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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ to keep all the      cruelty locked up in my head. . . ❜
─── chapter eight! ❫

008.  ╱    ❝ and the 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 makes sense
━━  behind a 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖓-𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖐 fence.  ━━
if i could 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊, i would've already 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙. ❞

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TW  /   please read below :
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discussions of   religious + child abuse,
torture + religious rituals      themes of
grief + paranoia mentions of violence
and animal abuse     direct references
to religion + christianity    depictions
of blood + murder                    paranoia.

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﹙ 𝕾ATURDAY ━ 𝕸ARCH 28TH, 2015 ﹚

     THE SLEEK SILVER AUDI Q7 PURRED AS IT CRUISED DOWN INTERSTATE 205, ITS TIRES EATING UP THE MILES BETWEEN PORTLAND AND WEST LINN. The sprawling suburbs of Oregon's largest city gradually gave way to the lush, emerald greenery of the countryside. Behind the wheel, Parker Crest's dark eyes sparkled with excitement, her fingers tapping an energetic rhythm on the steering wheel. Her curly hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few rebellious strands framing her face.

     In the passenger seat, Carson sat rigid, her usually confident posture betraying a hint of tension. Her chestnut hair, usually perfectly styled, was slightly disheveled from running her fingers through it nervously throughout the drive from the airport. She fiddled with the silver sun pendant around her neck.

     "Mom, look!" Parker exclaimed, gesturing toward a green highway sign looming ahead. "West Linn, next exit!"

     Carson's breath caught in her throat, her grip tightening on the pendant. "I see it, stink," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. The familiar name sent a jolt through her system, a mixture of nostalgia and dread coursing through her veins.

     Once they took the exit, the landscape of Carson's childhood began to unfold around them. The Willamette River snaked alongside the road, its waters a steely grey under the overcast sky. The air was thick with the promise of rain, a classic Oregon spring day.

     Parker glanced at her mother, concern flickering across her features. She'd never seen the unshakable Carson Crest look so... vulnerable. It wasn't a sight she liked.

     "You okay, Mom? We can turn back if—"

     "No," Carson interrupted, shaking her head. She forced a smile, determined not to let her anxiety overshadow her daughter's enthusiasm. "I'm fine. It's just surreal being back. Like stepping into a time capsule."

     The pair drove in silence for a few moments, the car's navigation system guiding them through the winding roads of West Linn. Carson's eyes darted from landmark to landmark, each triggering a cascade of memories. The old cinema where she'd had her first date, the park where she used to play with Malcolm, the library where she'd spent countless hours studying.

     "So, where to first, tour guide?" Parker asked, breaking the air. Her tone was light, but Carson could hear the underlying concern. "You promised to show me all your old haunts."

     Some of the tension eased off her when Carson chuckled. She more than appreciated Parker's attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, how about we start with my old high school? It's up ahead on West A Street."

     "Oh, hell yes."

     As the car approached the school, Carson's mind flooded with memories. She could almost see her younger self, backpack slung over one shoulder and hurrying up the steps. The laughter of friends, the weight of textbooks, the rush of first loves and heartbreaks—it all came flying back.

     "Wow," Parker breathed when the impressive brick building came into view. "It's freaking huge! Way bigger than my school in New York."

     West Linn High School stood proud against the grey sky, its red brick walls standing out in the surrounding greenery. The American flag fluttered atop the central building, and Carson could make out the faded Lion mascot painted on one of the walls.

     "It looks... exactly the same," Carson mused, amusement and unease coloring her words. Part of her wasn't surprised. West Linn was weird when it came to change. "Park over there, by the football field."

     As Parker maneuvered the car into a parking spot, Carson's eyes were drawn to a group of oak trees near the field. A memory hit her like a physical force:

     Carson, sixteen, sitting under those trees with a small group of friends. The spring air was warm, filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Laughter echoed across the field, punctuated by the distant thud of a football being kicked. For a moment, she felt normal, just another teenager without a care in the world. A carefree moment in a life that had known too much pain.

     "Mom?" Parker's voice snapped her back to the present. Her daughter's hand was on her arm, warm and grounding. "You zoned out for a second there. What are you thinking about?"

     Blinking, she re-focused on Parker's concerned expression. She saw so much of herself in Parker—the determined set of her jaw, the inquisitive gleam in her eyes. But there was a lightness to her, an innocence Carson lost long ago and would do anything to preserve. She prayed this trip wouldn't take it away.

     "Just remembering what it was like here. Come on, let's get out and I'll show you around."

     Stepping out of the car, the crisp Oregon air filled Carson's lungs. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the flood of memories she knew would come. The scent of pine and damp earth brought back a rush of sensations—good and bad.

     "So, this is where the magnificent Carson Crest, corporate lawyer and junior partner at Gallagher & Lang, New York, began her journey to legal stardom?" Parker teased, nudging her mom. Her smile was bright, an acting beacon of warmth on the cool spring day.

     Carson laughed, genuinely this time. The sound seemed to chase away the shadows lurking at the edges of her mind. "Hardly. I was just trying to survive back then, kiddo," she said, smiling softly. "But... yeah, I guess this is where it all started."

     Side by side, they began to walk toward the school, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The grounds were quiet with it being Saturday, but Carson could almost hear the echoes of past school days—the shouts, the laughter, the ringing of the bell.

     "Tell me about it," Parker urged, looping her arm through her mom's. This was all she'd been looking forward to for weeks. "What was teenage Carson like? I bet you were a total nerd."

     Carson hesitated for a moment, trying to remember who she was all those years ago. "Well, I was quieter back then. Kept to myself mostly. Always had a book in my hand. I had a few close friends, and we'd sit under those oak trees during lunch," she pointed to the cluster of oak trees near the front of the school, "talking about everything and nothing..."

     Approaching the school's main entrance, the details of West Linn High School came into sharper focus. The red brick facade was adorned with large, arched windows, their panes reflecting the overcast sky. Above the heavy oak double doors, a stone plaque proudly declared "West Linn High School - Est. 1920".

     To the left of the entrance, a modern addition housed the science labs, its sleek design an interesting distinction from the original building. On the right, a massive sports complex spread out, featuring a state-of-the-art track, gleaming bleachers, and a carefully manicured football field.

     "See that window on the second floor, third from the left?" Carson pointed, a wistful smile playing on her lips. The two stood in the grass. "That was my English classroom. Mrs. Dawson's class. She's the one who got me interested in debate."

     Parker squinted up at the window and tilted her head. "Really? Was she the one who wrote your recommendation for NYU and Harvard?"

     Carson nodded. "One of them, yes. She saw something in me that I didn't fully see in myself back then."

     Rounding the corner of the building, they came across a colorful mural spanning the entire side wall. It depicted scenes from West Linn's history, from Native American settlements to the modern day. At the center was a majestic lion, the school's mascot, its golden mane seeming to shimmer even in the dull light.

     "Wow," Parker breathed, eyes wide. She was almost speechless. "This is amazing. Was this here when you were a student?"

     Shaking her head, Carson smiled at the mural. "No, this is new. But I like it. It gives the place much-needed character."

     The tour continued. Gradually, they passed by the gymnasium with its towering basketball hoops visible through the windows, and the auditorium where faded posters advertised past drama productions. It really was like stepping into a time capsule.

     Circling back to the front of the school, Carson's steps slowed. Her eyes were drawn to a memorial garden tucked away in a quiet corner of the grounds. A small plaque caught the light, and she felt her heart constrict.

     It took Parker a moment to register the change in pace fully. When she did, she glanced at her mom and frowned at how pale she was. "Mom?" Her eyes darted about, trying to locate whatever she was looking at. "What is it?"

     Carson swallowed hard. "That's the memorial garden for students and staff members who pass away while at the school." She paused, her voice catching. "It's shared with West Linn's middle and elementary school. Malcolm's name is in there."

