CHAPTER ELEVEN:
HELL OR HIGH WATER
( aka 03x15: a higher power )

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"DOES YOUR PHONE ALWAYS ring this early in the morning?"

The unfamiliar male voice in her bed had Dallis' eyes snapping open in pure panic. She didn't think, she acted on instinct, jutting her elbow into the stranger's ribs and seeking to leave a bruise. The man let out a high-pitched yelp, flinching away from her and rolling over the side of the mattress with a weighty thud.

"What the fuck?"

"Oh." Kneeling on the side of the bed in a white oversized sleep shirt and her underwear (thank God), Dallis blinked down at the stranger now sprawled across her floor with his bare ass out. "It's you..."

You... you... she had no idea what his name was.

She did know that she invited him back to her apartment last night, and a thoroughly amused (and equally as shit-faced) Morgan had done nothing to stop her except offer her the can of pepper spray he kept on him 'in case of emergencies.' The rest of what went down was only hazy, but she was unfortunate to remember a quick, sweaty tryst between her sheets that ended after two minutes. The man then rolled over and started to cry for his ex-wife before his sniffles eventually faded off into snores.

Dallis was mortified then, but not nearly as much as she was in the light of morning. He was attractive, that she could admit, with salt-and-pepper hair and the beginnings of a beard. She tried her best not to let her eyes wander south as he scrambled to his feet, looking thoroughly out of place beside her overflowing bookshelf.

"You don't remember my name, do you?" he demanded, hiking on his skinny jeans that had rips in the knees.

This man was in his mid-to-late forties and wearing ripped jeans. Dallis couldn't begrudge someone their style -- refer to Penelope Garcia, her dear friend -- but his clothing just so happened to represent the attitude that poured from him in waves.

"I don't," she admitted without remorse.

Her phone started to ring again, ordering her to answer it.

"Listen..."

"Troy," he muttered like a belligerent teenage boy.

"Listen, Troy," she was already turning her back on him, reaching for the phone she'd fortunately remembered to charge despite the seven tequila shots Morgan had coaxed her into downing with him. "As... interesting as our night was, I'm late for work. You should--"

"Go?" He nodded his head. Dallis' lips thinned into an uncomfortable smile. "I get it."

"Great," she stared at him, waiting.

The attitude he paraded around, while she had no doubt was somewhat true, was a clear front for the deep insecurities he'd found himself drowning in. See: the crying about his ex-wife.

"Should I just..." Holding his plaid button-up in one hand, he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "See myself out?"

Dallis sighed. She was going to kill Morgan. She had told him a million times she didn't need him to wingman her, that she was more than willing to wait to hit the town again when Austin and Mei returned from Mei's annual leave in a week. The one time she caved, this was the situation she wound up in. Late for work, covered in hickies that would be infuriatingly hard to hide, and she'd never had someone sob after sex with her before. Dallis had really reached a new low.

"I'll walk you," she said, thankful that her shirt acted as a dress, for she felt way too exposed already.

Troy lingered in the hallway outside her apartment door. He took a deep breath, bracing his hands on the wooden frame, and Dallis longed to slam the door in his face (jamming his fingers if she had to) but she forced another polite smile and decided to take her anger out on Morgan as soon as Troy dragged his sorry ass away.

"Dallis, I think you're a fabulous woman," he said a little breathlessly.

"Thank you."

"But I don't believe we're suited for each other."

"I'm glad we're on the same page."

Troy rocked backward like he hadn't expected such a blunt response. Thankfully, after a mumbled 'nice knowing you' (Dallis would say otherwise, but okay) he made his way downstairs where Dallis would hopefully never have to see him again. She didn't waste time before finally slamming the door -- locking it just in case -- and dialling Morgan's number.

"Good morning, Cohen," she could hear the shit-eating grin through the speaker. Dallis' eye twitched. "I won't lie, I didn't expect to hear from you this early."

"I'm never going out with you again," she hissed, making sure to open her cabinet doors with force as she got to work making her tea.

