" We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. "

— Plato

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

18.1 ; THE BOOGEYMAN.

SPENCER KNEW HE SHOULD look away, but he couldn't help but stare at the photo of the young boy on the screen. No older than eight, the child laid face-down, his head twisted to the side at an odd angle. His arms were strewn away from his body, resting on the orange and red leaves. The side of his head was caved in, his forehead covered with dried blood. His face was frozen in an expression of pure and unadulterated terror. 

"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly thirteen hours ago. Blunt force trauma to the head. He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last two months."

Spencer blinked and moved his glasses to rub his eyes, attempting to return his attention back to JJ, who had finished passing around the newest case file. He had seen enough to understand the nature of the case. He noticed the longer he looked, the more disheartened he began to feel.

Child cases were always hard—for some of the team more than others. Usually, Spencer counted himself more towards the objective side. He theorized it was because he had no real connection with a child. The most time he ever spent with any particular child was Caroline's little sister and those moments were brief and far between. It wasn't like he could talk quantum theory with a six-year-old. Not effectively, at least.

But, for some reason, the contrast between Nicholas Faye's corpse and his most recent school photo of him flashing a toothy grin displayed on the screen was enough to make his stomach churn.

"Local hunter found the body in the woods," the press liaison continued without pause as she switched the photos on the television screen. Spencer avoided his gaze this time. "The first victim's name is Robbie Davis."

Across from him at the round table, Derek asked, "Are these boys connected somehow?"

"Ozona's population's roughly 2,500. Everyone has some kind of connection."

"Well," Caroline—who had been oddly silent for most of the morning—muttered, "if they weren't linked before, they certainly are now."

At that moment, the whole room gave her a side-eyed glance with Spencer among them. If she noticed the looks, she didn't respond. She didn't even look up from the file in her hands.

The young doctor couldn't stop the frown starting to grow on his face. He wished he could chalk up her comment to being upset about the case—child cases always seemed especially hard for her—but he couldn't. She had been exceptionally sardonic the past week and he knew it had something to do with the now-empty chair at the round table. 

Elle's chair.

Spencer looked away and tried to focus on the file in front of him. Even he had to admit, it was unsettling to see the empty chair where his colleague used to reside. It reminded him of when she had been on leave due to her being shot, and the memory was less than pleasant.

However, whether Elle was here for this case or not, they had a killer to find. A killer who hunts children.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

"You guys hear Elle was cleared?"

Caroline pulled her gaze away from the crime scene photos in her hand to look over at Spencer, who had just settled into the seat across from her. His face was happy, his mouth turned up in a small smile, his eyes bright. Both Morgan and JJ shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the uplifted expression on his face. 

Her heart started to feel a little heavier than it did moments ago.

Even she had to admit, it hadn't taken long for someone to bring it up. The jet had barely left the tarmac before someone Elle's reinstatement was mentioned. The whole team had been unceremoniously informed of the news by Hotch before everyone had boarded the jet. Of course, everyone except Elle and Hotch.

She wished Spencer hadn't said anything. She had been more or less content to ignore the fact that their team member was now MIA.

Elle hadn't been back since she shot William Lee two weeks ago. She had just recently been cleared and the shooting had been ruled as self-defense. But, despite what Hotch and Gideon claim, she knew better. Everyone knew better.

She took another glance at the young doctor and the excitement on his face was almost heart-shattering. At least, she had thought everyone knew better.

Judging by the brief moment of silence that swept over the jet, it seemed like they all realized the likelihood of Elle returning with Spencer as the exception. It was unspoken but evident. She wasn't coming back—not anytime soon, at least.

And Caroline didn't need to be a profiler to know that she was struggling with it.

Derek snapped out of it first. "Self-defense," he said, his voice almost bleak. It sounded like he was having a hard time swallowing it, just as she was.

The young doctor shrugged, oblivious to the sudden tension. "So it was a good shoot."

Caroline couldn't think of anything to say. So, she stuck with the simplest thing she could think of—she nodded and forced a small smile. It seemed appropriate enough, even though it felt wrong.

Beside her, JJ muttered under her breath, "She hit what she was aimin' for, that's for sure."

Spencer frowned at the press liaison, who had decided the case file was now suddenly fascinating. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"Well, if they cleared her, how come she's not here with us?" Derek asked, his voice a little harder than before. "Or Hotch?"

Caroline wished she had an answer to his question. Elle not being here—fine. She hadn't seen her former co-worker since they left Dayton a couple of weeks ago. No phone calls. No texts. She could take the hint. Elle didn't want anybody around.

