Chapter four: And I loved.
"Coercing or leaving, shutting down and punishing, running from rooms, defending, withholding, justifying. These versions of violence, sometimes subtle sometimes clear, and the ones that go unnoticed, still leave their mark once disappeared. Diagnosing, analyzing, unsolicited advice, explaining and controlling, judging opining and meddling"
Alanis Morissette
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The air was moist with the freshly fallen rain. A chilly wind softly blew through the streets as they were deserted and dark. A few last clouds lingered after releasing their water down on earth and vaporised, but behind them, bright starts sparkled in the sky as headlights on a highway where dears crossed and were run over. I felt as if I had travelled a long road and finally reached my destination. I felt like I had completed something I had wanted to do for a long time. I felt like I just conquered my worst fear. I felt as if I just had completed my pilgrimage.
Satisfactory ran through my veins and I carved a deep sense of complacency.
I closed my eyes and pictured the events in my head. I had studied them well enough to know what they would say, do, how they would act. While they were profiling me, I had been profiling them. They were so blind, so foolish to believe that they would be safe behind the thick walls they had created, the church they had built for themselves. Little did they know that I had entered their church, I was playing in their sandbox. I was all so masterly planned, I exceeded my own expectations. I was proud of myself and my accomplishment. I was the devil, dancing under their noses, poking them with my fork and they thought they had waved me away like an annoying fly. They were such fools; I was sitting on their shoulders.
Aaron Hotchner would wake up to find all the windows in his cold, dark and stark apartment open. He would shoot up from his bed, immediately searching his surroundings for the intruder. He would move over to the left side of his bed and press the buttons to grab his gun. He would carefully and thoroughly search his apartment, but only to find it just as solemn and deserted as it used to be. No Haley, no Jack, no perp. Nothing. Alarm bells would ring in his head as he added up the numbers. It was me that enjoyed visiting him in his own home. What else had I done?
Next, he would spot the present I left him. He would walk towards it, switching on a light to see it better. Then he would reach for his phone faster than he reached for his gun minutes before to call a person that wouldn't answer. Because he was sitting in front of me, unconscious, and his hands cuffed behind the wooden chair he was sitting on.
I was watching him and waiting until he would regain consciousness. I took him out and now he was sitting there, his head down, like a sorry pile of bones that could barely pass as human, dressed in only his boxers and a white shirt. I wished he would wake up, regain his famous tough- and hard-ass composure. Be the steady rock. Only then would I be able to admire his strong, fierce arms. Then I would be able to admire his muscular, long legs. And only then would I be able to worship his handsome, aristocratic, elegant face. I raised the cigarette to my lips, the smoke entering my body like welcomed intruders, intoxicating my brain.
The man in front of me seemed extremely at ease. His body showed no signs of stress. His shoulders hung loosely next to him, his strong, muscled arms never fought the metal cuffs around his wrists. I saw the blood on the side of his head and I wondered for a moment if I had hit him too hard.
My concerns were quickly forgotten once he stirred and raised his head slightly. Derek Morgan was waking up.
From where I sat in the dark, I could see him winch once he started to wake up. He grunted slightly and opened his eyes. Slowly, he raised his head and straightened himself.
"Good morning Derek."
His head shot to the corner where the sound of my voice came from, squinting to catch a glimpse of me, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. I decided to make it easy for him and stepped forward, into the light. From the side of the room, I grabbed another chair and positioned it in front of him, calmly and coolly sitting down.
His eyes never left me.
"How's your head?"
"I'll live."
Derek's eyes shot fire and if looks could kill, I'd be dead before I hit the ground. I smiled. And he saw me smile and I could read the confusion of his face.
"Who are you?"
"I told you, I'm Nobody."
"What do you want?"
I took another pull from my cigarette, inhaling as I stood up and sat down in his lap. Almost disgusted, Derek learnt as far away from me as he possible could. I blew out the smoke, covering his beautiful, strong lined face in a transparent grey filter.
"What do I want?"
Derek's eyes shortly lowered themselves and looked at my bare chest, noticing the small cross I wore.
"That's a good question. But I think the question is 'What do I want from you?'"
