Chapter 6

The man studied the woman from the far corner of the room. He closed his eyes imagining the screams of agony which would emerge from her lips as he cut into her. The euphoria of the blood gushing from her body after he cut her in half. A contented sigh escaped his lips as a serene expression crossed his face. The woman was so helpless, and would be the perfect kill to hand the FBI before he went after the man he hated with a passion. He opened his eyes and grabbed the leather apron from its hook on the wall beside him. After putting it on, he tied the straps behind him. Right now he wanted her to wake up so he could continue.

Clarissa Meadows struggled to open her eyes. Her body felt so cold while at the same time, her head ached something fierce. For a while she believed she was in a refrigerator. Her brain kept ordering her eyes to open, but they didn't seem to want to obey. She tried to remember what happened that resulted in her being in this condition, whatever 'that condition' turned out to be. She had no idea how much time had passed since she got in the taxi. The last thing she recalled was relaxing in the back seat of a taxi. Had there been an accident? The pounding in her head prevented her from thinking rationally at the moment. She tried to lift a hand and massage her forehead but didn't have the strength. In addition, she couldn't move her hand. Something painful prevented it from moving. With effort, Clarissa opened her eyes a slit and struggled to raise her aching head to see why she couldn't move. What she saw made her gasp.

She was tied down on a metal table, and to her horror, naked! Also, her arms were stretched out from her sides and her legs spread-eagled. Her wrists and ankles had been secured to the table with wire which dug into both painfully. Feeling she wasn't alone, Clarissa slowly turned her head to the side, the motion itself painful. Her eyes widened in fear when she spotted the man who had been so nice earlier, walking towards her. He held something shiny at his side. She gasped at the demonic grin on his face.

"It's time, my dear Clarissa," he said holding the carving knife up in front of him. He ran his free hand over her chest, to savor groping her perfect breasts; taking time to squeeze her nipples. He then ran his hand down her smooth skin to her flat abdomen. Next, he ran his hand over the mound between her legs, curling strands of pubic hair around a finger. He chuckled at her trembling at his touch. "So, so beautiful, Clarissa. So very, very, beautiful."

"Wh…why are you…doing this?" she asked in a voice above a whisper.

"Because I can." To emphasize the point, the man sat the point of the carving knife on her left collarbone. He drew it across to her right, leaving a thin red line in its wake. The woman grimaced from the pain. Once finished, the man admired the cut. "You think that is painful? You have no idea of what pain is yet. Believe me when I say you will before I kill you."

Clarissa's eyes widened at the news. "Please…no. Please let me go. I promise…I promise I won't tell anybody," she sobbed, not caring that she begged for her life.

The man stared at her with a blank expression. Then without warning, he drove the knife up to its hilt into her right breast and began to twist and turn it as screams of agony reverberated in the room.

He kept at it for hours: cutting, slashing, gouging, enjoying the screams and the blood spraying everywhere. Only when the woman's screams of pain had been reduced to whimpers, did he put down the carving knife, and picked up a crowbar from the aluminum table nearby. Raising the crowbar above his head, he proceeded to beat the woman about her head until the whimpers stopped. Tossing the crowbar aside, he pressed two bloody fingers against her bloodstained throat, and was delighted to find no pulse. He smiled knowing she was now dead. He stared at the woman's bloodstained face. She had been a beautiful woman when he met her hours ago, and she would make a beautiful corpse.

As he stared at her face, he imagined looking at the face of Aaron Hotchner. As the agent's face replaced that of Clarissa, a demonic grin appeared. The FBI agent would be next he had decided. He understood he would be risking everything by going after the profiler next, but he had never been a patient person. Besides, there was risk in everything. No, Aaron Hotchner would be the next and last person to die. Afterward, he would disappear and relish his victory over Hotchner and the FBI. It would be his crowning achievement. With a contented sigh, his eyes closed as he pictured Hotchner's shock when he realized who had been responsible. The image of Hotchner's body, stripped bare of clothing, and strapped to the table with wire, excited him. He would take his time with him, wanting to savor each minute before he killed him.

How would he react when Hotchner's body had been cut in half, and hung from hooks? He would wash his hands in the man's warm red blood as the body drained, letting the blood run through his fingers. In the end, he would toss Hotchner's body out like trash for the other agents to find "Soon, Aaron. Soon we will be together, and I will get my revenge."

But first he had to finish with Clarissa Meadows. With a sigh, he reached over and grabbed the machete from the table.

"But first, my dear Clarissa, I must deal with you," he said as he placed the razor sharp blade against her body and began to cut. As he did so, he hummed a tune as dreams of cutting on Aaron Hotchner ran through his head.

Hotch, Prentiss and Reid had been reviewing the files on their third victim when Hotch's cell vibrated. The Unit Chief reached inside his jacket and removed the phone. After checking the caller ID, he put the cell on speaker.

