━━━━━━━━┛ ♱ ┗━━━━━━━━

𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑰𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ i fear to stain      your clothes. . . ❜
─── chapter eleven! ❫

011.  ╱    ❝ you've got 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 on your
𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘. . . you're the one that saw
me in the 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑'𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊. ❞

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TW  /   please read below :
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
discussions of religious + child abuse,
torture + religious rituals    depictions
of religious paraphernalia   +   blood
mentions of murder       references to
religion                +                christianity.

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﹙ 𝕸ONDAY ━ 𝕹OVEMBER 5TH, 1984 ﹚

     THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF CITY HALL BUZZED OVERHEAD, CASTING HARSH SHADOWS ACROSS THE FACES OF OLIVIA HART AND DAVID ROSSI. The conference room, with its sleek lines and modern furnishings, felt more like an interrogation chamber than a meeting space. The large windows that usually offered a comforting view of West Linn now seemed to mock Olivia with their openness.

     She sat ramrod straight in a chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles were turning white with tension. She wore her mayoral mask well—calm, collected, authoritative—but Rossi didn't miss the slight twitch in her left eye or how her right foot tapped an irregular rhythm against the floor.

     Rossi leaned forward, his dark eyes never leaving Olivia. "Mayor Hart," he began, low and measured, "let's talk about the night of the murders. Where were you between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM?"

     Olivia's chin lifted a fraction, a subtle gesture of defiance. "As I've already told Detective Reeves, I was at home, Agent Rossi. I had a late night working on budget proposals for the city council meeting the next day."

     "Can anyone corroborate that?"

     A flicker of... something passed on Olivia's face. Annoyance? Worry? It was gone before Rossi could pinpoint it. "I live alone, Agent Rossi. But I made several phone calls that evening to council members. You're welcome to check my phone records."

     Rossi nodded, jotting something down in his notepad. "We'll do that. Now, Mayor Hart, were you aware of any issues within the Crest household?"

     A perfect expression of confusion appeared. "Issues? What do you mean?"

     "There have been allegations of abuse," Rossi put it bluntly, watching her reaction closely. "I mentioned it the other day."

     For a split second, Olivia's composure cracked. Yes. The implications of child abuse Agent Rossi made the other day... Her eyes widened, and her breath caught audibly. But just as quickly, she recovered. "Abuse? That's... that's impossible. Cyrus and Mary were pillars of the community and great parents. They adored the twins."

     Rossi leaned back in his chair, his countenance unreadable. Right now, she was playing a convincing role, but deep in his gut, he knew she was full of shit. "Sometimes, Mayor Hart, things aren't always as they seem. Especially behind closed doors."

     Immediately, that statement put her on the defensive. Her fingers tightened around each other, knuckles growing brighter. "Are you implying I knew about this alleged abuse and did nothing? Because I can assure you, Agent Rossi, if I had even suspected—"

     "I'm not implying anything," he interrupted smoothly. "I'm simply asking questions. It's my job to uncover the truth, wherever it may lead."

     A tense silence fell over the room. Olivia's eyes darted to the door, then back to Rossi. Her right foot had stopped tapping, but now her left hand was fidgeting with her wedding ring, twisting it back and forth under the table.

     "Mayor Hart," Rossi began again, her title dripping with feigned sympathy that felt like oil on Olivia's skin. "You've been very involved in this investigation from the start. Some might say... unusually involved. Can you tell me why that is?"

     Olivia's eyes narrowed a centimeter, the corners of her mouth tightening. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a deliberate, controlled manner. The air felt thick, almost suffocating. Her voice was steady when she spoke, but an underlying tension vibrated through each word, like a plucked guitar string.

     "Agent Rossi, I'm involved because this is my city." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. "Mary Crest was my best friend and Carson..." she gestured toward the door, her hand trembling unnoticeably, "she's been orphaned in a horrific tragedy and is now my responsibility. Of course, I'm involved. What kind of person would I be if I wasn't and didn't care?"

     Rossi nodded slowly, his pen tapping against his notepad. The soft rhythm echoed in the unsettling stillness, each tap feeling like a countdown to her. "I understand that, Mayor Hart. Care is one thing, but your level of involvement... it's more than just civic duty, isn't it?"

     "What exactly are you suggesting, Agent Rossi?"

     "I'm not suggesting anything," he replied maddeningly calm, heightening Olivia's agitation. "I'm simply observing and trying to understand the dynamics at play here. You've been present for all of Carson's interviews until today. You've been making decisions about her care and future, buying her new toys and clothes. It's a lot of attention from someone who isn't family."

     Olivia's nostrils flared, her breathing more rapid. "Not family? I've known her since the day she was born. I held her and Malcolm in the hospital when Mary was too weak to do so herself. I've loved her like she was my own for seven years. How dare you suggest—"

     "I'm not suggesting anything," Rossi interrupted firmly, cutting through her protests like a knife. That seemed to be his go-to response. "Like I said, I'm asking questions. It's my job to understand every aspect of this case, including the relationships surrounding Carson. And it's almost as if..."

     "As if what?" she snapped, her composure cracking for a moment. A flush crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

     His dark eyes bore into hers. "As if you're trying to replace what she's lost. What you've lost." The observation hung between them, serious and accusatory. Olivia's hand, which had been fiddling with her wedding ring, suddenly stilled. "Your daughter, Cadence, she would have been about Carson's age now, wouldn't she?"

