"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
1 Corinthians 15:55

---

17.45

"Hey sexy."
"Uhm, hey. Sugar?"
"Scott?"
"Garcia."
"I was expecting someone else."
"Yeah, that goes without saying."
"Where's Morgan?"
"Bathroom break. Can I help you?"

The silence that followed was more than awkward. It was clearly Garcia had been expecting Morgan to pick up his cell phone, but the fact that Abby did, seemed to startle her the most. A few precious seconds passed as Abby took a bite from her apple and studied the autopsy report of Glenn Harris.

Eating has always been something Abby did and loved doing. All those extra hours in the gym and the miles and miles of running she did were the only things keeping her a little bit in shape. She wasn't slim, she didn't have the supermodel's body, but she wasn't chubby either. She had broad shoulders, making her look rather intimidating. Her waist was almost as broad as her hips, her torso looked a little like a cubicle. Her legs were muscular and far from slender. She may not have the supermodel's figure, she was happy with what Mother Nature had given her. And she didn't mind putting it to use, either.

As a kid, she loved running. Running in the rain was the best, but she also loved the cold air clinging onto her as her breath formed white clouds in the dark sky. She was twenty-six now, which meant that she had been running for the past eighteen years. In the beginning, it was the only way for her to get away. It was an understatement to say that she was misunderstood by her family, but thanks to God, there had been no history of violence or abuse. For as far as she could call herself lucky, she definitely was. Nowadays, it was a form to let out the anger and the frustration Abby's job made her take home. A way to control the urge and the drive and not get lost in the madness.

Just as Abby heard Garcia talk to her through the phone, Derek Morgan entered the office they had stationed themselves in and took a second to take him in. She couldn't help it, Derek Morgan completely stripped her from her ability to resist that man and she felt herself fall deeper and deeper down the more contact she had with him. She couldn't put her finger on it, there was an air of mysteriousness around his smooth body and something catching and penetrating in his dark eyes.

"He's here."
She leant forward from her chair, her feet still on the desk before her and she handed the phone to Morgan.
"Garcia. She wants to talk to you."
"Thanks."

Derek took the small device from Abby and for a split second, their skin came in contact and electricity pulsed through Abby's body. Her heart skipped a beat and she mentally cursed heavily at herself for being so stupid.

"Sweetness, talk to me."

Abby denied the sting that she felt when she heard Morgan talk. He would never talk to her like that. She forced herself to believe that she didn't want him to, that she didn't crave for his attention and she put the building lust somewhere far away in her mind.

Rapidly, Morgan and Garcia started their conversation. Just as Abby wanted to settle back down with her autopsy report, Hotch walked in the room, followed closely by Reid and Rossi. She could tell by the way Hotch was walking, something was wrong.

"You two talked to Hailey Garren?"
Abby nodded and swallowed the piece of apple that was in her mouth.
"Oh yeah. Unless she's Catwoman, she didn't do it. She was barely able to stand on her own two feet from the meth. Her pimp provided her an alibi. Don't think he's clean, but I don't think he was lying either. Not to mention she tried to make her move on Morgan, whom grabbed her shoulders and sat her down like she was a sack of air."
Rossi exchanged looks with Hotch. Morgan's voice faded out, indicating the phone call ended.
"Well, that's one suspect we can cross of our list. We've got another victim."

---

18.09

Chief Miller took large and firm steps as he walked down Jack McCallister's porch and headed towards the group of FBI agents that just arrived. Abby felt the air of anger hang around his wide shoulders and she lingered around the car long enough for her not to meet the man face to face. Hotch held no intentions to be intimidated by the Chief of Police and they met halfway, the rest of the group following closely, but cautiously.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the third man that has been murdered. This has to stop. If you're not willing to step up and take some action, I've got half a dozen cops that will."
Hotch raised his hand in the air slightly, a gesture to the Chief to calm down and control his emotions.
"I understand your reasons, Chief, I do. But we cannot allow ourselves to rush into this without thinking straight."
"Tell that to the third family I have to inform of their son's death in three days."
"Hopefully, we'll be able to build a solid profile of our killer once my team has taken a look at the crime scene. If we go in blind, we won't be able to see anything anyway. Let us do our job. We'll catch this killer, but we need a profile, we need to know with whom we're dealing. I understand your position, but please, calm down. Let us do our job."

