12:01 am, BAU Office
"Did you find our second victim?" JJ asked when the rest of the team returned, all clutching cups of coffee.
"Yeah. John Welling, twenty-seven," Morgan replied, taping his picture up on the board between Marcus O'Neal's and Barry Rhinefeld's, writing, 'one block' underneath.
"I think we need to deliver the profile," Hotch said.
"I thought we were keeping this within the bureau," JJ questioned, surprised.
"We were, but Reid--" Hotch paused and changed his wording, "We haven't got much time left. The public might have seen something that could help us."
"Yes, sir. I'll set up a press conference," JJ said and then left.
4:30 am, BAU Office
"Our unsub is a male in his late forties to early fifties. He is physically fit and may be ex-army, but he is also an intellectual and admires those who are younger and smarter than him," Morgan started, facing the silent crowd consisting of the rest of the BAU and the DC police department.
"He most likely has an obsession with youth, believing it to be sacred, but he is also very violent when his victims do not cooperate. We believe his victims are surrogates for a specific person, in this case, Dr. Spencer Reid," Rossi said.
"Our unsub employs a brutal ritual of torturing his victims before killing them with a single gunshot to the head. He then dumps the bodies in the order of which they were killed a certain distance from Capital Plaza Apartments, the residence from where his last victim was taken," Hotch explained, and the law enforcement officers scratched a few notes.
Outside, JJ and Prentiss were concluding their press conference.
"Anyone who has any information regarding a suspicious person in or around Capital Plaza Apartments please contact the FBI tip line at the number scrolling along the bottom of the screen," JJ says.
"We must warn you, this unsub is dangerous and we advise you to keep a safe distance and call the FBI right away if you think you may have seen him. Thank you," Prentiss concluded, ignoring all the questions the press shouted at them as they returned inside.
4:30 am, Unknown Location
The man growled in frustration, throwing half a bottle of whiskey at the small box TV across the room. It shattered, the faces of the two ladies on the screen fizzing out before the screen turned black, and the floor was showered with sparks, shards of glass, and drops of alcohol.
They weren't supposed to go to the public. He had taken the doctor because he had expected them to keep the issue from the press, it wasn't good for the bureau to let the people know they couldn't even keep one of their own from getting kidnapped and murdered. This wasn't according to plan.
But he had time. He relished in the idea of hearing the end of Shakespeare's sonnet, and then he could dispose of the boy. Pity, to destroy such a beautiful mind, but that's what the young Dr. Reid deserved. The most beautiful things weren't meant to last, but his mind was something to treasure indeed. He could recite whole poems, offered to recite whole plays, even.
Granted he had forgotten them, but the man did not mind. That just meant he could keep Dr. Reid longer. He had already kept him for twice as long as the rest, but that was to be expected. They were imbeciles compared to the doctor.
The man grinned and chuckled softly to himself, rising from his chair, slipping the knife he had kept clutched in his hand into his pocket and grabbing a box of real cartridges. The blanks, the gun, and the drugs he had used to kidnap the doctor were still at his sanctuary, as well as the doctor himself. The man absentmindedly wondered how young Spencer was faring as he made his way through the dilapidated house and down into the basement.
Unknown Time, Unknown Location
Reid had been convinced the man was about to kill him immediately after delivering a threat like that, but hadn't been surprised after he left. This type of unsub was exactly the type to induce physical and psychological torture before killing his victims, Reid was just unwary as to why he hadn't realized that before. It was different being a victim than just employing victimology.
He couldn't wait to escape any longer, he wouldn't be able to make it out of here alive. This was his last chance.
Reid twisted around on the table to test the limits of his bonds, groaning in agony as every movement sent a dull but white hot pain searing through his body. Metal cuffs were cinched around his wrists and ankles, attached to the table by short lengths of chain, which only allowed him a very small degree of movement. He'd need the unsub to help him escape, only the man that could kill him could give him a chance to live. But that meant he'd just have to wait until the man came back down there to kill him.
Reid glanced around, planning how he was going to escape. The door would have to be left open. From watching the man, he knew that there was a fifty-two percent chance he'd leave it open. The man usually did when he knew Reid was in a weakened state because he could easily overpower him, as he'd already done once before when Reid had tried to escape. Reid couldn't fail this time, though.
Once the man had unchained him, Reid would have to knock over or incapacitate the unsub. He didn't have his usual strength, but taking him by surprise could work again, and then it would be...Reid counted his stride in his head...seven steps from the side of the table to the door. Less if he was running.
The man's sanctuary was clearly underground, characterized by the solid walls, ceiling, and floor, most likely a basement judging by the dim light and constant chill, and it had to be secluded, so probably a farmhouse in the country or a cabin in the woods. If Reid got past the door, he wasn't sure what to expect, but looking for a source of light and following it was always a good strategy, and a natural instinct for humans. Reid's planning was abruptly interrupted by the door creaking open again.
He drew a deep breath and waited. Now was his only chance at ever seeing his mother again. At ever seeing Morgan and JJ and Prentiss and Rossi and Hotch and Garcia ever again. His only chance...
YOU ARE READING
Pretty Boy- A Criminal Minds Fanfic
Fanfiction"Who are y-" With a swift backhand to the face, Spencer was silenced, yet again. The force interrupted his balance and he swayed a bit before falling onto his back. The man stood above him, weapon pointed at his head.
