Chapter Four
The coroner and the paramedics are clearing up the dead bodies on top of the hotel as the local CSI unit searches for any forensic clues as to the killer's identity. The local SWAT team is conducting a floor by floor sweep of the hotel, searching every room for the killer. The BAU team is by the pool as the bodies are being carted away. Aaron Hotchner approaches Derek Morgan, his expression none too pleased. Morgan looks away, sure that he's about to get chewed out.
"What the hell was that, Morgan?" he asks, "I told you to wait for back up."
"I had back up," replies Morgan.
"Six armed security guards are not back up," says Hotchner, "They're civilians."
"With military and law enforcement backgrounds," counters Morgan.
"You were under orders to wait until back up arrived before you went up," says Hotchner.
"There might have been party guests who were still alive," says Morgan, "If I had waited for the reinforcements, they could have been killed."
"It didn't do them much good. They were all dead by the time you got up here."
"I just did what you would have done, Hotch," says Morgan, "What you have done yourself."
Hotchner stops his argument. He knows full well what Derek is talking about. He's referring to when Hotchner saved his son Jack from "The Reaper" George Foyet, the day Haley died. The rules don't mean much when peoples' lives are at stake. The head of Miami's SWAT team approaches them just then.
"Agent Hotchner," he says, "My men have searched every square inch of the building. Who ever this killer is, he's not in the building. There's no trace of him."
"Alright," says Hotch, "Let's get some rest and pick this back up in the morning."
The BAU team retires to their rooms for the night. The next morning they return to the police department and begin going over the case again. They have the crime scene photos from the previous night up on the bulletin board, and copies of the medical examiner's reports spread out in front of them.
"Alright," says Hotchner, "So what have we got?"
"Whoever this guy is, he's not staying at the hotel," says Rossi, "We searched that hotel from top to bottom. There was no sign of the missing heads."
"He must be a total Houdini," adds Prentiss, "We had people on every exit and entrance and he never showed. However he left that hotel, it wasn't through any of the doors."
"He's fast," agrees Morgan, "And also strong."
"How so?" asks JJ.
"The human skull is the heaviest part of the body. It weighs approximately ten pounds in a full grown adult. There must have been at least two dozen victims last night. . ."
"Thirty two," says Reid, "Twenty men, twelve women."
"Thank you," says Morgan, "So thirty two heads, at about ten pounds a piece, is around three hundred and twenty pounds. Even if you were to take three trips, that would be very difficult to carry out all on your own."
"That's not the only feat of superhuman strength the unsub has demonstrated," adds Reid.
"What do you mean?" asks Hotchner.
"The fellow who was thrown from the roof top, the one who landed on our SUV."
"Yeah? What about him?"
"His head wasn't cut from his body with a blade."
"What do you mean?" asks JJ.
"Apparently the unsub dug his fingers into the small of the victim's back, grabbed hold of his spine, then pulled it out with the head still attached. At least according to the Medical Examiner's report."
"But that's impossible," says Emily, "Nobody has that kind of strength!"
"Maybe the unsub is on some sort of drug?" suggests JJ, "PCP?"
"More like a drug cocktail," replies Rossi, "Like maybe anabolic steroids with a PCP chaser."
"But there's still no prints or forensic evidence to tell us anything about the killer," says JJ.
"And his victimology is all over the place," says Morgan, "First it was kids' birthday parties, now a gay pride party."
"And in our own hotel too, no less," adds Hotchner.
"He's getting bolder," says Rossi, "Who knows where he might strike next?"
"What if he shifts from parties?" asks JJ, "What if he starts targeting night clubs? Or movie theatres?"
"There's no way to truly predict where he'll strike next," agrees Rossi.
"I've got a good idea of when, though," says Morgan, "Tonight's Saturday. Lots of people go out on Saturday night."
"Or have people over," adds Reid.
"So?" asks Hotchner, "What are we supposed to do? Put out a bulletin asking people not to host or attend any parties?"
"Actually," says Rossi, "That's not such a bad idea."
"Unless the government were to declare martial law in Miami, there's no way we'll be able to enforce that," replies Hotchner.
