Chapter 17: Inspire

"Every time I watch someone's dedication, I get inspired. - Jacqueline Fernandez"

Wilson Parker was a very lucky man.

Of course, on any particular day, that could be both a blessing and a curse. When Wilson was seven, for example, he went to the mall with his mother. While there, Wilson became separated from his mother, Julie, when he caught sight of a man dressed in a yellow chicken costume. On his way to the man, the sidewalk he was walking under collapsed for no apparent reason, and although he sustained only minor injuries, the costumed man, later identified as a child killer, was dead.

Much later, his mother settled the lawsuit she'd brought against the mall for five million dollars, one million of which went into a trust for Wilson.

At eleven, Wilson met his future bride, still ten, on a school trip to Sea World Orlando. The girl and he would hit it off over Shamu, their mutual fascination with the Orca busting through the hurdles of their different genders, and entrenching them both to each other.

At eighteen, Wilson and the girl, now an eighteen-years-old woman named Nancy graduated from their northern Florida high school, Nancy the valedictorian, and he the salutatorian. Both were accepted to Ivy League schools, Nancy going to Yale, and he to Princeton, and while the 129 miles separating the schools was a long drive, the weekends spent together were worth it, since it allowed them to grow much closer without the pressure placed upon them by their parents.

At twenty-three, and twenty-two, both had graduated with Masters degrees, his in Computer Sciences, with a focus in coding, and with Nancy's in Business, with a focus on opening and administration. Less than six weeks after graduating, Wilson had created a revolutionary computer security suite, one which allowed banks 128-bit encryption. With Nancy's degree, they marketed the software to the top five banks in the United States, netting seventy-five million dollars over the next ten years.

When they turned twenty-five, Wilson took Nancy to Fiji, where he proposed under a moonlit sky, the sound of waves crashing against each other, and the scent of salt water all around them. Nancy, of course, said yes and by the end of that year, they were married.

Then, as it happens, at twenty-seven, after two years of the perfect life, Nancy told him she was pregnant. By twenty-eight, Nancy had given birth, and their son Dylan, became the center of his world. The day after he was born, Nancy talked him into buying an empty lot in the city, stating that regardless of their wealth, their son deserved a life much like their own, complete with good neighbors, and a group of kids that Dylan would, hopefully, grow close too.

And, over the next year, construction began, and finished on a house that, while large, screamed normalcy. Nancy had designed the house with functionality in mind, keeping a firm hold on the ego and wanton spending that came with large amounts of money. Nothing about the new couple on the street screamed wealth, or upper class. Instead, as their neighbors got to know them, each of them would say to anyone who asked, "You couldn't find a more genuine couple."

After all, that was the way they liked it.

Indeed, Wilson Parker was a very lucky man.

SCENE BREAK

The scent of lilac flowing through his small, one-bedroom, apartment lured Spencer Reid from his sleep. His eyes flickered, the stream of mid-morning sunlight causing him slight discomfort as he pushed the comforter set atop him away. He barely gave a soft wince as his feet touched the cold, hardwood surface of his floor.

He waded his way through the apartment, listening softly to the melodic musings of his beloved as she showered, making his way to his well-worn coffee machine, and composing his preferred cup of coffee by sheer habit. Then, once it was ready, he took a sip and sighed with joyous exhilaration.

Once his body was as awake as his mind, Spencer started sculpting the perfect breakfast. Four slices of toast, two each for him and his beloved, two eggs; one scrambled for himself, one sunny side up for JJ, and three slices of bacon, split evenly, plating them with a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee each.

Lifting the serving tray, Spencer walked into their bedroom, and reached forward, grasping the sheets that did nothing to hide JJ's voluptuous body from his sight, and screamed in horror as JJ's mutilated face stared back at him in confusion.

Only, as the woman's forest green eyes opened, Spencer sobbed in relief. For, as malicious as it sounds, at least the woman laying down before him wasn't the love of his life.

May 1, 2005

"Morning everybody," JJ said as she took her place behind the projector, the remote in her hand. "We've received a request for help from Kettering, Ohio. In the past three weeks, five men and two women have been admitted to the emergency department of their local hospital with multiple stab wounds.

Three of the victims, Lisle Harper, and Dan Pierce survived the initial assault, but died at the hospital a couple of days later because of something called necrotizing fasciitus. Terry Wynn, like Lisle and Dan, survived the initial assault, but was taken out to a local lake, where the UNSUB put him on a boat, and drove it out the middle, where he was thrown overboard. The others, Linda Campbell, Erik Barrett, Shane Williams, and Donald Thompson, were found dead in their homes with multiple lacerations."

"How many stab wounds do the victims have?" Spencer asked.

"That's where it starts to get weird. Starting with the first victim, Shane Williams, the victims have had between four to forty-four stab wounds, concentrated to their chest and thoracic cavities," Hotch answered for JJ, having been kept abreast of the case since JJ was first contacted."

Derek frowned, staring down at the case file in front of him, "Are you serious? Usually, a killer his frequent has his or her MO down pat. Why isn't that the case here?"

"Agreed," Spencer said. "That suggests the killer is mission oriented, with the mission only known to the unsub themselves. Normally, the more wounds the victim has the more rage the unsub carries for the victims. With this, it's going to be hard to prove the unsub was angry at all."

"What I find horrifying," Spencer continued as he studied the case file in front of him, "is that the female victims have almost twice the penetrating wounds as the most severe male victim. That suggests to me that our unsub hates women, and while willing to kill anyone, gets the most physical pleasure from the female victims."

Hotch nodded in silent agreement, having noticed the same thing earlier. "Wheels up in twenty."

With that, the team separated. Instantly, Spencer went to JJ's office, and grabbed her go-bag, before walking to his desk and grabbing his own. After a few minutes, he saw JJ talking to Garcia, and raised her bag with a silent acknowledgment. JJ smiled, said goodbye to Garcia, and walked over to him, silently taking her go bag from him with a soft, "Thanks Spence."

Spencer smiled tightly, the horror of the night before playing havoc on his mind. Because, all he could see right now, in the light of the day, was forest green in place of JJ's beautiful blues.

"Spence," JJ said, "What's going on?"

"I had a nightmare that woke me about two hours before my alarm went," Spencer sighed, as Hotch stepped onto the elevator. Hotch looked at him, having heard his silent ruminations, and said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he admitted. "We can talk about it after the case."

"I'll hold you to that," Hotch nodded, "JJ?"

"Sure," she said with concern, as she brushed her hand against his. His fingers sought her own out, clasping her hand with a tight grip.

Once they were downstairs, a runway car was waiting to take them to the jet.

Once they had all arrived, and Hotch had given the pilot the go-ahead, he said, "Alright, let's continue."

