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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑽.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ you are the flesh that      maggots adore. . . ❜
─── chapter thirteen! ❫

013.  ╱    ❝ you 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖆𝖘𝖐 for 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕. . . ❞
❝ how could i? how could i? 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖎? ❞

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﹙ 𝕿HURSDAY ━ 𝕬PRIL 2ND, 2015 ﹚

     THE HARSH FLUORESCENT LIGHTS OF THE FRONT ROYAL POLICE DEPARTMENT BUZZED OVERHEAD, CASTING AN UNFLATTERING GLOW ON CARSON CREST'S MUD-CAKED FACE. She stood before a grimy white wall, the placard in her hands feeling alien and heavy. The camera's flash momentarily blinded her again, capturing an image she never thought she'd see: herself, a successful lawyer, disheveled and arrested.

     Carson's once-pristine white dress was now a canvas of earth tones, smeared with mud and torn in places at the bottom. If someone told her she'd just clawed her way out of a grave, she'd believe them. Her light pink blazer, typically a symbol of her polished professionalism, hung in tatters from her shoulders. Her bare feet left ghostly, dirty imprints on the cold tile floor and her designer heels had long been bagged as evidence.

     As the officer instructed her to turn for the profile shot, Carson caught a glimpse of her reflection in the camera lens. Her hair, usually a crown of sleek perfection, now writhed around her face in wild tangles. Leaves and twigs clung to the strands like a feral creature of the woods. The sight was jarring—this stranger staring back was the physical manifestation of her world spiraling into chaos.

     "Look to your right," the officer droned, his voice tinged with boredom. Carson complied, her jaw clenched so tight she could taste blood. Turning, she felt the pull of dried mud on her skin. It was a constant reminder of the frantic digging she'd been doing hours ago.

     Another flash of the camera blinded her. In that split second, terrifying images raced through Carson's head: Parker, broken and bleeding after an accident; Parker, buried alive in the woods; Parker, gone forever. The gnawing worry in her gut transformed into a monstrous thing, threatening to devour her from the inside out.

     "Hands," the officer commanded, his voice devoid of humanity. Carson extended her arms, revealing hands that looked foreign to her. Her manicured nails were broken and caked with soil, her palms scratched and bloodied. In the harsh light, all of the dirt looked disturbingly like dried blood. Black ink smeared across her skin during fingerprinting, making her feel branded, marked as a criminal for a crime she was unaware of. Carson felt a surge of frustration.

     "This is a mistake," she said steadily despite the turmoil inside her. "I shouldn't be here."

     The officer didn't respond, focused on his task. Carson took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm. She was a lawyer; she knew her rights. This was all a misunderstanding, it had to be. But as the officer led her away from the mugshot area, a chill ran down her spine.

     What if it wasn't a misunderstanding at all? What if this was exactly where Olivia wanted her to be?

      The fluorescent lights continued to buzz, guiding Carson down a sterile hallway. The squelch of her muddy feet on the linoleum floor echoed in the silence. Each barefoot step screamed vulnerability, a far cry from her usual confident stride in heels.

     "Stand here," the officer instructed, positioning her in front of a height chart. Carson complied, mindlessly cataloging every detail. She knew this routine, had defended and walked clients through it countless times, but being on this side of the law felt like a nightmarish alternate reality.

     During the measurements, Carson's thoughts spiraled back to the woods. The frantic digging. The desperation clawing at her throat. Olivia's note seared into her memory, its words a malicious taunt. Had it all been a cruel trick?

     "Name?" The officer's voice cut through her thoughts.

     "Carson Tatum Crest."

     "Date of birth?"

     "November 20th, 1976."

     The questions continued, each one another tick in the box of standard procedure. Carson answered mechanically, her mind torn between cooperating and the fear for Parker's safety.

     Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity before Carson found herself in a small, windowless room—the interrogation room. She'd been on the other side of that two-way mirror before, but now, the definitive click of the closing door sent a shiver down her spine. Deep down, she felt a new appreciation for the intimidation this space was designed to create.