But Hotch? As far as she knew, nothing was out of the ordinary minus the Elle situation. The stern unit chief of the BAU next to never missed a case. Hotch wasn't here and Elle is gone. The only explanation that made sense was he was looking for her. Maybe it was the final effort to get her to see the light. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

But, before Caroline could voice her theories, Gideon's voice cut through the plane, loud and clear, "Focus on the case."

The four agents shared a look that screamed: "busted". JJ, the bravest at the moment, cleared her throat before she reached over Caroline to hand their superior a file. "Ozona police and autopsy report for Nicholas Faye and Robbie Davis."

"Well," Caroline began as she scanned through the report , "the bludgeoning could suggest  frustration or rage."

"With no apparent sexual motivation," Spencer commented. "That's rare when the victims are this young."

From behind them, Gideon said, "This unsub seems to be taking pleasure from the kill itself."

Morgan frowned at the photo of Nicholas Faye's corpse laying on the table. "So, if it's not sexual, what's the significance of targeting young males?"

"Most serial killers prey upon specific types to carry out their fantasies," Spencer explained as JJ's phone began to ring. He continued when she answered the call. "Bundy killed women that looked like an ex-girlfriend who jilted him. Dahmer claimed that schoolyard harassment fed into his fury."

Morgan seemed to mull over that as JJ whispered into the phone, listening intently, before he replied, "Okay, so then maybe these kids represent someone who victimized the offender."

"Like a young male from his past," Caroline suggested. "Maybe a bully, an older brother, someone who abused him?"

Beside her, JJ shook her as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. "No, that's unlikely. They just found another body. 11-year-old girl."

Spencer furrowed his brow. "Why would the victimology just suddenly change?

"Maybe the girl wasn't the target." Morgan sighed as he rubbed his temple with his hand. "Maybe she just got in the way."

"Or the sex of his victim isn't significant." Gideon slowly rotated his chair to face the rest of the team. "The pace he's killing certainly indicates a velocity of change."

Caroline shook her head. "We can't surveil every kid in Ozona. How are we supposed to keep them all safe?"

"Enforce a curfew?" Even as Spencer suggested it, he couldn't keep the uncomfortable look off of his face.

"Children shouldn't have to worry about something like that." Children shouldn't have to worry about being killed either but she knew the kind of world she lived in. This was a world where the monsters that children fear aren't fictional, but all too real.

"Tell me about it," JJ muttered. "The woods were the only thing I was afraid of when I was a kid."

Morgan's brow furrowed. "Seriously? I thought you grew up in a small town."

"Yeah, surrounded by woods."

"Bummer for you." Derek had a distanced look on his face, almost like he was remembering a different time. "The only thing I was afraid of was the dark."

"Some of us still are," Spencer murmured, his voice so soft she wasn't sure she heard him correctly.

Caroline glanced up at the young doctor and stifled a grin. JJ and Morgan, however, weren't as restrained as they balked at him. Spencer immediately grew sheepish as his face turned a bright shade of red.

Gideon seemed to take pity on him because his response was sharp and hard, effectively pulling their attention away from the blushing doctor. "When we land, Morgan and Reid go to the new crime scene. Lucas and I'll go look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."

She didn't respond except for a small nod. The crime scene photos of Nicholas Faye seemed a little heavier in her hands now. She glanced down at the glossy photo on the top. It was a wide-angle shot. The boy laying partially face-down among a bed of dried leaves. The side of his face that wasn't caked with blood was frozen in time—an expression of terror that she would probably never forget

As she stared at the photo of the dead child, Caroline started to wonder what Nicholas Faye had been afraid of.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

The woods were silent, too quiet to be considered truly peaceful. The only noises present were the crunch of dried bracken under shoes and the occasional breeze that sounded like high whistles as it wisped through the trees. It was easy to be distracted by the simple beauty of it all—the smell of fresh autumn air, the fluttering leaves dancing in the wind, the abundance of color so vivid the woods began to feel like a living thing.

Caroline was starkly reminded of how quickly alive can become dead as she approached the yellow crime scene tape.  The area had been cordoned off by tying the tape around the closest trees. As she stepped under the tape, her heart began to pound in a way that had nothing to do with the exertion of walking.

Most of the crime scene had been shaded by the woodland trees, but when she lifted her head, she could see small patches of blue sky peering through the branches. The amber sunlight warmed the clearing as if it were trying to forget the horror of what had happened here. 

