Part One: Spencer.

October 13th, 2005.

Hi Mom,

I hope you're doing well, I heard the weather is amazing back in Las Vegas. Words cannot describe how much I miss home, especially at the moment. Fall is beautiful here in Quantico, and it's not even cold yet. You know how much I love fall… I wish you were here to enjoy it with me. The leaves are turning into different warm colors, and it really is stunning.

We haven't had very difficult cases as of lately, so I must apologize. I don't particularly have any interesting stories to tell you—although you probably think it's better that way. I know you hate how much I work on cases like these.

On another note, I started reading "Aristotle's Theory of the Syllogism" by G. Patzig. It is a rather interesting yet odd read, I haven't finished it yet (although I will soon) and I shall tell you all my thoughts, as I'm sure you'd be interested in hearing them (as usual). As soon as I'm done with that one I think I'll read "Grounding For the Metaphysics of Morals" by Immanuel Kant. I read the preface in Barnes & Noble the other day. It had immediately captivated me. The preface alone was already touching the subject of moral and natural philosophy.

From the top of my head, "All rational knowledge is either material or formal: the former considers some object, the latter is concerned only with the form of the understanding and of the reason itself, and with the universal laws of thought in general without distinction of its objects. Formal philosophy is called logic. Material philosophy, however, has to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject, is again twofold; for these laws are either laws of nature or of freedom. The science of the former is physics, that of the latter, ethics; they are also called natural philosophy and moral philosophy respectively. Logic cannot have an empirical part; that is, a part in which the universal and necessary laws of thought should rest on grounds taken from experience; otherwise it would not be logic, i.e., a canon for the understanding or the reason, valid for all thought, and capable of demonstration. Natural and moral philosophy, on the contrary, can each have their empirical part, since the former has to determine the laws of nature as an object of experience; the latter the laws of the human will, so far as it is affected by nature: the former, however, being laws according to which everything does happen; the latter, laws according to which everything ought to happen. Ethics, however, must also consider the conditions under which what ought to happen frequently does not."

Fascinating isn't it? I can't wait to read it all.

Anyway, I won't carry on any longer; I'm a little late. Hotch will not be happy.

I love you and I wish I were with you,

Always,

Spencer.

Chapter One: Coffee Please

This was not happening.

Not again.

I sighed and rolled over on to my stomach. I punched my pillow lightly and settled my head back in it. I was never a heavy sleeper but this? This was ridiculous. This was the eleventh night in a row and I was getting sick of this.

I knew that ten to twenty percent of the population in America suffered from insomnia, but I'd never imagined myself as part of that lucky little group. Only thirty-five percent of Americans slept eight or more hours per night during weekdays and sixty percent of the children, especially teenagers, were tired during the day because of this. Fifteen percent of elderly people only stayed in stage one of sleep, otherwise known as light sleep, making them more sensitive to light, noise and jet lag. This also later caused depression, anxiety and grief, thus causing sleeplessness—

Goodness, Spence, you had to stop over-thinking about these things. I was there lying in bed and all I could think about were percentage numbers I had read in a sociology book eight years ago.

I sighed as I flipped my pillow over. The cold side made my cheek tingle and I tried emptying my brain of any thoughts.

…

Yeah.

That was definitely not going to work. It was difficult for a person like me to stop thinking. Well, it was impossible for anyone to stop thinking. If they told themselves to stop thinking, the mere thought of halting thought was a thought itself. It was a vicious cycle. But what was even more ludicrous was the fact that I hadn't been able to catch up on any sleep recently and I didn't know why. I had not undergone any severe trauma as of recently and Mom was doing okay… well. As okay as any person diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia could be. Not a day passed by without my worrying over my future condition. I knew that this type of schizophrenia could be transmitted genetically. I wondered if one day, I'd ever become like my mother. I didn't want to think about it. And yet – I couldn't help myself. I was apprehensive. Maybe this was the cause of my anxiety? It was possible. But then again… the BAU wasn't really helping me either now was it? I'd been on the team since I was twenty-one. I was twenty-four now and still— it wasn't getting any better. I thought I'd be more and more used to the things I saw but no. Every case was just as shocking, as horrific, as unimaginable as the last. I understood Gideon's departure. Too much cruelty in one lifespan could eat you alive. And then there was the question of—

Oh God.

