ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 ❜

chapter no. 040!

❪ 𝚃𝚆 : 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵 𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙶 𝚄𝚂𝙴. ❫

❝ WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? ❞
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﹙ MARCH 27TH, 2016 ﹚

     THE COFFEE GROUNDS SMELLED DIVINE, AND THE PALE PINK CUP CRADLED IN HER HANDS WARMED UP HER ENTIRE BODY. Petit Café hadn't changed one bit in its element. The rustic window sills were decorated with thin, light purple-blue curtains with plastic jewels running parallel lines down them. A gentle breeze blew in from the cracked-open windows, and the plants sitting on the barista's counter and the tables danced in the morning gust.

     It was only half past six in the morning, a time that was much too early for the world to be awake but just early enough for her to be. It was also the time that she'd agreed to meet him that Thursday.

     "Nervous?" A voice called, and she turned her head to see the shop owner, Marcello Romano, staring directly at her.

     "Why do you ask?" she raised a brow, lowering the coffee mug onto the small plate in front of her.

     Marcello chuckled. "You're tapping your foot. I'm assuming someone was supposed to meet you here... Spencer, perhaps?"

     She felt her stomach twist at the sound of the genius' name. "Maybe..." she answered slowly, narrowing her deep blue eyes.

     "I figured as much. The two of you are here every morning at half-past seven on the dot and nearly every night at nine. Never this early, though," he commented, placing down the coffee mug he'd just finished cleaning. "Are you two finally confessing your feelings?"

     Her jaw slackened, taken aback. Why did people jump to the conclusion that she and Spencer had the potential to be anything other than friends? "Marcello, there will be no confessing of feelings that do not exist."

     He rolled his eyes. "Miele, when you've been around as long as I have and work in a café where passing strangers recycle throughout it every day... you learn to read people quite well. I recognize two people falling in love very easily now," he said.

     "I never said anything about love," the woman blinked, feeling her heart stop. That word was foreign to her.

     "You didn't have to," Marcello murmured, sending her a quick wink before retreating into the kitchen.

     Right as he disappeared, the bell to the shop chimed, and a familiar voice spoke. "Hey, I'm sorry I'm late. Mrs. Maddox needed help getting into her apartment; her door was jammed." Across from her, the brilliant brown-haired doctor sat down and placed his satchel on the back of his chair.

     "This must be incredibly pertinent if we're meeting much before we typically leave for work," she mused, reaching for her coffee. The lights in the building began to dim, but she didn't notice.

     Spencer scrunched his nose before nodding. "Yeah, it is. Um, I should, uh, go ahead and get some coffee too," he rushed, standing up from his chair and swiftly making his way to the counter.

     Furrowing her brows, she turned her head and held her breath as she ran her eyes over his figure. His upper back and shoulders were tense; he tapped the habitual one-two-one pattern against his outer right thigh. He was nervous.

     Before moving her gaze back to her coffee, she dropped the growing curiosity spreading across her face. Why was he nervous? After all, it'd been him who wanted to meet at such an ungodly hour. Taking a large gulp of the black coffee, she shook her head slightly as she tried to erase Marcello's earlier words from her mind.

     "Are you two finally confessing your feelings?"

     With her attention fixated on the coffee in front of her, she inhaled deeply.

     The question itself was innocent and straightforward, but its answer was muddled. The question was nearly the equivalent of asking if she had any feelings for the doctor. A great mystery that the BAU team continuously visited and entertained. It was something she was asked about consistently by Penelope and Morgan because it was hard not to notice the connection Cara and Spencer had. And the answer was both yes and no.

     Cara Valentine wasn't one to show her emotions, nor was she one to talk about them. And she especially didn't admit when she liked someone. So even the prospect of having feelings for someone and then admitting them seemed far-fetched. Especially considering the red target she had pinned to her back. It was too dangerous to dangle someone she cared about in the air and imagine what could or couldn't be.

     The sound of a chair being pushed back made her blink. On the opposite end of the circular table, Spencer sat down with his coffee in a large to-go cup. The sound of his foot tapping against the tiled floor echoed softly. Both of his hands were still cradling his drink and he was subconsciously tapping that one-two-one pattern with his right hand against it.

