Hi! For those of you who don't know me, my name is Nymphadora-CullenBAU. This is my first story on FF, and right now I'm just testing the waters to see if anyone likes my writing style. Please don't be afraid to review; I don't bite, and I'll try to reply to all of your reviews (If I figure out where they come in from). Anyway, since it didn't make it into my first chapter: I own nothing! It's all CBS. Enjoy!

~~~***~~~***

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's painful ~Isaac Asimov

"So, this UnSub usually takes his victims, and holds them for a few days before disposing of them in alley ways and wooded areas with a rosary in their hands, their arms crossed, and their eyes closed." Morgan set his case file down, staring at the rest of the team. "Why? It looks like remorse, and in all honesty it could be remorse, but I don't really think it is remorse, at the very least he's staging his victims."

"Maybe he sees something of himself in the victims," Reid said, his eyes dancing across the page of the coroner's report for Aimee, comparing it to Jessica's and Lainey's pictures. "Maybe a parent or other relative died in his past; or he had a year where he lost a majority of his family in a short span of time."

"That doesn't seem right," Prentiss admitted, returning from the coffee machine at the back of the plane. "It explains the rosaries, but all I can think of is the possible remorse the UnSub shows his victims."

"It seems more like he's staging them, but at the same time, there is a bit of remorse." Reid muttered as he glanced closer at the picture. "I noticed that he washes the body, but hides it in the garbage, or in an alley, or out in the woods. However, there's no blood, and the report says they didn't die of asphyxia."

"That's hopefully what we'll figure out. Until then I've had Garcia search the victim's names to see if there's a connection anywhere." Hotch admitted. "Rossi, you and I will go check out the crime scenes, starting with the two most recent victims. JJ, I want you to go to the St. Paul Police Station, try to assemble a press release. Reid, Morgan and Prentiss, go to the college campuses. Talk to some of the security officials, and look at the victim's dorms."

~~~***~~~***

Be-beep. Be-beep. Be-beep. Be-beep.

Aislinn groans, pushing herself out of bed, fingers fumbling for her glasses and the sleep button on her alarm clock at the same time. However, when her fingers slip against the small plastic device screeching in her ears, it tumbles from its perch on the edge of the bed, and falls to the floor, the insistent beeping ceasing upon contact.

"Aw, crap," she moans, rising from under the covers, and shoving her glasses onto the edge of her nose. Sunlight peeks out from behind the blinded windows letting in just enough light for her to see.

Slowly, she bends down to pick up the alarm clock lying on the floor. It's one of those small, black plastic things that looks practical simply because it has a digital face. There's a dial for the alarm and time change mechanisms, and a long sleep button; it isn't a clock radio, even though she vouched for one when shopping for it. She fixes a part of the plastic face that came undone from the rest of the black body, and checks the time. She blinks, then turns to another clock, a radio/CD player that she honestly has no idea how to work, except for the CD player, and radio frequencies. The green display flashing at her reads 11:15 AM. The same exact time as her alarm clock.

"Aw, CRAP!" She wails, running to her dresser.

~~~***~~~***

Reid, Morgan and Prentiss had arrived at the Public Safety building on the St. Catherine's campus, where they were greeted by a young woman in a cop's uniform. She had short black hair, dark eyes that flashed in the light, and was strongly built.

"You must be the guys from the FBI. I'm Staci, the head of Campus Security."

"I'm SSA Derek Morgan, this is SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid. It's good to meet you."

"Likewise. I expect you'd like to see Aimee's dorm room." Staci looked at them sadly. "The things you must see on the job. I feel so sorry for the girl's mother. Imagine losing your daughter like that, and then your son. The poor woman must be distraught."

"A few of our other team members are visiting her mother now."

~~~***~~~***

Aislinn tossed her Math textbook into her bag before hastily zipping it up with one hand; the other held a hairbrush with which she tried desperately to tame the unruly brown bush growing from her head.

"Screw it!" she cried, throwing the brush down and grabbing a ponytail holder. She looked herself over in the mirror one last time.

A young girl with shoulder-length light brown hair pulled back into a hastily-made ponytail stared back. Her chocolate-brown eyes gazed sleepily back from the mirror, watching from behind square, blue-framed glasses perched on a button nose. Freckles were scattered randomly across her round, almost child-like face, and her cheekbones showed enough definition to show that she wasn't as young as she seemed.

