Sundance, Wyoming
There wasn't an actual hospital in the horrible little town, so she had to drive an hour and half through a snow storm to Rapid City, South Dakota. She knew it would need to be done, so she made her way over the morning before her due date and checked into a hotel right across the street from the neonatal unit.
Flynn was perfect from the get go. He had made the first time mother's life easy by not making her too sick in the beginning and he didn't shift around in the middle of the night. He slept when she slept. She was so in love with the child before she even held him.
So it was no surprise to her when he didn't overstay his welcome as most first babies do. She woke up on that chilly Thursday morning with severe cramps and a wet patch beneath her on the mattress.
As she carefully made her way down the crosswalk with her ready bag slung over her shoulder, she was surprised that the panic she was sure she would feel at this point wasn't coursing through her veins. Instead, as she walked through the automatic doors and approached the front desk, she was calm and composed.
She had even conjured up a kind smile for the unduly chipper nurse who offered to escort her to her room via wheelchair.
Through no fault of his own, Flynn ended up needing to be delivered via C-section.
An hour into labor, the doctors noticed that her blood pressure was rapidly increasing and the worried that she was running the risk of preeclampsia. It may have been detected sooner had she not been previously seeing a doctor who operated out of a double wide behind an Arby's.
Due to this, and despite her son being born perfectly healthy, Molly and her new companion were kept for an extra three days for observation.
She called Nicholas, knowing full well that she would be speaking to his voicemail, and reported that their son was healthy and beautiful. She didn't update him on her own health because she knew he wouldn't care, so why waste her breath? It was doubtful that he even cared about their child's wellbeing, but she prayed that Flynn actually being there-in her arms-would change the awful man's outlook.
It was nearing midnight when she rolled back into Sundance. Her sweet Flynn, Flynn Montgomery Prentiss, was sleeping soundly in his carrier when she rounded the Wagoneer to retrieve him. She had wrapped him up in two layers of onesies and swaddled three blankets around him to ward off the cold.
Her body ached and for the first time she began to regret throwing away the bottle of pain medication she had been given. But she wouldn't be impaired. She had to be alert for her child. She climbed the front porch steps, wincing when she finally made it to the front door. The searing pain in her abdomen was beginning to creep around to her spine.
Of course, Nick had left the door unlocked. She was grateful that she didn't have to exert herself in order to deal with the finicky deadbolt, but she still slid it into place as soon as she stepped into the foyer.
Their home smelt of beer. Just...beer. Stale beer. There were probably gallons worth dried into the rugs and furniture.
Molly wrinkled her nose and walked wearily to the staircase and took a deep breath before clambering her way up. It wasn't until she got to the second floor that she let herself release the air and lean against the wall.
That was when she decided that her perfect boy would be an only child.
A light came from the door halfway down the hall-their room. It wasn't too bright, so she guessed that it was one of the bedside lamps. She was right.
It illuminated across their bedspread, the garnet color reflected up against the wall. Nick sprawled out on his side drooling and snoring against his pillow, a true gentleman. And on her side she could make out a head full of gorgeous blonde hair poking out from beneath the covers.
Molly sighed and rolled her lips in between her teeth. Really, what did she expect?
Setting Flynn down just outside in the hall, he didn't need to be in there, she wandered over to her dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of pajamas and a change of clothes for the next day. She then went to turn off the lamp-no use in wasting electricity.
The baby's room was on the other end of the second floor. Far enough away that they wouldn't be disturbed by her husband's strident snores.
When she was settled in the nursery, she took the changing pad off of the dresser and layered it with some fleece blankets that had been folded in the crib. She placed Flynn, who was still sleeping like an angel, in the nest and covered him with the small quilt she had made out of mismatched flannel scraps she'd collected from the craft store.
She painted the nursery tan on three walls with an accent wall of forest green. It was supposed to be a calming color pallet. One that would give her son peace as he went to sleep every night with his parents-a horrible, violent father and a miserable mother-just down the hall.
As Molly laid herself out on the carpet beside her tiny bundle of joy, she smiled softly and ran her fingertips across his rosy cheek.
Until now, she never thought she would see the definition of happiness. But there he was. Happiness in the purest form.
So with a burning pain in her stomach and only a tiny baby blanket draped over her shoulders for warmth, Molly Prentiss was able to go to sleep with a light heart.
/
"Can we get a dog when we get home?"
Molly lowered her binoculars and turned to smile at the boy in the passenger's seat. "What kind of dog do you want?" She asked before turning half of her attention back to the motel across the street.
