"I'm sorry, Sir," Garcia apologized to Hotch over the phone, "but there aren't any records at all. Your victims aren't on file as missing in any database."
"You're sure?" Hotch asked, frowning. Looking across the room at JJ, he shook his head.
"I even went Interpol, Sweet Cheeks."
Sighing, Hotch removed the cell phone from his ear, and ended the call. If these victims weren't missing, then they had to be homeless. Because they weren't classified as missing, it probably meant that no one was around to care if they disappeared. JJ had just finished hanging all of the collected evidence up on the board when Rossi and Reid arrived at the station. The two agents were followed by Detective Peirce. Once inside the meeting room, Rossi introduced the detective to both JJ and Hotch. Shaking hands with the detective, Hotch asked the two profilers to tell them what they had already come up with. Although he listened intently to what his subordinates were telling him, Hotch's mind was still traveling at 100 miles an hour, trying to figure out what else should be done to complete an accurate profile of their unsub.
Taking a deep breath, Hotch returned his cell phone to his ear, waiting for the person to pick up on the other end. Hearing it ring in his ear, Hotch looked around the table at his men. "JJ and I will work on putting together a press conference," he explained. "Dave, I want to you take the detective with you and talk to the families of the victims. Reid, I want you to do a geographical profile." Each agent nodded their head to their commanding officer's orders and went to work.
xXx
"Prentiss," Emily answered her phone, stopping in her tracks. Derek stopped next to her and watched her body language as she talked on the phone. She stood tall, like she always did and her body language did not reveal any signs of stress of frustration. Derek found himself wondering just what Hotch was telling her. Nodding her head once, Prentiss hung up the phone and slid it back into her jacket pocket.
"What was that about?" he asked her, concern written across his face.
"Hotch is convinced that all these victims were homeless," she explained. Derek nodded and she continued. "He wants us to keep working this angle while the others focus on the other victims."
"Well then lead the way, Princess!" Derek joked, ushering her forward.
Scrunching her nose in disgust, Emily kicked a flyaway piece of trash with her boot as she and Derek continued along their path, stopping to talk to as many people living out on the streets as they could. Looking around, Emily couldn't help but think that this was worse than the circus. Those things were always filthy. Looking up at the sky, Emily saw that it was getting later in the day, only about three o'clock or so though. Derek stopped an older gentleman pushing a shopping cart past dumpsters to see if he could scrounge anything that was salvageable. While Derek asked him a few questions, Emily decided to go on ahead, staying well in line of Derek's sight though.
A few feet ahead, she caught a glimpse of a pair of worn sneakers sticking out past a large, green dumpster. Stepping closer so that she could peer around the corner of the dumpster, Emily saw that the shoes belonged to a young woman. Her blonde hair was down and matted to her face, almost covering the dirt. She didn't even acknowledge Emily's presence, as if she didn't want to know why she was there in the first place. However, when Emily saw the knife in the young woman's hand and the blood from her arm pooling onto her clothes and onto the ground, Emily knew that she had to help this woman. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight, but Emily quickly wiped them away. She couldn't get emotional like this on the job. Like Hotch had reminded her more than once, she had to remain objective.
But how was she supposed to approach this woman? Cutters didn't want others to know and so they hid the scars and only cut in private, away from the wandering eyes of others. Chances are, this hurting young woman would pull away without answering any questions or accept offers of help. And Emily really did want to help this young woman. She didn't know why, but something was drawing her to herself.
Sighing, Emily took a deep breath calming her beating heart. "I'm Emily," she said quietly, "What's your name?"
And just like Emily predicted, she did pull away from the greeting. Immediately, the young woman's eyes widened in shock, pocketing the jack knife as quickly as possible before pulling down the sleeves of her dirty hooded sweatshirt. Ignoring Emily, she pulled her outstretched legs closer to her body before pushing herself up to her feet. Remaining silent, she made to run.
"Hey," Emily's voice remained calm and unthreatening as possible. "It's okay. I'm with the FBI. I just want to ask you a few questions." Emily pulled out her badge to show the frightened young woman.