"This isn't a dump site," Gideon said as he walked into the middle of the clearing. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the vast expanse of the woods. "Murder happened right here. The autopsy report indicates no signs of a struggle."

The Ozona sheriff, a short man with a shiny face in his late-thirties, sighed. "Poor little guy never had a chance. So far into these woods, no one could hear him scream."

Caroline slowly squatted down as she dug her fingers into the leaves. Her fingers crushed the stiff leaves, leaving a trail of debris in their wake.

"Exactly how his killer wanted it," she whispered as the small bits of leaves began to flutter out of her hand and into the wind.

"In the last three months, we've lost more children in this town than we have in my whole lifetime." The sheriff shook his head. "The others were car accidents. The residents are terrified. Got an 8-year-old myself."

"Victims knew their killer," Gideon said, oblivious to the sheriff's comments. His voice was calm, almost a little too calm, as he spoke. "They followed him to this spot."

"And what makes you think that?"

She could hear the apprehension in the sheriff's voice. Gideon's lack of a bedside manner rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, and she could tell that his aloofness wasn't winning any favor at the moment. Typically, she'd play peace-maker at this point, try to soothe any wounded ego, but she was past the point of caring.

"The kids went this deep in the woods because they trusted him," she explained as she stood. "Most likely stashed his weapon here beforehand as well."

"Which means," Gideon said, "looking for someone intelligent, methodical."

"Methodical?" The sheriff frowned at the two agents. "Bashed the kid's head in, looks like a moment of rage to me."

Her superior turned to face them. "I agree. That's what's confusing. Doesn't make sense."

The sheriff started to say something else, but Caroline had begun tuning the conversation out of her head. Right now, she wanted nothing more than just to focus on what's in front of her.

She looked into the distance and saw nothing but woods all around her. If the sheriff hadn't been guiding them, she wasn't sure how they would've found the crime scene. There was nothing for miles but trees that looked the exact same.

The unsub knew these woods and knew them well. Well enough to know where to go to bludgeon someone to death. If she had to guess, he probably has lived in Ozona his whole life. Knew the woods like the back of his hand.

"Caroline."

She glanced behind her and saw Gideon staring at her, his mouth set in a small frown. It suddenly struck her that they were alone.

"Where's the sheriff?"

"Had to make a phone call." He crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes became analytical. The longer he stared, the more she began to feel like an animal in a cage. "You're acting strange."

She could feel her body tensing automatically at the judgment. She wanted to snap at him, say something so scathingly sarcastic it would burn. But she said nothing. She only shrugged—a small movement of her shoulder so nonchalant, it felt almost blasé.

"This sudden change of attitude would have nothing to do with Elle, would it?"

God, sometimes she really hated working with a bunch of profilers. Although even she had to admit, it probably didn't take Gideon's expertly trained eye to see what was bothering her. 

That didn't mean she'd admit to it though.

"Why would it?" She asked, schooling her face into a neutral expression. "She's been cleared. It was all self-defense."

His frown deepened. "You don't sound convinced."

"Neither do you."

Gideon shrugged. "Maybe I'm not."

Suddenly, it was harder to contain the heat boiling in the pit of her chest. She whirled on him, her mouth mashed in a thin line.

"Are you serious?" She hissed through her teeth. "Gideon, we both know what happened that night and it sure as hell wasn't self-defense."

"I agree," he stated simply. "But there's no proof. She's innocent until proven guilty."

Innocent until proven guilty? She opened her mouth to state that he was full of it until the realization hit her. It hit her so hard, she felt a little stunned.

"So that's why Hotch isn't here," she murmured. "He's trying to get her to confess."

Gideon's expression didn't shift in the slightest. "I didn't say that."

Everything made so much more sense now. Why Gideon had been taking "private" phone calls on the plane and Hotch acting so tense before the team left. How could she not have seen it before?

"You didn't have to."

Before he could say anything else, she brushed by him, her mind more conflicted than before.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

The moment Caroline got back from the crime scene, the team hit the ground running. Gideon and Reid had the task of debriefing the parents on their new way of life—including a mandatory curfew for all children at 5 P.M. JJ stayed behind in the sheriff's office, coordinating with the Ozona police and fielding any calls, while Caroline and Morgan headed to the local elementary school.  It had been Gideon's suggestion to talk to the kids personally and letting them know the changes being made.

She stared out into the small crowd of elementary school children, all gathered packed together in cheap, plastic chairs set up in the small gymnasium. She saw multi-colored backpacks clutched tightly to small chests and small bodies huddling together as some trembled. Both Morgan and she had removed their guns, the only thing hooked on their belts were their badges, but she knew they weren't the reason the children cowered. 