"Okay. So what do you want from me?"
I bent forward, my face inches away from his. I had thrown the cigarette aside, leaving it to produce dancing smoke in the dark room. I ran my hands over his chest, stopping halfway. Derek tried to move away from my face, but I was too close. He could only look right at me.
"I want you, Derek Morgan. You, and only you."
"Why?"
His voice was still strong, but behind it; hesitating and fragile. I pressed my body closer to his, feeling his hard body against mine. He was breathing quickly, perhaps he was a bit frightened. Already.
"Because I can. Don't you see Derek, you're behaviour is what got you into trouble. You stood out. You believe in God. I believe God led me to you, because you had to be so damn irresistible. And I want you to scream, I want you to bleed, to sweat and to wimp, and to break in front of my eyes."
His breath was hot on my skin and it tickled my senses. I could smell him, his scent mixed with smoke. I could look him right into his eyes, right into his soul and see everything. His lips formed a thin, angry line on his face. His dark, abyss-like orbs burnt holes in my head as they devoured me.
Chuckling, I leant back again and reached into my pocket for another cigarette. From over the flame of the silver Zippo I used, I looked at him. I could tell that he was observing me, despite the anxiety inside his body and the fear that slowly crept under his thick walls, he could still observe, think, watch, profile.
"Do it."
I exhaled and smoke escaped my mouth. I crossed my arm against my chest, the other raised with the cigarette between my index and middle finger.
"Do what?"
Again, his voice was soft, but more confident now, anger slowly bottling up inside him.
"Profile me."
"Why?"
"Because it's fun."
Subconsciously, Derek took a good breath. His eyes flashed over my body, shortly, briefly, his brain probably reading, thinking and calculating. He looked back up at my face and met my eyes once again.
By this simple act, I could tell that I had him.
"Mid-twenties. Intellectual. Intelligent. You use fancy language, so you're highly educated. You like control, you're organized and neat, almost a perfectionist. You're calm, which means that you have control of the situation, you planned. You're a hyper vigilance. You took the time and you did your homework. Yet you only got me cuffed to a chair, you're not sadistic, you would have made your move already. You know how to handle a gun, you've been able to get away with it this far, so you probably have experience with law enforcement and or forensics."
"And you got all that out of my letters?"
"We did."
"That's pretty clever. Isn't it?"
Derek closed his mouth and stiffened his jaw, almost as if he was daring me. I smiled wickedly, this was just too easy. He was already defying me, challenging me. He went through the phase of questions and confusion like a speeding bullet.
"Oh, c'mon Derek! Light up a little already! Admire your own work, treasure it. Not many people are able to maintain the composition of their life with a sick, slick, fascinating mind like yours. I wonder what doctor Reid would be like. Imagine him, sitting here. Would he be spurting out facts? Or agent Hotchner, I would have loved to get my hands on him. But now, you, you are perfect. You're the golden crown on my already shiny, honoured establishment."
He looked unbreakable, untouchable, in the way he sat there with his head tilted back, his deep brown eyes staring into mine. For a moment, I wished I could skip all the phases and jump to the last one. My hands were itching, my fingertips aching, my soul desperately longing to touch him. To break him. To love him.
"What do you want?"
I leant closer to him while I inhaled again, smoke circling around my lips like predators did with their prey. I could feel his warm breath on my skin again and I had to resist the urge to shiver as excitement rolled over my back.
"What do you want, Derek?"
"I want you to let me go."
"But that's no fun."
"Define fun."
"Fun is something that you grave pleasure from. What do you grave pleasure from, Derek? From all those pointless, useless women that add no meaning to your life? From chasing and taking down killers? From looking into the eyes of a murderer, knowing that because of you, he will never hurt anyone again?"
I ran my nails up his neck, scratching his skin as both my hands were placed on the sides of his head, my nails digging into his skin as I whispered into his ear.