Hotchner's words had been calm, controlled and somewhat soothing. Abby could see Chief Miller slowly calming down, Hotch's words taking effect and he gathered himself together. He sighed and responded to the sound of several reports arriving at the scene. Miller's expression changed from frustrated to hopeless as he turned back to Hotch.

"What am I going to tell the public?"
"I'll go with you."
JJ stepped forward and smiled gently. The Chief and Hotch nodded shortly and JJ accompanied him towards the small crowd.
Rossi followed them with his eyes and sighed.
"He's right you know. We're still behind this guy. We need something so we can move forward."
"Then let's find it."

Jack McCallister rented the first floor from an old lady. The lady, Ally Shane, was eighty-two and didn't use the rest of the house anymore, as she explained to Abby and Prentiss. Hence she rented the first floor, the attic being too small for anyone to use. Ally lived downstairs, she had her own bathroom, Jack McCallister only used the kitchen once in a while.

Abby stared at the black cat that Ally Shane held in her arms. She tried to listen and concentrate to what she was saying, tried to pick up on the technique's Prentiss used when questioning the woman that found the body, but something was pulling her. Something kept drawing her attention. However, she couldn't found out what or who. It was as if a monster had awoken deep inside her and was roaring and screaming for her attention but she couldn't decide whether he was inside her stomach or in her chest.

Her fingers drummed in the air, often hitting her upper leg. She glanced from the cat to the house to the audience that had surrounded the house, back to the cat, the three police officers that talked to each other, closed off from their surroundings. The house was drawing her. She needed to go inside.

Prentiss continued to talk to the woman and paid little attention to Abby. Everything the woman told them was written down in Prentiss' black book and she nodded whenever writing down something important.

"Thank you so much misses Shane. This police officer will take you with him to the police station for an official statement."
Miss Shane only nodded shortly while hugging her cat tighter.

Emily held her book and pen in one hand as she turned towards the house and headed into the direction of the front door. Abby however, had turned towards the house as well but stood frozen on her spot.

The house was old, a wooden porch going all around, green window-frames, white curtains. The wood of the house was old and she reckoned the house was a couple of years old. The garden was a sad excuse for a garden. Weeds everywhere, killing once probably beautiful flowers and plants, crawling around like a plague. The grass was rather high, but looked like to have been cut a little while ago. But mostly, it was the vibe of the house that made Abby halter and hesitate to enter.

It was dark, gloomy, abstruse. Many horrendous things had happened in this house, it talked to her and it screamed its pain and agony. Murder and despair was written on the wooden planks that kept the house standing. Abby couldn't picture children growing up here, family's settling down, babies being born, lovers meeting. It was a cold, cold, shadowed house.

"Scott, you okay?"
Prentiss' words pulled Abby back to reality.
"Yeah."
The word took long to form and it took it's time to get out of her mouth. She tried again.
"Yeah. I'm good."
Determined, Abby started walking, walked past Prentiss and entered the house once her footsteps had left inimical, heartless echoes over the porch.

Jack McCallister was bound to a chair and faced the window. Curtains had been pulled away with force and a last beam of sunshine casted a disturbing light on the scenery. Reid and Morgan had both squatted down in front of the victim and studied the body. Abby took her time to take in her surroundings while putting on a pair of blue gloves. Prentiss followed shortly behind her.

"According to Miss Shane, the owner of the house, our vic was alive when she left for a doctor's appointment at half past four."
The dark haired FBI agent put on the blue gloves as she spoke.
"When she came back around half past five, she heard the television and went up to ask if he could turn it down. When she opened the door, she found him sitting in the chair, saw the blood on the floor and went downstairs to call nine-one-one."
"She touched anything?"
Hotch stepped into the room. Abby spotted the bathroom behind him.
"No. Except for the doorknob to open the door. They're taking her prints for elimination."

Jack McCallister was a clean man. There was barely any dust resting on his drawers, his clothes neatly folded in his closet, magazines put on a stack, a couple of books carefully put away. The only thing out of the ordinary, was his bed. It was made, but the sheets looked like someone had recently laid on them.

The fact that the killer had positioned the victim towards the window held some significance, but Abby couldn't figure it out yet. Slowly, she walked around the room, studied the blood pattern on the floor and on the wall without looking at the body of Jack McCallister.