"Go ahead, Garcia. You're on speaker," he said, the phone in his hand.

"I did as you asked, my liege," the tech analyst began. "I narrowed our list of slime balls down to 26 surgeons and 17 med students who have been naughty and not nice. You can bet Santa Claus won't be visiting them this year, and…"

"Garcia, Santa Claus, also known as St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, and Santa, is a figure with legendary, mythical, historical and folkloric origins," Reid interjected, rambling. "In fact, in many western cultures, he is believed to bring gifts to good children during late evening and…" Reid closed his mouth when his boss looked at him with a glare which would wilt a cactus. "Sorry," he apologized, looking at his boss.

"Continue, Garcia…" Hotch ordered.

"Yes, sir. Well, as I was saying, after limiting the list of our slime balls to a year before the murders began, I cross-referenced the names with those of our three recently deceased."

"What did you find out?" asked Prentiss leaning against the table with both arms on top.

"I discovered, my dark-haired goddess, that although none of our three dearly departed had any connections with our slime balls personally, there is a connection between two surgeons and the relatives of two of our dearly departed."

"Who, Garcia?" Hotch asked with narrowed eyes.

"Uh, un momento, mon Capitan…" her fingers could be heard as they flew over her keyboard. "Ah. Remember I told you earlier that Shannon Carstairs mother, Barbara, died of breast cancer? Well, she had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in September of 2009. But sixteen months earlier, she underwent bilateral mammograms after complaining of tenderness in both breasts. The mammograms turned out normal. In September of 2009, she had a routine screening mammogram which showed a suspicious area in both breasts. She underwent extensive treatment including radiation, chemotherapy, hormone therapy, and surgery. It was determined in the end, that had the abnormalities been reported, her cancer would have been diagnosed earlier and not spread, thus causing her to pass away two years later."

"But the surgeon didn't cause her death," Prentiss interjected. "It sounds like that was the fault of the radiologist who interpreted the mammograms."

"True, my brunette crime fighter," Garcia replied. "But, her physician and the radiologist both were sued as was the hospital."

"Who was her doctor?" asked Reid.

"His name is Myron Denser, and the surgeon who operated on her. And get this. Throughout the trial, he claimed that her mammogram had been completely normal, and did not show any suspicious areas requiring follow-up. He also claimed that her cancer had already spread beyond her breasts before, so her prognosis hadn't worsened over the supposed delay of sixteen months. A settlement was reached before trial for the whopping total of one million, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. His license was not only revoked after that, but he was terminated by the hospital along with the radiologist who committed suicide before the settlement was reached. But to this day, my brave crime fighters, Dr. Denser still proclaims his innocence, and went on the record that the Carstairs family was responsible for him losing his livelihood."

"Could be our Unsub," Prentiss said to Hotch as they looked at each other.

"We should have a talk with Dr. Denser," the Unit Chief replied. "Garcia, where is Dr. Denser these days?"

"I haven't found him yet, sir. But he cannot escape from the all-knowing goddess of technology. I will search under every rock until I find him."

"Fine, Garcia," Hotch added. "You said there was another surgeon?"

"Yes, sir. Donald Gannon, father of Thomas Gannon, sued his family doctor, Stanley Dracut, for what was believed to be surgical mistakes. Seems Dr. Dracut performed an appendectomy for acute appendicitis three years ago. A few days after he was discharged, Mr. Gannon developed respiratory problems. When he returned to the hospital, he was diagnosed with multiple organ failure. It was discovered that his kidneys, lungs, and heart had not only seriously deteriorated, but that during the appendectomy, bacteria from his appendix had leaked into his abdominal cavity. It was believed that his decline in health was due to him not being properly treated for the abdominal infection during surgery. Mr. Gannon sued Dr. Dracut and was awarded numerous damages due to the damage he suffered as a result of the surgical mistakes."

"Do they say how much?" asked Reid.

"They do not, my baby genius."

"What about Dr. Dracut, Garcia?" Hotch asked. "Is he still allowed to practice medicine?"

"He is, mon Capitan. And still at the same hospital. He and his license were both suspended for six months after the trial. But despite my top super powers, I found nothing. Not even a parking ticket."

"Did he blame Donald Gannon for the lawsuit?"

"Not from what I can tell. In the end he did the right thing and admitted he was at fault, so the hospital didn't fire him after the trial. His accepting responsibility was also why his license wasn't revoked as well."

"Okay. Send us Dr. Dracut's address and that of the hospital in which he's employed," Hotch ordered.

"Already sent to you, oh fearless leader of mine. Also, I sent the list of med students and surgeons. You should getting it about now."