I was doing it again.

I had to stop getting lost in my train of thought! Thinking too much could really be unhealthy.

I blew out another sigh and turned sideways. This was not working. I turned around and checked the time on my alarm clock. The bright red numbers blared obnoxiously bright through the darkness of my room. They acted as the source of light I desperately needed at night. I was too afraid to close my eyes in darkness. I always had been and I always would be.

The numbers read four-twenty.

I turned around again. And closed my eyes shut for what felt like the millionth attempt to fall asleep.

The thought of morning drawing near depressed me more than anything else. I hadn't been in the best shape lately and I knew that today would not be any different. It was exhausting… trying to appear fine in front of the team. I didn't want to share my troubles with them. Especially not with Morgan or Garcia. I knew they were the ones who'd worry the most and I didn't want to look weak in front of them. I didn't want to be the young kid who couldn't keep up with the heavy rhythm of the BAU. I didn't want to disappoint Gideon, who had taught everything he possibly could. And Hotch. I certainly didn't want to look frail in front of him. Oh no, Spence. You couldn't allow yourself to slip up in front of Aaron Hotchner.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Garcia was on to something. I knew she was. But then again, she always treated me like her little brother; she was nosier than the others. It was something I both loved and hated about her.

My breathing slowed down.

She had to get off my back…

Everyone had…

I was fine…

…

Just… splendid.

…

My eyes shot open.

I blinked.

OH GOD.

I swiveled around and looked at the time.

The bright red numbers burnt through my irises and I looked away quickly. The numbers were still engraved behind my eyelids. I had to blink several times to make them go away.

Eighty-thirty.

Ah, that was fine. I still had loads of time t—

I did a double take.

I swiveled back again and made sure to squint carefully this time before I'd go permanently blind.

Eight thirty-one.

The information sunk in.

Oh God.

I felt my insides drop and an overwhelming feeling of dread began taking their place.

Before giving a second thought, I flung my bed covers over to the side, jumped out of bed and sprinted towards my bathroom.

OH GOOOOD.

I was late.

I was SO late.

I was never late!

I must have dozed off through the alarm. That was the only explanation.

OH GOD.

I managed to strip down, hop in the shower, get dressed and brush my teeth in the space of ten minutes. I grabbed my keys and sprinted for the door as quickly as possible.

I was so freaking late, Hotch was going to end me.

I froze.

Oh GOD.

HOTCH.

I ran a little faster and was nearly at the door when I took the corner of my narrow hallway a little too quickly and stubbed my toe on a coffee table.

I yelled.

SWEET HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS.

I howled in pain and grabbed my foot. It seemed that a time like this, the only reaction my brain could come up with was making me hop around my tiny entrance hall, holding the source of my pain in my hands and making myself look like an absolute imbecile. As my toe's agony quickly subsided I looked down to inspect it, looking for any considerable damage. Apart from my unclipped toenails, there was nothing that looked out of the ordinary.

Good. The last thing I needed was a broken toe. God, I was such a wimp when it came down to these kinds of things… No wonder I never managed to complete the obstacle course during my academic training for the FBI. And I mean—

Hang on.

I looked back down again.

I gasped out of shock.

Could my day get any worse?

I had no socks on.

Or shoes, for that matter.

Good God!

I threw my head back and groaned before rushing back towards my bedroom. What was wrong with me this morning? This never happened to me before.

I, Doctor Spencer Reid, boy genius, had forgotten to wear socks and shoes. I was about to go to work barefooted.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I pulled my sock drawer open and looked down.

What I saw almost gave me a heart attack: there was only one pair of clean socks left.

…And they were matching.

THIS.

This…

…This could not be happening to me.

I rapidly opened my underwear drawer and dug through my undergarments with—and I'm ashamed to say this—slightly shaking hands, looking for a straying sock that could've gotten mixed up. I pushed and fiddled and dug some more.

