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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑽.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ in spite of my      clenched fist. . . ❜
─── chapter sixteen! ❫

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

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TW  /   please read below :
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graphic violence + graphic scenes.

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﹙ 𝕾ATURDAY ━ 𝕬PRIL 4TH, 2015 ﹚

     PARKER'S LUNGS BURNED AS SHE TORE THROUGH THE FOREST, EACH BREATH A RAGGED GASP THAT TORE AT HER THROAT. The world around her was a blur of shadows and muted greens, punctuated by the sharp sting of branches whipping across her face and arms. Blood from her 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 wanted to veer toward it, she did, but her legs kept moving from under her.

     They propelled her forward as her mind screamed for rest. She was exhausted and could barely breathe, but her body didn't care. It was on autopilot, driven by pure survival instinct. She wanted to stop, to hide behind that massive fallen tree she'd left behind, but her muscles refused to obey.

     It was as if some primal part of her brain had taken control, overriding all rational thought with a single command: Run.

     The forest floor was a dangerous obstacle course. Gnarled roots reached to snag her feet while low-hanging branches clawed at her face and arms. Each step was a gamble—would her foot find solid ground, or sink into a hidden hole? The uneven terrain sent jolts of pain through her ankles and knees, but she couldn't slow down.

     The taste of copper filled her mouth—whether from biting her tongue or earlier, she couldn't tell. Blood from her wounds stung her eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked furiously, knowing one misstep could mean the difference between escape and capture.

     The darkness felt alive, pulsing with malevolent energy. It pressed in on all sides, the spaces between trees morphing into yawning chasms. Silhouettes of distant trees transformed into black claws that reached for her.

     A cacophony of nocturnal sounds flooded her ears—the hoot of an owl was a mocking laugh while the rustle of small animals in the underbrush became whispers of pursuing footsteps. Every snapping twig struck terror through her spine, further convincing her that the Wraith was mere inches behind.

     The stench of decay and damp earth filled her nostrils, occasionally overpowered by the metallic tang of her own blood. Now, she could taste fear on her tongue, bitter and acrid, threatening to choke her with each labored breath.

     In the distance, a twig snapped loudly, the sound cutting through Parker's panic. Her heart leaped into her throat, hammering so hard she feared it might burst from her chest. The primal part of her brain screamed danger, urging her to run faster, to push beyond the limits of her already exhausted body.

     But no matter how fast she ran, the sensation of being watched, of being hunted, never abated. It clung to her skin, a constant reminder that she was prey to her grandmother.

     Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in the background.

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

     It was Agent Hotchner.

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

     She wanted to scream out a response, but her ability to utter a single syllable was gone. She was too scared.

     "It's okay, Parker. 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."

     Again, she couldn't talk, but she silently argued with the man. She can't keep hidden when her body refuses to do anything but run.

     "You're strong, Parker. You can do this. Just a little longer, okay?"

     No. Not okay. She wanted to be done and safe from Olivia.

     "Nothing's going to happen to you. We're going to find you, Parker. I promise."

     Hotch's reassuring words faded, replaced by a more immediate, terrifying sound. A beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating the forest floor in a harsh, white glow. Parker didn't need to look back to know what it meant—the Willamette Wraith was closing in.

     The light danced erratically, sometimes catching her heels, sometimes sweeping past her to illuminate the path ahead. Each time it touched her, Parker felt a spark of terror, spurring her to impossible bursts of speed.

     But her body was reaching its limit. Her lungs burned, each breath a struggle. The stitch in her side had become a knife-like pain. Her vision began to blur, the woods melting into a dark, swirling mass.

     Finally, mercifully, her legs gave out. Parker stumbled, her momentum carrying her forward until she collided with a tree. She slumped against it, gasping for air, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

     The sound of heavy footsteps grew closer. Parker turned, her back pressed against the rough bark, to face her pursuer. The Willamette Wraith emerged from the dark, a figure of nightmares made real. The mask, with its twisted and smeared features and empty eyes and gaping mouth, seemed to glow in the dim light, a beacon of terror in the dark forest.

     When the Wraith swung at her, Parker's self-defense training kicked in. With a surge of desperate strength, she managed to push her away, the impact sending a shock through her already aching arms. But the victory was short-lived. The Wraith recovered quickly, her movements unnaturally fluid and purposeful.

     Before Parker could react, a searing pain exploded in her abdomen. She looked down in shock to see the handle of a knife protruding from her stomach, the blade buried deep. The world began to spin, the forest blurring into a kaleidoscope of unclear shapes.

     As her knees buckled, she slid down the tree trunk. Her last conscious thought was of her mother's face, miles away and unaware of the danger. The forest reached out and enveloped her, dragging her into a void where even the Willamette Wraith couldn't follow.

     Then, everything was replaced by the stark reality of a dimly lit hospital room. Parker jerked awake, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Tears streamed down her face and she blinked rapidly, trying to orient herself. The sterile whites and beeping machines of the hospital room slowly came into focus, a welcoming difference from the horrifying forest of her nightmare.

     She heard someone calling her name, the voice familiar and comforting. Turning her head to the left, she saw her mom staring at her with concern etched deep into her features. Carson's hand was wrapped around hers, a warm anchor to reality.

     "Nightmare," Parker choked out, the word barely recognizable.

     Without hesitation, Carson moved from her chair to the bed. Parker motioned weakly for a hug, desperate for the comfort and safety of her mom's arms. Carson quickly yet gently pulled Parker into an embrace and kissed the side of her head.

     As they held each other, Carson's voice was soft but firm, a lifeline in the sea of fear Parker was drowning in. "You're safe, stinker. No one is coming to get you. I promise. I got you."

     But even as Parker clung to her, her eyes remained fixed on a point beyond, unseeing. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks. The terror of the nightmare was so visceral and real and clung to her like a second skin. Yes, she was safe for now, but part of her wondered if she would ever truly feel secure again.

── 𐀔 ──

     A GREY PALL CAST OVER WEST LINN AS THE MORNING SUN STRUGGLED TO PIERCE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. Outside Advantis Credit Union on Willamette Drive, SSA Jennifer Jareau and Derek Morgan stood waiting, their breath almost visible in the crisp Oregon air.

     JJ hugged her arms to her chest, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. "I hope Adler managed to get that warrant," she said, her blue eyes scanning the nearly empty street. "Reeves' safety deposit box could be a goldmine of information for the case."