After the news of Sarah Peterson's death, the newest victim, these children were terrified they were next.

"It's something we call the buddy system," Caroline announced to the children, keeping her voice soothing and calm. "That means you always go everywhere with a friend."

From behind her, Morgan spoke in the same lulling tone. "That's right. Because bad men and women are more likely to talk to us only when we're by ourselves."

"We don't know what these guys look like yet. It might even be somebody you know."

In the crowd, Caroline watched as one small hand timidly rose about the heads of its classmates' heads. The hand belonged to a little girl, no older than eight, with coffee-colored skin and dark eyes. She wore a button-down blue denim dress and her black hair pulled back into two long pigtails

Morgan glanced over and smiled at her. "Yes, sweetheart, you got a question?"

"There was this little girl once on the news who just got grabbed right in front of her house." The girl's voice was small and timid as she spoke. "Is. . .Could that happen to us?"

Morgan glanced back at Caroline and his face looked a little uncertain. The little girl with the pigtails simply stared at them, waiting for a response.

She cleared her throat before she replied, "Nothing's going to happen to any of you as long as you remember the buddy system, okay?" 

The little girl nodded and even smiled a little, seemingly appeased with her answer. Her eyes flashed over the crowd of children, their faces open and trusting. She had forgotten what it was like to work with children—they believed every word because they're young and still had hope for this world. Nothing has corrupted them yet.

She only wished she could guarantee what she had told the little girl was the truth.

Once they dismissed the children to head back to class, Caroline's phone rang right as she approached the SUV. She sug into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her brother's contact popped up on the caller ID. She waved at Morgan, keys in hand, and held up her pointer finger as she stepped off to the side. He nodded, pausing to rest his back against the car as he gave her some privacy.

Once she was certain she was out of ear-shot, she answered the phone. "Chris?"

"Hey," her brother's voice came over the line, his voice a little choppy from the weak cell reception. "Where are you right now?"

"Texas," she answered automatically. "Why? What's wrong?"

A noise came over the phone that resembled someone choking. It was a little garbed due to the static, but she thought it almost sounded like a nervous laugh.

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Caroline frowned. See how she was doing? Her brother and his new wife had gotten back from their honeymoon three months ago and hadn't once called her to check on "things". That and coupled with the strained tone of his voice, she knew something was up.

"Right. So, what's got you so nervous?"

"Nervous? What makes you think I'm nervous?"

She rolled her eyes, even though she knew her brother couldn't see her. "I have ears."

"You know, sometimes," he grumbled, "I hate that you're a profiler. You know too damn much."

She chuckled. "Sorry. A hazard of the job."

"Yeah, right."

"Well," she said, "are you going to tell me or not? I haven't seen you this nervous since—" She paused and her jaw dropped a little. "Oh, my God."

"Caroline?"

"I can't believe this!"

"What?"

"Rebecca's pregnant," she blurted out as a wide smile stretched across her face. 

"Wh—How did you—? You know what, nevermind." There was a heavy sigh on the other end and then he muttered, "Damn profilers."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Like you need me to answer that."

"You're right, I don't." At this point, her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. "Chris, this is—it's amazing! How far along is she?"

 There was nothing in this world that made her brother more nervous than children—babies, especially. She remembered when Cass was born, her brother could barely move when he held her, almost like he was afraid he was going to drop her. He used to badger Caroline constantly when she cried, asking if she was hungry or tired or needed a diaper change. She'll never forget the day she told him that, sometimes, babies just cry to cry. She thought he could've passed out judging by how white his face was.

"Just passed the first-trimester last week," he said. "Caroline, listen, I wasn't supposed to tell you. Bec wanted to get everyone together and announce it. I was supposed to ask when you get back. She'll kill me if she finds out you already know."

"Don't worry," she said. "Your secret is safe with me. I'll let you know when I'm leaving."

He breathed out a relieved sigh. "Thank you."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

She smiled. "You and Rebecca are going to be great parents."

There was a pause over the line and a shuffling noise. Finally, he said, "You think so?"

"I know so."

She could almost hear the smile in her brother's voice. "Thanks. I'll see you when you get back?"

"Cross my heart—"

"And hope to die," he finished. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. See you soon."

"Bye."

The moment the line went dead, Caroline slipped her phone back into her pocket and all but skipped over to Morgan waiting by the car. Her co-worker paused when he saw her, his eyes wide. 

