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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑰𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ . . .stain them,      i don't care ❜
─── chapter twelve! ❫

012.  ╱    ❝ 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 :
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
graphic violence    +    graphic scenes
depictions of blood + gore     death.

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﹙ 𝕿HURSDAY ━ 𝕬PRIL 2ND, 2015 ﹚

     CARSON STOOD BY THE WINDOWS OF THE HOTEL ROOM, HER FINGERS PARTING THE CURTAINS JUST ENOUGH TO PEER OUT AT THE PARKING LOT BELOW. Her usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, a few strands of chestnut brown hair escaping her ponytail. Her eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the area for any sign of threat or anything suspicious.

     The atmosphere of the hotel room was thick with tension and unheard arguments, punctuated by the soft rustle of clothing being hastily packed and the occasional zipping of suitcases.

     "Mom..." Parker cut through the silence, a mix of frustration and fear present. "I understand why Annie and I have to go, but... I don't want to leave you here."

     Carson turned, her gaze softening when it landed on her daughter. Parker sat on the edge of a bed, a half-packed duffel bag beside her. The teen's curls were wild as if she'd been running her hands through them repeatedly.

     "I know, stink," she replied, her words steady despite the turmoil she felt inside. "But it's the only way I can ensure your safety right now. I refuse to let my mom hurt either of you."

     Melanie, who'd been methodically folding clothes nearby, paused. "Carson, are you sure there isn't another way? Maybe we could—"

     "No," Carson cut her off, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We've been over this. It's not up for discussion."

     Parker's fingers curled around the edge of the comforter, gripping tightly. "But what about you?" she pressed desperately, not at all on board with this idea. "If Grandma Olivia's really behind this, you'll be in danger too."

     Moving away from the windows, Carson's heels sunk into the plush carpet with each step. She crouched in front of Parker, taking her daughter's hands in her own. The contrast between Carson's manicured nails and Parker's chipped purple polish was palpable—a visual reminder of their differences, yet their intertwined fingers spoke of their unbreakable bond.

     "I'll be fine," Carson assured her softly. "I've got the entire BAU team watching my back. Plus," she added, a hint of her usual confidence creeping in, "I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

     Melanie snorted lightly from across the room where she was zipping up a suitcase. "That's an understatement," she muttered, but there was a tremor in her comment that betrayed her worry.

     Carson shot her a look, half grateful, half exasperated. "You're not helping, Mel."

     "I'm sorry," she sighed, running a hand through her perfectly straight hair. "It's just... this whole situation is insane. I mean, Olivia? The woman who used to send you birthday cards every year? Who called to check in on major holidays and holidays that didn't exist just so she could talk to you? That Olivia is behind all this?"

     The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Melanie's skepticism hanging above the trio.

     Carson stood slowly, her jaw tightening. "People aren't always what they seem," she said, cracking her knuckles. "My mom's been playing a long game, and I've been a pawn for decades. However, that ends now."

     Parker looked up at her mom, eyes wide with fear. "What are you going to do?"

     "I'm going to help the BAU catch her and create a rock-hard case that no lawyer could disprove," Carson said matter-of-factly, smoothing out her black silk tank top. "And then I'm going to ensure she never sees the outside of a prison cell again."

     The determination in her voice sent a chill down Parker's spine. This was a side of her mom she'd seen on occasion and loved. It was the ruthless attorney who took no prisoners in the courtroom and who worked harder than anyone she'd ever met. It was a side of her that Parker deeply admired and aspired to acquire someday in whatever profession she found herself in.

     Melanie zipped up the last suitcase with a finality that seemed to punctuate Carson's words. "All right," she said, having calmed down by now. "If we're doing this, we need to move. The agents outside won't wait forever."

     As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. All three of them tensed, eyes darting to the entrance.

     Carson moved swiftly to the door, hand above the door handle. "Who is it?" she called out sharply.

     In the background, Melanie and Parker were gathering their bags and leaving behind Carson's. The plan was for them to leave first and then for Carson to leave shortly after. She was relocating to a new hotel as an added safety precaution.

     "Agent Malik, ma'am," came the reply. "We're ready to escort Ms. Wells and Miss Crest to the airport whenever you're ready."

     Relaxing the tiniest bit, Carson's shoulder dropped half an inch. She glanced at Parker and Melanie, her expression full of resolve and hardly concealed dread. "It's time," she announced, nodding at the door. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. The reality of their situation was beginning to sink in. She was having to separate herself from her girls—her daughter and best friend.

     Without warning, Parker launched herself into her mom's arms, nearly knocking her off balance. Carson caught her, wrapping her arms around her torso. She buried her face in Parker's curls, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize her scent—a combination of strawberry shampoo and something uniquely Parker.

     "I love you so much, stink," Carson murmured thickly with emotion. "More than anything in this entire world. You know that, right?"

     Parker nodded against her chest, her reply muffled by Carson's top. "I love you, Mom. Please be careful. Promise me you'll be careful."

     Carson pulled back and cupped Parker's face in her hands. A tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. "I promise," she vowed, her thumb gently brushing away an answering tear from Parker's face. "And I always keep my promises, don't I?"

     "Always," Parker managed a watery smile. "You've never broken one since we met. Don't ruin our streak."

     Choking out a laugh, Carson shook her head. "I wouldn't dream of it." She pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment, trying to freeze this instant in time. Next, she turned to Melanie, who was watching with red-rimmed eyes.

     "Mel..."

     Melanie shook her head, pulling Carson into a fierce hug. "Don't you dare get yourself killed, Carse," she said, her attempt at humor undermined by the quaver in her voice. "Who else is going to keep me employed and entertained?!"

     Laughing, Carson squeezed her tightly. "I love you, you know. You're family."

     "I know," Melanie said, blinking back tears. "I love you. We'll be waiting for you in New York. Don't make us wait too long."

     As they pulled apart, Carson looked at both of them—her daughter and best friend, the two people who meant more to her than anything else in the world. The weight of what she was asking them to do, of what she was about to face alone, pressed down.

     "I love you both so much," she said, braving a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Stay safe. Call if you need anything. Keep in contact. I'll see you Sunday."

     With one final, lingering hug with Parker, Carson stepped back. She watched them gather their bags through blurred vision, keeping the tears at bay. Each movement felt like it was happening in slow motion. The rustle of fabric, the click of suitcase handles, the quiet sniffles—each sound etched itself into Carson's memory.

     After the door was open and Melanie walked out, Parker turned back one last time. Her eyes, so like Carson's own, were filled with love, fear, and determination. "We love you, Mom," she said firmly, nodding confidently. "I'll keep you updated via text and I'll see you Sunday."

     Carson returned the confident nod, not trusting herself to speak for fear she'd take everything back and ask them to stay. Both cuddled in her arms, safe and out of Olivia's grasp. Then, in the blink of an eye, the door was closing.

     When the latch clicked shut, the room fell into a deafening silence. Carson stood alone, the emptiness of the space echoing the hollow feeling in her chest. She allowed herself one moment, one shuddering breath, before squaring her shoulders.

     Moving to her purse on the nearest bed, Carson pulled out the small card Rossi provided with the flowers. Her fingers traced the embossed FBI logo before she tucked it safely away. She took out her phone and quickly programmed in Rossi and Hotch's numbers. A small frown creased her brow as she recalled their concerned expressions from yesterday's meeting.

     Her gaze drifted to the vase of flowers on the dresser, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to her somber mood. For a moment, she considered taking them with her, but the thought of Olivia's potential involvement in sending them made her stomach churn. So, with a decisive motion, she picked up the vase and dumped its contents into a trash can.

     Sitting the vase back on the dresser, Carson moved to the windows again. Her eyes scanned the parking lot with renewed vigilance. Parker and Melanie were outside piling into a government-issued SUV. The break lights turned red as all the car doors shut.

