no," Spencer answered.
"Then . . ."
The air pressure light turned on.
"Damn it," Alex murmured.
"What?" Derek said from the other end of the line.
"Eh, the tire sensor light just turned on," Alex groused.
"What?" Spencer, bemused, peered his head toward her dashboard. Sure enough, they soon heard the sound of a flattening tire grinding against the pavement.
Alex turned into the nearest street and pulled further in. Neither the federal government nor some police jurisdictions liked to be tied up with compensation or insurance claims made by officers or agents who were injured while doing something as simple as changing a tire while on duty. She was going to need to leave room for roadside assistance.
Jutting her hand out, Alex pressed the hazard-light button and unbuckled her belt, sighing. She had learned how to change tires when she was a teenager from her father, who drilled into her the importance of independence and the potential dangers posed to a woman receiving help from a stranger.
"You guys okay?" Derek's voice drifted through.
"M'yeah," Alex drawled. "Just a sec; gonna check on this. We'll call you back in a moment."
After hanging up the phone, both Alex and Spencer looked at the tires on their respective sides of the vehicle. "Ugh, my front tire's gone flat," she groused. When Spencer reached her side and looked over her, she continued, "Very irritating."
A car whipped past them.
"Do we know what caused it?"
"Could be anything: hole in the tread or the sidewall caused by a nail or something sharp that it ran over, poor seal where the tire attaches to the wheel, a loose or improperly functioning tire valve . . ." Alex listed. "We've been running the cars ragged these past few days."
"I'll say."
Alex upturned her gaze from the tire and gave Spencer a smile. "Dr Reid. Do you know how to change a flat tire?" Her tone was playful as she stood straight and unlocked her phone to call Aaron again.
"Surprisingly, yes." Spencer, too, stood straight and pushed his hair behind his ears, grinning. "One of my physics professors at CalTech used tire changing as an object lesson on torque and force. I was fourteen at the time. My classmates taught me how to drive, then, too. Not during that class, but—" Laughing, he ended the sentence with one of his near-slurping inhalations.
"That's not very responsible of them. Youthful bravado."
"Heh! No, it wasn't. Definitely violated some"—the humor left his voice, and he cleared his tightening throat—"some rules of conduct regarding interactions with minor CalTech students."
Alex didn't catch onto the change in his demeanor as she began to call Aaron. "I'm going to wager that you took like a fish to water behind the wheel."
Realigning his thoughts, Spencer pursed his lips. "I . . . absolutely did not," he admitted with an emphatic enunciation. "There's a reason why everyone hates it when I drive."
Another car drove by them.
Alex snorted in amusement before she started speaking into the phone. "Hey, Aaron. Looks like I have a flat. Okay, perfect; thanks. Yep, I'll keep you posted. Thanks, talk soon." She hung up the phone then opened her door. "Aaron's sending roadside assistance to our GPS coordinates. We'll have to sit tight for a little while."
"Ah." Spencer went to his side and sat back in the passenger seat.
Alex rolled her window down. It was a pleasant and temperate night, and Spencer rolled his window down as well.
"Spencer," Alex began, voice light. "You seem to be feeling better."
"Yeah, I'm"—he nodded and breathed out from his nose in what seemed like surprised pleasure—"getting there, I'd say. Thank you. And thanks again for the tea."
"You're very welcome, Spencer. Despite this, you're taking the day off tomorrow, correct?"
"Yes, per Hotch. I objected at first. But. I think it might allow me some time to collect my thoughts. I think—since the beginning—that the blindfolds might have, ah, triggered a more adverse reaction."
"Mm. Possibly Noah's last name as well, once we learned his identity?"
"Yeah. These weren't allowing my thoughts to rest," Spencer admitted. "Of course, it's not only these things, but . . ."
"But they didn't help."
"No. So I'll gladly take Hotch's suggestion into advisement. I need a day to . . . to rest."
"And eat. And not drink coffee loaded with sugar and milk."
Spencer laughed. "It's almost too bad, though. This case has just picked up and now I'll be missing out on helping us get another step closer to solving this."
"It'll be fine. Worry about yourself. We'll not be here much longer either way. Another couple of days, I'd wager."
"Hm." Spencer's fingers beat against his satchel, which was seated on his lap. He swallowed. "So." He cleared his throat. "I thought about Maeve. It, ah—it kept me up."
