"With the truth, you need to get rid of it as soon as possible and pass it on to someone else. As with illness, this is the only way to be cured of it. The person who keeps truth in his hands has lost."
Jean Baudrillard.
February seventh.
Same day.
Monday.
18.27.
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.
"My God."
"Hotch?" Morgan called out to him again, this time he did hear it, but he covered his face and turned away. "My God. How could I have missed that. How could I? It was right there."
McCallister's expression was hard to describe. He seemed apologetic, but also intensely sad and… Sorrowful. As Reid was reading his face, how the lines formed around his eyes, those eyes that seemed hollow, the lowering of the corners of Mac's mouth, he finally put the pieces of the puzzle together, the image of Evelyn Parker constantly readjusting her scarf burnt on his retinas. His mouth fell open.
Somewhere in the not so far away past.
"Picture this." Hotch glanced at her and she folded her hands on her stomach. "An apple tree orchard. The farmer has another orchard, on the side of the hill, peaches. Whilst working on the apple trees, a seed that came with him from the peaches orchard is accidentally planted in the apple orchard. It grows, blossoms and delivers it peaches, but it still is a peach surrounded by apples."
"I'm sorry." He startled her. And she didn't mind showing it as her eyebrows raised in shock, her eyes locking themselves with his.
"For what?"
"Being the peach amongst the apples instead of the peach amongst the peaches."
"Frankly? I am too. But I'm here now. There must be a reason why the farmer put me here. I might as well blossom and make little peaches." She joked.
This time, she could see it and it was real. Hotch smiled. Not widely or grinning, but meekly and gentle. "You like your job at the BAU."
"I like my BAU-job. Plus, you guys have a bigger and nicer plane."
"How did you know?"
"I just did." There was a brief interlude and she could feel this odd string that connected them grow stronger. Strangely enough, she didn't mind. Hotch was a man she dearly respected and looked up to.
"Magic, spoons and Thanksgiving plans?"
"What can I say? I'm a peach."
Hotch lifted his body from the airplane seat after sending her one last twitch of his muscles that looked like a smile. "Try to get some sleep."
"Yes Chief."
He headed back to his own seat, but halted and turned back towards her.
"Oh, and Frankie?" She looked up, her eyes searching for facial expressions. "In the end, it's all a fruit."
She smiled, gratefully and apologetic. When he turned to leave again, she stopped him. "Hotch. Thank you."
Hotch barked at McCallister to follow him after excusing himself from the room and he marched to Mac's office. He was white-hot-furious and ready to tear McCallister's head off. He was just so damned angry – at himself, at McCallister, at that stupid Brit that smiled at him as she lied to him with her perfect poker face.
The tension shifted. Hotch' eyes were suddenly filled with an unknown, never seen before fury. "How could you keep that from us?" His voice was low, almost like a growl, but he retained himself from shouting. "How could you keep that from me?!"
"Hotch-" McCallister started, but he was cut off. From the look on his face, he understood Hotch' anger, his feelings of being misled and being lied to. However, he didn't get the chance to properly defend himself.
"She's alive, Zoe is alive!" This time, Hotch did raise his voice.
"Yes. She's alive." Mac told him truthfully.
Hotch pointed his finger in anger at the man in front of him. "We stood right here in this room as we talked about Zoe Price, how she was dead, that we didn't understand why the Unsub wanted Zoe Price so badly and all this time you knew that she had been found! You kept her away from him and now he wants her back."
"That's the-" McCallister tried again.
"I don't want to hear it." His voice could have cut through steel. "You have obstructed the course of this investigation so badly, I'm personally going to make sure you're pulled off the case. We won't be able to trust anything you say. You have lied about the most essential thing in this case! And you never told me that you had found her and that she was alive. Three of your agents are lying in the morgue and you're protecting the one person, the one and only person that can crack this case because she is on some wild goose chase to catch her own kidnapper! And you're helping her! You ignorantly came with us to Morgan Falls Reservoir, you watched us trying to break our heads over this thing and all this time you knew! Where is she now?!" Hotch panted slightly after unleashing his rage.
McCallister had patiently waited for Hotch to yell and scream at him. Then he sighed and looked at Hotch. "I don't know." He admitted.