     The change in Olivia was immediate and profound. The color drained from her face, her eyes taking on a haunted look. The mention of Cadence's name felt like a physical blow to the heart.

     "Yes. She would have been."

     Rossi's stare remained intense, unrelenting. "Is it possible, Mayor Hart, that your involvement in this case, your attachment to Carson... is it possible that the loss of your own daughter drives it?"

     Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Grief, anger, defiance, and something else... something Rossi couldn't quite place. "Yes, I love Carson like she's my own," she insisted, outraged at what the man was getting at. "But after everything she's been through, she needs someone to be there for her, to protect her!"

     "Protect her from what, exactly?"

     The question left Olivia practically speechless. Her mouth opened and closed as if she'd caught herself before saying too much. The malevolent silence stretched between them, rich with implicit truths and hidden fears.

     In the distance, a phone rang, its shrill manner muffled but persistent. The sound pierced through the tension-filled air, causing Olivia's stare to dart nervously to the door again. Her body language screamed a desire to flee, to escape the suffocating pressure of Rossi's questioning.

     "I think we're done here, Agent Rossi," Olivia declared with barely contained anger. The words came out clipped and sharp, each syllable a thinly veiled threat. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "If you have any more questions, direct them to my lawyer."

     As she moved for the door, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the polished floor, Rossi called out, "One more thing, Mayor Hart." His tone was deceptively casual, but there was an underlying steel that made Olivia freeze mid-step.

     She paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She didn't turn around, but Rossi could see the tension radiating through her body. Her shoulders were set in a rigid line.

     "The Willamette Wraith," he began, watching her reaction closely. His eyes never left her back, cataloging every minute twitch and tremor. "What can you tell me about it?"

     The effect was immediate and visceral. Olivia's shoulders stiffened further if that was even possible. Her grip on the doorknob tightened until her knuckles were white, the bones of her hand visible beneath her skin. For a moment, she seemed to stop breathing altogether.

     When she finally answered, it was barely above a whisper, but in the oppressive hush of the room, it might as well have been a shout. "It's just a story, Agent Rossi." The statement came out strained as if it was being forcibly dragged from her throat. "A ghost tale to scare children. Nothing more."

     There was a beat of silence. Then, without another word or backward glance, Olivia wrenched the door open and was gone. Rossi was quick to follow.

     The tension from their conversation still crackled around them as they moved swiftly through the corridors of City Hall. Olivia's heels clicked furiously against the polished floor, her pace brisk and determined.

     Rossi matched her stride, refusing to let her out of his sight. The interview had left him with more questions than answers, and a growing certainty that she was hiding something crucial. As they approached her office, he could sense her agitation mounting with each step.

     Without warning, Olivia burst through the door to her office, causing Detective Reeves to whirl around with her hand on her weapon. The sudden intrusion shattered the peaceful atmosphere of the room.

     Olivia Hart stood in the doorway, her face a mask of controlled calm, but her eyes blazing with an intensity that made even Gideon pause. The remnants of her confrontation with Rossi still simmered beneath her composed exterior.

     "That's enough," she said steadily with an undercurrent of steel. "This interview is over."

     As Olivia strode into the room, Rossi appeared silently behind her. His dark eyes took in the scene with sharp intensity. He positioned himself near the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.

     Gideon stood slowly, looking from Olivia to Carson and back again. "Mayor Hart, I don't think you understand the gravity of—"

     "I understand perfectly well, Agent Gideon," Olivia cut him off, walking swiftly to Carson's side. "And I'm invoking my rights as Carson's guardian. She's been through enough."

     In the midst of Olivia helping Carson get to her feet, Gideon noticed something that made him falter. The way Olivia's hand gripped Carson's shoulder, the almost possessive glint in her eye—it spoke of a protectiveness bordering on something else entirely. Rossi's subtle nod told Gideon he'd noticed it too.

     "Carson," Gideon called gently, offering her a reassuring smile, "is there anything else you want to tell us?"

     For a moment, Carson's stare met his. In that gaze, he saw a swirl of emotions—fear, confusion, and something else he couldn't quite place. She opened her mouth to speak but glanced at Olivia and closed it.

     "She's said enough," Olivia stated firmly, guiding the girl toward the door. Rossi shifted, his presence a muted challenge. "If you have any more questions, direct them to our lawyer."

     A tense moment passed between Olivia and Rossi, an unspoken battle of wills. Finally, Rossi stepped aside and allowed them to pass.

     Before leaving the office for good, Carson glanced back. Her earthy-brown eyes locked on Gideon's and, at that moment, he saw something that chilled him to his core. It was a plea for help, quickly masked by a well-practiced blankness.

     The door closed behind the pair with a final-sounding click, the echo reverberating through the room like the toll of a distant bell. Gideon, Rossi, and Reeves stood frozen in stunned silence, the air thick with dread. The half-finished puzzle of Bambi stared up at Gideon from the table, its incomplete form a poignant metaphor for the case. Bambi's cheerful eyes seemed to plead silently, holding secrets just out of reach.

