Chapter Seven
Spencer Reid nervously paces back and forth in his hotel room. He checks his watch, and there's still several minutes before the team meeting he had organized for this morning. He had spent most of the previous day and a fair bit of last night trying to teach Ranger enough English to be able to hold a conversation. He had started with naming household objects. Then started with describing his physical actions. Luckily, it appears that Ranger could already understand much English, he just hadn't learned to actually speak the words. Much like an infant, now that Reid thinks about it. He checks his watch again, but only a minute has gone by since he checked it last. He heads over to where the complimentary coffee maker is and fixes himself a cup. He had brewed the coffee a while ago, but was pacing about too much to drink. Reid drops sugar cube after sugar cube into the steaming black liquid, until it was just the right blend of bitterness and sweet. Just as he takes his first sip, there's a knock at the door. Spencer checks his watch again. They're early. The knock comes again, and this time Reid opens the door. The whole team is there, waiting to come in, all cleaned up and dressed and refreshed.
"Hey guys," Spencer says to them, "You're early."
"Well you sounded kinda urgent on the phone," replies JJ.
"Did I?" he asks, not very convincingly, "Well, come on in! Anybody want some coffee? I just made it!"
"No, thanks anyway," says Derek.
"Reid?" says Emily, "Are you okay?"
"Why do you ask?" he replies.
"Because you're wearing the exact same outfit you had on yesterday," she says back, "And it looks like your bed hasn't been slept in. Have you been up all night?"
"Actually. . ."
"Reid," says Hotchner, "I appreciate your dedication. We all do. But you've got to sleep. You're no good to us if your mind turns to mush from exhaustion."
"I'm okay," says Reid, "I'm better than okay as a matter of fact."
"You're exhausted running on caffeine and adrenaline," says Derek.
"I've also learned more about our unsub," says Reid, "A lot more."
"Really?" says Rossi, "Like what?"
"Well," starts Reid, "Before we get started, I need everyone to take off their side arm and place it on the dresser."
"What?" says Hotch, "Why?"
"Just trust me," he replies, "Please."
Hotchner looks into Reid's eyes and sees the sincerity and exhaustion hiding behind them. With very little hesitation he removes his gun and holster from his waist band and places them on the dresser. Morgan follows suit, followed by JJ and Emily. Rossi gives a moments pause before he too removes his gun. Now that they're all safely disarmed Reid gestures towards the sofa.
"Have a seat," he says. They all sit down on the sofa and chairs provided by the hotel. Spencer runs his fingers through his hair and sips his coffee. He's sure they're going to think he's nuts, but they have to know the truth. He takes a deep, cleansing breath, organizes his thoughts, then begins.
"I know who, or rather what, The Party Crasher is," he says.
"What do you mean by what he is?" asks Rossi.
"The Party Crasher is . . . an alien."
"What?" exclaims Rossi.
"Oh no," groans Derek.
"I hope you mean a Cuban immigrant who's here illegally," says Hotch.
"No, I mean an extra terrestrial."
Derek begins to rub his forehead while Emily and JJ exchange concerned glances.
"Look," continues Reid, "I know it sounds crazy. Hell, I think it sounds crazy and I'm the one saying it. But it's true. The Party Crasher is an alien from outer space."
"Reid . . ." begins Rossi.
"Just hear me out," Spencer interrupts him, "These aliens are predators. They come from a society that reveres hunting. The deadlier the prey, the more valuable the trophy. Here on Earth, that means man is their prey. They've been coming here for centuries to hunt people. They're attracted by heat and conflict. All those stories Garcia told us about soldiers being found without their skins? That was them. They may even be responsible for many of Earth's early myths and legends. Thesius and the Minotaur, Beowulf and Grendel, and so on and so forth. They have a very strict hierarchy. Only a privileged few are allowed to come to Earth to hunt. This predator had been passed over for the hunt time and time again. Finally he decided to come here on his own. But he's not following their strict hunter's code. They're only supposed to hunt the deadliest prey. For humans, that means people who can defend themselves. Soldiers, police officers, gangsters, and so on. This predator is what his society would consider a poacher. He doesn't care about the quality of his trophies, only the quantity. That's why he attacks parties. Maximum body count with minimum effort. It's also why his victimology is all over the place. "
"Look, kid," says Derek, "I appreciate your love for science fiction. Really, I do. But I think you're taking it a little too far. I mean, do you really expect us to believe that these murders were all committed by little green men?"
"Actually," says Reid, "They're typically over seven feet tall, weigh well over four hundred pounds, and are exceptionally strong. While they are technologically advanced, and do have energy weapons, they tend to prefer edged weapons for that up close personal kill."
