"Fear only two: God, and the man who has no fear of God."
Proverb.
February sixth.
Same day.
Sunday.
16.11
"That's odd." Morgan commented off-minded.
He was sitting at the end of the table, closest to the computer screen, piles of case files surrounding him as he held up papers of a particular case. He glanced at the laptop on his right. He looked at the papers again, and at the brown case file, and then back at the laptop. Hotch, who joined studying the original Christian Killer case with McCallister and JJ when the blonde suddenly noticed an irregularity regarding a witness statement of the man to have last seen victim number four (Jenny Walker), looked up to watch Morgan.
"What's wrong?"
Morgan sighed, checked his facts again, and then looked at McCallister. "There's a file here, on a case about several missing women. Only problem is, the file isn't in the system. It's off the books. Just like this case; an investigation into the Christian Killer."
"Did you know team One was studying the case?" Hotch asked McCallister.
He shook his head. "No. I didn't." He paused as he thought. "Which is odd. Wills wasn't the type that would go dark. Especially not considering pretty much everyone here knows I worked the case. If she was investigating it, she would have come to me."
"Could that be the reason why Abby was transferred to the BAU?" Reid suddenly questioned out loud.
McCallister looked at him confused, hence Reid continued. "Abby said that she based her end thesis for both her Criminology as her Psychology degree on the Christian Killer. Perhaps she started an investigation behind Wills' back and Wills found out."
"That would be something Frankie would do, yeah." McCallister commented with a bitter taste. "Damn it."
"What?" Hotch asked again.
"Over the last year, she occasionally took a day off."
"That's nothing like Frankie." JJ remarked.
"Exactly. She's been secretive, on edge..." McCallister trailed off. "She must have thought she had something."
"Could that be why team One was killed?" JJ asked, forming the words that hung in the air but nobody really dared to say.
"It's possible." Hotch answered as he sighed. "Perhaps she was getting too close?"
"Only problem is," Morgan interrupted their train of thoughts, "she was no were close to this guy. There's not much new in this file and from what I can tell by the state the paper is in, she barely even looked at the scenes or the profile, but focussed mostly on the victims."
"Maybe she was trying to find a way to get to him by determining what was so special about the girls he took." Reid suggested.
"If she did, it's not in the notes." Morgan replied.
"What about her laptop and home computer?" Hotch suddenly remembered. "We still have those."
"Yeah, but Garcia has been unable to crack the password." JJ reminded him, rubbing her forehead.
"I've been trying for the past two months sir, I don't think I can get in at all. It's too protected, too encrypted." The tech admitted.
They were running around like headless mice in a maze that had no exit.
"What about Bronckovic?" Morgan said, looking at McCallister.
The man with the dark, short, military cut hair nodded, but hesitantly. "I could ask him, but.. I'm having a hard time telling him his team just got murdered two months after his fiancé was killed. I'm not sure how he will take this news. It might send him in overdrive mode, or it might just set him over the edge."
"What do you think it will do?" Hotch looked at Mac with a deep, penetrating mien. He trusted that Mac knew his people because Hotch knew McCallister was that kind of man.
"I think that once hearing the news that his team was murdered and that he and Frankie are most likely in danger as well, it will practically set him on fire. And boy, he creates magic when he's rolling." Mac said honestly. He nodded again. "I'll bring it up, after, y'know..."
"What about the other non-registered case?" Hotch asked Morgan.
But before Morgan could even grab the file, the door of the Glass Room swung open and revealed a pale, dark blond, skinny man with deep, dark brown eyes, wearing black jeans (ripped the fabric above the right knee), a light denim shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and worn, black All-stars. His eyes were wide, his heart beating feverishly in the vein in his neck and his chest moving up and down in a rapid pace.
"Is it true?" He demanded to know with his rather high pitched, cracked but usual sound. His eyes were accompanied by large, blue bags, but nevertheless were fierce and powerful.
"Miles." McCallister pleaded as he stood up.
Milo 'Miles' Bronckovic raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "So it is true?" He said eventually, clearly emotional. "Wills? And Lewy and Cuba?" He asked confused. McCallister must have known there was no use in trying to persuade the man to go somewhere else 'to talk about it', because the less he did, the more confirmation it gave the young agent.
"Where?" Miles demanded to know.
"The underground parking lot in Wills' apartment building."