The woman stopped and looked Emily up and down, scrutinizing her, almost judgingly. Then her eyes landed on the badge. "What do you want?" She snapped. Emily returned the badge to her pocket.
She was rude, but her territory was being invaded. Besides Emily knew better than anyone that people tended to develop an attitude when they were hurting. The attitude served as a defense mechanism so others couldn't see what was really going on inside. Emily knew. For years, she had used those exact same mechanisms. To do this day, she still used those defense mechanisms. Sarcasm was her best friend at times.
Having used these same defense mechanisms herself, Emily knew how to handle this hurting young woman. 1. She would have to be demanding yet calm. 2. She had to be empathetic and her know that she understood the pain that she was going through.
Mallory knew that this beautiful and undoubtable rich woman had seen her harm herself. She wasn't stupid. She also knew that the only way this woman would help her was by throwing her in some mental hospital. She'd get food, water, a bed, and a shower but it would a glorified prison. Besides, she'd be back on the streets upon being released anyways. She would not go. No fancy, gun wielding, woman FBI agent was going to make her go anywhere. The only way to get what you want out here was to make deals. Raising her chin, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll answer your questions," she said defiantly, "as long as you promise not to put me in some mental hospital."
Emily's heart went out to the woman all over again. No, she would never send her someplace like that. While mental hospitals had the best psychiatrists and other medical staff on board, they didn't always help the clinically depressed. Sometimes the depressed left in worse shape than when they had arrived because the staff didn't always take the time to dig to the root of the issues or getting to know the patient as a person. Many times they'd prescribe Zoloft or another common antidepressant and call it good. While this woman needed to be on an antidepressant, Emily would not allow the poor woman to succumb to the pressure or the loneliness that hospitalization would give her.
"I would never do that," Emily replied truthfully, looking deep into the other woman's blue eyes. Keeping the eye contact, Emily prayed that this woman could see how truthful she was. Hopefully, she could gain this woman's trust. The woman nodded, seeming to believe her so Emily continued. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Mallory," she mumbled.
As pretty as the name was, it meant ill-omened as if she was destined to have a sad life since the day she was born.
"That's a pretty name," Emily responded.
"Not as pretty as Emily," Mallory mumbled her tone sad and Emily wondered if she liked the name she had been given at birth.
Smiling, Emily replied with a sincere thank you. "Like you saw Mallory, I'm with the FBI. I'm looking into some recent homicides in the area. Can I show you some pictures?" She didn't receive a vocal answer from Mallory, only a light shrug of the shoulders. Taking the pictures from the manila folder, Emily arranged them just so before handing them to Mallory to look at it. "Do you know these people?"
Tears sprang to Mallory's eyes and trickled down her face when she reached the picture of the red head. Extending a hand, Emily comfortingly placed it on Mallory's shoulder. The young woman flinched at the contact at first, but did not pull away. "I don't know names or anything," she replied quietly. "Only nicknames."
"That's fine," Emily replied.
"I recognize them. Ginger, I knew the best. We looked out for each other. Out here you don't make too many friends. Some are mean. You stick to your own territory and mind your own business. But yes, they lived out here."
Sighing, Emily looked over her shoulder to see Derek walking towards her. "Mallory, I think you might be able to help us with this case." She said. "Would you like to come to the police station and answer a few more questions? I promise from there I will take you anywhere that you want to go."
"If it'll help."
From the brief contact she had with Mallory so far, Emily could tell that she had a kind heart. Smiling, Emily nodded and removed her hand from Mallory's shoulder. Mallory's tears stopped and Derek walked up next to them.
"Mallory, this is my partner, Derek," Emily introduced. "Derek, this is Mallory." Derek was polite and shook Mallory's hand, all the while shooting Emily a confused look. They never used first names for the job unless they were speaking to children. To adults, they always introduced themselves as Agent Prentiss and Agent Morgan, never Emily and Derek. However, Emily didn't answer his question. Instead, she just shot him a glance that seemed to tell him to trust her. "Mallory's going to go back to the station with us and help us on the case."
xXx
"She's a person, not a stray cat or something," Derek muttered to himself as he watched Emily interact with Mallory. They were now back at the police station and Mallory was able to give them some more information that might be helpful to them. But that had been some time ago. Now, Emily spent her time in another conference room with Mallory. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a scrabble game out. The conference room the two women were in was situated right next door to the one that the team had set up shop in. A window separated the two so Derek could easily see what was going on between his wife and this girl.