     The mention of Malcolm never failed to bring tears to Parker's eyes, and she braved a comforting smile. "I'm so sorry, Mom," she whispered, leaning into her side lovingly. Immediately, Carson wrapped an arm around her. "Do you want to go over there?"

     For a moment, Carson hesitated. The thought of seeing Malcolm's name etched in cold metal made her stomach churn, but that's how she knew she had to. One of her philosophies was that if it felt daunting and scary to do something, that often meant you should do it. Of course, that was on a case-by-case basis, but she believed it. So, she straightened her shoulders with confidence.

     "Yes, I do."

     "Let's do it."

     With their steps slow and measured, the duo walked to the garden. The space was beautifully maintained with blooming flowers and a small fountain providing a peaceful environment. Carson's eyes scanned the plaque until she found it: "Malcolm John Crest - Forever in our hearts".

     "Naturally, as twins, he would've graduated with me," Carson said quietly, her manicured fingers tracing the engraved letters. "We always believed that if we survived our parents' abuse and graduated high school, we'd move to another state together. We'd go to college and be best friends forever."

     Parker leaned her head on her mom's shoulder, offering silent support. They stood there for a few moments with only the sounds of the fountains' gentle burble and the distant call of birds surrounding them.

     "Growing up, before the murders, Malcolm was my only family. Neither of us loved our parents once we were old enough to understand what was happening. Around the age of five, I think. The abuse started at four from what I can recall, which isn't a lot. And who could blame us? Abuse wasn't love and we figured that out. We had each other and that was it. A lot of adults turned a blind eye while others in the church thought what was happening to us was righteous.

     "The morals of this place back then... It's just another reason why I don't like coming back here. The police captain back then and Detective Reeves, now Captain, select hospital staff members, Jason, and Agent David Rossi were the only ones who didn't turn a blind eye. By that point, it was too late, but still. They cared. Grandma Olivia cared, too, but things were always different with her.

     "All of that to say—this hellhole fucking sucks," Carson breathed, feeling Parker laugh into her shoulder. It wasn't often that she cursed in front of her or at all. Whenever she did, though, it was always humorous. "Thank you for convincing me to come here with you, Parks. It means more than you know."

     Smiling up at her, Parker's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Always, Mom. I'm honored that I get to know this part of you." A peaceful and healing silence passed over them. Not a word was exchanged for a few minutes until Parker decided to break it.

     "So..." she drew out the word, her tone deliberately light, "where to next on the Carson Crest teenage tour?"

── 𐀔 ──

﹙ 𝕾UNDAY ━ 𝕸ARCH 29TH, 2015 ﹚

     A THICK, OPPRESSIVE FOG BLANKETED WEST LINN AS CARSON AND PARKER MADE THEIR WAY DOWN HILLSBOROUGH DRIVE. The early morning rain had tapered off to a fine mist, clinging to their hair and clothes like ghostly fingers. The wipers of the rental car swished rhythmically, fighting a losing battle against the persistent drizzle.

     Carson's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw clenched tight. Each turn of the winding road brought them closer to a place she didn't remember all that well yet resented all the same. She had sparse memories from that early on in her childhood. The trauma from the religious abuse and the night of the murders forced her brain to forget a lot of things for protection. Bits and pieces came back if prompted, but that hadn't happened since university at the undergraduate level. All she remembered for certain were moments with Malcolm, the Willamette Wraith, and the cross-shaped scar she bore.

     Beside the woman, Parker sat in uncharacteristic silence. Her usual exuberance was dampened by the gloomy weather and the palpable tension radiating from her mom.

     Rounding the final bend and turning onto a gravel path, the Crest family home loomed in the distance. It was a dark silhouette against the grey sky. A thick blanket of mist hung low over the woods and car. The closer they got, the more they saw how the two-story house stood foreboding at the end of the long, winding path, shrouded by the dense Oregon forest.

     The familiar sight made Carson's breath involuntarily hitch. It felt like time stood still, waiting for her to crack.

     "Mom?" Parker's soft voice broke through the haze of remembrance. "We're here."

     Carson blinked, realizing she'd brought the car to a stop without even noticing. Putting it into park, she glanced at her daughter. "Are you sure about this, lovie? We don't have to—"

     "I'm sure if you are," Parker interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. She reached out and squeezed her hand. "We're in this together, remember?"

     Taking a deep breath, Carson nodded. "Together," she echoed confidently, squeezing back.

     Stepping out of the vehicle, the pair were met with the scent of damp earth and pine, punctuated by the distant call of what was likely a Steller's jay. A cool breeze danced through the driveway, carrying with it the river water and decay, like always. It seeped through their rain jackets, soundlessly reminding them of what awaited ahead. Decaying leaves crunched underfoot, releasing a musty scent that added to the earthy aroma.

     Before them stood a massive metal fence, its sharp points disappearing into the low-hanging mist. There was barbed wire at the top and electrical lines. Warning signs declaring "PRIVATE PROPERTY" and "NO TRESPASSING" were affixed at regular intervals, the red letters a bright contrast to the melancholic surroundings.

     As they approached the gate, Carson could feel Parker's unease growing. The woods beyond the fence seemed to press in on them, the trees twisted while the branches intertwined like gnarled fingers, reaching out like grasping hands.

     "It's... not very welcoming, is it?" Parker muttered, her eyes darting nervously from the fence to the forbidding house beyond. "It kind of reminds me of the house in The Conjuring mixed with Murder House from American Horror Story."

    Carson let out a dry laugh. "That's pretty spot on," she said, shaking her head. "And that's the point. After the murders, people started calling it the 'Haunted House on Hillsborough.' Kids would break in on dares, vandalize the place. I couldn't... I hated it."

     Moving to the gate, she pulled a set of keys from her purse. While she worked the lock, she continued, "I bought the property a year before I met you. Changed all the locks, installed an alarm system, and cameras. Nobody gets in here but me... and now you. Captain Reeves has a key in cases of emergencies. No one knows that, though, and she's never visited."

     The gate swung open with an ominous creak, echoing through the misty air. It almost made Parker flinch but she held her own. There was nothing to be scared of.

     Carson hesitated for a moment, her hand still on the cold metal. Then, squaring her shoulders, she stepped onto the property that'd once been her home. Parker was close behind. She locked it after them and locked the car.

     The path to the house was overgrown with gravel covered in moss and weeds. Making their way down, the Crest family home grew bigger with each step. What was once a navy blue house was dark green, its weathered facade a patchwork of peeling paint and creeping ivy. Its tinted windows, dark and lifeless, stared at them like empty eye sockets filled with malevolent intent.

     Carson's eyes darted nervously from shadow to shadow, old instincts kicking in. She half-expected to see her father's stern face glaring down from one of the upstairs windows, ready to pronounce judgment on her return. The weight of years of scripture-laced reprimands and "cleansing" rituals pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

     Beside her, Parker shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. "Mom?" she asked quietly, surveying her tight body language. "Are you okay?"

     Opening her mouth to respond, she couldn't. The words got caught in her throat, blocked off by a painful lump. Carson's line of sight had landed on a rectangular patch of turf off to the left, a strip of unnatural green amid the wild tangle of the unkempt lawn. Memories rushed back, unbidden and unwelcome.

     "How..." Carson paused, taking a deep breath. Blinking several times, she turned to her daughter, conflict evident. "How honest and blunt do you want me to be about the things that happened here? Aside from the murders."

     Parker's eyes swept up and down her figure, hesitant to respond. The pain etched into Carson's features was unlike anything she'd seen before. "Uh, as much as possible? I can handle it. You know I can. If there are things, though, that you—"

     "You see that long strip of grass that's short and greener than the rest?" Carson asked, raising a brow and pointing over her shoulder. Parker quickly spotted the area she was talking about and nodded. "That's where my father buried our dog."