"Jesus." He muttered. He let go of the door and started pacing. "Jesus, sweet mother of God. Why? Do you know why yet?" He covered his mouth with his hand, perhaps trying to regain his composure, perhaps trying to prevent himself from swearing. He noticed Hotch, Morgan and JJ in the room and shortly raised his hand. "Sorry. Hi, to you. Too."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Miles." Hotch said to him.
"Well, it's not like I already packed the fucking suit, eh?" Came the reply, drenched in sarcasm and to the profilers it was obvious that he tried really hard to handle the devastating news but was barely holding on. "Why were they killed Mac? Is it retaliation, is it that scumbag drug lord we took down a couple of months ago? Or that arrogant pervert, y'know, the one that liked to assault old ladies in their bedrooms?"
McCallister sighed again as he turned to the table and grabbed the file.
"Mac." Hotch called out to him, his voice somewhat low with the intention of questioning his proposed actions. Because Hotch knew where this was going. Unfortunately, but obviously, Miles caught on.
"What? What's going on?"
"He deserves to know." McCallister simply replied to Hotch and he handed the file to his SCU agent.
Wearily, Miles opened it and looked at it. His eyes grew big once he found the pictures. He paused his actions as he stared at the first photos, but then seemed to shake off the idea that this were his friends and that there were dead, Hotch judged by the way he moved through the rest of the case file. He threw the file back on the table once he reached the end. Rubbing both his chin as the top of his head with his hands, he looked down.
"You know who he is?" Hotch asked.
Miles nodded, pocketing his hands. "Ya. The Christian Killer. Fuck."
"He's believed to have died." Morgan commented. His hand was resting mid-air as he propped his elbow on the table.
Miles sighed, rubbed his face and sat down. "We knew. But it was never confirmed. So when young, blonde women started disappearing, we started investigating."
"That's the other case file." Morgan commented dryly, holding up the file as a gesture towards McCallister and Hotch.
"Why didn't you inform me of this?" Mac wanted to know.
"Because we weren't sure of the connection. Two women disappeared from the Atlanta area and the others popped up when we expanded our search. We considered it more a preliminary search, so to speak."
"What about the investigation into the Christian Killer? Why didn't Wills register that one? It's not like it was a high profile case." Mac continued further.
Miles sighed. He rubbed his face again. "Because Frankie wanted it off the books. To make sure nobody knew we were looking into the case."
"Frankie?" JJ repeated the name with surprise.
"Wills didn't know. We kept it from her." Miles suddenly frowned and shot up from his chair. "Wait a minute, where is Frankie? If they were murdered, it's most likely they were fucking targeted. That means Frankie could be a target as well."
"We're trying to locate her." Hotch informed him. He tilted his head to the side and showed an apologetic expression. "Have you been in contact with her recently?"
Miles' eyes went big and his mouth fell open. "You don't know where she is?" He looked at Mac. "That means, for all we know, she's already dead!"
"Miles, Miles." McCallister raised his hand and made shushing movements. "I have team Two and Three on it. You know how good Trace is. If there's anyone outside this room able to find her, it's Trace. They're looking."
"They're looking. As in – she's gone. Frankie's always around, she's as much part of this city as the fucking curbs or the lamp posts, she couldn't leave even if she wanted to. How could she just fall of the face of the fucking earth, Mac? That's not like Frankie."
"Do you have any idea of where she is?" Hotch asked him.
He shook his head. "No. I mean, I have a number, it's not her regular number, but I'm not sure if she'll check it soon enough."
"Call her." Hotch ordered and nodded meaningfully.
But instead of moving, Miles looked down at his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were troubled. He wanted to say something, but changed his mind and grabbed his phone from his pocket.
"Frankie, it's me." Pause. "Listen, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. Okay? Just-... Call me. Bye."
At the same time, Hotch' phone rang and he picked up. Morgan, Reid and JJ glanced at their leader, expecting bad news. "All right. We'll be right there."
All eyes in the room were casted towards Hotch. "Prentiss and Rossi came up empty in Wills apartment. Rossi had a hunch and moved to Abby's old apartment. They found something. He insisted that we take a look at it ourselves."
"If you take your guys - and lady, excuse me-" Mac raised his hands in defence when his eyes interlaced with JJ's, "I'll stay with the nerds and we'll try to make sense of this mess."
"If it's all the same to you," JJ said as she looked up to Hotch, "I'd like to stay. Work this angle." She told him, referring to the off-the-record case file of several murdered girls. Hotch nodded and nodded again when he looked at McCallister.
"Go." The man told him, but once again the door was opened forcefully.