Hotch smirked at how Garcia could always anticipate what he was going to ask for before he asked. He shook his head with a grin. "Thanks. Find out what you can about Myron Denser. And try to be quick, Garcia. One of them could be our Unsub."

"I'll get back to you with the speed of lightening, sir."

The call ended, Hotch started to return the cell to his pocket when it vibrated again. Prior to checking the caller ID, he looked at Prentiss. "Get the information Garcia sent to us."

"I'm on it," the brunette replied getting up and leaving the room.

Hotch checked the caller ID and pressed the phone to his ear. "What is it, Morgan?" he asked getting to his feet and walking away from the table to talk privately. As he did so, the door opened and JJ walked into the room, a worried look on her face. Seeing her boss on the phone, she turned to Reid and Prentiss who had walked in the room.

"Is Hotch going to be on the phone long?" she asked, eyes darting to the Unit Chief's back.

"No idea," answered Reid. "He's talking to Morgan. What's up?"

"A Cecil and Dorothy Meadows walked in a few minutes ago to report their nineteen-year-old daughter, Clarissa, is missing."

"What do they mean by missing?" asked Prentiss, her dark eyes narrowing. "For how long?"

"Not long from what they told me. She had gone shopping earlier and was suppose to meet her parents for lunch and when she didn't, they called her on her cell. It had been turned off so Garcia couldn't track her location. Her parents didn't think anything about it, but considering the first two murders…" JJ didn't finish.

Prentiss and Reid exchanged looks then turned their attention back to the blond.

"Don't they realize a non-impaired or non-threatened person is required to be missing for twenty-four hours to be considered missing?" the young agent asked.

"They know, Spence," JJ replied with a shake of her head. "But they told me this is not like her. She always answers her phone and talks to her parents twice a day. Between us, I know how I would feel if my child was out-of-contact even for an hour. And I realize she hasn't been missing but a few hours. But there's just something I can't put my finger on, and…well, something just tells me she's might be in trouble." Thoughts of her one-year-old son, Henry, ran through her mind. And although still a baby, if she didn't know how or where he was, she would be screaming at every police officer she found until somebody listened. And even though she knew he was with his stay-at-home dad, Will LaMontagne, she still worried.

"What's going on?" asked Hotch tucking his cell in his inner pocket. His eyes shifted from the others to his media liaison. "JJ?" The blond repeated what she had just explained to the others. When finished, the blond looked at her boss and friend waiting for his decision.

"JJ, you talk with them. Find out if their daughter's really missing. If she is, then we'll have to assume our Unsub has her," Hotch replied letting out a weary sigh. "Since our Unsub moved up his killing schedule between his second and third kill, we can't take a chance he didn't grab Clarissa Meadows. And since his second kill was a woman and his third a man, his next kill will be a woman. We can't rule anything out at this point."

JJ nodded. "Hotch, are you sure you want me…"

"You can do it, JJ," the Unit Chief smiled. "I have faith in you."

JJ paused, then nodded. "Hotch, what if they ask if we think their daughter might have been kidnapped by our killer? What do I say?"

Hotch let out a deep breath. "We can't verify our Unsub even has her until we know for sure. If they ask, use your own judgment. I trust you explicitly."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, JJ's blue eyes looked in her boss's brown ones. "I'll do my best," she replied. She turned and hurried out the room to carry out her assigned task.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Prentiss holding up the papers she had picked up from the fax machine in the outer room sent by Garcia.

Hotch took a few moments to think. "Prentiss, contact Dr. Dracut. Find out what he can tell us about the lawsuit filed by Donald Gannon. Then speak with Gannon. I'm curious as to why when we spoke with him earlier he never mentioned the lawsuit or Dr. Dracut."

"I'm on it," Prentiss replied grabbing her jacket and rushing out the door. Hotch turned to his youngest agent.

"Reid, you and I are going to look through the documentation Garcia sent us and see what we can find. It's possible there might be something we overlooked." He sat down across from the genius and the two men began to go through the papers sent from Quantico.

He wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead with the back of his blood-smeared hand after stringing up the two halves of Clarissa Meadows' body from hooks in the ceiling. He smiled as the blood drained from her severed halves into large tubs he had rolled in place to collect the blood.

"You will be next Aaron Hotchner," he muttered under his breath, eyes fixated on the girl's body. "I will deal out brutality on you unlike anything dealt on my earlier victims. Before I'm through with you, you will beg me to kill you. But before I do, I will enjoy hearing you scream in pain, seeing the fear on your face and in your eyes. I will make sure everybody knows who's responsible." Approaching the tubs, he placed his hands under the warm blood leaving the body, and began to wash his hands using it as soapy water. Feeling it run between his fingers, he imagined it to be Hotchner's blood he was feeling. A slow smile appeared. "You will be mine in a few days, Aaron. But first, I have things that must be done to ensure you will come to me when I am ready for you."