𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

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𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟰𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟬
𝟴:𝟭𝟯 𝗮𝗺
𝗩𝗲𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗔𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀
𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻, 𝗧𝗲𝘅𝗮𝘀


𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 sleep, Abbie could practically hear her brain screaming. Her eyes felt internally swollen, her ears heavy, and any minuscule movement she made was met with a dizziness and throbbing that covered her entire head, spreading even to her neck and shoulders. The sunlight streaming in from the break between her beige curtains was almost blinding, seeming to land directly on her face no matter how she turned. Her hair was being pulled by the follicles and the only conclusion she could draw was that somebody had drilled into her skull.

But the ringing wasn't only coming from inside her head; it was her phone buzzing across her nightstand. She groaned, scrambling to answer. "If somebody's not already dead," she warned, "they soon will be."

She wasn't expecting the person on the other end of line to be Derek Morgan. "Poor choice of words, sunshine."

Remembering the events of the past few days, Abbie sighed. "Shit."

"They think it's Lisa Holden," he confirmed her suspicions. "How fast can you get to Third Ward?"

She groaned again, rubbing her eyes to then glance at the time on her phone screen. "Give me twenty."

There was a pause. "Make it fifteen, your brother's on edge."

Abbie scoffed. "He's always on edge." She ended the call, dropping her head to her pillows, staring up at the white ceiling above her with a whine. After rolling out of the covers, popping two Advil, and getting dressed, she hurried down to the parking garage of her apartment building to then drive to the address Morgan had texted her, her head still pounding.

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"𝐌𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 of the recent abductions are members of your group," Emily was explaining to Nina Finch, the coordinator of Modern Mothers. She and Rossi had met with her in the community centre that the group frequented. Her designated office was small but not cramped, with dust-covered blinds hanging over the windows and a family photo angled towards her desk. The two agents sat on the tan vinyl couch, adjacent to the door.

"I heard," Nina nodded, her ring-covered fingers returning a few loose invoices to a file in the drawer of her desk. "I knew Lisa and Marissa, they were good women."

Rossi tilted his head instinctively in response. Nina was referring to the two victims in the past tense. It could simply be a slip of the tongue, but it was noteworthy. "How many members do you have?"

"Currently?" Nina clarified. "About thirty-five. Actually," she grabbed for another file within her desk, opening it, "thirty-eight. Twenty-nine are our single mothers, seven of those being women transitioning out of abusive households, and the remaining nine are single or struggling fathers."

"Fathers?" Rossi questioned.

"We're not just mothers anymore, Agent Rossi," Nina explained, handing over her members log; she knew they'd require it for cross-checking. "We're inclusive of all genders and orientations of struggling parents. The name just stuck. Our members don't have a problem with it."

"Are there any members that stick out to you?" Emily asked, thumbing the file. "Anyone bothersome, stand-offish?"

Nina shook her head, her brown beaded earrings swaying. "No, we're all quite friendly."

"What do your meetings consist of?" Rossi tried another line of questioning. "I assume personal details get shared?"

Nina nodded. "It's often simply group sharing. We have a few counsellors employed, but primarily the members just lean on each other. We build a sense of community. For our more at-risk members, we help with halfway houses, food stamps, prepaid gas, but there's only a few of those."

"Do any members get irritated, or overly involved after Lisa or Marissa share?" Emily asked.

Shrugging, Nina then shook her head. "Not that I've ever noticed. Look," she leaned forward in her chair, "I know you're going to go prying into my members' lives." She pointed to the list in Emily's hand. "I just ask that you extend the same level of privacy that we do. A lot of these people, our mothers especially, are experiencing hardship and difficult times. To tell them that there could be a murderer in our midst, it would be devastating. Government funding can only get our transitioning members so far. If our sponsors pulled out, we'd be ruined."

Rossi exchanged a glance to Emily. "We'll exercise extreme caution," he vowed.

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𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 of her car, pushing through the clog of bystanders that had bottlenecked the alley where Lisa's body had been discovered. She glanced at her watch. 8:32. Only a few minutes later than Morgan had ordered. She'd live it down, Morgan was a pushover. Her brother, on the other hand, might take a few more apologies.

A large hand was shoved in front of her face, five fat fingers spread wide. "Stay back, miss," the voice of one of the two attending policemen ordered.

"That's my brother," she argued, pointing to where she recognised Aaron standing with JJ, Morgan, Reid, and Noah.

"Can't have you going in there, miss." The officer wasn't listening, locked in his task of keeping civilians out.