"Then you're no longer useful." Hotchner snapped and immediately refuse to pay any further attention to the man, looking and turning away from him.
"Hotch."
"Get out of my sight."
But McCallister never moved. He kept standing there, his hands down to his sides, visibly upset. He waited till the other man looked at him again. A part of Hotch wanted to punch hum, but there was something on McCallister's face that kept him from doing so. So Hotch looked at him and waited until he finally spoke. "I never found her."
Hotch lost track of the many times he felt himself surprised down to his very core, or so confused up to the point that he wondered who he was. He was lost for words, once again.
"She came to me." McCallister told him.
The men reconnected instantly in their mutual failure to recognise the girl that they had searched for for months, fearing for her safety, hoping for her survival until coming to terms with the fact that she had died. Only to find out that she hadn't.
"Eight years ago, SCU got the green light for expansion – a third team. Harrison and Wills wanted to create a new team, a young team, with only the best. They wanted to train these agents so that they would be fully tuned in to the SCU. They looked at young agents from all across the country. Harrison and Wills eventually picked out a group of people who held the highest potential. Most of them with high IQ's, perfect scores on tests – both psychological as physical. They brought a handful of newbies here, and eventually settled on two; Holy Lewis and Ricardo Pinõ. Under the wings of Harrison, Wills and the SCU they started a learning curve that would lead them to being the best in their field. Milo Bronckovic was already working for the SCU as a computer technician, but was noted. He was added as a third. A few months later, in 2006, Harrison and Wills came to me again. They had spotted an agent, from Atlanta, that they wanted. She was young, only 24, only been with the FBI for only a year. But they said that she would be perfect. Her background certainly was impressive. She had been recognized through her work with CIRG. Her file was so impressive, her test scores near perfect, I almost transferred her immediately. Only problem was; I already knew her. Because she had been part of my team in the Army when we worked Africa and Iraq. I informed them, briefly, about this. It only made them wanting her more. We all saw the potential, we saw what she could do. Back then, I thought I knew her. That's why I signed off on her transfer to the SCU." McCallister paused. "It took me two years to understand why she was able to see the monsters, why she was able to work in the dark and why she never seemed to mind to get her mind dirty and invited all those sick bastards into her head, dissecting them until she understood it all. She understood them because she had been there. She had lived it. She had seen darkness and she was no longer afraid of it. For two years Abby Scott worked for me, again, and I never realised it either. She was twenty-six when we came across a case that was just too gruesome for words. We had never seen anything like it. After we closed it, I went to talk to her. I tried to understand why she seemed to be the only one unfazed by all this horror. Some things about Frankie never sat right with me. I mean, an eighteen year old girl outscoring some of the most veteran snipers, all the while beating all the boys in physical tests and acing in the psychology department? She was too good to be true. To get where she already was, it would have taken her years. That meant she started early – real early. She'd been training her whole life it seemed. And then she told me the same riddle. I'm peach. Everything fell together at that point. She came to me, Hotch. I never found her. We never found her."
McCallister's confession came with silence.
"Abby is Zoe." Hotch said eventually. He rubbed his face with his hands and took a couple of deep breaths. "How on earth could you have kept this from me? From everybody else involved in the case?" Hotch spat at McCallister.
"Hotch, there's something you should know." He started. He motioned for his former partner to take a seat as he did himself – next to him. Not behind his desk, but on the second chair in front of it. They were equals, after all. "I've been where you are. Probably felt even more stupid, you figured it out not even a year after seeing her again. It took me more than four. I was overwhelmed with the same confusion, the same desire for answers and the same drive to make sense of it. But Frankie never gave me that. She gave me everything else I asked for, but not that. No closure. I guess it's her way of making of me pay – she can't have closure yet, he's still out there. So neither can we."
Hotch slowly felt the anger dissipate again. He quietly listened to McCallister and let him talk without interruptions.