     Quickly surveying the parking lot, a dark sedan caught Carson's attention. It hadn't been there earlier, and something about its positioning seemed off. She watched a figure in the driver's seat shift, and for a heart-stopping second, she could have sworn they were looking directly at her window.

     Shaking off the chill that ran down her spine, Carson waited until Parker and Melanie's car disappeared from view. Then, she turned to her luggage. There was work to be done. The case files from the original Crest murders and the recent Anderson case were tucked safely in her briefcase. She planned to review them thoroughly before meeting with the BAU team at 7 PM.

     There was no time to waste. Every minute spent poring over those files could be the difference between catching Olivia and...

     Carson shook her head, refusing to finish that thought.

     A few minutes passed before she had everything together. With one last glance to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything, Carson grabbed her bags. There was a new hotel waiting, and after that, a rendezvous with the BAU team.

     She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. There was work to be done, and Carson Crest was ready to face whatever came next. At least, that's what she believed.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE SLEEK, MIDNIGHT-BLUE GOVERNMENT-ISSUED CHEVROLENT SUBURBAN CRUISED DOWN INTERSTATE 95, ITS POLISHED EXTERIOR REFLECTING THE MID-AFTERNOON SUN. The vehicle moved with purpose, its powerful engine humming gently while it navigated the two-lane highway stretching endlessly before them.

     Inside the SUV, an uneasy silence permeated the air, punctuated only by the gentle whir of the air conditioning and the occasional static crackle from the agents' radios. The leather seats, still stiff with newness, creaked with each subtle movement of the passengers.

     Parker sat behind the passenger seat, her body rigid despite the vehicle's smooth ride. Her eyes darted from the window to the rearview mirror, then to Melanie beside her, before repeating the cycle. The passing scenery blurred into a monotonous stretch of dense Virginia forest, punctuated by the occasional road sign or overpass. Each mile marker felt like a countdown, though to what, Parker wasn't sure.

     Beside her and behind the driver's seat, Melanie's fingers danced across her tablet screen, the blue glow illuminating her face in the dimming light. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she coordinated security measures for their arrival in New York and rearranged Carson's schedule for next week. The soft tapping of her nails against the glass screen created a rhythmic backdrop.

     In the front, Agent Malik sat ramrod straight, both hands firmly gripping the steering wheel at the ten and two positions. He constantly scanned the road ahead, occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror. In the passenger seat, Agent Ramirez maintained a vigilant watch, her hand resting near her holstered weapon. She periodically checked the side mirrors and surveyed their surroundings, staying alert.

     The opening brass notes of "Uptown Funk" filtered through the car's speakers, the upbeat rhythm standing out in the tense atmosphere. Bruno Mars' voice crooned about being "too hot," the lyrics about swagger and confidence feeling almost mocking in their current situation.

     Parker found herself unconsciously tapping her foot to the beat, the familiar tune providing a small distraction from her worries. For a brief moment, she could almost pretend this was just another car ride, just another day. But as the chorus kicked in, declaring "Don't believe me, just watch," her unease returned full force. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, hunted.

     The song continued to play, its infectious rhythm at odds with the growing sense of dread that seemed to fill the SUV as they drove deeper into the Virginia twilight.

     As they passed a green highway sign indicating the next exit was still fifteen miles away, Parker inaudibly sighed. Her hand moved to the back pocket of her jeans, fingers curling around her phone. She pulled it out, the screen illuminating with a soft glow as she unlocked it. The half-finished game of Tomb Runner stared back at her, the pixelated character frozen mid-jump, waiting for her command.

     Her thumb hovered over the play button, but her thoughts wandered. She couldn't bring herself to press 'play'. Images of her mom standing alone in the hotel room flashed through her mind.

     What if something happened? What if Grandma Olivia found her? The thought sent a chill down Parker's spine, her stomach churning with a nauseating sense of fear and worry. She'd never seen her mom look so fragile when they said goodbye. The memory of Carson's tear-filled eyes and trembling hands made Parker's chest tighten painfully.

     With a frustrated huff, she locked her phone and slid it back into her pocket. The game could wait; right now, it felt trivial, almost insulting to what was happening.

     Parker turned her attention to the window and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Her hot breath fanned against it, bringing about small puffs of fog. The highway stretched before them, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the Virginia wilderness. What struck her most was how empty it was for a Thursday afternoon. The lack of traffic felt eerie, almost ominous.

     "Is it usually this quiet?" she found herself asking, her voice sounding small in the vast interior of the SUV.

     Agent Malik glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "It varies," he replied, his tone professional but not unkind. "This stretch can be pretty deserted sometimes."

     Nodding, she wasn't entirely reassured. The emptiness of the road only amplified her sense of isolation, of being cut off from her mom, from safety.

     Almost unconsciously, her hand drifted to her chest, fingers curling around the moon pendant that hung there. The metal was cool against her skin, its familiar weight comforting. She closed her eyes, thinking of the matching sun pendant her mom wore. It was silly, maybe, but holding onto the necklace made her feel closer to Carson like there was still a connection between them despite the miles.

     As she clutched the pendant, Parker took a deep breath. The panic that'd been building in her chest eased slightly, replaced by a flicker of the determination she'd inherited from her mom. Carson was strong, smart, and had an entire team of F.B.I. agents backing her up. She would be okay. She had to be.

     Opening her eyes, Parker straightened in her seat, her grip on the necklace loosening but not letting go entirely. She could do this. She could be strong, for her mom's sake if nothing else. Whatever came next, they would face it together, even if they were apart.

     But as the SUV continued down the eerily empty highway, the sun sinking lower on the horizon, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was wrong. The world outside the car seemed to grow darker, the shadows longer. The trees lining the highway appeared denser, the branches reaching out like deformed claws. And despite the warmth of the vehicle, she felt a chill creep up her spine.

     Parker's eyes flicked to the side mirror, scanning the road behind them. For a moment, she thought she saw a glint of metal in the distance, a flash of headlights perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She blinked, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her.

     "Everything okay back there?" Agent Malik's voice cut through her thoughts, his gaze meeting hers briefly in the mirror.

     "Yeah, I just..." Parker trailed off, not sure how to explain her unease. "I'm fine."

     The agent nodded, his focus returning to the road. The hum of tires rolling filled the silence, almost lulling Parker into a false sense of security. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the mile markers flash by.

     That's when it happened. Without warning, a violent jolt rocked the SUV, the impact reverberating through the vehicle's frame. Parker was thrown forward, her seatbelt locking with a sharp snap as she was slammed back into her seat.

     "What the—" Agent Malik's exclamation was cut short as he wrestled with the steering wheel, fighting to maintain control.

     In unplanned unison, Parker and Melanie whipped their heads around and peered out the back window. A massive black truck loomed behind them, its chrome grille glinting menacingly and eating up the distance between them.

     "What the fuck?!" Parker exclaimed in disbelief.

     "We've got company!" Agent Ramirez shouted, reaching for the radio out of instinct.

     Melanie's head spun and she deadpanned, "You don't fucking say!"

     Before anyone else could talk, the truck rammed them again. The sound of crunching metal filled the air, and Parker felt the SUV lurch forward once more. Melanie grabbed onto Parker, their hands locked together. The world tilted sideways as the car fishtailed, tires screeching against the asphalt.

     "Hold on!" Agent Malik floored the accelerator, the engine roaring as they surged ahead.

     Beside him, Agent Ramirez was already on the radio, her voice tense but controlled. "This is Agent Ramirez. We're under attack on I-95. Requesting immediate backup. Repeat, requesting immediate backup."

