𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝑴𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒓,

Sophie's eyes were heavy, her head throbbing. His hands were stroking her hair, his fingers massaging into her scalp. Wet. Why was her hair wet?

𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆.

"You've made such a mess, my Deer," he murmured. "All this blood, all in your hair." He clicked his teeth. "No matter, it'll wash out."

𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.
𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔.

With his hand behind her neck, he eased her back, pouring the water over her hair to rinse out the suds.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.

She was numb, unable to move. Consciousness seemed to evade her, dropping in and out as it pleased. Her mouth tasted like metal, like blood. Was it hers?

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒘𝒏.
𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.

His touch was warm. Not as a comfort, but as a flame, dangerous and unruly. She couldn't escape him.

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆,

She was trapped.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒅.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝟭𝟮:𝟯𝟮 𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮, 𝗔𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗼𝗻𝗮


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 Cady were washed out as her focus was pulled to the letter. She had had Trev obtain a photocopy, and she was now free to pick it apart without tarnishing evidence. She stood in front of one of the whiteboards, writing out the letter word for word so that it remained in her mind. Her bottom lip had been fixed between her teeth as she underlined what she believe to be keywords.

𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒓.

𝑭𝒂𝒘𝒏.

𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒅.

"Wilkinson," Hotch beckoned.

A fist gripped around her heart, tightening at the word as she was snapped away from what she'd been fixated on for the past half hour. Cady exhaled, glancing over before joining him. She looked at the file he was pouring over, a finger pointing at the photograph of what seemed to be the nape of a woman's neck, her blonde hair pinned up loosely. "What do you make of this?"

"Regrowth," she noted, joining him in tracing her finger along the hairline. She lifted her head. "Hey Reid, how fast does hair grow?"

Reid didn't even blink as he answered, still skimming the array of photos pinned to another board. "Typically, around point-three millimetres, or 0.014 inches, per day."

Once again studying the photograph in front of her, Cady's eyes narrowed. "How much growth do you think that is?"

"Quarter inch," Hotch guessed, "if that."

"Reid," Cady looked up again. "Quarter inch, how many days growth?"

He paused now, but only for a moment. "Seventeen." He seemed to return to his reading, until instead quickly catching Cady's eye, finally. "Technically, 17.85."

She smiled. "Thanks, Reid." She noticed he was fixated on his board, becoming curious on how his mind was whirring. "Got something?"

He spun around to face her and Hotch, eager to divulge in his endeavour. "Look at these," he was pointing to the crime scene photographs, "what's weird about them?"

Cady's eyes narrowed as her brows furrowed. She shook her head slowly. "I don't know."

Reid pulled a piece of clear acetate from the table, holding it over an internal shot of the car Olivia Washington was found in. "Watch," he directed, using a green dry-erase marker to trace over the front passenger seat. He then layered the clear sheet over another photo; Caitlyn McKnight's car.

"The angles match," Hotch devised.

"All of them," Reid explained, "aside from Amara Ford, whose disposal vehicle was charred beyond repair with inside mostly burned away, match this exact angle. Not only that," he gestured to the photos again, "the distance from the dashboard, the tilt of the base, they're all the same."

"Do you think they got in willingly?" Cady asked. "Or would he have put them in the car himself, setting the seat after?"

"They might've already been dead," Reid suggested, looking to Hotch, who nodded as he retrieved his phone from the inside of his jacket, his thumbs swiping across the buttons.

"I'll get Morgan to check with the coroner on time of death."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝟭𝟮:𝟯𝟳 𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗮 𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗘𝘅𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗿
𝗣𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗶𝘅, 𝗔𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗼𝗻𝗮


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 Emily's boots clicked against the smooth linoleum of the morgue, following the heavy step of Derek Morgan. She had her hands in the pockets of her black coat, the belt fixed tight around her waist. "I thought you liked her," she was saying, continuing the conversation she and Morgan were having in the car.

"I didn't say that I didn't, Prentiss." He was deflecting.

"You didn't have any problem working with her in Michigan."