"I tried to talk to her about it. I tried to get some answers, to at least understand something of it all. But she was hell bound on keeping it all a big secret, some sort of mystery. I realised then that she did that for a reason." McCallister looked at Hotch. "The Christian Killer was alive and he was still out there, taunting them. When I confronted her about it, she and Miles appeared on my doorstep that night. They called upon the trust they had put in me when I was their lieutenant in the Army and they told me about their plan. On how they were trying to catch him. Hotch, we both know what this man can do. I had seen Frankie's work, I knew that she was an incredible profiler for her age and everything she told me made sense. So I agreed to it. I agreed to whatever they were or would do. On one condition." He sighed and rubbed his face.
"That they would keep you in the loop." Hotch finished for him.
Mac nodded. "Something she obviously didn't do. I mean, I knew there would always be things that she wouldn't tell me. It's in her nature to be so protective, but… When Frankie was arrested for Louisa Delgado's murder, I realised that this thing was spinning out of control. I tried to get her to talk to you, your team, not to expose her true identity, but to ask for help in catching him. Unfortunately, things didn't exactly work out as I had hoped they would." He confessed.
"So what is Abby's plan?"
"That's the problem." McCallister snorted, but without humour or joy. "The plan was to take the Christian Killer's plan and shove it right up his nose. Something, as we're learning, he is doing as well. Only he can control himself. Frankie can't. I knew that Franks would hide his survivors. That's why I knew it was important to have the Marshalls look for them as soon as we realised he was back. We were too late." He added solemnly. "Please understand that I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know if I could. I had no idea how far she was at, or what the plan was. Still don't, by the way. I weighed my options – I feared telling you and messing everything up and endangering Frankie more than I feared not telling you and therefore, quite possibly, obstructing this case in every way possible. I know she has a plan. I don't know if that plan will still work, but I know she's got one. She knows this guy inside out. I made a decision a long time ago and I am sticking to it. I am trusting my agent."
"How did I miss this?" He turned back at Mac. "How did she get out?"
Mac shook his head. "She never told me, but I gathered that at some point, she was let go, just like the other survivors. She passed his tests and he let her go. She wouldn't tell me what happened after that. Said that it would endanger the people that had helped them. The people that she owed. All I know is that as she worked for SCU, I saw that she could get certain things done."
"She had a knack for meeting the right people and a talent for knowing just how to call in her favours." Miles said, appearing out of thin air. He shrugged as he leant against the door frame. "I take it you guys found out."
"You knew as well?" Hotch asked, trying not to sound surprised. He had witnessed the strength of their relationship before.
"I put the pieces together. I never asked her though." He told the angry man in front of him. That was the thing that you wouldn't dare to ask, because you knew it would put Abby in the position of either lying, or forcing her to admit to her best friend that there were things that she didn't want to tell him. Their relationship was built on trust, mutual trust, and honesty. The few things they didn't talk about, wouldn't be talked about. Simply, because they operated on a strong and steady base of trust and honesty; having to tell the other that they didn't want to talk about it, would undermine their entire relationship.
"Abby called." He informed them casually. "She's on her way." Both men nodded.
"Do you have any idea what Abby would do next?" Hotch asked him. He had forgiven the man once he noticed his struggles. McCallister had, due to his history with Abby, and most likely the feelings of failure after not being able to find or save her, put himself in the position of wanting to redeem himself – to finally being able to help her, so he gave her all she needed. Hotch made a mental note to not give in to Abby, despite the urge to give himself up to her that would surely rise.
Mac shook his head. "We had a plan and that plan went out the window the second Louisa was murdered."
Hotch looked at him with that somewhat emotionless look he could give people. Then he stood up, put his hand on McCallister's shoulder and returned to his team. McCallister and Abby may not have a game plan, he would make sure he and his team would have one.
February seventh.
Same day.
Monday.
19.13.
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.
"Garcia, get me everything you have on Zoe Price." Rossi ordered the tech as soon as Hotch and McCallister had exited the Primary Room. Garcia nodded, feverishly typing away on her laptop as her eyes were still fixed on her boss heading towards McCallister's office.
JJ shot up from her chair, noticing more curious eyes, and pressed the button to turn the glass matte, veiling her team under the cover of vague figures and shades.
"There's something terribly fishy about this." Prentiss commented as she too, rose from her chair to join the rest of the team around Garcia's laptop.