     At the metal table, Carson sat with her hands folded in front of her. Despite her disheveled appearance, she held herself with the same dignity she always did. She was determined not to let this situation break her composure.

     The door creaked open. Two officers entered: one, a gruff man with salt-and-pepper hair who took the seat opposite her; the other, younger and trying too hard to appear intimidating, positioned himself against the wall.

     "Ms. Crest," the older officer's gravelly voice filled the room, "I'm Detective Guterres. This is Officer Chen. We have some questions about your activities in the woods tonight."

     Carson met his gaze, the lawyer's mask crystallizing. "Before we begin, I'd like to state for the record that I believe this to be a potential false arrest. I've committed no crime and demand to know on what grounds I'm being held."

     Detective Guterres's brows inched upward. "You were found digging in the woods after dark, Ms. Crest. Care to explain that?"

     "I received information that my daughter had been in an accident and was buried in those woods," she stated, the words tasting of absurdity on her tongue. It wasn't lost on her how ludicrous this sounded. "I was searching for her."

     "And who gave you this information?"

     Without missing a beat, Carson replied, "I received a call from an F.B.I. agent named David Rossi who I've been working with. Then, in the woods, I discovered a letter from my mom indicating my daughter was buried there."

     The officers exchanged a loaded glance. "We'll need to verify that," Officer Chen interjected, peeling himself from the wall.

     "By all means," Carson responded ice-cold. "The letter's in my right blazer pocket. And while you verify, I need to know if my daughter is safe. Has there been an accident? Is Parker okay?"

     The room's atmosphere congealed, thick with unspoken tension. Both officers remained silent, their lack of knowledge about Parker and the alleged accident evident in their eyes.

     Detective Guterres leaned in, his gaze boring into Carson. "Ms. Crest, an anonymous tip led us here. Someone reported a woman matching your description burying a body in those woods."

     The accusation loomed over them like a malevolent presence in the room. A glacial dread crept up Carson's spine, each vertebra screaming with the realization that this wasn't just a misunderstanding. The puzzle pieces snapped into place—Olivia had orchestrated this entire scenario just as she suspected.

     Carson's stare turned razor-sharp at Detective Guterres' statement. "An anonymous tip isn't sufficient probable cause for an arrest, Detective. You need corroborating evidence or direct observation of criminal activity."

     Detective Guterres reclined, a flicker of respect crossing his features. "You're well-versed in law, Ms. Crest. However, we had more than just the tip. We found you in the exact location described, digging frantically. Given the circumstances, that constitutes probable cause."

     "Circumstantial, at best," she retorted, the legal acumen battling the festering fear in her gut. "And now that you've searched the area and found no body, you have no grounds to hold me. This is edging dangerously close to unlawful detention."

     Officer Chen's discomfort was observable, but Guterres remained steadfast. "We're still conducting our investigation, Ms. Crest. The search isn't complete. You were found in a suspicious situation, and we have the right to question you."

     Carson took a deep breath, weighing her options. She could demand a lawyer or represent herself, ending this interrogation immediately. But that would only delay her finding out about Parker. A change in strategy was needed, so she changed it.

     "I understand you're doing your job, Detective," she said, her tone softening fractionally. "But I'm telling you the truth. I believe my daughter is in danger. Can you please tell me if there's been an accident? Is Parker safe?"

     Before Detective Guterres could respond, tell her he didn't know who the hell she was talking about, a sharp knock pierced the conversation. Officer Chen cracked open the door.

     Carson strained to hear the hushed conversation, catching only fragments: "FBI... no body found... release her..."

     Officer Chen pivoted back, his face a mask of bewilderment and relief. "Detective, the F.B.I. has arrived. They're demanding Ms. Crest's release. The woods have been thoroughly searched, and there's no evidence of any crime."

     Thank God.

     A fleeting moment of respite washed over Carson, but the knot in her stomach remained.

     However, the other detective wasn't nearly as relieved. Guterres's brow furrowed, clearly not happy with this turn of events. He turned to Carson. "It seems you're free to go, Ms. Crest," he said, clipped. His displeasure was obvious. "No charges will be filed at this time."