"There's something going on with the note." Reid immediately said as he marched into the room. He placed the note on the scanner, which allowed the note to pop up on the large screen. He didn't wait for someone to ask or invite him to start but just did.
"I've got my darlings Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday' suggests that he has reconnected with his victims that he took on the right day of the week. Whether he actually got to the girls again, I'm not sure of because we still have to locate the survivors. Saturday is close means that he's getting closer towards reconnecting with the girl taken and released on Saturday, who would be Evelyn Parker, who can't be found. The use of the word 'close' is interesting, because it suggests that he doesn't have her yet, but that he's moving in. He's also using the present tense, is, which means that he's doing it right now. Then he demotes you two by only using the word 'agents' and not using your full titles – special agent, supervisory special agent, nothing. That suggests that he either doesn't think very highly of you and feels he's superior, or that he's referring to the old days, when you didn't have that title and status just yet. Then, it gets really interesting-"
Miles broke contact with Reid and glanced at his supervisor, almost with a sarcastic look on his face. McCallister didn't respond, but the look in his eye and the small smile around the corner of his lips was enough.
"I will have my darling back, darling, not darlings, but darling. He's referring to Sunday, who he can't get to, just yet. The following line 'Welcome to the Conquest' is apart from obviously religious, also indicating that he's willing to fight over 'Sunday' and considers getting her is a conquest. In the Bible, the Conquest was often associated with the conquest being God to bring his people into the Promised Land. 'Sunday', could be his Promised Land. There are two theories about the Promised Land, one suggesting that the Promised Land is God's inheritance and two, the land being actually a holy mountain that lies on the juncture of heaven and earth and is where the gods abide. He's challenging you." Reid concluded and took a deep breath. Then he noticed Miles. "Sorry. Hi."
Miles only smiled and raised his hand. "You left a part out." He told him.
Reid nodded, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and looked at Hotch. He starting talking in a slower pace, his voice lower, almost afraid of the repercussion of his words. "I want my Sunday back. Once again, he degrades his victims to days of the week, almost as if he owns them, but you can't actually own a day of the week, which means there has to be an underlying meaning to it. He's using the days of the week to nickname his victims. Since he is directing himself towards Hotch and Mac suggests that he thinks that you have Sunday, or that you're getting in his way to get to Sunday. Problem is, Zoe Price is most likely dead... So that could mean that he left her alive but that she was never found and that he now thinks we have her."
February sixth.
Same day.
Sunday.
17.26
The ride had been long and quiet. Even though Abby Scott lived only 10 minutes from her place of work, the road seemed to stretch out in front of them, making miles of mere inches. Reid sat in the back of the car, his elbow popped up against the door, his head resting on a relaxed fist as he almost absent-mindedly stared outside. Morgan had caught Hotch looking at the younger man multiple times now, but so far, they both kept quiet. As Hotch pulled the car to a halt, parking right in front of Abby's old apartment building, he sighed softly before finding the image of Reid in the rear view mirror.
"You wanna tell us what's on your mind kid?" He asked kindly.
Reid responded to the sound of his boss' voice almost sleepily. He glanced at both men before shrugging. But he didn't utter a word.
"Look, I understand that this is a sensitive subject to you-" Reid had wanted to interrupt, but Hotch quickly raised his hand. "and I'm glad that it seems like you're back on our side, but I need to know if you've got your head in the right place. I don't want you to get hurt." Hotch admitted. Again.
"Hotch, I was never not on your side." Reid replied almost laughing. He looked down and fidgeted with his hands to avoid his supervisor's looks.
"Reid." Morgan started, his voice deep, soothing and gentle. He did always know which button to press when it concerned the young genius.
"That case file." Reid hesitantly begun.
"What about it?" Hotch asked.
"It's just… As a person, I think that we all have different words to describe Frankie, but as an FBI agent, how would you describe her?"
"Driven." Morgan responded, almost instantly.
Hotch took his time to answer, suddenly understanding what Reid was pointing at. "Thorough. Methodical."
This time, it was Morgan shifting his gaze from one man to the other, not catching their drift. Reid looked at him, almost apologetic. "Frankie's not the type of FBI agent" He carefully avoided to use the word 'person', "that would not document whatever she was doing. It's part of her work routine, she must always have proof of everything she's done and she must always have a reliable source, one that she can backtrack, when her cases go to court. She wouldn't create half a file, especially not on a case that concerns five dead women."
"So that case file we found, the one that Miles said was something preliminary on several murdered women in the area, that could be a diversion or fake." Morgan summed up, catching on.
