Here it is, the one I have been awaiting with baited breath to post. This, at least in my own opinion, is my magnum opus. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. The story is only a few chapters in length, but the chapters themselves are very long.

1

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely un-happen. ~Edward de Bono

To call any morning typical when six people who's every day lives revolve around trying to unravel the criminal psyche congregate in one room would be a lie. Typical is arriving at work and having to down three cups of coffee before being even remotely able to interact with one another. Normal people do not walk in and sit at their desk, open a case file, and have pink glitter fall out of it onto their lap.

This, as it so happens, was exactly how Agent Morgan's day began one cloudy summer day at the BAU office in Quantico. "Okay," he sighed in resignation as he stood up to try and brush the sparkles from his black pants. "Who was it this time?"

Emily and Reid exchanged smiles, wanting to enjoy their coworker's state of shimmering for a few more seconds before the novelty faded. It wasn't as though he had never done something similar to them throughout their time working together.

"I'm serious guys," he cried. Turning to Reid he demanded, "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Actually, no," Reid replied. "That case we worked last week, the one where you pulled the little girl out of that trunk in the attic? Manda, I think her name was? She wanted to come in and thank you again."

"It seemed real important to her to say thank you like a big girl and not be crying," Emily snickered. Morgan, after failing to get it all off his slacks, sat back down to hear the rest of their tale. "We told her you weren't here yet, but if she wanted to leave you a note we'd give it to you."

"Garcia had a bunch of craft supplies in her office, oddly enough," Reid interjected, not looking up from his computer screen. "So Manda and Garcia made you a card, using copious amounts of glitter. Then Manda decided that she wanted the card to be a surprise."

"So she decided to hide the card somewhere where she knew you'd find it," Emily finished. "Then they had to leave. But not before adding more glitter."

Morgan sighed and shook his head. "Of course," he gestured to his pants, "this is the one day I decide to wear black pants."

"You know, accusing me first of putting the glitter in the folder means that you acknowledge all the things you've done to me and expect retaliation, and might even regret them," Reid pointed out with his version of a wicked smile. "It also tells me that you don't think enough of me to be able to retaliate any better than glitter on your pants. I'm both touched and hurt, Morgan." He feigned a blow to the heart before looking back at his screen.

"What happened to not analyzing each other?" Morgan grumbled. Trying to wipe all the glitter out of the report was turning out to be a more difficult task than he thought. The lovely pink flecks were spreading everywhere like only glitter can.

"You know, if you go get a damp paper towel and gently wipe the pages all the glitter will come off," Emily suggested. A quizzical look from both Morgan and Reid made her continue, "I was a little girl once too. I've cleaned up my share of sparkly messes."

"They had glitter when you were little?" Reid asked teasingly.

Emily opened her mouth to answer, but JJ and Hotch strode in. They were obviously distressed and angry. Their demeanor clearly stated 'No more fooling around.'

"Get your stuff, I'll explain on the way," Hotch snapped before anyone could even think of a question to ask. The team grabbed their bags and went to follow their leader, curious and concerned.

"We're heading to a small town in the southern part of Virginia called Courtland. It has a population of a little less than two thousand people. And so far, twenty seven young women have been found dead," JJ began. The disgust in her voice was almost tangible. She smoothed her hands over her stomach, a left over habit from her pregnancy that she hadn't yet broken, in an attempt to calm herself.

"Why haven't we heard about this yet?" Rossi asked, slightly perplexed. It shouldn't have taken that long for the local authorities to realize they needed help. "The BAU should have been called after at most the third murder."

"At first, they didn't realize the girls were dead," Hotch explained. "They assumed that they had ran away from the small town in order to find excitement. Then, about two years ago, the unsub kidnapped the mayor of the town's daughter, Sandra Clark." Hotch pulled out the picture of the girl and laid it on the table. She was a pretty young woman with petite features framed by cornsilk hair. Her brown eyes smiled up at the team even though her mouth was quirked to the side in a bored smirk.