"This unsub is meticulous," Reid started, "Each of the wounds are 1.56 centimeters apart, with a variation of plus or minus .14 centimeters, and they are all isolated to the chest area, somehow missing the vital organs. The amount of precision needed to do so speaks to medical training or on-the-job experience."

"Can someone teach themselves how to avoid vital the vital organs like that?" JJ asked.

"The Boston Reaper was said to be meticulous in his attacks, inflicting just enough damage to get the results they want," Reid admitted. "Each of the Reapers victims died due to blood loss even though no vital organs were ever penetrated."

Hotch shifted uncomfortably as he remembered the case, and its conclusion.

Morgan nodded, "That means our unsub is organized, patient and physically fit. I don't know about you, but I know I couldn't stab someone repeatedly like this, and not make mistakes."

"The attacks seem more event driven than power dominance," Hotch restated, "Which means that attacks are going to continue until the unsub gets whatever it they want."

"Dreadful news my doves," Garcia said as the connection came to life. "Victims eight and nine, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and Sheila Lewis, 59 and 61 were found by their adult daughter, Elizabeth, this morning when Elizabeth came to pick her mother up for a doctor's appointment. Mr. Lewis had sixteen wounds to his chest, but poor Mrs. Lewis had over sixty."

Hotch frowned, obviously unsettled.

"Garcia, any indication how long between the assault and discovery?" Spencer asked.

"The locals didn't tell me that, boy wonder, but don't you worry, I'll get on that fifteen seconds ago!"

"Thanks Garcia, keep us updated," Hotch ordered seconds before the screen went blank.

"Reid, go to the hospital and interview the doctors, and if possible, our newest victims, Morgan and JJ head to the latest crime scene. I'll head to the local station and get everything set up there. Once you're finished call, and I'll send someone to talk to the coroner."

The team nodded in unison.

With Reid

The smell of antiseptic and bleach permeated the air around him, the cries of the infirm and injured echoing off the pink walls of the waiting room that Spencer Reid stepped into an hour after landing. The hospital itself was clean, though by the looks of the emergency department, at least an hour behind. With a glance, he noticed the security guard preparing to draw his weapon even before the young genius had fully arrived.

"Hello," he said holding his credentials up so the security guard could see it. "I'm SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI."

"Hello Agent Reid." the guard said instantly, securing his gun in relief. "We were notified that someone from the bureau was coming to speak with our chief of general surgery. If you'll follow me?"

Spencer nodded in thought.

The guard swiped his card at the security sensor, standing back as the doors opened with a soft expulsion of air, "Doctor Kovac's office is this way. He cleared his schedule when he heard the FBI would be coming, assuming you'd want to speak with him."

A few minutes passed, relatively silent, as the young genius took time to gather his thoughts. The halls of the hospital were a light pearl, and the smell of antiseptic was only as powerful as the scent of death. The air was almost too clean, that hauntingly familiar hospital scent playing havoc on his senses. When they arrived at an opened door, the guard knocked slightly out of respect, then said, "Chief Kovac, SSA Doctor Reid from the FBI to see you."

Spencer already had his credentials out, as the Surgical chief looked up then said, "Thanks Bob, why don't you return to your post, and I'll take Doctor Reid from here."

"Right," the guard nodded, then turned, "I hope you catch the bastard doing this, Agent Reid."

"My team and I will do everything we can to catch the killer, Officer," Reid said respectfully, noting that the security officer was almost thrice his age. Then, once the older male was gone, he turned back to the Chief, who was studying his face with confusion. "PhD. or MD?"

"PhD.'s," Spencer answered, then at the confusion he could see in the man's eyes stated, "Three."

The Chief nodded, then said, "Well, if you'd like to sit down, I'll answer any questions I can. I assume you'll want to speak with Mr. Lewis at some point, correct?"

Spencer nodded, then took the offered seat as he said, "Thank you. First, how are the Lewis' doing?"

The surgeon sighed, "Sheila Lewis was dead before the paramedics got to their home, so I haven't seen her. The Medical Examiner has possession of her body. On the other hand, Spencer Lewis arrived with sixteen different wounds, and came out of surgery an hour ago. He's been admitted to the ICU, and isn't going to be available to speak for at least six hours. He was lucky, to be honest. The killer took great care not to hit any vital organs on Mr. Lewis's body, and each cut, while deep, was non-fatal by itself. As there was so many of them, he is more at risk of dying by exsanguination than any individual stab wound."

"Have you spoken with their daughter, Elizabeth, yet?"

"No, when I went to talk to her, the reception nurse told me that Miss Lewis was hyperventilating, and that for her safety, was given a sedative, and admitted to a room. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her."

Spencer nodded, slowly standing and following the doctor out of the room. Doctor Kovac led him on a slow tour of the hospital, both to give time for the sedative to wear down, and to explain more of Spencer Lewis condition, mistakenly thinking that Reid needed the extra instruction since his degrees weren't medical in nature.

Finally, they arrived at her room, indicated by the soft cries coming from beyond the door. Outside the room, Spencer straightened his sweater vest, and said, "How cognizant of the situation is she?"

"She's still processing," one of the nurses said, barely glancing at his badge as he approached, "We attempted to sedate her again, but she refused, and since she her stats have normalized, we had no reason to medically override her wishes."

"I understand," Spencer said. "Does she know how her father is doing?"

"She knows he's critical, but stable," the same nurse answered, as Doctor Kovac added, "We haven't been able to update her, but if he makes it through the next thirty-six hours, we're confident that he's going to survive, however it's going to be an arduous journey, and he's going to need to stay here for at least three weeks."

"Thank you," Spencer said, pushing the door open softly. The second he did, the cries that were muffled so relatively recently increased in decibel, the twenty-six years-old woman on the bed curled in the fetal position. Spencer sighed, glad for the moment that she was in a private room.

"Miss Lewis, I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'm FBI Supervisory Special Agent Reid," he said holding his badge out only a second, as he realized her reading his first name was not the best idea at the moment considering her mental state, "However, my team is investigating your parent's attack, and I was hoping to speak with you a few moments."

Elizabeth's cries decreased, for just the slightest of moments, time, during which, Spencer felt a heel for intruding on her when she felt so vulnerable. To his surprise, however, the young brunette woman sat up and stuttered, "How c-can I help you, Agent Reid?"

He pulled over the Doctor's stool, sitting down as he said, "I need to ask you some questions about this morning. Do you feel up to it?"

"Not really, but I'll help any way I can," Elizabeth answered, her tear-filled voice cracking across the room. Reid nodded, then said, "I'd like to preform what we call a cognitive interview. It's a procedure where we ask you to close your eyes, and block out any external stimuli, other than our voices. It's done to allow us to ask questions about the clarity of your memories. Would you be willing to try?"