     "Your dog?" Parker's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "But I thought—"

     "We were five," Carson continued, taking on a detached quality. In a way, she was reciting a story she'd heard rather than lived. It was lifetimes ago. "Malcolm and I. We'd forgotten to put away our toys after playing outside. Father said it was a sign of sloth, one of the seven deadly sins."

     She paused, swallowing hard. "He said we needed to learn the consequences of our actions. That sometimes, the innocent suffer for the sins of others. He made us watch as he... as he..."

     Carson's voice broke, and Parker instinctively reached for her hand, clutching it tightly.

     "He quoted scripture the whole time," she whispered, her eyes unfocused and lost in the horrific memory. "'For the wages of sin is death.' He said it was a lesson, that it would save our souls."

     Parker felt sick to her stomach. That disgusting, vile piece of shit... The horror of what her mom was describing was almost too much to bear. "Mom, that's... that's monstrous."

     Nodding, Carson snapped back to life. "It was. But at the time, we believed him. We thought it was our fault. That we'd caused this through our sin." She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "Can you imagine? Thinking you're responsible for such cruelty at five years old?"

     The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy like the fog above their heads. The house evoked a sense of danger, its shadows deeper and acknowledging the dark secrets being spoken aloud.

     "I'm so sorry, Mom," Parker said finally, thick with emotion. "I had no idea..."

     She shook her head, squeezing her hand and offering a sad smile. "It's okay, stink. Truly. It's in the past. It's just that being here brings it all back, you know? I haven't been to West Linn since college, but I haven't returned to this house since the murders. Anything that happened here while I grew up, Grandma Olivia and Captain Reeves handled. I knew about the incidents, of course, but I never returned. When I bought the place, I had Reeves and hired workers and movers to come here and secure it. I didn't want to. I've never had an interest in returning."

     Suddenly, a crushing sensation of guilt struck Parker. "Until I asked you..." she whispered remorsefully. "Mom, I didn't realize it'd been that long. Oh, my God. I-I can't believe I made you come here."

     Carson cupped her daughter's face gently, her eyes softening. "Hey, no. You didn't make me do anything. I chose to come here with you. And honestly? I think it was time. These ghosts... they've been living in the past for too long. Maybe facing them head-on is what I need to do to heal in ways I haven't." Taking a deep breath, she nodded firmly. "We've come this far. Let's do this and see what other secrets this place has to offer."

     Identical smiles of determination were shared. Then, they resumed walking.

     The patch of green grass seemed to glow in the corner of Carson's vision, a silent testament to innocence lost and cruelty masked as righteousness.

     When they got to the porch and started climbing, the steps groaned under their weight, the wood damp and rotting. At the front door, Carson paused again, her key hovering near the lock. Her hand trembled slightly, and she felt Parker's reassuring touch on her arm.

     With another deep breath, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The lock disengaged with a hefty thunk that felt unnaturally loud in the misty and daunting forest. The door swung open with a low, mournful creak, that sent shivers down their spines.

     A musty, stale odor wafted out, carrying with it the weight of years of abandonment and secrets long buried. Carson and Parker exchanged a look that held a combination of determination and apprehension.

     "Ready?" Carson asked, raising a brow.

     Parker nodded, reaching into her backpack to pull out a flashlight. "Ready." She grinned, clicking it on.

     Together, they stepped over the threshold and into the past.

     The door screeched ominously behind them as they entered the foyer. Parker's flashlight beam cut through the gloom, revealing dust motes dancing in the air and cobwebs adorning every corner. The walls were a stark white that Carson had mandated years ago. The marble floors were dusty yet gleamed, almost looking brand new. In front of them and to the left and right, there was no furniture, pictures, art, decor, or anything.

     "Oh, wow," Parker breathed, eyes wide at the setting. "It's so... empty."

     Carson nodded, her jaw set. "I had everything removed and burned. With all the break-ins growing up and vandalizing... the furniture and layout had been damaged beyond what it was before. There was graffiti everywhere, apparently, and I couldn't stand the thought of it all just sitting here forever. I also had all the walls re-painted, and all the doors, lights, windows, and floors replaced. Well, minus the front door. I don't plan on anyone ever living here, but if I ever decided to visit, I didn't want anything to be a major trigger."

     "That... that makes sense," Parker said, tucking her curls behind her ears.

     Fumbling for the light switch, Carson's fingers finally located and clicked it. A chandelier above them flickered to life, casting a bright white light throughout the space.

     Turning off her dark blue flashlight, Parker tucked it into her jacket pocket and swung her backpack around. Unzipping the second section, she pulled out a thick manila folder and zipped it back.

     "Is that what I think it is?"

     Head snapping up, Parker bore a sheepish smile and shrugged. "Yes?" she replied, quickly defending herself. "It's Mr. Gideon's original case file. I thought... well, I thought it might help to have it here. Get a better understanding of his mindset and thoughts." All that was missing were the crime scene photographs, but she thought it was best they weren't included.

     For a moment, Carson was speechless. Then, a small, sad smile crossed her face. "You really are turning into quite the detective, aren't you?" Her daughter shrugged again. "All right, Nancy Drew. Let's start with a tour. I'll show you around, and you can ask questions along the way. Just be prepared. I don't remember everything, and what I do remember isn't always pleasant."

     Parker nodded, clutching the file to her chest. "I understand, Mom. We'll take it slow. Bit by bit."

     Together, they inched further into the foyer and their footsteps echoed. The marble floors, though dusty, gleamed under the bright chandelier light. To their right was the entrance to the living room which connected to the den. To the left of the living room was a set of wooden stairs that led to the second floor. On the right, there was a hallway that led to the dining room and kitchen.

     "According to Mr. Gideon's notes and the police report, there were no signs of forced entry. All doors and windows were locked from the inside, except for the opened window downstairs and the one upstairs. Mr. Gideon hypothesizes whoever it was had a key to the house or the door was mistakenly left unlocked. Then, the UnSub came inside and opened those specific windows to create the illusion that the Willamette Wraith was here."

     Innately, Carson's eyes were drawn to a spot near the center of the foyer. Her face paled significantly.

     When she rounded the corner into the foyer, Carson skidded to a stop. Her slippers skated into something warm and wet, and she nearly fell over. Quickly, she regained balance and blinked.

     Blood—so much blood—redder and darker than any blood Mother of Father ever drew from the twins, their deceased pets, or woodland animals—pooled.

     "This is where..." Carson's voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "This is where I found Malcolm. I don't remember much, just... blood. So much blood."

     The mention of Malcolm brought tears to Parker's eyes and she consulted the file. "Malcolm Crest, found in the foyer. Multiple broken bones, positioned in an unnatural manner. Cause of death: single stab wound to the heart."

     Carson flinched at the clinical description of her twin brother's death. It almost felt like someone was cutting her. "I remember holding him. I don't remember what he looked like, only..." her eyebrows pinched, "the feeling of his body in my arms."

     At that, she blinked rapidly and spun on her heel. It was too suffocating to stay in there. She went to the right and her daughter followed. They moved into what used to be the living room. The emptiness of the room amplifying every small sound.

     "First, the living room. The family Bible used to be here," Carson said, gesturing to a spot in the center of the room where a coffee table once stood. "It was always open. Father insisted on it."

     Parker nodded, already aware of the oppressive religious atmosphere that had permeated Carson's childhood. "Was it always open to a specific passage?"

     Furrowing her brows, Carson frowned. "Usually something from Revelation or Leviticus, I believe. The more... intense parts."

     "Uh, according to the file, everything in the living room that night was untouched aside from the Bible you mentioned. There was blood outlining the leather cover. According to the lab, after numerous tests, it belonged to your dad."