"No," agrees JJ, "But maybe we can convince enough people to stay home to keep them safe. At least until we catch this sicko."
"All right," agrees Hotch, "I'll make the arrangements for the news conference. JJ, prepare your statement warning people away from hosting or attending parties. You should also warn them away from attending the movies or going to dance clubs, just in case the unsub makes any more changes."
Later that afternoon, JJ is standing at a podium set up just outside the Miami Metro Police Station. After a brief introduction by Lieutenant Vasquez, JJ takes the stand. "Ladies and gentlemen," she begins, "I am Agent Jennifer Jareau of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. We have been working in conjunction with The Miami Police Department's homicide division in an effort to catch the killer dubbed The Party Crasher. While I am not at liberty to discuss the case in detail at this time, I can tell you that we are pursuing several leads. However, until such time as we catch the suspect, we would like to ask Miami's citizens to refrain from attending or hosting any social gatherings. We would also request that Miami's citizens refrain from going to the cinema or to night clubs."
"Are you saying that there's a curfew in effect in the city?" asks a reporter.
"Of course not," replies JJ, "We haven't the manpower to enforce such a restriction. We only ask that the citizens of Miami use their own judgment and not take any unnecessary risks. This killer is, for whatever reason, attracted to large groups of people. There's no need to
put yourself in harms way if you don't have to. The choice, however, is yours. Now if you don't mind, I have to get back to finding this person so we can stop him."
With that, JJ turns away from the podium and walks back into the Police Department while dozens of reporters shout out question after question. This has always been one of the tougher parts of JJ's job. Trying to make it seem as though their investigation is farther along than it is, in order to prevent a panic, while at the same time trying to bring the unsub out into the open by cutting off his supply of victims. She can only hope that their gamble will work.
That night, at an upscale high-rise, a beautiful young brunette named Svetlana, wearing a daringly cut, bright fluorescent green dress is riding the elevator up to the penthouse suite. The elevator doors open at the top floor and she steps out into a decadently decorated hall. Two very serious looking broad shouldered men in expensive looking business suits are standing in front of the large gilded double doors. Svetlana boldly walks up to them, her exposed skin sparkling in body glitter. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a piece of paper, which she then hands over to the two well dressed bouncers. They look over the paper, check her name against their guest list, nod their heads, then hand it back to her. They open up the door and Svetlana walks into the penthouse suite.
The suite is totally dark. All of the lights have been replaced by blacklights, and there are additional blacklight fixtures all over the apartment. There are several UV reflective posters and decorations all over the apartment. Get Yours, Get Mine by Christina Aguilera from her Stripped album is playing on the stereo. Svetlana's dress and body glitter glow brightly under the blacklights, as does her make up, fingernail polish, and hair elastics. There are several men and women in various stages of undress, some of them only wearing UV reflective body paint, are enjoying the party. Some of them are dancing, while others are enjoying more intimate expressions of their enjoyment. A man in a green UV reflective thong and blacklight body paint walks up to Svetlana, his white teeth glowing under the blacklights as he smiles at her.
"Svetta!" he cries in greeting, "You made it!"
"I wouldn't miss this for the world!" she replies to her host, "Thanks for inviting me, Tony."
"It wouldn't be a party without you, Babe," he replies, and he gives her a deep, passionate kiss.
"Aren't you worried?" Svetlana asks him.
"Nah!" says Tony, "We've got plenty of glow in the dark condoms."
"That's not what I mean," she replies, "I mean about The Party Crasher!"
"Hey," says Tony, "We're on the top floor. The windows are bullet proof. And I've got two well trained, armed guards just outside my apartment. Plus the guards at the concierge desk in the lobby. Trust me, no one is crashing this party without my say so."
Out in the hall, the two guards are standing just outside the double doors. They both have very bored expressions on their faces.
"So what do you think's happening inside?" Kyle, one of the guards, asks his partner.
"Judging from all that fine tail that keeps showing up," says Vincent, the other guard, "I'd say there's a whole lotta screwin' goin' on."
Just then, the doors burst open as Tony, the owner of the penthouse, goes flying down the hall. He collapses halfway to the elevator in a bloody heap. Vincent and Kyle draw their guns, Kyle looking inside the penthouse to see what's happening while Vincent goes to check on their employer.
