𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

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𝟭:𝟮𝟱𝗽𝗺
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗲
𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗴𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗿𝘆, 𝗔𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗺𝗮


𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 lights flickered in Cady's eyeline, seated in the middle of the backseat, with Morgan driving and Reid in the passenger seat. Five police cars surrounded the picturesque home, along with two unnecessary ambulances. The three agents climbed out of the SUV, met by a uniformed officer, ready to shake their hands.

"Detective Hollins," he greeted.

"Agents Morgan, Reid, Wilkinson," Morgan advised, not seeing Cady's jaw clench. "How is it in there?"

Hollins sighed, pushing his short blond hair back from his forehead. "Brutal," he admitted. "I don't think I've seen this much blood in my entire career."

"Have the bodies been removed?" Reid asked, his eyes squinting under the mid-day sun.

Hollins shook his head. "We wanted you to take a look first."

Cady stomach almost lurched at the thought. She swallowed hard as they each pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves while they stood on the front porch. She braced herself against one of the wood columns to cover her boots with the clear plastic protectors another officer had handed them.

"Who was first on the scene?" Morgan asked, sliding his sunglasses off to tuck into the neckline of his t-shirt.

"Uh, Ridgeway," Detective Hollins hitched a thumb over his shoulder, directing to another officer standing by the ambulances. "Door was unlocked," he pointed to the doorframe as the four passed through the threshold. "No sign of forced entry."

Cady's heart pounded in her chest, alerting her of the danger she already knew. Her stomach twisted further, threatening to erupt. The lower floor was pristine, but the knowledge of four murdered children, along with their parents, still on the level above them was forced into Cady's mind. They climbed the stairs, followed by Detective Hollins.

The blue runner on the landing was askew and rumpled, a taste of what was to come. The smell was overpowering as Cady tried to shift away. "Three days?" she whispered to Hollins, who nodded.

"Our medical examiner hasn't yet determined a time-frame," he explained, "but based on decomp, he reckons they were killed Saturday night."

Three doors lined the hall to their right, a bathroom to their left, and the parents' room at the very end. Cady found her feet stuck fast. How was she meant to look upon mutilated bodies of children whose lives had barely even begun? Little Molly was only eight months old.

Morgan had noticed. "Hey," he warmed, his hand on her shoulder. "You okay, Wilks?"

She nodded slowly, before quickly shaking her head. "I can't..."

He knew her apprehension. She was 29, her career with the BAU had only just started. She wasn't used to this. He nodded towards the bedroom down the hall. "Tell me what you can find in there, okay?"

Cady swallowed again, nodding and bracing herself for the scene unfolding. The bodies of Andrew and Bonnie Harrington were still in their bed, skulls practically caved in, the sheets and the walls all stained with blood. Her eyes searched over the room, desperate to look at anything other than them. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, telling her to walk away, but she persisted.

Studying her surroundings, she could tell a lot about the Harringtons. They were proud parents from the array of photos displayed brightly on the dresser, the windowsill, and both nightstands. They were neat, based on the dusted surfaces, straightened rug beneath the bed, and the perfectly positioned and plumped cushion on the chair in the corner. Cady frowned, retracting her own thought as she stepped closer to the ornate chair that faced the bed. The cushion on it hadn't been plumped, it had been leaned on. She looked from the chair towards the bodies on the bed; the perfect angle to watch them die. Her heartbeat quickened and she took a deep breath.

She didn't realise her hands were shaking.

Heading to the door again in search of Morgan, she finally noticed the axe propped up against the wall. She squatted down, examining it further. The head was rusting and the handle was smooth from years of use. At the base were carved initials.

A.H.

Cady straightened, looking to the closest CSU member. "Hey, was this moved?" she asked him, pointing a gloved finger to the axe.

He looked over, shaking his head. "No ma'am."

Morgan appeared next to her, standing in the doorway. "Wilks?"

Her ponytail swung around as she turned to face him. "It's the victim's axe," she concluded, "just like the Fordings. He's killing them with their own axes."

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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗬𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗲
𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗴𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗿𝘆, 𝗔𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗺𝗮

𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐌, 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 woman with auburn hair stood on the curb, her arms folded over her chest as she watched the black SUV pull into the driveway of The Yates' residence. If it weren't for the clusters of cops, CSI, and now two FBI agents, the antebellum home would've seemed normal as it sat on its tree-lined street. At this time of day, it was common for the neighbourhood to lay quiet, with most of its residents at work or at school. But today, there was an eery silence, as if even the trees knew something was wrong.

"FBI?" the woman asked the question she already knew the answer to, taking a step forward and extending her hand.

"Agent David Rossi," Rossi greeted, reciprocating the handshake before gesturing to Emily. "Agent Emily Prentiss."

"Claire Baulder," she introduced herself, meeting Emily's hand too, dropping the title of 'detective' that she never thought appropriate. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet ya, but under these circumstances, I'd be lyin'."

"We understand," Emily gave a single nod, turning to stare up at the house; grand and covered in windows, all with their shutters open.

Rossi followed Emily's gaze. "So, what can you tell us?"