"Are you that arrogant? Are you? Do you really believe you make a difference? Because Ted Bundy is locked up, it doesn't mean that others don't exist. It's nature, Derek, the weak will fall and the strong will survive. I survived, but I'm not strong. I'm smart and I'm merely a pawn in such a bigger play. A play that your little mind can't even grasp at. You're all fools. You only clear the way for those that have more morbid dreams, more hauntingly idea's, more abhorrent quests to fulfil. We are the elite. And you can't stop the elite. They will crush and conquer like the Greek did in Troy. We're barbarian, monsters."
He filled his nostrils with air, slightly polluted by the smoke. Derek shifted his position, he sunk down a little, forcing my body closer to his as my hips buckled slightly. His perfect looking lips were even closer and the luring lust inside my body was awoken.
"Is that what you want? Huh? You love power, sex. You're addicted to it. Does it make you feel alive, huh? Does it make you weak in the legs, make your body tingle with excitement?"
Derek raised his eyebrows slightly when he asked the questions. I could tell that he was starting to get fed up with me. Who could blame him? He leant closer, his eyes still trying to scorch their way into my head. We were playing a game. Trouble was, I knew that game. I invented it. He believed he knew the game, but he didn't. Because he – they – didn't know me.
I had been annoying him for the past days, breaking into his apartment, watching him sleep, sending letters, leaving pictures and drawings of him. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Because their profile had been wrong, they had been wrong about me. I had all the freedom to play in their sandbox and I let them know it. I got close to him. Too close. I entered his personal space, crawled under his heavy defences and left him wide open. I was smarter than they thought, better. I had been watching them, studying them like they were my science project. I had seen his every move and it shattered his defence towards me.
"We will get you. We'll hunt you down until you have nowhere to run to, no place to hide and we will get you. Want to know why?"
"Enlighten me, Derek." I took another pull from my cigarette, enjoying every waking second.
"Because you can't live without it. You need this power to feel in control of your own life. You need this to love yourself because no one ever loved you before. That's the reason why you're parents never loved you, why they were disgusted by your sight and your presence. You need to kill because you're sick. You're a sick, egocentric stupid-"
"Now, now, Derek." I shifted my weight and talk to him in a teaching, calming yet deeply amused tone of voice. "No need to be calling names, now, eh? Because… You see, it's really not what you think."
There it was. The dam was breaking and soon the flow would come. I got to him.
"My parents were good people, they tried to raise me well, make the best of it. But little did they know they were raising their own little, twisted version of a psychopath. They loved me, Derek, oh they loved me already. But love, like everything else, is an emotion. And I feel no emotions. So no matter how hard they tried, it didn't work."
I leant forward and whispered in his ear. "They loved me up till the point that I killed them."
His eyes were piercing and fierce, I could see the anger built up behind them. It was pure beauty, to watch this man reach such a stage of rage, knowing that he could do nothing. He was powerless. Why? Because I had planned well, and I got to him. I had reached the finish line, I could see him shatter behind his powerful eyes. Slowly, real slowly, his ardent expression fell. And there wasn't anything left. He was breathing quickly and rapid, out of control. As I chuckled, I could see it. He was right where I wanted him. Finally.
There were an unspoken binding between us, a connection, tension. I had seen him watch my body. There was a mutual attraction between the two of us. I knew it. As did he. It was a sickening heartache, electricity in my stomach. As his breathing became faster, I realized it was not of fear or anger, but because of lust. The rattling of the cuffs around his wrists was not because he was trying to find a way out, it was because his fingers tickled with the sensation of my body being so close to him. And when I moved closer to him, placing my hands around his neck, he turned his face away, not in disgust, but to restrain himself from losing it.
"I'm not here to kill you Derek. Just look at me."
My cold voice must have penetrated his mind, is must have sounded demanding enough, for he turned to look at me, our lips separated by just a bit of air. He was surrendering. There was no way out of this maze that I had created. He could only give me what I wanted and I would release him from the agony, I would ease the pain.
Derek's eyes were less angry and fierce, they were softer and weaker. I pushed all the weight of my body against him, buckled my hips against his groin, I heard him groan quietly and softly and he closed his eyes, muscles around it tensing up. I didn't know it happened because of anger or sadness. My lips were brushing against his, but still he hadn't made a move.
"Surrender. I know you want to. Surrender, Derek Morgan."
