CHAPTER FIVE:
ROCK BOTTOM
( aka 03x08: lucky )

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

DALLIS WAS RUNNING LATE. If there was one thing she hated more than bugs, than lukewarm tea, than her brother's infuriating habit of calling her in the middle of the night because he worked in traffic control and he typically slept while the sun was high. Than -- okay, so Dallis disliked a lot of things, but towards the top of that list was being late anywhere. It didn't happen often but on this particular morning, she somehow managed to snooze her alarm not once, not twice, but three times. Three! She was supposed to meet Garcia at the coffee shop fifteen minutes ago so they had time to chat before work started, then if they didn't have a case she promised her mum and Anthony she'd leave work by six o'clock for family dinner. The whole day was set back from one decision.

"Pen, I'm so sorry I'm late," she all-but sprinted through the coffee shop door to where Penelope stood by one of the tables, her back facing Dallis. "I slept through my alarm and -- oh."

Garcia's eyes were wide behind her latest funky pair of glasses. These ones were bronze metal, rectangular, sitting just below the uneven cut of her bangs. It took Dallis a moment too long to realise that her friend wasn't alone. She had a man with her, an attractive one, and they were sharing a shy smile as Garcia wrote her number on a card for him.

"Oh, my god," Dallis winced, backing away. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you had company. Ignore me, I'll just... be over here."

Even the front counter didn't feel far enough away from the embarrassed blush that filled Garcia's cheeks. Dallis tried her best not to stare as she repeated to the barista her usual order plus a new addition of a cappuccino. By the time she'd paid, Garcia's mystery man had left and she'd made her way over to where Dallis was shoving her purse back into her handbag.

"I'm so sorry," Dallis said. "I hope I didn't scare him off."

Garcia scoffed. "I don't know who was more embarrassed just now, me or you."

Dallis merely groaned, hanging her head. "Me, surely. I'm all over the place today. Like I said, ignore me. The tea will calm me down."

Once they both had their drinks, Garcia -- who lived only two blocks away and often walked the fifteen minute trip from the café to work -- hitched a ride with Dallis to their home away from home. Dallis tried, she really did, not to pester Garcia with too many questions, but by the time they were entering the office with their arms linked, she'd managed to put together that Garcia was very much interested but nervous in where this could go and hoped Mystery Man would be too. He had her number, now the rest was up to him.

"Good morning, princess," Morgan gave his usual greeting to Garcia, then sent Dallis a smirk. "You too, Cohen."

Like she always did, Dallis exaggerated a wounded expression. "Wow, tell me how you really feel about me. Good morning to you, too, Morgan."

Morgan laughed, momentarily distracted from Garcia's unusual silence, but when she went to move past him without more than a mumbled 'good morning' his smile immediately dropped into a suspicious frown. "Pump your brakes."

Slowly, Garcia turned around, following Morgan's beckoning finger towards him.

"Everyday, I say good morning," he began, hands on his hips, much to Dallis' amusement. "Everyday, you say, 'I'll show you a good morning, hot stuff.' Every day. Not today?"

"I hate profilers," Garcia sighed.

"I'm going to leave you two to sort out your relationship issues," Dallis declared. "Have fun."

She dumped her handbag behind her desk, powering on her computer before she took both her half-empty tea and the cappuccino upstairs. Rossi's door was already open but she still stopped to knock, poking her head inside with a smile.

"Good morning," she said, sitting in the chair across from his desk once he'd given her the go-ahead. "Got you a coffee. I won't lie, I'm not confident I chose the right thing, but you're not the easiest man to profile."

Rossi, leaning back in his chair, took an experimental sip. He failed to hide the instant scrunch of his nose as he forcefully swallowed. Dallis' shoulders slumped.

"Let me guess," she sighed. "You're actually a black coffee kind of man."

"You'd be right," he chuckled.

"Damn it."

"Milk and sugar in coffee is an abomination," he insisted, putting the drink down on his desk. Since Dallis was in there last, the painting had been finished and most of his things were unpacked. His mahogany desk was sparsely decorated; a computer, a stack of files, one lone photo frame and a coaster. Real thrilling stuff. "But thank you."

"Don't let Reid hear you say that," she smiled. "And you're welcome."

Dallis glanced down at her watch, figuring she had a few minutes to spare before she'd have to head downstairs, but then JJ hurried into the room. Unlike Dallis, she didn't knock. She wore a grim expression, her lips set in a thin line. She handed both Dallis and Rossi a file each.