     Parker's heart hammered in her chest and she watched the truck pull into the fast lane. There were only two lanes on this stretch of highway, leaving them nowhere to go. With terrifying speed, the truck drew level with them. Its dark windows hid the driver from view yet for a split second, Parker could've sworn she saw a flash of something pale behind the tinted glass. Before she could process it, the truck swerved violently into them.

     Metal screamed against metal as the larger vehicle forced them toward the guardrail. Sparks flew, momentarily illuminating the interior of the SUV in a hellish orange glow.

     "Parker, get down!" Melanie screamed, throwing herself over the teenager. The world outside the windows became a dizzying blur of trees and sky.

     Agent Ramirez was shouting into her radio, her words lost in the cacophony of screeching tires and grinding metal. Agent Malik wrestled with the steering wheel, his face a mask of concentration and fear.

     The guardrail loomed closer, a silver blur in Parker's peripheral vision. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as they careened towards the edge of the road.

     "Hold on!" Agent Malik shouted again, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He was doing his best to keep them on the road and alive.

     For a moment, it seemed like they might regain control. The truck fell back, putting some distance between them. Everyone in the SUV took a collective breath, the tension easing just slightly.

     "Backup is on the way," Agent Ramirez announced. She turned in her seat, eyes scanning over Parker and Melanie. "Are you two okay?"

     Parker nodded shakily, her throat too tight to speak. Beside her, Melanie managed a weak, "We're fine."

     But their relief was short-lived. In a heart-stopping moment, Parker saw the truck reappear in her side mirror, bearing down on them with terrifying speed. There wasn't enough time for her to warn anyone because in an instant the SUV was slammed into the guardrail with a sickening crunch. The impact sent them airborne and they were momentarily suspended in terrifying freefall.

     Parker's stomach lurched, a scream tearing from her throat as gravity reasserted itself. Melanie was screaming as well, desperately holding onto her goddaughter with all the strength she had.

     The world outside the windows became a dizzying kaleidoscope of trees and sky. Everyone caught glimpses of the forest rushing to meet them, the ground spinning crazily as the SUV tumbled through the air.

     There was a deafening crash as they hit the first tree, the impact jolting through Parker's body like an electric shock. Glass exploded inwards, showering them with glittering shards. The SUV ricocheted off the trunk, spinning wildly before slamming into another tree.

     Parker's head snapped forward and back, her vision blurring. She could hear Melanie screaming, and feel the sickening lurch as the vehicle continued its deadly dance through the edge of the forest.

     With one final, thunderous impact, the SUV came to a stop, wedged between two massive pines. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine.

     Parker's last conscious thought was of her mom, of the promise she'd made to see her on Sunday. As darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, she desperately clung to that thought.

     Then, everything went black.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE HAMPTON INN POTOMAC MILLS HOTEL ROOM FELT LIKE A FORTRESS AND A PRISON ALL AT ONCE. Carson sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of papers and manila folders. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows across the space, turning the scattered documents into an abstract landscape of light and dark.

     Carson's fingers traced the edge of a particularly worn file—Gideon's original notes on the Crest family murders. The paper felt rough under her touch as if it'd absorbed some of the case's darkness over the years. Beside it lay a pristine copy of the Anderson case file, its newness sticking out from the weathered documents around it.

     Her sharp eyes darted from page to page, searching for connections, for anything that might help the BAU. The lawyer in her, meticulous and thorough, refused to let even the smallest detail slip by unnoticed.

     A glance at the ornate clock on the nightstand told her it was nearing five o'clock. In an hour, Parker and Melanie would be flying back to New York. Once she heard from them and their assigned agents, she'd head to the BAU to share whatever insights she'd gleaned from this deep dive into the past and present. The knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of her daughter and best friend, hoping they had safely made it to the airport. She hadn't heard from either of them yet.

     As if summoned by her thoughts, her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Carson reached for it, her heart rate quickening when she saw Hotch's name on the screen.

     She hesitated before unlocking her phone, the cool glass a welcomed feeling. The message from Hotch was brief and to the point, his concise style evident even in text form:

     "JJ and Morgan just left for West Linn. ETA this evening. - Hotch"

     She felt a small surge of relief at the update coupled with an unexpected flutter in her stomach. Pushing the sensation aside, she focused on the message—the investigation was moving forward. Her thumbs operated swiftly as she typed her reply, her instinct for professionalism kicking in:

     "Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate the update."

     She hit send and set the phone on the plush comforter, intending to return to the files spread out. However, she wasn't able to refocus because the device buzzed again, the vibration echoing. Another message from Hotch:

     "Are you free to talk?"

     Carson's brow furrowed and her heart rate kicked up a notch. The request was unexpected, and a flicker of concern ignited in her chest.

     "Yes. Is everything all right?"

     His reply came instantly:

     "Everything's fine. I'll call in a minute."

     True to his word, her phone rang less than a minute later. She took a deep breath to center herself. Her finger hovered over the screen for a split second, and she was surprised to find herself wishing she could see his face instead.

     "Hotch?" she said, her greeting steady despite the undercurrent of worry coursing through her veins.

     "Carson..." Hotch's deep voice came through clearly, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "I wanted to give you a quick update. Melanie and Parker are on their way to the airport. Garcia is tracking the car to ensure they arrive safely."

     Carson felt some tension leave her body and sank into the plush headboard. "That's good to hear. Thank you." Since seeing that car in the parking lot of the Hyatt Regency, she'd been worried that the journey to the airport would run into unexpected complications.

     There was a brief pause before Hotch spoke again, his tone shifting. It was gentler, less "Unit Chief" and more... something else. "How have you been holding up since earlier?"

     The question caught Carson off guard. It was more personal and mirrored the tone of their interaction yesterday after the interview. It almost made a smile tug on her lips.

     "I'm..." she began, shortly faltering. For a moment, she considered giving her standard 'I'm fine, and you are?' response, but something in Hotch's tone made her reconsider. There was a warmth there, an invitation to be honest that she found herself wanting to accept. "I'm worried," she admitted finally. "And scared. I don't like admitting it, but it's true."

     As the words left her mouth, Carson was struck by how vulnerable and safe she felt. It was a peculiar feeling, one she wasn't used to—especially with someone she'd known for such a short time. However, given the cognitive interview and their conversation, she trusted Hotch enough to be transparent with him.

     There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and Carson found herself holding her breath. Suddenly, she was self-conscious about her admission. Then Hotch's voice came through, soft and understanding.

     "It's normal to be scared, Carson. This involves your family, your life. Being afraid doesn't make you weak; it makes you human."

     His reassurance washed over her, soothing some of the jagged edges of her fear. Carson closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I know," she said. "It's just... I'm not used to feeling this out of control. In court, in nearly every meeting and deposition, I always know my next move. But now?"

     "Now you're in uncharted territory," Hotch finished for her. There was a rustling sound on his end. "But you're not alone in this, Carson. Remember that."

     She nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see her. "I know," she repeated, surprised by how much she meant it. "Thank you, Hotch."

     There was a warmth present when he replied, "You're welcome. And please, call me Aaron."

     The invitation sent an unexpected thrill through her. "Aaron..." she tested the name, not minding how it felt on her tongue. A small smile tugged at her lips, the first genuine one since saying goodbye to Parker and Melanie.

     Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. "Don't you have a case to be working on?" she remarked, a hint of her off-the-clock playfulness creeping in.

     Hotch—Aaron—chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "I do," he admitted, also smiling on his end of the call. "But I wanted to check in with you. You're as important as the case, Carson."

     The sentiment caught her off guard for a second time, and she felt a blush creep up her neck. For a moment, she forgot about the files spread around her, about Olivia's looming threat, about how worried she was for Parker and Melanie, and about everything except the sound of Aaron's voice and the flutter in her chest.