"Reid, that's enough!" says Hotchner, now getting fed up with what he believes to be delusional ramblings, "If you keep talking like this you're going to end up in a room right next to your mother's!"
JJ and Emily look at each other nervously. They both know how sensitive Reid is about his mother's condition. So is Hotchner, which is why he said it, in hopes of snapping Reid out of this odd delusion. Reid's expression, however, didn't change in the least. He truly seemed to believe every word he was saying.
"I knew you wouldn't believe me," says Reid, "But you needed to know the truth. That's why I brought proof with me."
"What proof?" asks Derek.
"Him," says Spencer as he cocks a thumb towards the bathroom door.
Out steps Ranger, his camouflage turning off as soon as he steps through the doorway. The entire team is startled to their feet, instinctively reaching for firearms no longer clipped to their belts. Ranger stands right behind Spencer with his massive arms crossed over his broad chest. Then, in Spencer's voice, he begins to speak.
"Hello. I am . . . Ranger. I am . . . Here to . . . Help."
"He. . ." stutters Derek, "He sounds just like you."
"I've been up all night teaching him English," explains Reid, "That's why I'm so exhausted."
"So . . . He's one of them?" asks JJ.
"Except he's on our side . . ." explains Reid, "Sort of."
"What do you mean by sort of?" as Emily.
"It's his job to stop those who neglect their Hunters' Code," explains Reid, "He's kind of like a Park Ranger, or a Game Warden."
"So to him, we're nothing more than wild game that's being poached illegally," concludes Derek.
"Essentially, yes," agrees Reid.
"Great," mumbles Rossi.
"Do you know why he's come to us lowly game animals for help?" asks Hotchner.
"His people have never developed a system for criminal profiling," explains Reid, "He has trained all his life to hunt hunters. But this hunter is not following the standard practices of his kind. He can't predict where he'll be next. When he caught up to him at the blacklight party, that was just pure chance."
"He was at the blacklight party?" asks Rossi.
"Yeah. He fought with Rogue. Almost caught him too. But then he got a blade in the gut. That's another reason he needs our help. He's injured. If he were at 100%, he's fairly confident that he could take the unsub. But with an injury, he needs all the help he can get."
"Well, now that we understand his motivation he should be easier to find," says Hotchner, "But we can use all the information about his people he can give us, them and their technology."
"Well, like I told you, they're a highly technologically advanced race. However they do have a preference for using more primitive weapons, such as knives, for hunting. But even then, they're more technologically advanced than us."
"How so?"
"Take the blades on his gauntlet for example. They extend and retract as needed, kinda like Wolverine's claws in the X-Men comics. That disc hanging from his belt? That's essentially a chakram, like what Xena uses on TV. But that one has a built in guidance system. It'll go wherever Ranger wants it to. That cylindrical thing on the other side of his belt that kinda looks like Darth Maul's lightsaber? That extends into a javelin. The thing on his shoulder, kinda looks like a security camera? That's a plasma cannon. You know how some of the victims had holes blasted clean through their chests, the edges completely cauterized? It was from one of those."
"And they can turn invisible?" asks Hotch.
"Not quite," explains Reid, "They have cloaking technology that allows them to bend light around their bodies. Makes them just this side of invisible. If you see them at all they'll look like a trick of the heat. It has one weakness though. Water. Their cloaking devices cannot function if they get wet."
"Great," says Morgan, "Then all we gotta do is go to Toys R Us and stock up on Super Soakers."
"Anything else we should know?" asks Rossi.
"Body armor can stop a direct hit from a plasma cannon," says Reid, "Not many. One, maybe two hits before it's useless. Also, they can't see light reflections."
"What?"
"What we consider vision is actually light reflecting off of objects."
"Yeah?"
"Their eyes don't work like that. They don't see light reflected off of objects. They see the objects heat signatures. Infrared. They hunt by seeing our heat."
"So I guess hiding in a dark closet is out of the question," says JJ.
"Anything else?" asks Hotch.
"They have slow metabolisms, but big appetites. Like great white sharks. They only have to feed once every second or third day, and they prefer fresh meat."
"So what does that mean?"
"If we stake out the slaughterhouse district, sooner or later, we'll spot him."
"I just hope we don't lose too many more civilians while we're waiting," says Rossi.
"In the meantime," adds Derek, "What are we gonna tell the local police? I mean we can't exactly tell them to be on the lookout for a seven foot tall Martian that can turn invisible."