"Where are we going now?" Dallis asked.

"Florida. It's a bad one."

A dead girl's face was already on the screen when Dallis and Rossi joined the rest of the team in the conference room. She had a bright red gash across her neck, blood leaking out of her nose. Her eyes were still open.

"Bridgewater, Florida. Local girl, Abbey Kelton, nineteen, left her parent's home to go to the local junior college. She never came home. Three days later, joggers found her... part of her... in a nearby park."

"Part of her?" Dallis frowned, and JJ changed the photo on the screen.

This one showed the same girl, her arms sprawled on either side of a maroon shirt. At first, Dallis thought part of her body was being concealed by the overgrown shrubbery, but then she realised. Abbey Kelton's torso had been severed in half.

"What did that to her?" Emily's gasp was one of horror.

"Bridgewater is off I-75," JJ said. "Which is often referred to as Alligator Alley for reasons that are now apparent. Everything below the waist has been eaten."

"Ah, the circle of life," Rossi commented.

Emily scoffed. "Suddenly, I don't feel so guilty about my alligator wallet."

"Alligators didn't cut off her fingers, slit her throat or carve this into her chest--" Hotch held up a printed photo for them all to see. This time, Abbey was laid out on a metal table, the upper half of her chest exposed. Angry red lines stretched across her skin.

"An inverted pentagram," Morgan said.

"The locals believe the killing was committed by a satanic cult," JJ shared.

"Some things never change," Rossi raised his eyebrows.

Emily shook her head, missing the passive expression on his face. "Killer satanic cults don't exist. They were debunked as a suburban myth."

"Rossi's the one that debunked them," Reid pointed out as Hotch hid a rare smile behind his paperwork.

"Oh, right. Thanks."

"Cult or not, the killing was ritualised," Rossi insisted with a lingering look at Abbey Kelton's lifeless face. "This will turn serial if it hasn't already."

"So, killer satanic cults don't exist, but satanic serial killers do?" Dallis frowned.

In truth, she didn't see much of a difference. She had learnt a long time ago not to rule anything out. Killers came in every shape and form. Sometimes, they really did look like monsters. Sometimes, they looked like your neighbour, your friend, your coworker, a loved one.

Rossi merely smirked at her, said something in Italian that she didn't understand, then picked up his files and left the room.

JJ blinked dubiously at his back. "Well, thanks for clearing that up."

"It's from Dante's Inferno," Reid explained. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

"So that was a yes?" Dallis confirmed, just to be sure.

Hotch nodded. "A big yes."

"Well, it looks like I'm missing that family dinner," Dallis sighed as she stood up to follow after Rossi.

She called her mum on the way down to the garage but Hope's phone went straight to voicemail. She hung up and sent her a text instead, knowing her mother's bad habit of forgetting to check her voicemails. Hope Larsson-Cohen would go the whole day oblivious to Dallis' change in plans then freak out once she didn't show up on time. Dallis wasn't in the mood for a lecture today.

Once they reached the tarmac and boarded the jet to Florida, Dallis made herself comfortable in the seat opposite Rossi. He was back in the corner this time and he made a point of coughing as she laid her files out across the table, some of them overlapping his.

"Tell me more about the difference between satanic serial killers and killer satanic cults," she requested.

"I'd like to know, too," JJ admitted from where she was sitting next to Hotch, opposite Morgan and Emily.

Rossi looked from them to Dallis, then sighed, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. "We never found any evidence of a killer satanic cult. In reality, there are only two types of violent satanic criminals--"

"Type one, teen satanists, assume the satanic identity to rebel," Reid unintentionally interrupted. He was sitting on the couch behind Dallis today and she flinched as his voice suddenly spoke into her ear. He was leaning around her chair, smiling giddily at Rossi. "Minor crimes, theft and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority. When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent."

"Yes, in extreme cases, they're deadly," Rossi nodded. "That was out of my book, word for word..."

"I'm starting to think I should've read your books before you joined the team," Dallis grinned, making Rossi scoff. He was still eyeing Reid warily.

"Trust us, we know," Morgan answered Rossi with a sly smirk.

"Surely this isn't surprising you anymore," Dallis whispered as Reid continued.

"Killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control. Killings won't turn serial--"

"Hey, Reid," Morgan spoke up as Rossi's face remained impassive. He made a cutting gesture across his neck, tilting his head towards Rossi.

"Oh... sorry..."

Dallis loved teasing Reid when she knew it wasn't hurting him, but the embarrassed slump of his shoulders as he sunk into the cushions tugged at her heartstrings. He was the first person she met outside of Hotch and Gideon when she first joined the team. He showed her around the office -- granted, there wasn't much to see outside of the conference room, her desk, the coffee machines and the bathrooms, but Dallis hadn't forgotten the warmth of Reid's genuine smile, the sheer patience of a boy so much younger than her but wise beyond both their years.

When Tobias Hankel kidnapped him, Dallis had felt it like a punch to the gut. Even now, with Reid mostly recovered, she bore a scar on her heart she wouldn't forget. He'd needed them, needed her, and in a way she believed they failed.

She was quiet as Emily turned to Rossi. "Okay, so if that's type one, what's type two?"

"The adaptive satanist is the one you have to worry about," he said. "A typical serial killer, rationalising his fantasies by blaming them on outside forces."

"Like Satan?"

"Yes. He adapts satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives. He doesn't kill because he believes in Satan. He believes in Satan because he kills."

"Well, let's hope it's the teenagers," Hotch said. "Whether you're religious or not, the presence of satanic elements can affect even the most experienced investigators, and we're not immune, so keep an eye on the locals and keep an eye on each other."

"Hey, I hear you," JJ grimaced. "I saw The Exorcist."

"My mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out," Morgan added. "This whole Devil thing doesn't spook me at all."

"Maybe that's because you never truly bought the God part either," suggested Reid innocently.

Morgan froze. "No offence, kid, but you don't know what I believe."

"Well, logic dictates that if you believe in the one, you have to reconcile the existence of the other," Reid frowned, unsure why he suddenly looked so unimpressed.

Dallis cleared her throat. The last thing they needed was to enter this case at each other's throats. Hotch had just said they need to look out for each other. Arguing what somebody else should or shouldn't believe in went against that.

"People's reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders," Hotch was quick to end the conversation. "It has power, and it would be a mistake to underestimate it."

When they reached Florida, Hotch split them across two SUVs. Hotch took Emily and Reid with him to the morgue where Abbey Kelton's body was being held until they arrived. Rossi took charge of the second, driving the rest of them to the local church. If they were going to get a better idea of the religious presence in the area, this was the best place to start.

Morgan and JJ were in the backseat. JJ was on the phone, confirming with the detective when they'd be arriving at the local police station. Morgan kept to himself, flicking through the photos of Abbey's body, not-so-subtly lingering on the close-ups of the pentagram. Dallis busied herself looking out the window until Rossi cleared his throat.

"You never said what you think," he said across the console. At Dallis' furrowed brows, he clarified, "About what you believe in -- God... Satan..."

Dallis shrugged. "It doesn't spook me either. Mum was raised religious but she rebelled against her parent's when she ran away at seventeen. She left everything behind from that life, religion included. And Anthony's never been vocal with his faith. It's something he keeps to himself. He values his privacy."

"Who's Anthony?"

Dallis smiled. She liked that he was curious, that he wanted to know something that would serve him no real purpose.

"My step-dad. He pretty much raised me."

"So what you don't know is beyond your interest," Rossi nodded to himself.

"I don't know if interest is the right word," Dallis tilted her head in thought. "But something along those lines."

JJ was still on the phone so she was careful to keep her voice down, but she knew Morgan was listening.

"Hey, about Reid?" She caught Rossi's eye for a second before he forced his attention back to the road. Still, she knew he was listening too. "I know he might seem full-on, or like he's disrespecting you when he interrupts like he did on the plane. But he's loyal to a fault. He's a good person to have in your corner."

They pulled into the church parking lot just as JJ finished up her phone call. Dallis fell into step beside Morgan, who suddenly pulled Rossi back before they approached the door.

"Do me a favour. You talk to the priest, alright?"

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "You'd rather interview the grieving parents on the worst day of their lives, than the priest?"

Morgan's answering nod was stubborn. He wasn't going to change his mind, but he'd respect Rossi's decision if he said no. "If that's alright with you, yeah."

The inside of the church was quiet. A cold draught lingered from the wheezing air conditioner. Colourful rays of light bounced in every direction from the stained glass windows. There were depictions of Jesus on the cross in every corner of the room. As they stood in the aisle, a man trudged down the stairs behind them.

"Good afternoon."

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ reached out to shake his hand. "I'm Agent Jareau. These are Agents Cohen, Rossi and Morgan."

