You people are flawless - cookies for all of you!
Sometimes, when Emma was young, she had dreamed up stories that explained her parent's abandonment. It had been a way to cope with the bluntness of reality; a sort of imaginary land of muted colours and hazy details that would temporarily blind her to the harsh colours of the world she lived in. Her mind would paint pretty pictures of a magical land akin to something from a storybook, detailing a story about a king and queen forced to send their daughter to a far-off land to keep her safe.
There, in that made-up land, she had found refuge. Of course, with age came understanding and eventually the little girl who had once fervently justified the actions of her paternal parents became a guarded young woman. Her parents weren't a king and queen and she wasn't a lost princess. She was just another kid in the system, destined to be passed from one foster family to another until she was spat out onto the streets where she would presumably stay.
Curled in a ball under her bed, hiding from her foster parents and their violent tendencies, Emma had learned young that the worst people put on the best facades; child services representatives oblivious to the fact that the bruises on her arms were not from falling off her bike – unless her foster father's drunken escapade could be classified as a 'biking accident.'
It was only after a particularly violent outburst by foster father number six on her fifteenth birthday that she'd promised herself she would not fall victim to the system. She would beat the system.
From that night on, Emma had decided upon her future in law enforcement, a life of locking up bastards that classified brutality as discipline. Luckily for her, the skills she'd grown up honing just happened to be the sort of thing the BAU needed. And with rock-hard determination, she'd immersed herself in a life of taking down the real monsters of the world – not the ones she'd imagined as a child, the ones who forced her parents to give her up.
At least these kids would know their parents hadn't left them by choice and it was a small but meaningful notion. Emma's eyes were glued to the picture on the clear board, the one that showed a happy family of four; two parents smiling with satisfaction and pride as they embraced both children who were also beaming contentedly at the camera.
It wasn't fair that two children should be left behind after only a decade with their parents. But then, life wasn't fair and something in Emma's mind cruelly reminded her of the abundant amount of experience she possessed to support the statement.
Nevertheless, the blonde continued to stare at the picture, keeping her face impassive despite the empathy she felt for the two kids. At least she had never known her parents, so she'd never recognized what she had missed out on. But these children understood what it was to have unconditional love and they would have to bear the crushing weight of its absence. It caused hot anger to simmer in her chest and she turned her glare on the board housing the un-sub's details.
"What did the white-board ever do to you?" a lilting voice asked beside her.
She didn't have to turn her head to know Killian had walked up to stand beside her.
"Not the white board," Emma replied simply. He frowned for a moment but then realised what she meant and his expression darkened significantly. He too stared at the board as the silence stretched between them.
"It's unlike you to feel so personally offended by an un-sub," Killian commented, glancing sideways at her.
"We don't usually deal with cases where young kids are left parentless."
A look of understanding flickered across his face and staring at the transparent board; he too stared at the family photo. His hand twitched and she wondered if he had the same urge she did upon seeing the image; to rip it down and throttle the idiot who decided to broadcast the picture. As if the team didn't need reminding of the morbid dealings of their job, or the fact that two children were now orphans.
"Will they be put in the system?" he asked.
"Depends if they have any other family that'll be willing to take them in," she murmured back, recalling her own treatment in Child Service's and praying that the happily grinning kids in the photo had someone to rely on. She never had – but that's what happens when you're dropped off on the side of a freeway with no explanation.
"Well, we know they have grandparents because we have to interview them soon… I'm sure they have somewhere to go," he said, sounding oddly like he was trying to comfort her.
"We'll see," Emma replied in a monotone, physically refusing the urge to sound hopeful. She was also still pissed off at him for their earlier altercation about David. It was stupid – she knew that. But, for some reason, there was a miniscule part of her that was incensed by the way he mentioned Regina.
Needing a distraction from the strange clenching and unclenching of her stomach at the personal topics swirling around in her head, she focused her attention on the white-board.
