Unknown- A Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 9- Dream

Note to Readers: I'm sure you've noticed I'm kind of just stealing the plots of old episodes but it might not be verbatim since there's an extra character added and I don't remember the episodes word for word.  Of course all rights still go to Criminal Minds and don't forget to vote and comment to let me know what you think!

We worked on coming up with a preliminary profile until two in the morning, but it didn't help much because Garcia had yet to finish up the background checks on all one thousand residents of Whitepoint Bay.

"I'll put on the coffee and should have the background checks finished by morning and then we can narrow it down," she said as she continued clicking away on her laptop.

"All right.  The rest of us should try and get some rest, we can pick this up in the morning," Hotch said.

"I have four of the upstairs rooms available," the lady who owned the inn--Mrs. Sheringull, I think was her name--said.

"Four?" Reid asked.

"Your team is twice the size of our whole department," the chief remarked and then added, "See you in the morning," before heading out the door.

"Looks like we'll have to double up," Hotch said evenly.

"I'm not sleeping with Reid," Morgan objected, though I'm not sure why he felt the need to explicitly point that out.

"Dibs," Garcia called, grabbing Morgan's hand, but he just laughed and shook his head.

I was tired, but I knew there was no way I'd get much sleep because of the unusual nature of this case and the so-called prank being played on me by someone with a sick sense of humor.  Though one advantage to being here was that I couldn't check my email unless I could gain use of Garcia's computer, and I wasn't about to do that.

We all grabbed our bags and trudged upstairs, though I knew Hotch's suggestion to get some rest wouldn't be followed by many of us. 

Thankfully all of the rooms had two twin-sized beds, so Morgan and Garcia--technically just Morgan cause Garcia was still downstairs working--got one room and Hotch and Rossi would probably stay up all night working in their room, which left JJ and Prentiss together and then Reid and I.

"I can switch with you and you can share with Prentiss if you want," JJ offered, stopping on her way past me in the hallway.

"No, it's fine.  I probably won't be getting much sleep anyways," I said. 

I was the newest member of the team, I wasn't about to get picky about who I was sharing a room with.  Besides, I was used to being in close quarters with men, there's a lot less females majoring in criminal psychology or working on the Richmond PD force than you would think.

"Are you sure?" she asked me.

"Yeah, I'm sure.  Reid probably doesn't care anyways," I said nonchalantly before turning into the room Reid and I were sharing, calling a, "Goodnight," over my shoulder.

Reid was sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, focused on a case file in one hand and some sort of reference book in the other, he barely glanced up when I walked in.  I followed his example, dropping onto my bed and spreading out files and crime scene pictures around me, the same dry theories spinning around in my head because we had no new evidence to go on. 

They must have been pretty dry theories though, because next thing I knew I had bolted upright on the bed, a cold sweat sticking my shirt to my back, my heart pounding and my lungs racing as I panted for breath.  I must have fallen asleep, and I was dreaming something weird that had scared me enough to wake me up, apparently.  I vaguely remembered hearing a gunshot and a scream in my dream. 

"McDowell?  You okay?" I heard a voice gravelly with sleep coming through the dark.

A light clicked on and momentarily blinded me before I could make out Reid sitting up in bed. I could see the top half of his flannel pajamas, and his hair was probably more disastrous than mine, I thought, as he shoved it out of his face and put his glasses on, still waiting for me to answer.  He didn't look half bad with glasses on, but it was probably just the odd angle of the light shining on his face.

"Yeah, fine," I said, rubbing my eyes.  Suddenly it dawned on me that maybe I hadn't heard someone screaming in my dream, maybe it was real.  Our unsub did kill at night. 

"Did you hear something?" I asked suddenly.

"No," Reid answered, shaking his head.

"Not just now, like a couple seconds ago.  It sounded like a gunshot, and maybe a scream," I said, hoping I hadn't really just been dreaming it.  I didn't really need the reputation of going crazy after just one month on the job.

"I don't know, I was sleeping until you woke me up," Reid said.

"Sorry," I apologized, feeling a little guilty but then I said, "I'm going to go check it out," and I climbed out of bed. 

I noticed all the files and stuff for the case I had been looking at was neatly piled up at the end of the bed.  Reid must have moved them for me, I had been more tired than I thought if I had fallen asleep in the middle of working on the case.

I pulled my boots on and fished a flashlight out of my bag--I had fallen asleep fully clothed, my gun and badge still clipped to the waistband of my jeans--and headed for the door.

"Hang on, I'll come with you," Reid said.

I was going to object because a, I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, b, I didn't want him to think I was crazy if we didn't find anything, and c, I didn't want to wait for him to get dressed--I never thought a grown man would wear matching flannel jammies and mismatched socks as I saw he had on when he climbed out from under the covers--but didn't because Hotch had already given me the lecture once or twice--okay fine, three times--for doing something dangerous without back-up.  And besides, it only took him like a minute to disappear into the bathroom, come out fully dressed, and get his shoes, badge, gun, and jacket on, about the same amount of time it took me to finish lacing my boots and get my jacket.

We headed outside, I was in the lead since I had the flashlight, and searched all around the inn for footprints on the frosted-over ground but didn't find anything.  Right before we were about to turn back, my light flashed off the barrel of a rifle at the back of the property. Oh no.

We rushed over to investigate, only to see a young man, probably only a little younger than me, sprawled on his back on the ground, blood soaking through his heavy hunting coat.  His eyes were staring blankly at the sky, his lips parted in the middle of a scream.  He was victim number four.

I sighed, wishing I had just been dreaming, because the fact that I hadn't meant we had another victim.  More evidence to solve the case, but at the cost of another life.

Reid ran back inside to get the rest of the team, and I glanced down at the lifeless body on the ground. 

The unsub was losing control, this kill was messy, maybe another accident, but either way he was taunting us, killing this boy so close to the inn where the FBI was staying.

The rest of the team and the police were soon on the scene, and by then I had pieced together pretty well what had happened. 

It was four in the morning,  so the boy had been up early on his way to the woods to go hunting.  Mrs. Sheringull had told us earlier that hunters often cut across her property on their way to the woods, and the boy had probably stumbled across the unsub by accident and tried to defend himself when attacked.  They started processing the crime scene and  found the shell matching the boy's gun but not the slug, and they were running a DNA test on some blood spatters found on the ground near the body that could be the unsub's if the boy had shot him in the struggle before the unsub had killed him.  The M.O. was the same, the boy had been stabbed with an arrow, but I still wasn't sure if he was the intended target or not.

If he wasn't, whose safety did we have to worry about next?