ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 ❜

chapter no. 007!

❝ NOT SAFE. ❞
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     "MATTHEW JOHNSTON CAME UP WITH THIS ARBITRARY CODE IN 2001 THAT WAS DEEMED TO ONLY BE USED FOR MEMBERS OF THE RED SCORPIONS IN HIGH-RISK OR LIFE-ENDANGERING SCENARIOS. Here's how it works: You build a sentence and spell out what you're really saying by using the first letter of each word. Red on Surrey Six, killer nowhere on Whalley Street," I muttered as I wrote out the sentence in green Expo marker on the whiteboard Morgan had grabbed for me to use. Underneath the sentence, I wrote out the words ROSS KNOWS. "Where were we? Ross is away nearly ticking time until Cara's sleeping sweet, count on me." I recited, writing out the Internet address that came from the sentence; www.rianttucss.com.

     Breathing in silently, I read the last sentence, "No one to save Alex from evil." Just like the other two, I wrote out the code word on the board: NOT SAFE. Stepping back, my eyes swiftly drifted over the green words.

     "Garcia should check the website out before we do anything else. We don't know what's on it." Morgan spoke up, and I turned around, clicking the marker cap back on.

     Jennifer Jareau, the blonde who had finally introduced herself, nodded in agreement. "We don't know what will happen if we go to it," she added, briefly meeting my emotionless stare.

     "Those are fair points," I shrugged, my tone blunt. "However, there are some things you should know. If we give you a website, it's not a trojan horse. It's purposeful. Intentional. If Garcia were to look at the website, they would know and shut it down before anyone else had a chance to look it over. Our best bet is to do it ourselves. They'll know that it's me who is viewing the site."

     Alex Blake raised her eyebrows. "How will they know it's you?" she questioned, crossing her arms.

     "They'll know because the I.P. address is not Garcia's and I'm the only one who knows what the sentences mean," I explained, tossing the marker into the air and catching it swiftly.

     "What do they mean? Other than what they spell out," Spencer asked, genuine curiosity painted across his face.

     Biting back a smirk, I stepped forward. "My father's name is Ross Valentine. If I'm correct in my thinking, it is possible he is in on what is happening right now. Hence, why the first sentence spells out ROSS KNOWS. In the sentence that spells out the web address, my father is mentioned and it says that he is away, nearly ticking time—meaning—he has a limited amount of time in prison, or life, left. However, the first two sentences are contradicting one another. One implies he is aware of the true endgame while the other implies that he will soon be meeting his bittersweet end. Therefore, one of them could be meant literally or be a distraction." I explained, keeping my tone even and calm.

     "But we won't know until we go to that website," Rossi concluded, and I nodded, joining where he was standing behind Morgan, who held the laptop.

     Glancing from Rossi and I to the Unit Chief, Morgan blinked. "Hotch, do you want us to go to the website?" he asked. Hotch nodded. Shaking his head softly in silent disagreement, Morgan typed the URL in and everyone waited a total of seven seconds before the website loaded. A black screen popped up and the words Checkmate, Sin were typed across it.

     For a moment, it felt as if someone had sucker-punched me in the stomach and I could barely breathe as my eyes washed over the message multiple times. "He knows." I cleared my throat, turning away from the screen to look back at the whiteboard. The last time I'd seen my father was months ago. The visits had stopped the moment the FBI went to question the Founding Fathers. What happened in those couple of months that got him to go back? He'd promised me years ago, after the trial, that he wasn't part of the Scorpions anymore. That part of his life was over and all he wanted was to be a father. My father. And that promise had been proven true until now. He broke his promise.

     "How do you know?" Agent Jareau asked, looking away from the screen.

     Blinking, I separated myself from the cluster everyone had formed around the laptop and made my way back to the whiteboard. "The word checkmate is most commonly used for chess. It's a game position in which a player's king is in check and there is no way to remove the threat. Checkmating the opponent wins the game. The Red Scorpions won." I said, clearing my throat.

     Morgan furrowed his brows in confusion. "How did they win?" he asked.

     "They got my father back to being involved with them. They made it to Arizona successfully and the mission is still being carried out. They knew I would slip up somehow..." I spoke, mumbling the last portion to myself.