"Not a puppy." He wrinkled his nose and dug his fingers under his beanie to scratch behind his ears. "Too noisy...and messy. Maybe he can be two or three?"
"He?" She smirked.
"Well, then you'll have two men to protect you." He sat up and puffed out his chest.
Her little warrior.
"What color will he be?" She could see Bowles moving the last of his groceries from his Camry into his room. She still had time. It would be best if she waited for him to be settled in before she made her move.
Again, she looked to Flynn who had been squinting his eyes in deep concentration. Finally, he shrugged one shoulder and gave her a crooked grin. "It doesn't matter. As long as he's big! No little rat dogs!"
Molly laughed and bobbed her head up and down. "No! No rats!" She had always wanted a little lap dog to spoil and pamper, but as always her opinion transformed to match her son's. "And what shall our large dog be called? Fluffy? Tinkerbell?"
He knew she was just messing with him but Flynn still shook his head vehemently. "No mom!" His delighted giggles filled the car like music. "We can't name him until we see him. Then it will just come to us. But I don't think it will be Tinkerbell." With a halfhearted roll of his eyes, he turned to look out the window.
Moments passed and they fell into a comfortable silence. Molly occasionally peered into the binoculars, to make sure that the blinds remained closed in Bowles' room while Flynn rolled the window up and down repeatedly.
After a few minutes passed, the boy let out a little huff and rolled his head to look up at his mom with a pitiful gaze. "It's hot."
It wasn't a whine-her child didn't whine-it was an observation.
She turned to him and chuckled. "Well, of course you're hot. You're wearing your jacket. I told you winter in Texas wasn't like winter in Alaska." She teased, reaching across the seat. "Here, let's take a couple of layers off."
When the thick jacket left his small frame, she paused.
The yellow turtle neck had been her idea. She always said that it would be the easiest color to spot were he to get lost or-in the case of that fateful morning-fell through the Ice. She always dressed him in bright colors, but yellow was by far the most vibrant. This particular shirt was one she had worn when she was a child. It was a solid goldenrod color, but it wasn't girly enough to be immediately scorned by her ten year old who was just starting to call himself a man.
It was different now though.
When she wore it, it was just yellow. Not yellow and red. Where did the red come from?
By the time she realized the oddity of it, it was too late.
Suddenly, it all came rushing back to her. And as the red spread across the yellow, further up his chest, Molly let out a gasp and reached out to grab her son.
Her hand connected with the empty seat and immediately she could feel the sobs begin to bubble up her throat. It burned her esophagus and no matter how hard she tried to bite it back, the cry came out-ragged and harsh.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her words were accompanied by ragged breaths and as she rested her forehead against the top of the steering wheel she could feel her hands begin to tingle. The sensation quickly spread up her arms.
If she didn't gain control soon, she'd lose consciousness.
So she lifted her head and sniffled. It was a disgusting sound and she was sure that if anyone were to come by and see her, sitting in her Wagoneer in the parking lot of what used to be a Blockbuster, they'd probably think she was a lunatic.
"Well," Her face went stony when she saw the curtain rustle from inside the motel room. She reached into the backseat and grabbed her backpack before she threw her door open and hopped out into the warm air. "They wouldn't be too far off."
/
Little Rock Police Department
Arkansas
Penelope's head was spinning as she watched Spencer scribbling away on the whiteboard. He was thinking out loud, but that was obviously more for his benefit than hers.
The young genius was making it his mission to narrow down what Molly Prentiss' weaknesses were. And though he had yet to come to any conclusions, he was at least able to write down all of her-more obvious-strengths. Her killing record was in the triple digits and not one of their demises were exactly the same.
"A fingerprint pattern." He had called it.
It was an observation made to correct Garcia when she compared Molly's methods to snowflakes.
"Snowflakes are specks of dust that collect water vapor and form different shapes. It's the atmosphere that makes them different. So there are many factors contributing to their exceptionality, what with the varying atmospheres they come into contact with. Fingerprints are concrete and more likely to be proven as physically unique to its owner." He had already turned back to studying his files as he finished his explanation.
Deciding that choking the skinny blabbermouth would do them absolutely no good, Penelope bit her tongue and went back to pulling up information on her laptop.
/
Skellytown, Texas
It took them only eight hours to get to the tiny town that hosted their next likely victim. William Bowles' house was less than a mile into the city line, so it felt like it took absolutely no time to get to the doublewide.
Without having to say anything, Hotch jumped out first, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure his agents were staying close. For once, he was going to have the women take the lead. It wasn't that he never trusted them in the past, but as team leader he felt that he was the one who should always take point.
But this wasn't a dangerous Unsub. This was Molly.