"I don't have a problem with her at all," Morgan looked over his shoulder to his colleague. "I just wish Hotch would let us in on his decisions once in a while."

Emily laughed. "I never thought you, Derek Morgan, would be afraid of change."

"I'm not." Deflecting, again. "It's just sudden, adapting to a new member of our team." He brought the conversation to an abrupt end as they entered the lower level of the morgue. "Dr Florence?" he asked, directed to the middle-aged man tending to the covered corpse.

"Yes," Florence answered, looking up and meeting Derek's extended hand.

"Agent Morgan," he explained before gesturing to Emily. "Agent Prentiss."

Emily gave a warm smile, too shaking the coroner's hand. "Hi."

"A pleasure," Dr Florence greeted, now pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. "You're here for Miss Walden?"

The two agents nodded and were directed to the body in front of them. The girl's blonde hair was brushed back, her tanned skin unblemished, and her eyes closed. The crisp white sheet left her arms and legs exposed, while still covering her modesty, even in death. To the unknowing, she looked as if she were in a peaceful sleep, but her last moments would have been far from it.

"What can you tell us?" Morgan asked, as Emily accepted a clipboard from Dr Florence and began to peruse.

"Bruising, a few days old," Dr Florence spoke. "Here," he hovered a finger over the forearm then the heel of the palm, "and here. One would be led to think they're defensive wounds."

"Why would you think they're not?" Morgan questioned the implication.

"Well, because interestingly," Dr Florence lifted the corpse's hand, "there's no skin cells under her nails."

"So you think she didn't defend herself?" Emily clarified.

"On the contrary," Florence continued. "I think whoever did this to her," he placed the hand down gently, "also scrubbed her clean. Her hair as well. Come," he beckoned to the agents, "smell."

Emily frowned while Morgan's brows were raised.

"Not like that," Florence knew the source of their concern, "just humour me."

Emily took the bullet, leaning forward to smell Hannah's hair. Her brows tightened as she sniffed again. "I know that smell." It was combined with formaldehyde and other chemicals, but the sweet scent was still present.

"Green apple shampoo," Florence filled the gap. "My wife uses the same. This perpetrator, he cared for them. Washed, groomed, even removed her nail polish." He nodded to Hannah's hand again. "You can see tiny fragments still at her cuticles, as well as trace amounts of acetone."

"Are you certain this UnSub is male?" Emily asked.

Morgan's phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, stepping away to read the text from Hotch that popped up on the screen.

Dr Florence nodded to Emily. "Evidence of sexual activity, antemortem."

"Consensual?"

"Hard to say for certain, but unlikely," Florence grimaced. "If it was, her body still fought it."

"Doc," Morgan had joined them again, "are you able to tell us exactly when she was killed?"

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝟭:𝟰𝟮 𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁


𝐉𝐉 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐄 didn't have the qualifications to aid in an investigation, at least not in a hands-on capacity. But even as the media liaison, she had experience and knowledge that was valuable to this case. In an odd sense, she felt connected to these girls. They were blonde, like her, academically-focused, and had tragedy struck when they were very least expecting it.

She swallowed, bringing herself back to Hannah Walden's parents, sat in front of her and Rossi. Mr Walden had his wife in a comforting embrace, both with tired, puffy eyes. Less than six hours ago, they had received the call that all parents dread, and now had to force themselves through prodding questions and stinging memories.

"Was Hannah in school?" JJ asked, her hands clasped in her lap.

"She was taking a gap year," Mr Walden revealed, shaking his head. "She'd worked so hard in high school, she wanted a break, some time to put away savings before she sent any college applications."

"She wanted Berkeley," Mrs Walden murmured, before perking up momentarily at the memories of her daughter. "She wanted to be a child psychologist. She's always loved working with kids."

Mr Walden gave a short-lived smile. "She was a natural, at everything she set her mind to."

"We thought we knew her," Mrs Walden sputtered, gripping tightly to her handkerchief.

"What do you mean?" JJ pressed, her head tilted slightly.