I came up dry.

Crumb.

I took the pair of matching socks between my thumb and index finger. To me, it was the epitome of bad luck and I did not want to be contaminated by the hapless state of these two matching socks. I threw them on my bed and quickly looked through my dirty laundry basket. Maybe there was one that was relatively clean enough for me to wear today… only one. That was all I needed…

Goodness gracious, there had to be one!

I grabbed a few and sniffed them each.

I cringed and nearly gagged.

GOODNESS.

Okay… definitely not.

I chucked all of them back in the laundry basket and turned around to stare warily at my pair of matching socks. I slipped them on slowly and stepped into my favorite brown leather shoes.

I looked down at my feet one more time.

If I was going to die on this day, October thirteenth (A FRIDAY OUT OF ALL DAYS) at least I knew I could blame it on the socks.

—TSF—

"Conference delayed. Strauss wanted to see Hotch. 1 hour. Doesn't change the fact that you weren't here on time this morning."

I was one block away from the bureau when I received the message. I had never walked so quickly in my life and when I read Morgan's text I blew out a sigh of relief.

Okay. So God was kind of on my side today. Kind of. I felt a little better.

I walked towards my usual Starbucks like I did every morning on my way to work. It was right next to the bureau's building and I usually got my coffee there. It was cozy and convenient. Slightly expensive—but then again, what wasn't these days? The music was nice and it was one of the biggest Starbucks in town. It was three floors high and the top one had little quarters with the comfiest armchairs. It was one of my favorite places.

It was now half past nine so all the commuters were already at work, the atmosphere was more relaxed and the morning buzz had died down. Gentle lounge music was playing and the comforting smell of brewing coffee brought a smile to my lips as I entered. Nobody was queuing and I recognized the girl who usually served me early in the morning. She was wiping a few tables clean and looked up when she heard the bell chime.

She smiled brightly at me and hurriedly made her way back towards the counter.

"Morning!" she greeted me with a wide smile. She was one of my favorites. She was always happy, no matter what time it was and was never fazed by the outrageous number of commuters who would send glares her way every morning. We would small talk now and then; it often occurred as I'd wait for my coffee to be prepared, or when she wiped tables clean while I'd read a book in one of the armchairs. She was completely open and was often interested in the books I read and the papers I wrote.

Her curiosity and thirst for knowledge was something I liked about her.

"Hi." I said. She didn't even ask for my order. She knew exactly what I wanted. I ordered the same thing every morning for the past five years. Even if we were in the middle of summer, I always had a gingerbread latte. It was the ideal blend of an espresso with steamed milk and gingerbread syrup, topped with a pinch of nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla powder.

That combo was like an orgasm in my mouth.

She was alone at the counter, not surprising considering the time, and was already steaming up the milk for me. I looked at my surroundings as I waited patiently. There were a few people here and there, either reading the paper or meeting up with someone for morning coffee. I enjoyed this particular atmosphere a lot.

"You're late today." She spoke up. I turned around to come face to face with the huge coffee machines. I shuffled sideways to get a look at her. She was pouring the milk in a mug. She looked up at me and smiled. "Why's that?"

There she was, talking to me again. She just had to know everything. I liked it. Not many people even bothered asking me how I was or what I was up to.

"Complications." I merely answered.

She threw a hand up in the air and made a gesture that was clearly mocking what I had just said. Apparently, she was in the mood of "Let's-make-fun-of-Spence-today".

I frowned and smiled at the same time.

"What." I said with a quick chuckle.

"You're making that sound so serious…" she said. "What. One of your lecture's got cancelled?" she said.

She didn't know I worked for the FBI. She knew I was studying for a Bachelor's degree in Philosophy but that was it. She thought I was a regular student.

"Yeah, something like that," was all I said. I didn't want to arouse any suspicion, and she didn't doubt me for a second. She sprinkled all of my toppings and handed me the mug. I gave her the money and thanked her before taking the stairs towards my favorite armchair by the window on the third floor. I took a sip and grabbed the book I was currently reading: "Aristotle's Theory of the Syllogism" by G. Patzig.