"I'm sorry." She turned towards him. "Do you . . . want to talk about it?"
"It's actually not what you think, Alex. It was—it was all pleasant."
"Oh?" A smile alighted her face. "In this case, last night was more alive and more richly colored than today, hmm?
Spencer smiled at the allusion to the quote. "It certainly was."
"That's good, Spencer. I'm glad." She paused. "May I pry?"
Spencer smiled and flushed, and in the moment before he spoke, the roar of a large engine heralded the arrival of their roadside assistance. It parked many feet behind them. "That was fast," he murmured as he craned his neck to look back. He couldn't see past the high beams of light.
Another car passed them, slowing down for a moment before driving away.
"Yes, it was. Probably deployed from an auto body shop nearby. But Maeve." Alex smacked Spencer's arm playfully, and he turned his attention back to her. "Tell me about last night. Were you thinking of a name for her?" She twisted bodily in her seat to face him.
"I was," he responded. "I haven't landed on anything yet. There's so much. Rossi also mentioned yesterday that to help with the dreams I need to latch on to a good memory of her, replay it over and over again, and fall asleep to that memory, which I tried, but . . ."
"But?"
He turned back. "Why aren't they doing anything?"
"Have you never received roadside assistance before? They usually have a checklist of things to do on their end before stepping out; give it another minute or so. Keep going."
"There's a lot. A lot of good memories."
Oh. Alex felt a tenderness spread through her at his admission.
Spencer smiled fondly. "I couldn't stop thinking about them." He then squinted and looked up to see that a car with its high beams on was coming down the road.
It twisted into their lane.
Not right.
"Alex."
"Hmm?"
He hadn't the time to garble out her name again in warning, his hands reaching in front of him to brace for what seemed like an imminent impact. "Ale—"
Energy transference. The object that is being struck will either absorb the energy thrust upon it or possibly transfer that energy back to the vehicle that struck it. The car is stationary, so it will absorb the impact. Per Newton's Laws of Motion, the law of inertia, an object in motion will stay in motion unless an external force acts upon it, and an object at rest will remain at rest until an unbalanced force acts upon it. The first law of motion.
Neck snapping to her left, and body rotating back to the front, Alex straightened her arms and let out a shout.
Become water. Force is a vector quantity while kinetic energy is a scalar quantity, calculated with the formula K=0.5mv ^2. One car is at rest with a total kinetic energy of zero. Relax. Drunk drivers tend to walk away from accidents with less bodily harm due to alcohol's depressant effects. They're like water. Be water. Be water, my friend. Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water. You put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it into a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow, or it can—
—crash. Collide. Unknown vehicle speed, unknown vehicle weight, but invariably the speed of the oncoming vehicle will—
There was a metallic crunch as the SUV crumpled against the vehicle in front of them, the jarring sound of the windshield fracturing, and the groans of resisting tires sliding against the asphalt as the immensity of the force pushed their car many feet away, angling its nose toward the shroud of trees. The collision had rocked both of their bodies as the hood folded under the pressure. They had no reason to wear their belts while the car was parked, and so their bodies extended forward—Alex's chest and face striking her wheel and Spencer's head colliding with the dashboard with a hollow thwack—and then rebounded to the headrests before falling forward again. The car was off; the airbags didn't deploy.
The two cars stopped, and for a moment no sound could be detected but for the roar of an engine. It cut off, and in its absence, there was the sound of a rolling hubcap pivoting and rotating on its edge before laying flat against the ground.
Silence settled.
—
Through blurry vision and with dulled senses wherein all she could hear was a piercing, constant ringing, Alex managed to turn her head to her right to glimpse at her injured passenger. It was too dark for her to make out his shape clearly. Dark? Hadn't there been a light? There went a warm flash. And another. A stinging pang traveled from her clavicles and wrapped around the base of her skull.
"Spen . . ." she slurred. After a beat, she heard Spencer draw out a low moan and the sound of slow shuffling like that of someone trying to move. "Sp—cer." She tried to rouse him.
"Mm . . . Al . . ."
There was the sound of a leisurely paced crunch crunch crunching gait approaching her side of the car that then stopped. It continued around the other side of the vehicle, sliding on grit before silence settled again.
What happened? What's happening?
