ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 ❜

chapter no. 034!

❝ THE THREE FATES. ❞
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

     CARA VALENTINE'S SILENCE WAS CONCERNING. Very concerning. Although she was known for being quiet for much of the time, this was different. Very different. Only two days had passed since the previous case, and she hadn't uttered more than a few words to anyone. The silence she maintained was deafening and caused Spencer to feel on edge. He didn't like it when she was quiet— when she shut out the world and began to show signs of the woman they'd arrested.

     So much progress had been made in recent months, and he didn't want one setback to be why she shut down. Of course, he didn't have the slightest clue about what had happened or gone so wrong, but he wanted to help. However, she wasn't making that an option for any of them.

    The gears in her brain were running on overdrive, and the team could tell. Internalizing how she felt and what she thought was second nature. She was never going to say a word unless she wanted to.

     "Spence," JJ whispered, grabbing onto his arm as he walked to his desk. Spencer paused, the grip on his coffee instinctually tightening. "Has she still not said anything to you?"

     Her words quickly caught Spencer's attention, and he immediately turned his head in the direction she'd motioned to. The corner of his lips tugged downward. Cara sat at her desk with perfect posture, eyes steady and focused on the half-empty coffee mug resting in front of her. She wasn't blinking and appeared to be in a trance of some sort.

     Spencer looked back at JJ. "Nothing more than a few words."

     "I don't like it when she's this quiet," JJ admitted quietly. "It reminds me of when we arrested her. It feels like she has all the answers and deliberately keeps her mouth shut. Deliberately not telling us anything."

     Narrowing his eyes, the doctor faced her fully. "This is nothing like that. She's legally obligated not to tell us anything. She has answers to some of our questions, but she's not withholding them for any reason other than the fact that she has to. Staying silent is what makes her feel in control and moderately safe. I haven't pushed, and the team shouldn't either."

     "No, no, I get that," JJ responded quickly, picking up on the defensive nature behind his words. "It's just... she's been doing so well. I don't like seeing her like this."

     "Neither do I," he said quietly, continuing to his desk.

     Exactly seventeen minutes and twenty-four seconds had passed since Cara found herself staring at the coffee cup in front of her. In that time, she'd only blinked three times. However, the sound of her best friend's voice caused her to blink, making that four.

     "My loves!" Penelope shouted, approaching her favorite group of people. Everyone, minus Cara, looked her way. A frown tugged at her lips, and she pushed aside the sadness building in her chest. "We have another crime-fighting case! Take your beautiful selves to the round table! I shall meet you there with our faithful rulers momentarily!"

     Morgan laughed, shaking his head. An amused smirk played on his lips as he looked back down at his paperwork, signing off on one final dotted line before standing. "You heard her. Let's get going," he said to everyone else.

     Without saying a word, the four agents and ex-convict began making their way toward the stairs behind Spencer's desk.

     Following behind Blake, Cara gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment when she gave her a small smile. Out of everyone, the brown-haired woman had pried the least and left the woman to her own devices. It was something she appreciated deeply. Not everyone knew how to respect boundaries, but Blake did without thinking twice.

     "Thanks," the blonde murmured under her breath.

     Somehow, Blake knew exactly what that single word meant. "You're welcome," she replied equally as quietly.

     Entering the conference room, Cara continued to tread after Blake and sat between her and JJ, as she routinely did. A stack of files was passed around. Once everyone was settled and began reading over the case, Penelope, Hotch, and Rossi entered.

     Rossi took the empty seat on JJ's left while Hotch remained standing. Penelope walked around the table, giving Morgan a flirty wink when she saw that he was holding her remote in the air for her. He blew her a kiss, and the corner of Cara's lips almost tugged up.

     The second the remote was in her hands, Penelope began reviewing the case. "Wayne Campbell, thirty-eight years old, found dying yesterday morning in his holding cell in Long Beach, California." Multiple crime scene photographs appeared on the monitor. "He claimed someone was trying to kill him, so he purposely got himself arrested to be protected. A strategy that didn't work out so great."

     Blake tucked her hair behind her ears and sat up, her eyes trained on the photographs. "What is the C.O.D.?" she asked, a tad confused.

     "Arsenic poisoning," Penelope answered, an equally confused expression on her face.