She lengthened to stand on her tiptoes in order to see over the officer's hulking shoulders as he stood between her and the yellow tape barrier, and shouted to her brother. "Aaron!"

He looked over before nodding. "She's with us!" he called in response, and the two officers reluctantly let her through.

Her heels clicked against the rough cement as she approached, smoothing a hand over her black pencil skirt. "Is it her?" She dreaded to hear if it was Lisa, but in turn, dreaded if it was someone else.

Hotch nodded, his arms folded over his chest. "Garbage collectors found her an hour ago," he explained. "Coroner estimates time of death as 8pm last night."

"That's less than 72 hours." Abbie's arms too were crossed, her stance now unconsciously mimicked that of her brother, tilted slightly toward each other.

"Fifty-two," Reid supplemented, stooped by the dumpster.

"If it's the same UnSub," JJ added, "he's escalating."

"FBI presence can't help," Noah noted, standing by Abbie's side, his hands fixed in his trouser pockets.

A jackhammer drilling a block away joined the pounding in Abbie's head and she groaned, rubbing at her temples. From where he knelt by the body, Spencer held up a large takeaway coffee cup.

"Oh," she eased, her shoulders relaxing, "you're my saviour, Doc." She took a sip before looking to him. It was an iced caramel macchiato, identical to her order yesterday. "How did you know?"

Spencer gestured to the cup now in her hands. "It was on the lid last night."

Her lips stretched into a warm smile. "Thank you." She took another grateful sip before she heard her name being called from the police-tape banister, spinning to find her superior waving a hand to get her attention, the woman's red-painted nails pointing to the police officers that also weren't letting her pass.

"Ah, shit," Abbie muttered. She nudged Noah with her elbow, cocking her chin towards the scene.

Noah locked eyes with his officers. "Let her through, boys."

Abbie glared at him. That wasn't what she was trying to indicate.

"Grazie," the woman smarmed, pushing through the crowd and ducking under the bright yellow tape as it was lifted to accommodate her.

The group eyed her as she approached, dressed in a fitted black dress with a thin patent-leather belt around her waist to match. Her shoes, Abbie noted, were Louboutin stilettos, as they always were, with the red bottoms being the only element of colour she ever wore, mirrored on her fingernails and her lips.

"Liz," Abbie was stuck with a fake smile, "what are you doing here?'

"I heard a body 'ad been found." Her Italian-American accent almost sultry. "I wanted to see for myself." She grinned as she noticed the dark-haired beauty that was Aaron Hotchner. "Who is zis?"

Prying her jaw to unlock, Abbie introduced Liz to the group. "FBI Agents Morgan, Jareau, Reid, and Hotchner. My brother, Aaron," she clarified. "Elizabeth Taylor, lead prosecutor."

"No relation," Liz noted out of habit.

"Ma'am," Hotch was polite as he shook her hand, no doubt noticing the woman's attraction to him, further evident by her not extending her hand to anyone else.

Liz instead descended on her subordinate. "Abigail, I t'ought you said your brother was a chef, not a 'andsome FBI agent."

With all the strength she could muster, Abbie fought against rolling her eyes, the fingers of her free hand pressed to her left temple again. Liz's presence was not aiding in her growing headache. "I have two brothers."

Liz didn't take notice, continuing to drill her employee. "De partners are getting antsy wit' how zis is dragging on, Abigail. It doesn't look good for the firm. I've spoken wit' Gates; zey're still willing to go forward and offer you junior partner if we can nail Marcus."

Abbie's lips pursed. She knew of the offer; it had been all she'd thought about the moment she was brought on the case. If the board of Hawthorne Gates followed through, she'd be the youngest partner in the history of their firm. "Yes, ma'am," she nodded, catching sight of Aaron, his eyes on her like a hawk. She knew he'd corner her with it later.

Liz now gestured to the mound covered by a sheet. "Which one is zis?" She looked to the group, but none gave her the satisfaction of inside knowledge.

Leaning to Noah, Abbie whispered into his ear, her breath sweet against his neck. "Get her out of here."

Noah was quick to obey her words, his hand magnetised to Liz's lower back as he guided her to return to the crowds. "Ms Taylor, this is an active crime scene," he explained. "We need to keep contamination to a minimum."

"I can show you contamination, Detective Greenhill," Liz smirked. "You still owe me zat drink."

Abbie almost gagged, rolling her eyes as she turned away. "God, I'm gonna throw up."