"What the hell kind of phone call was that?" He asked as she climbed into the passenger seat, still eyeballing the grin on her face. 

"You'll find out soon enough."

Thankfully, Morgan seemed to think that was an acceptable enough answer because he slid into the driver's side and started the car. She wanted to tell him—actually, she wanted to tell anybody who would listen—but her brother's plea was still fresh in her mind. She knew if she told Morgan, he'd run straight to Garcia, and, as much as she loved the technical analyst, she knew that the moment Penelope knew, everyone would know.

She knew she should be less conspicuous, but she couldn't help herself. She was going to be an aunt.

But right now, nothing—not Elle or a killer hunting children—could spoil her mood at this moment.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

Unfortunately for her, the excitement of Caroline's good news quickly wore off when she arrived at the station. While Morgan and she were gone, another kid had gone missing. An eight-year-old boy named Matthew. She had mentally kicked herself when Gideon told her he had last been seen in the parking lot at school. She had just been there.

However, according to his little brother who had been towed into the station by his distraught and heavily pregnant mother, Matthew had gone to the "haunted house" to ring the doorbell. The local guidance counselor informed them the "haunted house" in question was what he so affectionately referred to as "Old Man Finnegan's place." Legend has it the old man would hunt children at night and when he caught them, he'd skin and eat them. 

The legend seemed to have some semblance of merit to it because Gideon had the team at the house within the hour. And, true to his brother's word, they found Matthew hiding behind some boxes in an outbuilding on the property, terrified. He had been spooked by a nearby branch and thought that the old man was going to find him.

By the time the sheriff got the boy home and the team had searched the rest of the property, night had fallen. Caroline ran two fingers across the desk she had just finished searching. A thick layer of dust coated the blue latex glove when she pulled her hand away. Her nose wrinkled with disgust as she wiped her hand on her pants. 

There had been no sign of Finnegan except for this morning's newspaper on the coffee table. The house itself didn't even seem to be lived in. Besides the dust and grime that just about covered every surface in the house, the electricity was also out. She had figured it was due to an unpaid bill; the breaker outside was fully intact.

"Do you have anything, Garcia?" Spencer asked the tech analyst as he combed through the table adjacent to Caroline. Like she had, he pulled on a set of gloves as well. Neither of them was keen on the mess.

"Only that Finnegan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas," Garcia gushed over speakerphone. There was an almost sickening amount of excitement in her voice. Caroline knew she had a weird fascination with creepy macabre elements—like The Amityville Horror or The Nightmare on Elm Street—but even she had to admit that her friend was a little too excited for her liking.

"Yeah, we heard the legend," Caroline muttered as she began organizing the books strewn about the desk. She wasn't even searching anymore, she was just cleaning.

"Carebear, seriously, people that go into that house supposedly never come out." There was a small, dark chuckle over the line. "Spooky."

"Garcia, could you please pretend not to enjoy that rumor so much since we've actually entered the house," Spencer said. She noticed how he suddenly kept glancing over his shoulder like he was expecting someone to be standing right behind him. 

"Sensitive. Sorry."

"Besides," he said quickly, almost like he was forcing the words out, "local police say there are no reports of that actually happening."

"That is true. All complaints filed were false alarms," Garcia agreed. "But then there is that matter of his missing wife."

Caroline stopped what she was doing and glanced over at the phone in Spencer's hand. "Wife? When did she go missing?"

"Almost fifty years ago."

"No record of her ever being found?" Reid asked. He sounded about as nervous as she felt.

"I got two words for you, my friends—'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious, bite-sized little pieces."

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a door opening from upstairs. Or, at least, she thought that's what it was. The creak of wood was almost too distinctive to mistake for anything else. 

The young doctor looked over at her from across the room, his eyes wide from behind his glasses.

"I mean, think about it. The wife may never have left the premises. She may still be in the house."

"Garcia," Spencer hissed into the phone as he made his way to Caroline's side. Suddenly, she felt his hand gripping her wrist. Despite being tense, she also started to feel warm, the kind of feeling she only got when he was around. "We're sitting here in the dark alone. Thanks."

"While you're waiting for a potential murderer to come home?" The tech analyst asked in a seductive tone. "That's kinda dangerous. Kinda sexy too, if you ask me."

Caroline didn't blame Spencer for being jumpy. She felt a little uneasy as well. She couldn't explain it, but she knew it had something to do with this creepy, old house they were in. There was something horribly off about it, and it made her hair stand on end.