     "Why are we meeting?" Cara asked, taking note of the familiar behavioral cues he was exhibiting.

     Spencer tilted his head to the left in contemplation, avoiding her stare. Something was lingering on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't know how to go about saying it. He couldn't gauge what her reaction would be.

     "I don't believe I've seen you this anxious before," Cara admitted, the quietness only increasing her brewing anxiety. Spencer's stare remained locked on the mug in front of him, and she frowned. "Spen, is everything all right?"

     The usage of the nickname she'd coined for him was what caused him to glance up. "Sorry, I uh, I just have a lot on my mind," he murmured, his nose scrunching up as he spoke.

     An uneasy force fell over the two, and the blonde shifted in her seat. She didn't like this— his silence. It was out of character. Whenever they were with each other, the silence that occasionally settled was rarely awkward or filled with tension. At least not from his end. This was a first, and Cara Valentine did not like it.

     "Much of the time, I'm the silent one. It's never you unless you're in deep thought, reading, or playing chess. This is different, though," she paused, the frown on her face deepening as he was still staring at the coffee mug. "You're biting the inside of your cheek, your new nervous tic. You've also avoided my stare; your nose has scrunched up twice. You're holding back. What's up?"

     Inhaling softly, the doctor briefly looked up. "I never believed you were a killer," he breathed, and his words caused Cara to pause in lifting her coffee. "Ever since I interrogated you, I've believed that you were innocent and a good person. You were a survivor. A woman keeping her head above water for as long as she could to make it through a life she never wanted. So, I promised I would find you a way out, and I did. You were free. Except you weren't."

     Silence filled the air for a moment. "It's like I told the team. They're still here. Sure, most Scorpions were arrested, but the Founding Fathers, Leone, and my father were still out there. I was never truly free." Cara responded, placing her mug back down.

     "Why didn't you tell me they'd followed you here?" Spencer asked exasperatedly, finally meeting her eyes.

     She swallowed harshly. "You and the team had already done so much for me. I didn't want to put everyone in further danger."

     He didn't believe her. Noticing how her ears raised slightly, the genius's suspicions were confirmed. "You're lying," he whispered. Cara's eyes flashed up. It didn't once register for her that he'd somehow figured out her one tell. Especially since he hadn't been able to before. "Our job is dangerous no matter what, and you know we can all take care of ourselves."

     It was silent as the two held eye contact. The skin below Spencer's eyebrows was triangulated, and his eyes' inner corner was pressed together lightly. Cara recognized the look he was giving her— the expression he always wore when trying to read her.

     "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked, rephrasing the question. The blonde visibly tensed. "I understand not telling the rest of the team, but why wouldn't you tell me? I could have done something."

     Cara shook her head. "There's nothing you could have done," she argued, her heartbeat accelerating as her anxiety heightened.

     "I'm not accepting that as an answer. Why didn't you tell me?" he pressed, sitting up straight. This was the first time he'd ever pushed her on a matter.

     Allowing herself to lower her walls for a second, she bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Her physical response to his question was enough to tell Spencer that her answer was complicated and that it had to do with her emotions, just as he suspected.

     "You're smart, Spencer. I think you already know why I didn't tell you," she mumbled, running a hand through her hair.

     "I want to hear it from you."

     Glancing up, she held her breath for a moment. "I didn't tell you because I care about you, all right?" she huffed, raising a brow as she spoke. Spencer blinked. "I care about you and don't want you to get hurt because of me."

     The corners of the doctor's lips tugged upward. "I care about you too," he said, reaching his hand across the table and out to her.

     Darting her eyes from his hand to his face and back, she hesitantly placed hers in his. Immediately, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand and squeezed it, giving her a soft smile. Letting herself mirror the gesture, her gaze fell back to their hands. It felt good. Really good.

     "It's too bad you'll never see me again," Spencer murmured.

     Cara looked up. "What?"

     He chuckled, except it suddenly didn't sound like his usual chuckle. "God, I really love how fast those things work." Konnam's face fell into focus, and the bright setting faded to darkness. A needle and an empty vial were waved in front of her face. "Wakey, wakey, eggs, and bakey."

     They were in the basement, not Petit Café.