Thirty minutes later, I was almost done with it when a light voice interrupted me.

"I don't know how you do it."

I looked up.

It was the girl who worked here, except she wasn't wearing her green apron anymore. Her shift probably finished at ten. She had a vanilla Frapuccino in her hand and plopped down in the armchair in front of me. She didn't seem to mind the fact that she had rudely interrupted my reading session, but I somehow wasn't irritated. I enjoyed her company.

I had secretly profiled her the minute I had seen her, nine months ago. Her tan indicated that she wasn't from Virginia, but some place warmer. Sunnier. She was quite tall and extremely thin but her shoulders were slightly broader than average; that lead me to think she was a swimmer. Her accent wasn't entirely from here, it contained a slight tinge from somewhere else but it was so little I couldn't figure out where it was from. She was one of those people who had what I liked to call an international accent; it was one that resembled nothing and yet didn't feel entirely out of place. Her parents were probably of different nationalities and I was willing to bet she wasn't born in the US. Her fingers were long and delicate – she was a pianist. And I guessed she had been one for a long time seeing her extensive knowledge of classical and jazz music.

Her long dark blonde hair, the color of sand, was in great condition. She had no split ends, which made me realize that she had never dyed it before. She was obviously more than happy with the way she looked and wasn't too fussed about making an effort. She was happy with herself and she showed it.

Before I could think of anything more, a hand appeared in front of my face. Fingers tickled my nose and I could spot clean fingernails, painted in different colors. Her quirkiness shook me out of my thoughts. I brought my eyes up to her light grey ones.

"Oi. Don't zone out on me." She said as she continued waving her hand in front of my face. I pushed it away with a smile. She really had issues with people's personal bubbles.

"I wasn't." I told her innocently.

"So…" she said, taking another sip. "How do you do it?" she said, her eyes landed on my book which I had now bookmarked and placed on my lap.

"Do what?"

She shrugged quickly. "Read books like that." She pointed at it. I was momentarily confused by her body language. Why was she shrugging when she knew what she was going to say? A shrug was a nonverbal communication that was performed by lifting both shoulders up as an indication that the person either didn't know the answer to a question or simply didn't care at all. It was also used when that person was ignoring someone else's question and was often accentuated by the raise of eyebrows and/or an exaggerated frown.

She was doing none of those so why did she shrug?

She was a strange girl.

"It's quite simple." I told her. "I went to school and learnt how to read."

She rolled her eyes; she clearly wasn't amused by my poor sarcasm.

"I don't even know what syllogism means." She pointed out and before she even had time to start a new sentence, I cut her off.

"Syllogism is quite simple really. It is a deductive inference," I noted her already blank expression, "a form of logical reasoning if you like, consisting of two premises and one conclusion… all of which are categorical propositions. The subject of the conclusion is the minor term and its predicate the major term; the middle term occurs in both premises but not the conclusion. It goes from the general to the particular. If A then B. If B then C. So if A then C. In the "Prior Analytics", Aristotle defines the syllogism as "a discourse in which, certain things having been supposed, something different from the things supposed results of necessity because these things are so"." I was about to continue talking, but she had interrupted me.

"Example?" she asked me.

Words flew out of my mouth instantly.

"For example, all humans are mortal… major premise. I am human… the minor premise. So I am mortal… the conclusion."

She nodded in understanding and seemed to like the subject. This was another thing I liked about her. Most of the people I knew would always sigh and look up at the ceiling whenever I'd start spilling facts about topics I personally enjoyed talking about. This girl, on the other hand, always stared at me avidly, listening to every word I told her and trying to keep up as much as possible. She didn't always understand what I said—which, mind you, was understandable seeing as I did work for the FBI, and I did have an IQ of a hundred and eighty-seven—but that didn't stop her from listening.

She took another sip as she thought about what I just said.

"But…" she paused and I waited for her patiently. I was always interested in the things she had to say, no matter how simple her arguments were, it was always nice to have a conversation with someone who was generally interested in what you were saying. It was quite a rare occurrence for me. "But that logic is flawed."

I smiled.

"How so?" I questioned.