     Taking a long sip from his coffee cup, Morgan nodded. "He said he's got a buddy who's a judge here. Adler might've been able to pull some strings, even on a Saturday." He checked his watch, brows pinching together. "Did Adler mention if he got permission from Reeves' half-sister? I know it's not necessary for the warrant, but..."

     "He wanted to be respectful," she finished. "Yeah, I was wondering about that too. It's a delicate situation, given everything that's happened."

     Morgan's phone buzzed. He quickly read the message, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Speak of the devil. Adler says he got the all-clear from the sister."

     And as if on cue, an unmarked police car pulled up to the curb. Detective Adler stepped out, waving a folded piece of paper triumphantly. "Morning, agents," he called out, striding toward them. "Got our golden ticket right here."

     "Detective," Morgan greeted, raising his coffee in the air. "Nice work getting this on such short notice."

     JJ nodded in agreement, brushing strands of blonde hair out of her face. "We appreciate the extra effort, especially with Reeves' family."

     "It's the least I and we can do for Sara," he said solemnly. "She dedicated her life to this case and city. Now it's our turn to finish what she started and honor her memory."

     The trio entered the credit union, the sudden warmth enveloping them like a blanket, melting away the chill that'd taken residence in their bones. The drastic change from the crisp Oregon morning and the building's interior was jarring, causing JJ to blink rapidly while her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting.

     The lobby was quiet, and the weekend hour ensured minimal foot traffic. Their footsteps echoed on the polished tile floor as Adler led them toward the front desk. Behind the counter, a young woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun looked up, her green eyes widening slightly at the sight of their badges. Her name tag read 'Rachel'.

     "Good morning, Rachel," Adler said, his tone professional but kind. He flashed a reassuring smile, sensing her nervousness. "We have a warrant to access a safety deposit box belonging to the late Sara Reeves."

     Rachel nodded, her movements a little jerky when she reached for the phone. "Of course, officers. Let me just... I'll need to call the manager for this." Her voice trembled almost unnoticeably and she dialed the extension, her stare darting between the three of them.

     Behind Adler, JJ and Morgan exchanged a glance.

     Within minutes, the click of dress shoes on the tile announced the arrival of the manager. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his navy suit crisp and well-tailored.

     "Good morning," he said, hands clasped in front of him. "I'm Thomas Brennan, the branch manager. I understand you need access to a safety deposit box?"

     Adler nodded, handing the warrant to him. "That's correct, Mr. Brennan. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter."

     Brennan scanned the document, his brow briefly furrowing before he looked up. "Everything seems to be in order. If you'll follow me, please."

     The group was led through a door marked 'Employees Only', down a short hallway, and into a secure area at the back of the building. The air felt cooler, laden with the metallic scent of the rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes lining the walls.

     Stopping in front of one of the walls, Brennan's fingers skimmed over the numbers until he found the one he was looking for. "Ms. Reeves had a 10x10 inch box," he explained, inserting a key into the lock. The metal made a soft scraping sound when he turned it. "Standard procedure requires that I open it, but then I'll give you privacy to examine the contents."

     As the box slid out, Adler, JJ, and Morgan inched closer. Curiosity and anticipation were on full display in their countenances. The moment felt charged as if they stood on the precipice of a major breakthrough in the case.

     Brennan carefully placed the safety deposit box on a nearby table, the metal making a soft thud against the wood. The overhead lights gave the box's surface a harsh glare, highlighting years of subtle wear.

     "I'll be just outside if you need anything," Brennan said, his tone respectful. He nodded once before stepping out, the door clicking shut.

     The three law enforcement officers stood in a semicircle around the table, the weight of the moment tangible. Morgan reached into his pocket, producing a pair of latex gloves with a soft snap as he pulled them on. JJ and Adler followed suit.

     With a deep breath, Morgan lifted the lid. The hinges creaked softly, revealing the box's contents. The smell of old paper and metal wafted up.

     Morgan was the first to look inside and he let out a low whistle. "Looks like Reeves was keeping one hell of a secret stash."

     "My God," JJ muttered with wide eyes, taking in the array of objects. She reached inside and carefully lifted out a worn, leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age. "This dates from 1984 all the way to 1995," she murmured, gently opening it to reveal neat, cramped handwriting. On the front page was a worn sticky note reminding Reeves to send "J.G." a copy of her notes. JJ supposed that stood for Jason Gideon. She continued to flip through the pages. The journal wasn't full, there were a handful of pages left blank. "It's full of her suspicions about Olivia Hart."

     Morgan reached in next, his gloved hands brushing over precious family jewelry before extracting a stack of letters bound with a faded rubber band. He silently read the name and address on the letters, eyes widening. "JJ, this is correspondence between Reeves and Gideon," he said, glancing at his partner.

     "Oh damn."

     Creases broke along Adler's forehead as he examined an evidence bag containing a small, emerald-green earring. The plastic crinkled under his touch and he held it up to the light. "This is from the original Crest crime scene," he said, reading the note written in Sharpie on the bag. "But it was never logged into evidence. Why would Reeves keep this?"

     While they continued to sift through the contents, each item raised more questions than answers. A cassette tape in a dusty case, its label faded but still legible. A USB drive, incongruously modern among the older items. A set of keys in a silver envelope and a small piece of paper with what looked like security codes folded neatly beside them. Reeves' birth certificate, Social Security number, and other personal, sensitive documents.

     Morgan held up the cassette tape, his expression grim. "We've got a recorded witness statement here that was never submitted as evidence, according to the label. This could be huge."

     JJ nodded, her fingers re-tracing the edge of the sticky note attached to the journal's first page. "There's a reminder here to send copies to 'J.G.'—probably Gideon. It looks like Reeves was building a case, piece by piece, over decades against Olivia. From what I can tell so far, a lot of it is circumstantial evidence, but still."

     It was then that everyone in the room realized the magnitude of what they'd uncovered. Years of suspicion, hidden evidence, and secret investigations lay before them. Each item was a potential key to unlocking the truth behind the Crest family murders and the depth of Olivia's involvement.

     Morgan straightened up, a glint in his eye. "I think we just hit the mother lode," he said, looking among the other two. "This could be the break we need."

── 𐀔 ──

     UNLIKE MOST WEEKENDS, THE BAU TEAM MEMBERS FOUND THEMSELVES AT WORK AND SURROUNDED BY A SURPLUS STACK OF FILES AND PAPERS. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Most of the core team members—Hotch, Kate, Garcia, Rossi, and Reid—sat around the round table in their casual weekend attire. Typically, they'd spend their weekends separately with family, sleeping, or going out. However, with the current overarching case and Morgan's cryptic text message, they all dropped their plans and returned to the Bureau. Not to mention, some of them hadn't stopped working on the case regardless of being at home. For two agents in particular, this wasn't just another case; it was a decades-old mystery finally unraveling, with potentially devastating consequences.