     Tears pooled into her eyes, and Cara held back a slur of curse words. The all too familiar choking icy pain that infected her throat for over a month now was back and forming a noose around her neck. The drugs only managed to mask the pain for so long. Hence why it had felt so real.

     "You should have known better than to believe he was real," Konaam whispered, caressing her cheek.

     "S-Stop," she croaked, a burning sensation ignited in her throat. It was becoming harder to speak again. That was the most talking she'd done in a long time, especially during one consecutive conversation.

     For the past two weeks, Konaam had been spending more time with her than before. He'd recently been designated as her vocal coach. Le wanted Cara to be able to talk again, he'd begun to desperately miss the sound of her voice. So, he ordered that all physical torture be ceased for the time being and Konaam to fix the problem. And that's exactly what was happening.

     "And why would I want to do that?" Konaam raised a curious brow, the corners of his lips quirking up.

     Cara's chin trembled when she felt him touch the ends of her hair. "Please," she whispered, feeling his hand travel to the top of her head.

     Her wavy hair was a disheveled mess, and she couldn't remember the last time they let her shower. Wincing, she bit back a whimper as he continued to comb through her hair. She hated how it felt as the edge of his nails dug into her scalp. A huff suddenly left his lips. His fingers had gotten stuck in a knot and he rolled his eyes. After a minute of trying to separate his hand from her head, he resulted to yanking it out harshly. At this, a small yelp echoed in the basement.

     "Don't be such a baby," he growled, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look at him. The back of her neck and spine popped, and she gritted her teeth. A sharp, penetrating pain twisted in her back as she attempted to hold eye contact with him. "Now, we're going to take a shower since you were such a good girl and confirmed what we already knew to be true," he smirked, referring to her feelings for Spencer Reid. "Be grateful," he then instructed, knowing she knew what he meant.

     With an obedient nod, she did her best not to feed into the sickening sensation swirling in her stomach. Perhaps the drugs in her system would last long enough and be strong enough to get her through the next few hours and erase them from her mind. Much of the time when she was drugged, she wasn't able to later recall a thing that happened. So every part of her was hoping that would happen again today.

     Even though getting a shower was a reward within itself and a breath of fresh air, it didn't come without a price tag. It wasn't a costly one, but it was so high that Cara used to wish for death rather than pay for it.

     However, this time she wished to forget.

     To forget how real the hallucination felt and the soaring feeling that overtook her heart when she saw Spencer's face. It wasn't real, she knew that, but it felt real and that's all that mattered to her. At least all that mattered to her for a few seconds before she disregarded the experience altogether. It wasn't real. So, she wanted to forget all of it and forget how she'd confessed her feelings to Shirzad and the awaiting shower.

     She just wanted to forget.

────

     HELLAM TOWNSHIP WAS A GHOST TOWN. With a population of five-thousand-nine-hundred-and-seventy-eight, the town was small, and nearly everybody knew everybody. This both helped and backfired on the case.

     It helped because if there were visitors in town or suspicious activity, people would notice. The amount of ground to cover wasn't too vast due to the size of the area and not many people would interfere. Also, that meant law enforcement could aid if need be.

     It backfired, though, because there were only so many places the Red Scorpions could use as a hideout, and if they weren't there, nor was there any evidence, then the BAU were back at square zero. Not square one— zero because the team had nothing. After nearly two years, they still had nothing but obscure poems that held not a single clue within them.

     And so far, not a single clue had presented itself in all the time they'd been in Hellam Township. Which wasn't exactly a long time.

     The jet had landed yesterday a little past noon, and the team had met with local law enforcement immediately. Once the Sheriff had agreed to assist in their investigation, he invited them into his jurisdiction. From there, the Sheriff's department was given a small overview of the Red Scorpions case with the main message being that a missing F.B.I. agent had been kidnapped and could possibly be in Hellam or had been in the last two-ish years.

     A picture of Cara Valentine had been distributed to every police officer. It was from Derek Morgan and Savannah Hayes's Christmas party in twenty-thirteen. She stood in front of a Christmas tree with an arm wrapped around Penelope Garcia and Savannah Hayes, a small smile on her face. However, the image had been enhanced and cropped so only Cara was in the frame.