"Yes," she answered, taking a deep breath.

Spencer took her hands, as he'd seen Jason and Hotch do a hundred times, and said, "Please close your eyes."

As she did, Spencer said, "My team understands that you're the one who found your parents this morning?"

"Yes," she answered, clenching her eyes shut, tears escaping from the corner. On instinct, Spencer reached over to a box of tissues, and pulled two out, before offering one to the distraught woman.

"Did anything about this morning stick out as peculiar?" he asked.

"Mom had an appoint with her cardiologist, her twelve month checkup after her cardio bypass. She was looking forward to it, and asked that I be there for support. I took the morning off, I'm a physics teacher at the local high school."

"So you're don't usually stop by in the mornings," Spencer asked.

"No, never. I get up at five-thirty, and by six I'm dressed and out the door for early morning meetings. Mom asked me over a month ago to take the day off."

"Alright, I'm going to ask you now about your arrival. When you pulled into the driveway, was anything about it out of place? Did anything stick out because it was wrong, or did everything look the same as usual?"

"It was just normal," Elizabeth said twitching in fear. "The door was still locked when I got there."

Reid nodded. "You opened the door, I assume you have a key?"

"Yes," she answered, her hand mimicking the action subconsciously.

"You've stepped into the door, now. How did the room look when you arrived? Was it disheveled, did it look as if there had been an altercation?"

"Just a lot of blood. It was all over the walls, the ceiling. Mom was lying there, her eyes were still open, but they were dull. I remember running over, and I tripped over something, and got blood all over my hands. When I stood up, I saw Dad was sitting in his favorite chair, his arm on the armrest, and the remote in his hand. His eyes were open, and I noticed them following me…. Can I stop now?"

Spencer sighed, "Just one more question, please. You said he had the remote in his hand, was the television on?"

"No," she sobbed, "It was off."

"Thank you, Miss Lewis, for answering my questions. I'm sorry that you're going through this. I'm going to leave my card at the nurses station in case you remember anything else."

"Thank you Agent Reid," the woman said, turning away from him again. And, as he walked towards the door, and the weight of her situation settled onto her again, Elizabeth Lewis's sobs began again.

With Morgan and JJ

The black SUV pulling onto South Elmwood Street stuck out like a sore thumb among the white, streamlined bodies decorating the driveways. Their arrival, though quiet, drew attention from the street's busybody neighbors. For Derek Morgan, it meant a lot of potential witnesses.

"JJ, why don't you start knocking on doors, ask the neighbors if they heard or saw anything out of the ordinary. I'll walk the crime scene, and we can meet up in a bit."

JJ nodded, acknowledging Morgan's mostly unneeded command. Taking a look around, she noticed almost a dozen pair of eyes watching hers, though as she made eye contact with them, three-fourths of them withdrew quickly. Still, three pairs of extra, willing, eyes was three more than they had before.

She quickly chose her first potential interviewee, and quickly made her way over to the woman's home.

Derek, meanwhile, stepped underneath the police tape, showed his badge to the officer guarding the door, then took a deep breath knowing what was to come. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. Absently, he noticed the pool of blood, and saw what looked to be arterial spray, though neither victim had their carotid arteries severed.

"So," he said to himself, "there's no signs of forced entry, so the Lewis's either know me, or let me inside willingly. There's a pool of blood on the floor, but neither of the bodies were near it, so at least one of them was moved.. which means I moved the bodies to where they'd have the most impact. Which means its staged."

Looking at the arterial spray again, Morgan looked around, and said, "That means either there's a third victim, or… what? How could there be this much arterial spray without a third victim?"

Then, Derek's eyes widened and he turned to the officer, and asked, "Did the Lewis's have any pets, officer?"

The officer looked at his pad, and said, "One, a German Shepherd. We haven't been able to locate it, but there's a large doghouse out back, and their back porch has two large bowls on it with food and water."

Derek frowned, and said, "So, either I took the dog, or I killed it. Officer, can you have CSU put a rush on the arterial spray for me? Tell them we need to know if it's human because either our UNSUB killed their pet, or there's a third victim."

The officer nodded, pulling out his radio and asking dispatch to pass the message along. Derek then looked at the chair, which had four perfectly placed punctures through the back, and into the front, with small patches of blood on the stuffing.

Before he could comment, his phone rang.

"What's up pretty boy?" Derek asked, looking at his phone for the briefest of moments before answering. On the other end, Reid told him about how Elizabeth Lewis had discovered the bodies.

"Well, the scene was definitely staged," Derek responded to his friend's commentary. Then, when Reid told him about the way Mr. Lewis had been holding the remote, Derek walked over and said, "Officer, where's the tv remote?"

"I think CSU bagged it, Agent Morgan," the Officer answered. Derek frowned, but said, "Did the victims have other boxes set up? Sometimes you can use one remote on all the boxes in your house."

"I'll go check," the Officer stated, running out of the room with haste. Derek nodded, and said, "Thanks pretty boy. Go ahead and call Hotch, and I'll let everyone know what we find here when we get together."

The call disconnected.

"They had boxes set up in their room, and what appears to be their daughter's old room. I brought both remotes," the Officer said as he entered the room, holding both with gloved hands. Derek pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket, pulling them over his hands, before taking both. Then, he walked over to the television and used a button on its side to turn it on.

To his confusion, the channel was set to a music station playing holiday favorites. The station in particular was one playing Halloween favorites, like the currently playing Monster Mash.

Derek looked at the remote, and pressed the INFO button, then found the last four channels the television had programmed in, and frowned with confusion. All four were music channels. One death metal, one bluegrass, one modern country, and one hymnals.

"Does this make any sense to you?" the Officer asked.

"No,." Derek muttered before he turned off the television. Then, with a heavy sigh he said, "Let's get out of here."

With JJ

JJ sighed, irritated with the witnesses. Each of them had a different excuse for not seeing what happened. Lola Stevens in number seven, fifteen years widowed, was visiting her son and had only got home earlier this morning. Gary Rodgers in number five, twenty-one and never married, worked the night shift, and got home around three hours after the attack. Stewart Carpenter and John Thomas, high school sweethearts together since they were fifteen, were out at the local gay bar, dancing all night.

As she made her way down the stairs of the multistory apartment building, JJ couldn't help but feel she'd wasted her time, though she knew it was necessary to talk to any potential witnesses.

"JJ," Derek's voice caught her off guard.

"Hey," JJ greeted her partner, "I've talked to people in three apartments so far, and I was about to knock on the doors of the others."

"I assume you've got as much as I have," Derek angrily huffed.