The warm flashes of the hazard lights continued to pierce the darkened night.
But for another moan, there was no sound from Spencer. She rested her eyes for a moment—just a little moment—and was then awash with relief when she heard his door open. He can move. He can move. If he can move, then he can get out. It's not—that bad—
Was it?
And yet, as she opened her eyes again and stared at his blurred, unmoving figure, she wondered how indeed he'd opened the door, as his arms were slumped between his legs, and his head was still against the dash. Wait, no. He was starting to lean back. He can move. God. He can move. She heard the click of his seatbelt being undone. Good, good. Good, Spencer.
But his hands were still between his legs.
Why—why is this wrong?
Spencer groaned again and his arms began to lift.
And then she saw it. The arm that undid Spencer's seatbelt retreated. A dark and large, indeterminable looming shape bent and tilted Spencer's head in its gloved hands, tapping his face before shuffling, pulling him part way from the car. He's helping. Thank god. Thank god.
Heart beating ever faster, as if looking behind glass filled with murky water, Alex then stared in numb fascination as an arm wrapped around Spencer's neck.
Spencer's hands flew up to grab the arm, his motions weakened, before his body was wrenched out. He disappeared from her line of sight.
Alex could make out the sounds of feet sliding against the grit on the ground outside. "Oh—g'uh—" Blood rushed and pulsed in her ears and her heart clamored against her chest, drowning out any sound for a few beats before she realized in horror as she next heard feet—His feet? Spencer's feet?—sliding for purchase against the grit. Whatever was happening to Spencer—Is someone hurting him? Is he—is he—the other muffled sound she was hearing was his wheezing, aborted struggles to breathe.
She tried to push herself up. "Spe—cer! Nuh!"
Hands slapping, knocking against the side of the car, finger pads sliding against the smooth metal of the side of the car to find purchase, a grip, an anything, squeak squeak squeaking before slapping again, aborted groans, gurgling rasps.
Is he choking? Is he choking?
He was. He had to be.
No. Not choking. Being—strangled?
Alex couldn't will her body to move, couldn't see him, couldn't stop his helper—attacker. The more she tried to lift her limbs, the heavier her head became and the softer the sound of struggles became. So she yelled his name again and again and again with no great force. Her eyes were large as they searched the flashing darkness, a rushing flood of water pounding in her ears, roaring. As the sound dissipated, she didn't register that she could no longer hear Spencer struggling.
The indeterminable figure reached in again and pulled the keys out of the ignition where she had left them in the locked position. The amber flash of the hazard lights flicked off.
Another blink and she must have lost time. Unrushed footsteps crunched to her side of the car again. She could hear it behind her, and she tried to lift herself to turn. A gloved hand tucked under her neck and pushed her body back. "Oh, pl—" she began. "Pl's hel—p hi—"
The punch against her chest hit with such force that she coughed. And then she felt the same thump against her chest a second time. A third. She groaned and tried to reach for her gun, to move her arms, to do anything. The mindless, knee-jerking reaction to defend was there, but her body was slow to follow. The punch hit her again. She couldn't count how many times more. It wasn't excruciating; it was just a numb pressure.
Her body was slumped forward again against the wheel, and the footsteps receded. It grew hot. The mid-spring nights were still cool, but a stifling fire was consuming her.
The gritting, sliding sound of footsteps toward Spencer's body was the last Alex heard before it and any other sound was obliterated from her memory. The night enveloped her as a terrible ache soon saturated her body, blooming from the residual blows pulsing against her chest.
Into the night Spencer Reid disappeared, and it was the last in many months that he would be seen alive.
END PART 1
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In reference to the footnote [1] in this chapter, you can find additional information on my tumblr.
Thanks to all who have stuck with this story so far. I hope that you've enjoyed enjoyed this adventure. This chapter has ended the first arc. After this, I am taking a 2-week break from updating to go through a more rigorous editing phase. In the spirit of transparency, I've decided that the direction of Book 2 needs a necessary detour. We'll definitely be getting a third installment, which I'm very excited for. Moving forward, subsequent chapters will be updated on a weekly basis and not twice a week (unless I'm able to give you an extra!). Many apologies. This will guarantee that you're getting my very best so you can continue enjoying this story (although 'enjoy' is a term that I use lightly).