     "I... thank you," she managed, grateful he couldn't see her flustered state. "That means a lot."

     "You're welcome. Will you be coming to the BAU later?"

     Carson nodded, shortly remembering again that he couldn't see her. "Yes, once I hear from the agents that Melanie and Parker are safely on their flight. I should be there around seven."

     "Sounds good. I'll see you then, Carson."

     "See you then... Aaron."

     When the call ended, Carson found herself staring at her phone, a little dumbfounded. A mix of emotions swirled inside her chest. She felt lighter somehow, despite the weight of the situation. Shaking her head, she turned back to the files and allowed herself one more tiny smile.

     For the first time in days, Carson felt a glimmer of something that felt suspiciously like hope.

── 𐀔 ──

     CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED TO PARKER IN WAVES OF AGONY. The first thing she became aware of was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, coppery and awful. Her head throbbed with a pain so intense it threatened to pull her back into the darkness; it felt like her skull might split open at any moment. She tried to open her eyes, but her right eye was sealed shut, caked with something warm and sticky that pulled at her skin.

     Slowly, Parker managed to pry her left eye open. The world swam before her in a nauseating swirl of blurred shapes and dark shadows. She blinked rapidly, each movement sending shards of pain through her head. Gradually, the chaos around her began to take horrifying shape.

     The SUV lay on its side. Parker found herself suspended awkwardly in her seatbelt, the strap digging painfully into her shoulder and hip. Shards of glass carpeted every surface, catching what little light filtered through the mangled windows and twinkling like a grotesque parody of stars. Massive tree branches had speared through the car's metal frame with brutal force, their jagged ends dripping with a dark crimson liquid that Parker's mind immediately recognized.

     A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out all other sounds and making concentrating hard. The acrid smell of smoke mixed with the coppery scent of blood, making her stomach roil. She tried to move, to get her bearings, but every slight shift sent jolts of white-hot pain cascading through her body. Something warm and wet trickled down the side of her face, tracing a path from her hairline to her jaw before dripping onto her collar.

     "Ann—" The nickname caught in her throat, coming out as little more than a rasp. Parker swallowed hard, wincing at the taste of more blood, and tried again. "Annie?"

     Ignoring the screaming protest from her neck muscles, Parker turned her head to the left. What she saw made her stomach lurch violently, bile rising in her throat. Melanie was slumped in her seat, unnaturally still, her usual vibrant energy extinguished. A tree branch, as thick as Parker's arm, had punched through the window and...

     Parker squeezed her eye shut, a choked sob escaping her lips. This couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Any second now, she'd wake up safe in the hotel room, wrapped in her mom's arms with Melanie laughing in the background.

     But the pain was too sharp, the smells too pungent, the horror too vivid, the blood too red. This was no dream.

     With fingers that shook like autumn leaves in a storm, Parker reached out to Melanie. Her hand trembled violently as she pressed two fingers against her godmother's neck, searching desperately for a pulse she knew, deep down, she wouldn't find.

     Nothing. No flutter of life beneath Parker's trembling fingers. Just cold, unyielding skin. A strangled sound, half-sob, half-scream, tore from Parker's throat. Tears mingled with the blood on her face, stinging as they tracked down her cheeks.

     The acrid smell of smoke grew stronger, snapping Parker back to the dire reality of her situation. She forced her eye open again, blinking away tears and blood. The front of the SUV was a crumpled mess of metal, glass, and blood, smoke curling ominously from the hood. Through the spiderweb of cracks on the windshield, she could make out dark stains that made her stomach churn.

     "Agent Malik?" she croaked, barely audible over the persistent ringing in her ears. "Agent Ramirez?"

     Silence. Only the creaking of stressed metal and the soft hiss of escaping steam answered her.

     With a herculean effort, Parker twisted in her seat to see into the front. The sight that greeted her sent a wave of horror crashing over her. Both agents were slumped in their seats, their bodies bent at unnatural angles. Agent Malik's head rested against the shattered driver's side window, a dark stain of blood spreading across the remaining glass. Agent Ramirez was motionless, pinned to her seat by the caved-in dashboard. Her face was cut up and bleeding profusely.

     The realization hit Parker with brutal force: she was the only survivor.

     Flashes of memories assaulted her mind—the truck appearing out of nowhere, the violent impact, the terrifying freefall when they tumbled off the road. Parker squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they persisted, vivid and haunting.

     Panic clawed at her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. She had to get out. NOW.

     With shaking hands, Parker fumbled for her seatbelt release. The button was slick with blood—her blood, she realized with a jolt of terror. Then, she realized it was jammed, inflexible under her frantic fingers. She yanked at it, each movement sending waves of pain throughout her. Spots danced in her vision and she was involuntarily crying, but she forced herself to focus.

     "Come on, come on," she muttered, her words a desperate mantra.

     It took three frustrating attempts before she managed to press it. The click of the release was shockingly loud in the quiet of the wreck.

     Gravity took hold immediately. Parker fell sideways, crying out when she landed on a bed of broken glass and twisted metal. Every inch of her being screamed in protest. For a moment, she lay there, gasping, the taste of blood and bile in her mouth.

     But the growing heat from the front of the car spurred her into action. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Parker began to crawl towards the rear window, which had been completely blown out during the crash. Shards of glass bit into her palms and knees, adding fresh cuts to her already battered body.

     The journey of a few feet felt like miles. By the time Parker reached the window frame, she was panting heavily, her vision obscuring from pain and exhaustion. The ragged edges of the broken window loomed before her, a final obstacle between her and freedom.

     Taking a deep breath, Parker readied herself for what she knew would be an agonizing escape. She maneuvered her legs through the opening first, crying out when a particularly sharp edge sliced through her jeans and into her thigh. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Her mom wouldn't stop.

     With one final, desperate push, Parker tumbled out of the wreckage and landed hard on the forest floor. The world spun around her. The impact drove the air from her lungs and she gasped for air, the taste of pine and earth mixing with the blood in her mouth.

     Slowly and painfully, she managed to wipe the blood out of her eye and her vision cleared. It took a tremendous amount of effort and willpower to push herself into a sitting position. When she looked around, her gaze landed on something that made her blood turn frigid.

     There, just yards away at the edge of the road, stood a figure. Tall, cloaked in shadows, with a smeared and twisted face mask—the Willamette Wraith. It looked exactly how her mom described it all those years ago.

     Parker's heart hammered in her chest, terror giving her a surge of adrenaline. The figure stood motionless, watching her. Behind it, she could see the truck that had run them off the road, its engine still running.

     Of course.

     In both directions of the highway, there wasn't a single car in sight. It was only them. No one was there to save the day or save Parker. It was up to her.

     For a moment, time stood still. Then, operating on pure instinct, Parker scrambled to her feet. There was only one thought in her mind: Run.

     And so she did, plunging into the thick of the woods, branches whipping at her face as she fled from the nightmarish figure and the scene of devastation behind her.

     As Parker's form disappeared into the dense foliage, the figure in the Willamette Wraith costume remained motionless, a ghostly silhouette against the darkening sky. The mask, a twisted parody of a human face, seemed to absorb the fading light, its hollow eyes fixed on the spot where Parker had vanished.

     Moving in an almost mechanical precision, the figure turned toward the idling truck. The movement was unnaturally fluid as if the person beneath the costume was something not quite human. A gloved hand reached into the vehicle, retrieving a burner phone—the same one used to call Melanie the day before, its number matching the one left on the flowers signed as "Rossi's."

     The figure's fingers, still encased in dark gloves, navigated the phone's screen with an eerie familiarity. A voice-changing app was activated, its interface glowing in the growing twilight. For a moment, the masked figure stood perfectly still, as if gathering strength for what was to come.