Mrs Walden was unable to get through her tears, so her husband took over. "She was a good girl. Straight As, 4.0 GPA, always sought extra credit, never went to parties. But when we were asked to identify her body," his voice cracked for a moment, "she had a nose piercing. We wouldn't have minded if she did," he added, "but it just wasn't like the Hannah we knew."

Rossi frowned slightly; Stephanie Mason's parents had said the same thing.

"She never even dyed her hair," Mrs Walden sniffled.

JJ and Rossi exchanged a look. They'd both seen the evidence photos; Hannah Walden's hair had been lightened.

"Did Hannah have any enemies you knew of?" Rossi asked another routine question. "Any bullies, friends you didn't trust?"

Mr Walden shook his head, his arms still wrapped around his wife's shoulders. "No, Hannah kept mainly to herself. She had a few friends, but they were all like her. Quiet, kind. I don't think they would hurt anyone."

"Can we get their names?" JJ was sliding a notepad across the table. "Contact info, if you have it. We'd like to speak to them too."

"R-Right..." Mr Walden removed himself from his embrace to take the pen JJ had extended, recalling the details of Hannah's small circle of friends.

Watching her husband's movements, Mrs Walden spoke up, her voice still meek. "Harrison."

"What was that, honey?" Mr Walden hadn't quite heard her.

"Harrison," she repeated, "Jones. They've been friends since kindergarten," she looked to JJ. "When he asked her to prom, she was ecstatic. They've been together ever since."

Mr Walden sat back slightly, his shoulders dropping. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"She didn't want to you threaten him like you joke about every time the subject gets brought up," Mrs Walden argued. "She's an adult, she knows how to take care of herself."

Realisation caught the both of them and Mr Walden's jaw tightened as Mrs Walden burst into tears again.

There was nothing JJ could do to comfort the two, nothing she could say to make the situation easier. She gave a polite smile as Mr Walden handed her the list he finished of Hannah's known connections, and she and Rossi left the room.

Returning to the rest of the team that remained at the precinct, JJ handed over the list to their superior. "Her father didn't know she had a boyfriend," she explained, before her eye caught their newest member, hunched over a scattering of files on the table.

"Do you think the boyfriend has something to do with it?" Hotch asked.

Rossi was shaking his head. "Not from how Mrs Walden was talking about him."

"He seemed sweet to them," JJ added.

"Coroner confirmed Hannah Walden was killed before the crash," Morgan announced as he and Emily entered the room, having just returned from the morgue.

"And she was bathed after she was killed," Emily added. "He believes the UnSub cared for them; washing their hair, removing their nail polish."

"How much regrowth in her hair?" Cady asked, not looking up.

"Probably about three-eighths of an inch," Emily answered, but she was guessing. She hadn't known to check.

Cady was thumbing at the corner of the polaroid in her hand, repeatedly reading the date hastily scrawled beneath it. 05/26. Her brows tightened, trying to make the dates fit in her head.

Hotch had noticed. "What is it?"

She looked up, extending the photo in response. "We know that some regrowth on a body is due to shrinkage and decomposition. But even if he had killed her before she was found, this is still dated the twenty-sixth," she began, rising from her seat to stick the photo against the timeline that spanned the top of Reid's board. "She was abducted on May 10th, and in this photo," she pointed to the image Garcia had pulled from Hannah's social media profile, posted a day before her abduction, "she has dark blonde hair, no highlights."

JJ jumped in to further prove Cady's line of thinking. "Hannah's mother swore that she would never dye it."

"Right," Cady pointed to JJ before continuing. "Even better. So, we estimate that regrowth in this photo," she pointed to the polaroid again, "is two weeks, right, maybe two and a half?"

Hotch nodded, letting her continue.

"Sixteen days between abduction and this photo, twenty-eight days held in total. So," Cady wanted to conclude, biting the corner of her mouth momentarily, "he dyed her hair?" Her statement had more the inflection of a question, still unsure of herself.