So far, it was clear that it was a white middle-aged male who had some form of past trauma at the hands of a woman. His anger had simmered for years and he had dealt with it by torturing animals and then assaulting women but something – some kind of catalyst – had forced him to erupt and resort to murder to deal with his feelings. Did no one these days know about counselling?
They were yet to identify a number of things: why he was attacking couples and not simply the women, what the stressor was that had pushed him to homicide, how he was subduing his victims and how he was finding them.
"Okay," Emma finally said, crossing her arms, "so do we know yet whether the victims were drugged?"
"Not yet, we'll be getting the results back tomorrow morning," Killian replied.
"But it's likely that he's using something like Rohypnol. The question is how he's getting it into their systems," the blonde mused quietly to herself and Killian nodded.
"Well, there weren't any signs of puncture wounds so he's not injecting it, if that is what he's using."
"Ingestion?" Emma suggested.
"If he's feeding it to them, they're doing so willingly," he added.
"Okay, so he's probably got some kind of establishment where they're eating it. Had they checked into their hotels before they went missing?"
"No and they weren't staying at the same hotels anyway."
"Damn... maybe a stop-off point then?"
Killian rubbed his chin in thought, nodding in agreement, "A gas station might be a good guess."
She glanced at the information on the clear board, the common link between the couples; route 55.
"Do you reckon you could get Ruby to give us a list of gas stations along route 55?" Emma asked, despite knowing the answer. He turned to give her an incredulous look because of course he could get the tech analyst to do that. Her partner pulled out his phone and walked to the opposite side of the room, presumably to call Ruby as Emma looked over her shoulder to observe what the rest of her team was doing.
Phillip was still working on the press release plan which would hopefully stay unused as Henry set out each individual case file in front of him to study the specific facts of each incident. He was nearly done thanks to the speed at which he read. It was then that Emma noticed David had left the room and she looked out of the office through the transparent glass walls to see him conversing with Sally.
She let her eyes drift from her Unit Chief to her partner, who was smiling happily as he spoke to Ruby. Emma decided to sit down, pulling her laptop out of her bag she had set on the large round table and opening it to check her emails. The moment she logged in, a sharp ding informed her that she had unread mail.
It was from Ruby and had been sent to all members of their team. She opened it up, it read:
My ruthless avengers, here is the information that I have decided to bequeath you with as per the request of the Irish knight. I can feel your gratitude all the way from Quantico. Visit Lincoln Park Zoo for me. Love from your all-knowing, all-seeing sorceress (Ruby).
Emma smiled to herself and shook her head as her eyes scanned through the message – how could someone so intelligent be so strangely optimistic? She'd always been told the smartest people were the saddest. Perhaps, the brunette was just incredibly talented at hiding it.
She opened up the attached files and the information was quickly in front of her. The chair she sat on leaned back, making it obvious someone was resting on it and she looked over her shoulder. When she noticed Killian was no longer on the other side of the room she realised it was him, a fact that was confirmed when he leaned further forward so his head hovered just above her shoulder, staring intently at the screen.
"What did Ruby find?" Emma asked, leaning away from him so she could face him.
"There are quite a few so I got her to narrow it down to ones with cash only and food and beverage amenities. She's sent the list to my phone. I think we should check it out," he replied, eyes flitting across the screen to read the details of the files Ruby had sent earlier. His expression quickly sobered and Emma turned back to look at the computer monitor.
"Six animal corpses found on the Ryer property outside of town from 2003 to 2005. And then from 2006 to 2010 there were four sexual assaults around that area believed to have been committed by the same person… and then last year there were another two… remind me again why we're only just being called in," Killian asked, reading off the screen in front of him.
"I don't even know anymore," Emma admitted with a sigh.
A shrill ring made the blonde jump slightly in the seat and she quickly recognized it as her ringtone. Thrusting her hand into her bag she pulled it out and took note of the caller I.D., her posture stiffening as she realised who was calling her. It only took her a moment to stand up and duck out of the small room, ignoring the meaningful look Killian gave her as she all but sprinted from the office.