"We're gonna go, P.G." She couldn't wait to get off the phone. She loved Penelope, but sometimes she really freaked her out. "Call us if you find anything."

"You guys are having creepy fun. I wish I was there." She could hear the smile in Garcia's voice. "Peace out, lovebirds."

Once Penelope was off the phone, Spencer closed the lid of his cell and slipped it into his pocket. Now that the tech analyst's jovial voice was no longer filling the silence, the two profilers glanced at each other. The room had seemed to grow colder within a matter of seconds, the chill feeling almost menacing.

Then, from the corner of her eye, Caroline saw a shadow moving in the entrance to the living room. The pair turned their head and saw a large figure standing beside them.

She let out a sharp breath as she jumped back from the figure, yanking her hand from Spencer's grasp. The young doctor seemed to be rooted in place as he yelped, almost as if he were in pain.

The figure chuckled as it stepped into the light cast by one of the windows. Morgan's face came into view, grinning widely at them. Caroline sighed in relief.

He turned to Reid. "Wow. You really are afraid of the dark."

The young doctor relaxed his shoulders. Now relieved, he brushed past their co-worker as he mumbled, "I'm working on it."

Morgan's laugh seemed to echo throughout the empty house. "Well, you should work a little harder."

She said nothing as she followed the two into the foyer, listening to the sound of the Morgan's teasing. Thankfully, her co-worker hadn't turned on her—not yet at least. She wouldn't have had anything in her defense. She was scared. More scared than she'd ever care to admit.

She really wanted out of this house. It was starting to put her on edge.

Gideon stood in the center of the foyer as the three of them approached. He was holding his flashlight in front of his face, shining the beam of light directly above the fireplace. Hung on the wall was the head of a bear, its brown fur mottled at the base of its neck. Its mouth was open wide like it was snarling at them.

Caroline shivered as she stared into the creature's glossy black eyes. They stared back. 

"Well," Morgan muttered, "that's interesting."

She pulled her gaze away from the bear head and followed where Morgan shone his flashlight. On the right side of the stone fireplace, a large gun rack was mounted onto the wood. There were five guns total, all hunting rifles, and not a single one was out of place.

"The unsub didn't use a gun," Spencer said.

"Bet he knows every trail in Ozona." Gideon nodded towards the gun rack. "Finnegan's an avid hunter. Why didn't he use a gun?"

That was a good question. If Finnegan was truly hunting children, why wouldn't he use a gun to hunt them as he did with animals? 

She cast another glance at the bear head before she shook her head and walked into the next room. Despite the fact she knew it was dead, there was something unsettling with the empty, lifeless look in the bear's eye.

"Maybe he wanted to try something different?" Caroline suggested as she wandered into the next room. "Or maybe he wanted more contact with the victims instead of long-range. . ." 

The rest of them heard her pause and came to her side to investigate. She didn't look up when they entered. Underneath a table were two small lunchboxes—one a dark blue and the other a pale pink. 

Caroline leaned down and carefully picked them up. She handed the blue lunchbox to Gideon and kept the pink one for herself.

"Robbie Davis," Gideon read from the back of the lunchbox. "The first victim."

She turned over the lunchbox in her hands and let out a soft sigh. Written in black sharpie was the name SARAH P. 

"This is Sarah Peterson's lunchbox," she murmured as she held it limply in her hands.

Morgan sighed. "I guess Finnegan brought the kids here first before baitin' them into the woods." He nodded towards the lunchboxes. "But why wouldn't he get rid of the evidence?"

In the archway of the room, Spencer whispered, "He considers them trophies."

Instinctively, she pulled the lunchbox closer to her chest. She gripped it tightly as if it were the child itself. 

Morgan scoffed, disgusted. "When this is all said and done, I'd like to hang his head on my wall."

She didn't say anything as the team moved into the next room. She glanced over at the blue lunchbox Gideon left on the table. She set Sarah's right beside it.

"Caroline." Spencer's voice was soft and low, making sure neither Morgan nor Gideon heard him. "What's wrong?"

She didn't face him. Instead, she gestured to the lunchboxes. "This is all that's left of the kids and this guy just. . .kept them for his own enjoyment."

The young doctor didn't say anything, but she felt his presence behind her. It was warming, welcoming even. So when his hand gently brushed against her arm, she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her back barely touching his chest. 

It was comforting to be this close to him. All the uneasiness she felt started to melt away. The sense of relief he provided was almost addicting.

She stared at the killer's trophies for a moment longer before looking away.