     Finally, with a deliberate press of a button, the phone began to dial Carson's number.

     One ring.

     Two.

     Three.

     "This is Crest."

     The figure activated the voice changer. When it spoke, it was with Rossi's gruff, Italian-tinged accent. The familiar voice was jarringly out of place among the nightmarish visage. "Carson, it's Rossi. Something's happened."

     A sharp intake of breath crackled through the phone's speaker. "What is it? What's wrong?"

     "There's been an accident," the Rossi-voice continued, urgency seeping into every word. "A car hit Melanie and Parker's escort. We can't get hold of anyone, and we don't know if anyone's been injured."

     Carson's reply came back, tight with panic. "Where? Where did this happen?!"

     The figure provided a location—a backroad deep in the Virginia wilderness, supposedly chosen as an extra safety precaution. "The team's on their way now. I'll text you the address. We'll meet you there." The figure texted her the location while they spoke.

     "I'm on my way."

     After the call ended, the masked figure stood motionless for a long moment, the phone still held to where an ear should be. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, it crushed the device in its hand. Pieces of plastic and circuitry rained down on the grass, disappearing into the ground.

     The Willamette Wraith turned its attention back to the woods. The mask seemed to shift in the dying light, its expression morphing from blank neutrality to something almost hungry. Without a sound, the figure began to move, gliding into the forest with predatory grace.

     Behind it, the wreckage of the SUV smoldered, a testament to the destruction already wrought. Ahead, the dense Virginia forest waited, hiding both prey and the horrors yet to come.

     The hunt was on, and the night was just beginning.

── 𐀔 ──

     CARSON'S HAND SHOOK WHEN SHE LOWERED THE PHONE. Her mind was reeling from Rossi's news, almost refusing to believe it. And for a moment, she sat frozen, the world around her fading into a muffled haze. Nothing existed for four seconds. Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, she burst into action.

     Her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, Carson snatched her purse from the nightstand, nearly upending the scattered case files in her haste. The rental car keys jingled as she fished them out. Clutching them tight, the metal bit into her palm.

     She grabbed her light pink blazer and threw it on, racing for the door. The soft fabric, usually a comfort, felt suffocating against her skin. Each second that ticked by was an eternity, her imagination conjuring increasingly horrific scenarios of what might have happened to Parker and Melanie.

     The hotel room door slammed behind her with a finality that sent a chill down her spine. The hallway stretched before her, unsettlingly quiet and impossibly long. Carson's heels clicked against the carpet, sharp and urgent.

     As she jabbed at the elevator button, a mantra repeated in her head: "Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay." The doors seemed to take ages to open, each second feeling like hours.

     The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding that was obscenely out of place given the circumstances. Carson rushed inside, her fingers frantically pressing the button for the parking level. As the doors slid shut, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished metal—pale, wide-eyed, a woman on the edge of panic or a breakdown.

     The descent felt interminable. The elevator's soft muzak, usually ignored, now grated on Carson's frayed nerves. She paced the small space, her heels leaving scuff marks on the floor. Each floor the elevator passed was another moment wasted, another second Parker might be hurt.

     When the doors opened to the parking garage, Carson burst out, nearly colliding with a startled couple waiting to enter. She mumbled an apology without breaking stride, eyes scanning for the rental car.

     Row after row of cars passed by, none of them the one she needed. Panic clawed at her throat. Had she forgotten where she parked?

     Then, she spotted it—the sleek silver sedan she'd rented. Carson's breath came out in a rush of relief as she clicked the key fob. The car's lights blinked in response, a beacon in the dim garage.

     She yanked the door open and slid into the driver's seat, the leather cool against her flushed skin. Jamming the key into the ignition, her hands trembled. The engine roared to life, the noise fueling Carson with more motivation.

     Glancing at the address Rossi texted her during the phone call, she pulled it up on the car's GPS. When the travel time appeared, her stomach dropped. It was an hour and a half away.

     "Hold on, Parks and Mel," she whispered, squaring her shoulders back. "I'm coming."

     Throwing the car into reverse, Carson hit the accelerator. With the screech of tires, Carson peeled out of the parking spot, leaving behind the safety of the hotel and hurtling toward an unknown horror.

     The city streets blurred past Carson while she maneuvered through traffic with reckless urgency. Each red light was an eternity, each slow driver an obstacle between her and Parker. The GPS voice, typically a calm guide, was a mocking reminder of how far she still had to go.

     Merging onto the highway, the sprawling cityscape gave way to dense Virginia forests. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of blood orange and deep purple, a beautiful sight that felt like a cruel joke. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw clenched so tight it ached. Her thoughts raced, replaying Rossi's words over and over.

     "An accident... can't get hold of anyone... don't know if anyone's been injured."

     Each scenario she conjured was worse than the last.

     Carson glanced at her phone, willing it to ring with good news. The screen remained stubbornly dark. Why hadn't Parker called or texted? Why hadn't Melanie?

     As the miles ticked by, the rational part of Carson's brain—the part that made her such a formidable lawyer—tried to assert itself. Perhaps it was just a fender bender. Perhaps their phones were damaged in the crash. Perhaps they were already safe with the BAU team.

     But another part of her, the part that had survived unimaginable atrocities as a child, whispered darker possibilities. What if this wasn't an accident at all? What if Olivia had found them?

     The question sent a chill down Carson's spine and she pressed harder on the accelerator. The engine's roar was a counterpoint to her racing heart.

     Trees flew by on either side of the Virginia backroads, their looming figures creating a dizzying strobe effect. Carson's eyes burned from the strain of focusing on the road, but she didn't dare slow down. Every second counted.

     As she drove deeper into the wilderness, a growing sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. This was supposed to be over. Parker and Melanie were supposed to be safe on their way to New York. Instead, here she was, speeding toward an unknown danger, completely alone.

     Carson's hand drifted to the sun pendant around her neck, its familiar weight a small comfort. She thought of Parker's matching moon pendant.

     The further she drove, the more isolated the landscape became. The well-lit backroads gave way to narrow, winding roads that snaked through the dense forest. The car's headlights cut through the night, illuminating a tunnel of green that stretched indefinitely.

     Every curve in the road set Carson's teeth on edge. Each shadow looked like a figure darting between the trees, each rustling branch a potential threat. The forest pressed in on all sides, watchful and domineering.

     The GPS signal flickered in and out, the robotic voice occasionally cutting off mid-sentence. Carson's grip on the steering wheel tightened each time, worry of getting lost adding to her mounting anxiety.

     Rounding another bend, something caught her eye—a reflective sign, its surface glinting in the headlights. "Unnamed Road," it declared. Carson's stomach dropped. This was it, the turnoff the GPS had been guiding her toward.

     She slowed the car, peering into the gloom. A dirt road, barely wide enough for the rental car, veered into the woods. For a moment, Carson hesitated. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that she should turn back. But the thought of Parker, alone and possibly hurt, and Melanie possibly hurt, fortified her resolve.

     Taking a deep breath, Carson turned onto the dirt road. The car jolted and bounced over the uneven surface, branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers. The forest swallowed the headlights' beam.

     After what felt like an eternity of slow, careful driving, the trees began to thin. Carson's heart leaped when she spotted a clearing ahead. As she pulled into the open space, the headlights swept across an unexpected sight—an old, dilapidated house looming in the background.

     Carson brought the car to a stop, the engine's rumble fading to silence. The quiet that followed was absolute, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and her rapid breathing.

     She stepped out of the car, her heels sinking slightly into the soft earth. The air was rich with the scent of pine and damp soil. Carson's eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of Parker, Melanie, or the BAU team. There was no one in sight.

     "Hello?" she called out loudly, raising a brow. "Parker? Melanie? Aaron? Is anyone here?"