"Could it be possible that she's still alive?" JJ thought out loud, but there wasn't much of a reply. Morgan was bending over the table, one hand leaning on the surface, the other on Garcia's chair. "Give me something momma." He told her. Reid was absent. Too absent. But with the tension and the confusion in the room, they failed to see it.
"Okay, this is what I got and I'm sorry, but it isn't much. Zoe Franklin Price. Daughter of Scott and Abby Franks, both English teachers who died in a car accident when Zoe was six. She was taken into the care of Frank and Marie Price, who adopted her when she was eight, which is why her last name is Price, and not Franks. She was a grade A student, there are notes from teachers here that she held a very promising academic future, career options, handling the death of her parents well, a bit rebellious, she caused some trouble, but nothing out of the ordinary. Other than, of course, her disappearance at the age of 15." She added. "There is absolutely no trace of her after that."
Prentiss put her left hand on the table and leant forward so that she could see Garcia's laptop screen. "Okay, let's just assume that there's something going on. What if she is alive?"
"The Christian Killer sure is convinced of that fact." Rossi commented. "Let's theoretically say that she is. How would a 16-year old disappear?"
The blonde looked up, awaiting commands. "Pull up a list of anyone working the Christian Killer case." Prentiss told her and Garcia did as she was asked. "Can you show me the names of the people that retired or quit shortly after the Christian Killer case?"
"That's eighteen names."
"Cross reference to people still living in the Atlanta area." JJ suggested.
"That leaves two, but they were never high up on the ladder. I don't think they'd be able to pull it off." Garcia said.
Rossi shook his head. "Someone willing to help a 16 year old create a whole new identity would stick around, look after her."
"That means it's one of the other names on the list, but it's going to be hard because that list, my beloved, is long and it's going to be hard to cross names off. Here, Jason Walden hasn't been seen for two years after he developed a drug addiction. Gina Torres got cancer, got cured and went on a very long holiday. It's going to take time to work through this list, Rossi, there's over 150 names."
"150 People worked the Christian Killer case?" JJ asked stunned.
"It's FBI, local police forces, several different police stations that were involved, the military for coordinated searches." Rossi mumbled.
"And this list doesn't even include all the volunteers that helped with the searches as well." Garcia augmented and shrugged. "I'm going to have to sort through them all separately or you're going to have to give something more specific. I'm sorry."
"But how can we even be sure she's still alive? There would have to be some sort of trace." JJ said, the agony of not knowing stuck under her fingernails like dirt and she felt like ripping her hair from her head.
"Guys." Morgan warned them as he saw two shadows approaching the doors. Before they opened, Rossi spoke quickly. "Let's just keep this theory to ourselves, for now." There was no time to reply as Hotch pushed the doors open and he and McCallister entered.
"What's the word?" Rossi asked him the second Hotch entered the room again. Prentiss took her seat again. Garcia wiped her screen clean.
Hotch pressed the button to turn the glass crystal again. "We need answers and until there's someone that can provide us with them, we'll look for them ourselves." Hotch glanced at Miles who had followed the two men and sat down. "Put aside your judgments, we're going after a serial killer, because that's what we do. So let's get to work."
"What about Abby?" Reid questioned carefully.
Miles leant forward in his chair. "She just called me. I don't know where she was when she called or where she's now, but she said she'd be over. If she says that to me, I would bet my life on it."
"May I ask where your undying trust in her comes from?" Prentiss was cautious in her question and tone of voice, seeming kind but curious.
Miles smiled and shrugged. "We're best buddies. We'd do anything for each other. Served together, worked together for years, lived together. It's just what it is. I'm sorry I don't have a better answer for you."
The brunette returned the smile. "That's okay."
"So what's the plan?" JJ wanted to know.
Hotch sighed. As he organised his thoughts, he realised they were in fact nowhere with the case. Sure, finding Zoe Price, the one thing the Christian Killer wanted the most, was a good thing, yet Hotch wondered if Abby saw it the same way. "Find the Christian Killer." He concluded.
"What about Abby?" Morgan was the one that dared to ask the question for the second time, repeating Reid's earlier words.
"She could be crucial to this investigation, Hotch." Rossi added pressure.