     Additionally, copies of Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, and Shirzad Konaam's mugshots from two-thousand-and-seven were given. Each was taken after the Surrey Six murders. Unfortunately, there wasn't one of Person Y— Hennessy Lu— who the BAU assumed was more than likely involved in Cara's disappearance.

     When all of the Founding Fathers had initially been arrested, Ross Valentine and Hennessy Lu's names had been shielded from the public due to a deal Ross had made with the police at the time. For his direct involvement in the killing of three of the victims in the Surrey Six murders, he agreed to cooperate with police and plead guilty to shooting three of the Surrey Six victims, as well as name others who were involved. This meant turning his back on the Red Scorpions and turning in the Founding Fathers.

     Later on, it was revealed that in addition to agreeing to plead guilty, Person X wanted Person Y to remain as an unidentified accomplice in the Surrey Six killings with a ban on identifying either of them by their real names. Presumably, this was done due to the romantic history between the two men. Hence why there was no mugshot available for Hennessy Lu.

     After all the photographs had been dispersed, the remainder of the afternoon was spent going around to all the local businesses, hotels, and motels, and interviewing workers to see if they recognized Cara or the Founding Fathers. That endeavor had expanded into the following day and at the end of the interviews, yielded no results. Not a soul recognized any of the four adults.

     So, it was time to head to the private property off of Trout Run Road where the alleged Seven Gates of Hell resided. On the way there, Penelope gave everyone an overview of what they were headed into.

     "Buckle up, Mystery Inc.," she greeted, speaking in a hushed yet animated voice. "On today's episode, we are headed into the depths of Hellam Township's most notorious and spooky places to date. I'm excited to present to you "The Seven Gates of Hell." You, my meddling kids, are in for a good scare. Maybe... I hope."

     Rossi snorted, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

     "Garcia, get to what we need to know," Hotch said, eyes on the road as he drove behind the Sheriff.

     "Boo, you're no fun," she whined, and everyone could envision the pout she was likely sporting. "All right, fine. Moving on! So, according to Hellam's website, "The Seven Gates of Hell" was the subject of one of Mike Argento's York Daily Record columns several years ago and can even be found on Wikipedia. The location in question is a wooded area off Trout Run Road in the northwestern part of the Township. All kinds of wild rumors are attached to the site.

     "As our resident Boy Wonder shared with us, an insane asylum supposedly located there caught fire, allowing the inmates to escape, but seven gates surrounding the asylum trapped them and many were burned or were killed or lived on to stalk and murder. There are the ruins of a flint mill on the land which many mistake for a burnt-down asylum and use as fuel to keep the legend going. Another story links the "Seven Gates" to an eccentric local doctor who erected a large gate at the entrance to his property, and rumors sprang up that there was a series of gates beyond that one along a road leading deep into the woods with something mysterious hidden at the end of the road. 

     "It was said that no one who passed the fifth gate ever returned. Just as there seems to be no truth to the rumors about the "Seven Gates of Hell," no asylum ever existed there, and the local doctor had only one gate and that was to keep out trespassers. This gate was located on the edge of his property, not the entrance. There is also no truth to the story that Hellam Township was named for Hell. The fact is that the Township's name is a corruption of the name 'Hallam', named for Hallam, England. Side note, the area where these alleged gates are is private property. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Unless, of course, you're F.B.I. and in search of their favorite emotionless and young rendition of Resse Witherspoon."

     A half-smile briefly appeared on JJ's face at the mention of Cara. Hopefully, they didn't travel all this way for nothing and the Red Scorpions weren't teasing them further.

     "Do we know the name of the doctor?" Hotch asked, coming to a stop at a red light.

     "That would be Dr. Harold Belknap. He was a practitioner at West Side Sanitarium and was regarded as quite the kind-hearted man." Penelope paused for a moment. "Oh, get a look at this! Dr. Belknap would often make threatening signs for any trespassers who were most likely interested in the legend with toad-related humor written on them. Apparently, this was how Trout Run Road got its name."

     In the very back of the car, Spencer flinched when he felt a hand being placed on his knee. Blinking, his head turned to the left and he saw JJ giving him a concerned stare. He hadn't talked once in the last few hours.

     Quickly, he forced a small smile and shook his head, reassuring her that he was okay. They both knew it was a lie, but he was doing what he could to keep it together for the time being.