     Only the whisper of wind answered her. Carson shivered, pulling her blazer tighter around her torso. Something was very, very wrong.

     As Carson's vision adjusted to the dark, her gaze flew back to the old house. Its windows were dark, empty sockets staring back at her. Dark paint peeled from its weathered siding, and the porch sagged ominously. The similarities between this decrepit house and her childhood home in West Linn became unsettlingly apparent. The same steep roof pitch, the wraparound porch, even the placement of the windows—it was as if someone had plucked her past from her memories and twisted it into this nightmarish facsimile.

     The dense forest surrounding the clearing bore an eerie resemblance to the woods that had bordered her family's property. The trees seemed to loom closer, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers, just as they had in her childhood nightmares. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of river water and decay—a scent that immediately transported Carson back to that fateful night over thirty years ago.

     Randomly, a metallic glint near the front steps caught her eye. It was a shovel and its metal blade gleamed dully in the moonlight. Carson's mind flashed to another shovel, another time—her father digging in the front yard, burying "sin" as he called it, which was another word for the family dog. She shuddered, forcing the memory away.

     When Carson took a hesitant step toward the property, something white fluttered in her peripheral vision. Pivoting, she saw a piece of paper nailed to one of the porch posts, stark against the dark wood. She swallowed hard.

     Walking to the house and up the porch, she was inclined to hold her breath. The wood creaked beneath her feet, mimicking the sounds of her early childhood. It was as if the house itself was groaning under the weight of implied horrors. Carson's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a countdown to an unknown revelation.

     As she reached for the note, Carson noticed her hand trembling uncontrollably. The paper felt rough against her fingers, its edges worn like it'd been handled many times before being placed here. Her name was written on it in an achingly familiar cursive, the final 'n' swirling into a heart. There was only one person who wrote her name like that. It was Olivia's signature flourish.

     The weather seemed to drop twenty degrees. The hair on her arms stood straight and the color drained from her face.

     No.

     With a centering breath, Carson unfolded the note. The paper crackled loudly in the silent clearing. The handwriting inside was almost identical to hers—the same elegant script that'd once adorned birthday cards and school permission slips, now twisted into something sinister.

     Her eyes scanned the words, each line sending a fresh stab of terror:

"Sweetie,

     How I wish we could have reunited under better circumstances. But you've forced my hand, just as you did all those years ago. Your stubbornness, your refusal to see the truth... it's all led to this moment.
     I had so hoped to meet my granddaughter properly. She's quite remarkable, you know. So much like you at that age—strong, resilient. But time is running short for her, I'm afraid.
     Let's see if history repeats itself.

     Start digging. Parker doesn't have much time left.

All my love,
Mom"

     At the bottom of the page was a set of coordinates.

     The note almost slipped from Carson's numb fingers. Her mind reeled, the implications hitting her with the force of a physical blow. Parker, buried alive. Suffocating. Alone in the dark, just as Carson had been all those years ago.

     The world tilted sickeningly around her. The trees and forest life closed in, the branches reaching for her. The wind danced through the leaves, and for a moment, Carson swore she heard muffled cries for help.

     Clenching the note, she believed she might be sick. Bile rose in her throat as vivid images flashed through her head—Parker, her vibrant, beautiful daughter, trapped in a wooden box or the dirt, clawing at the surface while her air supply slowly ran out. The terror in her eyes, much like Carson's own. The desperation in her movements as she fought for each breath.

     Carson's knees buckled, and she barely caught herself against the porch railing. The rough wood bit into her palms, grounding her in the horrifying present. She couldn't afford to fall apart now. Every second that ticked by was another moment Parker struggled to breathe.

     With shaking hands, Carson pulled out her phone, her fingers leaving sweat smears on the screen. She frantically input the coordinates from the bottom of the note. As she waited for the map to load, her gaze fell on the shovel leaning against the porch steps.

     The instant the location loaded on her screen, Carson snatched the shovel. Without a second's hesitation, she took off running, plunging into the woods with desperate speed.

── 𐀔 ──

     PARKER'S LUNGS BURNED AS SHE RAN THROUGH THE FOREST, EACH BREATH A RAGGED GASP THAT TORE AT HER THROAT. The world around her was a blur of blacks and muted greens, punctuated by the sharp sting of branches whipping across her face and arms. Blood from her earlier injuries mingled with sweat, trickling into her eyes and leaving salty trails down her cheeks.

     She didn't dare look back. The image of the Willamette Wraith—the nightmare made flesh—was seared into her brain, spurring her on despite the protest of her battered body. Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves sounded like a pursuer closing in, sending fresh surges of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

     The forest floor was treacherous, roots and fallen branches conspiring to trip her with each frantic step. Parker's feet ached terribly, but she couldn't stop. Stopping meant death—or worse.

     While she ran, her mom's voice echoed in her head, a mantra repeated countless times during their self-defense lessons: "Keep moving, stay aware, find safety." It was all she could do to follow that advice now, her eyes darting around for any sign of shelter or refuge.

     Then, through the haze, she spotted it—a massive fallen tree, its trunk easily as wide as she was tall. Parker veered toward it, her legs trembling with exhaustion as she covered the final distance.

     Once she reached it, she crashed to her knees behind the fallen giant, her chest heaving up and down laboriously. The rough bark bit into her palms when she pressed herself against the trunk, trying to make herself as small as possible. The forest around her pulsed with malevolent energy.

     As the initial panic began to subside, the full weight of her situation crashed over her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She was alone, injured, and being hunted by a monster wearing her grandmother's face. The urge to break down, to give in to the terror, grief, and exhaustion, was almost overwhelming.

     But then, unbidden, her mom's voice cut through the fog of fear: "You're stronger than you know, stinker. When things get tough, take a breath, center yourself, and remember—you're a Crest. We don't give up. We get shit done."

     Parker closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep, shuddering breath. She could almost feel her mom's presence, a comforting warmth in the cold, damp forest. The familiar nickname, 'stinker', echoed in her mind, bringing with it a flood of memories—late nights studying together, Saturday morning pancake battles, impromptu dance parties in the living room.

     "I won't give up, Mom," Parker mouthed, mindful not to make much noise. "I promise."

     With trembling fingers, she reached for her back pocket, hoping that her phone had survived the crash. As she pulled it out, a twig snapped in the distance.

     Parker froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She quickly muted her phone and turned the brightness to its lowest setting. Pressing herself harder against the trunk, she covered her mouth with one hand to muffle her irregular breathing.

     Footsteps, slow and deliberate, grew closer. The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping back and forth across the vast woods. And then, emerging from the shadows in a nightmare-given form, came the Willamette Wraith.

     The Willamette Wraith was a figure of pure terror that seemed to absorb the scant moonlight filtering through the trees. Its mask, a twisted parody of a human face screaming, was a smeared mass of white and grey, the features distorted and elongated as if melting. Empty black holes served as eyes, bottomless pits that seemed to swallow what little light reached them. The mouth was a gaping maw, stretched into an eternal, silent scream.

     The creature's body was draped in tattered black robes that whispered against the ground, the edges fraying into wispy tendrils that reached out on their own accord. In one hand, it clutched a wicked-looking butcher's knife, its blade catching the flashlight's beam and gleaming with vicious promise. The other hand held the flashlight, its ray cutting through the approaching evening.

     Parker's breath caught, her hand pressing so hard against her mouth she could taste blood. The Wraith moved with an unnatural fluidity, each step silent despite the debris littering the ground. It paused mere feet from Parker's hiding spot, its mask turning slowly as if scenting the air.

     For a heart-stopping moment, Parker was sure it had found her. But then, the beam of light swept past, and the Wraith continued its patrol.