     Taking one last look at the two words, Alex turned her head. "What does Sin mean?" she asked, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

     "Sin is an allegorical character— created by John Milton— who meets her father, Satan, at the gates of Hell in Book Two of Paradise Lost. Sin holds the key to Hell's gate and opens it so that her father can pass through while on his way up to Heaven. She doesn't have a mother and was born out of Satan himself during his rebellious assembly in Heaven. Which signifies both an allegorical representation of his sin against God and a parody of God's creation of his Son. Sin is referred to as a 'woman to the waist' by many. She has a fish's tail, but she shifts shape—constantly re-forming and breeding, and giving birth to dog-like children. She has no control over these changes and is held captive by pregnancies in a body that is always in perpetual labor. Satan raped his daughter in Heaven and she gives birth to Death, later on in the poem.

     "By saying 'Checkmate, Sin' the Scorpions are talking to me. They're checkmating me and I represent Sin to them. My arrest is the key to my father and the Red Scorpions' overall mission. I don't have a mother, so my father had me during a period of his life where he and Hennessy Lu were running around Canada, committing dozens of crimes. Instead of constantly reforming and giving birth the way Sin did, I am constantly being ablocated." I explained, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear.

     "Ablocated?" Rossi asked in a curious tone.

     Nodding, I took in a deep breath as I turned around. These people ask too many questions. "The word ablocate is derived from the Latin word abloco— ab meaning from or away from and loco meaning place, put, lease, and hire. So, the two together means to put something or someone in a different place or to hire out. The word lease is a synonym of ablocate, which is a contract by which one party conveys land, property, or services to another party for a specified amount of time. Usually in return for a periodic payment of some sort." I explained, feeling a mild headache pulsing in the back of my mind.

     "They treated you like a prostitute, didn't they?" Spencer asked, and I could see him staring at me with sympathy out of the corner of my eye.

     I nodded solemnly, a rare river of shame trickled down my back as I suddenly felt uncomfortable. A feeling I rarely ever experienced. "I was used for my physical appearance, skills, and sex, to get what was needed from other rival gangs, clients, or allies." Once the words had left my mouth, the atmosphere in the tiny room shifted. Both of the women's gazes had softened and Rossi had uncrossed his arms, his brows furrowed as he looked me over. Shifting feet, Morgan looked at me with understanding eyes while Hotch and Spencer stared at me in deep concentration.

     "What skills do you have?" Jareau asked, rolling her shoulders back and sliding her hands into her back pockets.

     My skills were never discussed in the gang. Everybody knew what they were, so there was no reason to discuss them. I knew what my job was and I did it without hesitancy. I did it flawlessly, every time. "I have an advance sense of pattern recognition," I began, tossing the marker in the air again. "Which is useful, but my specialty is detecting behavior and lies, and impersonating others." 

     "Lies?"

     "Behavior?" I nodded as the agents all shared a common look that I didn't catch. My attention was solely focused on the board in front of me. The code felt like a slap in the face; they used something that was sacred to the gang against one of their own. But then again, I went against what I vowed I would never do to them. One slip was all it took. They had the power to destroy me with just a snap of their fingers. They had the power to break me down in a way that no one would be able to do, especially since they had my father back.

     No one to save Alex from evil. My eyes narrowed as I read over the last part of the code. The Red Scorpions wouldn't mention Alex's name if she weren't somehow important. There are over a million names in the world that begin with the letter A and I knew several people who had a name beginning with that letter, so why use Alex's name? She was an important key to all of this somehow. Even if she didn't realize it.

     I rubbed my eyes lazily as a wave of drowsiness trickled over me like gentle drops of rain. The last time I had gotten sleep of any sort was three days ago; I had been on the constant move. I was too busy to acknowledge the fact that sleep was something one's body needed.

     "Earlier, you said that two members from the gang stayed behind here in Vancouver to come and get you. Do you know where they would hideout or reside before they came?" Hotch asked after two minutes of absolute silence. Before I could answer the question, the door was thrust open abruptly. All heads snapped towards the entrance, including my own, as the Captain of Police marched in and straight over to me.

     "You son of a bitch," he hissed and his coffee-scented breath fanned my face as I stared back blankly. "Where is he?" both of my brows raised and I titled my head. "Where is he?"

     Stepping forward, Hotch shared a concerned glance with Rossi. "Where is who?" he demanded sharply as I answered the Captain with silence.

     "Person X."

     My eyes narrowed and I took a step towards him, my arms falling to my side and I felt the persona I played daily cloak my shoulders. "What do you mean where is he?" I growled lowly, and the bald man gulped, an uneasy wave of fear crossing his face.

     "Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, Konaam Shirzad, and Person Y were just murdered in prison, not to mention three officers. Person X escaped and hasn't been caught. So, I'm going to ask you one last time: Where is he?" The world seemed to come to a sudden halt and every muscle and fiber of my being tightened as I remained emotionless. I can't react to this. Not in front of these people. Not here.