     "Ah, an oldie but a goodie," Rossi quipped, shaking his head.

     Feeling a set of eyes boring into her forehead, Cara glanced up to meet the lingering gaze of Spencer, who was seated across the round table with Morgan. The skin below his eyebrows was triangulated, and the inner corner of his eyes was pressed together lightly; he was trying to not-so-subtly get a read on her. After maintaining eye contact for a solid second, she swept her stare back down to the file she shared with JJ.

     "And you're tuned to the station where the hits keep coming," the analyst sighed, cradling her mug of tea close to her chest. "When news spread of Campbell's death, an officer in a nearby precinct remembered Helen Mitchell." On the screen, two pictures of Helen Mitchell popped up. "Six days earlier, she showed up with this letter she had found in her mailbox a few days before."

     Everyone's eyes scanned over the letter: YOU HAVE LESS THAN A DAY TO LIVE, THERE IS NO WAY TO PREVENT THE INEVITABLE.

     JJ tilted her head. "Was it investigated?"

     "They started a file, but Helen wasn't especially concerned," Penelope replied, fiddling with the remote in her right hand.

     "And in light of Campbell's death, they exhumed Helen Mitchell's body, and lethal amounts of arsenic were found in her system as well," Hotch added.

     "Handwritten letters, poisoning by arsenic— we could be looking at a female UnSub," Morgan said, shrugging lightly.

     "Who wants her victims to have foreknowledge of their deaths. That's a new one." JJ commented.

     "Actually, we've seen a version of this M.O. before," Spencer interjected, a memory coming to mind. "Six years ago in Dallas, Max Pool warned his victims by putting their faces on missing posters before killing them."

     "In any event, there may be notes out there that we don't know about. We've got a long flight. Let's get going. Valentine, I'd like to see you in my office for a moment." Hotch announced.

     Cara paused in picking up her case files and glimpsed up at the dark-haired man, only to see that he was already making his way back to his office. Each set of eyes had directed at her, and she inhaled sharply, grabbing one last manila folder. Keeping her head down, she maneuvered around Spencer and Rossi and left the room.

     Not even a week had passed since the murders of Kirk Farell, and Joseph Arthur had taken place. Not to mention, Konaam Shirzad visiting Owen. And one day had passed since she last had a night terror and cried. Since they returned from their last case two days ago, she'd managed to pull herself together and get back to "normal."

     The team had stopped with their questions, but that hadn't quit their consistent checking up on her and curious stares. That of which she could feel on her as she inched further and further away.

     Five seconds later, with a sarcastic, tight-lipped smile on her apathetic face, Cara stood in the doorframe of Hotch's office. "Howdy," she greeted blandly, aware that whatever it was they were about to discuss wasn't going to be good.

     "Please, come in."

     Obliging, she entered and closed the door behind her. "Either this is bad or really bad. So, which is it?"

     Hotch rolled his shoulders back, standing by his desk. "There's been another development in the case." He didn't have to say what case he was referring to. She already knew. "Sánchez has been placed in protective custody and solitary confinement for the time being."

     In response, the blonde simply blinked. Her expression, composure, and posture never wavered; her eyes revealed nothing. Just like when the last news about the ex-trafficking leader had been brought up in this office.

     "There's been even more trouble among the inmates and Sánchez. Presumably due to Shirzad's visit," Hotch added, tilting his head to the side.

     Again, Cara blinked. "Is that all?"

     "Not quite," he replied, pulling something out of a drawer in his desk. "This was delivered two days ago while we were in Mecklenburg. It's addressed to you."

     Stepping forward, she read over the name stamped across the manila folder before taking it. "Operation Azrael?" she questioned, glancing up.

     "New evidence that's been documented in O.A.'s files."

     The word evidence struck a nerve, and she held her breath. Most recently, the only evidence they'd gotten was the phrase from Paradise Lost inscribed on a wall in Castaway Mansion by Le, Arthur, and Farell's murders and the confirmed revelation that Konaam Shirzad was alive. Events that had haunted her dreams and entered her night terrors.

     "I'm unsure if I can bear another message. Not from him." Cara choked out, briefly meeting Hotch's eyes.

     He slipped his hands into his pockets. "I wouldn't have informed you about this unless I believed it was crucial and that you could handle it."