     At this, Carson glanced at her. "Fitting."

     "Very," Parker muttered, giving her a look. Both of them knew the world was better off without Cyrus and Mary Crest.

     Continuing to the den, Carson stopped in the middle of it. Even empty, the white room seemed to press in on them, the shadows in the corners deeper than they should be. Something about the room felt wrong, and it always had. Which was perplexing because, to her not-so-great recollection, the den was only used when friends and members of the Church were over.

     "This is the den. From what I remember, there used to be bookshelves here," she said, gesturing to two different walls. "All religious texts and family albums. Then, there was a Bible-verse above where the couch used to be."

     "Proverbs 3:5-6," Parker read from the notes. "'Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.' It was cross-stitched. Mr. Gideon wrote that the religious imagery was overwhelming but wasn't a problem until they factored in that it was used as a weapon against you and Malcolm. Religious abuse."

     Shivering, Carson ran her hands up and down her arms. "Mm-hmm. Everything was about trusting God, about submission without choice. Questioning wasn't allowed."

     Then, they proceeded down the hallway and into what used to be the kitchen. Carson flipped on the lights, nearly blinding the pair. Squinting, they surveyed the room. All the appliances, including the sink and counters, were gone. It was an empty room with marble floors and white walls like the rest of the house.

     "This was where the kitchen used to be," Carson said, breaking the silence. "I had a construction crew take everything out and uninstall all appliances. I just wanted the kitchen completely gone."

     Parker took in their surroundings. "This is where you found the broken glass, right? Uncle Malcolm's water glass? And then later, you ran in here to call 911?"

     "I believe so," Carson answered slowly, slightly skeptical.

     The hardwood floor was ice-cold against her feet, even through her slippers, and seemed to stick slightly with each step, as if reluctant to let her go. Her attention was drawn to a glint on the floor—Malcolm's glass of water. It was shattered into a thousand pieces.

     "The dining room is next, right?"

     Nodding, she led them to the left and into the connecting room. The dining room was as bare as the rest of the house, but Carson's attention was drawn to a set of double doors on the far wall.

     "And that's the infamous prayer room/closet," she sighed, pointing to the black doors. "It's where I found my parents. It's also where Malcolm and I were conditioned to go after having nightmares or after having sinned. Also, before dinner every night, we prayed together in there as a family."

     Parker stepped closer to her mom and placed a comforting hand on her arm again. "We don't have to go in there if you don't want to, Mom."

     "Truthfully, I rather never open those doors again."

     "Then we won't. Mr. Gideon's notes, the lab report, and the police report already say what the scene looked like," Parker informed her, squeezing her arm. "Let's go upstairs."

     Making their way out of the dining room and into the hallway, Carson led them to the staircase in the living room. She turned the upstairs lights on. The floorboards creaked beneath them as they climbed, each sound echoing in the empty house. The second floor was the only area where the flooring hadn't been replaced. The hardwood was still intact. Shortly, they reached a single hallway. Further down and on the left were two opened doorways, and directly across it was a single one. At the very end of the hallway was an open door that led to the bathroom the twins occupied decades ago.

     At the top of the staircase, Carson ran her fingers along the left wall. The painted scripture was long gone, but she still remembered it.

     "Psalm 23:4," Parker read aloud from the file, glancing at the wall her mom was touching. "'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.' That was painted there, right?"

     "Mm-hmm," Carson hummed, flicking her brows up. "Some comfort that was." Her laugh was dry and hollow, and her daughter snorted.

     When the pair approached a particular bedroom, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt heavier and colder. Carson's pace slowed and her hand wavered on the doorknob.

     "This is where it all started," she sighed, reluctantly grabbing the doorknob. "This is Malcolm and I's room."

     The door creaked open, and the bedroom, like the rest of the house, was empty and white. A window stood in the middle of the back wall, facing the side of the house. As they stood there, Carson could practically see the crucifixes that used to hang above the beds and smell the lingering scent of decaying leaves and something she didn't recognize. She blinked.

     "The window," Parker spoke up, moving towards it. "This was opened when you woke up... So the UnSub wanted you to think it was done by the Willamette Wraith, further perpetuating the myth and helping convince you the Wraith was behind this entire night."

     Raising a brow, Carson folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorframe. Jason taught her too much terminology. "Keep that thought going. What else are you thinking?"

     Parker examined the space, trying to envision what it used to look like. "All right. Here's my theory: Someone with a key to this place came inside while your parents were drinking, taking them by surprise which explains the nature of how the dining room was found back then, and killed them ritualistically as punishment for the religious abuse they inflicted on you and Malcolm. Meanwhile, Malcolm woke up, thirsty, and went downstairs to get water. He got water from the sink, turned around, saw the UnSub without the mask, assuming they were in costume already just in case, and dropped the glass.

     "I say without the mask because that could explain why Malcolm was killed. He could tell the cops who did it and the UnSub can't have that. So, after he saw them, he ran out of the kitchen through the dining room with Mr. Flopsy and went to the foyer. The UnSub chased him, caught up, and killed him. UnSub put Mr. Flopsy with your parents and staged everything to send a message that this is what happens to abusers and religious assholes.

     "The UnSub opened the two windows while you were asleep, ensuring you would wake up cold and eventually see them. Then, you wake up from a nightmare, notice Malcolm is gone, go downstairs and walk around searching for him, and find your parents and Malcolm. While you do, the UnSub goes outside and waits for you to see them through the window. When you do, it's guaranteed that you're further traumatized and hellbent that the Willamette Wraith did this.

     "You were young enough that as soon as you saw it, your brain was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Wraith did this, muddying the investigation. It also scares you shitless. The UnSub might've known you and Malcolm did the ritual earlier that day, but it could also be a coincidence that happened to work out really well for them. Either way, you're convinced and whoever is underneath the costume gets away scot-free. No prints, no DNA, no signs of forced entry. No nothing. It's almost like a ghost killed everyone, leaving you as the sole survivor. I don't know why, but this is just the beginning stages of the theory. Also, I'm sixteen so what the hell do I know? I could totally be wrong."

     A gasp for air echoed in the small bedroom when Parker finished. She was almost out of breath and hindered the pacing she began minutes ago. Eventually, she came to a stop and pivoted to face her mom. She hugged the case file to her chest.

     "What do you think?"

     Blinking, Carson broke into a lopsided grin. Despite where they were and the context of what they were talking about, watching her daughter speak so passionately about their family's case and be so invested touched her heart. It also made her indescribably happy and proud of the woman she was becoming.

     "I think I've been raising a beautiful, young woman whose intellect and common sense could rule the world. Your thoughts align with Jason's opinion of how that night went down, and I agree," she said, staring at her affectionately. "I love you, stinker."

     A beautiful lopsided grin blossomed on Parker's face and she excitedly bounced on her toes for half a second. "Thanks, Mom. I love you, too."

── 𐀔 ──

﹙ 𝕸ONDAY ━ 𝕸ARCH 30TH, 2015 ﹚

     THE BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS UNIT OF THE F.B.I., NESTLED WITHIN THE SPRAWLING QUANTICO COMPLEX, HUMMED WITH A QUIET INTENSITY. Early morning sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting dazzling shades across the bullpen. The open floor plan was a hive of activity with agents moving purposefully between desks, the soft murmur of conversations punctuated by the occasional ringing phone or beeping printer.

     At the heart of the unit, the glass-walled conference room stood ready for the morning's briefing. Inside, the large round table dominated the space, its polished surface reflecting the overhead lights. Around it, seven chairs waited for the team members, each positioned with precision. A state-of-the-art smart board covered one wall, while another held a collection of bulletin boards, ready to be filled with the grim details of the latest case.

     SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, always in a suit, was the first to enter. He moved to the head of the table, his stern features softened slightly by the early morning light. One by one, the rest of the team filed in:

     David Rossi, his salt-and-pepper goatee neatly trimmed, carried a steaming cup of coffee. The aroma of the rich Italian roast filled the room as he took his seat.

     Dr. Spencer Reid arrived next, his messenger bag slung across his lanky frame. His fingers drummed a rapid rhythm on the strap, his mind already racing a million miles per hour.

     Jennifer "JJ" Jareau and Kate Callahan entered together, their heads bent in quiet conversation. JJ's blonde hair caught the sunlight as she moved to her seat, while Kate's dark curls bounced with each step.

     Derek Morgan strode in, his muscular frame filling the doorway for a moment before he stepped aside to let Penelope Garcia pass. Garcia, a burst of color in her vibrant dress and hair accessories, clutched a tablet to her chest, her red-framed glasses perched on her nose.

     As the team settled into their seats, there was a palpable change in the room's energy. The casual conversations died down, replaced by an air of focused anticipation. They were, for better or for worse, ready to delve into whatever darkness awaited them in their next case.

     Hotch nodded to Garcia. "Garcia, what do you have for us?"

     Garcia stood, fingers flying across her tablet as she brought up the case file on the smart board. "Buckle up, crime fighters," she began, her usually cheery voice tinged with a hint of unease. "We've got a doozy, and it's right in our own backyard..."

     "What are we looking at, Garcia?" Rossi asked, his dark eyes scanning the images now displayed on the screen.

     Taking a deep breath, Garcia's bangle bracelets clinked softly while gesturing to the gruesome crime scene photos. "On March 22nd, just eight days ago, local police in Fairfax, Virginia, responded to a 911 call from a neighbor reporting strange noises. What they found was..." she paused, swallowing painfully, "well, it was a massacre."

     The images on the screen were raw and horrifying. The first showed a living room, once cozy and lived-in, now a scene of carnage. Blood spattered the walls in an almost artistic pattern, and two bodies—a man and a woman—lay sprawled on the floor. Their positions seemed unnaturally posed, arms outstretched as if reaching for each other.

     JJ's brow furrowed. "A family?" she double-checked, studying the images.

     Garcia nodded, her voice softening. "The Anderson family. Ian Anderson, 42, CEO of a local tech startup. His wife, Isabelle, 39, a kindergarten teacher. Their son, Ethan, 10, and their daughter, Hadley, 7."

     Another photo appeared, showing a narrow foyer. A small body lay on the tiled floor, covered in blood. The walls, painted a cheerful blue, were marred with red handprints.

     "Were there any survivors?" Reid asked, his long fingers already tapping a rapid rhythm on the table edge.

     "Only little Hadley," Garcia sighed, face falling. "She was found hiding in a closet, covered in blood but physically unharmed."

     Morgan leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "Cause of death?"

     "Multiple stab wounds for the parents and a single stab wound to the heart for the boy," she replied, bringing up the coroner's preliminary report. "The positioning of the bodies was... unusual. Almost ritualistic, according to the local ME."

     A flicker of recognition passed over Rossi and his stare narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hotch beat him to it.

     "Garcia, you mentioned this case was handed to us. Why? It seems like a local matter, tragic as it is."

     Nodding in agreement, Garcia pushed her glasses up. "That's where it gets interesting, sir. And by interesting, I mean creepy and potentially game-changing." She tapped her tablet, bringing up a new image. "The local CSI team found this at the scene."

     The screen showed a close-up of a small piece of black cloth, frayed at the edges and stained with what could be blood.

     "A piece of the unsub's clothing?" Kate suggested, leaning forward for a better look.

     "That's what they thought at first," Garcia confirmed. "But here's where it gets wild. They processed it and found DNA. DNA that got a hit in CODIS."

     The team exchanged glances, the tension in the room ratcheting up a notch.

     "Who's the DNA match, Garcia?" Hotch asked, the question steady despite the growing unease.

     Garcia took a deep breath, her eyes flicking briefly to Rossi before answering. Here we go. "The DNA belongs to one Cyrus Crest."

     The name hung in the air for a moment before Rossi's chair scraped back, the screech harsh in the sudden silence. Kate and Reid flinched at the sound, startled. All attention turned to him as the man stood, his face a mask of barely contained shock and horror.

     Rossi's mind was racing, memories from decades ago flooding back in a torrent. He could almost smell the damp Oregon air, see the haunted eyes of a little girl who had lost everything. His hands, resting on the table, curled into fists. He was fighting to maintain composure.

     Hotch's stare locked onto Rossi, recognition dawning on him. The conversation they'd had in his office weeks ago came rushing back, pieces of a puzzle suddenly snapping into place.

     "Dave," he began, his voice low and measured, "is this connected to Carson Crest?"

     The rest of the team exchanged confused glances while Rossi nodded slowly, his face grim. "Yeah. That's her father. And now we're looking at a whole lot more than just one family murdered in Fairfax."

     "Who's Carson Crest?" Morgan interjected, his brow furrowed in confusion.

     Sweeping his gaze around the table, Hotch sat up taller. "Carson Crest is a corporate lawyer in New York. She's also the recipient of an envelope Gideon left behind at his cabin."

     Reid's eyes widened, his eidetic memory kicking in. "The note we found... 'Find Carson Crest. Deliver this.' That's who you're talking about?"

     "Yes," Hotch confirmed. "But to my limited understanding, there's more to it than that. I had Garcia search for her name in the F.B.I.'s database weeks ago, but she's not in it. The last name 'Crest' isn't anywhere in the system."

     "The case went cold and is unsolved," Rossi explained, sitting back down. "The Bureau's digital records don't go that far back for unsolved cases."

     Hotch turned to the technical analyst. "Garcia, can you find any information on the Crest family from West Linn, Oregon, 1984?"

     Fingers flying across her tablet, Garcia hummed. "There aren't any articles online." After a moment, she frowned. "It looks like I can only access the local police reports from West Linn."

     "What can you tell us from the reports, Garcia?" Kate asked, shifting in her chair.

     Garcia's voice was somber as she began to read. "Not much. Crest Family Murders - West Linn, OR, October 30th, 1984. Victims were Cyrus Crest, 38, Mary Crest, 36, and Malcolm Crest, 7. Sole survivor: Carson Crest, age 7, unharmed. Parents and Malcolm died from a stab wound to the heart but were severely mutilated. There aren't specifics. Like Rossi said, the case went cold, never solved."

     "And now we have Cyrus Crest's DNA at a fresh crime scene..." Kate mused, tilting her head. "How is that possible?"

     Rossi rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming his way. "Gideon and I worked the case back in '84. It was... complicated. There were elements we couldn't explain, details that didn't add up. It was unlike anything we'd seen before. The level of violence, the positioning of the bodies, the religious undertones... It was a bloodbath. It got under our skin. Gideon... he got too involved and crossed a lot of lines. We both did, in different ways."

     "What can you tell us about it, Dave?" Hotch asked, glancing at his friend.

     "Not enough for certain," he replied, running a hand over his goatee. "Not without my original notes. The case was intense, personal. I'll need to dig up my old case files."

     Reid twirled the pen in his hand. "Do we have Gideon's file somewhere in the archives?"

     "I believe that's what was in the envelope I gave Ms. Crest," Hotch answered, meeting his curious countenance.

     At the formal acknowledgment, Morgan's brows raised an inch. He locked eyes with Garcia and Kate, all three sharing a look.

     JJ leaned forward, her expression concerned. "So we're looking at what, a copycat with access to Cyrus Crest's DNA? Someone trying to recreate the Crest family murders?"

     "Or it could be related to the original UnSub," Reid proposed, his mind racing. "The time gap is significant, but not unheard of. If the UnSub was young when they committed the first murder, they could have spent years perfecting their technique."