     Looking from the Captain to me, and back again, the Unit Chief furrowed his brows. "Valentine, did you know about this?" Hotch asked and I held my breath. There was nothing more I wanted right now than to punch something.

     "Those officers' blood is on your hands," the Captain seethed, stepping forward. "Every person's blood that you have ever hurt is on your hands. Every drop of blood that's fallen because of the Red Scorpions is on your hands. You and that filthy, vial, pathetic gang of yours will pay for this. For everything. I will personally make sure that you never see the light of day again. You will rot—"

     "Captain!" Hotch snapped loudly, and the man who had backed me into the wall stepped away. My heart was racing and I blinked for the first time in three minutes and twenty-three seconds. His words were echoing in my mind and I could feel the somewhat present guilt from earlier squeezing my hands. "Can I speak with you privately?" the black-haired man asked, and the Captain nodded, giving me one last glare before he left the room; Hotch following right behind.

     The second the door slammed shut, I let out a small breath of air. "Did you know?" Spencer asked quietly, and I merely glanced at him, keeping myself unreadable as I shook my head no.

     Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, Konaam Shirzad, and Hennessy Lu were dead... My father was missing... These weren't coincidences. All of it was planned. Down to the very last detail, and it was more than likely my father who killed them.

     "I have to put the cuffs back on," I heard Hotch say after the door reopened. Holding out my arms, I kept my eyes trained on the whiteboard as the clasps locked. "Did you know that the Founding Fathers were going to be killed?" he asked, letting go of my wrists and I shook my head no. Taking in a deep breath, I turned on my heel and faced the wall, looking up at the ceiling with glistening eyes as I tried to hold myself together. "Did you know that your father was going to escape? Did you know any of that was going to happen?" I responded with another shake.

     "325 Whalley Street," I said, my voice rough and scratchy as I spoke. "That's where Marcus Taylor and Flint Bradley are," I finished, clearing my throat as my breathing became shaky. Pull yourself together, Cara.

     "Who are they?" Jareau questioned.

     Blinking quickly, I lowered my head. "The two members that stayed behind. If they're still sticking to the plan, they'll be there—hiding. Neither of them are to come here until tomorrow. If they aren't there, then try the Pink Dolphin. It's a club on Southeast Main Street; one of our headquarters is in the basement. You might be able to find some information or clues as to where in Arizona they're residing in. Our primary headquarters, however, is in Castaway's Mansion. It's located on Pagey Avenue, twenty-five miles away from the Pink Dolphin. We also have a storage unit in Ucluelet at Bernie's; the unit number is sixty-six and the passcode for it is 122800." Licking my lips, I reached up with both cuffed hands to wipe away the single tear that slid down my cheek.

     A soft sign could be heard from behind me before someone spoke. "JJ, Morgan, go to the Pink Dolphin. Blake, and Rossi, go to the mansion. The Captain and I will go to Ucluelet, and Reid, you will stay here with Valentine," the Unit Chief ordered, and before I fully realized it, everyone had left the room.

     The door shut and a tense silence remained in the air as I continued to blink back the waterworks. A familiar warmth curled around my shoulder and I immediately know who it was. "Are you okay?" Spencer's words were simple and soft, but I could tell he meant them. Shaking my head before I could stop myself, I took in an even breath. "Those officers' blood isn't on your hands, Cara. You didn't know that would happen. It's not your fault," the good doctor said gently, and I loosely rolled my eyes.

     "Their blood may not be, but a lot of other peoples' is." My voice was quieter than a whisper, so I was surprised that he even heard me when I felt his thumb run up and down my shoulder in comfort. "Why are you kind to me?" I asked, pushing away every sign of emotion I currently displayed as I turned around. The question had been burning in the back of my mind and by the shocked expression displayed across the brown-haired man's face, he was taken aback by it.

     "Why do you act differently around me than you do with the others?" Spencer responded quietly, and I merely raised an eyebrow. Answering a question with a question.

     Crossing my arms, I allowed a small smirk to break through, "I asked first." His hand dropped from my shoulder and the comforting warmth he'd been providing disappeared.

     "I don't believe that you're a killer— regardless of the evidence that says otherwise. You don't like what you do, but it's what you were placed in and now you're stuck. There is no escape from them. You know that. So, you're just trying to keep your head above water. I can uh, see it in when I look into your eyes." Spencer paused, his honey eyes darting between mine, and I felt the insides of my stomach tighten. "I don't believe nor think that you are a bad person. I believe that you're a woman who is trying to stay alive in a world that she wasn't supposed to be a part of," he finished, his nose scrunching up as he dodged my stare; his golden orbs glancing over the small room in an attempt to avoid looking at me. "Your turn."