She pulled a face at the mirror; raising her upper lip in a silent growl, and then sticking out her tongue before she turned around, grabbing her backpack in one hand and tucking her lanyard in her pocket with the other. Finally, as an afterthought, she pocketed a small black notebook decorated with pink butterflies. Satisfied with having everything she needed, she closed and locked the door to her dorm room.

~~~***~~~***

"Was Amiee very active in school activities?" Prentiss asked Samantha Rawlings, a petit girl with long blonde hair and a slender face.

"Not really," Samantha admitted. "I mean, she was kind of going through a hard time, because her grandmother had recently died, and they were very close; her grandmother raised Aimee and her brother Alec after their dad left them, because her mom was in a right state. But her mom snapped out of it after Aimee started high school."

"So you went to high school with Aimee?" Reid clarified.

"Yeah," Samantha said. "We had our lockers next to each other during our sophomore year, and we had the same English teacher senior year. Plus, we both worked for the high school newspaper during junior and senior year. She always had such funny things to say when she did the opinions page…" Samantha's voice broke. "I… I gave her a portfolio of her articles when we graduated, saying that she could use them as writing samples when she applied for the Pennsylvania Inquirer after college." Samantha closed her eyes. "She was my best friend." She whispered.

Prentiss sat down by the young woman, and patted her shoulder. "I know what it's like," she answered, "And if you need anything, someone to talk to, or anything at all, please call me." And she handed Samantha a business card.

~~~***~~~***

"FBI, I take it," an officer steps up to the car as Dave and Hotchner get out. "Officer James Donahue, St. Paul Police Department."

"SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA David Rossi." Hotch summarizes. Is this the latest crime scene? Where are we?

"This is the corner of Randolph and Hamline. They appear to have been walking east on Randolph from the party. All we got from the people we arrested at the party was that they were there, and left a couple minutes before we came."

"Smart girls." Hotch muttered as Rossi walked westward down the street.

" They're walking this way," Rossi deducted, tracing invisible footprints on the sidewalk; Hotch watches him from the edge of the crime scene. "One, maybe both of them, are drunk."

"So they don't notice me," Hotch says, walking away from the scene over to where Rossi stands, thinking. "I'm driving this way. It's dark, deserted. The windows of the building here are dark."

"It's usually a very low-risk neighborhood; nothing of consequence happens here that often."

"The neighborhood is full of old houses," Officer James Donahue admits, watching the profilers at work. He's a beefy man with a square face, a big nose, and a small portion of neck. "Old houses usually mean old money, but in this case, it's mostly middle-class families in the area. Families with young children, most of whom hang out over at the St. Kate's campus; they have ducks in the pond that the kids feed."

Rossi nodded. "So a low-risk neighborhood suddenly gets a serial killer."

"Sound like a good storyline for another book, Dave?" Hotch asked, a slight grin on his face.

"I'll consider it," Rossi admits to his colleague. "So our UnSub drives by these two inebriated girls. Does he stop the car, or does he shoot from the window of his car as he passes? Or maybe he stops the car when the girls stop, slip into the back and shoots them."

"It's possible," Hotch said as his phone began to ring. "If they were drunk enough to not notice a nearby car stop, open the door and shoot."

"But how do you talk to teens that went to a kegger? They'll barely talk to cops, let alone you guys, about this sort of thing. How do you expect them to do that?" Donahue asked.

"We'll get them to talk," Hotch said as he answered the phone. "Garcia?"

~~~***~~~

Aislinn dashed through the almost deserted yard between the newer dorms and the student center, passing the gym and Fontbonne Hall, where the Family Consumer Science classes were held. The quad was heavy with mid-April sunlight, but it was just cool enough for the majority of the women on campus to have jackets and light sweaters on them. Aislinn hadn't had the fortune to grab her new school sweater-jacket, but it didn't matter now.

She crossed the quad, digging in her pocked for her cell phone, but instead coming up with her iPod.

She didn't see the three figures crossing the quad ahead of her until she ran headfirst into the tallest of the three.

~~~***~~~***

"The Highland area of St. Paul, or West, St. Paul, is usually a low-risk area for crime." Reid noted as he, Prentiss and Staci walked back toward the Public Safety building. "I mean, in 2008, the crime rate here in St. Paul was 48.1 crimes per 1,000 people."

"Yeah, that's right," Staci said, surprised. "How'd you know that?"

"I did some research."

"Also, his mind soaks up information like a sponge," Emily added.

"I have an I.Q of 187 and an eidetic memory; my mind isn't a sponge. Sponges absorb nutrients through osmosis. I just… read a lot."

"But you absorb coffee like a sponge." Prentiss joked.

"Oh, ha ha…"

A second later, a body slammed into Reid, and he toppled, landing on his back in the grassy quad. He stared up into a pair of horrified brown eyes behind a pair of blue glasses.

"Oh, God, I am SO sorry!" The girl cried. "I'm really sorry, I'm just late for class… I'm sorry."

She dashed off, but not before a small black notebook with pink butterflies fell from her pocket and onto the ground. Reid picked it up, confused.

"Should I-?" He began, gesturing toward the girl, who had run into a building marked as being called "Mendel Hall."

"It's fine." Staci said. She's probably halfway to class by now. Besides, she admitted she was late, so she probably didn't want to be held up. Chances are she'll realize the book is missing, and go to Public Safety to claim it. You'll be seeing her again, don't worry."