Emily's sister, for all intents.
She would most likely be startled by their presence and react harshly if she felt attacked. But she wouldn't hurt the last thread of family she had. She obviously adored Prentiss, despite having been tormented by her brother.
Seeing the silent command Hotch threw her, Emily nodded and slipped her gun back into her holster. She had pulled it out instinctively when they pulled into the neighborhood. But she wouldn't be using it. Not on Molly. They were getting her home-safe and in one piece-if it was the last thing she did.
Prentiss winced at the creaking of the wooden porch steps beneath her feet. Once she had a higher vantage point, she scanned the yard surrounding them and her shoulders dropped.
"They're not here." She sighed aloud, pointing.
Hotch and JJ followed the gesture. The grass around the house and driveway was mostly overtaken by mud produced from the inclement weather Texas had been having over the past week. Their SUV was already somewhat sunken into the damp earth.
Any vehicle in or out of the area would have had to make tire tracks. And Molly would have parked it right next to the porch to transfer Bowles quickly without detection. She wouldn't have worried about leaving tracks because this was a dilapidated neighborhood. No one would have noticed, let alone cared about some damaged sod.
They went to the wrong place. She was headed towards Van Horn.
"We should still warn him." JJ said quietly. At the brunette's look she quickly elaborated. "We don't have to tell him who is after him. If anything we can put him in custody with the local police and possibly build a case against him."
That was a good point. Emily jutted out her lower jaw and nodded. And given that it was likely that Molly wasn't on the inside, she placed a hand over her Glock before knocking firmly on the metal door.
Thirty seconds passed.
No answer.
She knocked again. "William Bowles?" She called out, tilting her head and listening for any shuffling from the other side.
"They ain't there."
The three agents turned sharply at the voice. A man-who epitomized everything "Backwoods Texan"-stood twenty feet away from them. His hands were shoved into the olive green waders that covered up a tank top that could have been white when purchased decades prior. It was now a grayish hue with brown stains spotting the chest and stomach.
"Went on vacation." He gave them a small smirk before sipping from the beer clutched in his grimy fingers. "Left last night. I'm feeding the cat." He said it as though he had been given keys to the White House.
"Do you know where they went?" Hotch demanded, taking the lead back when they stepped back towards the yard. This man had been eyeing his female companions a little too closely so he decided that they might appreciate him playing the man card for a moment.
"Biloxi." His stubbled cheeks puffed out when he attempted to swallow a burp. "Willy won them two free nights at...Margaritaville." He smiled a gummy smile and nodded with pride.
Emily pulled out her phone and gave the strange man a wide berth as she strode back towards the SUV. After dialing, she only had to wait for the line to ring once in her ear before her favorite tech savvy goddess answered. "Garcia, I need you to look up all of the hotels between here and Biloxi and check for William Bowles' name on the guest registries."
"You got it my love!" The chipper voice assured her. For less than a minute the only sound on the other end was Penelope's lightning speed typing. If it was anyone but her, Emily would have been surprised with how quickly she got a hit. "Okay, I have a William and Caroline Bowles. They checked into Peppermaid Suites. It's a motel in a town just southeast of you called Chillicothe. Sending you the coordinates as. We. Speak."
"Thank you." Emily disconnected and nodded to the other two before hopping into the car.
/
Peppermaid Suites
Daphne, it's what she had named her Mossberg 590, was tucked into the top compartment of her backpack for easy. She hardly ever bothered Daphne though. The shotgun, though powerful, was usually more trouble than it was worth.
It was messy and the bullets-12 gauge-were quite destructive. And she wanted to avoid that if at all possible. Why blow out a man's knee when you could simply cut it off entirely?
Deep down, she knew that she should also be concerned about the noise. But somehow, that part never really bothered her. Let them catch her.
She sat down on the air vent that jutted out beneath the window of Bowles' first floor motel room. Resting her palms on her knees, she stifled a yawn and arched her back to loosen up the muscles. Weeks of driving were rough on the body, but lugging around grown men who doubled her weight was downright brutal.
/
"Her strengths definitely outweigh her weaknesses." Deputy Arnold, of the Little Rock P.D noted staring at the board filled nearly corner to corner with Reid's writing. Given that the BAU was using their station for headquarters, the officers were within their right to observe what was going on at that end at least.
Spencer tapped the closed marker to his chin and squinted as he spoke, "They're not so much strengths as much as they are strategies." He said, pointing to the left column. "You see, this list shows the name of each of her kills, followed by their age, weight, and height. With the larger targets she used weapons-knives, ropes, and very rarely she would use a gun.