     "Either way," Hotch interjected, "we need more information."

     Sweeping her gaze to the analyst, JJ cleared her throat. "Garcia, what do we know about Carson now?"

     Garcia hummed under her breath and typed away. A beat of silence passed. "Carson Tatum Crest, now 38 years old. Born November 20th, 1976, alongside her deceased twin brother Malcolm. She's a junior partner at Gallagher & Lang, a prestigious law firm in New York City. Graduated summa cum laude from NYU with three degrees in Political Science, Economics, and Business. Also graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Law, top of her class, where she was editor of the Harvard Law Review." Her eyes widened. "She's... wow, she's incredibly successful and a smartie."

     Nodding almost imperceptibly, Hotch kept his mouth shut.

     "Oh, my God, listen to this. Her record is insane! In her first five years at Gallagher & Lang, she handled over 20,000 cases. That's an average of... holy spreadsheets, that's 83 cases a week!"

     Reid's brows shot up exceedingly high. "That's statistically improbable. Are you sure that's correct?" he asked, resting his arms on the table.

     Nodding quickly, she continued. "I triple-checked, boy wonder. It gets better. Out of those cases, she took 203 to trial and... wait for it... she won every single one."

     Morgan let out a low whistle. "That's beyond impressive. That's almost unheard of. Sounds like she could give you a run for your money in court, Hotch."

     The corners of Hotch's lips twitched in what was the ghost of a smile. "I have no doubt." After meeting with her, he knew she could likely wipe the floor with him in court without hesitation.

     "And it doesn't stop there," Garcia said, her voice filled with awe. "She's been named one of New York's Top 40 Lawyers under 40 for the past three years running. She's known for handling high-stakes mergers and acquisitions, often closing deals that reshape entire industries—which makes total sense because her specialty is mergers and acquisitions, intellectual property law, and settling cases. According to online speculation, she might be made a senior partner at Gallagher & Lang this year."

     Kate's jaw dropped. "Holy cow. How does anyone juggle a personal life with a career like that?!"

     JJ shrugged, clueless. She and her husband, Will, struggled to make it work as two law enforcement officials with a son. How was this woman managing everything?

     "Apparently, very well," Garcia said, adding a picture to the screen. Staring back at everyone was Carson with what appeared to be a teenage girl. She had warm brown skin with long, dark curls. Her eyes were bright and sparkling with happiness. The pair were on top of the Empire State Building, smiling at the camera. "This is her daughter, Parker Wilhelmina Crest, formerly known as Parker Wilhelmina McKinley, who recently turned 16 years old on New Year's Day. Carson adopted her five years ago, and she's a single mother.

     "By all accounts, she's just as dedicated to her daughter as she is to her career. There are several mentions of her in society pages, always with her daughter at charity events, her tennis and field hockey games, or school functions. According to attendance and school records, Parker has never missed school once, is a top A student, and is involved in several extracurriculars."

     The team exchanged impressed glances.

     "Any pro bono work?" JJ asked, almost speechless.

     Garcia nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. Despite her insane workload and being a single mother, she takes on at least 50 pro bono cases a year. Mostly children's advocacy and domestic violence survivors. It's how she met her daughter and eventually adopted her."

     "So..." Kate started, nodding her head as she spoke. "We're dealing with someone who not only survived a horrific family tragedy, but who went on to become a highly successful corporate lawyer in New York, public figure, and advocate while also raising a child on her own. Getting in touch with her might be even more challenging than we initially thought. It sounds like the woman barely has time to breathe, let alone consult on an F.B.I. case."

     Scooting closer to the table, Morgan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. We need to talk to her. If there's a connection between this murder and what happened to her family beyond that piece of fabric, she needs to know. And she might have information that could help us."

     "That might not be easy," Rossi cautioned, raising a hand. "Carson's come a long way from that scared little girl in West Linn. But she's had a complicated relationship with this case, with the F.B.I. She may not be willing to cooperate."

     That didn't make sense. Reid's lips tugged downward. "Then why was Gideon so involved in her life? Evidently, they kept in contact over the years."

     "Let me guess. She doesn't like you," JJ pointed a finger at Rossi, raising a brow, "does she?"

     Sighing, Rossi ran his hand over his goatee again. "Back then, I wasn't all that great with kids. That was always Gideon's thing. He was able to connect with her. I couldn't."

     "Couldn't or didn't?"

     He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, now. Don't come after me. I focused on the case and did what I could."

     "Look," Morgan said, cutting the conversation short. "We have to try. If there's even a chance she could help us find who did this or prevent another family from being slaughtered, we have to take it. Also, this has to do with her family. She has a right to know what's happening."

     Nodding in agreement, Hotch looked to the right. "Garcia, I need you to get in touch with Melanie Wells at Gallagher & Lang. She's Ms. Crest's secretary and knows who I am. Use whatever channels you need to, but get us a meeting with Ms. Crest as soon as possible."

     "On it, sir," Garcia replied, already tapping away at her tablet.

     "The rest of us," he continued, closing his manila folder, "need to work with what we have. Reid, start analyzing the geographical aspects of both cases. JJ, Kate, work on victimology based on the Virginia case and what we know of the Crest family. Morgan, you and I will review Virginia's crime scene photos and see when we can check out the crime scene. Rossi, I need you to find your original case files from 1984. Once you do, I need you to write up everything you remember from the original case. Anything that didn't make it into the official reports. Your impressions, your gut feelings, everything."

     A determined gleam was in Rossi's eyes. "You got it."

     As the team began to disperse, each moving to their assigned tasks, Hotch called out one last time. "Remember, we're dealing with limited information here. Let's be thorough, but let's also be careful. We don't want to jump to conclusions without all the facts."

     The weight of his words settled over the room, adding an extra layer of gravity to the already somber mood. They had a job to do, a potential connection to uncover, and a woman to contact. The clock was ticking, and they all knew that somewhere out there, another family could already be in the UnSub's crosshairs and answers were waiting to be found.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE BELL ABOVE MAGGIE'S MAPLE DINER JINGLED MERRILY WHEN CARSON AND PARKER STEPPED INSIDE, A GUST OF COOL OREGON AIR FOLLOWING THEM. The cozy establishment was a living time capsule with its black and white checkered floors. Vintage posters advertising long-discontinued sodas and bygone local events adorned the walls, their colors faded but still vibrant against the white-toned paneling.

     The air was thick with the aroma of fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet—perhaps cinnamon rolls just out of the oven. The gentle clinking of cutlery and the low hum of conversation created a soothing backdrop.

    Carson paused for a moment, her eyes sweeping across the familiar scene. Her fingers unconsciously reached for the sun pendant around her neck after smoothing out her dark grey sweater. Parker, noticing her mother's hesitation, gently squeezed her arm.

     "You okay, Mom?" she asked, studying Carson's face with concern.

     "Yeah, I'm fine, stink," Carson reassured her, dropping her hand. "It's just... been a while. Come on," she said, gently guiding Parker to a booth in the far right corner. The red vinyl seats were cracked in places, telling stories of countless customers over the years. A small vase with a single daisy sat on the table, adding a touch of cheer to the weathered surface.

     Sliding into the booth, Parker's eyes widened with amazement. She was taking in every minuscule detail of the diner. Soon, she located an ancient jukebox in another corner, its chrome finish dulled with age but still gleaming under the warm glow of the lights.

     "This place is incredible," she breathed, her curls bouncing as she swiveled her head to take it all in. "It's like we've stepped into a movie set!"

     Carson chuckled, admiring the wonder Parker carried everywhere with her. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. "It hasn't changed a bit. I used to come here with my mom sometimes."

     "Really?" Parker asked, bringing her attention back to the pair of them. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. "What was that like?"