     Currently, they were waiting for Morgan and JJ to join the video call. It was relatively silent aside from the sound of typing.

     Garcia's fingers danced across her keyboard like they had been for the last hour, the rapid clicking background noise. Suddenly, she looked up, wide-eyed. "Okay, my crime-fighting superheroes, I've got Olivia's financials and phone records up to date." She paused, her expression troubled. "The last person she contacted was Sara Reeves, just hours before... you know."

     Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And since then?"

     "Nothing. Nada. Zero." Garcia shook her head, her colorful earrings swaying with the movement. "It's like she's gone completely off the grid. No calls, no texts, not even a single credit card transaction."

     An uneasy and tense silence fell over the room, broken only by the soft hum of the computer. Kate shifted in her seat, biting the edge of her thumb in contemplation. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, and it'd been itching at her since yesterday at the hospital.

     "Something's been bothering me about this case," she spoke up, waiting until everyone was looking at her. "Why didn't Olivia kill Parker when she had the chance in the woods?"

     All movement ceased. No one responded for a few seconds. Kate continued, her words measured. "Melanie, Carson's secretary and best friend, is gone. Two agents are dead. Yet Parker survived. It's almost as if..."

     "As if Olivia wanted Parker to survive," Reid finished, catching onto what she was alluding to.

     Shit.

     Rossi rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming his way. "She wasn't recreating the night she killed Carson's family," he sighed, dropping his hands to the table. "She was recreating the accident that took her family in '81—the car accident where Carson was the sole survivor."

     "Oh, my God," Garcia whispered, covering her mouth in horror. "Is she trying to make Parker the new Carson?"

     Hotch and Kate shook their heads. Kate was the one who answered. "I don't think so. Olivia orchestrated the crash, knowing there was a chance Parker might survive just like Carson did all those years ago. She wants Carson to know what it feels like to almost lose a daughter. Olivia lost Cadence, and then lost Carson when Carson cut her off sixteen years ago."

     "It's a twisted attempt to relive that moment, too," Reid added, grabbing a scrap of paper to jot something down. "In Olivia's mind, she's not only enacting revenge; she's creating a new 'daughter' to replace the one she lost... and the one who left her."

     A chilling realization struck Hotch and he sat up, his jaw tightening. "We need to consider that Carson might be Olivia's ultimate target. The elaborate setup, the accident, Parker's attack—it's all building to something."

     Rossi nodded grimly. "The way Olivia tricked Carson, getting her arrested... That level of manipulation required intimate knowledge of Carson's movements and psyche. She must've been watching them closely."

     "Since the moment they arrived in Virginia," Reid said, his pen moving rapidly across the paper. "The timing is too perfect to be coincidental."

     Brushing her hair out of her face, Kate nodded. "Think about it. The flowers from "Rossi," the mysterious phone call to Melanie, the phone call with Carson and Olivia/Rossi... Olivia's been orchestrating this from the shadows, one step ahead."

     Hotch turned to Garcia, his voice tight with urgency. "Garcia, I need you to review all the security footage from the Hyatt Regency Quantico and the Hampton Inn Potomac Mills. Monday through Thursday, in and out. And track down the source of those flowers sent to Carson, and that phone call Melanie received. We need to know if they match the number Olivia used to call Carson Thursday night."

     "I'm on it, sir," Garcia's fingers were already flying over the keyboard. "If there's a digital breadcrumb, I'll find it and follow it straight to the wicked witch's gingerbread house."

     Then, a beep from the video conference system echoed. The team turned to the large screen as Morgan and JJ's faces appeared. The pair were in the same conference room from last night. Their expressions were a mix of exhaustion and anticipation.

     "Chocolate thunder!" Garcia's face immediately lit up, and a bright smile spread across her cheeks. "And my beautiful JJ! Oh, how I've missed your faces in this sea of frowny brows!"

     "Hey, baby girl," Morgan snorted, shaking his head with a coy smirk.

     JJ managed a chuckle. "We've missed you too, Garcia. All of you."

     "Sorry for the delay, guys."

     Hotch rolled his shoulders back, his focus razor-sharp. "What have you found?"

     In unplanned unison, the two responded, "A lot."

     Morgan went on to elaborate. "Adler came through for us. We got a warrant for Reeves' safety deposit box at Advantis Credit Union this morning."

     "And?" Rossi's brows shot up, his fingers drumming an unconscious rhythm on the table. "Don't keep us in suspense, kid."

     JJ took a deep breath, her blue eyes intense even through the video feed. "It was like opening Pandora's box, guys. We found a journal belonging to Reeves, dating from 1984 to 1995. It's filled with her suspicions about Olivia and a note instructing to send copies of the journal to J.G.—Gideon."

     The team exchanged glances, the weight of the revelation settling in.

     "There's a whole lot more, too." Morgan leaned closer to the camera. "An evidence bag with a tiny emerald green diamond stud earring. The label says it's from the original Crest crime scene, but it was never logged into evidence."

     A collective intake of breath reverberated through the conference room. Reid's eyes were narrow yet full of shock. "Why would Reeves keep that hidden?"

     "We believe we have an answer for that, and we'll come back to it," JJ interjected, holding a hand up. "There's more. We found a tape recording of a witness statement that corroborates the need for increased patrols near the Crest house in '84. Cyrus requested more police presence a week before the murders, but no one knew why. Turns out that Reeves figured it out. This witness describes seeing someone matching Olivia's description in the woods and near the Crest home on multiple occasions. This witness believed it could have been Mayor Hart, but wasn't certain."

     Rossi deadpanned at this news. "Are you fucking serious?!" A simmering anger was present and it made the rest of the team glance at him warily. He almost stood up and pushed his chair, but he held it together. "So not only did Reeves keep crucial evidence from us during the initial investigation, but Gideon was in on it too at some point?"

     Gulping, Garcia anxiously darted her attention from the video call to Rossi and back.

     "We were partners, dammit. We were supposed to be working on this case together. And all this time, they had information that could have cracked it wide open?"

     Hotch watched Rossi carefully, understanding the betrayal he must be feeling. "Dave," he said quietly, "we don't know the full story yet."