     "Who owns the property in which the gates are now?" Tara's voice echoed from behind the passenger seat.

     The keys on a keyboard could be heard on the other end of the phone call for a moment. "Uh, Melanie Powers. She's the daughter of Cheryl Englar, Dr. Belknap's niece. Her wife, Mireia, is deployed overseas and has been for years now. She visits on the holidays when she can. From the looks of it, she inherited the property when her mother died three years ago from breast cancer. Over the years, Melanie has reported a number of tourists searching for the gates, some harassing her and giving her cause to call the police."

     The right blinker on the back of the Sheriff's car switched on and Hotch followed his cue. A stone-paved driveway trailed from the main road for two-thirds of a mile before it came into the clearing where a small one-story house stood. Off to the left side of the house, a little deeper into the woods, were decaying the ruins of the flint mill.

     "All right. Thanks, Garcia," Hotch said, putting the vehicle into park.

     "Of course. Happy mystery-solving and hopefully bring our girl back! Fingers crossed! Penelope the Oracle of All That is to be Known out!"

     Rossi chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I think somebody put a splash of pixie dust in their coffee this morning," he muttered.

     "She always does," Tara replied, earning a smirk from him.

     One by one, everyone exited the black suburban and walked over to where Sheriff Hughes had met a woman on the porch of the house.

     "Melanie, these are the F.B.I. agents I mentioned to you over the phone," Sheriff Hughes said, gesturing to the team behind him.

     Bringing the large coffee cup to her lips, Melanie took a long sip. "Mornin'." She appeared to be in her late thirties with jet-black hair and streaks of silver that ran throughout it. A fuzzy black blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she wore matching grey sweatpants and a hoodie. Hot pink bunny slippers covered her feet and it looked like she'd recently woken up.

     "Good afternoon, Mrs. Powers. I'm BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner," Hotch flashed her his badge. "This is SSA David Rossi, SSA Jennifer Jareau, Dr. Spencer Reid, and Dr. Tara Lewis. Could you show us where the gates on your property are?"

     Raising an amused brow, she tilted her head to the side. "What's the F.B.I. want with The Seven Gates of Hell?" she asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her back pocket.

     "We have reason to believe it could be connected to the disappearance of an F.B.I. agent," he explained.

     "I highly doubt that," she stuck a cigarette between her lips before tucking the pack away. With her now free hand, she took the lighter and lit the stick. Melanie inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in as her eyes swept over the people in front of her. Whatever it was they thought they were looking for was most likely not there. Those gates held nothing but rust and blasphemous rumors. Finally, she released the vapor, soaking in the light grey filter that briefly obscured her vision. "If you insist though, right this way." She descended the porch steps and motioned for everyone to follow her.

     White puffs of hot breath fell from JJ and Tara's lips for the weather was colder than they'd realized it be. The surrounding woodland was ominously quiet. All that could be heard was the susurration of the leaves crunching beneath their feet.

     "This place is pretty isolated," JJ noted as Melanie continued to lead the way.

     Snorting, the woman shook her head, having heard her. "Not isolated enough. Damn kids trespass like they get paid to," she sighed, downing the remainder of her coffee.

     "Ain't that the truth," Sheriff Hughes muttered. He'd been called to this part of the woods so often he could find his way out with his eyes shut.

     Only another minute of walking passed before they came to a collective stop. An uneasy silence settled.

     "This is the gate?" Rossi eventually piped up, breaking the silence amongst the team. "It's grassier than I imagined."

     Hotch turned his head in his direction, giving him a pointed stare.

     The team stood with Sheriff Hughes and Melanie, all staring at two brown gate panels that were coated in orange and black rust. Dark green ivy wrapped around the metal poles of the gate with rust and grime of decades' worth covering it.

     No one knew quite what they were expecting. After all, it was called The Seven Gates of Hell, the keyword being gates.

     JJ bit the inside of her cheek, her heart sinking. It felt like this would be another dead end. Every part of her wanted it to become a real lead, but at this point, it felt as if the Founding Fathers were simply toying with them. Like Spencer said the other day, any of their cryptic messages could mean a million different things, but they still waved the white flag of "there might still be time left, but regardless, we've already won."