     Before Carson could answer, a waitress approached the table. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and laugh lines crinkled around her kind eyes. Her nametag read 'Dotty'.

     "Well, I'll be," Dotty gasped, her voice warm with recognition. "If it isn't little Car Car Crest, all grown up. Welcome back, honey."

     At the old nickname she hadn't heard in almost twenty years, Carson laughed. Her smile was genuine, if a little strained. "Hi, Dotty. It's good to see you. How are you?"

    "Much better now," Dotty grinned before spinning to Parker. "And who's this lovely young lady?"

     "This is my beautiful daughter, Parker," Carson replied, a note of pride in her tone and a bright smile on her face. Out of everything she managed to accomplish so far, nothing mattered more than Parker. She was her biggest accomplishment, pride, and source of joy.

     Dotty's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You two could've fooled me—there's something in the eyes and smiles, you know? It's wonderful to meet you, Parker."

     Parker beamed, clearly charmed by the waitress's words. "It's nice to meet you too, Dotty!"

     Quickly, Carson and Parker exchanged a knowing glance, both touched by Dotty's observation. It wasn't the first time someone had noticed the subtle similarities between them, despite Parker being adopted. There was something in their mannerisms, the way they carried themselves, and their facial expressions that spoke of their deep connection.

     "Now, what can I get for you two?" Dotty asked, pulling out her notepad.

     A mischievous glint appeared in Carson's gaze. "What do you say we start with a set of those famous maple milkshakes?"

     Automatically, Parker lit up. "Uh, yes, please!" On the plane ride to Oregon, her mom spoke very highly of these milkshakes, and she'd wanted one ever since.

     "We'll get two maple milkshakes, a stack of blueberry pancakes to share, and lots of bacon on the side," Carson ordered, giving Dotty another smile. She drummed her fingers lightly on the table.

     After Dotty jotted down their order and walked away, Parker turned to Carson, her expression eager. "So, you were saying about coming here with Grandma Olivia?"

     Carson's eyes softened and she stared at the worn tabletop, her fingers now tracing an old scratch in the surface. "There was this one time, just after my ninth birthday. I'd had a rough day at school. Some classmates were giving me a hard time about... well, about my family situation."

     Immediately, Parker sat up taller with a solemn expression. Kids can be so cruel. What the hell?! She reached over the table and held open her palm.

     "Mom picked me up from school and could tell something was wrong," Carson placed her hand in her daughter's. "Without a word, she drove us here. We sat in this very booth, and she ordered us the biggest sundaes you've ever seen."

     "Ooh, sundaes for dinner? Rebel Grandma Olivia," Parker teased gently, trying to lighten the mood.

     A chuckle escaped Carson's lips. "Oh, you have no idea. She has a massive sweet tooth. Anyway, we sat here for hours. She didn't push me to talk, just let me be. And when I finally did start talking, she listened. Really listened."

     "What did you talk about?"

     Her gaze met her daughter's, a flicker of old pain visible for a moment. "Everything," she shrugged simply. "My fears, my anger, my confusion about what had happened. It was the first time I really opened up about it all. It was also the first time I ever called her "Mom" and not "Livie"."

     Just then, Dotty returned with their milkshakes, each served in a tall, frosted glass. The shakes were a rich, amber color, topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a bright maraschino cherry. The glasses were adorned with a light dusting of cinnamon, adding a touch of warmth to their appearance.

     "Here you go, ladies. Two of our famous maple milkshakes. Those pancakes and that bacon will be out shortly. Enjoy!" Dotty said with a wink before heading off to tend to other customers.

     Lifting her glass, Carson inhaled deeply. The sweet, comforting aroma of maple syrup mingled with the rich scent of vanilla ice cream. She took a sip, closing her eyes briefly as the flavors danced across her tongue.

     The milkshake was perfectly balanced—creamy and sweet, with a distinct maple flavor that wasn't overpowering. There was a hint of something else too that she could never pinpoint, perhaps a touch of cinnamon or nutmeg, that added depth to the taste. The texture was smooth and cold.

     "Mm, still as good as I remember," Carson murmured, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

     Parker followed suit, her eyes widening after she took her first sip. The shake was cold and silky, the maple flavor rich and comforting. It tasted like autumn in a glass, reminding her of pancake breakfasts and cozy mornings.

     "Oh wow, this is amazing!" she exclaimed, going in for another sip. "You weren't kidding, Mom!"

     Carson grinned, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Told you. Maggie's maple milkshakes are legendary around here."

     "So, what happened after that day?" Parker asked, stirring the shake with her straw. "With you and Grandma Olivia, I mean."

     Slowly, Carson's smile faded. "Things were good for a while. Really good. I've called her "Mom" ever since, even now. But things..." She trailed off, brow furrowing.

     "But things?" Parker prompted gently.

     Taking a deep breath, her fingers tightened around the cold glass. "I've told you basically the entire story of her and I, and what happened. Why we haven't been close in eleven years and haven't spoken in five. However, I haven't gone into explicit detail. As I got older, things changed. My mom became more controlling, more overbearing.

     "At first, I thought it was just because she cared a lot for me, you know? I was the daughter of her best friend, I was best friends with her daughter, Cadence, when I was a toddler before Cadence and Avery died in the accident I told you about. After everything that had happened, I understood why she might be overprotective. I thought her behavior was warranted."

     Parker tilted her head, frowning. "And like you've always said, there was more to your relationship than that."

     "Oh, yeah," Carson nodded, her voice quiet. "It started small. Always wanting to know where I was, who I was with, when I got to see friends, have playdates, when I could see or speak to Jason. Then it escalated. She'd make comments about how I couldn't do things on my own, how I needed her for everything, how I owed her, how she couldn't live without me."

     "That's awful, Mom," Parker said softly.

     Carson smiled sadly, shrugging lightly. "By the time I got to NYU, it had become suffocating. She got an apartment there so she could be in the city while I went to college and wouldn't have to stay in the dorms. She'd call multiple times a day, always finding a reason why she needed to be involved in my life. It was like... like she couldn't bear the thought of me being independent."

     "Did you ever confront her about it?"

     A wry smile crossed her features. "Oh, we had plenty of arguments. But the big one, the one that changed everything, happened right after I graduated from NYU. Jason was there."

     The house was filled with tension while sunlight streamed through the bay windows, casting gleams across the plush carpet. The scent of Olivia's signature apple cinnamon candles, usually comforting, now seemed cloying and suffocating.

     Carson stood near the fireplace, the copy of a lease for an apartment in Massachusetts clutched in one hand, knuckles white with barely contained fury. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her flushed face. Olivia sat rigidly on the edge of the floral-patterned couch, her black hair perfectly coiffed, eyes flashing with a mixture of concern and frustration.

     Jason Gideon, who'd come to celebrate Carson's graduation, leaned against the doorframe, his kind eyes darting worriedly between the two women. The tension in the room was discernible like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.

     "Mom, I'm not going to law school to cash out," Carson said, trembling with emotion. "I'm going to actually help people."

     Olivia's laugh was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. "Help people do what? You can barely help yourself! I have to hold your hand through everything."

     The words hit Carson like a physical blow. She recoiled, her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. When she spoke, her tone was low and dangerous.

     "Everything? Oh, my God." Carson's volume rose with each word, her frustration boiling over. "Mom, you force your hand anytime a palm opens, regardless of whether it's mine or not! No matter how many arguments we have, and no matter how many times I tell you to ease up, you still don't hear me."

     Jason pushed off from the doorframe, sensing the escalation. "Carse, Olivia, perhaps we should—"

     But Carson wasn't finished. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, locked onto Olivia's. "So, hear this: I don't need you. I'm an adult now and I can do things without you being right there monitoring every breath I take. I can survive without you and I will."