     I broke my fixated stare and blinked, glancing down at my wrists. "Unfortunately, my answer isn't as simple as yours, Doctor." I breathed, sensing his stare landing on me. "There are certain people in this world that radiate this warm and calming energy whenever they enter a room. You cannot help but be drawn to them— to trust them to a particular extent. That energy radiated off of you. You're different than anyone I'd ever had the misfortune, yet pleasure, of meeting. I cannot exactly pinpoint what separates you from the majority; it's difficult to explain, and I'd rather not embarrass myself in any attempt to do so. I'm rambling... aren't I?" I paused, cutting myself off as I looked up and at the agent. The moment our eyes met, the corner of my lips couldn't resist the urge to curl up ever so slightly at the cute, small smile that lined his cheeks. "What?"

     Shaking his head in response, Spencer chuckled lightly. "I just... your rambling. I uh, do that when I get nervous or flustered," he noted as he rocked on the back of his heels, and I felt my cheeks burn lightly.

     The woman I was right now was the one who existed when I was a child or whenever I was alone. That Cara Valentine was who I truly am, and I never let her out of the box; she stayed inside at all times. However, I was taking on the natural role of her with a man who I barely knew, and whose team had arrested me only ten hours, nine minutes, and three seconds ago.

     "I know that you want to ask me another question but are hesitant to. I can tell," I observed, and his brows furrowed in confusion.

     "How?"

     "Your right foot rocked at a different time than your left did when you were rocking back on your heels, which tells me that you're right-handed. This would explain why you are subconsciously tapping a one-two-one pattern with your right hand against your outer thigh instead of your left hand, which is resting in your pocket. You avoided my stare after answering my question and your nose scrunched up, which can be a sign that someone is either in deep thought or questioning the validity of something. I also couldn't help but notice that when you're hesitant to ask or say something, you tilt your head to the left in contemplation." I explained, and the good doctor's eyes widened as his facial expression morphed. He was impressed.

     "You wouldn't be a bad profiler," Spencer murmured.

     A small smile made its way across my lips and the brown-haired man grinned at the sight of it. "What's the question?" I asked, crossing my arms as the smile dissipated. On most occasions, I was the one who answered others with silence. However, it was someone else's turn.

     "Were you crying?"

     Leaning the left side of my body against the wall, I held my breath as I contemplated whether or not I wanted to answer with a lie or the truth. "Somewhat," I answered, allowing my eyes to trail up his tall frame. "Not because four of the Founding Fathers are now dead, but because of the impending consequences I know that I now face. By going off script and allowing my mouth to run, I've jeopardized everything in their eyes. It's been made clear that one mistake can take every single one of us down. Now, they have my father involved after he'd swore to me that he was done with his old life. Ever since he entered prison, he said that all he wanted was to be my father.

     "Now, I'm left here and they will make sure I don't make it to prison alive. There is no way anyone in British Columbia would not want me to go to jail. After everything, I've been accused of? Involved in? After being in a gang that terrified hundreds of thousands? Prison is where I will end up if they don't kill me first. There is no possible way out of this hole that I have dug myself into, and there is no imaginary light at the end of the tunnel. The Red Scorpions are going to get away with all of this and I'm going to be thrown under the bus." At this point in my tangent, I was no longer talking to Spencer. I was talking to myself.

     Hot tears of frustration prickled in the corner of my eyes and I forced them back. However, as a tear broke free and glided down my cheek, Spencer reached forward and brushed it away delicately with his thumb. My eyes snapped up and he quickly pulled his hand away, his face and neck fading into a gentle shade of pink.

     "I'll find a way to get you out of this. You are not going to prison and you are not going to die. All right?" he asked softly, his eyes darting between mine.

     Frowning, my brows furrowed as I stared at the man solemnly. "Spen, you can't promise that," I whispered, clearing my throat once I realized how small and vulnerable my voice sounded.

     "Yes, I can and I am. I promise you that I will find a way to get you out of this. I don't break my promises and I don't plan on breaking this one," he promised, giving me a reassuring smile. I merely nodded and the corner of his lips quirked up after thirty-one seconds of silence. "Spen?" I narrowed my eyes at the smile that was growing on his face. "No one has ever called me that before... I like it." Spencer nodded.

     "Cut your cheeky shit and shut up."