CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
HIVE MIND
( original )

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"GRENFELL, ARIZONA," JORDAN ANNOUNCED the latest place in need of the team's help. She stood beside the large monitor screen, clutching the remote to her stomach out of habit. With several pairs of eyes on her, waiting, she took a moment to remember what she wanted to say. "Four bodies have been found in shallow graves across the county."

"Bodies?" Dallis frowned.

"Women," Todd corrected herself as she fumbled for the right button on the remote. The faces of four women appeared on the screen. "Jenna Thompson, thirty-five; Mary-Jane Cyrus, thirty-eight; Laura Doherty, thirty-three. Our latest victim is Jessica Aveyard, thirty-seven. Each has been cut open from breastbone to pelvis."

Well, that was a new one. Dallis grimaced at the detailed images that popped up beside each of their respective smiling faces. Precise cuts parted the skin like curtains, revealing the decomposing insides of each woman. In death, their eyelids were shut, shielding them from the horror that had been inflicted on their bodies.

"When was Jessica found?" Emily asked, toying with the red pen she gripped in her hand.

"Late yesterday afternoon," said Todd. "Post-mortem indicates she was killed the same day."

"And when was she reported missing?" Hotch peered up at her.

"Only a few hours before hikers found her. She didn't come home from Pilates on Friday morning. Her worried husband contacted authorities."

So Jessica Aveyard disappeared on Friday, then was reported missing and found dead just over twenty-four hours later. As Dallis flicked through the files in front of her, she found similar stories for each of the other victims.

Jenna Thompson was abducted down a quiet side street, her groceries scattered in the open trunk of her car. She was found two days later. Mary-Jane Cyrus had to leave work early to collect her sick son from school. Her body was dumped the next morning. Laura Doherty was rostered for the closing shift at the local veterinary clinic. The following morning, her boss found everything unlocked and Laura's hatchback was abandoned in the parking lot, doors open, the battery drained from where the car had been left idling overnight. By nightfall, they found her in a shallow grave. Each case was concluded almost as soon as a missing person's report was filed.

"He's not keeping them for long," Dallis noted. "Is there any connection between them?"

"Not that I've been able to find so far," Garcia, who Hotch had called in with her trusty laptop, shook her head. Dangling from each of her earlobes were earrings in the shape of carrots. "But they would have known of each other. Jenna Thompson and Mary-Jane Cyrus' children attend Grenfell Elementary together but Jenna's twin daughters are in the third grade and Marina's son has only just started kindergarten."

"That's a surface level connection at best," Emily dismissed with a sigh.

"Keep looking, Garcia," Hotch urged, not quite ready to close the door on this theory.

"You got it, sir."

"Guys, take a look at their appearances," Morgan dipped his chin to the photos he had carefully spread out in front of him. "White, dark brown hair, green eyes. Middle income families from suburban neighbourhoods."

"Sounds like these are surrogates for someone specific," Rossi's eyebrows furrowed in thought. He peered past Dallis, who was sitting beside him, to seek out Todd. She jolted to life at her sudden inclusion in the conversation. "Why is Grenfell PD only asking for our help now?"

"We have another woman missing," she said, and a fifth woman's picture joined the other victims. "This is Amy Collins, thirty-four. Taken just forty-eight hours after our previous victim. So far, there's been a two week window between each murder..."

"So he's devolving," Emily stated grimly.

"If we're right," said Hotch. "That means we have just under twenty-four hours to find Amy Collins alive."

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DALLIS RESTED HER FOREHEAD against the jet window, staring at the never-ending expanse of grey clouds that concealed reality down below. They were an hour into their four-hour flight to Arizona but Dallis was already eager to return home. She was tired, she was pretty sure she was getting sick, and Austin and Mei claimed to have news for her when she got back. As much as she tried to bully the information out of them through text, they remained stubbornly tight-lipped. Dallis' theory was that they'd gotten eloped. It wasn't Mei's style and she knew Mei's mother would have her head on a stick, but it was undoubtedly something that Austin would do in spite of their parents' wrath.