"Probably less. So far, each of the people I've talked too weren't home when the attack took place, and were only looking because they all arrived home within an hour of the police arriving. All of them have alibi's, which I have Garcia running."

"Alright, we'll have police canvass the neighborhood. How many people live in the apartment?"

"Seventeen of the thirty rooms are occupied, all of them long-term residents. Lora Stevens, the first person I spoke too, is the building manager, and has lived there since the complex was first built fifty-seven years ago. She's also the most long-term resident of the entire apartment complex."

"Alright. I called Hotch. He sent Reid to talk to the coroner. We're supposed to meet them at the police department to debrief each other. I've already called some uniforms to get statements from everyone in the building, but my gut says the killer doesn't live here."

JJ agreed. Pushing the front door open JJ stepped through and to the side allowing her friend to step through. As they did, both pulled their badges from their pockets at the five cops that were approaching the door.

"Agents," one cop, wearing an old two piece suit said, "I'm Detective Jackson. I believe I talked to Agent Morgan on the phone earlier?"

"You did," Derek said stepping forward, hand outstretched. The cop took it immediately, asking, "What can we do for you?"

"We need you to go door to door, get statements and names from each of the tenants in this building. It has the most direct access to the front door, meaning that anyone in this building might have seen someone, or at least got a description of their vehicle."

"We'll get right on it," the Detective said, before turning to the officers behind him. "We'll go by floor. One person per apartment. If any of the people you talk to say they saw anything, signal me, and take their statement. I'll follow up with them later."

"Yes sir," the officers stated in unison. "Agent Morgan, I'll get back to you in a couple of hours."

Derek nodded, then he and JJ walked towards their SUV, climbed in, and drove away.

With Hotch

Aaron Hotchner stood tall as he entered the police station during the mid-morning shift, his head on a swivel, as he looked for the captain. The man in question, a tall black male with blue eyes and short black hair, was leaning over the desk, looking over the shoulder of an officer, pointing at something on the screen. The officer, a woman, was nodding with a determined look on her face.

"Captain Thompson, I'm SSA Hotchner with the FBI."

The captain's head rose and he said something to the officer sitting at the table before he said, "It's good to meet you, Agent Hotchner, thank you for coming."

"Of course," Hotch said shaking the man's hand, "Is everything okay?" He asked gesturing to the officer.

"Yes, of course," the captain said, "Officer Montgomery is working on a different case, we've had a series of thefts in the area, and she thinks she's found a common denominator, so I told her to run with it."

"Alright. Can you show me where I can set up? My team hit the ground running, and I came to get us set up here."

"Of course, when we talked to your tech girl, she told me you guys would need a large office with a table, and some boards to go over everything. I think we have everything you'll need in here."

The room itself wasn't overly large, but there was enough room to hold a long, foldout table with room for eight people. In the room were two large, clear boards.

"This will be perfect, Captain. Do you have the case files for the first seven victims?"

"I do, they'll be here in a few minutes. I've got to say, Agent Hotchner, I hope you guys are as good as you say because I'm not sure how much longer we'll be able to keep the locals from panicking."

Hotch nodded understandingly. "We'll work as fast as we can, Captain."

Around this time, a group of officers walked in holding seven boxes altogether, each of them setting them down at or near the end of the long foldout table. Hotch walked over, pulled the nearest box from the pile and opened it. Inside was a large file for the first victim, Lisle Harper, including crime scene photos.

Hotch added her photo to the board, writing her name on the board, along with details of her death. Then, over the next hour, did the same for the rest of the victims, ending when he wrote the last detail of Sheila Lewis's death earlier that morning.

Just as he was about to call the captain in, to ask some follow-up questions, his phone rang.

"Reid," Hotch answered, "What did Mr. Lewis have to say?"

He listened, then, as the young genius told him that the surviving victim had only gotten out of surgery an hour ago and was unconscious. Spencer then told him that he'd spoken with the victims' daughter, and that he was going to go back later in the day when the primary surgeon indicates the man should be awake.

"Alright, go talk to the coroner," Hotch told the young genius. "Then meet at the precinct."

Once the call ended, Hotch got back figuring out the timeline, only to be interrupted around twenty-five minutes later when Morgan and JJ called. This time, as he listened to Morgan's impression at the crime scene, his face furrowed with confusion, especially since they didn't have any corroborating witnesses.

Within ten minutes, Morgan and JJ had arrived, and Morgan set into helping Hotch with the timeline, something they'd practiced hundreds of times together. JJ sat at the table, going over the case files, knowing that she'd just be in the way at the moment.

With Reid

Spencer sighed as he arrived at the Montgomery County Medical Examiner's office twenty minutes after leaving the hospital. Taking his credentials down from the sun visor, he slipped his gun into its holster on the front of his hip, then climbed out of the government issue SUV.

A guard stood at the entrance of the medical examiner's office, dressed in S.W.A.T. gear, complete with a heavy tactical vest. A long line of visitors, students if the packs carried on their shoulders were any indication, were being let in one by one. Reid sighed, pulling his badge from its place on his belt and walked past the students, who started mumbling at his apparent rudeness. The guard's eyes shot him a glare, as if to admonish him, but the man held his tongue when he saw who exactly issued the ID.

He walked up to the reception center, where a single female officer stood on duty. Reid walked up to her, again ignoring the students gathering into the medium-sized room, badge out and saying, "I need to speak with the Medical Examiner regarding Sheila Lewis."

The officer's eyes shot to his badge before she buzzed him inside. Reid thanked her, then, as she was leading him back said, "What school are they visiting from?"

"The Ohio State University College of Medicine," the officer said, "Their visit has been scheduled for seven months. We tried to get them rescheduled because of what was happening, but their professor said that they were going to be doctors, so needed the experience anyway. Our ME agreed that it wouldn't hurt their education any, that in fact it would weed out those that didn't have the stomach for it."

"I can understand the reasoning, but not the circumstances," Reid stated. "When did they arrive?"

"An hour ago," the officer stated, "By bus, though some wanted to drive it was one of the concessions we insisted upon."

Spencer nodded, then when they arrived at the pathology room, Spencer pulled on a set of gloves and a mask, then went in.

The ME looked up at his entrance and said, "I'm not ready to begin the tour, go tell your professor that I'll be another hour."

Spencer looked around the room, noticing the woman's name on one of the several plaques in the room including her medical degree from Harvard.

"Doctor Wilson," he asked to confirm whom it was he was speaking with. The woman's eyes towards him again, this time irritation easily evident. "Look, I get your eager young man, but you're contaminating my autopsy room."

"Doctor, I'm SSA Doctor Reid with the FBI. I'm here to speak with you about Sheila Lewis."