     Carson met Guterres's eyes, her reply steady but edged with steel. "I appreciate that, Detective," she slowly rose from the table. "However, I hope you'll reflect on the ramifications of tonight's events. While I understand the pressures you face, a more measured approach could've prevented this situation."

     When she reached the door, her hand hovered over the handle. She glanced back, her line of sight sweeping between the two officers. "One more thing, gentlemen. That anonymous tip? I suggest you investigate its source thoroughly. I suspect it's part of something far more insidious than you realize."

     With that bit of advice hanging in the air, Carson stepped out of the interrogation room. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before her, each step bringing a mix of trepidation and hope. Her heart raced, her head full with a whirlwind of questions. She was free, yes, but the real ordeal was far from over.

── 𐀔 ──

     TIME STOOD STILL IN THE OPPRESSIVE SILENCE OF THE POLICE STATION LOBBY. David Rossi's hand twitched toward his phone for the hundredth time, fighting the urge to call Hotch again. Beside him, Spencer Reid's eyes darted from the clock and the holding area doors, his mind calculating and recalculating how long it should take to process someone of Carson's status.

     The wrongness of the situation cloaked them like a shroud. Carson Crest—respected lawyer, devoted mother, survivor—locked away in a cell or an interrogation room. It felt like a perversion of justice, a mockery of everything they stood for.

     "Something's not right," Reid murmured, saying the unease that'd settled in both their guts. "This whole scenario... it doesn't add up. One minute she's at the new hotel, the next she's in Front Royal and in custody."

     Rossi nodded grimly. "I know, kid. I can feel it, too. Whatever's going on here is bigger than a simple misunderstanding."

     A chill crept up Reid's spine as he considered the implications. If Olivia had set up Carson, as they suspected, what was she being accused of? And more pressingly, where did Parker fit into this or how?

     The space was full with the acrid smell of stale coffee and disinfectant, a pungent reminder of sleepless nights and desperate confessions. Rossi and Reid stood near the entrance, their faces etched with concern. The tick of the wall clock echoed, each second stretching into eternity.

     The murmur of late-night police work provided an eerie backdrop to their vigil. Occasionally, a phone would ring, sharp and jarring, making Reid flinch imperceptibly. The night shift officers moved about like specters, their fatigue-heavy movements adding to the surreal environment.

     Suddenly, the holding area doors swung open with an ominous creak. The sound cut through the ambient noise, drawing all eyes to the figure emerging from the shadows beyond.

     Carson stepped into the lobby, a disheveled apparition barely resembling the polished corporate lawyer they knew. Mud streaked her clothes, transforming the elegant ensemble into a grotesque costume. Her hair, usually sleek and controlled, was in wild tangles around her face. But it was her eyes that startled them the most—wide, haunted, and burning with a desperate intensity that struck both agents. In her hands, she held evidence bags containing dirty designer heels, a set of car keys, and a phone.

     Rossi's brows shot up, his mouth tightening into a grim line. The sight of Carson in such a state sent a jolt of alarm through him. Something was truly wrong.

     Beside the man, Reid's eyes widened significantly. His eidetic memory instantly cataloged every detail of Carson's appearance. The scratches on her hands, the desperation in her eyes, the way her fingers twisted compulsively in the torn fabric of her dress—all of it screamed of trauma and terror.

     The lobby fell uncomfortably silent, the routine sounds of the police station fading away. All attention focused on Carson, her presence a discordant note in the otherwise mundane setting.

     Scanning the main floor and lobby, Carson searched for the F.B.I. agents who'd come to her rescue. The fluorescent lights appeared to pulse, distorting her vision, until she spotted them—Rossi and Reid, standing near the entrance like sentinels. The absence of Hotch didn't go unnoticed.

     Her heart lurched in her chest, a combination of relief and dread flooding her system. With trembling legs, she made her way toward them, each step leaving a faint, muddy imprint on the linoleum. The few feet separating them felt like miles, the air thick and resistant as if she were wading through water.

     Rossi and Reid watched her approach, their countenances full of concern and shock. The closer she got, the more apparent the extent of her dishevelment became. By the time she reached them, the gravity of the situation dangled between them like a physical presence.