"Well…" she looked pensive. "I mean—like… this one for example." She put her cup down and leant forward. "A dog has four legs." She paused, and I knew exactly where she was going before she had even started. I had heard this exact argument a hundred times before. "A cat also has four legs. So…" she frowned. "So, a dog is a cat? See, that doesn't work."

I nodded.

"You're right." I said. She seemed confused but happy nonetheless; I could tell she enjoyed keeping up with my rhythm. "And I'm reading this book to understand in how this logic can simultaneously work and not work." She grabbed her cup again and took a really long sip. "Of course, what I just told you is the basic principle. It becomes much more complicated."

"I don't doubt that." She said with a laugh. "What made you choose philosophy?" she suddenly asked me.

"The human mind… it's an endless wonder. And I wanted to know everything I possible could about it," was all I could come up with. She nodded and smiled to herself. She seemed to like that answer. "What would you like to study later?" I asked her. I knew she was still in high school. She seemed like she was about sixteen or seventeen.

She shrugged again before replying with "Architecture."

She did it again. She shrugged. Yet she knew the answer.

She loved talking to others and talking about what they did and who they were… but— she didn't particularly enjoy talking about herself. The shrug was to make herself seem unimportant, nonchalant. She didn't want the focus on herself, she forced it on others instead. I was curious to know what made her do that.

"Architecture, huh." I said. The subject had never crossed my mind but I did do some research on the topic out of mere curiosity. I had read all seven hundred pages of Cambridge professor emeritus David Watkins' A History of Western Architecture. I had remembered every single detail ranging from the Great Ziggurat of Ur in Muqaiyir, Iraq built circa 2125BC to the German Pavilion in Barcelona, Spain by Mies Van der Rohe built in 1929 for the International Exposition.

But that was beside the point.

I was about to ask her why she had a preference for architecture when she suddenly snatched my book from my lap. I raised my eyebrows.

"So… you enjoy reading this?" she questioned.

I nodded. "Yes. Very much so." She made a face. It didn't seem like a very impressed one.

"Is there a problem?" I asked in an amused tone; I played along.

She shook her head.

"But you only just skim through it… right?" She questioned, flicking through the pages.

It was my time to shake my head no.

"I read it as avidly as I'd read an exam question." I told her.

She stared at me and froze.

She then blinked.

"That's not possible." She deadpanned. "Y-You…" she frowned. "I sometimes watch you when you read and… your finger. It flies across the page!" the thought of it seemed incredulous to her. I decided to ignore the fact that she just admitted she'd stare at me while I'd read. It was a little disturbing, but at the same time… a little cute.

I laughed. "I read twenty-thousand words a minute." I told her. "It's because I'm…"

I stopped. I didn't want to blatantly tell her I was a genius. It was fine in front of my team because they were used to it and that was the reason the FBI hired me in the first place, but that kind of statement in front of a teenaged girl was out of norms. She would've taken me for a pompous freak.

"Because you're some kind of boy genius?" she said with a laugh before she snorted by accident. Her eyes widened and she slapped one hand across her face, hiding her mouth. I stared at her and released a bark of laughter. It was the funniest thing I had seen in a while. It wasn't so much the snorting that I found amusing, but her reaction that ensued. It seemed snorting was not a daily occurrence in her life.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed as I bent over and continued laughing. She giggled along a little. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! That was the most unattractive thing ever!" She didn't seem embarrassed at all, but on the contrary, she was just surprised at herself for having snorted in my face so unpredictably. I continued to find it hilarious. I had to take in a few breaths to calm myself down but I couldn't. It was too funny.

I was having a huge fit of laughter and she soon enough joined it.

"It's fine…" I said, gripping my stomach; it had begun to ache with all the laughing.

(Side-note: That was a good thing. Laughing was the only kind of work out my abs got.)

I tried keeping a straight face as she glared at me, but I couldn't keep it up for long and neither could she. Before I knew it, we started laughing again. Except I tried to keep mine silent… which made it even worse.