She could smell the scent of death. It crept through her nose and imbedded itself in her nostrils. It was a rotten, irony scent. The blood she could taste on her tongue, the air was thick with it. The dirt of murder got stuck under her fingernails, the filth clinging onto her hands.

The cracks in the sheets suggested that McCallister had been laying on his bed when his killer entered his room. There were little signs of a struggle, only a knocked over alarm clock, which must mean that McCallister had been sleeping.

When Abby turned towards the body of the man that once defined Jack McCallister, she thought she understood why he had been positioned towards the window. Both his eyes had been violently stabbed or hit with a small, blunt object. The UnSub had made him blind before he had killed him. Abby crooked her head to the right, an almost fascinating but calm expression on her face, as if she was studying the effect light had on rats.

Just like the previous two kills, both McCallister's hands were tied to the chair's arm-rests with a simple rope. There were definite signs of torture, beside the fact both his eyes had been mutilated. A split lip, bruises around the corner of his mouth, a slight black eye. Unlike the other murders, there were no burn marks and all McCallister's fingernails were still attached. However, there was something off, something rushed.

"Our UnSub is getting bolder. He now kills at daylight."
Rossi walked around the room slowly, looking at the lack of pictures or any decoration for that matter.
"Or he had no other choice. Our vic worked a night job."
Prentiss looked at her book shortly when she spoke.
"So he had to kill at day."
Morgan lifted himself from his crouched position as he talked.
"Which means he's confident or getting more confident with each kill."
Rossi shortly looked at Prentiss.
"Which also means he has a job himself. The victim is not even dead for an hour. He's still warm."
"He left work and got ready to kill."
Now Hotch mingled into the conversation.

Abby kneeled down and took a closer look at the body. There was a stain on McCallister's blouse, right on the chest pocket, but it seemed lighter than the other bloodstains. Carefully, she slid her fingers in the pocket and felt something brush against her gloved finger. She grabbed the piece of paper and opened it as Reid leant into her direction to read what was on it.

"Hey guys, I don't want to be the mood-killer here, but take a look at this."
She held the note up in the air. Morgan was first to read and as he did, he read out loud.
"I am not done yet."

Morgan's eyes met Abby's, which had carefully and cautiously looked up at the tall figure. They stared at each other, no sign of emotion, just mutual understanding. What they had felt, what they had thought, the shivers that had ran up and down their backs, the unpleasant feeling of not being alone had just been confirmed. Abby wasn't sure whether the fact that he was indeed watching them was more frightening or that they were right. They weren't dealing with their average serial killer.

"Rossi was right."
Abby broke her stare as she turned her head towards Rossi.
"He is getting bolder."

---

21.15

Abby stood outside in the fresh, cool air and blew out some smoke. The grey air danced on invisible ground and on inaudible music. She shivered slightly but loved how the cold slowly penetrated her clothes, invading her thick shields. It made her feel human, something she forgot once in a while when hunting down malicious killers.

"Scott."

Prentiss approached her, the door she had just opened, closing behind her. She wrapped her arms around her waist as the pretty woman was greeted by the cold. Abby turned to look at her and inhaled the condemned smoke greedy.

"I was just-. Well."
Emily avoided contact as she sought for words.
"Prentiss. Simple words. One for one."
The agent looked at her still new colleague and pressed her hands against each other.
"I was just. The way you reacted before we entered Miss Shane's house. I wanted to know if you were okay."
"Yeah. I'm good."
"I haven't told Hotch, in case you're wondering."
Abby smiled shortly and brought the cigarette to her lips again.
"Thank. Appreciate it."
"Yeah, you're welcome. So-"
"Ever been to one of the those places where you think 'I've been here before'?"
"Sometimes, yeah."

Abby nodded once with her head and Prentiss got the idea. She smiled weakly and watched the younger agent take a last pull of her cigarette before putting it out. Together, they walked back inside, talking about the one thing that connected them all; the case.

---

22.09

Hotchner had sent them to their hotel rooms to get some rest and to think about the profile they were going to release the next day. Once arrived back at the police station, tension was heavily present in the air, they gathered in the slightly crooked room and started brainstorming.