"Morgan's right," says Emily, "And we haven't exactly been much help to the locals so far either. They want results and they want them now."
"I think I have an idea," says Hotchner.
Later that morning, the BAU team is standing before the gathered Miami PD Party Crasher Task Force. Aaron Hotchner has several copies of the profile he and the team had written up for the Party Crasher. The profile was about 95% BS, but if they didn't give the locals something soon, they were certain to be asked to leave. Hotchner clears his throat, then begins delivering the profile.
"First, I would like to apologize for taking so long in getting this profile to you," he says, "However this is an unusually difficult case to profile. The first step in putting together a profile is looking at victimology. Serial killers usually have a type, a specific class of victim which attracts them. Once you can isolate what the victims have in common, the rest of the profile just falls into place. In this case, the victims were so seemingly random that working out the victimology was very difficult."
"So you've discovered a pattern?" asks Lieutenant Vasquez.
"Yes we have," replies Hotchner, "We believe that this unsub is a religious extremist, most probably Catholic or Jehovah's Witness. He is Latino, most likely Cuban and living here illegally so you won't find any birth or work records. Due to a footprint found at the last crime scene, we know that he is unusually large, most probably due to being born with giantism, and is severely deformed, most probably due to acromegaly or even hydrosephalus. Perhaps even both."
"Raised by deeply religious parents, or parental figures," says Rossi, "our unsub was kept isolated from other children his age due to his condition. This caused a lack of social development and a warped sense of morality. Like Quasimoto in The Hunchback Of Notre Damme. He knows only biblical absolutes. So when his parental figures left, either due to passing away or sending him out into the world, he found himself ill prepared for the harsh realities he would have to face."
"By chance or by design, he comes to America," continues Morgan, "Here he finds not the land of plenty that he was promised, but a land of decadence and sin."
"To the Jehovah's Witness," says Emily, "social gatherings of any kind are a sin. Dances, parties, holidays, even Christmas. They believe that it is an affront to God, for it places the importance of the day ahead of that of God Himself. Even without a Jehovah's Witness upbringing, there was plenty of sin to be found at these parties for the Christian extremist."
"The first victims," says JJ, "were celebrating a Sweet Sixteen with a slumber party. An occasion more than one teenage girl has used to experiment with her sexuality. The next victims, an eleven year old's Harry Potter themed birthday party. Harry Potter, a story about witches and wizards, which some Christians believe will lead their children on the path to devil worship. Then came the Gay Pride Party. Many Christians maintain that homosexuality is a choice, and a sinful one which will result in eternal damnation. Then the blacklight sex party. No need to go into detail as to what sins were taking place there. And finally, the kids playing Dungeons & Dragons. Much like the belief that reading the Harry Potter books will cause children to take up the occult and embrace Satanism, there are similar misconceptions about playing Dungeons & Dragons."
"So this unsub is trying to stop sinning by killing all the sinners?" asks one of the cops.
"It's a time honored tradition in the Catholic Church," says Reid, "Just look at The Salem Witch Trials. The Spanish Inquisition. The Crusades. And those are just off the top of my head. It doesn't have to make sense to us. It just has to make sense to the unsub."
"But doesn't hydrosephalus cause severe mental retardation?" asks another cop, "If this guy is so large and mentally handicapped, how has he been able to stay out of sight for this long?"
"Mental retardation is a very common symptom of hydrosephalus," explains Reid, "However there are very rare cases where such individuals grow up to have normal, or even above average intelligence. Statistically speaking it only happens about 3.47% of the time, but it has been known to happen."
"This individual is likely uneducated, or home schooled," announces JJ, "He probably doesn't speak any English, and will likely keep to the Latin neighborhoods."
"That's all we can tell you for now," says Hotchner, "We have copies of the profile printed out here. Please pass them around, and read them thoroughly. And remember, if you do see the unsub, be very very careful. He is incredibly strong, and will likely not go down without a fight."
The team hands the profile printouts to the police officers, then head over to the conference room they had been using as a base of operations.
"I think they bought it," says Emily as soon as the door is closed.
"I haven't shoveled that much manure since the last time I fertilized my garden," says Rossi.
"I'm going to need to take a really long shower," says JJ.
"Well we did what we had to do," says Reid, "We couldn't let them know that they're looking for a seven foot Klingon."
"So now what?" asks Morgan.
"Now we canvas the slaughterhouse district," says Hotchner, "Find out if any of them had had any break ins recently. Maybe have some inventory go missing inexplicably. Then we stake it out. And pray that our Rogue waits until the weekend for his next spree."