Emma walked quickly to a corner of the large office and, after checking that the people who might have been within earshot were occupied, pressed the button to answer the call. She took a deep breath before holding it to her ear.
"Jefferson," she greeted.
"Emma," he replied simply.
"I wouldn't flatter myself by saying you've called for personal reasons."
"You're right," Jefferson answered, and she heard the brief shuffling of papers on the other end. There was silence as she waited for him to explain what he was doing calling her at what, for him, would have been an ungodly hour.
"You wanted me to let you know if we caught sight of him?" he said, though the way his voice rose at the end implied a question, as though he were asking her if she really wanted to know. And of course she did, she needed to know because she needed to know how long she had before he came for her.
"Yes."
He sighed, "One of my sources spotted him in the Ukraine yesterday. I'll keep you updated though." He said the last part like it might reassure her. Ha, the only thing that would be reassuring would be to have him dead or in an American cell block. Emma cursed the feelings that rose up within her at the thought of him dead and she hated herself for the treacherous sentiments. The emotions warring within her head were confusing and complex, like mismatched puzzle pieces that had been forced together through no desire of her own.
"Thank you," she said, letting genuine gratitude tint her voice.
"Are you sure he's coming after you? After all this time?"
"I don't know."
But she did. His voice whispered in her ear though there was no one behind her, his image dancing behind her lids like a nightmare just waiting for her to fall asleep.
"I love you."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because it shouldn't have been like this."
"You know that's not what I mean."
"It doesn't matter. Goodbye."
"I'll never forget you."
Emma blinked rapidly, clearing her fuzzy thoughts and schooling her features into a mask of indifference. It was with horror that she realised she had let her façade slip, the mixture of nostalgia and fear clear on her face for a brief moment. Her blue-grey eyes scanned the office, swiftly checking that no one had seen her falter. Everyone was still hastily answering phones and printing documents and tapping away at computer keyboards.
Despite the niggling feeling in her gut telling her that someone had seen, she dismissed it and turned her attention back to the phone in her hand.
"Have you called the others?" Emma asked, thinking about her former teammates and the threat that was probably looming over them.
"Yes, except Miranda. I haven't been able to get in touch with her yet," he replied.
She ran a hand through her blond hair, "I'll try to get through to her. Thanks for everything, Jefferson."
"Anytime."
The line went dead and Emma put the phone back in her pocket as she started walking back to the office. Her movements felt unnaturally fluid though, like she was numb and wading through deep water. Perhaps she was drowning her own thoughts, she didn't know and she didn't intend to contemplate the thought too deeply.
Emma walked briskly back into the room, immediately striding towards her partner whom she tapped on the shoulder. He turned to face her immediately, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Did you get the list of gas stations that Ruby sent?"
He nodded.
And, feeling slightly harried, Emma nodded to the door, "Should we check them out?"
Killian was apparently surprised by her sudden desire to leave as well, frowning in confusion. But she didn't need to ask twice he responded immediately, grabbing his phone and the keys to one of the sedans off the table and following her to the door. They made quick work of leaving the crowded police station and she could feel his icy blue eyes every time he glanced at her.
As they reached the black sedan, Emma took the keys from Killian and pressed the button to unlock the car. Once she had identified which one belonged to the keys, by watching for which vehicle's lights flashed when she used the remote, she walked briskly to the driver's side and jumped in, waiting for her partner to do the same on the other side. And he did, but before she could turn the keys which she had harshly shoved into the ignition, Killian leaned over and pulled the keys out and away from her grip.
She glared at him, "What?"
"What's wrong?" he asked seriously, levelling her with an apprehensive stare.
Emma sighed and rubber her forehead with her hand, "Are we really going to go through this again?"
"This isn't about that – I just need to make sure you're in the right state of mind because I need to know that you'll have my back." She held his gaze evenly, looking out the car's stationery window at their concrete surroundings. The only sound in the vehicle was that of the car keys' feint tinkling as Killian held them in his hand mixed with the almost inaudible sound of their breathing. It felt like a long moment, but was most likely only a second, before she found it within herself to reply.