     "Don't we?" Rossi turned his head, eyes blazing. "Reeves hid evidence. Gideon corresponded with her behind my back. They both suspected Olivia and didn't say a word to me. Hell, they didn't even put it in the official record!" He slammed his hand on the table, making Garcia and Kate jump. "We could have prevented years of murders if they had just shared what they knew!"

     The room fell still, the weight of Rossi's statement sinking in. The team swapped uneasy glances, feeling the ripple effects of decades-old decisions.

     After a moment, Morgan cleared his throat. "Rossi, I get your frustration, but we have to consider the context..."

     "Olivia was a powerful figure in West Linn," JJ cut in, aware that Morgan's comment would be better delivered by her. "If Reeves and Gideon didn't have concrete proof, coming forward could have destroyed their careers and any chance of solving the case."

     Rossi's shoulders sagged, some of the fight going out of him. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow."

     "We can't change the past," Hotch began, "but we can use this information now. Let's focus on what this new evidence tells us about Olivia and her methods."

     JJ cleared her throat, her image on the screen inching forward as she shifted. "There's more, and it's a lot." She paused, scanning the faces of her colleagues and gauging their reactions. "We found a bundle of letters, tied together with an old rubber band. There is correspondence between Reeves and Gideon that spans years. The latest was from the beginning of January before Gideon was murdered."

     The tension ratcheted up another notch. Rossi's jaw clenched visibly, but he remained silent and fixated on the monitor.

     "The letters are full of theories about Olivia. Detailed observations, suspicions, and even some attempts at profiling her behavior. It's like they were conducting their own private investigation, parallel to the official one throughout the years. A few of them focus solely on Carson and updates on how she's doing."

     Morgan jumped in, his deep voice resonating through the speakers. "And that's not all. We found a USB drive." He held up a small, black device for the camera to see. "It's got years' worth of emails between Reeves and Gideon. Same deal as the letters—all about Olivia, all kept completely off the books."

     "Send it to me," Garcia said before anyone else had a chance to chime in. "I'll crack it open and spill its digital guts."

     "Everything we found today was just sent to your email."

     "Got it! Thank you very much, hot stuff. I'm creating a digital inventory of everything as we speak, my darlings. Every scrap of paper, every recording—it'll be at our fingertips in no time."

     Hotch rested his elbows on the table. "Good work, both of you. Anything else?"

     JJ nodded, reaching for something off-screen. When her hand came back into view, she was holding a small, silver envelope. "We got the keys and security codes for the Crest house. They were in the safety deposit box like Carson said they would be."

     "Detective Adler's holding onto them for now," Morgan added. "We'll bring them back with us when we return. Figure it's best to keep them out of the system, given how sensitive this case is."

     Reid, his brow pinched in concentration, looked away from his paper. "JJ, you mentioned earlier that you might have an answer about the emerald earring. What did you find?"

     "Right, about that..." JJ flipped through the brown leather-bound notebook. Eventually, she stopped and slid something out. "Reeves found it on her fifth walk-through of the house wedged between the wall and stove in the kitchen. She recognized it."

     A picture was held in front of the camera. It was of Olivia Hart and Mary Crest at a charity event. They wore matching royal blue dresses with their natural curls. Their arms were linked, faces alight with laughter and blissfully unaware of the tragedies ahead. And if one looked closely, they'd be able to notice the emerald earrings Olivia wore.

     "This picture is from Olivia's office. Reeves was able to sneak a copy and email it to Gideon. The two hypothesized that it belonged to Olivia and could have fallen off the night of the murders."

     The group fell silent again as the implications sank in. Reid, his tone gentle yet probing, broke the air. "Rossi, why wouldn't Gideon tell you about any of this? You were partners."

     Rossi's jaw clenched tighter, his vision set on a point in the distance. When he answered, it was with anger and resignation.

     "We were, and I wish I knew. I suppose it had to do with the connection Gideon made with Carson. He was... invested. Gideon crossed personal boundaries and never looked back, never regretted it. Meanwhile, I was focused on catching the UnSub and moving on to the next case."

     On the video call, Morgan pursed his lips to the side and gave JJ a look. She returned it. "Speaking of crossing boundaries, that's an understatement," he remarked, turning to the camera. "These letters and emails, they paint a picture of Gideon that's... well, it's concerning, to say the least."

     He paused, watching the faces of his colleagues change, both in the room and on the screen. "Gideon was deeply involved in Carson's life, way beyond what we thought. He traveled to West Linn for special occasions—birthdays, school events, you name it. But here's the kicker: he only did when Olivia allowed it."

     That last sentence grabbed everyone's undivided attention.

     "It goes further. Carson spent spring breaks at his cabin, and not just once or twice. We're talking multiple years. And summers too, during high school."

     The room erupted in a cacophony of shocked reactions. Garcia's eyes were wide behind her glasses. Her bubbly demeanor was replaced by shock. Reid looked confused, his brilliant mind struggling to reconcile this new information with the mentor he thought he knew and considered a father figure. Kate's eyebrows shot up, a soft "Wow" escaping her lips, encapsulating the team's collective disbelief.

     Morgan held up a hand, indicating he wasn't finished. "There's more, and it gets worse. Gideon was constantly concerned about Olivia's relationship with Carson. The letters between him and Reeves are full of worries about the controlling, emotionally abusive dynamics they observed. In their eyes, Carson bounced from one abusive household to another."

     He gestured to the stack of evidence before him. "Reeves kept tabs on Olivia for years, just in case. Something about her didn't sit right. All of this stuff in the safety deposit box? It's not just old case files or personal mementos. It's concrete proof of their ongoing, off-the-books investigation. They were building a case against Olivia, separate from the official investigation, for years."

     The speechlessness that followed was deafening. It was Hotch who broke it, cutting through like a knife. "Gideon crossed all the boundaries here. There's no question about that. He went far beyond what any agent should, no matter the circumstances."

     Rossi, Morgan, and JJ nodded in agreement. Kate, on the other hand, was conflicted.

     Reid, however, leaned forward, his countenance reflective. "But it turned out to be for the better, didn't it?" His approach was conscientious, almost hesitant, as he began to offer a different perspective. "If Gideon hadn't been so involved, Carson might not be who she is today. His support might've been the lifeline she needed in a difficult situation."

     "Oh, totally!" Garcia, seizing on this glimmer of positivity, nodded enthusiastically. "Carson is amazing. She's overcome so much and become this incredible, strong woman. Maybe Gideon's support, unconventional as we can all admit it was, played a crucial part in that. Sometimes, the rules don't account for every situation."