"How did they know she had been kidnapped?" Emily asked as she picked up the photo. She felt a pang of sorrow for the girl; if beauty were a way to predict how successful a person would be in life, Sandra would have gone far.

"The unsub left a note," JJ said as she passed out copies of the unsub's note to each team member. "I have your daughter, and I'm not going to be giving her back alive. Don't feel special, like I specifically targeted her. You all have failed to notice the others. This is my way of getting your attention. So, for the record, no female between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five are safe. Maybe if you'd open your eyes, Mayor Clark, this wouldn't have happened," JJ read.

"The unsub is confident that he won't be found," Reid pointed out. "He wants to be noticed, but he goes out of his way to treat all the victims equally, according to the report. The consistency is something he craves."

Morgan nodded in agreement before adding, "But he warned them who is target group is. That's more than confidence, that's a god complex."

"I thought a god complex was someone who thinks they have the right to choose who lives or dies?" JJ pointed out.

"Well, that's true. God complex is a very broad term used to describe several different things. Our unsub seems to have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or NPD. It's a personality disorder defined by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, which is the diagnostic classification system used in the United States, as a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and a lack of empathy," Reid explained. As usual, his vast memory was greeted by silence. A silence that ranged from bored to annoyed to unimpressed.

"Why didn't they call us sooner?" Rossi asked. That was his hang up on the information so far. If they knew that so many girls had been taken, it was a failure in local law enforcement's responsibility as protectors to have kept it under wraps for so long.

JJ sighed. "They thought they could handle it," she replied. It was a sad situation, one that made her want to be home hugging her baby boy.

"What made them change their minds?" Morgan asked. "They wouldn't have come to us if they still thought they could handle it."

"They found the bodies," Hotch replied. The team looked at him, completely shocked.

Emily recovered first. "You mean they didn't know how many victims there were until-"

"Three days ago," Hotch sighed.

"This is where they've been hidden," the sheriff said as he moved the branches of a willow out of the way so the team had a better view. Behind the tresses of leaves there was a tiny field and pond. The sun shone down brightly on the wildflowers and a light breeze made the long grass dance lazily. A perfect spot for a lazy afternoon or romantic picnic. If not for the bodies strewn about in various states of decay.

"How did you find them here?" Hotch asked. The setting was a bit out of the way, up in the hills and over a ravine.

"Two kids from town were coming here for a picnic," the sheriff replied. Across the ravine where the trucks were parked stood two teenagers, a boy and girl, with an actual picnic basket. They were giving their statement to one of the local police and Emily. "They found the bodies and called the sheriff's department. We made are way up here and then called you all."

Reid inched foreword through the willow branches. The ground was soft under his feet, almost wet. "Sheriff Jenkins, did it rain recently?" he asked as he continued his slow way foreword.

"Yes, actually it rained yesterday," the sheriff replied, sounding apologetic. He and Hotch followed Reid into the field. "It was a mixed blessing. We needed the rain, but now all that evidence is practically gone."

Reid walked up to the first body, one who was fresh enough that you could mistake her for being asleep. Next to her was a skeleton. In both of their hands was a fresh tiger lily.

"Has your M.E. taken a look at he bodies yet?" Hotch asked as he knelt next to the skeleton. Reid stayed standing, just staring at the body. This girl was just as beautiful as Sandra Clark, but in a different way. The new girl had red hair and freckles. Her eyes, wide open and staring up at Reid, were pale green.

Sheriff Jenkins had been distracted by the girl as well. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he apologized. "I'm sorry, it's just that I know her. This is Rissa McKenzie. Her father is one of my deputies. He's going to be devastated."

"We're sorry for your loss," Hotch said quietly. "I know it must be hard to lose so many young women in your community. Girls you've seen grow from infants into the beautiful young minds of tomorrow. But the sooner your M.E. gets here, the sooner we can start find who did this."

"She's out of town," Jenkins replied.