Hotch briefly closed his eyes, awaiting Reid's response, already knowing what he was going to say. Reid pursed his lips. "I think it is a breadcrumb." Morgan didn't reply and could only look at his partner. "I think she has left that breadcrumb because she feels unsafe. Someone's watching her. She's involved in something much bigger than we originally expected. It's quite possible her stalker has been following her for a longer period, long before she came to the BAU, more intensively, and that Louisa Delgado wasn't his first victim."
Abby had known about her stalker when she was arrested by Atlanta PD. It was the whole reason why she made sure to obstruct their every course of action, why she wouldn't talk, why she lied to them. Not to keep the stalker safe, but to make sure her then team wouldn't go after him. Or, as the case was in reality, that it would take Hotch and his team too long to figure it out. By the time they had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together, they had to let Abby go but had no solid leads to continue the investigation themselves and her stalker was long gone. Hence they were left with only one option: to turn it over to Atlanta PD. In the end, that was Abby's game plan. She needed the BAU team out of the picture. The reason why remained unclear, but there was something nagging at their brains, something stirring deep inside of them ever since they left Atlanta and Abby Scott. As Morgan's brain raced, he tried to think of different reasons. He tried different scenarios in his head, but his mind could only revolve around one particular question.
"If that's the case," He started. "Then she must have known about her stalker before she came to the BAU." He looked at his leader, the man he had trusted through everything, despite lies or falsities. The question hurt him more than he wanted. He finally realised that his gut had been right all along; he was missing something. "Hotch, is that why she came to the BAU?"
He knew his supervisor wouldn't be able to answer that question. He wasn't expecting an answer, even, he just wanted to say the words, let it out, if only just to release the pressure that was building up inside of him. Hotch looked at him with a look that told Morgan all he needed to know. Hotch too, had known something was up. He had spotted the looks on her face whenever she received mail. Whenever her phone rang and she didn't recognise the number. She wiped those emotions off her face as quickly as they appeared, but he had seen them. Vividly, he could recall the colouring of her skin growing colder, how her eyes had hardened. How it always seemed like she was the quietest person in the room, and yet he often thought he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.
"I don't know." Hotch still answered. He knew Morgan wasn't expecting him to answer that question. Just like he knew both men in the car. Just like he knew that Abby Scott didn't only carry her own secrets and demons with her and into his team, she also unwillingly taught the two men closest to her to do the same. How to walk with that heavy burden in silence. Without another word, Morgan sighed and opened the door, getting out of the car. Hotch and Reid had one last look at each other through the mirror, sharing the same question 'How is it all connected?', before exiting the vehicle as well.
Once again, the path towards Abby's old loft was long, and quiet.
Rossi's highly sensitive detectors could easily see that something had happened between the threesome that approached them as they stepped off the metallic sounding elevator. Prentiss, looking not half as smart as she really was, casted her eyes in his direction when he met them halfway, but both agents didn't say anything about it. Probably because they knew they had more bad news to deliver. Hotch, Reid and Morgan stopped in front of their colleagues, who seemed hesitant to move. It didn't take long before Hotch' weary mien went over their faces.
"What's going on?"
Rossi sighed, chewed on the inside of his lip and spoke as he moved to open the door. "I think that we should be the ones asking that question." He looked at Morgan directly, his eyes piercing, strong and fierce. Prentiss looked at the floor between Reid's shoes as Rossi opened up the door to Abby's apartment.
Unable to see the image from such a distance, the three just arrived agents stepped into the large room. Prentiss and Rossi followed close behind, closing the loft's door again. This was a matter of privacy.
"What the-" Morgan uttered as his eyes flew over the photos. They were everywhere. They covered every spare space on the wall, several pieces of furniture and parts of the floor, all in colour and enlarged to the size of a piece of paper.
"That's you, Morgan." Rossi commented harshly. Morgan turned to face him and wanted to open his mouth to speak, Rossi beat him to it. "I think it's time you explain to us what the hell is going on."