     Everyone else contemplated this outlook. It was certainly possible. Even Hotch's stern expression softened almost imperceptibly, a small nod the only indication of his agreement.

     Feeling like it was time to move on to another subject, he cleared his throat. "Morgan, JJ, did you manage to visit the Crest family home?"

     The question appeared to snap everyone out of their thoughts.

     "We did, Hotch," Morgan replied, letting out a breath. "It was... surreal."

     JJ picked up where he left off. "Carson wasn't kidding when she said she'd changed everything. The house is completely gutted and redone. No furniture, kitchen removed, everything's different except the basic floor plan."

     Reid's brow furrowed, his mind racing. "Erasing the past... or maybe burning it?" he mused aloud.

     Shrugging, Kate met his curious stare. "After what happened there, I don't blame her one bit. I'd probably do the same or worse."

     Morgan's next comment drew their attention back to the screen. "We locked everything up tight. When we get back, we'll bring the keys and codes directly to you, Hotch. For Carson."

     Hotch nodded, a flicker of something—concern? protectiveness?—crossing his features for a split second. "Good. She should be the only one with access."

     Leaning back, Rossi's stare narrowed. "Did you see anything out of the ordinary at the house? Anything that might suggest Olivia's been there recently?"

     Together, JJ and Morgan shook their heads. "Nothing," JJ confirmed. "It's like a blank slate in there. Also, speaking of the house, did Carson find anything in the surveillance footage she reviewed?"

     Hotch's attitude shifted, his eyes focusing as he recalled the information. "She texted me this morning, said there was nothing out of the ordinary in the footage dating back six months. She's never had any security issues there."

     JJ stifled a sigh, relief and disappointment crossing over her. "I guess that's good news, but it doesn't give us much to go on."

     Turning his attention to Morgan, Hotch addressed him. "Morgan, where are we on getting a search warrant for Olivia's residence?"

     Morgan's image on the screen blurred for a second as the WiFi buffered. "We're pushing for it as fast as we can, Hotch. It's not easy given the high-profile nature of the case and the time that's passed, but we're making progress. I'll let you know the moment we have it."

     Hotch nodded, exhaling quietly. "Good. In the meantime, keep working the profile and review everything you found in that safety deposit box. There might be something we've missed."

     As Morgan and JJ nodded, JJ's face suddenly brightened, a spark of something lighter breaking through the gravity that'd settled over everyone. Her voice took on a softer tone, tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

     "Hey, speaking of the box's contents, I found something that might help ease the tension a bit. Want to see something cute?"

     The change in JJ's demeanor was discernible, even through the video feed. The team's collective mood seemed to lift slightly, curiosity piqued by the chance to take a brief respite from the case. An ensemble of affirmatives rang out, even Hotch gave a small nod of assent, his eyes showing a glimmer of interest.

     JJ rummaged through the stack of letters, papers rustling. After a moment, she pulled out an old photograph, its edges worn with age. She held it up to the camera, a small, almost wistful smile playing on her lips. The team leaned in, eyes fixed on their screens.

     "Look at this. It's Carson."

     The image filled the screen, a snapshot frozen in time. It showed a small girl with wavy brown hair that cascaded down her back, unruly curly bangs framing her face. She was dressed in a striped black and white dress, a pristine white cardigan draped over her shoulders. But it was her position that drew the eye—she was perched high on a young Jason Gideon's shoulders, her tiny arms wrapped around his head, fingers tangled in his curly hair.

     Both Carson and Gideon were grinning widely at the camera, their joy radiating from the photograph. They stood in front of what was clearly West Linn's City Hall, its imposing facade a contrast to the lighthearted scene in the foreground. Gideon's hands were formed into enthusiastic thumbs up, his usual serious demeanor nowhere to be seen.

     Garcia's reaction was immediate and heartfelt. She let out an "Aww!" that was equal parts delight and sympathy. "Oh, my gosh, she was adorable! Look at those curls! And that dress—she looks like she stepped out of a vintage fashion catalog!"

     A warm smile spread across Kate's face and she placed a hand on her heart. "She's such a cute kid, and so tiny! She looks like a little doll up there on Gideon's shoulders," she breathed, glad JJ decided to share the photo with the rest of them. This is exactly what they needed. "It's hard to believe this is the same woman we know now."

     At the familiar face that'd taken residence in the back of his mind, the lines around Rossi's eyes crinkled. A hint of nostalgia crept into his stare. "She was a small thing, always was," he said, his lips curling. "But full of fire, even back then. You can see it in her eyes, that spark. Even after everything she'd been through."

     Even Hotch's stern demeanor cracked slightly. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at the image of young Carson. For a brief moment, the weight of the case lifted from his shoulders, replaced by something softer, more personal.

     Reid, always the curious one, leaned forward and scanned every detail. "When was this taken?" he asked, mentally working to place the image in the timeline they'd constructed.

     Morgan glanced at a note attached to the back of the photo. "June 1st, 1986. A little over a year and a half after the murders. Carson was 9."

     With that answered, the mood in the room shifted. The weight of the case settled back over them like a blanket, the brief moment of lightness dissipating. The smiling face of a young Carson Crest in the photograph now carried a deeper significance.

     The team lingered on the image, each lost in their thoughts. The difference between the joyful scene captured in the photo and the brutal reality of the case they were investigating was noticeable. It served as a powerful reminder of what was at stake—not just solving a series of crimes, but protecting the lives and futures of real people, people who had already endured unimaginable trauma.

     As the silence lingered, Hotch pulled the group back to the present. "Thank you for sharing that, JJ. It's a good reminder of why we're doing this." His stare swept around the room and screen. "Let's wrap this up. Morgan, JJ, keep us updated on the warrant. We'll reconvene once we've had time to process all this new information and have updates."

     "Will do, Hotch," Morgan said. "We'll be in touch soon."

     "Take care, everyone," JJ added, giving a gentle wave

     A chorus of goodbyes echoed and the team signed off. The monitor's screen flickered to black, leaving the conference room in a momentary hush.

     For a beat, no one moved. Then, as if shaking off a spell, they began to stir. Garcia's fingers returned to her keyboard, the soft clicking a familiar comfort. Reid reached for another file, his brow furrowed in concentration.

     It was Kate who broke the silence with a determined attitude. "We should start brainstorming where Olivia might be now, and what her next moves could be. She's been one step ahead this whole time—we need to anticipate her next play."

     Without hesitation, Hotch nodded. "Agreed. Let's get everything up on the board."