"Alright," Hotch said from the seat opposite her, forcing Dallis back to the present. He'd taken some time to settle in, making himself a coffee and studying his notes before he decided to strike a conversation. "Let's go over what we know so far."

"This unsub is targeting a certain type of woman," Emily got right into it, listing the details that Morgan had already pointed out. "Dark hair, green eyes, in their thirties."

"They all have children," Dallis continued, glancing over the information Todd had gathered on each family unit; married, one or two kids each, a typical picket-white fence lifestyle. "They come from middle-income families; however, they don't live in the same area and both Jenna and Jessica weren't working for several months."

"Talk about low-risk victims," Rossi couldn't help but mutter. This time, when he arrived on the jet and Todd saw the empty seat beside him, she made sure to leave it empty for Dallis, shooting her a sly wink that Dallis pretended not to notice. "He targets them in quiet areas. Side-streets, empty parking lots. Yet he only keeps them for a day or so."

"And look at the extent of the damage he causes in only a matter of hours." The skin between Morgan's brows cinched in a prominent frown. "These cuts to open up the body are clean. There's no hesitation."

Reid cleared his throat, sitting forward with his elbows propped on the table. "Human dissection was actually a taboo subject during the 1700s. Strict religious ideologies led people to believe that opening up a body would leave their bodies mangled on Judgement Day. As a result, government officials banned most dissections and there was a shortage of bodies for anatomists, so they turned to other means. Grave-robbers under the guise of 'resurrectionists' dug up the poor to sell their organs on the black market."

"But none of these organs were taken," Todd pointed out.

"From what we can see," Hotch corrected her with a frown.

"This isn't about the organs or even sexual gratification," Emily persisted, saving Todd the trouble of replying. "He bludgeons the genitalia. 'Stabbed thirteen times, fifteen times, twelve...' He wants to demean these women."

And so the age-old question was asked once again.

Why?

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DETECTIVE GEDDES WAS WAITING at the door of the station when they arrived. He started towards them with an impatient spring in his step. One hand tugged at the fitted white collar of his shirt, the other extended towards Hotch and unintentionally bypassed Todd.

"Detective Victor Geddes," he introduced himself in a raspy voice. From first impressions alone, he was in his early thirties, maybe a few years younger than Dallis, but the lines around his eyes were tired and weathered beyond his years. "You must be SSA Todd?"

"That would be me," the woman in question cut in, her red-painted lips pressed in a thin, unimpressed line.

"Oh," Geddes stammered, his face going as red as her lipstick. "My apologies."

Fortunately, Todd cut through the awkward tension by accepting the handshake he redirected to her. At the same time, she pointed out who the rest of the team were to break the silence. "The man you just shook hands with is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, that's Doctor Spencer Reid, and these are Supervisory Special Agents Emily Prentiss, Dallis Cohen, Derek Morgan and David Rossi."

"Thank you all for coming so quickly," Geddes retreated to a comfortable distance, his hands finding a home in the pockets of his grey suit jacket. "Now, I have Amy Collins' husband waiting to be interviewed. Understandably, he's quite distraught. I've also taken the liberty of organising you an appointment with our pathologist, Kate Makin. She'll be able to answer any questions you have about the way the bodies were cut open."

Dallis caught Morgan's eye, raising her eyebrows. Most of the detectives they'd worked with in the past were helpful, passionate, determined to bring justice to the victims. But it was rare, if not potentially frustrating, when the lead detective treated them as officers under their own command. Dallis hoped she was misinterpreting Geddes' eager but stern tone.

"Thank you, Detective Geddes," Hotch cut in with a sharp nod. "Agent Todd and myself will join you in sitting down with Amy Collins' husband. Reid, I want you working on a geographical profile. See if there's any connection between the initial areas the victims are disappearing from and the dump sites. Cohen and Prentiss will go to the morgue and meet with the pathologist. Dave and Morgan, to where Jessica Aveyard's body was found."

