✓ | sick of losing soulmates [SPENCER REID]

6.1

"Are they Amish?" Iris asks, looking at Nancy, then back at Spencer when Nancy merely shrugs.

"It doesn't say anything about that here. Just call them the Sepratarian Sect."

Narrowing her eyes, Iris turns her head back to face ahead again, looking out at the old fashioned clothing. "You know, Hitler wanted people to dress like peasants, like back in the old days . . . Like that."

Spencer only hums.

They climb out, Spencer helping Iris grab her crutches. The air is cold but the sun is bright, streaming in through a thin layer of white cloud that marches like a platoon across the sky, forcing them to squint as they peer around them.

"I'm looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus," Nancy says, approaching the man on the steps as their doors slam shut.

"You found him," the man says.

"I'm Nancy Lund," says Nancy. "We spoke on the phone regarding the allegations."

The man stands and Iris can see him clearer: he's wearing a red flannel with short sleeves, buttoned up neatly, with a white vest beneath up. Looks completely civilised. His reputation really precedes him, doesn't it? she thinks. "Savages they call us . . . Because our way of living is different from theirs," he quotes, starting forward slowly and taking short, plodding steps down the white flight of stone stairs.

"We didn't come to here to hear you wrote scripture, Mr Cyrus," Nancy says.

"Actually, it's Benjamin Franklin," Spencer says from behind her, his voice quieter than he usually is when he rambles about facts, as if he doesn't want to say it.

Cyrus smiles.

"Spencer Reid, Iris Remington," Nancy introduces. "They're Child Victim Interview Experts." Iris nods.

"How far from God's word must we have strayed for there to be the need to . . . Invent a  job called Child Victim Interview Expert?" His voice is suspicious, like he knows they're lying, and Iris' heart goes cold. This guy gives her the creeps, and the fact he's marrying kids doesn't surprise her quite so much anymore.

"We wish we didn't have to be here," she says, involuntarily cold in her tone. The movement invisible behind Nancy, Spencer's fingers slide across her wrist then squeeze — a silent reminder to keep her cool.

But, sadly, that's never been something she's all that good at. She's not like Spencer is — she's not calm and collected . . . She's instinctive and passionate and takes every case a little too personal than she should. Usually, it's a strength, it's a form of motivation. But now, when it comes to lying, it's a weakness.

"So do we," Cyrus says, "but you are welcome nonetheless." He turns to look at the building behind him, squinting against the sun. "The children are in the school as I indicated."

"Thank you," Nancy says, leading the others up the steps and past Cyrus to step inside.

They find Jessica Evanson, but they can't get her alone for her interview; even when they take her into an empty classroom and sit her at one of the front desks, her mother insists on standing above her and jumps in at every question, defensive about her beliefs.

"We're not here because of your religious beliefs," Iris interrupts the interview to assure. She sits on a chair in front of Jessica, Spencer beside her, and Nancy stood off to the side, observing silently.