      Without a word, silently giving in, she opened the file and ran her eyes over the plastic evidence bag. It was a tattered and blood-stained book cover, and her face dropped. A quiver of panic ran down her spine. Le. The hair on her arms rose, and she gulped. Neither action went unnoticed.

     The book cover had been torn off the initial copy and was covered in blood. It was ripped in particular areas and almost split entirely down the middle between the title's two words. Paradise Lost stared up at her, and she faltered. Ignoring the immense fear creeping over her, she flipped the bag, curious to see if anything was on the backside.

     At that moment, Cara Valentine's walls crumbled to the ground. Her face morphed into a blank slate, and her skin tone faded to a shade lighter.

      They were already there. It was too late. It wouldn't be long before she'd be departing.

     "Do you recognize or know what that illustration means?"

     A big circle with a smaller one drawn inside of it had been pressed onto the paper with the number two in the center. It looked kind of like a bullseye, but not quite. What it stood for was something she'd been anxiously awaiting.

     Peachy keen and happy weren't three words her life would ever live by. Solemn and ablocate were the best descriptors of her and everything that had happened and would happen. This drawing was a reminder of just that.

     "Valentine?"

     "We've left Limbo," she whispered, swallowing harshly. The file was shut and handed back to the Unit Chief. "The second circle is here."

     Outside the office, the team, minus Rossi, stood at JJ's desk in the bullpen. They were all staring through the window blinds of their boss's office, watching the exchange between him and Cara. Hotch was speaking while the blonde's arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.

     "What's our theory?" Garcia hissed, eyes wide.

     "I'm not sure," JJ mumbled, leaning against the hand pressed to her cheek.

     Morgan narrowed his eyes. "It's gotta do with the Scorpions and whatever's happening to Valentine."

     Blake rocked back on her feet. "Possibly, but it's not our job to theorize about our colleagues' private lives and stressors. Even Valentine's. We need to head to the jet."

     As the words left her lips, Hotch's door opened, and Cara Valentine stalked out, head down. She could feel everyone staring at her and hated every second of it. Nearing closer to the team, she navigated around them and toward her desk.

    Everyone, excluding Blake, looked at Spencer, soundlessly telling him he should do something. After a moment, he took the hint and let out a quiet breath.

     Not a moment later, a familiar warmth circled around her shoulder, and Cara felt a sense of déjà-vu wash over her as she turned her head. She and Spencer locked eyes. A concerned expression was displayed across his face, and he was tapping the recognizable one-two-one pattern against his outer right thigh. Before he spoke, his honey-against-copper and sage eyes darted in between hers. "Hey," he said quietly.

     Unable to utter a response, she simply nodded. Then, she turned back to her desk and dumped the remaining water from her bottle into Hartley the Cacti's pot. It'd been a while since she'd given him any.

     "Can I walk with you to the jet?" Spencer asked softly, fumbling with the strap of his satchel. In his peripheral vision, he could see the rest of the team leaving.

     Cara repeated the same motion. Pivoting, she made her way toward the glass doors, Spencer by her side.

     As they walked, Cara nearly flinched when she felt someone touch her hand. Averting her gaze, she watched the brown-haired doctor intertwine their fingers. She knew that he knew she was feeling on edge. Skin-on-skin contact continued to be the only thing that helped ease her nerves and stopped her from repeating her anxious mannerisms. And he didn't need to say anything; they both knew his assumption was correct. She needed comfort and reassurance, something to put her at ease, and he was that something at that moment.

     He'd been that something a lot recently.

     Holding her breath, she darted her eyes up after two seconds of staring and squeezed his hand. Her stomach twisted, and she ignored how he returned the gesture.

     In a way, that diminutive action gave the doctor a small peace of mind. There was still some of the person she'd been becoming left in her. Some part of her that had allowed herself to be vulnerable and receptive to touch hadn't disappeared completely.

     The pair were headed toward the elevators when Penelope appeared, gently grabbing onto Cara's arm. Unfortunately, she'd missed the fact that her two friends were holding hands. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

     "Hey," the analyst called, waiting until her fellow blonde looked at her. "I need to talk to you before you go." Cara's brows pinched together narrowly, and she released Spencer's hand. She allowed Penelope to draw her back, at least twenty feet away from the genius. "Do I need to worry about you?"