One of Geddes' officers called his name, shying beneath the weight of his superior's gaze. With a reluctant 'excuse me' and a few other choice words that he muttered under his breath, Geddes marched to the other side of the room, allowing their true reactions to his welcome to show on their faces.

"Took the liberty of organising an appointment?" Rossi repeated with a scoff.

Hotch pressed on. "Todd and I can handle him. Just keep me informed of what you find. We really do need to get started."

Taking this as her cue, Dallis joined Emily and the two women followed Rossi and Morgan back into the parking lot where they parted ways to their separate SUVs. The morgue was only a few blocks away from Grenfell PD. For late November, the sun was bright yet lacking in heat, leaving a fine layer of dew blanketing the rolling green lawns of the houses they drove past. A few people were out basking in the mid-morning light but news of the recent murders had left the streets unusually quiet and cautious. An undercurrent of fear stole the breath from their lungs as they parked down the road from the morgue, or maybe that was just the presence of death waiting for them on the other side of the door.

They let themselves in after knocking and receiving no answer. The white venetian blinds were drawn tight across the windows. Despite the Winter weather, the air conditioning pumped cold air into the sterile foyer, raising goosebumps on Dallis' exposed arms. They approached the front desk while calling out curiously for the pathologist, who at first was nowhere to be seen.

"Hi there," she appeared suddenly, red-faced and breathless. Her hands were combing through her pin-straight brown hair, slicking down a few flyaways that had escaped her high ponytail. "I'm Kathryn Makin. You can call me Kate. And you must be the FBI?"

Dallis spared her a smile. "How'd you know?"

"An educated guess," she pointed at their badges, then shook each of their hands. "You're here for Jessica Aveyard? Victor called me an hour ago, but I didn't expect you so soon."

"Well, there's another woman missing," Emily said, making Kate nod in understanding. "So if you don't mind, we'd like to see Jessica's body."

"Of course! Just this way."

Jessica's body had been covered in a white evidence sheet, leaving only her head and neck exposed. Kate must've been preparing her for their viewing when they arrived. Out of the dozen silver fridges that lined the walls, just one of the doors was propped open to reveal the hollow space inside that was big enough for a body.

"It's a terrible thing, what happened to these women," Kate sighed.

She stood on one side of the mortuary table, allowing Dallis and Emily to huddle side-by-side on the other. She drew the sheet down to pool around Jessica's hips, revealing the finer details of the images both Dallis and Emily had already seen. Without much thought to her actions, she slipped blue latex gloves over each hand, concealing clean-cut nails and a glittering diamond engagement ring. She carefully laid a hand on Jessica's forearm, drawing attention to the mottling of purple bruises around her wrists.

"Ligature marks," Dallis murmured, more to Emily than to Kate.

"He's restraining them," Emily's brows furrowed. "Any signs of blunt force trauma?"

When Kate shook her head, Dallis began to consider the theory that the unsub knew the victims when Kate interjected with, "Each woman has high concentrations of trichloromethane in their system, better known as--"

"Chloroform."

"Yes," Kate nodded at Dallis. "Chloroform was widely used for many years as an anaesthetic but because it led to delayed damage to the liver and cardiac sensitization, it's generally been eliminated."

"So we're looking for someone who doesn't have the physical strength to abduct his victims but the means to access chloroform," Emily said.

"And someone who has medical knowledge," Dallis grazed her eyes across the clean cuts on the torso. There was something different about witnessing them in person.

Kate considered this. "The incisions appear to have been created using a scalpel, most likely the largest blade available to them so it properly cuts through the tissue." At their stares, she offered an uncomfortable smile. "It's not often I'm asked to autopsy a body that's already been cut open for me."

"No, I'd imagine that's pretty uncommon," Emily mumbled. "Would you be able to determine by looking at the positioning of the organs if anything was removed?"

"Not without removing the sternum."

Which the unsub hadn't done judging by each unbroken bone. The milky white structure mimicked some kind of cage, keeping the insides preserved for viewing.