── 𐀔 ──

﹙ 𝕿HURSDAY ━ 𝕬PRIL 2ND, 2015 ﹚

     "AND THE WILLAMETTE WRAITH ISN'T JUST A GHOST STORY," DAVID ROSSI'S VOICE CUT THROUGH THE CONFERENCE ROOM. "It's the knife that carved this case into existence."

     Around the round table, the BAU team leaned forward with expressions ranging from intrigue to skepticism and concern. Case files and coffee mugs littered the polished surface, creating a landscape of paper mountains and caffeinated valleys. The scene was nearly identical to how it'd looked since Monday, a testament to the relentless nature of the investigation.

     Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their harsh glow casting stark glooms across faces etched with fatigue and determination. Despite the clock showing noon, the drawn blinds and the gravity of their discussion created an atmosphere of perpetual twilight. The space was thick with the aroma of stale coffee and the lingering scent of pepperoni pizza from their hurried lunch.

     Rossi sat in his usual seat, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light as he inclined forward, hands planted firmly on the polished wood. His eyes, usually twinkling with sardonic humor, were dark with the weight of old memories.

     "How so, Rossi?" Kate asked, her fingers tracing the condensation on her water bottle.

     Hotch's stare met Rossi's, a silent understanding passing between them. The cognitive interview with Carson the day before had peeled back layers of trauma and revealed the pivotal role of this local legend. Hotch had just finished recounting the entire night and cognitive interview to the team, answering their questions as best he could. Now, it was Rossi's turn to share his insight about the Willamette Wraith.

     "The Willamette Wraith is more than a local ghost story. It's a legend woven into the fabric of West Linn for generations," Rossi paused, his gaze sweeping around the attentive faces of his colleagues. "But in the Crest case, it became something much more sinister."

     Morgan leaned back in his chair, the metal frame creaking. His arms crossed over his chest, muscles taut with tension. "What makes this different from any other local boogeyman story? And how does it become the focus of a multiple homicide investigation?"

     "Because, Morgan," his lips tightened into a thin line, "to a traumatized seven-year-old girl, it wasn't just a story. It was the only explanation her mind could grasp onto for the horror she'd witnessed. Carson Crest believed she saw it the night of the murders. And not just saw it—she believed it killed her family."

     JJ and Kate exchanged quick glances, a silent conversation passing between them. The horror of what Carson must have experienced was palpable, hanging over them like a suffocating blanket.

     "At the time, there were two predominant versions of the legend," Rossi continued, his fingers tracing the yellowed edges of his decades-old notes. The paper crinkled under his touch, a tangible link to the past. "The first is the one children knew: In the woods, where the Willamette and Tualatin rivers meet, a shadowy creature lives there, waiting to be summoned. Those who perform a ritualistic chant will be visited in the night by the Willamette Wraith. It sneaks into their homes through a window, leaving it open.

     "The second is the one teens and adults knew of, which was allegedly closer to the original story. Supposedly, the Willamette Wraith is the ghost of one of the first college students at Willamette University in 1842. This student was heavily bullied in college and suffered from some form of mental illness. He went into the woods where his family lived by the meeting point of the Willamette and Tualatin rivers, and drowned himself. Now, he haunts the woods, seeking vengeance on anyone who gets near his gravesite."

     Reid's eyes lit up, a stark contrast to the somber mood. "That's fascinating!" he exclaimed, oblivious to Morgan's deadpan look. "It's reminiscent of the Banshee in Irish folklore or the Pontianak in Malaysian mythology—spirits that are harbingers of death or vengeance."

     Hotch's expression was grave. "We know from Ms. Crest's accounts in '84 and yesterday that she and Malcolm performed the summoning ritual the day of the murders. The twins believed it would protect them from their parents' abuse. Instead..."

     "Instead," Kate finished softly, barely above a whisper, "it led to their family's destruction. And left Carson alone, believing she was responsible."

     Rossi nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of the team's realization settling. "Exactly. And that belief, that guilt—it's shaped everything about this case from the very beginning."

     JJ's brow furrowed. "What about the local police? Surely they didn't buy into this supernatural explanation?"

     A grim smile played at the corners of Rossi's mouth, not quite reaching his eyes. "You'd be surprised how powerful local superstitions can be, especially in a small city rocked by tragedy. This was the most gruesome murder they'd seen in a long time."

     Reid sat up straighter, his chair squeaking. "It's not uncommon for communities to fall back on folklore in times of crisis," he said, his words coming out in a rush of enthusiasm that was at odds with the grim topic. "It provides a framework for understanding otherwise inexplicable events."

     "Yes," Rossi agreed, tipping his pen in his direction. The gesture was almost playful, a brief lightening of the mood. "And in this case, it provided a convenient scapegoat. After all, it's easier to blame a mythical wraith than confront the reality of child abuse and murder in your own backyard."

     "So..." Morgan drawled out, resting his elbows on the table and dropping his pen onto a stack of files. "You had a traumatized kid, a city caught up in local superstition, and a brutal family murder. How did all this play out in the original investigation?"