"Stop it!" she said with a laugh before playfully slapping me on the knee. I did as I was told and straightened up. My book had fallen from my lap during our fit and I bent over to grab it. I then settled back into my armchair. I hadn't laughed so hard in a while… the last time I cracked up this hard was probably when Morgan tripped down the steps of the jet and fell down to the ground. That was over a month ago.

"Okay… okay." I held up both my hands in mock surrender.

"God, how gross. " she muttered.

"No, not at all." I said. "I found it… adorable." I stopped short as I realized what I had just said. She paid no attention to it and just chuckled. She finished her Frapuccino (rather loudly, if I might point out) and checked her watch.

"I gotta go." She declared before getting up and flashing me a smile. "I've got swimming practice."

Bingo. I knew she was a swimmer.

I wanted to tell her I knew that, but I kept quiet and nodded understandingly.

"It was nice talking to you!" she said as she started walking away backwards. "As usual!"

I smiled slightly. "Thanks for the coffee," I said as I lifted my now empty mug at her.

She bowed down in a theatrical way and laughed. "It was my pleasure, your highness." She declared before turning around and hopping down the stairs. "See you on Monday!"

I waved lightly at her but she was already gone.

A few people having coffee on the top floor looked at me out of curiosity before quickly returning to their cell phones or their daily paper.

—TSF—

I quietly slipped into the conference room. I was a little over five minutes late and I knew this wasn't good. Five minutes with Morgan was five minutes. Five minutes with Hotch, on the other hand, was pretty close to an hour. JJ and Prentiss gave me quick looks but refocused their attention quickly back to Hotch who was looking at me, waiting to settle down. I pressed my lips together, silently signaling a quick apology to him and he curtly nodded. He then looked at JJ.

"Let's get started, then." He declared crisply. "JJ. What do you have for us?"

JJ blinked and grabbed the stack of files in front of her in a hurried manner. She stood up quickly and began handing out the files for each and every one of us. I slipped her a quick smile as she gave me the file but she didn't notice it. She seemed more flustered than usual today and I wondered why. I made a mental note to mention it to her later. I didn't like seeing JJ distressed. If she was feeling down— then her pessimism had a direct influence on my own feelings. My smile faded away as I leant back in my seat. I crossed my right leg on my left one nonchalantly and rested the file on my inner thigh. I flipped it open and began studying it instantly.

I stared.

Three years in the BAU did not prepare me for the gruesome photographs that I was suddenly faced with. I instinctively looked away because their brutality was too nauseating. My eyes met with those of Prentiss and for a brief second we shared a moment of mutual disgust and fear. She quickly regained her composure and bent over to skim over the rest of the photographs. I did the same and turned off the little part in my brain that made me sensitive to the ghastly lacerations and gashes that had destroyed the victims' bodies, reducing them to a mere heap of broken limbs and ripped flesh.

Twenty-four year old Spencer had now been temporarily shut down and was currently being replaced by Doctor Reid.

It still didn't change the fact that I was looking at the most atrocious murders I had ever laid eyes on.

I looked back up when JJ started speaking up. She grabbed the monitor's remote and clicked it several times. Four faces appeared on the screen.

"Jessie Scott. Candice Wolf. Natalie Catt. Grace Doyle." she said. My eyes intuitively flew over each of their facial features at the speed of light. I studied every single eyelash, the size of their nostrils, the crease in their frown, the curve of their nose, the whiteness of their teeth, the state of their hair… I analyzed everything in a matter of seconds. They all had grey, blue eyes, a small, narrow nose, prominent cheekbones, mouths with long corners that curved upward and sandy blonde hair. They were all extremely beautiful women. None of them could've been older than nineteen.

A pang of regret hit me.

They hadn't even reached their twenties and they were already dead.

I locked my feelings back up in that oh-so-special-FBI compartment of my brain and focused my attention back on what JJ was saying.

"They were all found dead four days ago and within a twenty mile radius of the BAU." She stated. "All the bodies were found in dumpsters near these different sites: a playground, a local bookshop, a public pool and a viewpoint of the city—"

"Fairly random sites. There really isn't much of a connection." Morgan stated. I nodded in agreement; I was trying to find any kind of link but came up with nothing. Prentiss seemed stuck too and chose to listen to JJ for more information.