Garcia had called. Her message had been clear.
"Jack McCallister was a nasty, nasty man. Sexual assault, possession of child porn, assaulting three prostitutes."
As Reid wanted to try out the motive theory and Morgan assisted him by saying 'vigilante justice', Garcia swooped both theories of the table.
"Were it not that your first victim was as clean as a pig."

Her choice of words had been interesting, but to Abby, Reid and Hotch it had been perfectly clear that pigs were the cleanest animals in the world. Except for Glenn Harris' drug use and his 'mistake' at the computer store, he had been clean too. No record, not even a speeding ticket. The vigilante theory was off the table.

After two hours of talking and setting up a profile, JJ's fifth yawn caused Hotchner to call it a day. He did, however, gave them the task to think about their profile and possible things that needed to or could be added.

This time, Abby found herself in her hotel room much nicer than the first one she slept in. She had taken a small whiteboard where she had written down the profile they had so far. Pictures of the crime scenes laid scattered but in groups on her bed, she held the black marker in her hand and the other held the cigarette that was just brought to her lips. Abby had comfortably position herself in one of the large chairs and had put her legs over one side.

She let the profile dance in her head, mingling, tangoing, chatting and laughing. They needed to meet each other and match. If one the characteristics was wrong or even a little off, they could end up looking for the wrong person. Her toes rubbed against each other and as she slightly turned to put her cigarette out in the ash tray next to her, she looked at the clock and noted the time.

Abby sighed heavily. So far, she hadn't been able to come up with anything new. It annoyed her as much as it comforted her. And then again, the fact that it annoyed her comforted her as well. It annoyed her that she hadn't been able to add anything. It made her feel incompetent. Somewhat useless. It also comforted her, because it meant she was working with people that knew their stuff and handled it very well. Because it made her feel annoyed, it also meant that there was some sort of significance for her to feel fully to use in this team, something she had been afraid off when she first joined the team.

Several soft knocks on her door awoke Abby from her thoughts she got up, her right hand immediately searching for the comfort in her life; the cold steal of her .22 Glock. Stealthily, she made her way over to the hotel room door and opened it, positioning herself near the wall so if the person on the other side rammed into the door, she wouldn't fall and of the person tried to point a gun or any other weapon through the opening, she could easily point her gun back at him or her and still have some cover.

Spencer Reid stood before the door opening and Abby lowered her gun and put the safety pin back on. Spencer registered the clicking sound and looked down at her hand. He opened his mouth and then shut it again.

"I was going to say something, but I got the same creepy feeling, so I won't."
"Thanks. I guess."
Abby smiled gently and gestured for Reid to come in. Reid returned the smile and entered the room.
"You've been busy."
He walked up to the whiteboard and noticed the pictures on her bed.
"Not really."
"I think we've covered everything in the profile. It's pretty solid."
"Yeah."
Abby offered Reid a bottle of water, took a sip herself and then lit another cigarette. She caught Reid looking at her and raised her eyebrows shortly.
"Still, I get the feeling we're missing something. It's like he's right under our noses, laughing at us, we smell him, but we forget to look under our own bloody noses."
Spencer snorted shortly and his eyes wandered towards Abby. Again, he opened his mouth, and closed it again.
"Maybe Garcia's suspect list will add something. She's tracking down all our victim's classmates from the Randolph-Macon College."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"What do you think?"
Abby raised her eyebrows in surprise and she looked at Reid.
"I think we're dealing with a very pissed off UnSub. His m.o. keeps changing, so they must represent something. Perhaps he was picked on during college and this is his revenge."
"Very pissed off UnSub. Copy that."

---

09.00

Hotchner stood before a dozen men, all anxious, ready to jump into action. He stood tall, overlooked the crowd, his feet steady and pointing towards his audience. Morgan stood next to him, arms crossed before his chest. Prentiss had positioned herself next to Rossi, sitting on one of the desks, as Rossi leant against the same. JJ was outside, her pretty face now probably on thousands of televisions. Reid and Abby stood still opposite of Prentiss and Rossi, on Hotch' left flank. Abby couldn't help but notice that if they would be attacked in any way by the police officers before them, they would be able to take any hit.