     Rossi's eyes held a faraway look as if he was seeing beyond the conference room walls to a time long past. "It was a mess. A complete and utter mess." He ran a hand over his goatee, betraying his frustration even after all these years. "We had a terrified little girl who swore she saw a fictitious creature outside her house. We had local cops who eventually went from gaslighting her into thinking she was crazy to cops who soon became more interested in chasing down 'Wraith sightings' than following what little leads we had. And we had a city that was too willing to believe in monsters and let things go rather than face the ugly truth."

     JJ's pen stilled on her notepad, her blue eyes filled with sympathy. "And Olivia Hart? Where did she fit into all of this?"

     At the mention of Olivia's name, Rossi's jaw visibly tightened. "Olivia was... omnipresent. Everywhere. Always there, always hovering over Carson, steering the conversation away from certain topics. It didn't help that she was the mayor at the time either."

     Kate frowned and brushed her hair out of her face. "You suspected her even then, right?"

     Nodding slowly, he hummed. His fingers drummed a soft and irregular rhythm on the table. "I did, but I couldn't prove anything. And Gideon..." He trailed off, a flicker of old pain crossing his features. "Gideon was more focused on protecting Carson, making her feel safe and heard. So many people treated Carson terribly at the time despite the circumstances. She was the kid who cried 'Willamette Wraith.' He didn't see what I saw."

     Reid's brows formed a jagged line and he tilted his head. "What exactly did you see, Rossi? What made you suspect Olivia?"

     Before he replied, Rossi's gaze swept across the team, measuring each of them. "It was the little things. I already mentioned how she'd answer for Carson and steer conversations. And her eyes..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "They'd get this look when Carson would open up to Gideon or me. Like she was jealous."

     Kate's hand unconsciously moved to the necklace at her throat. She was confused. "Jealous? Of what?"

     "Of Carson's trust in us," Rossi replied with a shrug. "Of any connection Carson made that wasn't with her."

     Hotch cut through the contemplative silence. "Dave, this morning you mentioned an interview you had with Olivia back then. The only one where it was just the two of you, no lawyers or Ms. Crest present. What can you tell us about that?"

     Rossi's expression darkened, and he wet his lips. "It was... illuminating," he said, choosing his words carefully. "And unsettling. I pushed her on her involvement and attachment to Carson. She didn't like that one bit." He reached into his briefcase, which was next to his chair on the floor, and pulled out a weathered manila folder. The paper was thick and yellowed with age, the edges frayed. "But that's not all. We found something in Olivia's office after Olivia and Carson left that day. Something Carson had left behind."

     With deliberate slowness, he opened the folder and its contents spilled across the polished surface of the conference table like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. Sheets of paper, some crisp and white, others yellow, fanned out before the team. But it was the drawings that immediately captured everyone's attention.

     Childish scrawls in vivid crayon colors depicted scenes no child should ever have to imagine, let alone experience. The harsh lighting made the reds even more vivid, the blacks deeper and more threatening.

     One drawing depicted a two-story house, its deep navy blue walls seeming to absorb the light around it. The windows were pitch black, like gaping mouths ready to swallow any who dared enter. Red streaks, unmistakably meant to be blood, oozed down the walls and pooled at the foundation.

     Another showed a dense forest, the trees drawn with such force that the paper had almost torn in places. Shadowy figures lurked between the trunks, their elongated limbs reaching out toward the viewer. In the corner, a small stick figure—undoubtedly meant to be Carson—cowered, arms wrapped protectively around herself.

     A particularly disturbing image caught JJ's eye. It was a family portrait, but the faces were violently scribbled out, leaving only dark, swirling voids where features should've been. The mother figure's hands were exaggerated, drawn as large claws gripping the shoulders of two children, a boy and a girl. Between two of her fingers, she held a knife.

     JJ's sharp intake of breath broke the stunned silence. Her hand hovered over that drawing, not quite touching it, as if afraid it might burn her. "These are Carson's?" she whispered.

     Rossi nodded grimly. "All of them. After that interview, we found them stacked in a neat pile on a children's table in Olivia's office at City Hall. Carson signed her name on the back of each one."

     Grabbing one of the sheets, Morgan made sure to handle it carefully. The image he revealed made even him, a seasoned F.B.I. agent and prior cop, flinch. It showed a little girl huddled in a corner. Her arms and legs were covered in crayon scribbles of various colors: angry reds, sickly yellows, deep purples. Bruises, burns, cuts—all represented in a child's simple yet horrifyingly effective style. Looming over her was a giant hand, fingers spread wide, about to grab her.

     "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head. "No wonder the kid was traumatized."

     Reid's eyes darted from drawing to drawing, his eidetic memory cataloging every detail. "The repetition of certain motifs is striking," he observed, his clinical tone at odds with the horror of the images. "The shadowy figure, always lurking in the background or at windows. The crosses are sometimes inverted. And look at this one—" He pointed to a drawing half-hidden under others. "The way she's drawn the eyes on the adult figures. They're completely blacked out."

     Gently moving some papers aside, Kate uncovered more of the drawing he'd pointed out. She paled. "It's like she's depicting them as soulless," she murmured, a chill running down her spine. "No warmth, no love... just these empty vessels capable of inflicting pain."

     The picture depicted what appeared to be a family scene, but one twisted into a nightmarish parody of domestic life. In the center stood two tall figures, clearly meant to be adults—likely Cyrus and Mary Crest. Their bodies were drawn with harsh, angular lines, giving them a rigid, inhuman quality.