JJ clicked the remote and four new images appeared. The pretty smiling faces of the four girls were callously replaced by the same ones I had just seen in the folder she had given out. I tried not to cringe, I didn't want to seem like it was affecting me… but… they were indescribable. I wasn't the best person at giving rundowns of what I'd see, and I definitely could not translate into words the cruelty and the inhumanity of the human being—no, the monster—who had wrecked these poor girls' bodies. And believe me, that was an understatement.

There was a deep silence in the conference room—

—Until Morgan decided to state the obvious.

"Definite overkill."

We all looked up from our files and gave him a look. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose.

I bent over my folder a little more and squinted harder at one of the victims. It was Candice.

"Guys, check out Candice Wolf's left hand. It seems…" I leant in a little more to make sure. "It seems she's missing her ring finger." The others followed suit. "And it was done very meticulously… with care."

"Alright, so the overkill would mean extreme anger—someone who would stab and stab and stab the victim over and over again even if it meant causing post-mortem wounds." Prentiss said. "The desire to cut the ring finger straight off without any damage to it shows that it has some significance to the unsub. A romantic one, perhaps."

I was already examining the other victims as she spoke.

JJ spoke up, clicking her remote and showing zoom-in pictures of the victims' bodies.

"Candice is the only one with a missing body part. But all the other victims apart from her were—"

"Completely eviscerated." Rossi murmured, more to himself it seemed. I looked at him only to find him stroking his chin and staring at the images on the screen. "Disemboweled."

Hotch wasted no time. "So the unsub is doing this as a means of sexual excitement for himself."

"And he wants to shock whoever finds the body. He wants to scare them." Morgan added.

"And not particularly for media attention… the thought of someone finding such a horribly tortured and disfigured body makes the unsub feel over the moon." Prentiss finished.

I chewed on my bottom lip and clasped some of the skin between my teeth. It was a bad habit I had whenever I felt uneasy. I tore a thin piece of skin off my lip. All these girls looked exactly the same. They all had laugh lines on their faces and they were younger than twenty. They were all happy teenagers who had everything to live for. I couldn't understand why someone would kill them.

"Just one question, Hotch." Morgan said. "Why is this an FBI case?"

"Two more disemboweled bodies were found in North Carolina. Same MO. They were found four months ago, and the connection was made yesterday." Hotch answered immediately. "Unsub crossed state lines. He's now ours to deal with." Morgan nodded. Hotch looked at all of us and closed his folder. This meant it was time for us to go visit the families and the rooms of the victims. "Alright, Prentiss and Rossi you go to take a look at the crime scenes while Reid and Morgan go to the victims' homes. JJ, you're with me; we're heading down to the local PD."

And that was it. We were off. I grabbed my messenger back and slung it over my shoulder. I pushed my chair back and stood up. I was about to close my folder shut when at the last minute I took one ultimate look at the victims' faces. I felt sad.

I closed it and followed Prentiss out the door.

It was only as I got in the Chevrolet SUV that I realized those girls reminded me of someone with a similar face.

Author's Note:

Hello my lovelies! First and foremost, I'd like to thank the three of you who reviewed for my prologue. That was immensely sweet of you. As a fanfic reader I know that there isn't always much to say for just a prologue, so I do appreciate your input a lot.

Here's chapter one! I hope you guys liked it. I am aware that writing in Reid's POV will be very, very, challenging, not to mention risky but that is why I'm doing it. I'm sure my interpretation of his thoughts will not always please everyone, but this is how I picture him so uh...yeah. I forgot where I was going with that sentence. Oops. Awkward.

Bear in mind that I am not following the events that happened on the actual TV show. I will keep some important events that have happened in the series, but I am not following the timeline at all- thus why Gideon and Elle aren't there and are replaced by Prentiss and Rossi instead. Even if it's only taking place in 2005. I wish it to be that way, so you have no other choice than to comply, haha! :)

Thank you so much for reading and please tell me what you guys thought of this chapter. I would be honored and would really appreciate it!