update: the last chapter for episode 4 is parted in 2! -> this is part 1
The entire campus swarmed with police. CDC ran tests on the basement to see if anything had gotten out of the lab at the time of the infection.
Skylar stormed out of the now crowded basement. She ordered her father to get into the passenger seat of the SUV. Her heart was racing, her mind clouded. She refused to let the unsubs take away the thing dearest to her — Spencer. She wanted to believe that it was Michael's fault, but her subconscious already knew that it wasn't entirely true.
At a red light, she suddenly hit the steering wheel. "No, you don't understand," Skylar said. "I don't care if you're a doctor or whatever, I want Doctor Anderson to handle this case! An FBI Agent is locked inside and he needs the best possible care in order to survive this!"
The man on the other end of the phone call spoke again. "I'm a trained medical official-" he said.
"I don't care who or what you are. What I know is that Doctor Anderson's familiar with both the case and my partner and I have the utmost trust in her. No offense, but I don't know you. I'm not comfortable with placing my friend's life in your hands. So if you could just call her and ask her to trade places with you, I would appreciate that, sir! Thank you and goodbye!"The line cut off.
Michael shifted uncomfortably beside her. "I know you're angry with me," he said.
"What was that?"
"I said, I know that you're angry with me." He turned to look at her. "But that doesn't mean it's okay to treat others like they did something wrong."
"What's this supposed to mean?" Skylar asked. "Fatherly advice? Well, I'm sorry to tell you but as you might've noticed I'm not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions."
They rolled into the parking garage.
"All I'm saying is that you can be mad at me all you want but maybe be a little nicer to your peers sometimes."
"Says the same guy that just killed a boy," she retorted. With one arm behind the passenger seat, she reverse-parked into an available parking lot. "You know what Michael," she said to him, "Before you lecture me of anything, maybe you should look at yourself first. It would spare you a lot of embarrassment. God knows you've caused enough of that as a father already."
The door forcefully banged shut; even the seats vibrated upon impact. Michael knew he didn't stand a chance against his daughter. Maybe he had once, but not anymore. With a desperate sigh, he unbuckled his seat belt and eventually got out, too.
Penelope printed the photos that came together at the crime scene. Evidence after evidence landed in the paper file.
Skylar stormed off to confront Cory Jenkins, now armed with the facts in writing. With the file in hand, she felt there was nothing to stop her. Michael followed her closely, though he was rather lost when his daughter burst into the interrogation room, interrupting a conversation between her target and his lawyer. The man looked at her in surprise. Cory did, too.
"What are you doing?" The lawyer asked.
"You've had two hours to talk," Skylar stated.
"And? We're not done yet!"
"But I am. Cory Jenkins, you're under arrest for the murder of Timothy Franklin and at least forty accounts of attempted murder. