Okay. Let's hope this isn't a load of bullshit, because ain't nobody got time fo' that. Read, review, favorite and all that good shit, okay? Yes. Thank you, and do like my url says and have a great day! X

The rest of the week went as such, and by Friday night, I felt beyond exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. It was like I couldn't bear to even lift a finger, let alone actually make myself something to eat, so as soon as I got home, I barely had time to undress myself before I was hurtling my body into bed and sleeping soundly. The weekends were always the best days for me, not because I could skive off on the job and just sleep all day, but I was able to get more work done because I was more relaxed and content at home. I slept for almost 10 hours, and woke up at 8:13am, feeling completely refreshed and recharged.

I rolled to the side, and pulled out three separate folders out of my bag, splaying them out in front of me. In folder one, there were three lists of names. BAUs own technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, had narrowed down the list of men from the 697 that matched the original profile, and then when she coupled those criteria with the possibility that they had just gone through a fairly messy divorce or separation, as the rape that happened in the last murder that implied he has started to devolve.

He's changing pattern. Between the last two murders, he had to have split up with a significant female partner. We say female, as if he was homosexual, he would have mutilated the father, rather than the mother. Now there were just over 147 names, addresses and photos and honestly, that was a brilliant improvement. We were able to quarter them off, into separate groups, one with the men between the ages of 25-30, another between 30-35, and the final were the anomalous results, the ones that weren't exactly plausible or correct. We didn't rule them out, however, as it kept the clusters open to manipulation.

There were more names in the 25-30 bracket than the 30-35, and that was where I decided to start working from. I skimmed through every name, and highlighted the ones that seemed the most likely to have suffered the most severe stressors. The unsub who committed these murders had no children, or at least they have had no contact with whatever children they do have, so I searched for recently divorced men, without any offspring, and a job that disallowed working during the day. By the time 3 o'clock came around, I had hacked through the list almost 8 times, and there were just 16 names left.

Oh Stephenson better kiss my ass when he sees what I've done. I kicked off my duvet, and placed the folders on the bedside table, and shimmied on a pair of fluffy slippers and my night gown that was hanging from a nail directly above my bed. I tied the lavender ribbons around my waist, and I walked into my bathroom and turned on the shower. As quickly as I could, I brushed my teeth vigorously and I ran a flannel over my face. By the time I had finished, the medicine cabinet slash mirror above my sink was foggy, and the squared floor length one was dripping with condensation.

I hung the dressing gown on another nail in the cupboard which held my boiler inside, and I undressed myself, jumping straight in the shower. As it was a Saturday, I was able to take my time washing my hair and body, and when by the time I got out, I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. My skin was red and blotchy from the severe scrubbing and my hair had turned a chocolate-brown and stuck slickly to my back in wet ringlets. I dried my arms and my legs then wrapped an especially fluffy towel across my body, and slipped on the silky dressing gown over my shoulders once more.

I decided that today was going to be an incredibly lazy day and I couldn't think of anything more I'd like to do than sit around my apartment and eat myself into a food coma. I threw on crisp, simple black underwear and I draped the towel over my hair and I went about drying it. By the time I had finished, my 'hair' had turned into a silky mass of what I could only describe as a birds nest. It was just so messy! I searched on my shelves to find the hair serum that would help me control it, and after warming it between my fingers, I ran it through my hair from the scalp to the tips. After a while, my hair began becoming more controlled, and I tied it back in a simple side pony, plaiting the ends to keep it neat and tidy.

I threw on an oversized maroon t-shirt from my pyjama cupboard and I slid on my pair of black glasses that I used only while I was at home. My apartment was of a simple design and most of my means were predictable ones. It was the size of a fairly upscale condo, but only had a single floor, like most apartments did. I had a fairly minute kitchen by family standards however it was more than large enough to contain everything I needed as the only habitant. The colour combinations in my apartment were black and white in my bedroom, cream and beige in my living room and a grey and chrome kitchen. I liked being able to have designed my living area myself without the aid of anyone else's help, especially my father's.

I had a fairly sizeable television in my living room, and three separate couches, two of them singular and the other a three seated, leather brown sofa, and the floor was laminated, however there was a bulky squared, spotted, shag carpet beneath the futons. My bedroom walls were all white, except for the largest which was jet black, along with the carpet and the roll-up blinds hanging from the bay window.

My bed was fairly wide in length, and large in size, and the mattress was comfortable as anything could be. The kitchen was moderately new and contemporary, with everything being silver and shiny and made of marble. I was happy with how everything worked out together and I had to admit, it was pretty awesome that I had done it all myself.

I walked into my kitchen, and immediately flipped on the kettle, silently begging for my not-so-morning afternoon coffee. In the meantime, I decided to make myself a turkey sandwich, and by the time I had pulled out the ingredients, the kettle sounded off, whistling, breaking the silence of my apartment. I picked up a purple mug from a cupboard underneath the marble sideboard and filled it up with two spoonfuls of coffee and four sugars; exactly the way I liked it.

I poured the hot water into the mug, and stirred it all together, after adding semi-skimmed milk to the concoction. I spread butter, mayonnaise and turkey slices to the pieced of bread from earlier, and I carried it to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa and wincing at the chilling temperature of the cold leather against my bare legs.

I slid the plate and cup of coffee on coasters on the glass table in the centre of the room, and I picked up the remote, switching on the television, only for the first thing I see was a story. A story run by those god damn paparazzo's about our killer. I saw Agent Jareau standing on a podium, surrounded by at least a dozen journalists, giving some kind of speech about how all women must be careful and whatnot. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

This was wrong! They were going to get another family killed! This killer is meticulous, he isn't going to stop just because we tell people to be wary of him. This is NYC. Barely anybody actually likes to cops, let alone actually listens to them - and this was going to get them all killed. We needed to find this son of a bitch; and quickly. There was going to be another murder before the end of the day.

Throwing the remote down into the couch, completely forgetting about my turkey sandwich and I yelled out in anger, "Damn it!"

I'm eternally sorry, my beauties, I've been in Switzerland for the last week and a few days, having the time of my life, skiing up and down the mountains and slopes. Wow, guys, you don't understand how beautiful it was over there, but I missed you guys. Now, please, if you're still with me, read, review and favourite, if you'd like.

I love you guys, and have brilliant days!