Baulder sighed, leading the two agents up the path and into the house. "Vincent and Jessica Yates were both attacked with blunt force trauma to their heads; Vincent was still in bed and Jessica in their bathroom. We think she tried to fight off her attacker before..." The end of her sentence was stuck, locked in her throat as she swallowed. They were stood at the open doorway of the master suite, with a clear view into the ensuite bathroom. Unlike the Harrington house however, the bodies and other evidence had since been cleared away.

"She tried to get to her children," Rossi finished, and Claire nodded. It was an assumption, but the correct one, nonetheless.

Emily stepped into the room, her eyes instinctively scanning over the space before landing on the full-length mirror in the corner. "He was an architect, right?" she asked, the question tapping at her lips from earlier as she then caught a glimpse of her reflection.

Claire nodded, her arms folded over her chest again. "Vince was part of the team who designed most of the newer downtown."

"Did you know him?" Rossi noticed the casual use of Vincent's nickname.

But she shook her head, using a hand to sweep her loosened bangs back into place. "Only professionally."

"Do you know if they knew the Harringtons?" Emily looked over her shoulder.

Exhaling, Claire's shoulders dropped. "No, we haven't found any connection between them," she said. "Maybe they're just unlucky." She cleared her throat. "If y'all don't mind, I'll leave ya to it."

"Of course," Emily gave a curt smile. "Thank you, Detective." She took a turn of the room once more. "Brutal," she whispered.

"Definitely a rage kill," Rossi added.

"Okay, so," Emily stepped to the bedside, pointing a hand to the still-creased pillow. "UnSub takes the opportunity to kill Mr Yates first while his wife is in the bathroom." She then looked to her colleague and the open bathroom door behind him. "Mrs Yates hears, maybe? Opens the door?"

"He takes out the greatest threat first," Rossi nodded, following along and mimicking what he thought Jessica's steps would have been. "She tries to save her children but is killed."

"Then," Emily breathed a sigh, "he kills the kids."

"Two boys?"

Emily nodded, recalling the file she had read on the flight here. "Thomas and Nathan. Their bedrooms are down the hall." She followed Rossi out of the master bedroom, both noticing the two open doors further down that lead to the boys' rooms.

"Then whose bedroom is this?" Rossi pushed opened a door, revealing a spacious room, pleasantly decorated, with an attached ensuite, smaller than the master. Neither space was in disarray, everything perfectly placed and tidy.

Detective Baulder appeared next to them, having entered from the living room once again. "They had an au pair," she explained. "Grace Geoffrey."

Rossi raised a brow. "Then where is she?"

"She quit," Baulder went on, "about two weeks ago, I think."

The two FBI agents exchanged a knowing look before Rossi spoke again. "We're gonna need to talk to her."

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𝟮:𝟰𝟭𝗽𝗺

𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 Harrington's kitchen, Derek Morgan was studying the contents of their pantry. Unable to determine why her colleague was rummaging through the dark-stained mahogany cabinets, Cady had resorted to a different room. Unlike the upper floor that housed their victims, however, the lower floor was almost immaculately clean.

Morgan reached a gloved hand into the cupboard, noticing a loaf of bread with the opening of its plastic bag twisted and tucked under it, rather than clipped or decanted into Tupperware like everything else. Frowning, he turned the half loaf over in his hand. "Hey, Wilks, what day were they killed?"

"Uh, the night of the 19th into the 20th," Cady answered, walking into the kitchen from the laundry. "Why?"

He showed her the artisanal loaf, printed with an over-the-top label.

𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟷
𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟹

"He stayed here," she concluded, taking the bread and looking around the kitchen. "He lived here, while they were still upstairs, dead."

"How long do you think he would've stayed if they hadn't been found?"

"Oh, gross," Cady shuddered, dropping the loaf. "I don't want to think about that." Noticing a water spill on the kitchen counter behind her, she frowned, tilting her head. Leaning in as she turned, she tapped her covered finger to the small, clear puddle. She was certain it wasn't made by any of her team, or any of the CSU guys that populated the house. "Morgan," she started. "Look at this." She straightened as he walked over. "It's still wet."

Morgan stared at the spot. It was remarkably larger than a condensation ring, and wasn't near the sink, so it was likely just a spill, but to them, it was a clue. "Hey, Reid!"

Reid entered, meeting the two to see what they were looking at. "What's up?"

"How fast does water evaporate?" Cady asked.

"Depends on the temperature," he shrugged. "On average, one ten-thousandth of a gram per second."

Cady pointed to the water on the polished black granite. "When do you think that was made?"

He looked down, and Cady could almost hear the cogs grinding. "Maybe a few hours ago."

"We're gonna need better than that, kid," Morgan argued.

"I'd need to know how big it was to start."

"Just take a guess, genius." Cady was also increasingly intrigued.

Reid lowered himself, taking into account the faint dried line of what he could assume was the original size of the matter. "Four hours, maybe five."

Cady frowned. "When did police get here?"

Checking his watch, Morgan answered while also calculating. "About 10. They called JJ around the same time, that was 11 in Quantico." Alabama was an hour behind, being Central Time. "Four hours ago."

"He was here," Cady noted, before fear crept in and she lowered her voice. "Could he still be here?"