Morgan, hearing the ruckus in the background, barked out a laugh. "Was Troy a let-down then?"

"That's an understatement," she rolled her eyes, pinning the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she boiled the kettle and searched around for a tea-bag. "Morgan, he cried. Cried. Like, I'm going to need to wash my sheets, not because of anything smutty, but because he snotted on my favourite pillow case!"

"Smutty?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Yes," he said. "So did Prentiss and Reid, by the way. You're on speaker."

Dallis froze. Her face blazed bright red as she heard Reid's uncomfortable whisper of a hello in the background. Oh, kill her now.

"Derek Morgan, I hate you."

"Dallis Cohen, you're late for work," he matched her tone.

"Fuck. Okay, this can wait until I'm at the office. Be ready to fight in twenty."

With that, she hung up the phone, still jittering from anger and a creeping sense of embarrassment. She had no doubt this would be common knowledge between her team come midday.

"I hate my job," she sighed without really meaning it, then set off upstairs to prepare herself to face the music.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"DAMN, MAMA," MORGAN TUGGED at the collar of Dallis' maroon silk shirt, her last ditch attempt of hiding the red marks that foundation hadn't managed to properly cover. "Did you tumble around in the sheets with Troy or Edward Cullen?"

Dallis scoffed and smacked his hand away. Emily hid a smirk behind her fist, but she and JJ were both just as eager to hear the dirty details. Dallis eyed the open conference room door, calculating the odds of running back out almost as soon as she walked in. It didn't help that Reid looked thoroughly scandalised -- he'd just finished Fifty Shades Darker and, by his own will this time, was starting on Fifty Shades Freed, so she thought by now the exposure therapy might've kicked in but guess not -- and that Rossi's face was blank apart from a vague upturn of the corner of his mouth. She wanted to bury her head in the sand and pretend this whole thing never happened.

"At least I didn't go home alone," she retorted, plastering on her most confident grin. "Thought you were going to 'show me how it's done,' Morgan. I have to say, I'm disappointed. I think you've been lying to us."

"And where was our invite?" Emily exaggerated a frown.

Morgan's face faltered. He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, whipping his head between the two of them, but was thankfully given a moment's reprieve when JJ started handing out old newspapers, reminding them they had yet another case on their hands.

"Three months ago, a fire in the Shadyside Rec Centre killed fourteen children."

"What does that have to do with us?" Rossi asked.

"Well, over the past three months, there's been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire."

Dallis raised her eyebrows, casting her eyes over the newspaper headline. "Okay, if two's a coincidence and three's a pattern, what's five?"

JJ grimaced. "The most recent suicide was Paul Baleman. He was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday. I've received a request for our help."

"Why do they need our help?" Morgan asked as Reid shuffled around the table to read everything JJ had quickly written down from the local police station before bringing them the case. "They're suicides."

It was Reid who answered. "All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other. It could be some kind of pattern."

"Detective Ronnie Baleman, Pittsburgh PD, thinks that something's going on," JJ insisted.

Morgan frowned. "Well, of course he does."

"Why do you say that?"

Ronnie Baleman... What was the surname of the recent victim again?

"He's related to that man, right?" Rossi asked. He wasn't surprised when JJ nodded her head.

"His brother."

"A cop who doesn't believe his brother committed suicide," Morgan surmised, though Dallis wasn't so sure. "Come on, next case."

"Wait a second," Emily called out, not quite ready to concede either. "Five suicides in the same neighbourhood within months? That's a serious spike."

"One or two would be understandable," Dallis added, getting a chance to read JJ's notes herself as Reid started passing the notebook around. "Fourteen children were killed in one of the worst fires I'm sure they've seen in the area for a while. Of course that would create community unrest. But the odds of five parents each taking their life two weeks apart?"

"Suicides don't spike after a tragedy," Rossi added, followed by Reid, "Quite the opposite, actually. Following World War I and II, right after Kennedy was shot and following 9/11, suicides plummeted. Within a society, external threats usually create group integrations."

"Most people come together."