     Little did she know, the brown-haired doctor's thoughts were running parallel to her own. What seemed to be becoming a permanent frown was settling itself on his face while his nose scrunched up. His chest was tight with disappointment, but somehow still fueled with a sense of determination that something here, regardless of how small, could be a clue. He needed there to be a tell. Any kind of sign that the Cara had been there to some capacity.

     "Mrs. Powers," Hotch cleared his throat, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Have you seen anyone on your property in the last year? Perhaps a woman with white-blonde hair, late twenties, early thirties?"

     Melanie shook her head, pulling the cigarette she held between his fingers away from her chapped lips. "No, sir," she answered, shaking her head. "Not unless you count the rowdy teenagers that trespass from time to time in search of the alleged Devil's fictional gate." She couldn't help but snort as she thought back to the two drunk off their ass high schoolers she'd called the cops on last week.

     "What about a group of men?" Spencer asked, glancing over at her.

     "Maybe..." she drawled out, sweeping her eyes up and down the man's rigid posture. "What do these men look like? And don't say white, son. I'm gonna need some descriptors. Half this town looks the goddamn same."

     Tara couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh while Rossi and the Sheriff snorted. The corners of Hotch's mouth briefly curled up.

     Taken aback by her assertiveness, the doctor blinked. "Oh, uh..." he stammered for a moment, feeling like a deer in headlights under her expectant gaze.

     Beside him, JJ retrieved one of the many manila folders she'd put in her handbag that morning. "These are three of their mugshots," she said, pulling out the copies of Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, and Shirzad Konaam's mugshots.

     Rossi watched with an observant gaze as Melanie took the photographs.

     There, staring back at her, were three men she'd never seen before. One was a heavy-set white man with buzzcut brown hair, dark-colored eyebrows, and brown eyes. Ah. He looked like an older version of one of those teenagers from last week. However, she didn't recognize him. The next was another white man but this one was extremely fit and had giant biceps. He had short brown hair with a full beard and hazel eyes. His right arm was covered in scorpion tattoos. The last one was an Asian Hispanic man with short black hair styled in a quiff and polarizing narrow green eyes. He had a wide face and aquiline nose with a gleeful grin that spread from ear to ear while he stared directly into the camera. He wore a hoodie so she couldn't see if he had any distinguishing marks, but nonetheless, she did not recognize him either.

     Sweeping her gaze up, Melanie could tell by the anticipation written across every person's face that they were desperate. Clearly whatever agent went missing meant a great deal to them. Particularly for the tall, skinny man who'd clammed up when she'd talked to him. There was a pool of tears welling up in his eyes and her heart went out to him.

     "I'm sorry, I don't," she apologized, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette.

     The images were handed to a deflated JJ, and she stuffed them back into her bag. Dammit. This wasn't looking promising.

     "Are you sure?" Sheriff Hughes asked, raising an inquisitive brow.

     Melanie nodded, taking another long drag.

     Digging into his cardigan pocket, Spencer pulled out his wallet. He opened it and reached for the thin film of plastic that held his driver's license. Behind it was a picture of Cara Valentine sitting at her desk in the bullpen. Her hair was straightened and tucked behind her ears and over her shoulders. It'd been taken by Penelope in secret in January of twenty-fourteen. The ex-convict was hunched over a book, the palm of her hand pressed against her cheek as she read solemnly. Luckily, with the lighting in the room at the time, enough of Cara's face was visible.

     Spencer took a few steps forward, the tiny photograph in hand. "W-What about her?" he held it out to Melanie. "This is what the blonde woman looks like. The one we asked about."

     Her gaze darted from his glowing eyes to the picture and back. He wasn't going to like her answer, but it was the truth. "No. I'm sorry," she breathed, frowning. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she?" The emotion held within his eyes was one she knew better than any other.

     The question caught Spencer off-guard and his face flushed pink. "Uh, no. She's just, uh," he swallowed harshly, blinking his tears away. "She..."

     JJ shared sorrowful glances with Tara and Rossi. This wasn't the first time in the last twenty-four hours that someone had asked the doctor if Cara was his girlfriend. An officer at the Sheriff's station and two business owners had, too. And each time they asked, the warmer Spencer's face got and the more choked up he became.

     "So you don't recognize any of the individuals?" Hotch double-checked, coming to Spencer's aid.