Morgan chuckled. "A dead body doesn't sway you, but that does?"

"You have no idea," Abbie shook her head, sipping her coffee again as Noah returned. "Can we get back to the matter at hand please?"

Noah knelt, lifting the cover for the agents while still shielding the body from the reporters that had started to swarm like flies to blood. Lisa Holden's body was identical to that of the twenty-two women before her. Stripped to her undergarments, with a multitude of crimson cuts over her bruised flesh. Her blonde hair was cut jagged, the ends stained red from her own blood on the blade. She wasn't posed, instead undoubtedly dumped in the piles of shiny black trash-bags. The call from the garbage collectors would've been the same; the bodies were always found in or around dumpsters, disposed of the night before the refuse was scheduled to be taken. Abbie theorised that Marcus could have had knowledge of collection schedules with his career in city planning, but it was never questioned during trial.

"Twelve stab wounds," Reid counted, lifting one of the arms with his gloved hand.

Morgan aided in assessing the wounds, while JJ stood a few feet away, still able to view the body without feeling the need to see it up close like the rest of her team.

"It's the same killer," Abbie concluded, taking a step back. "There'll be another three to her genitals." She looked away, forcing an exhale. "He rapes them with the knife." Her coffee threatened to make a reappearance as she coughed, standing now behind her brother.

Aaron held a hand to her back, shielding her away from the scene.

Abbie looked skyward, taking a minute to regulate her breathing. She'd seen the photos of the previous victims, but never in person, and never could she have anticipated the smell that accompanied the image to be burned into her mind.

A cacophony of voices nearby caught the team's attention. "Shit," JJ cursed, hurrying over to the barricade where she noticed the mess of cameras all pointed to Liz, a microphone thrust into her direction.

"Ms Taylor!" a reporter shouted. "Do you believe Marcus Fletcher still to be the killer?"

Liz had an ambiguous response; it was one of her few redeeming qualities of being a prosecutor. "I believe zat de person responsible will be brought to justice."

JJ had reached her, grabbing onto the woman's arm to pull her away. Turned away from the view of the slew of reporters, JJ was shaking her head. "Ma'am, we can't reveal anything at this stage, especially to the media."

"Agent Jareau," the words were soft, purred, "I know 'ow to handle reporters. Zanzare. Zey're are vicious as lawyers."

"Your boss is gonna blow this," Morgan noted, overhearing the exchange.

"Wouldn't be the worst thing she blew," Abbie remarked, returning to Aaron's side.

The trilling of the Reid's phone from his pocket brought their conversation to a halt. He grabbed for it, answering. "Hey Garcia, I'm with Morgan, Hotch, Abigail, and Detective Greenhill. You're on speaker."

"Aw, sounds like you guys are all having a party without me," Garcia feigned insult before smiling to herself. "So, I did some digging."

"What did you find?" Hotch asked.

"Well!" Abbie recognised the tone of almost-excitement in Garcia's voice again. "You know how the abductions and murders stopped while Marcus Fletcher was in custody?"

A preened brow crept upwards as Abbie glared at the phone in Reid's hand, and she and Noah answered in unison. "Yes?"

"Well, they didn't necessarily stop," she stated, "they just didn't happen in Texas."

Abbie almost cursed, instead closing her eyes and rolling her head back to sigh.

Noah was now too staring at the phone. "Where?"

"Louisiana," she explained."Surprisingly, they were all super-duper close to the border, but still crossed those pesky state lines. I've got three women, all abducted and killed, and their bodies found three days after they were taken, in the time that the trial was active and Fletcher was in custody. Sadly, my pretties, he definitely didn't kill these three."

Reid frowned. "Why would the UnSub redirect himself across state lines while Fletcher was in custody?"

Abbie looked to her brother. "Could he be trying to protect him?"

Hotch shook his head. "If that were the case, killings would've continued in Houston to prove Fletcher's innocence."

"Frame him then," Abbie corrected.

"Why continue killing at all?" Noah asked.

"He's compelled to," Morgan filled.

"Then Fletcher is released, and killings return here," Hotch continued. "Garcia, can you send us the files on those three victims?"

"Yes, sir."

The call ended and Reid tucked the phone back into his trouser pocket, looking to the others.

Hotch turned to his sister. "If you weren't involved, would you still believe that Marcus Fletcher committed these murders?" He pointed to the body, now once again covered.

Abbie nodded. "Why?"

"I think we're looking at a partnership."