     As clear as day, Cara could see the desperation shining in her eyes. She was searching for an answer that would give her any sort of reassurance that things were okay. That they were going to be okay. That she was going to be okay.

     Those walls she'd built sky-high lowered, dropping the emotionless act she always played. This was Penelope Garcia she was talking to. The one person that, aside from Spencer, accepted her just as she was and cared for her unconditionally. Despite their rocky start. The woman had begun catching onto her tells and knew precisely how to get her to show any emotion. The friendship they'd developed meant a lot, and she valued her.

     "I'm going to be all right." Once turning to fully face her, Cara rested a hand on her shoulder. She couldn't have her growing more suspicious. Everything needed to carry on as business as usual. "It'll take time, but I'll be okay." This was the most she'd spoken in what felt like ages.

     Penelope's eyes glossed over with a thin layer of tears. She was talking again. "The last time I saw someone this quiet and agitated... we buried her," she choked out, flashing back to three years ago. "At least, we thought we did. I-I can't do it again."

     At her statement, Cara's face visibly fell.

     Emily Prentiss.

     The story of her early demise and unprecedented return to life had been told to her by Penelope and Emily last month. At this point, she knew it well and the aftereffects it had on the team— professionally and personally.

     When a tear rolled down Penelope's cheek, the blonde snapped out of it and stepped forward. A hand rose, and she cupped her cheek, her vision obscuring, but only slightly.

     This was the most emotion she'd ever shown to Penelope. Part of her hated it and how defenseless she felt, but the other couldn't help it. She was emotionally attached to the analyst now, and seeing her cry, especially over her, hit her square in the chest.

     "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," she murmured, dipping her head down in an attempt to catch her eye. Penelope felt another hand cradle her face. "Pen, look at me."

     Giving in, Penelope lifted her head. The second their eyes met, Cara brushed away the fallen tears. "I-I can't do it, Cara." The very thought of losing one of her best friends hurt too much.

     "You won't have to. I'm not going anywhere." Cara wiped away more tears with her thumbs.

     Penelope frowned. "How do you know that?"

     A lump rose in her throat and the blonde inhaled deeply. "Because this," she gestured between them, "you and I, is never going to change. All right? Never. Even if I'm not here physically."

     At the elevators, Spencer watched with crinkled brows as the pair continued to speak softly. From where he stood, he could see that Penelope was crying, which made immediate concern wash over him.

     "All right," Penelope said, blinking away the rest of her tears. "I love you. You know that, right?"

     Cara's heart stopped, and the words got caught in her throat. Those three words had been foreign to her for years. So, to hear someone direct them at her was bone-chilling. And the woman across from her knew that, too.

     "I'm well aware that you can't verbally say it back, but I know." A knowing smile was reflected on her.

     With pressed lips, Cara nodded. "Right."

────

     THE INTERACTION BETWEEN PENELOPE AND CARA WASN'T BROUGHT UP BY SPENCER. And he wasn't certain that he wanted to bring it up. It'd been an emotional conversation between the two, and he knew Cara wasn't going to mention it. At least not anytime soon.

     He wanted her to, though. He wanted to know what was going on; he wanted to help in some way, but he couldn't, and it was driving him up a wall. But like he told JJ— he wasn't going to push her on the matter.

     "Helen Mitchell was a socially prominent widow of an investment banker, philanthropist, patroness of the arts." Morgan began, examining the background report on Helen Mitchell.

     Spencer blinked, sweeping his attention away from Cara and down to the papers in his lap.

     "Wayne Campbell, on the other hand, was as blue-collar as they come. Worked for a tree-trimming and removal company." JJ continued, reading from her file as well.

     "Garcia, was the M.E. able to estimate when Campbell might have ingested the arsenic?" Hotch called, hands folded on the small table to Cara's left.

     "Somewhere between six and ten p.m. last evening." Penelope read off of her computer screen.

     "Do we know where Campbell was during those hours?" Blake questioned, both brows raised.

     "The same place he is every Tuesday night while his wife plays Bridge. Erish Grill. It's a neighborhood sports bar." Penelope announced.

     Leaning forward, the brown-haired doctor adjusted his seating on the couch across from the table Cara sat at. He was doing his best not to stare at her. "This isn't widely known, but Helen Mitchell had a drinking problem, and Wayne Campbell abused painkillers. That could be the common thread, and the UnSub's punishing them for their vices?" Spencer suggested.