"She?" Reid asked, startled out of his reverie.

The sheriff chuckled. "That's what we said when she first came here. A woman doing all that nasty work on dead people. Even I don't like going down to the morgue, but that woman can pull information from corpses I never knew existed."

"Hm." Reid glanced back down at the bodies. "There aren't very many female coroners. Not to say that women can't perform an autopsy," he assured quickly.

Before Reid could dig himself a bigger hole, Hotch asked, "The who's going to come get the bodies?"

"The assistant M.E. This is the first vacation the doc has ever taken because she finally felt that Skippy was ready," the Sheriff explained.

"Skippy?"

The sheriff looked slightly embarrassed. "That's what the assistant coroner has always been called here in Courtland. His real name is Franklin, but you can just call him Skippy."

Turning back to the bodies, Reid asked, "Why a tiger lily?"

"Well, they grow everywhere around here," Sheriff Jenkins explained. "And they're a pretty flower."

"But to take the time to place a tiger lily on each body, that shows a sign of remorse," Reid said. "And that doesn't fit with our profile."

"Maybe it's a way of marking them as his own," a voice from behind them suggested. It was a young man, no older than twenty-three. He looked too lanky and uncoordinated to have made it across the ravine, and sure enough his hands and arms were covered in shallow cuts.

"You must be Skippy," Hotch asked. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Agent Hotchner and this is Dr. Reid." Skippy smiled and shook Hotch's hand. He seemed easy going. Then again, to stand in a field of bodies and not flinch you had to be a laid back person.

"Why do you say that the flower is a way of marking them?" Reid asked. He shook Skippy's hand as well, surprised at how firm a handshake he received.

"It makes sense," Skippy said as he knelt down next to the body. "See, they were cleaned before they were dumped. Their make up was reapplied, their clothes are new and fresh, and their hair has been brushed into place around them." Sure enough, when he lifted the body of Rissa McKenzie up, the back of her hair wasn't as perfectly brushed as the front. It had a knot in it that only come from sleeping without brushing your hair for a few days.

"What does that have to do with the lily?" Hotch asked again, trying to figure out what the young man seeing and he wasn't.

"There are no marks on the body. No ligature marks, no abrasions, no lacerations. If the killer couldn't bear to mark up Rissa when he killed her, this tells me two things. One, he can't stand to see something beautiful blemished. And two, the lily is a way to both mark the victim as his and also it gives him a reason to come back and visit the body. To replace the flower so it doesn't wilt," Skippy clarified. Hotch and Reid stared at the strange young man.

"You struck 'em speechless Skippy," the sheriff chuckled. He stopped abruptly when he realized he was laughing over the body of a girl he knew.

"Sorry," the assistant coroner mumbled. "It's just how I see it. Doc taught me how to do that. She could tell you even more if she were here."

"Don't be sorry," Hotch ordered as he stood up. "When you see things like that on the rest of the bodies, tell us. Sheriff, You and I are going to go look at these other bodies. I need to know if you recognize any more victims."

"We aren't angry that you saw something we didn't," Reid assured the younger man. "It's just, not many people can tell those kind of things on a perfunctory glance. You said that the coroner taught you how to do that? Do you know where she went to learn it?"

Skippy looked up from the skeleton he was examining. "She didn't go to college to learn it," he replied. "She's always been able to do it. Her mother visited once, and she was the exact same. They have this sense for people. She taught me what she could because it's useful for our craft. She has a bunch of sayings, but the one I remember most is 'Some people are born with gifts others can only envy, never attain. But while they yearn after what the other has, they fail to notice their own abilities.'"

Reid contemplated that for a time, turning it over in his mind. "Do you think that she'll be back before we've finished the investigation?" Reid finally asked. This was a new, different puzzle to be solved.

Skippy smiled. "I don't know. Depends on how long it takes you all to solve this," he prodded jokingly. Then seriously he continued, "I doubt it. Doc said she was going to visit her mother in northern Virginia."