"Abby could crack this case. She's been investigating him for five years. Rossi's right, she may know more." Hotch looked at Morgan. He was sitting opposite of his supervisor, his elbow popped up on the turning chair's arm rest, his finger before his lips. He returned the meaningful look as he understood Hotch'.
"Abby should be here soon. Until then, we've got work to do." He decided.
"Okay. So where do we start?" Garcia wanted to know, already in her battle station mode.
At some point, between starting their own secret investigation and noticing two approaching shadows, the six members of the BAU signed an unspoken pact that they would ignore what they all knew – their supervisor was withholding information from them.
May, 1997.
Atlanta, Georgia.
08.53.
The young agent Hotchner approached the parking lot just outside the city. He ignored the cameras and reporters, throwing questions at his head. With his sunglasses protecting his eyes from any penetrating miens or demands, he quickened his pace and flashed his badge to the police officer holding the line. The man nodded and lifted the crime scene tape to let him in. continuing towards a gathered group of experts, Hotch was joined by another young man, but taller, broader and shorter hair. He handed him a cup of coffee.
"What's this? Number eight?"
Hotchner made a confirming sound and took a sip from his coffee. "She was discovered this morning by police going their rounds. Apparently this area is known for prostitution."
"Just what I needed, interviewing hookers." McCallister looked at his temporary partner. They had been teamed up because of Hotchner' experience with the profiling unit of the FBI and Mac's local knowledge. McCallister had been working with the FBI on and off for almost ten years now, most of it in and out of Atlanta. Every so often he'd get the urge to run back to the military and did one or two tours before coming back home to his beloved Atlanta. He liked Hotch, he was a good man. For a former prosecutor, that is.
"It's always so fucking hard to get in touch with the prostitutes." He explained, but knew it was futile. Hotchner was already in another mind set, focussing on the gruesome task before them.
They approached a group of police officers, detectives, forensic analysts and a few other FBI agents. Nodding as a way of greeting them, both men followed the directions of one of the detectives.
"She's right there, around the dumpster." He said.
"Thank you." McCallister replied. He took a deep breath. "Here we go."
Both men halted as the neared the end of the container, turning to their right to take in the scene.
15 years old is too young to die.
Hotch looked at the girl at his feet. Her body wasn't that terribly damaged, which was consistent with the days she had been missing. Only three, he remembered. Squatting down, he mentally told her that at least she didn't suffer that much. Still, torture signs were visible, just like the gaping hole that was once her throat. Her skin seemed whiter than paper, all drained from the blood loss. There were some bruises around her wrists and ankles and she most likely, judging by the place and form of the bruises, suffered a few bruised ribs. Her lip was split and she had a black eye.
"She clearly wasn't what he is looking for." McCallister commented softly.
"Just three days." Hotch responded in the same way.
"What the fuck does he want with them, Hotch?"
"I don't know yet. But it's clear that he's expecting something from them."
"He takes them alive but he doesn't take them for sex. Judging by the marks on her body, he also doesn't take them for sadistic pleasures."
"I agree." Hotch said. He looked right into her blue eyes and thought that 15 was way too young to die.
February seventh.
Same day.
Monday.
19.47.
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.
"Were there any kind of leads?" JJ asked. She had provided the team with fresh coffee and they all settled into the Glass Room.
"We figured there was a good possibility that a priest or father from the area could be responsible, so we looked into all religious persons in Atlanta but came up with nothing. We looked at men with law enforcement backgrounds, even military personnel, but again nothing. Nobody seemed to fit the profile."
"An Unsub this meticulous, this organised, he would stand out as a sore thumb." Rossi commented. Miles had been going through the file for another time and nodded in agreement.
"And yet, we couldn't find him. We broadened our searches but his victims just kept showing up. He didn't seem to follow a certain time pattern, he was just looking for the right victim. Eventually, being under too much pressure from above, we had to prioritise. Because of his extensive knowledge of the area, both McCallister and I agreed that he would have to live in the city. Again, we did a search for anything remotely related, but came up with such vague results that it took us weeks to clear an area."
"And still under pressure from the top, eventually it fell apart." McCallister ended. He cleaned his fingers with a tissue and dropped it on his paper plate. JJ had arranged for some food to arrive for her team, something that was loudly welcomed.