── 𐀔 ──

     THE GLOW OF THE HOSPITAL ROOM'S TV CAST FLICKERING SHADOWS ACROSS CARSON AND PARKER'S FACES. An old SpongeBob episode was playing. The familiar, cheerful voices were comforting and brought smiles to both of them. Carson sat in the chair next to Parker's bed with her feet propped on the mattress. A collection of jello cups was growing in a pile between them and they each held one.

     "Where could he possibly be?"

     "Maybe he's in that poorly drawn pineapple."

     "Come on, let's go!"

     In unplanned unison, Carson and Parker slowly and dramatically looked at each other. This was one of their favorite episodes and one that Parker would randomly quote occasionally.

     "I'm not going in there..."

     "Come on, Patrick. I'm right behind you. Baby steps."

     "It's like they knew we were watching," Parker said, nodding at the TV.

     Carson smirked, strands of hair falling into her face. "Oh, they definitely knew."

     In the episode, SpongeBob and Patrick stood up in the bush they were in. One of Patrick's legs and one of SpongeBob's were visible, and they proceeded to the drawn pineapple.

     "Almost there..."

     Without warning, DoodleBob drew a hole and the pair fell into it, screaming as they crashed.

     Parker burst into laughter, wincing slightly but unable to contain her joy. Carson joined in, her own laugh a mixture of genuine amusement and relief at seeing her daughter in better spirits. For a moment, they forgot about the world around them and everything they'd been through.

     "What just happened?"

     DoodleBob, speaking nonsense, said, "Neahoy, minayay? Neyoyoyminoy, ladyonmamoy!"

     "Come on, Patrick. Give me a boost up!"

     "Can't we just stay down here where it's safe?"

     "No way. I created this monster and I've got to stop him."

     A giant wrench drawn by DoodleBob fell on Patrick's head, and Carson snorted. She ate a spoonful of jello, waving her feet side to side.

     "Neofineyin!"

     "See what I mean, Patrick?"

     Parker turned to her mom again, a particular gleam in her eye. "Do the voice, Mom," she said, bumping her feet into hers. Carson loosely rolled her eyes and met her stare. "Come on, you know you want to."

     Not many people knew this—and by people, that meant Parker and Melanie—but Carson could do a spot-on, perfect impression of SpongeBob's voice, which meant she could also mimic DoodleBob. It always made them laugh and was something Carson took silent pride in.

     And that fact was the deciding factor. Carson cleared her throat, a mischievous smile present. She waited until the dialogue reached their favorite part. Then, she shouted, "Nyaaah! Nyaayaya! Me hoy minoy! Meah froyay!"

     This set Parker off again, her laughter reverberating in the small room. "No, no, you gotta really commit to it. I know what your impression sounds like and that wasn't it," she insisted. Putting on her own exaggerated SpongeBob voice, she shouted, "Nyaaah! Nyaayaya! Me hoy minoy! Meah froyay!"

     Soon, they were trading increasingly ridiculous, "Nyaaah! Nyaayaya! Me hoy minoy! Meah froyay!" shouts back and forth. The attempts grew more outlandish with every try. Eventually, they transitioned to only shouting, "ME HOY MINOY!"

     "ME HOY MINOY!" Carson bellowed, the words cracking due to laughter. Her eyes bulged comically, and she waved her arms in wild gesticulations that would have made SpongeBob proud.

     Not to be outdone, Parker mustered all her strength to sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge of pain from her injuries. "ME HOY MINOY!" she shrieked, her voice rising to a pitch that would make dogs howl. She puffed out her cheeks and crossed her eyes, looking so ridiculous that Carson nearly choked on her laughter.

     They kept at it, each trying to outdo the other with more absurd interpretations. Carson's recently washed brown hair was in disarray, strands falling across her face as she shook with laughter. Parker's hospital gown was askew, and the heart rate monitor beeped a bit faster, registering her excitement.

     Tears streamed down their faces, leaving trails through the slight smudges of Carson's mascara and the remnants of Parker's jello mustache. The stress and fear of recent days were momentarily forgotten in this bubble of shared joy. The hospital room was filled with the kind of laughter that heals the soul.

     As their giggles finally began to subside, interrupted by the occasional hiccup or snort, Carson felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the exertion. She looked at Parker, her daughter's face flushed with happiness, and felt a surge of love so strong it almost took her breath away.

     Wiping her eyes and still chuckling softly, Carson reached out to squeeze Parker's hand. "Oh, I needed that," she sighed, tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

     Parker nodded, her smile wide and genuine, eyes sparkling with residual happiness. "Me too, Mom. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that." She squeezed her hand in return.

     For a moment, they sat there, hands clasped and surrounded by the aftermath of their laughter—scattered jello cups, rumpled bedsheets, and the continuing antics of SpongeBob on the TV. The room felt different somehow as if their shared joy had chased away some of the lingering shadows of fear and uncertainty.

     It was in this moment of contentment when Carson reached to smooth a strand of hair from Parker's forehead that her phone buzzed on the side table. Still smiling, she reached for it with her free hand, expecting an update from Hotch.

     Her eyes, crinkled at the corners from smiling, scanned the screen casually at first. But as she read the message from an unknown number, the happiness in her expression froze and faded.

     Alone. No law enforcement.

     The words seemed to pulse on the screen, each letter a threat. And below them was an address that made Carson's blood run cold—the same place where she'd been arrested and set up by Olivia.

     The change in Carson was immediate. Her body stiffened, the tracing of circles on Parker's hand stilling. The color drained from her face, leaving her pale in the blue glow of the TV. Her eyes, moments ago sparkling with mirth, were widened in fear and grim determination.

     Parker, attuned to her mom's moods after years of just the two of them, noticed the shift instantly. The remnants of her own smile faded, replaced by a look of growing concern. She watched her mom's jaw clench and a muscle twitch at the corner. It was a tell-tale sign of stress that she recognized.

     "Mom? What is it? What's wrong?"

     Carson didn't respond quickly. Her stare remained fixed on the phone, re-reading the message, hoping the words would somehow change. Her breathing had become shallow, and Parker could see her pulse fluttering rapidly at her throat.

     The cheerful sounds of SpongeBob continued in the background, now an eerie counterpoint to the tension that'd unexpectedly filled the space.

     "Mom?" Parker tried again, trying to catch her eye. "Is it the F.B.I.? Or... is it her? Is it Olivia?"

     At the sound of that name, Carson's eyes snapped up to meet Parker's. In that moment, without a word being spoken, Parker knew. The realization took her breath away, and she felt her own body tense, mirroring her mom's posture.