"So, if there's reason for doubt, which there obviously is," Emily remarked. "Don't those families have a right to know?"

"Yes, they do," Rossi agreed.

Dallis thought by Morgan's silence that he might've been coming around to what they were saying, but a stubborn flash of his eyes as he stared at Rossi indicated otherwise. "Okay, sure, they deserve to know. But let someone else tell them, like Social Services."

With Hotch notably absent, Rossi had been promoted to temporary leader. It would be him who determined whether or not they were going to Pittsburgh, regardless of if Morgan approved or not.

"Contact Detective Baleman," he said to JJ, who gave a relieved smile. "Let him know we're coming."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

DALLIS WAS STARTING TO wish she hadn't taken the seat opposite Morgan on the jet. She wasn't sure if it was the hangover from the night before or the frustration of Rossi stepping in as temporary leader with Hotch taking personal leave for the day, but he wasn't afraid to voice his opposing opinions as they went over what they had in greater detail. Dallis was jokingly annoyed this morning, but the twinge of anger in her gut now was irrefutably genuine.

"Hotch would have never taken this case," Morgan muttered to Dallis, Emily and Reid, believing Rossi was still over by the kitchenette behind him. "And I say 'case' in the loosest sense."

Rossi cleared his throat as he returned with a cup of coffee. He came to stand behind Dallis' seat, resting his forearms against the cushion. "Profile the facts as they are, without bias. Isn't that what we do?"

Morgan scowled. "What facts, Rossi? Look at us. We don't have a single file."

"Yet," Dallis muttered.

"Okay, let me help you out," Rossi said, glancing around at everyone else. "Jump right in, anytime. Fact one, there are no files, so it seems no case."

"But what if there is?" Emily posed.

"One fire, fourteen deaths, five suicides," Reid listed.

"All the suicides are connected to the original fire," continued JJ, struggling to keep her voice from raising. "And all exactly two weeks apart."

Morgan sighed and sipped his coffee.

"Come on, Derek, you can't tell me that doesn't feel a lot like a pattern," Rossi argued.

"And a timeline."

"Right?"

Morgan's shoulders slackened, but he had a tiny bit of fight left in him yet. "A lot of people lost kids in that fire. That's a whole world of grief, and for a few, suicide's their only way out."

"Or someone decided it was," Rossi said.

"And made it look this way?"

"What if they have, Morgan?" Dallis laid her hands on the table, drawing his eyes towards her. "Say we turn this plane around and in another two weeks, one more parent loses their life. Then another one two weeks later and another one. Do we seriously wait for more people to die before we intervene?"

Morgan was quiet for a moment, and then, "If you're right..." Dallis sat back in her chair, feeling Rossi's hand catch in her hair before he quickly shifted out of her way, a triumphant grin tugging at her lips. "If, Dallis. Then we're looking for one very smart unsub."

"Who targets people in grief," Emily remarked.

"And that would make them what?" Rossi questioned.

"Someone who thinks they're putting them out of their misery," answered JJ.

Reid cleared his throat, declaring, "An angel of death."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

ALL EYES WERE ON them the moment they opened the door to the Pittsburgh PD. The lead detective seemed to be waiting for them to arrive. He rushed over to shake JJ's outstretched hand and introduce himself, nodding along as she in turn pointed out who was who on their team.

"Thank you, all of you, for coming."

"Well, your colleagues don't look all that happy to see us," Morgan commented, also feeling the weight of the stares in the room.

Baleman's throat bobbed in a visible swallow. He kept his back to the rest of the office, hands on his hips, stubborn in his decision. "They didn't just lose a brother."

Thankfully, Reid's eagerness redirected the conversation from souring. "I'd like to get started on all the files. We're going to build what we call psychological autopsies to determine whether the victims killed themselves."

"Everything's in those boxes," Baleman pointed to a table set up in the corner of the room.

Reid didn't wait for orders, knowing he would be staying at the office regardless of what the rest of the team decided to do. Rossi watched him go before turning back to Baleman as Emily said, "We'd also like to take a look at your brother's house."