"Of course," the forensic medical examiner stated, her hands digging into the person on her table as she said, "Are you a medical doctor?"

"PhD's," he said for the second time that day, "But I've read various medical books, and have an understanding of the procedures."

"Very well," the medical examiner said, "Come closer and ask what you need, Doctor Reid."

Spencer nodded, stepping forward.

"Victim has multiple contusions to her thoracic cavity, including complete dissection of her breasts, and multiple stab woulds that decimated her vital organs, which is a first for this guy.. Removal of the breasts was done antimortem, as was the majority of the penetrating wounds. The killer wanted Mrs. Lewis in as much pain as possible. Death came when she was stabbed through the heart, though by that time she wouldn't have felt anything since almost all the blood would have drained from her body."

Spencer grimaced at the sight of the woman before him. "Have you preformed a toxicology screen yet?"

"Assistant Medical Examiner Carter is doing so now," the woman said, "though by the state of the victim's body, I don't expect him to find anything. The victim was in far to much pain for there to be anything in her system."

Spencer bit his lip, "Did you find any signs of sexual activity?"

"No… is that common?"

"Sometimes with this amount of mutilation, the UNSUB will relieve himself sexually."

The doctor's brow furrowed, before she said, "Now that you mention it, one of the others, Linda Campbell, had signs she'd been sexually active within thirty minutes of her death. I didn't think anything about it, she married her husband Richard seven months ago, and Richard said they'd been sexually active, but I don't think anyone asked him the last time they'd had intercourse."

"Were there bodily fluids present," Reid asked. The Doctor shook her head.

Spencer nodded, then pulled his phone from his pocket and said, "May I?"

"It's fine," Doctor Wilson said. Spencer nodded, and dialed Garcia before putting her on speaker.

"Hey gorgeous gray matter," Garcia perkily answered, "I was starting to think my loyal believers had forgotten about me! What can one genius of Quantico do for the other?"

"Hey Garcia," Reid smiled, "Can you get in touch with Richard Harper, and ask him to come in for a follow-up. He's the husband of the first victim, Lisle Harper."

"I sure will, Doctor Reid. Is there anything else?"

"Not yet, but you know we'll get in touch when we have something."

Garcia huffed, "My babies are feeling left out, Spencer Reid. Tell my chocolate thunder to call his baby girl!"

Reid blushed, looking at the ME who was smirking with amusement as the line cut on the other end.

"She seems entirely too perky for the job you all do."

"She's an acquired taste," Spencer admitted pulling out one of his cards, and laying it on the medical examiner's desk, "If you find anything else, please don't hesitate to call."

"I will Doctor Reid," the medical examiner said as she handed him a card of her own. "If you need to get in touch with me as well."

Spencer took the card, memorizing the number with a glance, then tucked it safely into his credentials. "Thank you," he said, "For meeting with me."

"It's certainly not a problem, Agent Reid," the medical examiner stated.

As he left, bypassing college students eager to study their very first cadaver, Spencer reached for his cell, telling Hotch, when the unit chief answered, that he was finished with the Medical Examiner's office, and was on his way in.

SCENE BREAK

Hotch watched as his team gathered together, each done with their various assignments. Morgan and JJ arrived first, dejected and confusion easily seen in tired eyes. JJ entered first, carrying a four-count beverage carrier. Derek was next, and though he wasn't carrying anything, the obsessional crimes specialist looked as if he were carrying the weight of the world.

"We brought coffee," JJ said, handing him a cup of plain black, as she said, "creamer and sweetener are in the bag."

About then, Reid walked in, and Aaron could tell the young genius was trying to work something out. Before he could ask, however, Spencer said, "I asked Garcia to call Richard Harper in for a follow-up. Morgan, Garcia wants you to call her when you get the chance."

"Okay," Hotch said watching JJ hand their resident expert on almost everything a cup of coffee, three creamers and six packs of sweetener. "Why?"

"Lisle Harper had signs of sexual intercourse within thirty minutes of her murder," he explained. "No one asked Mr. Harper whether or not he and his wife had been intimate that day."

"Alright, I'll talk to him though. Morgan, I want you and JJ to go through the case file. I've started the preliminary timeline, but until we get a handle on what's going on, we're not going to be able to lock down the profile. Reid, I want you to focus on the geographic profile."

Spencer walked over to the big board, looking at the preliminary timeline Hotch had created while they were in the field. It wasn't much to go on, of course, since all but one of the victims were found in their homes, but it was a lot more than they had to begin with.

Lisle Harper was found in the master bathroom with the shower still running, though the water had long since become cold. She had multiple wounds to her neck and torso, sixteen, and the shower curtain had the same number, indicating that she was showering when she was killed, though no signs of plastic were found in the multiple stab wounds covering her torso. Her internal organs were untouched. She was 27, married to her husband of six years. One child, Elena, five.

Dan Pierce, 37 and single, was found on his bed, a pool of blood covering his sheets. He, like Lisle, had sixteen wounds, smaller in stature, to his chest and torso, culminating in his chest being left flayed apart, though none of his organs were pierced by the blades. A neighbor heard his screams as the attack was happening and called the police, but by the time they arrived the UNSUB was gone.

Terry Wynn, 19 and engaged, was attacked at a lake house he'd rented for the weekend. His woulds, twenty in total, were larger than both Lisle and Dan, though showed more thought in positioning. After the initial assault, Terry was taken, as JJ stated, onto a boat and driven out the middle of the lake where he was thrown overboard. The final four penetrating chest wounds, according to the medical examiner, were done in the lake, with the fatal blow penetrating his heart, and was a deliberate postmortem infliction.

Linda Campbell, 40 and divorced, was attacked at her house with twenty-four wounds across her chest and torso. Her chest was flayed apart, and each of her internal organs were removed and set to the side. Her body was then staged too look, according to initial reports, like something had crawled out of it while she was still alive.

Erik Barrett, Shane Williams, and Donald Thompson; 22, 27, and 32, all single, were all drugged by the UNSUB, according to toxicology reports, and were brutally murdered in their sleep. Each lived in different cities, and were within 10 years of each other, but lived in houses on streets with the same name and number. Erik was found first, and had twenty-eight wounds to his body, Shane Williams second with thirty-two, and Donald Thompson with thirty-six, though care was taken to not injure their organs.

"Agent Hotchner," Captain Thompson said entering the room, Richard Harper is here to speak with Doctor Reid."

"I'll be handling the interview, Captain. You're welcome to sit in, if you'd like."

The captain nodded, and they'd left the room.

"What have you got over there, pretty boy?"

"I'm starting on the geographic profile. Each of the victims were found in a different city, and until the recent victims, the UNSUB had never murdered more than one at a time. To make matters worse, the UNSUB's methods are all over the board, so there's no telling how long he's been at this."