Dallis couldn't wrap her head around it. He was cutting open the body just to look? Maybe Emily was wrong and there was an element of sexual gratification at play.

"Do the stab wounds to the genitalia prevent a clear picture of sexual assault?" When Kate hesitated, Dallis let out a sigh. "Nevermind."

Emily's head snapped up then, a thought flashing in the bright glimmer of her eyes as she sought out Kate's gaze. "Was all of this done post-mortem? We were told the cause of death was blood loss."

She grimaced. "When autopsies are performed, there is generally minimal or non-existent bleeding from the cuts because the pull of gravity is producing the only blood pressure. However, in some cases, there's anecdotal evidence that indicates bleeding is quite profuse. This is usually in instances of drowning, but an alternative would be..."

"The person being autopsied was alive," Dallis stated.

Eventually wrapping up their discussion, Kate carefully covered Jessica's body once more then led them outside. They weren't the only people present now. Sitting behind the main desk, twirling the phone cord around ring-clad fingers while the device was pressed to his ear, was a man in his early twenties. Intricate tattoos spanned his forearms, disappearing beneath plain blue scrubs that matched Kate's own clothing.

"My diener, Masen," Kate explained, which Dallis would admittedly search up later and discover meant 'servant' or 'assistant' in German. It was also the term used to describe a mortuary assistant. "If you need any more information, please don't hesitate to contact us. Victor has my number but I'll give you my card so you can contact me directly if you need to."

With this in mind, the two agents stepped out into the sunlight. Dallis was grateful for it, soaking as much of it in after being consumed by the coldness of the morgue. Just seeing Jessica's body laid out like that sucked the joy from the world, made her think of her family who would forever miss her, of everything Jessica had lost too.

How cruel it seemed to ransom a person's life, to take their freedom, their ability to ever make a choice again. Dallis couldn't shake the thought that the unsub didn't just start with Jenna Thompson. Were there more bodies waiting to be discovered? Maybe she was being a little too introspective but it blinded Dallis with fruitless rage knowing there would always be more bodies for them to find. That if they were to crack open the heart of the world, they would find it running on the fumes of buried bones and souls forgotten with time.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked as Dallis fished through her pockets for her phone.

"Calling our Technical Genius," she said, balancing the phone with one hand as she swung open the passenger door of the SUV. "I have a suspicion and I want to see if I'm right."

Garcia must've been waiting for someone to contact her. She answered after one ring, purring into the speaker, "Talk dirty to me, Dallis Cohen."

"You're lucky it's actually me," Dallis smirked over at Emily, who rolled her eyes.

"Of course it was actually you. I've got your number memorised. What can I do for you?"

Leaning back in her chair with one knee propped over the other, her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose, Dallis settled in for the short drive back. "Emily and I have just left the morgue--"

Garcia audibly grimaced. "Oh. That's nice. Bet you had a great time."

"Well, we got to look inside a woman's stomach cavity," Emily remarked. "And so far, it seems that's all this unsub is doing too."

"He's much too skilled for this to be only his fourth murder," Dallis continued. "Jenna Thompson, the first victim, should've shown evidence of hesitation. Clumsiness, for lack of a better word. Yet she doesn't."

"So you think he's killed before and it just hasn't come up?"

Dallis fixed her lip between her teeth, racking her brain. "If he was targeting the same type of victim then it wouldn't make much sense that nobody noticed. I want you to look for high-risk victims instead, ones who wouldn't initially be reported missing. Prostitutes, homeless women, but still dark-haired with green eyes."

"How far back am I digging?" Garcia asked.

"As far back as you can get, babes."

"Oh, trust me, Dallis Cohen, these fingers of mine know how to dig deep."

Dallis grinned. "Then I'll leave you to work your magic."

"Over and out, my loves."

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Rossi and Morgan observed the hole in the ground where Jessica had been found. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, separating them from the overgrown hiking track just a few metres away where the last of the crime scene investigators were packing evidence bags into boxes.