     But it was their faces that immediately drew one's eye. Where there should have been facial features, Carson had scrawled furious circles of black crayon. The marks had been pressed so hard that the paper had caved in and was almost broken. These dark voids swallowed all light, creating a disturbing contrast with the white faces. The effect was chilling—the adults were soulless automatons, devoid of humanity and empathy.

     Below these towering figures were two smaller forms, unmistakably children. Unlike the adults, their eyes were drawn wide open, filled with a mix of fear and pleading. Tears, represented by blue squiggles, ran down their cheeks.

     The picture's background was a chaotic mess of dark colors—more deep purples, angry reds, and oppressive greys swirled together, creating an atmosphere of suffocating dread. In one corner, barely noticeable at first glance was a small window. Through it, a pair of glowing eyes peered in—perhaps representing the Willamette Wraith, always watching, always present.

     Reid pointed to another drawing. "Look at this one," he said softly. The image showed a face—if it could be called that—floating against a dark background. It was a smeared mass of white and grey, with black, empty holes for eyes and a gaping maw of a mouth. "The Willamette Wraith," he murmured.

     Morgan shook his head, his countenance a mesh of horror and admiration. "Man, looking at these... I'm even more impressed by how far Carson has come. To go through this shit as a kid and become the woman she is today? That takes incredible strength."

     "It's remarkable," Kate nodded in agreement, staring at a different one. This one showed a bedroom, presumably Carson and Malcolm's shared space. Two small beds were depicted, but one was empty, its covers thrown back haphazardly. On the other bed, a child-like figure lay curled up, surrounded by what looked like a pool of deep red crayon. The window between the beds was drawn open, and a long, spindly arm reached through it, its fingers nearly touching the sleeping child. "God..."

     "Do you think she remembers drawing these?" JJ asked weakly, fiddling with her wedding band. She couldn't imagine what it felt like for a young child to draw all of these knowing they were real and happened. "After all these years, after all the trauma... could these memories still be buried somewhere in her subconscious?"

     Rossi pursed his lips together, his gaze thoughtful. "It's hard to say. Trauma affects memory in complex ways. She might have flashes, fragments, or blocked it out entirely as a survival mechanism."

     Again, another illustration caught Reid's eye. It depicted a prayer room, recognizable by the crude crosses on the walls and an open Bible on a central table. But the holy symbols were twisted, the crosses inverted and dripping with red. In the center of the room, two adult figures loomed over a small child. Their hands were raised, holding what appeared to be burning torches.

     "The 'cleansing' rituals," Reid muttered with contained anger, thinking back to Rossi's notes on what the rituals included.

     Hotch, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. His voice was quiet and controlled, but there was an undercurrent of anger that his team rarely heard. "These aren't just the drawings of a child processing trauma. These are cries for help."

     A frown appeared and a pang of guilt hit Rossi. "And they went unheard for far too long..." He reached for a drawing showing a house with dark windows and red streaks running down the walls. In one window stood two adult figures whose faces were contorted into exaggerated expressions of rage. Their mouths were open in silent screams. One held a belt, the other a book that could only be a Bible.

     "Carson was trying to tell us something with these. Something about that night, about her family, about the abuse. But between the Wraith story and Olivia's constant interference, we couldn't see it clearly and she never got to tell us anything."

     The team fell silent, each lost in their thoughts as they continued to study the drawings. The childish style of them only served to make them more horrifying. It was a harsh reminder of the innocence that'd been shattered and stolen. And the weight of missed opportunities, of a child's suffering prolonged by adult failures.

     Suddenly, one of the doors to the conference room burst open with a loud bang that made everyone jump. The sound echoed off the walls, breaking the somber atmosphere like a gunshot. A blur of vibrant orange and sunny yellow rushed in, the colors so bright they assaulted the senses after the muted tones of the grim discussion.

     Garcia stumbled in, her usual grace abandoned in her haste. Her face was flushed red, clashing with her colorful attire, and she clutched her laptop to her chest like a lifeline. Her rapid breathing was audible, each gasp emphasizing the urgency of her presence.

     "I am so sorry to interrupt," she panted, eyes wild behind her glasses. "But I have news. Well, bad news and terrible news."

     Everyone exchanged alarmed glances. The tension ratcheted up to an almost unbearable level. JJ and Kate's hands froze mid-air, a drawing still clutched between their fingers. Morgan's muscles visibly tensed.

     Hotch straightened in his chair, the movement sharp and sudden. His stare locked onto Garcia, his full attention laser-focused on the distressed analyst. "What is it, Garcia?"

     Garcia took a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers flying over her laptop keyboard as she set it on the table. The rapid click-clack of keys was uncomfortably loud. "Okay, so the bad news first," she began in a frantic rush, sitting in one of the free seats. "I've been digging into Olivia Hart's financials and travel records, and guess what? She was in freaking Fairfax, Virginia, the day of the most recent murders."

     There was a collective intake of breath. Morgan's fist clenched on the table. "You're kidding me," he grumbled, more convinced than ever that Olivia was, indeed, their UnSub. There were too many signs pointing at her now that it was undeniable.