"I'm just wondering whether he picked these girls just because that's what he wanted, or if there's something behind it. A girl from his past, maybe?" Morgan thought out loud.
"Typically, skinny, blonde and blued eyed girls are considered to resemble perfection." Reid told them, glad he could rely on his statistics again. "I ran a facial comparison and though the girls do resemble some facial characteristics, I can't say that there's a pattern."
"So he didn't pick the girls for any resemblance." Prentiss finalised. "What about their characters? Their attitude?"
"Pretty much all over the map." McCallister told her. "But it did seem like there was a consistency with his survivors; they all had a bit of a rebellious attitude, but not much. Nothing that would set them apart. They were, mostly, all good girls."
"Why did he let them live?" Rossi asked mumbling. He was staring at his notes, pen in his hand, not looking up.
"From what we could gather from the girls until the investigation officially became a cold case, he would torture them and preach. A lot."
"Like brainwashing?" JJ responded.
McCallister and Hotch shared a look. "A lot of this case is based on gut feelings and guessing." McCallister informed the group. "Most of these girls were too traumatised to actually tell us. We still don't know exactly why he let them go, none of the girls would talk about it. But from what we gathered, based on the profile and some intuition, we figured that he was mentally dissecting these girls, picking their brain, looking for that something that made them so special to him. Through religion, I reckon, he found something with these girls that just, set him off. And if he couldn't find it, he would kill them and move on to the next."
"But he stopped after seven girls. Reid, is the number seven in any way linked to Christianity?" Morgan put his coffee down and looked at the young genius.
"Please don't tell me…" Miles started and his eyes widened as he realised Reid didn't need a book or anything before he spoke.
"The number 7 in Biblical numerology is the number of perfection. God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. The number seven is especially prominent in the Book of Revelation; seven seals, seven churches, seven trumpets, seven promises to the church. Jesus spoke seven utterances from the cross, which could be where the Unsub drew the carving of the cross from. In fact, Jesus said seven things on the cross: he asked for forgiveness in Luke 23:34. In that same chapter he also said 'I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise'. In Matthew 27:46 Jesus cried out at the ninth hour 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'. Jesus saw his mother in John 19:26 and said 'Dear woman, here is your son'. Later on he said 'Knowing that all was now completed, Jesus said I am thirsty'. Then, in John 19:30 Jesus received his drink and said that the Sculpture was finished, bowed his head and gave his spirit. In Luke 23:46, which is the chapter concerning Jesus' death, Jesus said 'Father, into your hands I commit my spirit' and he breathed his last breath. On top of that, the killer is constantly referring to the days of the week, naming his victims after each day that he took them and gave them back. Seven days in a week, the seventh day being the most important to him."
"My God, he's worse than Frankie." Miles stuttered and received a small smile from the genius.
"We could have used you back in the day, kid." McCallister told him. "Connecting all that, with our profile that covered a lot of religious aspects, I finally understand why he took seven girls and why they had to be perfect."
"They were a religious completion." Hotch said, agreeing with the man.
"Like a sacrifice." Prentiss replied, a deep-lined frown on her forehead.
"More like a spiritual journey. Finding seven girls that would 'commit their spirits into his hands' would be the ultimate connection between the Unsub and Jesus, or religion." Reid corrected her. Then his face lit up. "The conquest. The journey to the Promised Land. That's what he's after."
"But that doesn't explain why he took girls. You said 'Woman, here is your son'. Why did he take girls then?" Miles realised, sitting up in his chair.
"It could be because of the story of Eve." Morgan suggested. "The woman who ate from the forbidden tree, or perhaps the women serve as a substitute."
"Or maybe he just doesn't like women." JJ commented dryly, recalling the crime scene photos.
"It's because of Mary Magdalene." Reid suddenly piped. "The most loyal woman in the entire Bible. She stayed true to Jesus up until he died at the cross. Our Unsub must believe that women are somehow purer, or more loyal."
"He'd need someone extremely loyal in order to create his perfect victim. That's why he chose the women." Hotch concluded solemnly.
"Though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death."
Sir Thomas Browne.