"Mister Douglas!" says Vincent, "Mister Douglas, are you okay?"
Just then he notices some movement inside the suite. Vincent stands up and points his side arm towards the doorway. A second later he goes flying backward to be pinned to the elevator door by some sort of wire net. Several metal pins hold the net in place, and begins to draw the net tighter and tighter, cutting into Vincent's flesh. Vincent screams in agony as the wires cut deeper and deeper.
Kyle hears a woman screaming inside the penthouse. He steps into the doorway to see if he can try to help her. She's completely naked except for the glow in the dark body paint all over her skin. She's sprinting towards the door for all she's worth, and then she's flying, with a bloody shaft protruding from between her breasts. She collides with Kyle, the shaft which is protruding from her chest impales Kyle through his. The two of them fly down the hall until the javelin that has pierced them embeds itself in Vincent's chest, turning the three of them into a macabre shishkabob. The last thing Kyle's fading eyes see in this life, is a tall shimmering humanoid shape driving a pair of blades into his employer's body and dragging it back into the penthouse.
Some time later, the bodies of all of the guests to this party are hanging from the ceiling by their ankles, as are the bodies of the two security guards. The tall, humanoid killer is skinning the bodies one at a time. The stereo is playing Boom Boom Boom by Camarco by the time the killer gets to the final body. Just as the creature is packing the final skin away in some sort of case, another of its kind drops down through the broken skylight. This one is taller and thicker than the other, and wears a metal badge upon a leather strap around its upper arm.
The two creatures stare at each other, and if any of the skinless bodies could hear them they would appear to be growling at one another. They step away from the bodies, seemingly having a conversation. The larger creature points it's shoulder cannon at the smaller creature. An energy bolt fires from the weapon at the smaller humanoid. It dives forward, into a somersault, dodging the blast. He rolls to his feet and fires a small, arrow like projectile at the larger creature. It buries itself deep into the larger creature's arm, causing him to grasp the wound in pain.
The smaller of the two makes a dash for the collection of skins. The other creature fires another energy blast at him, missing by inches. The smaller humanoid drops into a crouch and fires back at the other with his own energy weapon. The larger humanoid leaps over the energy blast and rolls to his feet in a somersault. He charges at the one who killed all these people. The smaller humanoid meets him straight on, and the two of them grab each other by the forearms like a couple of wrestlers. The smaller of the two grabs the larger one's cannon and points it upwards at the ceiling, firing an energy blast harmlessly into the air. The larger one grabs his opponent's cannon and tears it off. When he does, the smaller one slips out of his grasp, grabs him by the tendrils which grow from their heads like dreadlocks, and slams his head into a nearby counter top.
The larger humanoid backhands the smaller one across the face, sending him staggering back. He takes aim with his cannon and tries to fire, but sparks fly out as it was damaged in the fight. He pulls off the cannon and attacks the smaller humanoid again. He grabs his opponent and drives him towards the wall. The smaller one takes a couple of running steps up the wall and does an impressive back flip over his opponent. The second he lands, he shoves the larger combatant face first into the wall, making a sizable dent. The larger one swings around, taking a wild swing with his elbow. The smaller creature ducks the attempted elbow, then extends the twin blades on his forearm and drives them into his opponent's abdomen. The larger creature growls in pain, grabs his smaller opponent by the shoulders, then headbutts him in the face.
The smaller creature turns and runs away, stooping to grab it's bag of skins along the way. Without slowing down, it picks up its bag, bolts past the hanging corpses, heads straight for the giant window overlooking the city, and smashes through the glass, disappearing into the night. Holding his wounded abdomen, the larger humanoid staggers after him. Green glowing blood seeps through his fingers, dripping on the floor. He looks out over the city. The other humanoid is nowhere to be found. The larger creature bellows in rage. He staggers back into the suite. He needs to perform some emergency first aid on himself, and leave the area before the human investigators arrive. He gathers the discarded weapons, takes out a grappling hook gun, fires the hook up through the skylight, then reals himself up on a thin but impossibly strong wire. All that is left behind is the skinless corpses of the party guests.