Morgan nodded, then said, "So we need Garcia to pull unsolved murders in the area going back five years?"

"Make it ten," Spencer said absently as he mentally did the calculations needed to figure out the UNSUB's comfort zone. As it came together, he noticed that all the murder scenes were located within the same twenty mile area. What's more, Dan Pierce and Linda Campbell's crime scenes were located within twenty minutes of each other, though other than the Lewis couple, none of the others were so close in proximity.

When Hotch came in around fifteen minutes later, his face told him what Spencer had already figured out.

"She was assaulted," Morgan said noticing the same thing.

"Richard Harper was out of town on a business trip, and returned the day after his wife was murdered. He discovered her body, and said that she was lying in her living room."

"Was anything out of place," Morgan asked.

"The only thing he noticed was that the television was on a music channel, which Lisle never listened too for personal reason."

"Was it the Halloween holiday channel?" Morgan asked. Hotch nodded.

"So Halloween must be important to the UNSUB," Spencer said.

"Obviously," Morgan said, "But why? The MO is all over the place, and he's going too far out of his comfort zone for it to be thrill seeking."

Reid sighed, setting the last piece of the geographical profile in place, with a quiet, "I'm done Hotch."

Hotch walked over to the board, studying it as he had every time the genius worked out the math. "Reid, why are there two comfort zones?"

"Because it was the only way for the profile to make sense. I thought that maybe my math was wrong, but it wasn't. So, I followed the timeline. Three of the nine victims were found in the vicinity surrounding Crystal Lakes. One was drowned in the lake itself. Three victims were spread out over a large area, but on streets in their cities that shared a same name, linking them in that way. The last three were attacked in their homes, but those attacks were staged by the UNSUB to tell a story."

"What kind of story?" Morgan asked.

Hotch frowned, as a foreboding chill ran down his back. "What was the name of the street?"

Spencer frowned, wondering what that had to do with anything, but said, "Elm."

Morgan groaned, "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Does the name Elm Street have some significance of which I'm unaware?" Spencer asked, ashamed that his knowledge would have such a gap in it.

"It's the setting for a series of horror movies, Spence," JJ said. "Crystal Lake too."

"The areas you've highlighted as the UNSUB's comfort zones are located around Springboro and Oakwood, Ohio, with Kettering near the center."

Spencer nodded. "The UNSUB tried to make them seem random, but true randomness is almost unfathomable to the human brain."

"What's important here," Derek said, "Is that he's trying to turn Kettering into Springwood, and he's doing murder to do it."

"I'll call the local media," JJ said reaching for her cell and dialing.

"Alright. Let's deliver the profile."

Morgan looked over at Spencer, who was still looking at the board in silent contemplation.

"Reid?"

"Sorry," Reid said, "Would it help if I told you I've never seen a horror movie?"

Morgan looked at him, before understanding dawned in his eyes. "I keep forgetting how your brain works, kid. You see so much of this that it's probably all the horror you can stand, isn't it?"

"Sometimes," Spencer admitted.

"Well, you'll be able to keep up, knowing how your mind works, so we'll explain the movies to you after we catch this psycho," Morgan said with a friendly pat to the younger agent's shoulder.

Spencer nodded.

Within a few minutes, the precinct's officers were gathered, herded together by JJ on her way outside to wait for the press, her earpiece in so she could hear the profile and deliver it properly.

"Our UNSUB is what we call a Visionary serial killer. Typically, these types of killers can range in age from anywhere between 20 and 60, often only stopping because they're caught or killed. He believes he's being instructed by a higher power to kill; though, in this case, he's receiving his missions from popular horror movies. So far, we've identified three, a Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, and Psycho. It is entirely possible there are more victims out there than the ones we've recovered, mimicking the style of other horror genre movies." Hotch began giving the police their profile.

"In this case," Morgan said, "The UNSUB is also showing signs of being a thrill killer. A thrill killer is typically a white male between the ages of 19 and 40, who derives pleasure from the act itself. Visionary killers don't typically show the brutality seen in our victims, or if they do the rage is directed at a single unsub. In this case, the brutality shown is beyond the pale."

"Given the drastic contrast between the two profiles," Spencer continued to the room full of police officers, "you're probably looking for a younger male between the ages of 16 and 25. Based on his MO, he's either what is normally called a movie buff, a film or theater student, or he could be related to someone in the film industry. At two crime scenes, both staged by the unsub, their televisions were set to a music channel which was playing Halloween music, though the holiday isn't for several months. This means that the station itself was important to him. It might be a way to include that movie series into his plans, since all three involve stabbing victims in various situations, or most likely someone at that particular station knows the UNSUB."

"It is important," JJ was saying outside to the press, "That everyone be extremely vigilant. Our unsub is smart, and is able to charm homeowners without resorting to violence until he's inside. We'll have more for you later, thank you."

Once the crowd had scattered, JJ walked back inside, and found her teammates leaned over the central telephone in the room, talking to Garcia, who was saying, "Here's what I've got on the film industry in Kettering, Hotch. There's five cinemas in the surrounding twenty miles, and theaters on each of the college campuses in the area. Two of the theaters offer classes to those interested in showbiz. Given the amount of people attempting to break into the business, and the number those employed, you're looking at around a thousand employees. Breaking that down, you've got three hundred males."

Hotch looked at Morgan, who said, "Baby girl, focus on younger males. Since sixteen is the youngest age you can legally work, focus on males between sixteen and twenty-five."

"Sugar, I hate to say it, but that didn't drop the number much. Most of the guys involved are younger than twenty."

"The unsub sexually assaulted one of the female victims. Either that could be a reenactment from the movie, or the victim could resemble another woman, an obsession," Reid said, "Garcia, can you run a parallel search for women resembling Lisle Harper, see if any of them have taken out any complaints, then run those results against our profile?"

"You bet," Garcia said, the sound of clacking keys coming across the line. "Search is running, boy genius."

"Here's an odd thought," JJ said, looking to Hotch. Hotch nodded giving her the go-ahead, since her insight was pretty good once the profile itself had been given. "Garcia, is there anyone that shares a name with the main characters in that. Like Freddy for Elm Street, or Michael for Halloween?"

Over the phone, keys could be heard clacking with rapid repetition. Hotch nodded at the media liaison, saying, "That would make sense, added to his already deteriorating psyche, it might be one of the reasons he started killing."

"Give the girl a cookie," Garcia said happily, "Based on everything, age, sexual orientation, and name, there's four men matching your description. Norman Kruger, Elliot Myers, Jason Carmichael, Fredrick Ray. Matching names to the DMV records… and Hotch, facial recognition says they're the same person! Kruger and Ray live in Springboro, though in different counties. Carmichael lives in Kettering, and Myers lives in Oakwood!"

