C H A P T E R  1 4  :  

Patrick Staples was messy. Left prints everywhere. Left bodily pieces everywhere. Made no attempt to conceal his identity and he didn't need to. Gaspard tackled the steps in the college sorority house eagerly. Why? Because the faster he got in, the faster he got out.

"Victim Number Three -- she tried to run, quick struggle." A member on scene first explained.

He stopped near the lifeless teen's body. She laid on her back, limbs sprawled pointing in every direction and a knife was still gouged deep in her chest. Right there on that wood floor, in that very spot, was where he had gotten stabbed. Where his whole life fallen to ruins. Patrick had brought him to the place where the old Gaspard had died. I hoped this new killer didn't expect a thank you card in the mail.

"The others weren't killed so kindly."

The group moved forward and he reluctantly left the girl that was meant to be him. How many had they said were killed? Was this was Kate prepared her new killer for? Practice on animals then send Patrick off on his merry way to her old campus location?

Everyone paused at the next dorm doorway. A girl, maybe twenty, laid on her bed in a mess of sheets that looked disturbed and tangled around her thighs as if she fought ... but blood drenched her entire self. So much so, Gaspard couldn't even register the shirt's actual color.

"There were nine girls in the house at the time. Some of them woke up when they heard the screams, and Patrick ran."

This was the room. That stench. It smelled like Patrick's basement. He brought a hand up rubbing it under his nose feeling the prickle of hair starting to come through his skin. It took a couple readying breaths before he could look at the bound girl who was strapped against the wall creating a large X with her limbs. Patrick had removed the eyes, copying Kate's signature.

Her skin was a ghastly white with bruising forming from her struggle before death had been given. Gaspard thought of her parents, what would they think and say? Who would they blame? The monster or the monster's creator? He had drowned out his team's passing words as he looked towards the ceiling above the girls strung up wrists. In what could only be assumed as blood, EVERMORE, was smeared into the white wall. It's letters were messy and had dripped before drying completely, but he could still read those letters to form that word.

"Why have her nephew kidnapped?"

It had been Wyatt's question of Logan that had him turning to meet the faces of the large Agent and a new woman who had replaced Jennifer, as Jennifer had been sent back to quantico. This new woman's name, Olivia Palermo. Tiny with a fire and a darker past lingering underneath flesh.

"It's an offering, it's biblical," Gaspard said. "They think of him as the blood of blood shared with God, something to be worshiped."

"Or sacrificed," Olivia stated.

Gaspard met her words with a hard stare. He knew Kate would never allow anyone to kill Logan. He was the child she never had.

"Cross knows where the kid is."

"She's not going to tell us, Wyatt."

"But she might tell her sister. She's asked to see her."

Gaspard argued Wyatt. "She's smarter than that. She's not gonna tell her anything."

"Well, let's find out." Olivia reached into her pocket now fetching her phone. It would only take a few numbers pressed and her command to make this entire thing go further to Hell. 

- Sixteen Hours Earlier-

"Convicted serial killer Katherine Cross, has been captured and is being held in a Federal Detention Center. As of early this morning, her sister, Rachel Cross's son, Logan Cross, and his nanny Maggie Richmond have gone missing. An amber alert is in effect, and we ask that anyone with any information as to their whereabouts please contact the FBI."

The screen went black as Gaspard's finger pressed down on the soft material of the remote's power button. Heavy thick judgment hung within the air of the living room of Rachel's. Her fingers gripped at the hair rimming her forehead. She was distressed, that much he knew. He hesitated to wrap an arm around her shoulders pulling her body into his.

"Where is my son?" She seethed in a whisper. "Where is my son?"

Gaspard's heart wrenched as if the knife still remained plunged deep within his rib cage. His lips wanted to correct her, our son. Our son. It was many years ago and yes he had once seen it as a mistake and made a choice to not be involved, but he still had protectively lurked in the shadows.

"We need to talk, Ray." He squeezed her shoulder between his fingers capturing little of her attention.

"Why is Katherine doing this?" Her voice broke it was almost a wail of its own.

He offered all he knew, "I don't know...."

Puffy red stained eyes looked up to him, pulling away from his cradling grip. "Are they going to hurt him? He's just a child, oh God, he's just a child."

His arm dropped away, "I think she's your nanny because of Logan. I think she put her here –"

"No." Rachel stood pushing his hands away. "No, that's impossible. She's been Logan's nanny for two years. She lives with me, I know her, Gaspard. I know her." She started pacing.

"The accomplices, the guys that helped Kate kill Natalie Huard? They were there for years, using false identities. We think she did too." Gaspard clasped his hands together, elbows resting on thighs as he watched his old lover with growing dread.

Her voice raised causing cops that stood guard at the rooms door to peer in. "I did a background check. I checked her references, I have records!"

That caught his ear, "Can I see them?"

She nodded and went to a cabinet built into the farthest wall. Gaspard pushed himself from the plush white couch seeing a photo of the nanny and his son stuck between two books that laid on the coffee table. It was an odd place for a photo ... unless it was meant to taunt.

He looked across the room seeing Rachel turned away and took the advantage to slip the photo from its place and bent in half to fit in his pocket.

Down in the kitchen was a place where the rules of do not touch are taken seriously by Jamie. She told him where to step and where to stop. Gaspard had his arms folded against his front just so she alone could see he was following her rules.

"There are heavy traces of zolpidem on the kitchen counter." Jamie concluded peeling off blue latex gloves. "She drugged the guards. I bet the kid, too, and carried him down the back staircase to the garage." She adjusted her glasses pulling out her phone scrolling through new incoming information. "Their car was actually just found ten minutes ago in a parking lot forty-five minutes from here." Her eyes flickered to Gaspard who was distracted as Rachel hastily shoved papers against his chest.

"Maggie Richmond, from Washington state. Her address, her references, it's all there."

Gaspard moved to the table spreading out the shuffled papers. Jamie braced one side, Rachel on the other. "Did she talk about any family members?" He mumbled the question squinting down at the small print on the pages. 

"She ah, she talked about her mom a lot." Rachel rubbed a hand against the back of her neck. "I guess they were close, no dad in the picture."

"You ever meet any of her friends or overheard a phone conversation?"

Her head shook, no. "Her friends never came over. She was shy, she kept to herself. She read in her room a lot. I can't be this blind, can I?"

Blame, it was in her tone. It was even bred within her face. Gaspard wanted to comfort her, to reach out and offer a physical contact but he felt withdrawn watching Logan's mother clutch a stuffed toy elephant she had taken from his room.

"Hey," he whispered. "You cannot afford to think like that, do you understand?"

Her face hardened. Maybe she was blaming him for this entire mess. She prodded his chest with her forefinger with each word she uttered. "Find him. Find my son."

—Our son. I'll find our son.