"Oh well," Reid sighed. The opportunity to speak with another genius who wasn't a serial killer had passed him, flying in the exact opposite direction.

"We don't really have any where for you to stay but here," Sheriff Jenkins said apologetically. The team stood infront of an old stone house that had been converted into a bed and breakfast. The sing proclaimed it to be the 'Hound and Ham' Bed and Breakfast.

Emily was the first to ask what was on everyone's mind. "Why is it called the Hound and Ham?" she asked as they walked up the stairs. As they neared the porch, an old bloodhound picked his wrinkly head up to glance at them then went back to his nap.

"That's Basil, the current hound. Each owner has had some type of hound dog and has made the best ham this side of Christmas dinner," Jenkins explained. More small town culture for the city folk, how quaint.

Jenkins knocked politely on the door. A plump old woman bustled toward the door, carrying a bowl of batter to stir and looking very much like a stereotypical grandmother. "You must be the agents Silas here called down from the FBI," she said. Even her voice screamed grandmother. She stood there, no more than five feet tall with her gray hair pulled back in a bun, looking like she couldn't decide who was going to get to lick the bowl after she put the brownies in to bake.

"This is Mrs. Matilda Thomas," Sheriff Jenkins said. "Mrs. Thomas, these are Agents Hotchner, Morgan, Rossi, Prentice, and Jereau, and Dr. Reid. Thank you most kindly for takin' them in while they're here."

Mrs. Thomas swatted him lightly with the spoon. "As though I would leave them in that uncomfortable hole you call a police station," she said with a smile. "Come in and wash up for supper. We're havin' fried chicken."

The team filed into the house, each murmuring thanks to the old woman as they passed. The dog tried to sneak in, but Mrs. Thomas gave it a stern word and it went back to its nap.

"Reid, you have to take your shoes off," JJ pointed out as they came in. She had reminded the others already, but Reid had a few little eccentricities. Hopefully feet weren't one of them.

"Why?" he asked cautiously. The possibility for Morgan to have him step in something were increased as soon as his shoes came off.

"It's part of Southern culture," Morgan explained. "It's polite."

"The weird things I learn on this job," Reid muttered. He slipped his shoes off and put them with the rest. He regretted it immediately. In his haste not to be late for work, Reid had grabbed one blue sock and one red. There was no chance that Morgan wouldn't notice.

A little later that evening, the team was settled around Mrs. Thomas's dining table to eat their supper. "Bless, O Lord, this food for thy use, and make us ever mindful of the wants and needs of others. Amen," Mrs. Thomas prayed. The rest of the team muttered amen as well out of respect for their host and then began passing the dishes around.

"This is really, really good Mrs. Thomas," JJ gushed as she wiped some chicken grease from her mouth with a little embroidered napkin. "I haven't had home fried chicken since I was a little girl."

"Please, call me Tilly," the old lady insisted. "And thank you. I wasn't quite sure what was proper etiquette when catering to the FBI, so I fixed something simple." Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, macaroni and cheese, with brownie fudge sundae for desert, and she calls it simple.

Reid was looking contemplatively between his chicken breast and fork. "How do you eat it?" he finally had to ask.

Morgan chuckled and pulled the fork out of the good doctor's grasp. "You eat it with your hands," he explained. To demonstrate he picked up his own leg and took a huge bite out of it. "See?" he asked through a mouthful.

"I actually have an ulterior reason for letting you all stay here," Tilly admitted as she passed out the little bowls of icecream and brownie fudge covered goodness. "My granddaughter Esmerelda went missing three months ago. She was twenty-one and going to take over the bed and breakfast for me. Now, I just don't know if she's been taken or if she ran away." The old woman was able to divulge this without getting emotional.

The team was silent for a few minutes as their icecream began to melt. "We'll do what we can to find her," Hotch finally promised.

"That's all I ask for," Tilly said as she sat back down.