"Send us the addresses for all four, Garcia, and I'll work on getting the court order." Hotch ordered. "We'll each take a different residence, with officers for backup. Morgan, you'll take Elliot Myers. JJ, you'll take Fredrick Ray. Reid, Norman Kruger. I'll take Jason Carmichael. Whoever finds him call the others."

"On it boss man, Garcia out," the tech analyst said hanging up with purpose. With that, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed, "This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I need an audience with Judge Josiah Kapersky as soon as possible."

SCENE BREAK

The warrant was quickly issued. To be safe, Hotch went directly to a judge he knew in the Federal Courts, since getting any state judges to sign would have been a battle in itself considering the multiple jurisdictions the unsub had involved. The judge, had been only to happy to sign once the FBI's preliminary findings and burden of proof had been presented. Once done, Hotch had his phone out to Captain Thompson, telling the captain that he needed to speak with the captains of the local departments surrounding Kettering.

The captain was, obviously, upset, but when Hotch explained the jurisdiction issues, quickly got on the other line setting up a meeting at the Kettering police department. Given how closely they were in proximity, Hotch was told they'd arrive either just before, or soon after, his own return.

His drive back took around twenty minutes. To his shock, though, the Captain was as good as his word. When he arrived, three other cruisers were in the parking lot, all from different police departments from in there comfort zones.

Hotch entered, to find Morgan already speaking with the officers, though not necessarily their jobs, Hotch could easily tell they'd been impatient to begin with so his second-in-command had taken it upon himself to smooth ruffled feathers.

"Captains, this is SSA Hotchner."

"I hear we've got a serial killer on our hands," one of the captain's stood, a medium-build Latino male asked. "Why are we just hearing about it?"

"Because the cases were only linked today," Hotch answered immediately. "We learned, as I'm sure Agent Morgan has already told you, that our UNSUB had purposely crossed city and, in at least one case, county lines. Considering the circumstances, I went directly to a judge I know in the Federal circuit, and had him sign the search and arrest warrants, with the understanding that I inform you all as to what needs to happen."

"And what's that," the only female captain in the room, a medium-tall white woman with dark red hair, asked.

"My agents are going to split up, with one of them going with each of you back to your precincts. Once there, Agents Morgan, Jareau, and Reid will then unseal the search and arrest warrants, and will accompany a team of yourselves, and four of your most trusted officers to serve the warrants, and if necessary, make the arrests."

"When is all this supposed to happen," the last captain, a tall, white male, asked?

"The warrants can be executed at five, at the earliest. That will give you all time to get to the precinct and set up and give you all time to brief your officers." Hotch answered.

"Do you see why I felt it prudent to call you all?" Thompson asked his fellow captains, who all agreed reluctantly.

"Doctor Reid," he said gesturing towards Reid, who stood with a small wave, "will be with the team going to arrest Norman Kruger, on the Warren County side of Springboro," Hotch said watching as the female captain walked forward and stretched her arm out, saying, "Silva Meadows, Doctor Reid."

"I'll be with Captain Thompson here in Kettering after Elliot Myers," Hotch stated. "Agent Jareau," he said gesturing towards JJ, "will be going to the Montgomery County side of Springboro to arrest Fredrick Ray." Now, the Latino captain stood with his hand outstretched, "Luis Garcia, Agent Jareau".

JJ smiled, shaking his hand in greeting, as Hotch said, "Agent Morgan will be going after Jason Carmichael in Oakwood."

"Gary Hofstadter," the Captain said as Derek stood in greeting, while Hotch delivered his last remarks. "Keep your lines of communication open. Once you've executed the warrants, be quick but thorough, and watch each others backs. Let's move out."

With that, the teams separated.

Across the two counties, at 5:00 PM exactly, four different teams were getting ready to move.

With Morgan

In Oakwood, Derek Morgan and Gary Hofstadter, and their accompanying SWAT members, were approaching a single-wide trailer from the 1950s situated on a lot thought vacant by the city counsel. Tensions were high as the FBI agent and local LEOs crept as quietly possible up the long driveway littered with debris from the trees.

As the approached the house, Derek whispered, "I need SWAT in teams of two, cover each side of the house. Captain Hofstadter and I will cover the front."

The SWAT leader understandingly nodded, gesturing with his hand to his team which two should cover which entrance. The SWAT members assigned to the various sections moved into place within a few minutes, each letting him know they were in position with single clicks on their shoulder-mounted two-way radios.

"On three," Derek said into his own radio, "One… two… three!"

On three, Derek and the SWAT leader both kicked their doors down, the doors easily coming off their long-worn hinges. "Jason Carmichael, FBI! We have a warrant for your arrest!"

When nothing was said in return, Derek looked to the captain, who nodded and said, "Martinez, I want this place torn apart. Inside and the immediate property outside. Call CSU after a thorough search of the property."

The SWAT leader nodded, "Hollis, Gomez, I want you to begin a grid search. Each team take a section as far out as the property line. Keep together with your partners, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Don't let this bastard take you unaware."

"Got it, sir," the two leaders outside responded.

While this was happening, Derek and the Captain were doing a room by room search. Minutes on end, the only sound heard was intermittent shouts of clear, as both men came upon rooms devoid of life. Once the entire property had been searched, Derek turned to the captain and said, "I'm going to leave the scene to your guys and meet up with my team."

Hofstadter nodded, saying, "Benson, let's get out of here."

WITH JJ

On the Montgomery County side of Springboro, JJ and Captain Garcia were quietly discussing the imminent breach.

The house, a white, three story home with multiple points of egress, was surrounded on all sides by high, wrought-iron fencing with security cameras at each entry point. JJ, having seen the team execute breaches on many occasions, had suggested a similar set up to Derek's, but the Captain had a different idea in mind.

"That type of breach won't work on this type of residence, Agent Jareau. With the layout, our suspect will see us coming, and with that kind of place, there's no telling how much firepower the suspect has at his disposal."

"What do you suggest then," JJ asked as she was willing to listen to the voice of experience.

"I was the SWAT leader for a couple years before my promotion, Agent. Let me call in more of the team to lead the breach. That way we'll be able to cover for you if he's here and has the type of resistance we expect."

JJ thought it over, before reluctantly nodding. "I'll be on your six."

"That's fine," Captain Garcia said, "Mitch, call in backup. I want them here fifteen minutes ago. Double-time it."

The second in command nodded in affirmation, before calling dispatch for two more teams. Once that was done, the tall man said, "They're on the way, boss. It'll be about fifteen minutes. Alan says to stay alert."