     The laughter of moments ago felt distant and like it'd happened in another lifetime. They stared at each other, not sure what to say or do.

     Eventually, Parker settled on asking, "What does it say?" Her line of sight moved to the phone in Carson's hand. Again, her mom didn't answer.

     Carson's brain was sprinting. The lawyer in her was analyzing every possible angle, every potential outcome. The message was clear in its cryptic simplicity: the address in Front Royal—followed by two chilling directives: "Alone. No law enforcement."

     Still sitting frozen, she failed to notice Parker reaching out and taking the phone from her unresisting hand. Reading the message, her eyes widened while understanding dawned on her.

     "Mom," she said slowly, the single word trembling, "you're not going to..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.

     Relentless in its pursuit, Carson's mind continued to race. The logical part of her, the part that made her such a successful lawyer, screamed that this was a trap and going alone was foolish and dangerous. However, another part of her, the part that'd lived with this nightmare for decades, saw an opportunity to end it. If Olivia was stopped, more families would be spared and so would her daughter.

     Finally, Carson's eyes met Parker's, and at that moment, a silent conversation passed. The air in the hospital room thickened.

     "I have to go."

     Parker's reaction was instantaneous. "No!" she exclaimed, wincing as she sat up too fast. "Mom, you can't. It's obviously a trap. You can't seriously be considering this."

     Carson stood, her movements jerky and tense. She began to pace the small room, struggling to organize her thoughts. "I don't have a choice, Parker. This might be our only chance to end this."

     "Our only chance?" Parker's voice rose, fueled by disbelief and fear. "Mom, she'll kill you. You can't go alone. We need to call Agent Hotchner, tell him about the message."

     Carson shook her head vehemently. "No. No law enforcement, remember? If I involve them, who knows what Olivia might do? She's already hurt you, killed Melanie and two agents, not to mention my family and several other families. I can't risk anyone else."

     Parker struggled to sit up further, her face contorted by pain and determination. "Then I'm coming with you," she declared.

     "Absolutely not," Carson shot back, her tone brooking no argument. "You're hurt, and I won't put you in danger again. This is between me and Olivia. It always has been."

     "Did you not hear me when I said she'd kill you?!" Parker retorted, throwing a hand up exasperatedly. The steady beep of Parker's heart monitor grew louder, a ticking clock counting down to an inevitable confrontation.

     "I hear you, stink," Carson reassured her, frowning yet determined nonetheless. "I have to do this. I have to end it, once and for all. It's been following me for far too long and Olivia needs to be held accountable."

     Parker's voice cracked as she replied, "But what if you don't come back? What if this is exactly what she wants? I can't lose you."

     Carson's eyes shone with unshed and rising tears. "Parker, I promise you, I will come back. This ends tonight." The weight of that promise was both a comfort and a source of dread.

     "How does this sound..." She squared back her shoulders and her lawyer's mask slipped into place. The transformation was visible—her gaze hardened with resolve, her posture straightened, and her voice took on a controlled, professional tone. Yet underneath this facade, a storm of emotions raged—fear for her daughter's safety, anger at Olivia for forcing this situation, and a deep, aching love that made her want to stay and never let go.

     "We're going to treat this like a legal agreement."

     Parker's brows rose, a mix of confusion and concern crossing her features. She hesitantly nodded, recognizing her mom's 'lawyer mode'. There was something both comforting and terrifying about seeing her slip into this familiar role—comforting because it was so quintessentially 'Mom', terrifying because it underscored the gravity of the situation.

     "First, we establish a clear timeline. It's half past six right now and it takes two hours not counting traffic, to drive to the address. I should arrive before or by 9 PM. When I do, I'll text you immediately. I have until nine to make contact. That's our 'performance clause'. If I fail to meet that deadline, you're legally obligated to contact Hotch immediately. No delays, no second-guessing. Understood?"

     "Understood," Parker replied, her voice steadier than she felt. Her eyes, however, betrayed her fear—wide and glistening with tears. She was trying so hard to be strong, to match her mom's composure, but inside she was screaming, begging her not to go. Too much had happened in too little time.

     "Second, we need to consider potential outcomes. In corporate mergers, we always plan for contingencies. So, if I don't return..." Carson paused, swallowing hard. The words felt like glass in her throat, sharp and painful. "There's a file in my home office labeled 'Contingency'. It contains all the necessary legal documents—power of attorney, my will, instructions for the firm. There's even one in the event Melanie isn't around. You'll need to access those."

     Parker's face paled, the reality of what her mom was saying hitting her like a physical blow. She nodded again, her lower lip almost trembling as she fought back tears. The clinical way her mom was discussing the possibility of not returning was almost more than she could bear.

     "Third," Carson pushed on, barely above a whisper, "we need to discuss non-disclosure. Whatever happens tonight, you can't tell anyone about this message or my whereabouts until after 9 PM, even when I make contact. We can't risk Olivia finding out I've shared this information."

     "But Mom," Parker interjected, "isn't this whole thing illegal? Meeting a suspected murderer without informing law enforcement?"

     Carson's lips tightened and the facade dropped a tad. "It's... a grey area. I'm not actively obstructing justice, but I'm walking a fine line. That's why your silence until 9 PM is crucial. After that, full disclosure to Hotch is not just allowed, it's required." She moved to Parker's bedside, taking her daughter's hand. "Do you accept these terms?"

     Parker stared at her mom's hand clasped tightly around her own. She could feel how Carson's fingers were subtly shaking, belying the calm exterior she was trying so hard to maintain.

     After what felt like an eternity, Parker squeezed her hand and looked up, blinking back a flood of tears. "I accept," she whispered, trying to hold it together. "Mom, please be careful. This isn't worth your life. Meeting with Olivia isn't worth your life."

     Carson's composure cracked at her daughter's words. The lawyer's mask fell completely, revealing the vulnerable, terrified woman beneath. She leaned forward and cupped Parker's face with her free hand, her thumb gently brushing away a tear that'd escaped.

     "I promise, stinker," Carson said thickly. "I will do everything in my power to come back to you. This ends tonight, one way or another."

     Unable to hold back any longer, Parker surged forward, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. She threw her arms around her mom, burying her face in Carson's shoulder. Carson returned the embrace fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Parker's head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back.

     They stayed like that for several long moments, neither wanting to let go. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the muffled sounds of the hospital beyond the door faded, leaving only the sound of their shared breaths and barely suppressed sobs.