     But Garcia wasn't finished. Her eyes, usually sparkling with humor, were filled with fear and barely contained tears. "It gets worse," she paused, taking another deep breath to steady herself. "After the murders, she flew back to West Linn. Stayed there for a few days, and then flew back to Virginia. According to my records, she arrived a little past midnight today."

     "Christ," Rossi muttered, running a hand down his face.

     "Isn't that convenient timing..." Kate muttered sarcastically. She shared a loaded look with JJ and Reid, their countenances a combination of dawning horror and grim understanding.

     "And the terrible news?" Hotch prompted, his tone suggesting he was bracing for impact.

     Garcia's lower lip trembled visibly, her vibrant demeanor crumbling under the weight of what she had to say. When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, but in the deathly quiet room, it might as well have been a scream.

     "This morning... Captain Sara Reeves of the West Linn PD was found dead in her home."

     The words fell like a bomb, detonating in the center of the room. The team sat in stunned silence. The case, already a twisted labyrinth of past and present horrors, had just taken an even darker turn.

     Rossi was the first to speak. "How?" he demanded, leaning forward in his chair. "What happened to Reeves?"

     Garcia swallowed hard. "According to the preliminary ME report, she'd been dead since Wednesday evening. There was no sign of forced entry, no DNA or prints, but..." She hesitated, meeting Hotch's intense gaze. "A torn black piece of fabric with dried blood on it was left at the scene."

     "Son of a bitch," Morgan growled, rubbing his jaw. "How much do you want to bet that fabric has Crest family blood on it?!"

     JJ had gone pale with shock. "This can't be a coincidence," she murmured, shaking her head.

     "Reeves was the original detective on the Crest case, wasn't she?" Kate double-checked, clearing her throat.

     "Yes," Rossi managed to spit out, almost overwhelmed with emotion. "She was. And she knew things, details about the case that were never made public and details Gideon and I didn't know."

     Reid, who had been uncharacteristically reserved, entered the conversation. "Garcia, you said Reeves died Wednesday evening. Do we know Olivia's exact whereabouts at that time?"

     "I'm checking now, boy wonder, but... oh." She faltered and stopped typing. "According to Reeves' calendar, she and Olivia were supposed to have dinner Wednesday night. And according to the restaurant, they never made it for their reservation or at all."

     Kate leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. "So Olivia was likely the last person to see Reeves alive," she concluded, stifling a sigh.

     Hotch's jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching. "We need to move on this," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Morgan, I want you and JJ to head to West Linn. Coordinate with local PD, go over Reeves' house." Morgan and JJ nodded, already standing and gathering their things. "Kate, I need you to stay here and liaise with the Fairfax PD. Go over every detail of the Anderson family murders. Look for any connections to Olivia Hart that we might've missed."

     Kate nodded grimly, pulling the relevant files closer to her.

     "Reid," Hotch continued, "I want you to deep dive into Olivia's background. Go as far back as you can. Childhood, education, career—everything. There might be something in her past that explains her behavior now."

     At the challenge, Reid's eyes lit up. "On it."

     "Garcia, find a way to track Olivia. We need to find her immediately. Use whatever channels you have to."

     "Yes, sir," Garcia replied, her fingers moving to fly over her keyboard.

     "Dave, you're with me. We need to inform Ms. Crest and then we'll assist in tracking down Olivia."

     Unbeknownst to the team, outside the conference room and on the small set of stairs that led into it, Carson and Parker Crest had overheard every second of the conversation starting after Kate asked, "Reeves was the original detective on the Crest case, wasn't she?" The door hadn't been closed fully, allowing them to hear every word.

     So, as the team began to move, galvanized into action by Hotch's orders, they were interrupted. The door to the conference room swung open with a soft whoosh, the movement causing all heads to turn. Carson stood in the doorway, her posture rigid and her face a mask of controlled emotion. The harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows under her eyes, accentuating the tension in her features. Parker stood behind her, her countenance a blend of anxiety and dread.

     The room fell into an immediate, heavy silence. The air thickened, charged with unspoken questions, and shock. Files and drawings lay scattered about the round table, their contents a testament to the monstrosities discussed.

     Carson's voice was steady but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "I apologize for the interruption," she said, taking in the team's startled appearances. "However, I couldn't help overhearing..." Her gaze locked onto Hotch's, unwavering. "Is Sara Reeves dead?"

     Hotch stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. His dark eyes met Carson's, a flicker of concern passing over his usually stoic features. "Ms. Crest," he started, taking a step away from the table. "Perhaps we should discuss this in my office."

     No.

     That was all the confirmation she needed, and she held her breath for a moment. Her chin lifted a fraction, her lawyer's instincts kicking in. "Hotch..." She opened her mouth to argue, but something in his eyes caught her attention. They were filled with compassion, resolve, and a wordless pleading to let him talk to her elsewhere about this.

     "Ms. Crest..."

     The rest of the team swapped uncomfortable glances. Rossi's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. JJ's stare flickered between Hotch and Carson, quietly questioning if one of them should say something or how much they should reveal.

     After a few seconds of internal struggle, evident in the slight furrow of her brow, Carson caved. "All right," she conceded, feeling her chest tighten.

     Hotch's gaze redirected to Parker and he gave her a tiny smile. "Parker, would you mind staying with the team while I speak with your mother?"