Spencer found himself in a library alone, only the faint whir of an air-conditioner for company. The sun was fading through the windows but not enough to be called twilight yet. He walked cautiously around a shelf, not quite sure why a feeling of unease came with the images. Then in the back corner of the room, at a table, sat Spencer himself.

He was much younger of course. Upon seeing the boy, older Spencer realized why he was so uneasy: it was his highschool library. Little Spencer looked out the window, seeming to just realize how late it was getting. He began frantically shoving his books into the messenger bag at his side, then abruptly stopped at some unseen signal. The little boy just stared out the window looking forlorn.

Older Spencer walked around the table to stand next to himself. There had been many afternoons like this. Hopefully this was one of the better ones.

Unfortunately not. In walked a pretty teenage girl in a cheerleading uniform. Her perfect blonde hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and her depthless brown eyes shimmered with a cruel glee. Heather Wilkes was about to make his life hell.

"Spencer," she purred. The cheerleader walked up to the table and leaned across it seductively. "Lexi wanted me to come and find you."

"L-l-lexi?" little Spencer sputtered. "B-but why?" Suspicion might have kept him from the humiliation to come. But infatuation got caught in the way.

"She wants to talk with you silly," Heather giggled. She grabbed little Spencer's hand, but older Spencer could feel her grip as well. "Come on, we just finished practice. She's down by the football field."

Both Spencers found themselves being dragged down to the football field. While little Spencer went along rather willingly, Dr. Spencer was pulling and tugging at the grip on his hand to no avail. He had no desire to relive the tortured memories of his past.

"What's g-going on?" little Spencer squeaked. Lexi was no where to be found. The football team was there though.

"I can't believe he actually fell for it," Brock, one of the more Neanderthal players, chortled. "Like my girlfriend would want anything to do with you. She's not even in town, dweeb."

Before little Spencer could run or older Spencer could close his eyes, the team converged on him, stripping him mercilessly down to his underwear. "Little Spencer thinks he's so smart, making us look like idiots in class," one of them taunted.

"Why would they even let a kid so small try and pass for a highschooler?" another jeered. Using a length of coarse rope, they bound the little boy to the goal post. Spencer stood there helplessly as his younger self tried not to cry while the team threw footballs and cleats at him.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!" a female voice ordered from across the field. Like Moses parting the sea, a girl with long ebony hair and sapphire eyes strode briskly through the crowd of jocks. "Are you alright, kiddo?"

"This isn't your concern, Adrienne," Brock snapped. "The boy has to learn his place."

The look Adrienne gave him would have been enough to draw blood from stone. "Spencer Reid is ten years old and in our sophomore class. You will treat him with the respect he deserves, or you will find yourself unable to play in the next game due to an unfortunate injury," she threatened calmly.

"What, is he your new boyfriend?" Heather sneered. Adrienne turned her piercing gaze on the cheerleader and simply stared. Heather shivered, as though suddenly cold.

"Listen freak," another began, but Adrienne cut him off.

"Freak I may be, but you all are no better than animals. Leave this boy alone or I will make you regret harming him," she promised, venom dripping from her voice. Both Spencers looked at her gratefully.

"Fine," Brock snapped. "Let's go guys. But if this little brat bothers me again, it's coming out of your hide Adrienne Cain." Adrienne hissed at him, like a snake about to strike. The team back off like she truly was venomous, then meandered their way to the student parking lot.

"Are you all right Spencer?" she asked as she untied the rope. It fell to the ground, and little Spencer rubbed his wrists to get the circulation back.

"Who are you?" he asked, then clamped his hands over his mouth. He had meant to say thank you, but as usual a pretty girl had made him tongue-tied. Older Spencer shook his head; he still got tongue tied around beautiful women.

She chuckled though, and handed him his shirt and pants. "My name is Adrienne Cain. I'm a transfer student from Virginia. This has happened before, hasn't it?" she asked.

"N-no," he stammered. Little Spencer pulled his shirt over his head, trying not to cry as he aggravated the bruises that they had given him. "W-why would you s-say that?"