     Once it passed, Parker began to move. With agonizing slowness, she eased herself around the fallen tree, using it as a shield between her and the monster. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, but she forced herself to keep moving, to ignore the pain and exhaustion threatening to overcome her.

     She crouched low, her eyes never leaving the Wraith's back while she crept from one tree to another. It felt like the forest was conspiring against her—every twig threatened to snap under her feet, and every leaf rustled accusingly when she passed.

     Suddenly, the Wraith stopped and began to turn. Parker's heart stopped and she dove behind a large oak, pressing herself to the rough bark. She could hear the creature's ragged breathing, a wet, wheezing sound that filled the entire forest.

     The light swept closer, closer. Parker squeezed her eyes shut, silently pleading with whatever higher power might be listening. Please, please, please...

     The light paused, illuminating the tree next to her. Parker held her breath, certain that at any moment, the Wraith would round the trunk and find her. But after what felt like an eternity, the light moved on, and the sound of footsteps began to fade into the distance.

     Parker waited until she could no longer hear anything before allowing herself to breathe again. She sagged against the tree, her legs trembling with relief and residual terror. But she knew she couldn't stay here. She had to keep moving, had to find help.

     With shaking hands, she pulled out her phone again. The screen's soft glow felt like a beacon in the dark, but it was her only lifeline. She had to risk it.

     Parker's fingers trembled while they moved on the phone screen, leaving smears of blood and dirt in their wake. The number Rossi had given them in the card burned in her mind, a lifeline in this nightmare. With bated breath, she dialed, pressing the phone tightly against her ear.

     Immediately, it went to voicemail. So, she tried again.

     Voicemail.

     A choked sob escaped Parker's lips before she could stifle it. The sound echoed and she quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting frantically for any sign of movement.

     Heart pounding, she scrolled through her contacts. Hotch's name stood out, another beacon of hope in her desperation. She'd put it in her phone after looking at the business card he'd given her mom in February. Her hand shook violently. She dialed Hotch's number while her breath came in short, painful gasps. Each inhale sent a sharp pain through her ribs. She hunched over her phone, using her body to shield the light, every muscle tense with the effort of staying still and silent.

     The phone rang once, twice. A familiar voice answered on the third ring: "Hotchner."

     Relief flooded through Parker, so intense it made her dizzy. "Agent Hotchner," she whispered. "It's Parker. Parker Crest. I need help."

     There was a beat of silence, and then Hotch's voice came back, sharp with concern. "Parker? What's going on? We've been trying to reach—"

     "Please," she interrupted, the words tumbling out in a frantic whisper. "We don't have time for this. There was an accident. The car... we were run off the road. Annie, she's... she's gone. The agents, too. I'm the only one who made it out."

     "Slow down. Where are you? What happened to the others?"

     Parker swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I don't know where I am. Woods. Somewhere off the highway. The car went over a guardrail. It rolled. When I woke up, everyone else was..." The image of Melanie's lifeless body flashed before her.

     "Parker, listen to me," Hotch said firmly. "Are you hurt? Are you safe right now?"

     "I'm... I'm okay. Bruised, cut up, my head's bleeding and I'm ninety-nine percent sure I have a concussion, but I can move." Parker's gaze bounced around her surroundings. "But I'm not safe. She's here, Agent Hotchner. The Wraith. Olivia. She's hunting me."

     There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Olivia's there?"

     "Yes," she breathed. "She was there when I crawled out of the wreck. Wearing the... the Wraith costume my mom drew. She had a knife, and I just... I ran. There was no one on the road. I've been running ever since."

     "Okay, Parker, you're doing great," Hotch assured her. "We're tracking your phone now. I need you to stay on the line. We're on our way."

     Parker nodded, forgetting that Hotch couldn't see her. She turned down the call volume, straining her ears for any hint of approach.

     "Can you tell me anything else about where you are?" Hotch prompted. "Any landmarks, anything distinctive?"

     The question, so practical in the face of her terror, sparked a flare of hysteria in Parker. "Trees and leaves, Agent Hotchner," she snapped, tight with fear and frustration. "Trees and leaves. I'm in the fucking woods." Immediately, shame washed over her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to curse at you."

     "It's okay, Parker," he reassured her, his tone gentle. "You have every right to be scared. I need you to stay focused, though. You're doing incredibly well. Just keep quiet and hidden. We're coming. Stay on the phone. I will mute my end so no noise can give you away."

     "Please hurry," she whispered, tears now streaming down her face. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Everything hurts, and I'm tired. What if she finds me before you get here?"

     "Don't think like that. You're strong, Parker. You can do this. Just a little longer, okay?"

     Parker took a shuddering breath. "Okay. I will. Agent Hotchner? If... if something happens to me, please tell my mom—"

     "Nothing's going to happen to you," Hotch interrupted, wordlessly promising her that she'd be fine. "We're going to find you, Parker. I promise."

     Unexpectedly, a twig snapped in the distance. Parker's breath caught in her throat. Her entire body was rigid with fear. All the hair on her arms and neck stood straight. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, tasting dirt and blood on her fingers.

     "Parker?" Hotch's voice came through, urgent. "Parker, are you there?"

     "She's coming," she whispered, barely audible. "Please, help."

     "We're getting in the helicopter now. Stay on the line. We're on our way."

     Parker stared up at the canopy of trees, devouring her panic. "Okay. Mute your end." Images of her mom played in her head. Would she ever see her again? Would Carson find her body in these woods, just another victim of Olivia's twisted game?

     Once silence fell on Hotch's end of the line, Parker pressed herself further into the shadows of the trees. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the quiet oppressive and filled with menace.

     Then, from somewhere in the background, came the snap of another branch. Closer this time. Much closer. The sound came again, accompanied by the soft swish of fabric against leaves. Next, there were approaching footsteps that sent Parker's heart into overdrive. Each step pounded in her ears. She pressed herself harder to the tree, ignoring how the bark tore at her already battered skin.

     The beam of a flashlight swept closer, illuminating patches of forest in stark, terrifying detail. Parker held her breath, spots dancing in her vision from the effort. She could hear the Wraith's breathing now, a wet, raspy sound that sent chills down her spine.

     Abruptly, the footsteps stopped. For a moment, all she could hear was her own irregular breathing and the blood rushing in her ears. For a moment, all was still.

     Then, without warning, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. The fingers dug in painfully, like claws seeking to tear into her very soul.

      Parker's scream tore through the night.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE FOREST BREATHED WITH ANCIENT MALICE, ITS TWISTED LIMBS REACHING FOR CARSON LIKE THE HANDS OF THE DAMNED. Shadows writhed between gnarled trunks, whispering secrets best left unspoken. The air hung thick with the stench of decay and something darker—the cloying scent of fear that clung to Carson's skin like a second baptism. Each step deeper into this wooded hell was a battle, the earth itself seeming to shift and grasp at her feet as if trying to drag her down into its moldering embrace.

     Branches whipped at her face and tore at her clothes, but Carson barely felt it. Her entire being was focused on one thought: get to Parker. Save her. The woods seemed to fight against her, roots reaching up to trip her, palls deepening to obscure her path. But Carson pushed on, her breath coming in uneven gasps, the coordinates on her phone a lifeline guiding her through the night.

     The air grew thick with moisture, the earthy scent of damp soil filling her nostrils. It reminded her too much of a freshly dug grave, and Carson had to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat.

     "Hold on, Parker," she panted between breaths, her voice scarcely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Please, stinker, just hold on."

     The woodlands echoed with her desperate plea, the trees tight-lipped witnesses to a mother's hysteria and determination. Somewhere in the abyss ahead, Parker was fighting for her life. And Carson would tear the whole forest apart with her bare hands if that's what it took to save her.

     The beam of her phone's flashlight danced ahead of her, casting grotesque shadows that reached for her with gnarled fingers. Her lungs burned the longer she pushed herself beyond exhaustion.