Now with the smaller victims, she took a hands-on approach. She would either snap their neck or strangle them. And in one case, with a rather obese gentleman soaking in his tub, she resorted to drowning." He paused and checked his notes. "Now, her records don't show that she has ever been treated for any injuries acquired on the job. In fact, the only hospital records I see are from when she was first rescued from Iceland and then years later when she had her son."
Penelope shrugged. "So, she was good at her job."
"Yes, there's no denying that. But just because she was never hospitalized, doesn't mean she was never injured." Spencer said, holding up a picture taken of Molly and Flynn at the beach. "She's wearing pants here, but Flynn is wearing swim trunks and is covered in sunscreen. The time date for this picture is in July, and the sand indicates that it was taken off the coast of California."
Arnold arched his eyebrows and opened his mouth to question the younger man's deduction, but Garcia held up her fuzzy purple pen. "Just let him do his thing." She said lightly, leaning back in her seat to get comfortable for the rest of the shpiel.
"Flynn was only about two here, and from what I know of Molly, she wouldn't have dressed him in a bathing suit unless it was warm enough for it. She wouldn't have risked him getting sick." Reid threw down another photo. This one was a little older. It was from Molly's youth-she couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. She was standing in what appeared to be a government office amongst twenty or so large men in suits. She was wearing a dress that went up to her knees.
Minutes passed as he flipped through photo after photo, studying each one vehemently. Once they were all lined up chronologically, he plucked one up from the center.
"From late 2001 through mid-2002, she's sitting down in every picture." He pointed out, stacking the group up and sliding them across to Garcia and the deputy. "And during that time she had taken a break from work, but she was still getting government pay, only went up 15.7%."
"Okay, so..." Penelope tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, trying to follow his freight train of thought.
"Disability was added to her annual salary." Reid elaborated. "And Molly walks with a gait on her right side. I didn't really think much of it when we were with her because we had Flynn to worry about. But looking back, she definitely had a limp. It didn't suggest muscle or bone damage though, it would have been more pronounced after climbing or running. It was a consistent stride that remained the same regardless of weather or activity."
He mulled this over for a minute before his brain allowed the conclusion to be made. "Molly has a prosthetic leg."
/
For ten minutes she sat, staring at the parking lot.
Nobody drove in or out of the motel. The only thing to be heard within a five mile radius was the chirping of birds and the rumble from the interstate just behind them.
Taking a deep breath, Molly stood up and swung her arms back and forth, loosening the muscles, before raising her arm to knock. She waited patiently for the chain to slide and the deadbolt to unlatch.
It was when the knob turned that she lifted her leg and kicked as hard as she could.
The string of curses that rattled out were Irish and they were pissed. The metal door had swung inward, slamming against his face and busting his nose. Blood immediately poured past his lips and down his chin.
/
"So she has a fake leg." Arnold shrugged. "What are you gunna do? Kick it out from under her? You'll have to find her first."
Spencer shook his head. "No, we don't need this information to take her down. We need it to find her." He insisted. "The more we figure out about what drives her, the more we can do to help her."
"Yeah, but honey, she doesn't need help. Not with her leg at least." Penelope reminded him gently. "And I hate to say it, but she is mentally trained to not have any weaknesses."
"She was trained that way, yes." Reid stood from his chair and went back to the board. "From the time she was born through her teens, she was under the impression that she was indestructible. This impairment was probably the first time she realized she was capable of human error. It would have been traumatizing, both physically and emotionally. But she returned to work less than a year later and look how her method changed."
He moved back to the board and began reviewing the assassinations Molly made starting in 2002. "Her first one back, Andrew Spalding, was stabbed through the posterior ramus with an icepick before she slit his throat. Hugo Blanchard had both of his eyes gouged out and pushed from his eighth story balcony. Laramie Pike was force-fed battery acid..."
"So she got more violent." Penelope interrupted him with a wave of her hand. Sometimes the boy genius forgot that she wasn't the teammate to go into such details with.
"Not just that, she became more involved." Reid was bouncing on his toes as it all began to fall into place. "Before, it had been just a...just a job. She did what needed to be done and got out. But when she lost her leg, she began to get a little more personal. She made sure the people she eliminated were in the ultimate amount of anguish before they passed. And the government signed off on it, because she was still getting it done."
Finally, Garcia began to catch on as well. "So when Flynn died, all of those emotions came back."
"And Gusev kidnapping Emily was the final trigger." Spencer concluded. "She realized there was more to be done, so finishing her job, only without the killing."
"Take as much as she can, but letting them live is pretty damn cruel." Arthur shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'll call Rossi and Morgan, you call Hotch's team." Penelope told Reid, already dialing her phone.