     Cara tilted her head to the side, eyeing the reports on the table as Matthew Campbell came to mind.

     Matthew Campbell was believed to have taken over the leadership of the Red Scorpion gang after the arrests or murders of multiple key gang members in recent years, including the Founding Fathers, and brothers Jonathan, Jarrod, and Jamie Bacon. Especially considering Arthur, Kirk, and Owen made a habit of never having their names and leadership positions leaked to the press. Not much was publically known about Matthew, but Cara had known him better than most. She'd worked with him since she was twelve, and it was hard not to think of him when the last name "Campbell" was mentioned.

     "Poisoning those who poison themselves?" Rossi proposed.

     "The syntax of the note is interesting," Blake paused, reading over the note. "Instead of a simple "stop it," you get "prevent the inevitable.""

     "And in block lettering to disguise the handwriting," JJ added, gesturing to the photographs.

     Taking a small breath, Cara held it as her eyes flickered to the window to her right. The clouds were passing by in a whirl of white dust, and the sky was a cosmic blue that brought a small sense of tranquility over her.

     "Oh, no. Make room in your files. They're about to get thicker," the analyst sang dramatically. "A third victim was just reported half an hour ago. Carlos Ortega. Exact same note left on his body."

     Morgan sighed quietly.

     "Also poisoned?" Blake asked, brows furrowing.

     "Yeah, it looks that way," Garcia mumbled as she began typing away on her computer. "Well, this is weird. There... There was a piece of twine on his chest."

     Hotch sat up a bit straighter in his seat at the news. The movement snapped Cara back to the present conversation. Turning her head, she glanced at the computer screen.

     "No twine was reported on or near the first two victims," JJ spoke slowly, glancing at everyone.

     "Less than a day between kills this time. He's accelerating." Rossi mused.

     Hotch wasn't far behind him when he entered the conversation. "Morgan, see who Helen Mitchell had contact with in the twenty-four hours before she died." Morgan nodded. "Dave, you, Blake, and Valentine check out the Carlos Ortega crime scene. JJ and Reid to the sports bar, and I'll coordinate with local law enforcement."

────

     A DEEP RED POOL OF BLOOD STARED BACK AT CARA VALENTINE. She could almost see her reflection in it as Blake crouched down next to her. The pair peered at it in unified silence, each wearing latex gloves.

     "Are you the responding officer?" Rossi asked the approaching officer, retrieving his pocket notebook from his coat.

     "Yes, sir." Officer Keegan replied. "The delivery driver discovered the body."

     "Blood, vomit, evidence of hyper-salivation," Blake noted, eyes trailing over the bodily liquids.

     Keegan read from his notes. "Smelled garlic on the victim. Maybe somebody spiked his food?"

     "No," Rossi replied. "Garlic odor in the breath and body tissue is a common indicator of arsenic poisoning."

     Cara stood up and navigated her way around the crime scene markers. The red car to her right was squeaky clean and reflected the ceiling lights.

     Blake hummed. "I wonder how the UnSub got him to ingest it."

     As she turned around, eyes canvassing the garage, Cara saw a crinkled-up paper cone cup on top of a brick palette. Blake had noticed the same, having already made her way to it. Eyebrows scrunching together, she walked over too, joining the woman's side. The cup was next to a water dispenser, and Cara peered over the top of it. A fresh hole had just been burned into the top of the plastic jug.

     "Is that the twine found on his chest?" Rossi asked, gesturing to the string.

     "That's correct. Laid out real precise, in a straight line, pointing head to toe." Keegan said, gesturing with his hands.

     "Rossi," Blake called.

     At the sound of his name, Rossi tore his attention away from the officer and across the shop. The women stood in front of something, but he couldn't tell what. So, he trod over. His curiously raised brows dropped when his line of sight landed on a water dispenser.

     Cara recognized the confusion on his face and pointed to the burned circle on top of the plastic bottle. Blake motioned to the crinkled-up paper cone.

     Then, it clicked. That's how the victim was poisoned.

────

     IT WASN'T LONG UNTIL THE TEAM MET BACK AT THE PRECINCT. Well, everyone excluding JJ, who was out getting the group a late lunch.