Baleman nodded. "I'll take you there."

Rossi held up a hand. "I think it's better if you stay here."

"It's my case," the detective frowned. "I brought you here."

"Technically, there is no case," Morgan countered. "And if there was, you wouldn't be on it."

Emily plastered on a gentle smile. "We need to profile the scene without bias."

For once, Reid correctly read the room, calling out, "I could use your help with these files. It looks like there's quite a few."

There wasn't, really, but Baleman slowly made his way over followed by JJ, who gestured for Dallis to tag along. Rossi, Morgan and Emily didn't hang around, slipping back out the door before Baleman would be able to change his mind.

"So what do we have?" Dallis asked, tipping the lid off one of the boxes.

"Well, to start, my brother kept a journal. I found this on the desk in his bedroom." Baleman grabbed a black leather book bound with an elastic, holding it out for one of them to take. "Read the last page. They're not the words of a suicidal man."

Reid quickly flipped to the back. Both Dallis and JJ peered over his shoulders to see for themselves.

"You seem pretty sure an unsub exists," JJ mumbled under her breath.

Baleman's stare settled on the side of her face. "So are you. You're here, aren't you?"

They didn't have much to say to that.

Dallis scanned the expanse of the room, taking in the cluttered desks with prying ears sat at each of them. She turned back to Baleman. "Would it be possible to set up somewhere else? Where we can... focus?"

Baleman's nod was agreeable, a total shift in the sullen expression he'd been previously wearing. "Of course. We'll use the office out back."

It took them a little longer than they had to spare to move each box and set everything up, but at least they didn't have dozens of officers judging their every move. They were able to write notes on the whiteboard and pin up the few photos they had in peace.

"This is a physical representation of the five equivocal deaths," Reid pointed out each section to Baleman, who couldn't take his eyes off the picture of Paul that JJ had just pinned up. Dallis tried to put herself in his shoes, imagining she'd just lost Austin in the worst way imaginable. Would she be able to stand there and solve his murder like he didn't take a piece of her heart with him? "Together with a profile of each case, we'll build psychological autopsies of each person."

"And this will tell us if it was suicide or murder?"

"Suicide, yes. Murder, no."

"And you think it's a pretty good indicator?"

Reid nodded. "Since its inception in 1958, it's proven to carry a ninety-two percent accuracy rate in cases that have gone to trial."

"Right," Baleman muttered. "Well, if these autopsies prove they weren't suicides, then I need to inform the media right away."

"I would err on the side of caution," JJ stated, making him scoff.

"But people need to know."

"And they will," she said. "As soon as we have absolute proof. I think the town's been through enough, don't you?"

"Also, keep in mind that if these cases are related, then this unsub's probably already aware that we're onto him," added Reid.

"But the community needs to know if there's a serial killer in its midst."

"As soon as we have something solid to give them, they'll be informed," Dallis repeated JJ's words with a little less patience. "Why scare the rest of the parents and the entire town if we have no proof?"

Balemen glared. "Even if that proof means another body?"

When they didn't answer, he pinched the bridge of his nose and walked away. Dallis clenched her jaw, dragging out a seat and slumping into it. "How are we supposed to work with a detective who disagrees with everything we have to offer?"

"He is right, though," JJ muttered, perching on the table next to her.

"And personally motivated," Reid pointed out. "Which means he's likely to react irrationally."

"He's thinking as a member of the community," Dallis agreed. "Not as the person responsible for protecting it."

JJ let out a sigh. "But if this does turn out to be the work of a serial killer, then he won't be the only one acting irrationally. The whole town will, too."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

THE NEXT DAY, BALEMAN'S question became a reality, and another parent ended her life, this time with her toddler in the next room. Dallis gazed at the blonde-haired boy who whimpered as his dad tried to take him from the kitchen without the toy JJ held. She pressed it into his reaching hands, frowning to herself as she returned to the dining table where Dallis and Rossi sat.

"That poor boy," Dallis murmured. "Sitting here for hours while Beth was hanging on the other side of the wall. The things he must've heard..."

