CHAPTER 11: Demonology (Season 4, episode 17)

Character(s): Prentiss

A/N: Brief mention of the unsub, bits and pieces about the case itself. Also, there is a song by The The (seriously, that's their name) called "Love is Stronger than Death". I was listening to it at one point while working on this chapter, and it seemed to fit perfectly. So if you're so inclined, feel free to check it out. It's dark and sad, but oddly uplifting, too.

"Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings." - Nicholas Rowe

Swish, swish, kick. Swish, swish, kick.

My eyes were peeled to the ground as I dusted fluffy piles of snow off various headstones, stopping to look more closely at the names. I knew I was in the right section of the cemetery, but I couldn't quite remember which spot I was specifically looking for.

A gust of bitterly cold wind blew by, and I wrapped my arms tighter against my body. I found myself smirking at the thought that, had Morgan come along like he wanted to, he would've offered me his coat, despite the fact I was already wearing one.

He had offered to drive me to the cemetery today. For support, he said, though I think it was also to ease his guilt after things had become so tense between us recently. But I declined. I wasn't mad at him anymore. It's just that this was something I had to do alone. Wanted to do alone.

Cemeteries always bothered me. Not so much because they were creepy, though they are indeed that. But the idea of someone's body just rotting away underneath the ground, all alone…it always unsettled me a little. These headstones telling people where someone is resting…eventually they'll be nothing but dust, so you just have a stone over an empty lot. Very strange.

And what if someone wasn't really dead? Ultimately the big reason I preferred the idea of cremation.

I shuddered. Another reason I hated cemeteries. They make you think about what your own death will be like.

After a few more moments of searching, I came across a small wreath sitting atop a patch of land. In the center was a photo. As I got closer, I noticed the photo was laminated, in an attempt to shield it from nasty weather such as today's. It featured a smiling young man, dark hair highlighting his features nicely.

It was him. Matthew.

A small ache ran through me as I crouched to look at the picture. That sweet, slightly mischievous grin. Those warm, trusting eyes. I'd almost forgotten how good-looking he was.

I brushed away as much snow as I could before properly sitting down cross-legged, facing the smooth grey plaque.

"Hi, Matthew." I closed my eyes for a moment before continuing. "It's me. Emily."

I began picking at the hem of my coat. "I just came to – to see where you were. I wanted to tell you that we got the guy who did this to you. We got Silvano."

Silence. Eerie, chilly (literally and figuratively) silence. I kept going.

"It sounds like you fought like hell – pun not intended." My eyes fixated on the tree nearby.

"You always were quite good at that, fighting back. I think you would've hit it off with this friend of mine, actually, Derek Morgan. He's a fighter, too. And he questions everything. He kept telling me to calm down and stay rational about this case. But, you know, I was angry, so I kinda got into it with him a little bit as a result. Which shouldn't come as a shock to you," I let out a small, half-hearted chuckle.

"He was right, though." Not that I'd ever actually admit that to him. "I needed that reminder. I nearly blew it for us a couple times." But I'm still not sorry about what I said to the people we interviewed.

"And Rossi – he's another good friend of mine – actually went over the state department's heads. He convinced my boss to work with the Italian government, if you can believe that. That's how we got Silvano." I straightened up a little, almost beaming.

"You would've liked Rossi, too. He was incredibly supportive. He listened to me when I talked about the connections, he actually went to talk to the priest of his own church for advice, he urged me not to give up the investigation." I grew quiet for a moment before speaking again, this time barely above a whisper.

"I told him about what happened to me back when I was fifteen. I told him about you helping me through that. He didn't judge or anything, he just let me talk." A pause. "Like you did."

Calmed me down when I freaked out at the idea of being pregnant. Let me rant about John abandoning me, let me cry as I worried about what my mom would say. Shielded me from the small crowd of people standing nearby and shouting as we entered the clinic. "Just ignore them." Stayed with me in the aftermath, checked up on me, kept my secret all these years.

"You saved my life, you know." And yet I wasn't there to save yours.

"I also told Rossi about how you stood up to the priest at church that one time. Another thing you would've had in common with him and Morgan."

I scanned the cemetery briefly. In a far off corner, an elderly woman was heading towards a grave that, from the looks of the decorations, seemed to be for a soldier. I sighed as I turned my focus back to "Matthew".

"Morgan said at one point that he believed there are evil acts, not evil people. Hotch – that's my boss - says we're all capable of doing horrible things."

I took a second, trying to make sure the thoughts in my head were making sense.

"Me? I don't know what to think. I've certainly seen enough horror at work that could be described as 'evil'. Silvano took you away for no good reason. That seems evil to me." And so began the fingernail picking.

"Your parents were in the room when you..." Deep breath. "I talked to them. I know, I know, big mistake, you tell me." I briefly smiled down at the headstone before frowning once more. "I know they loved you, but…how does a parent stand back and watch that happen? That, I can't understand." Flakes of snow drifted from my hair as my head shook noticeably.

"I don't know if your parents thought I was evil, but they certainly didn't like me. They thought I'd messed up your life," I scoffed, before biting my lip. That old nagging voice came back. Were they wrong? After all, if I hadn't told him about what happened, if he hadn't helped me…if my mom had been located somewhere else entirely…

The tears slowly started to fall now. I made a lame attempt to brush a couple away before pressing a hand against the grave, letting my other hand bury itself in between my arm and waist.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't keep in touch. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you. I'm sorry if I did screw up your life. I – I…" A small gasp escaped as I lowered my head, finally letting out the sobs that had been building for the last few days.

I needed to get out of there. I took a moment to try and collect myself, return my breathing to something of a normal state, try and calm down enough to be able to drive back home.

My hand brushed over the letters on the grave as I committed them to memory.

"I love you so much, Matthew. I always have. I hope you knew that." Choking back one more sob. "And thank you. For everything."

I lightly patted the granite stone before finally getting up, dusting the snow off my coat as I did so. Turning to walk back to the warmth of my car, I took one last glance at Matthew's resting place.

Tomorrow I'll tell Hotch I want to take some personal time.

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." – Unknown