     Hotch was fiddling with a plastic evidence bag that held a light brown string of twine. "Same kind of twine found in Wayne Campbell's pocket," he noted, placing it on the table.

     "A friend of the victim's, Benjie Ruiz, came by the shop around nine-forty and saw a single customer milling around in the muffler section," Blake said, rotating her wedding ring around her left ring finger.

     "There was no surveillance camera, but a cash register receipt confirms somebody exchanged a muffler at nine-thirty-six," Rossi read from his pocket notebook. "When Mr. Ruiz left five minutes later, the customer was still there. At nine-fifty, Carlos was found dead. No customer in sight."

     Uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his pockets, Hotch stood upright. "Do we have a description of him?" he asked.

     "White male in his forties, large build, and he wore a hat." Blake answered, gesturing to her head when she said the word "hat." In her peripheral vision, she could spot the youngest member of the team leaning against a wall, subtly peering through the window blinds. Her dark blue eyes were fixated on the sea of officers in the precinct. Her arms were folded over her chest.

     Spencer's ears perked. "That's the same description the bartender gave to me and JJ," he voiced, glancing away from the glass boards.

     "It's gotta be our UnSub," Morgan said.

     "A green car was parked outside when Benjie Ruiz arrived and was still there when he left. No make or model, but pretty old." Rossi read from his notes again.

     Spencer took a compass instrument and placed it on the map, drawing a perfect circle around the latest crime scene. The dry-erase marker squeezed, and the sound caused Cara to briefly flutter her attention to the discussion.

     "According to Mr. Ruiz, Carlos had no drug or alcohol issues. He was described as a solid, hard-working family man." Blake spoke.

     Morgan inaudibly sighed. "Well, that puts a dent in our theory of an UnSub punishing people for their indiscretions."

     "Unless Carlos had a vice we don't know about." Hotch pointed out.

     The head detective of the case, Detective Jimmy Tavez, walked in. "We just confirmed that the chocolates and the water cooler both tested positive for arsenic."

     "Any twine found at Helen Mitchell's house?" Hotch narrowed his eyes an inch.

     "A couple of feet of it were tossed in the kitchen trash. We're thinking the chocolates may have been wrapped in it." Tavez replied.

     Turning to face everyone, Spencer cleared his throat. "Guys, I did a geographic profile of the victims, and it turns out they all lived or worked in the same two-point-sixty-five square-mile radius in the north part of the city." His gaze bounced around the room until it landed on Cara. A small frown tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed how she'd detached herself from the group and was lingering in the back. None of her body language indicated that she was listening.

     "Well, that gives us his hunting ground but not his victim selection criteria."

     Hotch's voice brought Spencer back, and he blinked. "The bartender said the UnSub may have struck up a conversation with Campbell there that night."

     "That's ballsy," Blake commented. Everyone looked in her direction.

     Morgan nodded. "The same way he walked into Carlos' store to exchange the muffler."

     "And for some reason, he feels the need to interact with his victims in the hours before they die," Hotch stated.

     Just like Michael Le was beginning to do with Cara Valentine.

     At that thought, Rossi glimpsed over at Cara. He couldn't tell if she'd heard the man or made the connection either. She only stood, unmoving and not blinking.

────

     THE UNSUB STRUCK AGAIN. This time David Rossi was on the phone talking with the victim before she was brutally taken too soon. The man was beating himself up for it, and the intensity with which the team tackled this case had increased. Hence why Cara was in a mild state of a rush as she strolled into the police precinct, her heels clicking as she went.

     Spencer came through another one of the entrances, falling in stride with her. His gaze darted from the approaching conference room to the woman's face. She wore a gold and brown smoked eyeshadow look that caught his attention. He'd never seen it before, but it looked pretty.

     "Hey, kids." Morgan greeted. The sound of his voice caused Spencer to look away from Cara as they entered the room. "Our geo profile just got turned upside down. Our latest victim lived and worked a good ten miles from the UnSub's hunting ground."

     "He's either branching out, or we're missing something," Spencer said, placing his satchel down in an empty chair. Cara replicated his actions, mind elsewhere.

     Dialing Garcia's number, Morgan put his phone on speaker. It took two rings before the analyst answered. "Hey, baby girl, I need you to work that magic of yours."

     "Rub my lamp; release the genie." Garcia sang happily.