     It was then that Rossi, attempting to dispel the obvious, spoke. "Well," he drawled, his voice cutting through the suffocating awkwardness, "aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

     Carson's gaze snapped to Rossi, then Reid, her eyes feverish. She ignored the attempt at levity, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Where's Hotch?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper that somehow echoed in the lobby. The urgency in her tone sent a fresh wave of unease through both agents.

     Reid stepped forward, his lanky frame taut with tension. "He's in Baltimore with Kate," he began, words tumbling out in a rush. "There was an accident—"

     "I know," she cut him off, her fingers twisting the hem of her ruined blazer. The action seemed unconscious, a physical manifestation of her internal turmoil. "Is Parker okay?"

     His brow furrowed in confusion, trying to connect dots that shouldn't exist. "How did you—"

     Rossi interjected, his gaze never leaving Carson. "Parker's on her way to the hospital. We don't know her condition yet." He watched carefully for her reaction, noting every micro-expression that flitted across her mud-streaked face.

     The color drained from Carson's already pale features, her eyes widening in horror. The transformation was chilling—a woman pushed to her limits, now teetering on the edge of an abyss.

     Carson's voice cracked when she spoke again. "Rossi called me," she said, addressing Reid's unfinished question. "He told me about the accident. A car hit Melanie and Parker's escort. He said the team couldn't get hold of anyone and didn't know if anyone had been injured. He sent me the address to meet you all there."

     At the revelation, Rossi and Reid exchanged a puzzled glance.

     "Wait, how's Melanie? Is she on the way to the hospital, too?"

     The lobby shrunk around the three.

     Rossi's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Slowly, he shook his head, each movement deliberate and fueled by growing concern. "I never called you, Carson."

     The response hit Carson like a physical blow. She practically stumbled back a step, her head reeling. Her hand flew to one of the evidence bags, breaking through the plastic to retrieve her phone. As she pulled it out, a memory flashed through her mind—Olivia's note, the setup, the trap she'd walked into so willingly. How she managed to forget all of that in mere minutes was beyond her.

     With shaking hands, she thrust the phone toward Rossi. "Check the call log," she said, trying to keep calm. "It's there. It has to be."

     Rossi took the phone, his movements careful, as if handling a piece of crucial evidence. He scrolled through the call log, his expression growing more troubled with each swipe.

     "This isn't my number," he said softly, turning the screen for Reid to see.

     Carson's world tilted on its axis. The realization crashed over her in a wave of horror again. "It was Olivia," she muttered, the name tasting like poison on her tongue. "This was all Olivia's doing. Not even just the note. Every-fucking-thing."

     God, she felt so idiotic realizing this for another time. Her brain wasn't operating to its fullest capacity. Fear and brewing grief were overtaking it.

     The two men shared a glance at the mention of Olivia and Carson's cursing. A wordless communication passed between them. Carson caught the exchange, her senses hyper-alert in her state of panic.

     Reid opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "Tell me on the way. We need to go. Now. I need to see Parker."

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰⁴ 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     WELCOME TO VOLUME FOUR, EVERYONE!!!!!!

     also known as the beginning of the end. blood will be shed. the grief will be insurmountable. people's actions will have consequences. evil might prevail. hold on.

     i cannot believe there are only five chapters left after this... that's insane. i wrote this entire book in a little over a month and now it's nearly done being published in its entirety. that's just mindblowing to me and i'm so so proud. this story is my pride and joy.

     REMINDER: as i say at the beginning of each volume, the writing style of this book changes. volume one was more horror and mystery-based, volume two held more professional and legal themes, volume three was quick, dramatic, horror-influenced, and mystery-based, and this one is quick yet slow, emotionally heavy, horror-influenced, graphic, and holds professional and clinical themes throughout. so any writing changes are intentional!

     i hope you enjoyed chapter thirteen! 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.
No part of this publication may be
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electronic or mechanical methods,
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except in the case of brief quotations
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other noncommercial uses permitted
by copyright law. ❞

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