They were all over the apartment. Smiling together, walking the dogs, making out like wild teenagers late at night before stumbling into either of their homes. To the outsider, it may have looked like a happy relationship. But Morgan knew better, and he knew that whatever he had with Abby wasn't a relationship – it was just sex and those fleeting moments before and after. And so their moments in between, the cups of coffee drank together, the walks in the park, the laughing and joking on the streets – that was even more personal than the time they spent between the sheets. Those moments were part of his shaky, unsteady but intense and solid friendship with the British American. Those were his most precious memories of her. That hurt the most, but not solely that. Because the photos of them, together, kissing, touching, feeling, rubbing and moving were another low blow to the gut. His most intimate moments, his most intimate moments with Abby, were the ones he shared when they were half or completely naked. And this soulless bastard had captured that all. Anything and everything that had made Abby so special to him, had been caught on camera. The way she could look at him, with that mischievous smirk on her face, the look in her eyes that gave him the shivers and the feeling like she could see right through him, the way she could tenderly – so unlike her character – caress his skin as she patiently listened to his words or his heartbeat – again so unlike her character. She was a different person to him, worlds apart from the girl that he and his colleagues knew from work and he had wanted to keep that to himself. He had never told anyone about them; about those little, intimate moments that he shared with her that made her such a special person to him. He hadn't even told Hotch. He wouldn't have told Hotch even if his job depended on it. Those with his moments with his Abby and they both knew that. And here they hung upon the wall, displayed to the world – to his colleagues - to see.
Morgan felt like his back was pressed against the wall and there was someone at his throat. He felt incredibly exposed and in a way, hurt. This had been their little secret. Not so much the sleeping around, but their kindness towards each other and here it was. His knuckles itched and his fingernails were digging into his skin. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth. Never before had he wanted an Unsub so badly. Never before had it been this personal.
"How long have you two been sleeping together?" Rossi asked, his voice still loud, clear and sharp.
"This ended. Months ago." Morgan shot back, surprising himself with his aggressive and fierce tone.
"Wait a minute, you knew?" Prentiss suddenly blurted out, surprise written on her face as she looked at Hotch and realised that he didn't look all that taken aback.
He could only look at her as he shrugged. "Of course I knew. I'm surprised nobody else knew."
"I knew." Reid said, the loudness of his voice faltering when he reached the end of his sentence, as if he got scared of the strength of his own voice halfway through.
"Why did you never do anything about it?" Prentiss asked in disbelieve.
"I trusted Morgan." Hotch simply, but sharply, answered - ending the conversation with Prentiss right then and there. However, Rossi wouldn't be pushed aside that easily.
"My question still stands, Morgan."
He licked his lips and ran his hand over his head, turning his body 90 degrees and away from the man asking the questions. "A couple of months."
"Just a couple?" Rossi snapped back sarcastically.
"Four, five months." Morgan admitted as he raised his voice slightly in frustration.
"We could have used this back in Atlanta, Morgan." Rossi told him sternly. "We could have used your personal connection to her."
"Excuse me?" Came the offended reaction and his hands curled up into a fist again.
"Instead, you chose to protect her." Rossi was almost yelling now, trying to draw Morgan out. He knew he was getting to the dark man by the visible agitation seen in his behaviour and actions.
"I was not protecting her." Morgan tried, and though he sounded convincing, Rossi had him cornered.
"Sure you were! I wonder though, what you'll do when she's the one with the gun pointed at one of us."
"That's enough Rossi!"
"Is it?" Rossi was almost squinting as he was verbally attacking the younger agent. He was angry and though everyone in the room knew he had every right to be angry, it didn't feel right. "Not only did you risk your job by sleeping with your colleague, you've been lying to us, sneaking around with her and breaking protocol. That same colleague also just happens to have lied about pretty much everything. How can we know for sure that you're on our side?!"
"Because she lied to me too!" Morgan yelled back. The threat from Rossi's face disappeared instantly as he had him right where he wanted to. His verbal attack wasn't so much an attack as it was an open invitation for Morgan finally let out some of the emotions he had been building up. "She lied to me too, Rossi. Not a single word she told me was true. She played me like she played everyone else. Only I was the only one foolish enough to sleep with her."
"I'm sorry." Rossi said gently and in sharp contrast with the tone of voice he had used earlier.
"I'm sure you are." Morgan spat back at him.
"Look," Prentiss started with that diplomatic voice she had mastered so well and instantly diffused the situation. "Morgan, if you two were involved for at least four months, that means whoever's been stalking her has been doing so for that same amount of time, at least."
"Yeah, we already figured that out." Reid softly commented. "At the SCU, Abby was working two different cases off the books and in the dark. She never told either Wills or McCallister about it. However, she did trust Miles enough to work with them. One case-"
"The Christian Killer?" Prentiss guessed.