     Feeling someone lean into her side, Cara glanced to the left at Spencer. A doting smile lined his lips, and he gave her a look she didn't recognize. She raised her brows questioningly. The way he was staring at her made her stomach churn. He was visibly biting the inside of his cheek, and she could make out the unconscious tugging at the corner of his lips. His brows were relaxed, and his eyes were a soft caramel brown. She'd only seen that shade once, right before Morgan and Savannah's Christmas party.

     "Our latest victim, Janice Cheswick, track her activities as far back as it takes to find a link between her and our other victims," Morgan said.

     Spencer leaned into her side again; their shoulders pressed together. "Nothing," he murmured, "you just look nice."

     Face flushing, Cara shook her head. "Focus on the case," she muttered, averting her gaze back at the open files on the table. Spencer bit the inside of his cheek again as his smile grew. This was the most she'd spoken to him in days, and he was happy to hear her voice.

     Not a moment later, Cara's brows creased. Wait... She moved out of impulse, grabbing one of the files and quickly walking up to the glass boards. Something felt familiar, but what? Her black-painted nails tapped against the folder in her hands.

     "As far back as in days or weeks?" Garcia asked.

     Morgan shrugged, picking up his coffee. "Months, if necessary."

     Sighing, the technical analyst replied, "Pushing it, Aladdin, but off I go."

     "That's why I love you," Morgan smirked, ending the call. In his peripheral vision, he could see Cara standing incredibly close to the evidence boards. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

     "These pieces of twine are all different lengths." Cara blurted.

     Morgan fully faced her, brows raising. He'd nearly forgotten what she sounded like. "Are you just now figuring that out?"

     Narrowing her eyes, Cara glared at him. "I think it's by design," she clarified, tossing her file onto the table. "Asshat," she muttered as she walked over to him. He smirked at her.

     "What's your theory?" Spencer tilted his head, gaze darting between the photographs as he tried to see what she was getting at.

     "Look," Cara pointed at the images, "starting with the first victim, the lengths are twenty-five, fifteen, twelve, and nineteen inches."

     "Yeah, so what?" Morgan asked.

     Huffing, the blonde gave him a look. "So, if you convert inches to centimeters, you're left with sixty-four, thirty-eight, thirty-one, and forty-eight. The exact age of all four victims."

     Doing the mental work, Spencer nodded in agreement. "She's right," he confirmed, glancing at Morgan. He wore an impressed expression but also a concerned one. What did this mean for the case?

     Suddenly, Cara was rushing back to the table and digging through her bag as a realization hit her. "I need to call Hotch," she muttered, finding her phone in the front pocket beside her current book.

     "Why?" Morgan's brows furrowed as he lowered the styrofoam cup in his hand.

     "I think I know what's going on."

────

     AFTER PRESENTING HER THEORY, CARA WAS ALMOST TAKEN ABACK WHEN THE UNIT CHIEF ACCEPTED IT AND COMPLIMENTED HER WORK. Of course, it was nice, but it only reminded her how much she would miss him and everyone else. The Founding Fathers were closing it. She could feel it. It wouldn't be long until they showed. Hence, why she'd been so silent.

     From there, Hotch was quick to fill in the rest of the team. Now, after collectively putting a profile together, the team stood in front of Long Beach PD.

     It was time to deliver the profile.

     Roaming his eyes across the sea of attentive expressions staring back at them, Hotch straightened his stance. "The man we're looking for is a highly organized offender, but we don't yet know why or how he's choosing his victims."

     "These appear to be killings of opportunity," Rossi added, hands clasped behind his back, "yet he's researched his targets as though they'd been selected carefully and with premeditation."

     "They run the gamut. Young and old, rich and poor, male and female. But with all of them, he leaves behind a piece of twine." Morgan went on.

     "Why does he do that? What does the twine represent?" An officer interrupted, his brows furrowed as he stopped writing on his notepad.

     Keeping her stare blank, Cara swiveled her line of sight to him. "In Greek mythology, a person's destiny was in the hands of the three fates," she responded. Their eyes connected, and he fidgeted under her intimidating stare. "One to spin the thread of life, another to measure the thread, and lastly, Atropos, the one who cut the thread with shears at the moment of death."

     "We think that's what the twine symbolizes. He's decided the fate of his victims, and then he observes them." Hotch clarified.