"The father found him in the highchair," JJ said. "He didn't have a scratch on him."

"Remember, the unsub believes he's on some kind of a mission, the child is of no importance to him," Rossi said, turning to Reid as he left the living room to join them. "They find a suicide note?"

"They haven't found one yet."

"So what are you thinking?"

Reid's brows were furrowed. "In every case, there's no evidence of a struggle."

"Or breaking and entering," murmured Rossi. "JJ, I'm going to need you and Emily to contact all the families affected by that fire and inform them of what's going on. They need to be warned immediately."

"You know, this isn't a big community," Dallis said, pushing her chair back to wander over to the window. Police tape prevented curious neighbours from coming inside, but they'd made their presence known in the steady stream of uneasy noise they could hear circulating. "What if Beth recognised the unsub? It would make sense why they gained access to the house without interference and why there seems to be an element of trust. She invites them into her home, she doesn't expect them to kill her."

"And it's not just Beth," Rossi said. "They all let them in."

"It's someone they wouldn't look twice at. Someone they know."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

DALLIS WAS GRATEFUL TO see Hotch standing outside of Pittsburgh PD later that afternoon. She had returned to the station to look over the suicide notes with the theory that they were coerced, and it was safe to say Baleman had been resistant to any inkling of doubt. She trusted Hotch to put him in his place, to take control in a way she was familiar and comfortable with. Not that Rossi had done a bad job, but when he wasn't present at the station with a detective like this, it wasn't easy to navigate.

"What have we got?" Hotch asked, skipping introductions as soon as his team was back together.

"Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire," Rossi declared.

"So this unsub is targeting grief, right?"

"Grief?" Baleman frowned.

"An event," clarified Reid. "A single event in this unsub's life leads him to end the life of someone he believes had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality, of what is right and what is wrong, and he rationalises what he did, that first kill, over and over again by targeting people he believes can't be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies, and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power."

"So they're not going to stop anytime soon?"

"Well, that's assuming there's someone to actually stop," Morgan muttered, making Dallis look to the sky in an effort not to roll her eyes.

"And if there is," said Hotch, clearly briefed on Morgan's resistance, for he barely batted an eye at his passive tone. "He's convinced he's on a mission of mercy. And even after he's caught, he'll maintain he did nothing wrong."

Baleman's jaw dropped. "He?"

Rossi nodded. "White male, mid-to-late thirties."

"He's polite, forthcoming, he doesn't stand out," Dallis continued, putting together the picture of a man that even she would overlook if she lived in this town. A neighbour, a colleague, a friend. Someone you were used to seeing in passing.

"And we believe his victims, these families, are all letting him in."

"My brother, his wife, weren't letting anyone in," Baleman argued. "If anything, they were closing themselves off."

"Well, this unsub has found a way in," Rossi insisted. "One that's very hard to trace."

"In every case, there were no attempts of a struggle, no attempts at escapes," said Morgan.

"He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time."

"My officers need to know this," Baleman declared, but Hotch hesitated.

"We've found that... angels of mercy are often people in the medical profession as well as law enforcement."

"Cops," he surmised with a scowl.

"Which is why we're meeting out here," Emily said, standing her ground.

"Now, we're only fishing. We don't want to point a finger," reasoned Rossi.

"Point it," Baleman shrugged. "I don't give a damn."

Hotch regarded him for a moment. "If that's what it's about, let us figure out where to point it."

"I asked Garcia to check into emergency responders who were on the scene of the fire," Reid shared when Baleman, for once, had no retort.

"Good," Hotch nodded. "Prentiss?"

"He's smart," she commented. "He knows all about these people's schedules, their routines."

Morgan coughed. "Look, if this unsub does exist, this is a guy who's all about control. He chooses how they die, when they die. He even positions them exactly how he wants them to die. That makes him hyper-vigilant. A guy who's always on the lookout, risk averse, unseen."

"The only way we can even think of stopping him," said Dallis. "Is to figure out how he's managed to get into each of his victims' lives."

"We find that out, we've got our killer."