"Yes. The other concerned the death of several blonde girls in the area. JJ's looking into that back at the SCU, with Garcia. However..." Reid paused, shifted his gaze towards Hotch, who gave him an unseen, encouraging nod, and then continued. "Frankie's the type of FBI agent that makes notes of everything. She puts it all down on paper or on the computer so that when her case goes to court, she'll have all the proof and the right, reliable sources. Leaving a case file like the one we found, half empty and basically, just vague altogether." He let his voice trail off and let the rest do the thinking.
"She's meticulous. Highly organised." Rossi stopped as his thoughts consumed most of his attention. "It's not just any case. It's a lead." He concluded as his mind was still working and he looked at Hotch.
"We" Hotch shortly glanced at Reid again, "think it's a breadcrumb that Abby left specifically." Rossi nodded at none in particular.
"Either that, or she felt it was too important, or too dangerous to leave it at the SCU. If she felt threatened, she could have kept the full file somewhere else and left a basic case file as a copy at HQ." Prentiss supplied thoughtfully.
"Still." Morgan suddenly said. "It doesn't explain all of this."
He looked around Abby's former loft and remembered some of the memories that were printed out before him. He noticed too quickly for his own liking that he smiled on most pictures. He seemed happy. And even though he looked at Abby and saw her smiling, he couldn't help but wonder if that was what she really was too. If her smile was real, if her happiness was real. But then he started to notice the pictures that he wasn't in. The way it seemed like Abby was constantly looking around, glancing over her shoulder, checking reflections in mirrors. They all knew that she'd done more than what her resume said. Just like they all believed that there was a reason why half her personal file was classified. It was for the same reason why the team had so much trouble and struggle with accepting her; they all knew that she was a chameleon. That she could change into someone else instantly. It was obvious to even an untrained eye that she'd been involved in heavy action. Why else would she carry two Glocks, a brand that was known for not having a safety trigger, around – one strapped to her right upper leg, the other tucked away behind the waistband of her jeans – have a back-up gun holstered around her left ankle and an army knife tucked away against her right calf? He remembered the time Prentiss joked that she wouldn't be surprised if Abby had a bomb in her backpack as well.
As he took a better look at the pictures, the sounds of Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss talking on the background slowly fading, he began to notice the details. Or rather – the lack of it. She was always at a different place; she never got her coffee from the same store on the same day, she would often change her way of transportation as she switched between her rental car, the subway and the bus, and Morgan swore he even believed that he could tell she had backtracked her route to make sure nobody was following her. However, he also noticed that her stalker was too smart to get caught easily. He was always at a safe distance, sometimes shot from behind a group of people in order to fade into the blur. There were many different angles, suggesting that he was constantly switching his position.
"Morgan." Reid called out to him a second time and Morgan pulled himself out of the distortion of images in front of him. He spotted the young genius a few feet away, looking at photos that had been laid down on the floor. He approached Reid and looked at the picture Reid pointed out. Morgan was sitting with his back to the photographer, who seemed to be shooting through the window overlooking Abby's open kitchen back in Dumfries, near Quantico. He could see the two mugs on the kitchen island and Abby sitting opposite of him, holding an icepack against her shoulder.
"That was after our first case. I went by the check up on her." Morgan explained.
"He has been stalking her longer than we originally thought. As you can see, there are a lot of photographs with the same time stamp, which means that he was already stalking her quite intensively. You don't simply start of like that; he must have been following her long before she came to the BAU." Reid stated.
"He followed her everywhere man." Morgan commented off-minded as he once again let his eyes go around the room.
"You should check out the bedroom." Prentiss suddenly told him softly as she appeared behind them. Morgan looked at her for a second and headed towards the bedroom, once again an open space, separated from the living room only by a large shoji privacy screen. As he turned around it, his eyes went wide. Pictures covered him and Abby kissing, taking off each other's clothes, stumbling into the bedroom – basically, they covered every private thing they had ever done together that wasn't in the safety of their bedroom.
"This isn't an ordinary stalker, Derek." Prentiss' voice was friendly as she once again appeared behind him.
Morgan's jaw stiffened and his expression grew dark. "He is obsessed with her." He turned to face her and observed the look on her face. "What is it?"
Prentiss sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When we saw what Abby's stalker had done to this place, we figured he must have been to her home in Quantico as well. So Rossi called the BAU and had Todd check it out. And we were right. Her home there was covered in photos like these as well."
"My God. No wonder she was so secretive."
"Suddenly puts things in perspective."
"Still doesn't justify anything." Morgan replied, probably more to himself than to Prentiss. He looked at her again with a frown on his gentle face. "What about her dog, Bird?"
Prentiss mirrored his frown. "Her dog? There wasn't a dog on the premises."