     The coordinates on her phone screen were a lifeline, guiding her through the oppressive darkness. Every tree looked the same, but Carson refused to slow down.

     Suddenly, her phone chimed—a sound so mundane, so out of place in this nightmare realm that Carson nearly stumbled in surprise. She'd reached the coordinates.

     Carson skidded to a stop. Her wild eyes scanned the small clearing, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The flashlight's beam danced across the forest floor, searching desperately for any sign of disturbance, any clue to Parker's whereabouts.

     That's when she saw it—a glint of metal half-buried in the soil. Carson's heart leaped into her throat, a desperate hope flaring in her chest like divine light.

     She lunged forward, falling to her knees beside the partially buried object. The shovel she held dropped next to her. With trembling fingers that felt more like claws, she scraped away the soil, revealing a necklace—a replica of the one Parker always wore.

     The sight of it, smeared with dirt and looking so abandoned, sent a knife of ice-cold fear through Carson's heart. It was too similar to another scene, decades ago, when she'd found Malcolm's stuffed rabbit, Mr. Flopsy, covered in blood.

     Her watering eyes trailed up and found that her parent's faces were frozen in an emotion she didn't believe they were capable of having—terror. Between them, Mr. Flopsy sat in a pool of their mixed blood, his once-soft fur matted and dripping. The rabbit's button eyes seemed to stare directly at Carson, accusing and sorrowful.

     "No," she choked out, her eyes welling with tears. "Not again. Not Parker. Please, God, not Parker."

     Carson's fingers tightened around the necklace, the metal biting into her palm. For a moment, she was paralyzed by the weight of memory and fear. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped back to the present. There was no time for hesitation.

     With trembling hands, she tucked the necklace into her pocket, smoothing it down as if it were Parker's hair. The simple gesture nearly broke her, but Carson steeled herself. She had to focus.

     "I'm here, Parker," she called out, her voice cracking with emotion. "I'm going to rescue you. Just hold on."

     Carson propped her phone against a nearby rock, angling the flashlight to illuminate where she'd found the necklace. Swiftly kicking her heels off, she chucked them to the side. Normally, she'd neatly set them away, but this wasn't normal. Nothing about this was normal. The ground was cold and damp beneath her bare feet, but Carson barely noticed. All that mattered was digging, finding Parker, saving her daughter.

     When both hands closed around the wooden handle, she began digging. The shovel bit into the earth with a satisfying chunk. Each thrust of the shovel was accompanied by a grunt of effort, the sound echoing in the silence.

     As she dug, tears began to blur Carson's vision. They streaked down her cheeks, cutting clean paths through the grime that had accumulated on her face. She didn't bother wiping them away; every second spent on anything but digging felt like a betrayal.

     "Where are you?" Carson choked out, her movements becoming more frantic. Her perfectly styled hair had come loose, strands sticking to her tear-stained face. "Parker, please, if you can hear me, make a sound! Anything!"

     Nothing. Nobody answered her.

     Time seemed to stretch and warp while she dug. The hole grew wider, deeper, but there was no sign of Parker. No coffin, no box, nothing but more dirt and roots. Carson's designer blazer, once a symbol of her success and control, was now caked with mud, torn in places where branches had snagged the fabric. But she didn't care. Clothes could be replaced. Parker couldn't.

     As the minutes ticked by, desperation clawed at Carson. The shovel felt heavier with each swing, her arms burning with exertion. It wasn't fast enough. It wasn't enough.

     With a cry that was part frustration, part sob, Carson tossed the shovel aside. It landed with a dull thud, forgotten as she fell to her knees at the edge of the hole.

     "I'm coming, Parks," she gasped, plunging her hands into the loose soil. Tears fell freely now, mixing with the dirt. "I swear to God, I've got you."

     All that mattered was finding Parker. Saving her daughter and not losing the one person who meant everything to her.

     "Hold on, hold on," Carson pleaded, her voice a broken hymn. "I'm coming. I'm here."

     The words echoed in the emptiness, mocking her. Every second that passed was another moment Parker might be suffocating, trapped beneath the soil. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through Carson, and she redoubled her efforts, ignoring the sharp sting as her nails bent and broke against unseen rocks. With each handful of dirt she removed, she could swear she felt something squirming against her skin, burrowing into the cuts on her hands.

     The discarded shovel lay nearby, abandoned for the desperate hope that her bare hands could move faster, dig deeper. But Mother Nature fought back, each handful revealing only more dirt, more roots, more nothingness. The ground itself seemed alive, malicious, trying to swallow her efforts and hope.

     "PARKS!" she screamed, the nickname tearing from her throat.

     The forest swallowed her cry, offering no response save the rustling of leaves in a chill wind. It was almost offensive. The world and heavens had nothing to offer.

     Ignoring the burning in her muscles and the sharp sting of her torn skin—corporeal penances for the events that led up to this and the part she played—Carson pushed forward. She couldn't stop. Time stretched and warped, each second an eternity as she imagined her stuck, struggling for air and inhaling dirt and bugs.

     "Please," she whimpered, unsure if she was addressing Parker, fate, God, or Satan. "Please, please, please."

     The hole grew deeper, wider, but still, there was no sign of what and who she sought. Doubt began to gnaw at the dirt and blood-covered corners of her brain. The edges of her vision darkened. There was a creeping dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

     What if she was too late? What if she was wrong? What if Parker wasn't here at all? What if this was all for nothing?

     Carson shook her head violently, dismissing the thought. To doubt now would be to surrender, to accept a loss too great to bear. She couldn't afford doubt, not now. Not when every second could mean the difference between life and—

     No. She wouldn't even think the word. She couldn't.

     Finally, her hands struck something solid. For a moment, a painful hope flared like divine light in her chest and burned her ribcage. But it was just a rock, another cruel trick. When her fingers brushed against something else, it felt slimy and cold like decaying flesh. She jerked her hand back with a gasp but quickly saw that it was a normal rock.

     "Goddammit," she cursed at God through the tears, choking out a sob of desperation. "Goddammit!"

     A sound. Faint, barely perceptible.

     A twig snapped somewhere in the forest beyond her small circle of light. Carson's head jerked up, eyes wide and searching. Was someone there? Was it the person responsible for this entire fucked up scavenger hunt?

     It was a risk and would give away where she was—if the flashlight hadn't already—but she called out, "Hello?" Her voice trembled. "Is someone there?" Part of her felt like a moron for saying anything; she had to try, though.

     As expected, there wasn't a response. But in the silence that followed, Carson could swear she heard heavy breathing, too close for comfort. A chill ran down her spine.

     False alarm, she supposed. Perhaps it was a rabbit or another creature of the night.

     Silence fell once more, broken only by her ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of her heart. She was alone. Alone with her fear, grief, and the rotten, gnawing certainty that she was running out of time.

     Then—there it was again. A muffled thump, coming from beneath the ground.

     Carson's heart leaped in her throat. Her fingers scrabbled at the forest's skin, carelessly tearing at its flesh. Adrenaline surged through her veins.

     The sound grew louder, more insistent. It was real. It had to be real. Just a little more... She had to keep going. She had to find Parker. She had to—

     Suddenly, harsh light flooded the clearing and blinded Carson. She threw up an arm, squinting against the glare. A voice boomed out, shattering the air:

     "This is the police! Stay where you are!"

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

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

     to whoever commented that melanie was going to die a few chapters back... you were so right babe <3

     ANDDDDD WE ARE OFFICIALLY DONE WITH VOLUME THREE OF THIS BOOK!!!!! woohoo!!

     now, onto the final volume aka the conclusion. i hope you're as excited as i am :)

     i hope you enjoyed chapter twelve! 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. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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