     The silence that followed was deafening. Olivia's face had drained of color, her hands shaking in her lap. Carson stood, chest heaving, the lease now crumpled in her grip. And Jason, caught between them, looked lost for words for the first time since Carson had known him.

     In that moment, as the afternoon sun cast its warm glow over the room, something fundamental shifted. The air crackled with the weight of words that couldn't be unsaid, of a relationship forever altered.

     The argument flashed in and out of her mind in the blink of an eye. Carson took a sip of her milkshake. The sweet maple flavor now seemed at odds with the bitterness of the memory.

     Parker's eyes widened. "You never told me the actual conversation before, just that it happened," she whispered, staring at her milkshake. Then, she glanced up. "And she really said that? After everything you'd been through, everything you'd accomplished at that time?"

     Carson nodded, jaw tight. "That was when I realized it wasn't about protection anymore. It was about control. I told her I didn't need her, that I could survive without her. And I have, very well might I add."

     Before Parker could reply, the aroma of freshly cooked blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon wafted through the air. The smell made their mouths water.

     "Here you go, ladies," Dotty announced cheerfully, setting down a large plate stacked high with fluffy pancakes, their edges crisp and golden. Large blueberries peeked out from within the layers, promising bursts of sweetness. Beside the towering stack, a generous portion of bacon lay, each strip perfectly curled and glistening. "Can I get you anything else?"

     Carson shook her head, smiling. "This looks perfect, Dotty. Thank you."

     As Dotty walked away, her shoes squeaked on the worn linoleum floors. Parker's heart stopped at the feast before them. "Woah... I think my eyes might be bigger than my stomach."

     Reaching for the syrup dispenser shaped like a maple leaf, Carson laughed. "Trust me, stinker. Once you taste these, your stomach will make room."

     They dug in, the comfortable silence punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the occasional appreciative murmur. The pancakes were light and fluffy, the blueberries bursting with tangy sweetness that perfectly complemented the rich maple syrup. The bacon was crisp and salty, providing a savory counterpoint to the sweet pancakes. It was exactly what they needed.

     The diner bustled around them while the pair ate. The jukebox in the corner played a soft melody, barely audible over the chatter of other patrons and the sizzle from the grill. The ceiling lights caught on the chrome fixtures and created dancing patterns on the worn tabletop.

     Once they finished eating, Carson dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to go pay," she said, grabbing her sleek place purse and sliding out of the booth. "Be right back, love."

     Mouth still full of bacon and blueberry pancakes, Parker shot her a thumbs up as she chewed. Covering her mouth with a hand, she watched her mom weave through the tables toward the front. Her confident stride and perfectly straight posture drew a few admiring glances from others.

     The antique cash register chimed when Carson paid, its mechanical sound a nostalgic counterpoint to the modern card reader beside it. She exchanged a few words with the cashier, her polite laughter carrying across the diner.

     While Carson was occupied, Dotty approached their table to clear the plates. Her apron was dusted with flour, and a pencil was tucked behind her ear, her salt-and-pepper hair escaping from its bun.

     "Did you enjoy your meal, dear?" Dotty asked Parker, stacking the syrup-smeared plates with practiced ease.

     Parker nodded enthusiastically. "It was amazing! I can see why Mom likes this place so much."

     A friendly smile spread across Dotty's face, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You know," she said, her voice lowering conspiratorially, "it's good to see your mother back here after all this time. Such a shame that she just missed Olivia, though."

     Instantly, Parker's head snapped up. Her brow furrowed in confusion and slight panic. The fork she'd been fiddling with clattered to the table. "I'm sorry, what?"

     Oblivious to the girl's sudden unease, Dotty elaborated. Her words tumbled out, punctuated by the clink of dishes as she gathered them. "Oh, Olivia's been in and out of town like crazy over the years. Always talks about visiting Carson and her granddaughter, you, in New York. It's nice to see the family staying close despite the distance."

     Parker felt a chill run down her spine, goosebumps rising on her arms despite the warm diner air. The cheerful chatter of the other patrons was abruptly muffled and distant. Before she could respond, Carson returned to the table, her aura bright with nostalgia.

     "Ready to go, stink?" Carson asked, brushing her hair over her shoulders. Then she paused, noting the strange expression on her daughter's face. The smile slipped from her lips, replaced by a look of concern. "Parks? What's wrong?"

     Sliding out of the booth, Parker stood slowly. Her eyes darted between Carson and Dotty, who was now glancing between them with confusion. "Mom," Parker said with an undercurrent of urgency, "we should get going. Like, now."

     Sensing the seriousness in her tone, Carson didn't question her and nodded. "Of course. Let's go. Nice seeing you, Dotty."

     The cool Oregon air hit them when they stepped out of Maggie's Maple Diner, a sharp difference from the warm, syrup-scented interior. The parking lot was half-full, cars glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. In the distance, the dense treeline of the surrounding forest loomed, a reminder of the wild beauty and horror that encapsulated West Linn.

     Guiding her mom to the car, Parker hissed, "In the car. Not outside."

     Shutting her mouth, Carson's brows flicked up and she unlocked the Audi. Once they were in the vehicle, buckled up with the car on, Carson motioned for Parker to explain. One of her hands rested protectively on her shoulder, a habit she'd developed over the years when she sensed her distress.

     "Mom, Dotty said something about Grandma Olivia while you were at the register..." Parker exhaled, her fingers fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket.

     Confusion and intrigue pulled at Carson's features. "What about her?"

     "She said Olivia's been coming in and out of town for years," she replied, the words coming out in a hurry. "That she talks about visiting us in New York. About me—her granddaughter."

     Carson's face paled, the color draining from her cheeks so quickly it was as if someone had flipped a switch. Her hand dropped from Parker's shoulder, curling into a fist at her side.

     "That's impossible," she whispered, mind racing. No. No, no, no. "I haven't spoken to my mom in years. As far as I know and ensured, she doesn't even know about you. She doesn't need to know..."

     Parker watched various emotions flicker across her mom's face—confusion, disbelief, and dawning horror. "Mom?" she whispered hesitantly.

     Carson's gaze snapped back to her, eyes wide with realization. The pieces were falling into place—Jason's suspicions, David Rossi's suspicions and accusations in 1984, the controlling and abusive nature, the pattern of murders, and Olivia's supposed trips to New York. The breath in her throat caught when the terrible truth hit her. There were some holes, but not enough to convince her otherwise.

     "Oh, God," she sighed, reaching to massage her temples. "Oh, my God. Jason was right. It's her. It's been her this whole time."

     Parker's eyes also widened in understanding and fear, mirroring her mom's expression. The gravity of the situation settled over them like a heavy blanket. "What do we do?"

     Leaning back in her seat, Carson stared blankly at the steering wheel. When it came to hiccups in legal matters or obstacles, she handled them with ease. There was never any doubt, hesitation, or second-guessing. She was always confident in her decisions and knowledge. The same always applied to her personal life until this exact moment.

     "Hi, it's nice to meet you. I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, the Unit Chief at the F.B.I.'s Behavioral Analysis Unit. If you need anything, here's my card."

     Of course.

     Straightening out, Carson squared back her shoulders. A flare of familiar determination blazed in her eyes, a look her daughter recognized from countless courtroom victories and tough negotiations.

      "We're going to Quantico. Now. We have to talk to Aaron Hotchner at the BAU and tell him everything. He might be able to help us."

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰² 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     quantico, virginia, here we come...

     &&& now the entire BAU team is aware of carson and parker crest, and their existence. i fear a hotchcrest reunion is upon us :')

     we are officially done with Volume Two of this book! let's freaking goooooooo!!

     what are people's thoughts and theories? i'd love to hear from everyone, including the silent readers! (all feedback is appreciated as always <3)

     i hope you enjoyed chapter eight! and i hope you have a beautiful day!

     thank you for reading <3

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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