"She often asked her neighbours to watch him when she was away on a case." Morgan remembered.
"Okay." She nodded. "I'll call Todd to check on it."
When Prentiss walked away and stood in the corner of the living room while calling Todd, Morgan regrouped with Rossi, Hotch and Reid. Rossi sent him a small nod, as if apologising for his hard treatment earlier. Morgan acknowledged his strange apology, but didn't actually respond in any kind of way. A few minutes passed as Hotch was on the phone with JJ and Rossi, Reid and Morgan could only look around the room, studying the photographs from where they were standing, silently, with their minds working at top speed. Hotch hung up and the three agents looked at him.
"That was JJ. They have something." There was an uncanny tension in Hotch' voice. Whatever JJ had found, it must have been big. But just before anyone could react to it, Prentiss approached the group.
"I just got off the phone with Todd. Abby's dog, Bird, was picked up by a man six weeks ago. Neighbours didn't recognise the man, but eventually gave him the dog. He sounded very convincing."
"Six weeks ago?" Reid repeated as his face twisted in confusion.
"Yeah. The day after Atlanta PD arrested Abby for murder." Prentiss already figured out.
December 27th.
6 weeks ago.
Candice drive, Dumfries, near Quantico, Virginia.
02.17
Abby Scott closed the door of the cab behind her, as she looked up at her house. She waited until the cab drove off again, ready to pick up another fleeting passenger, before she dropped her bag to the ground and swiftly grabbed her gun from behind the waistband of her jeans. Her fingers smoothly slipped around the metal and she put her finger on the trigger. No protocol, no guidelines, no manual. If she saw him, she would shoot him. Instantly. She approached the house on light feet, her heart pounding in her chest and her eyes flashed over the details; the lights were only on near the door, which means he left them on as a warm welcome, but also sending a message. 'I was here'. Half her windows were covered in what looked like paper and she could spot the door being unlocked. What set her off most was the fact that the security system Miles had installed days after moving in, didn't seem to be operating as all cameras were turned off and pointed towards the ground.
She opened the door with her right foot, her gun out in front of her – elbows bent – and entered the house in stealth mode. She lost focus for a moment when her eyes found the many pictures – pictures of her – but she shrugged it off. Within minutes she had cleared the house, moving from corner to corner, making sure to check closets, empty spaces and under her bed. When she stood in the middle of her living room she looked around. Abby couldn't understand how she had let this slip. How on earth had he gotten to her like this? Suddenly, she spotted the note on her kitchen counter. Fearing what it may read, she walked towards it slowly, her gun still in a tight grip, she could hear herself breathe. Her green eyes absorbed the words instantly and she realised she had just lost everything.
"Fuck!" She screamed as she kicked the island and slammed her gun into the surface seconds later. Angry and frustrated, she looked around, almost expecting him to be standing there somewhere, hiding between the trees. For a short, brief moment, she didn't know what to do. The metal of her black gun pressed against her head as she pushed both hands into her skull. For years, she had built a steady and rather colourful network of resources on which she could rely whenever she needed something. Anything. But now he had taken it all away from her and Abby realised that now, she was most exposed. She was most vulnerable now.
However, the feeling didn't last long. Over the years she had also created a steady basis of anger and determination, one that severed as a baseline so that whenever she had a sit back or someone kicked her to the ground, she would fall back onto that fundamental structure that had kept her alive. Almost automatically, it kicked in. Her heart started pumping again, pushing adrenaline through every tiny little vein and Abby felt like she was set on fire. It took her five minutes to clear her house of anything important and she sped to the back-up car she had parked about a mile into the woods. It was hard to find, but there was a small road leading further into the woods. He could have found it, but for some reason she was sure he either didn't, or didn't care. On her way out, she grabbed the note he had left for her and put it in her pocket. She had no intention of holding onto it, but it was evidence. And there was no need to read it again, because every word had been printed onto her brain.
"Darling,
I fixed your sink. It was about time you had that done. See you soon.
P.S. I hope you don't mind, I took Bird for a walk."
February sixth.
Same day.
Sunday.