Not too far away, Reid was working on the geographical profile. He was supposed to be going through the evidence, putting together a preliminary profile with Rossi while Hotch and JJ gave a press conference to warn people about a serial killer on the streets of Bluffdale. Although he was only go after the wealthy and homeless, it was best to warn the entire public and shut down his victim pool completely.
Hearing a sigh, Morgan turned his head to see David Rossi standing beside him, peering through the glass to watch Emily and Mallory as well. Pointing to the two women in the other room, Rossi said, "Something tells me that that woman has been through hell." He never took his eyes off of them to look at Derek as he spoke. "Maybe it's a good thing she's being shown a glimpse of heaven."
"This is heaven?" Derek asked skeptically.
Rossi turned his head to meet the younger man's gaze. "No," he said, "But knowing that someone cares can feel a lot like it though."
xXx
Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Mallory looked down at the game board between her and Emily. It was weird. She didn't trust anybody, but having known Emily such a short time, Mallory found herself opening up about her life. But Emily seemed different than most people. Emily seemed to genuinely care. Being alone for most of her life, Mallory was able to read people. She knew when someone was genuine or not. Emily was genuine, not like a lot of other people that Mallory had known throughout her life. Placing a few tiled letters down on the Scrabble board, Mallory spelt added an R to the already existing word, L-I-V-E before using that R to go down, spelling out R-O-S-E-S. She knew Emily had only suggested a game to break the ice as they got to know each other, but Mallory was grateful for it.
"Oh," Emily breathed, sounding a little disappointed as she totaled up Mallory's score. "You're doing better than I am."
Emily smiled.
Mallory smiled.
Maybe Steve Maraboli was right when he said, "Smile at strangers and you just might change a life." Emily mused, placing down her own lettered tiles onto the game board. Even now Mallory seemed more relaxed as she interacted with her. Right now it almost seemed like the depressed woman was miles away as she played a game and talked to Emily and in her place was a happy, care-free woman. However, Emily knew better. While Mallory smiled, her eyes didn't. Instead, they showed a deep sadness that would not be easily fixed. But for now, a smile, a game, and a friend easily helped alleviate that deep sadness.
"You want to talk about?" Emily's voice was quiet.
"About what?" Mallory asked in reply. "My arms? There's nothing to talk about it."
Some people could see the scars and ask her what happened to her arm. They didn't know self-harming when they saw it. People like Emily however, knew it when they saw it. One day, Emily prayed that Mallory would talk to her about her cutting, but for now she was content to let it go and talk about something else.
"Where are you from?" Emily settled for instead, continuing to make small talk. After getting to know Mallory more as person might help her feel more comfortable to have deeper, meaningful conversations.
"Salt Lake City."
"Do your parents still live there?" Emily asked, curiously.
Mallory's blue eyes came up to meet Emily's brown ones momentarily before she glanced back down at the table. "I never knew my dad."
"And your mom?" Emily continued.
"Was a druggie that was never around," Mallory explained. "Last I heard she moved to Miami with some ass hippie of a boyfriend."
No wonder Mallory felt this deep loneliness. From a young age she was left alone to fend for herself. The poor girl never knew a mother's love. As odd as it seemed, Emily wanted to show her what love was and teach her that it is okay to depend on others when you need help. Glancing over Mallory's shoulder,
Emily peered through the window showing the happenings in the other meeting room. She caught Derek carefully watching her. Pushing her chair out, she stood and smiled down at Mallory. "I'm thirsty," she stated. "I'm going to find something to drink. Would you like anything?"
"Sure," Mallory replied with a shrug of her shoulders.
Emily left the room, leaving Mallory alone.