"Maybe not this specifically, but they do torment you," she observed. Older Spencer looked at her and shook his head once more. What she was doing seemed then like magic; now it was his job to read people like that.

Little Spencer looked up at Adrienne with large, teary brown eyes. "P-please, don't t-tell any one!" he begged. He pulled on his shorts and looked around for his bag. But Adrienne had that too. She helped get it on his shoulder without touching his bruises.

"Spencer, it looks like you need a friend," she sighed. Taking his hand, the two walked toward her car. Older Spencer followed, this time willingly. At least this incident had a happy ending.

"I need to be left alone," he muttered under his breath. But she heard him any way.

After letting out a laugh that sounded like the peal of bells, Adrienne replied, "Spencer, no man is an island unto himself. From now on, you're with me. Lunch, study hall, library after school. And if you get bothered, come find me."

"But-"

"No buts. Hop in and I'll give you a ride home. Then we'll see about your injuries," she insisted as she opened the car door for little Spencer.

Older Spencer watched as his younger self and his superhero drove off.

Reid woke with a start, sweating and tangled in his sheets. After shaking his head to clear away the disorientation nightmares so often leave, Reid looked out the window to calm himself. Dawn was still hours away and Morgan was thankfully still asleep in the other bed. Standing up and stretching, Reid walked quietly out of the room and down the stairs.

He had been expecting the house to be dark and deathly quiet, but the kitchen hearth was lit and Basil sat infront of it, wagging his tail. Reid sat down on the floor next to the dog, which put his big wrinkled head on the doctor's knee.

"But where is my superhero now when I need her?" he asked the dog. Basil looked up at him with droopy hound dog eyes. "I don't know either."

"Well, she's not down here," Tilly said kindly from behind him. Reid started to stand up, but she gesture for him to remain seated. Putting the two mugs of hot tea she held on the table, the old woman sat down in a chair near the fire. "Here you go m'boy." She handed him a mug of tea.

"How did you know that I would come down here?" he asked as he took a tiny sip. The tea was laced with milk and sugar.

Tilly smiled. "I just knew. It's a grandmother thing," she explained with a smile. "I know you had a nightmare. About a friend, if what you said to Basil is any indication."

Reid stared at the swirling milk and tea in his mug. "I had a dream," he began. "It was a memory from highschool. I was only nine when I was a sophomore, you see-"

"My, you are smart," Tilly interjected. Concern was etched in her face. "Bad memories and a photographic mind. A combination that can only have one outcome: nightmares."

Reid nodded. "The football team had lured me down to the field. They tied me to the goal post and threw footballs at me. Then this dark haired girl, who I had never seen before, rescues me. I was still scared, but she took my hand and drove me home. She watched out for me for the rest of highschool. I referred to her as my superhero, though thankfully she never knew that," he rambled. Shaking his head to clear it, he asked, "How do you know all this? My photographic memory, that I'd have a nightmare?"

Tilly smiled. "I was the town coroner for thirty years back in my day. The current coroner is my great great niece. What you would call profiling is a talent that the women in my family have had for generations. Almost every woman who has had it became a coroner. We use it where it can best help people.

"You are worried about something. A message of some kind came from your superhero, but you were too afraid to open it. Now you feel guilty. She's probably around the same age as these women who are being abducted and killed. I understand," she promised, reaching down and clasping his shoulder, "But to find these girls, you can't be distracted. Think of it as making the world safer for her. Like saving your superhero for once."

Reid stared into the fire and took a sip of tea. The old woman made a good point and she knew it. "Thanks, Mrs. Thomas," he muttered, contemplative.

"Any time son, any time," she said. Standing up, she continued, "I'm off to bed. You should do the same. Get some rest and contemplate later."

"I'll go up in a minute," he promised as he continued to gaze into the flames. Tilly shook her head and walked up the steps, leaving Reid alone with the dog and his own tortured thoughts.

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And so my story begins... Tell me what you think, please!