18.03
JJ didn't even hear them open the doors of the glass room, let alone approach, as she was hovering over a map of the United States. The red marker in her hand laid left useless somewhere in Alaska as the red dots she made on all important cities were burning in her eyes. She hadn't even noticed that she had some marker on her fingers. Garcia was busy behind two laptops, the strokes of the keyboard at first annoying JJ because of the rapid pace at which the buttons were pushed, but at some point, JJ forgot about the sound. Miles sat next to the blonde tech, also working feverishly, also behind two laptops. They would occasionally shift between their laptops as they tried their best to hack into Abby's personal laptop and home computer, the one that was placed on the middle of the table with wires spread across as if it were on life support, as a constant reminder that they needed to get into Abby's system. Especially now that they learnt that there was a high possibility of Abby leaving more traces behind on her computer - traces that could not only lead to her whereabouts, but might also provide them with some answers.
McCallister had created a wall dedicated to the case of the Christian Killer. Not to refresh his mind, or Hotch' for that matter, nor was it to help those that were less familiar with the case, but once again just to remind them why they would work through the night, function on coffee and anything that contained high levels of sugar and to instantly put an end to any possible groans, moans or complaining.
They had all been informed of their latest discoveries when JJ called Hotch, wanting to tell them the news. But Hotch had been too caught on about their new revelations, that she felt it was best if she called the troops back home before breaking the news. And so they appeared behind her, anxious to know what latest update there was.
"Has she been found yet?" Reid immediately wanted to know.
Mac looked up from his old notes, rubbing his eyes. "No, not yet." Miles briefly glanced at him. "But Trace, team Two's team leader, thinks she's got a good lead. They're chasing it down. Team Three is going through all sorts of paperwork, you should see their room, trying to figure out if Abby used any aliases or fake identities. I've called in some reinforcement, some people that we were considering to ask for the taskforce, some old favours, some pretty darn smart detectives. They're working on locating the victims, but, it doesn't look good."
"Okay. Make sure they know that finding his victims is a priority. JJ, what have you got?" Hotch asked.
JJ straightened herself out before turning to Garcia. "G, you mind?"
The blonde looked up from her computer screen. "Oh, yeah." With a few strokes on her keyboard, she activated the large map on the imposing wall screen. Again, red dots covered several states. As the team took in the map, JJ grabbed a large stack of files and started to name some of the cities. She tried to control the shivers that went up and down her back as pictures of young, blonde, murdered women popped up at every red dot.
"How did you find this?" Prentiss asked as she stared up at the screen.
Miles cleared his throat. "Frankie and I did a preliminary search when three blondes were found dead in their homes. They were all in their late 20s and dismembered. Coroner suspects that the victims died of blood loss. Their parts were found in their homes and backyards." He explained. "We found it suspicious because, well, obviously, this is the work of an experienced killer, not a newbie. So there had to be more. However, we didn't find any. I searched high and low and under every possible keyword, but we couldn't find any other victims that matched this particular, specific target. It wasn't until JJ thought of-" Miles abruptly stopped, looked down and seemed to shake off whatever overcame him. When he spoke again, his voice was clear. "It wasn't until JJ made the connection between Louisa's murder and the murder of these girls that we found something."
"Wait a minute, what connection?" Hotch questioned.
"All four women, including Louisa, were killed in the Atlanta area, just after 6 and were dismembered." JJ explained, saving Miles from the burden of having to say it again, even though he looked to be holding on just fine when she looked at him.
"That's a long stretch." Morgan commented.
"We know. But it turned out it wasn't long enough. Because of all victims, their heads were missing." The SCU agent replied sadly. Miles swallowed hard. For a moment, Hotch wondered how much therapy he would need to undergo to successfully overcome the extensive and intensive trauma he already had, was still and would be inflicting upon himself.
"Hotch." JJ requested his attention, drawing him away from the initial shock, as she displayed the files out in front of him, once again naming the cities. "Atlanta, Georgia. Nine months ago. Columbus, Mississippi. Eight months ago. Raleigh, North Carolina. Seven months ago. Idaho Falls, Idaho. Six months ago. Cleveland, Ohio. Six months ago. Detroit, Michigan. Five months ago. Seattle, Washington, Five months ago. Atlanta, Georgia. Four months ago. Boston, Massachusetts. Four months ago. Dallas, Texas, three months ago. Tulsa, Oklahoma. Two months ago. Chicago, Illinois. Two months ago. Atlanta, Georgia. Six weeks ago."
"That's every major city we've had a case since Frankie joined the team." Reid stated when his genius brain put it together.
"My God." Prentiss mumbled and she pressed her hand against her lips.
Rossi turned to meet Hotch. "We better suit up. We're hunting two Unsubs now. Abby's stalker and the Christian Killer."
"Come to the edge, He said. They said, We are afraid. Come to the edge, He said. They came. He pushed them... and they flew."
Guillaume Apollinaire.