Emma turned back to face him, meeting his stare, "I've got your back," she said, putting her hand out. He looked at her for a second longer, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly before, still holding her stormy gaze, he dropped the keys into her hand with a final jingle of metal tapping metal. She immediately dropped her eyes to the little silver pieces in her hand, picking out the large black one and inserting it into the slot next to the wheel.
From her peripheral vision she could see as he kept watching her, even as they pulled out of the precinct and onto the roads. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to tint the sky a beautiful spectra of oranges and pinks. As they drove out of the city and onto route 55, the horizon became visible and it truly was a beautiful sight to behold. The sun slowly descending into the sky as she continued to drive towards the furthest gas station Ruby had told him about so that they could work their way back towards the city.
"Where's the first one?" Emma asked, checking the cars surrounding her before merging into the lane beside them.
Killian opened the file on his phone, looking at the first one and seeing the sign approaching in the distance.
"Over there," he said, pointing towards the little gas station.
8888
It was three hours later when Emma and Killian trudged back into the office, unsuccessful and exhausted. Not only that, but the former was momentously pissed off by the last of the gas station attendant that they had interviewed. Misogynistic bastard had thought it would be a good idea to make comment on the blonde's choice of profession only after taking a long moment to ogle her chest. Beside her, Killian's stare had hardened and he'd thankfully chosen that moment to grasp her elbow as a silent reminder that they needed this guy's assistance. Although, she could swear she'd heard utter loathing when her partner had next spoken to the greasy bulbous man.
The two agents had looked at security footage from all the gas stations and none had revealed sighting of the couples. So, they hadn't stopped off for fuel along the highway and Emma was absolutely lost for ideas.
She fell into one of the leather-backed chairs as she entered the small office and David turned around to face her from where he was standing across the room with Phillip.
"How'd it go?" he asked, his gaze flickering up to her male counterpart who sat on the edge of the table.
"I strongly dislike the gas station attendants here," Emma replied, massaging her temples with a look of deep consternation etched on her face.
Killian looked over his shoulder at the Unit Chief, "Needless to say, we got nothing."
Emma ran a hand through her blonde hair, more worn out than usual. David looked at all of them sitting at the round table, standing in front of the white boards with markers at the ready, looking out the window in great concentration.
The Unit Chief sighed loudly, "Okay guys – I think it's time go back to the hotel. We'll come back in the morning with fresh eyes. Pack up," he said, walking to the table and stacking the notes so far.
Henry picked up his satchel, throwing the brown strap over his shoulder and walking to the door. Emma and Phillip quickly followed and then Killian and David. The large precinct which had earlier been bustling with activity had quietened down. There were only a couple of people still stationed at their desks – unlucky bastards that got the night duty.
The team made their way to the elevator, and they all leaned against the shiny glass walls as they descended into the car-park. They were exhausted – the case was already exhausting and they hadn't even begun to pry it open.
Emma and Killian took one of the black sedans while Henry, David and Phillip took the other. It was silent in the large car, Killian driving as Emma drifted into a sort of semi-conscious state, her eyes closing for long periods of time before opening again lazily. Within fifteen minutes, the two cars had pulled into their hotel and the team was making their way to their designated rooms. Emma got her own room – being the only female on the team – while Henry and Phillip shared a room and Killian and David shared another.
The second she entered her room, she let her bags drop onto the floor either side of her, the thump resounding throughout the empty room. Emma walked straight towards the bed but just as she sat down her phone began to vibrate – she'd put it on silent after that morning when it had clearly drawn Killian's attention.
She sighed dramatically, groaning and mumbling irritably as she extracted the slim device from her jeans pocket. For once, Emma didn't even need to look at the caller I.D. to know who was on the other end.
"Graham?" she answered, her voice breathy and tired despite the subject matter he would have intended.
