He understood why people said they should never work with children. Whiny little things that had a habit of wetting themselves. It was so much easier with people who didn't have children, he'd never killed a child but he'd come close on more than one occasion. Nasally little voices that wanted ice-cream and toys. He had the joy of looking after a fat sticky little child while his mother panicked. Sometimes he wondered if he should follow other killers and just shoot them from a distance but it wasn't the children's fault they were so bad. Oh no… it was their parents fault, so he wouldn't hurt a child. He found no pleasure in that. But as little Timmy wet himself and rubbed his eyes with his candy covered hands, he really was considering shooting him. He snapped at him to
"Stop crying or I'll break both your legs." And he looked up at him, eyes pleading desperately.
The poor boy had trusted this man who'd smiled and asked him where his mother was. Now he was sat in a corner whimpering as he held a gun. He knew guns were bad, he was forbidden to touch his dad's, because it could kill him and if he died that meant a long, long sleep that he'd never get up from. The strange man kept pacing back and forth and back and forth. He had the same look his dad got when he was thinking up a particularly harsh punishment.
The man turned to him and crouched down in front of him the smile appearing on his face.
"Some policemen are going to ask you what I look like… but they won't find me. I'm going to be you're new nightmare Timmy." His name wasn't Timmy but this man kept calling him it. "Do you understand you miserable cockroach?" He nodded and covered his eyes again. He didn't like this man's face, it was scary and wrong. He just wanted his mummy.
The phone rang and he almost leapt on it, he could hear her ventilating down the other end
"Hello dear… yes I have your son… money? No I'm not particularly fond of money. Now listen if you go to the police I'll kill Timmy… George? Yes fine fine, George. Now you've spoken to him and you've received the package so I'm sure you understand I will have to kill him… no it's anything you've done. Well maybe a little… we'll talk more when you arrive. If you want help… contact DI Morrison I believe she's with the FBI."
The saddest part of his work was that he did a fine job of it all but nobody ever noticed. They never realised how good he was because he did it so very well. This beautiful city, home to so many of his idols would be his new playground until of course he got bored and left. This would continue on and on and on and on until he died. He wanted to stop so badly sometimes but his ego prevailed. Some mornings he'd wake up and feel he'd never want to do it again. But then he'd see a man with his wife, completely devoted to her and the stirring would start. That was it. He'd be back to old tricks and nobody could stop him.
DI Morrison was wiping her hands on her skirt, her palms always sweated before a big conference and even though these people had shown her nothing but kindness since she'd arrived, this was her one shot. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down; anything less and she'd sound like a fool. She knew how far fetched this sounded already.
"Over the past five years certain areas England has experienced a spike in suicides that hold no visible explanation. Normally spikes like this do not occur unless there is a valid reason such as a large factory shutting or a disaster that affects many people. The areas go through a bell shape."
"A bell shape?" David asked shifting in his seat to lean forward
"Yes ranging from five months to a year the areas show the same curve." She motioned to the graphs appearing on the board. "The numbers vary but they all follow the same pattern, the suicide level is normal then it increases and increases until declining at a steady rate until it returns to normal."
"Don't suicides normally spike from time to time." Emily asked still trying to understand what the woman was after from them.
"They are unusual." Spencer said standing; he took a white board pen drawing a slightly waved line across the board but more or less it was straight "Normal statistics show a general theme with the number of suicides and if a spike was to occur it would normal happen shortly after something that had affected a number of people." He drew a sharp spike upwards on top of his line pointing to it "But a curve so equal is very uncommon especially over a number months and never when nothing serious has affected the area."
"Thank you." She said as he realised she was going to explain it; he smiled slightly taking a seat again "This has happened all over the country. Those involved never show previous signs of depression or mental illness. Normally they have good families, a good working life and don't show any signs of considering suicide. Also none including in the graph left a note or warning. Most had plans, holidays, birthdays, dinner dates. Which…"
"People don't tend to do if they want to die." Hotch said, a smile grew on her face, finally somebody was listening or at least being kind enough not to call her insane or obsessed.
"But they aren't found in the same ways."
"No… which I understand is unusual but I understand some killers especially ones like RL don't do this for the act but rather…"
"The preparation and mental gratification." David smiled at her, he'd written those words himself
"RL? That's the name of the person who sent you the letters?" Emily asked "Are you sure that's not somebody taunting you."
"I'm very sure."
"RL is very vague."
"A name or nickname, something that holds meaning to the killer?" Spencer said
"So you'll help me?"
"We could set up a preliminary profile." JJ smiled "It does show certain signs of being the work of an unsub." She might have cried with the relief, finally somebody didn't think she was hung up on a solved case, that she was seeing demons around every corner and always needed a mystery. At last something, no matter how small was going right.
As they talked he was holding the boy's eyes forward, his hands pressed either side of his head in a vice like grip.
"See, see…" He laughed in Timmy's ear as he looked at the crimson spilling out onto the white tiles "I told you she'd do it. Isn't it perfect?" He was crying and screaming as the man hit him on the back of the head. He stepped backwards as he fell out of the apartment. Sometimes he really wondered if he was going mad but in the morning he'd be back to normal and none of this would matter. Unless the BAU finally stepped off the mark and stopped him. He was practically handing them the first clue. Little Timmy would talk, not enough to be really trusted but enough to get them playing the game. He always hated games where the other team didn't know it had started yet. It was unsporting and just down right rotten. They would be his greatest feat; he would show the world just how incredible he was. How the planning and the time could create something beautiful, something he could be proud of. How the world would shiver and gaze upon him with awe.
Regrets? I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do
and saw it through without exemption. I planned each charted course - each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, I did it my way.