"If she wasn't that blonde when he abducted her," Morgan suggested, "then there's something else about her that compelled him."

"He doesn't profile like he'd choose an outlier," Emily pondered.

"Reid, Wilkinson," Hotch began an order, noticing Cady's shoulders stiffen as he did so, "find out what that compulsion was. Go back through the victims we have, make any correlation you can."

"Yes, sir," the two replied in unison, and Cady stepped to join Reid by the table, ready to dig into the files once again.

"Prentiss," Hotch continued, handing the list back to JJ, "you and JJ meet with Hannah's friends."

The two women nodded, and Cady watched as they exited the room. She glanced to Hotch, knowing the play he was putting into motion. Hannah's friends were still teenagers, girls, and would feel less threatened by JJ and Emily than they would if Rossi or Morgan were to attend.

"There was something the parents each said," Rossi remembered, looking to Hotch. "Stephanie and Hannah didn't have their noses pierced before their abductions."

Cady frowned, overhearing. "Nose piercings?" she murmured to Reid, who shrugged.

"He's trying to recreate someone," he explained. "It's not uncommon that UnSub's adapt victims to fit their preference."

Picking up one of the photocopied letters, Cady sighed, her shoulders dropping. "Why is he sending these to the parents? They're directed at the daughters, it doesn't make sense."

"It's like you said," Reid reminded, "they're mementoes. It's a taunt, part of a signature." He turned to another piece of evidence, a paragraph on one of the police reports. "Eyewitness account says that Hannah had stopped on her run," he read aloud, "to help a child who lost a shoe."

Cady pressed her lips together, thinking. "Sophie was meant to be on a run." She looked up. "Could running be part of it?"

Reid shook his head. "None of the others were running when they were taken."

Cady inhaled, looking now to the two boards in front of her. Her eyes flickered between the photos of the girls, between the timelines she and Reid had drawn. Without realising, she was frowning again. "Okay," she exhaled, trying to bring herself back, "ages, similar. Body types, hair colour, similar."

"Dyed Hannah's hair to closely fit his type," Reid reminded her.

"Sophie and Hannah were taken while both on a run," Cady continued before reaching for one of the files behind her on the table. "Where were the others?"

Reid didn't need to refer to the files. "Olivia was taken from a bus stop, Caitlyn was last seen at a shopping mall, Stephanie was taken on campus, and Amara was meant to close the café she worked at, but never did."

Something was tugging at Cady's thoughts, something almost obvious, staring her in the face. "Campus? Were they all in school?"

Reid shook his head again. "Stephanie attended Arizona State, Amara was at Mesa Community College, but Olivia had only just been accepted to the University of Phoenix, and Caitlyn and Sophie were accepted to Arizona State."

"All local," Cady muttered.

Rossi, after watching the two younger members with Hotch, spoke up. "Hannah was taking a gap year before she wanted to apply to Berkeley."

Cady looked over. The Something was knocking at her mind's door now, begging to be let in. "To study what?"

"Child psychology."

Cady paused for a moment, catching Hotch's eye before turning to Reid. "And the others?"

"Teaching, teaching," Reid was listing in chronological order of the victims abductions, "neonatal nursing, youth counselling, and teaching."

The Something finally revealed itself. "Kids," she connected. "These girls were all caring by nature."

"Something that must've appealed to our UnSub," Rossi nodded.

But there was something else, something new that was concerning Cady.

"What's bugging you?" Rossi asked, noticing the woman's brows still knitted into a frown and her bottom lip returned to between her teeth.

"Why stage the accidents?"

"It could it be a forensic countermeasure," Morgan pondered, finally speaking up again, "a way to hide evidence."

Cady shook her head. "But you said they're already dead, and there's little to no evidence present to begin with, plus there are just better ways to countermeasure. I think a car accident might be significant to him, too."

Hotch looked to Morgan. "Have Garcia look into car accidents in the area, go back ten years."

"That's gotta be thousands of accidents," Cady noted, "if not hundreds of thousands."

"Garcia can handle it."