"The man we're looking for is approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. He's short build and not very strong."
"You wouldn't notice him in a crowd, he doesn't stand out. He's average, not attractive, but not unattractive either."
Abby couldn't help to look down at her feet once Morgan spoke. When Rossi continued, she looked up again, earning a small but caring glare from Reid.
"He's confident but not on the outside. He feels superior to everyone else, conceited, but he wouldn't show it to the outside world. You could describe him as a narcissist, but to the world he is usually shy and withdrawn."
"He has no friends. The need to prove and his idea that the world undervalues him would make him incapable of admitting fault or wrongdoing."
Prentiss halted shortly in the middle of her sentence when Hotch's phone rang. With a small gesture, he apologized, took the call and Prentiss finished her sentence. When it was Abby's turn, the tucked her hands in her pockets before she spoke.
"But he is intelligent. He is a former student from the Randolph-Macon College where he most likely studied Computer science. He works with computers and he's pretty good at that. It's his way of shutting out the world and between him and the computers, he knows everything which makes him feel valued."
"It also allows him to have minimum contact with anybody else. His social skills have not developed properly, probably because of absent parents."
Reid now stepped in and Abby absentmindedly leant towards him as if protecting him, allowing him to choose his words carefully.
"During high school and college, he was picked on by a certain group. We believe that lashing out this violently and murdering his previous bullies, is his way of fighting back. He has a task forehand and he won't stop until we find him."
"Thank you for your time."

The group of officers stood up and softly talked about the just released profile. The FBI agents gathered around their superior.

"Garcia has a suspect list."

---

09.12

"James Walsh, twenty-six, no record, works at a computer store just outside of town."
Prentiss read the words on a piece of paper that had just been faxed to the police station. Morgan looked up from the papers he was holding to talk.
"He would have to have a job close to the three crime scenes. Especially close to the latest one. A job just outside of town wouldn't have enabled him to kill before six."
"Ivan McKlaren, twenty-seven. Works at a computer store two blocks from the third crime scene. Has been arrested once when he 'offended an law enforcement officer' after the cop said he wasn't allowed to park his car on a corner."
"Sounds like our guy."
Hotch leant closer towards Reid to read the file he was holding.
"He's five foot two, assistant manager."
"Let's go."
"Wait."
Morgan had broken Hotch's movements, as well as the rest of the team's.
"Tim Orden, twenty-five. He's a programmer at a computer store four blocks away from the third scene. Divorced parents, mother died when he was fifteen, father was arrested a year later for abuse."
Hotch nodded as Morgan read the file. When Morgan was done, Hotch and Rossi sought eye contact.
"Sounds pretty good to me as well. Fits the profile."
"Okay, Rossi, Prentiss and Reid why don't you pay Ivan McKlaren a visit. Morgan, Scott and I will visit Tim Orden."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Chief Miller stuck his head around the corner.
"Am I interrupting?"
"We think we have two pretty good suspects. What's going on?"
Hotch had noticed the sudden rise of activity at the police station.
"We just had a call, unknown female, she wouldn't give her name. She works at Multi-Computer and she watched the news broadcast. She thinks your UnSub is a co-worker of her."
"Okay, then let's go."
Rossi was just about to re-order the groups and sent two agents to the office to check it out.
"That's not all. We also got another phone call, from misses Dunnely. She claims that her son didn't come over for dinner last night and he doesn't answer his cell phone. She called work, they say he never showed up."
"What's his name?"

Reid grabbed the list of their UnSub's assumed old class, as well as the class picture.

"Duncan Donnely."
The young genius looked up without even checking the list.

And then she could feel it. Her heart started beating faster, adrenaline was launched into her veins and pumping wildly and out of control. Abby could feel his hands of her bare back, his cold, frigid breath in her neck. His eyes penetrated her soul and lightning struck. She looked up to find his eyes but saw nothing. She could hear his voice, singing softly, a lullaby, caressing and soothing her.

She was on the night train, caught in the same compartment with the devil. His fierce and rigid eyes stabbing her, his cool, composed attitude disabling her movement, unable to run away. The train was moving fast, its wheels underneath her feet at rapid speed, roaring like thunder. Mist and fog cut in-between as the black train rode right through it.

Abby was staring him right in the face, he was looking back at her, but the shadows blocked her sight and she couldn't see him. But he was right there. She knew it. She could feel it.

---

"The dead look so terribly dead when they're dead."
W. Somerset Maugham