"Got it boss," Captain Garcia sarcastically responded. It was the last thing he'd said for over thirteen minutes.

"We've got incoming," a voice over the radio caught their attention. "Coming up the road from the south. It's the backup."

"Once they get here, if it's alright with you Agent Jareau, my guys and I will breach and clear the rooms. If our guy is here, great. If not, once the house is clear, we'll happily obey whatever orders you have."

"I understand. You guys have worked together for a while, right?"

"Yes ma'am," Garcia answered, as two SWAT trucks pulled in behind them. "Alan, Jack thanks for coming out so quickly."

"No problem, Cap," the taller of the two leaders responded. 'Sitrep?"

"We're on the hunt for a serial killer, guys. Watch each other's six. I've convinced FBI Agent Jareau that we should handle the initial breach, but afterwards she's in charge on scene."

"Got it," the shorter of the two said, "Agent Jareau."

"Alan, take your guys and cover the back. Jack, I've got two of my guys covering each side. Can you take command of one side, and send Joe to cover the other. Tell whoever you send to take command on my orders."

The two leaders nodded, taking their teams, both consisting of members each, to their assigned posts. Once they were in position, Garcia said, "You want to count us down, Agent Jareau?"

"On three," JJ said. "One… two… three."

At three, on each side of the house, four different SWAT members broke large glass windows, before they each removed a similar canister from each of their belts, and throwing them into the room. Five seconds after the canisters went off, four near simultaneous sound explosions went off with an accompanying light explosion.

"NOW NOW NOW!" Captain Garcia shouted three seconds after the explosion, as one of the newer members of SWAT kicked the door in. "Search room-by-room! I don't want this bastard getting away if he's here! LIVING ROOM CLEAR!"

"LAUNDRY ROOM CLEAR!" one SWAT member said loudly enough to hear, "Moving in!"

"SUNROOM CLEAR! Infiltrating now!"

"GARAGE CLEAR! Found a basement, we're going down!"

"Photograph everything," JJ ordered.

"On it Agent Jareau," the man answered before he said, "Oh God! Somebody needs to get CSU here, we've got decomposing bodies."

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau with the FBI. We need Crime Scene Units at 3755 South Irving Street."

"KITCHEN CLEAR!" a third voice said, with another said, "DINING ROOM CLEAR We have a staircase leading down."

"There's a door down here that leads upstairs," the SWAT member in the basement said. "Open the door on your end, and I'll let you know. Yeah it's the same door!"

"Got it," the first responded.

"ASCENDING STAIRCASE!" a fifth SWAT member said.

"MASTER BED CLEAR!" a sixth SWAT member said.

"BATHROOM CLEAR!"

"EVERYONE MEET AT THE ASCENDING STAIRCASE!"

In all, from first infiltration to the order to meet at the staircase, less than two minutes passed.

WITH REID

Spencer stared at the large, open plot of land containing a single tent, his eyes wide with disbelief. Beside him, Captain Silva Meadows said, "I'm not sure if I should be thankful or insulted."

"I'd go with thankful," Spencer told her as he approached the tent, which showed no signs of recent activity. Still, once he'd opened it, and made sure that the tent was empty, he said, "Please have your SWAT conduct a grid search from post to post, but I don't think he's been here in a while."

"You hear that Mel?"

"I got it, Captain," a female voice said over the radio. "We'll do the search, but I'm willing to bet that this place is a decoy."

"Agreed," Spencer said. "Look for unmarked graves, or patches of disturbed soil just in case."

In all, they were in and out in less than an hour.

With Hotch

The first thing Hotch noticed as they arrived were the technicolor lights hanging in so many windows. "There's someone inside," he told Captain Thompson, who relayed the message to the SWAT team accompanying them.

"We've got movement," a random male voice called out from the back. "It looks he's got someone stashed in the back bedroom."

"On my mark," Hotch said into his radio, "Three… two… one!"

'FBI!" Hotch shouted, turning towards the man dressed in a black and red plaid shirt wearing a ripped fedora atop his head. "Elliot Myers stop!"

The UNSUB's eyes widened with delight, as he raised a bloodied glove with sharpened butter knives attached to metallic gloves. Then, he took off to his left, revealing a young, heavily pregnant woman stabbed in the upper thoracic area. To make matters worse, she was now, obviously, in labor.

"I need a medic at 1670 North Mammon Street," Captain Thompson yelled, "Code 99, 245 in progress. Victim is in labor, and child is in distress."

"10-4 captain," a male voice came over the radio, as the unsub cackled from his position on the ground. Hotch winced, as the woman's eyes stared at him in fear. "EMT is five minutes out."

"Ma'am, I'm Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We're going to do everything we can to keep you alive."

The woman, stabbed in the lungs, could only nodded in response, before she pointed at her belly.

"We're going to try to save your baby too," he responded. "How far along are you? More than five, you can blink once for yes, or twice for no."

She blinked once. "More than eight?"

Once again.

Hotch watched, helplessly, as the woman's eyes started fading closed, her pulse weakening with each second that passed.

The next few minutes seemed to blur together for the unit chief. As the seconds, than the minutes slipped by, he heard people talking, but their words were muffled, and jumbled together in a cacophony of chaos. He could see her wincing in agony as the Sheriff, then the EMT's worked to keep her alive, one even taking over chest compression's as they arrived, while the other delivered the child whose entrance to this world was one of pain and fear.

All the while a man cackled gleefully in the background.

"She made it," Sheriff Thompson said, his voice muffled, though the sentence still penetrated his addled mind. "She's alive, her and her daughter."

"Good," Hotch said, looking up and connecting his gaze with the UNSUB's, "Get him out of here."

"You got it, Agent. Thanks."

Hotch nodded.

SCENE BREAK

Spencer stared out of the tinted windows of Captain Meadow's standard issue police car, decompressing as the days events wound to a close. Mentally, he composed what he was going to say to Elizabeth Lewis, who he hoped would be relieved to know her mother's murderer was now in custody. A small, if not significant win.

"Are all your cases like this," Captain Meadows asked curiously.

"I haven't been on many," Spencer said, "I've only been with the bureau for a little over two years, but so far evidence would point to yes."

"And your Agent Hotchner took the guy down?"

"Yes," Spencer again answered, as the captain pulled into the Kettering precinct. "Thank you for the ride, Captain."

"No problem," she answered, as Spencer stepped towards the door. His phone rang the second he opened it.

"Hello, this is Doctor Reid."

He stopped, devastation crossing his face as he listened to the person on the other end.

"Doctor Reid, this is Doctor John Kovac. I regret to inform you Spencer Lewis died five minutes ago."

"Creative Thinking Inspires Ideas. Ideas inspire change. - Barbara Januszkiewicz"