"Hey, it's good of you to come."

"We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances, Father," Rossi sighed, following JJ's lead in shaking his hand. Dallis did the same, Morgan too, after an initial second's reluctance.

"Well, Abbey's parents, Bob and Lee-Ann are in my office," said Father Marks. "We were discussing her service."

"Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you," Rossi said before Morgan could protest.

Marks took this in stride. "No problem. Bob And Lee-Ann are upstairs, first door on the right, and they're expecting you."

"We'll head up there now," Rossi turned to the women on either side of him. "JJ, Dallis, let's leave them to it."

"Why'd you do that?" Dallis asked the second they were out of earshot. "Morgan is going to be pissed."

"It's clear that Morgan has some personal afflictions. With his faith, the church or with Father Marks, I'm yet to figure out, but he's not going to solve them by hiding away up here," Rossi shrugged just as they reached the door to Father Marks' office. On the other side, they could hear the muffled sound of a woman sobbing. "Let him be pissed at me."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"WE'RE SO SORRY FOR your loss," JJ said gently.

Lee-Ann's eyes shone with tears. They stared at the table, haunted, as if Abbey's body was laying there right in front of them instead of pictures of her bursting with life. Dallis swallowed thickly, struggling to look at her for more than a moment. She looked a lot like her daughter and she had no doubt Lee-Ann would forever remember Abbey in her own reflection.

"They say we couldn't have an open casket, so we need to choose a picture," Lee-Ann told them. "I didn't know which one to use, so I brought them all."

JJ held up one of the photos. Abbey was only a baby, but her smile was wide and familiar. "She's beautiful."

"Her first steps?" Rossi asked, peering over JJ's shoulder at the picture.

"Oh, Bob took that," Lee-Ann gestured to her husband, who hadn't said anything apart from a resigned 'hello' when they introduced themselves. He sat with his head bowed, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept since Abbey went missing. "Thank God, I would have missed it. I was at a church retreat for the weekend."

"How old was she?" Dallis asked as Bob finally looked up at them. His hand moved from his nose to his mouth, shielding the tremble of his lips. Lee-Ann's grief was open but she tried to fight against it with her pride for her daughter. Bob's was silent, bottled up inside him. "She looks young to be walking."

"She's nine months in that one," Lee-Ann managed a smile. "Youngest girl in the whole neighbourhood to walk. First to swim, too. That's Abbey."

"When's her birthday?" Rossi asked.

"July 28th," said Lee-Ann.

"Leo," he nodded thoughtfully, and Dallis arched an eyebrow. She didn't take David Rossi as somebody who studied the stars and their meanings. Dallis barely knew them herself, but Mei had an interest in them that she hid behind bemusement so Dallis remembered the occasional trait. "Headstrong, popular, generous, the centre of attention. Am I right?"

"To a T," Lee-Ann chuckled. "That's Abbey. She was only seventeen when she graduated. She's studying to be a nurse."

Dallis didn't miss her use of present tense. Lee-Ann was living a mother's worst nightmare, but her heart hadn't quite caught up with her brain. Her daughter was gone, but she left so soon and so unexpectedly. How was she meant to start using past tense, as if she couldn't feel her daughter's presence in every corner of the room?

"Was," Bob said. His breathing was shaky, restrained.

Lee-Ann's head snapped towards him. "What's that, dear?"

"She was studying to be a nurse."

Lee-Ann's whole face crumbled. Dallis took a seat on the edge of the table, keenly feeling the weight of the tension in the room. The mother fled out the door. The father stayed behind. Isolated in his own emotions. Dallis shared a look with Rossi, then JJ, who indicated that she was going to follow Lee-Ann.

It was silent for a moment.

"I made the identification," Bob revealed to Dallis and Rossi.

Dallis sighed sympathetically. "I can't imagine how difficult that must've been for you."

Bob hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words. "There was a sheet over her. Doc pulled it down just enough to see her face. But I could tell, I could see from the way the sheet lay over her body that -- that something wasn't right. Detective Jordan won't tell me the details. He said I don't need to know, and Doc says I don't need to see. But this is Abbey. This is my sweet Abbey. I trust Doc and I trust Detective Jordan, but you're both from the FBI and if you tell me that I don't need to see or I don't need to know, then I'll believe you."