     Reluctantly, Carson began to pull out of the hug. She pressed a long kiss to Parker's forehead, then another to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her daughter's hair as if trying to memorize it.

     "I love you," she murmured, her lips still pressed to Parker's temple. "More than anything in this world. Remember that."

     "I love you, Mom," Parker replied, muffled against Carson's shoulder. She tightened her grip before letting go entirely. "Come back to me."

     Carson stood and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She moved around the room, gathering her things with mechanical precision. Her purse, her phone, the rental car keys—each item feeling unnaturally heavy in her hands.

     At the door, Carson paused and glanced back for one last look at her daughter. Parker sat in the hospital bed, looking small and vulnerable against the white sheets. Their eyes met across the room, years of love passing in a silent exchange.

     With a final, tremulous smile, Carson opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed in the quiet room. Parker stared blankly at the space where her mom had been, the gravity of what had just transpired sinking in.

     What if that'd been the last conversation they'd ever have?

── 𐀔 ──

     THE TIRES OF CARSON'S RENTAL CAR CRUNCHED ON THE FAMILIAR DIRT ROAD, EACH BUMP SENDING A SHIVER OF RECOGNITION THROUGH HER BODY. A thick blanket of mist hung low over the woods. The forest closed in around her, branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers reaching for her. The beam of her headlights struggled to penetrate the encroaching darkness.

     Soon, the trees began to thin and the clearing was ahead. Driving into the open space, she gulped. A sense of déjà vu washed over her so strongly it left her breathless. The dilapidated house loomed in the background, a dark silhouette against the night sky, just as it had been two days ago. 

     Carson pulled up beside a black rental truck, its damaged front end a testimony to the violence it had wrought. She parked the vehicle and turned off the headlights. The engine's rumble faded to silence. The quiet that followed was absolute, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and her shallow breathing. The only reassuring fact about all of this was that Carson knew what awaited her. This time, she was walking into the lion's den with her eyes wide open.

     Unbuckling her seatbelt, she retrieved her phone from her purse. "Here. Remember, 9 PM." She pressed send on the message to Parker and locked the screen, missing the red exclamation point that appeared next to the undelivered text.

     She stepped out of the car, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. Keeping the car unlocked in case she needed a quick getaway, she tucked the keys into the back pocket of her jeans. The air was rich with the scent of pine and damp soil. Carson's eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of Olivia. There was nothing.

     Carson approached the rental truck cautiously, her senses on high alert. When she pulled on the door handles, she was surprised to find them unlocked and it was an invitation she couldn't ignore. Peering inside, she was hit by the unmistakable scent of cinnamon—Olivia's signature scent. A black suitcase and duffel bag sat innocuously in the backseat, their presence both mundane and menacing.

     Soundlessly closing the driver's door, Carson turned her sights to the two-story house. Two days ago, its windows were dark, empty sockets staring back at her. Now, there was a flicker of light in one of the upstairs windows while another stood open, its shredded curtain fluttering in the breeze. The similarities between this decrepit house and her childhood home in West Linn were still unsettlingly uncanny—the same steep roof pitch, the wraparound porch, even the placement of the windows. It still felt like someone had plucked her past from her memories and twisted it into this nightmarish facsimile.

     And again, 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 transported Carson back to that fateful night over thirty years ago.

     Switching on her phone's flashlight, she inhaled deeply, the cool night air filling her lungs. Carson took a hesitant step toward the property, her boot sinking into the ground. Each footfall felt heavier than the last, as if the earth itself was trying to hold her back, to protect her from what lay ahead.

     The shine of her flashlight cut through the dark, creating eerie shadows that danced and flickered with every movement. As she drew closer to the house, Carson's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, her mind playing tricks on her. Was that movement in the corner of her eye, or just a branch swaying in the breeze? Did she hear a whisper, or was it just the wind?

     The porch awaited her, its weathered boards eliciting an ominous creak under her weight. Each creak and groan sent a chill down her spine, parroting the sounds of her childhood home. She half-expected to hear her father's angry voice calling out, or her mother's demanding orders.

     Reaching the front door, Carson's free hand unconsciously moved to her throat, her fingers brushing against the sun pendant. The cool metal against her skin grounded her, reminding her of who she was now—not the frightened child of her past, but a strong, capable woman—and why she was doing this.

     Yet, as she stood before the slightly ajar door, Carson couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into more than just a confrontation or trap with Olivia. She was walking into the past, into the nightmares and terrors she spent decades avoiding.

     With one final deep breath and her heart pounding in her chest, Carson slipped inside. Her movements were quiet. The beam of her flashlight pierced the darkness beyond, revealing peeling wallpaper and abandoned furniture shrouded in cobwebs. Scattered leaves covered the floor. The musty smell of abandonment filled her nostrils, mingling with the lingering scent of cinnamon. It clung to the air like a ghost.

     Carson's boots left faint imprints in the thick layer of dust coating the floor when she stepped forward. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each beat a countdown to the inevitable confrontation. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the chilly weather.

     Somewhere in this house, waiting in the shadows, was the architect of her life—Olivia.

     Directly ahead, a staircase loomed, its banister thick with dust and cobwebs. Carson's flashlight shook when she directed it upward, the light catching motes of dust dancing in the air like silent specters. The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly.

     Suddenly, there was a sharp crack that echoed through the house, making Carson freeze. Her breath caught in her throat and she waited, straining her hearing for any sign of movement above. The silence that followed was deafening. Carson's grip on her phone tightened, her knuckles white.

     Her flashlight beam reached the top of the stairs, illuminating the second-floor hallway. And there, standing motionless at the stop, was a figure that had haunted her for decades. The Willamette Wraith, in full costume, its white and grey smeared mask stared back at her. The bottomless eyes and gaping mouth stared at her mockingly.

     The sight paralyzed Carson. Her breath left her in a rush, her lungs seizing with primal terror. The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground. In that moment of blind panic, Carson was no longer a successful lawyer and protective mom. She was a scared little girl again, seven years old, facing the monster that had torn her world apart.

     The silent figure of the Wraith stood above, a culmination of past and present horrors merging into one terrifying moment. And in the pitch blackness, barely audible over the roaring of blood in Carson's ears, came a sound that chilled Carson to her very core—the soft, measured breathing of the Wraith, drawing closer.

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

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

     well... what now?

     the next chapter... i hope y'all are ready. things are going to get bloody and tragic real quick. (maybe, maybe not)

     i hope you enjoyed chapter sixteen! 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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