     The question caused her to tense and look at her mom, unsure if leaving her side was smart. "Mom?"

     Recognizing her daughter's unease and concern, Carson squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's okay, stink," she murmured, forcing a nod. "I'll be back soon. Stay with Kate, all right?"

     At the mention of her name, Kate stood. She moved toward Parker with a warm smile. "Come on, Parker. Why don't you tell me more about that field hockey tournament you mentioned yesterday?"

     As Kate gently guided Parker to a chair, Hotch turned to Rossi. "Dave, join us please."

     Rossi nodded without missing a beat. The three exited the conference room, the door closing with a click that only added to the growing tension.

     The walk to Hotch's office felt interminable. Carson's heels clicked against the floor, each step echoing. She could feel the weight of Hotch and Rossi's presence behind her, their loaded stares and hesitancy.

     When the three entered Hotch's office, the familiar space felt different. The air was thicker, the shadows deeper. Carson's line of sight darted around, taking in details she oddly found comforting—the slight wear on Hotch's chair, the precise alignment of files on his desk, the way the blinds cast striped glooms on the floor.

     Hotch moved behind his desk but didn't sit. Instead, he leaned forward, his palms resting on the polished wood surface. The veins on the back of his hands stood out. Rossi closed the door and took a position near it, arms crossed over his chest.

     "Was it Olivia?" Carson's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Neither man was given a chance to speak. The directness of her question caught both men off guard and left them temporarily stunned. "Did Olivia kill Captain Reeves?"

     "What makes you jump to that conclusion, Carson?" Rossi asked curiously, looking from Hotch to her.

     A humorless smile played at the corners of Carson's mouth. It was an expression she'd perfected in countless courtroom battles. "Agent Rossi, I've been a lawyer long enough to recognize when someone's avoiding a direct answer. That tells me more than you realize."

     Clearing his throat, Hotch managed to catch her eye. The fluorescent lights reflected off his dark irises, giving them an almost otherworldly intensity. "Carson, we don't have definitive proof yet and there isn't much to go off of right now, but... yes, Olivia is our prime suspect."

     Carson nodded, her posture straight and chin lifted. "Tell me everything."

     Taking a deep breath that seemed to draw in all the oxygen in the room, Hotch's gaze never left hers. He was gauging her reaction, measuring each word carefully. "Captain Sara Reeves was found dead in her home this morning. According to the preliminary medical examiner's report, she died yesterday evening."

     Carson felt the blood drain from her body at the confirmation that the woman who worked her case was gone. First Jason, and now Reeves. The only one left was Rossi. Her legs suddenly felt weak as if the floor beneath her was shifting. She gripped the back of a nearby chair for support, her manicured nails digging into the soft leather. The cool material under her fingers acted as an anchor, grounding her in the moment and preventing her from spiraling into panic.

     "Yesterday?"

     Rossi stepped forward, his face etched with concern. "Carson, I know this is a shock, but we need to ask you something. Did you or Parker have any contact with Reeves yesterday or recently?"

     "No. We didn't even see or speak to her when we visited West Linn. I haven't spoken to her in years." Carson shook her head, her head racing and trying to recall every detail. "Wait... Melanie mentioned she got a strange phone call yesterday afternoon. The caller didn't say anything, just silence."

     Hotch and Rossi exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them.

     "There's more, Carson," Hotch said, pushing off his desk and standing straight again. "A piece of black fabric was found at the scene."

     "And you think it might have Crest family blood on it," Carson finished, her lawyer's mentality connecting the dots with practiced ease. Her hand unconsciously moved to her left palm, tracing the faint scar there. "Just like the fabric found at the Anderson crime scene."

     Rossi nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets with a soft rustle of fabric. The gesture was casual while his reply was anything but. "We can't be certain yet, but yes, that's what we suspect."

     Taking a stabilizing breath, she allowed her analytical mind to take the reigns. The shift was nearly visible, her posture straightening further and her stare was charged with laser-like intensity. "What's your timeline on the lab results? And what other evidence do you have linking this to the Anderson case?"

     Again, Hotch and Rossi exchanged a quick glance, both noting the change in her demeanor.

     "West Linn has expedited the lab work," Hotch replied slowly, looking back at her, searching for any sign of cracking under her professional veneer. "We should have results within 24 hours. As for other evidence, we're still piecing it together."

     Something else was amiss...

     "What aren't you telling me?" Carson asked, bouncing her eyes between the men. It was apparent there was more to say. "There's something else."

     Hotch hesitated for a moment, then answered. "According to Reeves' calendar, she was supposed to have dinner with Olivia last night. They never made it to the restaurant." He paused, letting the information sink in before delivering the final blow. "Additionally, Olivia landed in Virginia around midnight this morning."

     The fingers curled around the chair near her tightened, her knuckles turning white with the strain. Carson's body stiffened, every muscle coiling like a spring ready to release. "Olivia's wrapping up loose ends and came here because she knows I am."

     Rossi's brows raised at the fast deduction, a flicker of admiration briefly appearing. "That's one theory to consider, yes."

     Carson was mentally piecing together the facts. "Reeves was the lead detective on the original case. She had access to files, details that were never made public." Her voice took on a clinical manner like she was presenting evidence to a rapt jury. "If Olivia is behind this, Reeves would have been a liability."