Dallis understood why the detective and the doctor tried to shield the horror of what happened to Abbey from her parents. Why take away the picture they had of her? Of her taking her first steps, graduating high-school, chasing the career of her dreams. Why replace it with an image of her broken, bruised, torn to pieces, tortured in the last moment's of her life?

Dallis' opinion of her job changed everyday. She loved it, she hated it, she wanted to rip her eyes out of her head. She wanted to run, she wanted to make a difference, she wanted to catch the bad guys.

She sat there, quiet, as Rossi made the decision for them. Give Bob peace or share with him the burden.

"Trust me, Mr Kelton. These right here are the memories you want to keep."

At last, Bob burst into tears. He allowed Dallis to rest a hand on his shoulder and for Rossi to sit beside him in the chair that his wife had abandoned. Nothing else was said and they had a lot of unanswered questions, but Dallis had seen and heard more than enough. She was glad for the fresh air when JJ eventually returned and the three of them found Morgan waiting outside by the car.

His disapproving stare cut them down like a knife but Rossi merely smiled as he slipped on his sunglasses and slid into the front seat. Morgan whirled around, prepared to argue, but Dallis shook her head.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "Not now."

Thankfully, he kept quiet, sparing Father Marks one last furtive glance before huffing his way into the backseat with JJ.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

EMILY WAS WAITING FOR them in the back of the police station with news from the morgue. As soon as they were settled in, they exchanged information; they told her everything about the church and Abbey's parents, she shared the state of Abbey's injuries including the discovery the mortician had made of human fingers in her stomach.

As Emily concluded her findings, Morgan re-entered the room and quickly shut the door behind him, passing Dallis the tea he'd made her -- this one was earl grey, all the station had, and made Dallis' insides twist but she'd make do -- before settling against the wall with a glass of water in hand. "There's no evidence that any of the local kids were into Devil worship or the occult."

"No, this is not a group of teenagers," Emily agreed.

"It's a serial killer."

"And considering what he did with her fingers, a sadistic one."

"That, I wouldn't say just yet," Rossi argued.

Emily scoffed at him. "He cut off her fingers and he made her eat them. If that isn't sadistic..."

"If it was, that's the only sign of sadism present in the crime."

Emily stopped, considering this. "If he was purely a sadist, there would have been more signs of torture."

Rossi nodded. "The fingers are a message."

"What the hell's the message?" Morgan asked gruffly.

Dallis couldn't tell if he was still annoyed by what happened at the church or if Hotch was right and this case was just getting to them in different ways. His eyes were narrowed as he waited for Rossi to answer, but the reply came from the door opening.

"She's not my first," Hotch answered, letting himself in.

"What?" Dallis frowned.

"None of the fingers found in Abbey Kelton's stomach were hers. And six of them were index fingers."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

AS DALLIS WAS PREPARING to give the profile, her phone vibrated with a text.

PENELOPE: I'm going to dinner with coffee shop guy
PENELOPE: Also I'm mad at Derek
PENELOPE: We need a girl's night when you're home
PENELOPE: Come over to mine after my dinner?

DALLIS: Omg I need all the details asap
DALLIS: What's he done now???
DALLIS: Are you sure that's a good idea? What if you've got company?

PENELOPE: Shut up

From behind her, Hotch pointedly cleared his throat. Dallis quickly shoved her phone in the pocket of her dress pants, smiling over her shoulder. He gave her one lingering look before turning away.

"Abbey Kelton and ten others, murdered by a serial killer here in Bridgewater."

"Here?" questioned Detective Jordan. He was sitting with his arms firmly crossed over his polo shirt, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. This was the first time Dallis was seeing him in person. He'd been notably absent from the office when they got back from the church. "How can you be sure?"

Hotch gestured to the board they had set up before they started. At the centre of a map of Florida was Abbey's smiling headshot. She had various red strings connected across the map to other places and numerous other victims that the fingers had matched. Ten women for ten fingers.

"These marks represent where the first ten disappeared. The void in the centre is his safety zone. He avoids killing near his home to escape detection. And the void's centre is Bridgewater."

Jordan leaned forward for a better look, removing his cigar from his mouth. "Why would he violate his safety zone? No one knew he existed."

"Because no one knew he existed," Rossi clarified. "That's why he left us the fingers."

"If he wants us to know, does he want us to catch him?"

"No. Killing gives him power. Our knowing gives him more. He won't stop. He's just getting started."

No sooner had Rossi said this before the detective's phone started to ring. They all watched his face drop, the aged lines hardening into anger as he hung up. "You were right. He's just getting started."