"Emma, Jefferson called me the other day, he's –"
"Yeah, I know. He's out – I'm pretty sure I was the first to be called, Graham," Emma interrupted, taking the end of her pony tail in the hand not holding the phone and twiddling with it. She looked around the room and, for some reason or another, at the mention of her most recent problem it was like the walls began to close in. Her heart rate picked up marginally and she felt her mouth go dry.
"Sorry, Em – I was just checking if you knew. He told me they –"
"Spotted him in Russia when he fled the border and then again in Ukraine?"
"And you clearly never got a hold on your tendencies to cut people off," he said, his Irish-tinted voice drifting into a soft chuckle which tugged at the corners of Emma's lips. She had missed Graham.
"It's not my fault if you're trying to tell me things I already know," she retorted easily. Silence crackled in the phone as the weight of what they would need to discuss settled on their shoulders; like the air was increasing in density, becoming harder to breath.
"Has Jefferson contacted Miranda yet?" Emma asked, her hand reaching up to rub circles on her temple.
"No, he hasn't been able to get through," Graham replied solemnly.
"Where was she working last?"
Silence.
"Ukraine."
A feeling of sadness settled over Emma and she felt as though a blow had been delivered to her lower abdomen. It was quiet on the phone as neither agent knew what to say, though they were both thinking the same thing.
After shrouding herself with the massive workloads of the BAU for years, Emma's past was running to catch up with her. And she didn't know if she had the strength to keep sprinting.
"Emma?" his voice whispered through the phone.
"Yeah?"
"You know I can come down to Quantico if you need?"
A grateful smile dusted her lips in spite of the automatic response, "I can take care of myself." She could hear as he sighed on the other end, probably cursing her inability to accept assistance.
"But thanks," she continued awkwardly, dropping the hand not holding the phone onto her lap and picking at her jeans.
"Well, you know where I am if you need me," he said and then, "oh, I nearly forgot – August wanted me to tell you to call him."
"You're still working with him?" Emma asked surprised.
He laughed half-heartedly, "Yeah – can't seem to get rid of him."
Their conversation had come to an irrefutable end and the blonde was the one to finally announce her intentions to shower and go to bed.
As she hung up, Emma kicked off her shoes and lay back on the soft bed, pushing herself into a comfortable position. She didn't even bother getting changed, or rather she was under the spell of fatigue before she fully realised it.
Emma tapped her keyboard at a rapid pace, writing out a report that she didn't actually know the details to. Her fingers moved in quick succession on the keys, forming words she wasn't sure she was coherently forming. It was a mad blur of black and white on her computer screen, and it suddenly hit her as strange that she would be writing a report about an unknown case. After all, they were still working the one in Illinois.
Emma looked up from her computer, instantly recognizing her surroundings as their office in Quantico.
Except it was empty – devoid of any and all human inhabitancy other than herself, the usually busy precinct silent and unmoving. The blonde stood up from her desk to take a better look around, walking out of her designated booth and scrutinising the entire room.
Everything was in its place. Yet she could feel nausea slowly sweeping over her. Her heart began to beat faster and her ribs hurt with the feeling it caused in her chest, her stomach twisting into knots. Emma frowned and searched for the source of her discomfort, first checking herself before trying to identify any anomaly in the familiar room.
She walked past all of the desks towards the glass doors that led to the hall. The BAU's logo was plastered across the double doors and she pushed them open to enter the grey-painted corridor.
Emma looked down each end but there was nothing so she turned around to move back into the office.
And she nearly screamed at what she saw.
The office was destroyed; windows shattered, glass and blood littering the floor, bullet casings scattered across the room. But the most disturbing detail were the bodies. Men and women – coworkers – slumped in their office chairs, blood stains like red flowers in their backs staining their white dress shirts.
Emma held her scream of horror, blue-grey eyes immediately seeking out the familiar faces of her team. But they weren't at their desks; the only empty ones in the entire room of death. Frantic, she ran up the small stairs to the raised level outlining the area and sprinted towards David's office.