     Cara nodded in agreement. "As if assuming the form of a mythological God himself."

     "We don't know what triggered the spree, but the UnSub may have recently suffered a loss and is now lashing out," JJ suggested.

     "If he can't control his own fate, he will control others." Blake's words struck a chord with the younger blonde on her right.

     If he can't control his own fate, he will control others.

     Before her brain had a chance to run rampant and figure out why Blake's statement registered with her so deeply, Spencer unknowingly interfered. "This UnSub is also quite meticulous. He studies his victims in advance of the murders, follows them, learns their habits, even interacts with them."

     The sound of his voice caused her to blink, and Cara snapped her gaze to him. She was no longer focused on the overthinking process her brain was about to run through. The doctor had successfully distracted her as he tended to do.

     "His need to engage directly with his victims is a compulsion that overrides the risk of being caught," Hotch said.

     "This compulsion will likely be his downfall and lead to his eventual capture." Morgan assumed, arms folding behind his back.

     JJ rocked back on her heels. "The time period between warning his victims and killing them is getting shorter with each murder. He could be unraveling."

     "The public needs to be made aware that if they receive a note similar to the ones he's already sent, they need to contact nine-one-one immediately. Thank you." Hotch then motioned for the team to follow him back into the conference room.

     As everyone began to sit down, the large TV monitor flashed on, displaying Penelope Garcia's face.

     "So sorry, my beautiful creatures, my MDV search yielded nuttin', but I did make progress on another front. That Janice Cheswick, she lives clear across one the other side of town, right? Well, last week, at four-seventeen in the afternoon on the twenty-third, to be precise, she charged a double soy latte at a coffee shop smack dab in the middle of the geo zone of the other three victims. Sending this now."

     "It's next to the university," Hotch mentioned, looking up from his phone.

     "The UnSub may be a part of academia," Spencer suggested, glancing at Cara across the table. With pressed lips and a focused expression, she stared at the tablet she and Blake were sharing.

     "All right, Garcia, start with the schools of classics and humanity and work out from there. Check any students or faculty for red flags." The Unit Chief ordered, making eye contact with her through the camera.

     Garcia nodded, a determined expression painted on her face. "A fighting bull like moi looks for nothing else."

     The monitor returned to its home screen, and JJ snorted, shaking her head.

     Hotch turned to the ex-convict, a lingering question on his mind. "Valentine," he called. Cara met his eyes. "How did you know the twine was related to Greek mythology?"

     Wordlessly, Cara leaned to the right and dug through her bag. A second later, she pulled out a book— the title The Greek Myths: The Complete And Definitive Edition reflected at everyone.

     "I started and finished reading it last night. It discusses the three fates in Greek mythology," she handed the book to Spencer, who had outstretched his hand towards her.

     Morgan's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Were you reading it for fun?"

     "Why else would I read it?" Cara deadpanned, disregarding the disgusted look on his face.

     "Well," Blake began, clasping her hands together. "I've got a sudden craving for a double soy latte. Let's take a ride."

     Spencer felt a set of eyes land on him and looked up to see Blake staring at him. Closing the book, he understood the silent cue and pushed his chair back.

     "You too, Cara."

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act one:      𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙿𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂,      ¹
╱ ✹       ▬▬    ❛ © CARDIIAC      2023. ❜
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𓄹 ━━ 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the thirty-fourth chapter!

     i still hate writing cases.

     in other news: CARA AND PENELOPE ARE MY BEST GIRLS, I WILL DIE FOR THEM!!! 🥰💕💓💞💗💖❤️‍🔥💘💝❣️

     shoutout to my consistency when it comes to updating! haven't been this consistent since 2018 and 2020. it's good to be back! i'm not gonna lie though, finishing this chapter was physically painful. shoutout to having COVID (you relentless bitch)!! 🥰

     anyway! the next chapter is a continuation of this one and is a chapter that i really like yet hate. (you'll see why.)

     REMINDER: WE ARE ONE CHAPTER AWAY FROM ACT TWO!!!! I CANNOT WAIT!!!

     here is a lil edit i made for this episode:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be
reproduced, distributed, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other
electronic or mechanical methods,
without prior permission of the author,
except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical reviews and
other noncommercial uses permitted
by copyright law. ❞