My whisper was barely audible, but I knew he heard me. He opened his eyes momentarily and then closed them again to reach out to my lips. Seconds passed as I just felt his lips softly pressed against mine. As if a switch was turned, I brought my hands to his face and hungrily replied.
This mutual attraction was too much to handle, for it was indescribable.
Our tongues quickly found themselves, dancing and circling around in our mouths. Derek was breathing heavily and I knew he was reaching his breaking point. I had him right where I wanted, and only after two hours. This was going better than I imagined. F.B.I. agents were so predictable. The cuffs around his hands cried out desperately as he tried to break free. The sound was awful, pathetic. Because his lips said otherwise and they never stopped kissing mine.
My hands slid down his neck towards the hem of his shirt. With one swift and moderate pull, I tore the fabric apart and pushed it aside, running my hands over his delicious body, his fine abs, the sensuous muscles. Just as quick and perfectly as I had torn his shirt, I grabbed the hunting knife that was tucked behind the belt I wore around my jeans. With one swift and elegant pull, following no distinct pattern, I carved into his chest, leaving behind a bloody, deep cut on the length of his torso.
Derek gasped in agony and clenched his teeth, immediately turning his face away from me. I looked at my masterpiece and lifted the knife again. On the left side of his chest, I cut a small heart that connected with the earlier cut, cutting a heart-balloon on his admiring chest.
The cut was deep but not life threatening. Just enough to leave a mark. Just as I liked it.
Derek shortly looked at the blood that ran down his middle and then up at me.
"So you won't forget me."
"I won't. "
I laughed at his comment, watched his angry face.
"No, you won't. But others will. Others will forget, people around you, people that you care about. They will all forget. Then again, are you willing to tell the truth, Derek? Are you willing to voluntarily tell people what just happened? You surrendered, you're weak. Did you really fight your way out of Chicago for this? To be such a foolish coward?"
He remained silent so I leant forward again and whispered into his ear, like I was telling him a secret nobody else was allowed to hear or to know.
"That's what I thought. See, Derek, the thing is, I don't exist. I am Nobody. Who watched Derek Morgan? Nobody. Who touched Derek Morgan? Nobody. Who took Derek Morgan? Nobody. And who loved Derek Morgan?"
Finally, the pieces of the puzzle fell and realization hit his mind.
"Nobody."
"Exactly. Yet I will be there, every step of the way. You will see me in every girl that looks at you. You will feel me in every girl you touch, every girl you kiss and every girl you fuck. I will be there in your dreams and I will. Wait. For you."
I lit another smoke and lifted myself from his body. Questioningly, almost curiously, he looked up at me, followed the movements of my body. Quickly, I walked around him, silently and unnoticed gathering the cigarette butts. I bent forward and pecked him on the cheek, his head turning towards mine as I did it before I ran my hand over his head as if he was a kid.
"Goodbye Derek."
I opened the curtains and after that the window. An almost blinding light entered Derek's apartment and I looked at my watch. Aaron Hotchner would wake up right about now. I took a pull from the cigarette and glanced over at Derek to see his expression when he finally understood we were in his own apartment all along. Nobody had been in his house. That might as well be true, they would find no evidence.
Then I started walking, opened the door and turned around the corner. I never looked back over my shoulder. I just left.
Seven minutes after I left, Aaron, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid would storm into his apartment and find him cuffed to his chair in the middle of his apartment, a large cut across his chest. They would quickly let him lose and take him to the hospital. Derek would need twenty-one stitches but the doctors couldn't heal his biggest wounds. And so they would dry up and heal to become scars on his mind. And when Aaron asked him who did this to him, he could only reply.
"I don't know. Nobody. It was Nobody."
---
Years passed and I often think back. I often imagine him and picture him in my mind. I had been watching him for several weeks after our encounter. But then I had to let him go. He was my perfect project and he had been such a good study subject. I would check in on him, occasionally. Peep around the corner, so to speak. A wave of regret overcame me and I wondered why I never told him the truth.
I told him he would be alone, he would be the only one carrying these scars. I shattered him, broke his defences and made him vulnerable. I said nobody loved him. But that's not true. I cared.
And I loved.