/
Williams's grunts of pain and frustration didn't faze her. She left him lying on the floor between the TV stand and the foot of the closest bed. His hands covered his bloody face, as he growled a little more profanity at her.
"Shut up." She muttered, digging through the front pocket of her backpack. "This won't take long." Molly let out a sigh of relief when she produced a syringe full of scarlet liquid. She had forgotten to bring one when she 'retrieved' Sasha, so she had to resort to knocking her out with the handle of her axe. It worked, but it took a lot more effort than the Russian woman deserved.
Just as she was turning back to her latest conquest, a shot rang out.
The sound rattled her ears and forced her back a step. Shaking her head, Molly glowered at William who was sitting up on his elbows with his revolver still smoking in his hand.
The discomfort in her shoulder only phased her for a moment. She could feel the blood pouring down the front of her arm and noted that there was nothing coming from the back. The bullet never left, because the son of a bitch shot her with some sort of fragmenting shell. That was going to be hard to get out of there.
"So much for playing nice." She sighed, swiftly kicking the gun from his hand before he could fire another round.
/
JJ hung up the phone after their conference with Reid. She turned to Emily who had been fidgeting in the front seat more and more as the conversation progressed.
"Did you know about her leg?" She asked gently, resting her hand on Prentiss' shoulder.
The older woman startled slightly and shook her head. "No, no I didn't." She gnawed on her upper lip and shook her head. "I only saw her a few times after she left the academy. In fact, the last time I saw her was about a week before she moved away to marry Nick. But I never noticed a...a limp...and she never mentioned it."
"For some reason, she thought it was better to keep it a secret." Hotch surmised, keeping his tone light.
"Apparently, a lot of people wanted to keep it a secret." JJ added. "There was nothing in her file about it."
"Well, it's not like it's stopping her, so what difference does it make?" Emily sat up in her seat and checked the ETA on the GPS in the center console.
Forty-five minutes to go.
"Well, it could be something used against her by one of her targets." Aaron reminded her. "If they notice a weakness, they'll go straight for it." He had seen it time and time again. And while he knew deep down that anyone who tried to take Molly out at the leg would more than likely be pounded to death by the prosthetic, he kept that to himself.
He could see, as well as feel, the tension rolling off of Emily. The longer they took to find her, and the more people she caught, the more dangerous the situation was becoming. They all knew what the Red Cards were capable of. They had been ruthless and savage in their heyday, and a series of events like this could awaken the beast.
With that, he pressed his foot down a little harder on the gas.
/
Bungee cords were what finally kept Bowles in place. He had squirmed out of the ropes and the handcuffs gave him too much range of motion. With the tight cords wrapped around his arms, he wasn't going anywhere.
For once, the blood that covered her target was not theirs, but her own. She could feel it gushing from her wound, but she knew that if she paused to fix it, she'd make a mistake. She'd forget something.
"Stand up." She growled, using the bed to hoist herself up before yanking the large Irishman to his feet. She had cuffed his ankles together, so walking was going to be a bit of a struggle. At least she didn't have to carry him. With the Red Magic knocked out of her hand, she was unable to dose him.
So cutting off the bastard's hands wasn't in the stars, but on the brightside, he could walk to the car himself.
"You run, I stab you in the crotch." She threatened, chuckling when he nearly toppled over, looking every bit like a worm under a magnifying glass. "I guess the better phrase is, if you hop, I stab you in the-"
She trailed off when the door was pushed open before they got to it.
A woman with curly brown hair, stared at them, her mouth open. At her side stood a little boy, no older than six or seven. He clutched a toy dump truck under one arm a bag of army men in the other.
"Daddy?" His little voice called out when he saw the man bound and gagged standing next to a stranger.
Molly nearly dropped her backpack. The rapid blood loss combined with the sight of the child's mop of red curls left her head spinning. She huffed a sigh and shoved William onto the bed. "Come on." She gestured for the two to come inside. When they didn't move, she shifted her bag lightly to reveal the handle of Daphne. "Please."
Her eyes bore into those of the terrified mother, silently begging her not to force her to have to pull a gun on her and her kid.
Finally, the woman relented. She was smart enough to remain silent as she picked up the boy and carried him into the room.
As Molly closed the door, she observed the wife shoot daggers at her husband, not even asking if he was okay. She simply set her son down on the other bed and stood between him and them like a shield.
"Oh yeah." Molly chuckled to herself as she dug through her backpack. Watching the mother protect her child from his father as well as their captor was all the indication needed. "She knew exactly what she was married to."