     "That's our thinking as well," Hotch nodded in agreement, studying her closely. "Carson, we need to know everything you can tell us about Olivia, about your relationship with her over the years. Any details, no matter how small, could be crucial."

     Without thinking, she said, "Of course." The words left her mouth automatically, years of legal training kicking in. Then, blinking as if coming out of a trance, she reminded herself there were bigger things to worry about than sharing details right now. Her maternal instincts surged to the forefront, overriding everything. "However, I first need to ensure Parker's safety. With Olivia being in Virginia and if she's behind this, then my daughter is potentially in danger. Melanie, too."

     The mention of Parker's name changed the very air in the room. The abstract horror of the situation suddenly became painfully concrete, the threat no longer just to Carson but to her child.

     "What do you want to do, Carson?" Hotch asked, tilting his head.

     Carson's eyes darted to the window, taking in the Virginia skyline. For a moment, she seemed to be looking beyond the buildings and racing through the possibilities and potential outcomes. When she circled back to the two, her decision was inscribed in the determined set of her jaw.

     "I'm going to fly Parker and Melanie back to New York," she stated matter-of-factly. "They'll be safer there, out of Olivia's immediate reach. I have contacts, people I trust who can keep an eye on them."

     Rossi's brow furrowed, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on his arm. "Are you sure that's wise?" he asked, the inquiry coated with concern. "If Olivia is behind this, she might expect such a move. New York is where you've built your life, after all."

     A spark of defiance flashed in her eyes. "It's also where I have the most control, the most resources," she countered. "I know every inch of that city, every safe house, every escape route. Here, they're exposed, vulnerable."

     Nodding slowly, Hotch's gaze didn't waver from her. "She has a point, Dave," he said, addressing Rossi but keeping his focus on Carson. "New York offers a level of anonymity that could be beneficial. Plus, with Carson's connections, they might be better protected there than anywhere else."

     The office fell silent for a moment, the weight of the decision hanging above the trio.

     "All right," Rossi finally conceded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "But we'll need to set up a secure line of communication. And Carson," he added, his voice softening, "you need to be prepared for the possibility that Olivia might follow you there."

     "I'll be staying here in Virginia," Carson replied apathetically.

     Hotch blinked, a little surprised. "Are you sure?"

     A grim smile played at the corners of Carson's mouth. "It's necessary," she admitted, rolling back her shoulders. "If I go with them, it increases the risk of Olivia following all three of us to New York. By staying here, I can keep her attention focused on me, away from Parker and Melanie."

     As she spoke, Hotch felt a familiar tug at his heart. He thought of Jack, of the countless nights he'd lain awake, strategizing ways to keep his son safe, of the lengths he'd gone to and would always go. The fierce protectiveness in Carson's eyes, the resolve in her voice—he recognized it all. It was the look of a parent willing to do anything, risk everything, to shield their child from harm. A look he saw in the mirror more often than he cared to admit.

     "You're making yourself the bait," Rossi stated.

     "I prefer to think of it as being proactive," Carson opposed. "Besides, I can be of more use here. I want to assist with the case in any way I can."

     Hotch nodded, his expression softening almost unnoticeably. Only those who knew him well would notice the slight easing of tension around his eyes. "I understand and we appreciate your cooperation," he said earnestly. "We'll do everything in our power to help keep Parker safe."

     Carson's hand unconsciously traveled to the sun pendant around her neck—the twin to Parker's moon. The metal was warm against her skin, a tangible connection to her daughter. "Thank you," she said softly, sharing a look of understanding with him that spoke volumes. Then, her pragmatism resurfaced. "However, I should note that if this isn't wrapped up by Sunday, I'll need to return to New York. I have court appearances and meetings that can't be rescheduled without raising suspicions." Backpeddling her feet, she inched toward the office door. "I'll make the arrangements for them to leave immediately. The sooner they're out of Virginia, the better."

     Hotch moved around his desk, holding a hand out for her to wait. "Understood. We'll provide an escort to your hotel and the airport," he insisted, stopping when a few feet were separating them. The space between them felt charged with energy. "And Carson, I want you to know that we won't let you face this alone. Whatever happens, we're here to help."

     The sincerity in his vow caught Carson off guard. For a moment, her carefully constructed walls wavered, a glimmer of vulnerability passing over her face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone and replaced by perseverance.

     "Thank you," she said, taking in his sincerity. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with Parker and Melanie. We have a lot to prepare, and very little time to do it."

     As she opened the door, the yellow hues from the bullpen spilled in. The light cast long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers. For a moment, she stood framed in the doorway, her silhouette gilded in gold.

     "Carson," Rossi called out just as she was about to step through. She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Be careful. Olivia's dangerous, and she believes she knows you better than anyone."

     A flicker of something—a potent combination of confidence and determination—passed across Carson's face. It was the look of a woman who had faced her demons before and emerged victorious. "I know," she replied evenly, her lips curling upward. "But so am I."

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰³ 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     rip to sara reeves, you will be missed </3

     anyone see that coming?? a storm is brewin' y'all... you better get ready!

     (WARNING! the next chapter is quite literally insanity. hold on tight.)

     i hope you enjoyed chapter eleven! 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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