The plaque on the door that read his name had been punctured by a bullet and a blood smeared hand print made bile rise in her throat. The door squeaked eerily as she prodded it open, preparing herself for what she expected to see.
But, when she opened the door, it wasn't her Unit Chief's body that lay across his desk, but Regina's; her black hair half covering her blank and staring face. A pool of crimson blood had settled on the mahogany desk, the papers underneath her motionless body soaked from the body fluid.
Emma stepped back out of the room, keeping her gaze anywhere but at the dead woman in David's office. She didn't bother closing the door and thought of the only other place her team would be.
The blonde had never been the type of person to pray to deities, but in that moment she whispered affirmations to every single god she knew, her fingers crossed and her breathing increasing its pace. She jogged towards the conference room and all but slammed down the door.
Emma screamed.
In the corner of the room, David was propped up against the wall, a large red flower in the centre of his chest, blooming out until the petals touched his sides and lower abdomen. His eyes were closed and there was a deep pink stain running down the wall behind him from where he had slid to a sitting position.
Phillip was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table, his head lolling back.
Ruby was on her side, her eyes disturbingly open, her artfully painted face streaked with black from where her mascara had run as she cried.
Henry was on the table, his arms splayed out in front of him, his brown hair matted with blood.
Emma tried to step forward but her foot nudged something on the floor and her eyes flashed downwards. There was a puddle of red, atop of which a man's body lay sideways. She recognised him immediately, kneeling down as she felt the tears sting her eyes and the lump form painfully in her throat.
"Killian?" Emma sobbed out, falling onto her knees beside him and staring at the now-dim blue eyes, forever locked into position on some far off thing.
"I told you I would never forget you."
She turned around on the spot she was kneeling, her blurry vision rising up to meet the brown eyes of the man responsible. She knew he was coming for her. It was her fault.
Emma nearly fell out of her bed as she sat up abruptly, her hands clenching the sheets at her side. Her breathing was rapid, nearly to the point of hyperventilation and she put a hand on her chest to slow the rapid beating of her heart. A cold sweat covered her body, her hair clinging to the edge of her face.
Panic and adrenaline still coursed through her body and the blonde had to repeat aloud what she knew to be the truth; it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, it was a nightmare.
Staring around the pale hotel room though, Emma felt the oddest sense of foreboding.
A bang on her door made the woman jump and she took notice of the time; it was six o'clock.
She jumped out of the bed and moved straight for the door. Emma caught sight of herself in the small mirror beside the door before she opened it – and luckily, too. Though she wasn't particularly worried about her appearance, especially in front of her team, the face in the mirror was positively distraught. So rather than open the door – because not even her façade could cover up the visible horror still fixed in her eyes – Emma looked through the peephole.
Henry's familiar face welcomed her and he rocked on the balls of his feet as he waited. She smiled tightly despite the fact he couldn't see her, a strange feeling of relief washing over her at seeing him alive and well. She reminded herself again wordlessly, it was a nightmare.
"Yeah?" she called through the door, keeping an eye on the little looking glass in the wooden surface.
He frowned; evidently surprised that she was refusing to open the door.
Henry shrugged, "We're leaving soon – are you ready to get back to the office?"
Emma sighed, "Yeah. I'll be ready in a minute."
8888
Emma never knew what to do when people cried in front of her; every sentiment always felt so awkward and rehearsed, like a soap opera and she was just waiting for the cameramen to call 'cut.' She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking at David who apparently sympathized deeply with the couple on the opposite side of the interview table. His eyes were soft and he waited patiently for them to compose themselves.
Finally, they did and Emma waited for David to speak first since he obviously had a greater connection with them. She wondered why Henry or Phillip hadn't been asked to accompany him in the interview – they were much softer personalities and would definitely have had some kind of inkling what would be the most comforting - compared to Emma, who sat stiff in the chair, her eyes glancing between her superior and the two sobbing parents.