     "No, I don't. The girl's pretty, though," Melanie commented, gesturing to the photo that the doctor was now tucking away.

     A painful lump resided in Spencer's throat. "Yeah, she is," he muttered, licking his lips. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed back to the suburban.

     Catching the look Hotch was sending her, JJ pressed her lips together. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and quickly chased after her best friend. "Spencer!" she nearly shouted, picking up her pace. "Oh, my God. Slow down," she hopped over a log, careful to not trip.

     "This was a waste of time," Spencer grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut.

     JJ frowned as she finally caught up to him, breathless. She'd still managed to catch what he'd said. "Spence..."

     "Don't," he cut her off, holding up a trembling hand. She closed her mouth. This was only breaking his heart further. "I just— don't."

     With a mind of their own, her feet stopped mid-step and she watched him continue to walk away. Tears involuntarily came to her eyes. A shaky sigh left her lips and she tried to force the waterworks away.

     The disappearance of Cara Valentine had cast its shadow over the BAU, and while Spencer was taking it the hardest, everyone else was still struggling with it. For the sake of being strong for her best friend and the team, JJ hadn't publicly shed a tear or displayed immense sadness, but it existed. It was there.

     It wasn't until the woman had disappeared that JJ realized how much she'd grown attached to her and her presence. Sure, Cara was quiet most times and a blank slate, but she was there. Somehow, she managed to radiate a comforting aura that contradicted her innately cold behavior, and she cared. Regardless of how stoic she was, she cared for those around her and was loyal to a fault. She stuck by everyone's side when she was with them, and to all of a sudden not have her there felt wrong. Cara Valentine had only been around for six months, but it felt like a lifetime and her disappearance felt the same.

    The first few months of Cara's disappearance had been rough.

     JJ's chest would constrict every time she looked in the direction of the blonde's empty desk. She no longer had someone she would regularly make coffee for on the jet during cases, would share knowing glances with, or lean against for comfort. Of course, she could do all of that with other members of the team, but it wasn't the same. And she didn't want it to be.

     The pain and frustration JJ felt, in the beginning, began to fade over time as she slowly adapted to the fact that she was gone until they had something solid. However, the ache in her heart returned at full force the minute the blood-signed poem arrived. Ever since then, she hadn't been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. She just wanted all of this to be over with and for her friend to be found, safe, and sound.

     "Are you all right?" A voice asked.

    Blinking, JJ peered over her shoulder to see Hotch standing there. "Yeah. I'm good," she lied, tucking her hair behind her ear. A tear fell from her eye and she was quick to brush it away. "We should reconvene at the station and figure out our next move."

    Hotch frowned. "JJ, if you need—"

    "Hotch, I'm fine," she interrupted, shaking her head. "I'm fine." At that, she forced a reassuring smile and headed back toward the car.

     Watching as she followed the direction Spencer had gone in, the Unit Chief inhaled sharply.

     How much more false hope could his team keep taking before they broke? Until he broke?

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹     ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC       2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the fortieth chapter!

     not the scorpions making cara hallucinate spencer being with her... and not hellam township being a dead end...

     this chapter physically ✨pains✨ me. how's everyone else feeling?? please comment your thoughts! i would love to know what everyone thinks about the book right now!

     for those who are waiting for us to jump into the nitty-gritty drama of this book... buckle up. it starts in the next chapter, and it doesn't slow down until the epilogue. things are about to get intense and the next chapter is incredibly long. you're welcome in advance.

     also, here are the descriptions for micheal, konaam, and matthew so you know who was who when they were described earlier:

MATTHEW: "One was a heavy-set white man with buzzcut brown hair, dark-colored eyebrows, and brown eyes."
KONAAM: "The next was another white man but this one was extremely fit and had giant biceps. He had short brown hair with a full beard and hazel eyes. His right arm was covered in scorpion tattoos."
MICHEAL: "The last one was an Asian Hispanic man with short black hair styled in a quiff and polarizing narrow green eyes. He had a wide face and aquiline nose with a gleeful grin that spread from ear to ear while he stared directly into the camera. He wore a hoodie so she couldn't see if he had any distinguishing marks, but nonetheless, Melanie did not recognize him either."

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˒⠀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!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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