"It's quiet," Morgan said. "But nothing's stopping someone from coming out here at any time..." He kneeled beside the mounds of dirt that had been piled on either side of the shallow grave. "I'd say this is three feet deep. Maybe four."

Rossi shielded his eyes with the back of his hand. Grenfell National Park wasn't much bigger than two maybe three football fields put together, yet it boasted a vast range of wildlife and winding bush tracks that attracted people walking or jogging, riding a bike, or even out on a weekend drive to the towering hills overlooking the outskirts of town. Tyre tracks zig-zagged through flattened grass and drying mud on the main path, admittedly one of the quieter ones, but the bush behind had been broken too.

"He's driving his car right up here," he said while shooting a text to Reid asking if he had access to the other crime scene photos.

Dusting his hands on his pants, Morgan stood and joined him further inland, eventually parting more bushes to find another even smaller track, this one barely noticeable. A track nobody would find unless they knew the area even better than they knew themselves.

"Could be a local then," said Morgan, his brows pinching together. "Still, why go to the effort of burying a body like this if you know it's eventually going to be discovered? And why risk exposing yourself by bringing along your vehicle?"

His questions went unanswered as Rossi's phone vibrated with a call from Dallis.

"Dolcezza," Rossi greeted warmly, making Emily bat her eyes at Dallis knowingly. "What can I do for you?"

"It's more what we can do for each other, Dave," answered Dallis, ignoring Emily. "Em and I are heading back to the station. Kate Makin, the pathologist, she's an interesting woman. Definitely knows what she's talking about."

"And what did she tell you?" he asked, coming to a stop beside the grave again.

"That the unsub is using chloroform to subdue his victims," she said. "Dave, this guy has to have some kind of medical knowledge. The chloroform is one thing, but Morgan was right when he said the cuts on the body are clean. Kate believes they've been caused by a scalpel. I'm getting Garcia to look into high-risk victims either reported missing or found dead in the area with similar MO."

The mention of chloroform had Rossi standing to attention. "Do me a favour. Call her back, have her start a separate search for our unsub. I think I might have something else."

Not a minute after he'd finished divulging his idea to Dallis, she was distracted by Garcia calling her back.

"That was unusually quick, even for you," Dallis greeted after saying goodbye to Rossi.

Emily switched the indicator on outside the station parking lot, swinging into an empty spot right by the front door. Through the open windows, Dallis caught a glimpse of Hotch marching across the room towards Reid, who was pouring over a map he'd pinned up on a white board. There were no signs of Todd or Detective Geddes, though Hotch looked particularly unimpressed. Well, more so than usual. Dallis couldn't be sure who he was unimpressed with, but that didn't matter then. On the other end of the line, Garcia's typing had become erratic.

"Well, my dear, not for the first time an unsub is making my job easy as pie," she declared. "Kat Atkinson, thirty-one. Diana Black, thirty-seven. Both prostitutes, both homeless. Both found within a week of each other just shy of three months ago, cut open from breastbone to pelvis."

Emily sighed. "Thanks, Garcia. Send us through what you have."

"Already done," Garcia's typing paused when Dallis said her name.

"Dave's suggested that the unsub might be physically incapacitated in some way," she said. "I need you to dig as deep as you can get. Look for a male in his thirties with some kind of medical job who wouldn't be able to carry a body. He'd have to drive his car right up to the scene of the crime."

Garcia let out a breath. "Tell your man I can try my best but the medical field is a pretty broad area. I'm going to need a bit more than that."

"And we'll get it to you," Dallis promised.

"See how she doesn't deny Rossi's her man, Garcia?"

"Goodbye," she snapped, hanging up the call as Emily threw her head back in a laugh. "I hate you. Get your ass inside."

"Yes, ma'am," Emily saluted her, then led the way through the door.

As they approached where Reid was circling various locations with a bright red marker, Dallis observed Hotch's thunderous expression. Something told her their search was about to get a little complicated.

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A/N: This chapter took me way too long omg. Kinda hate it but at least it's done