It wasn't that she didn't feel bad for them because she honestly did. The fact of that matter was that Emma's aptitude for showcasing her feelings in order to connect with people mainly existed on a superficial level – an ability she primarily utilised during interviews with prospective perps.
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Mr and Mrs Forderdale, but we need to ask you a few questions," David announced softly. Emma found herself envying his ability to coherently and compassionately ask of these people what she had failed so miserably to do all morning. It was the third couple they'd spoken to that morning – the first two having occurred over video-chat since the couples had been travelling across the country.
Mr and Mrs Forderdale were the parents of Lisa Forderdale-Mint, the third female victim. She had only just gotten married and, from what they knew from previous statements, she and her husband had been coming up to Chicago from Columbia to visit. The mother, an older woman with soft brown eyes and chestnut brown hair, was having trouble stuttering an answer as her balding husband held her close to his side.
"O-o-okay," she hiccupped as she nodded.
David nodded in reply, turning to Emma. She tried to put on as much a compassionate façade as she could manage, smiling tightly at them and putting her hands in front of her on the table.
"We just need to know – did your daughter or son-in-law have any enemies?" she asked, the preliminary question that always needed answering. Both parents nodded fervently.
"No, e-e-everybody loved L-Lisa and Jason."
Emma nodded, "Okay, so did they give either of you a detailed plan of how they were going to get up here? A map or even a description of where they might stop off?"
"I told her to take route 55 to be safe," Mr Forderdale mumbled gruffly, his eyes downcast. His wife held the hand on her waist reassuringly, squeezing it gently.
"She – she didn't say where they'd be stopping off but I think she would have. Lisa was a-always bad with long trips," Mrs Forderdale added.
Emma felt an ineffable feeling of pity sweep over her at the news; route 55 was the common link between all of the couples. Had the young couple never taken the path suggested by the woman's parents, they may never have ended up in the morgue. They might've been in some café speaking happily with the people in front of Emma – perhaps in an alternative universe they were.
Nevertheless, the blonde didn't feel the need to express their unknowing role in their daughter's demise.
"Was Jason the sort of person to get into confrontations often?"
Mr Forderdale shook his head ardently, "No – it was one of the reasons I was so happy she married him. After all the losers she dated, it was nice for her to settle down with a nice guy..."
Tears glistened in the man's eyes and, though his exterior broadcasted an aura of toughness, she could see the pain as sure as if he was beaten and bloodied.
"Alright, I'll be right back," Emma said, standing up and leaving David to finish the questioning – she wouldn't be back. But what else could she say? "I'm leaving now because I'm uncomfortable, I have no other questions I want answered and I need to try to figure out how this killer got your daughter and her husband because your information has given me shit all to work with. Thank you."
She left the room, entering the hectic office and taking a deep breath. Emma walked briskly to the room they had set up, entering and walking straight to the board about the couples. She picked up the marker and scribbled down the information she had been given. She took a step back to survey her work just as Henry sidled up to her, eyes scanning over the board and registering the information within the space of a second.
"So," Emma said, "somewhere along route 55 these couples are somehow being taken and we still don't know how they're being subdued?"
"Nope – drug test came back negative," Henry replied.
"Damn," she sighed.
"I think David was going to get Phillip to deliver the profile to the police precinct soon – they need to know what to look for even if we can't tell the general public."
"I don't see the point. We've got nothing."
"Don't be so negative, statistics show that the clearance rate for murder is 61.2%, leaving 38.8% currently unsolved. And specifically for our team, over 93.5% of our cases get solved. Don't fret," he said, patting Emma on the back. But his reassurances fell on deaf ears and she stayed looking at the board, shaking her head at their utter lack of progress.
"Emma, are you okay?" Henry's voice asked tentatively, and it reminded Emma of a child dipping its toe into water to detect the temperature. She restrained the urge to snap back a sarcastic retort as she would have with Killian or anyone else for that matter and simply turned to him with a tight and insincere smile.
"I'm fine – just tired."
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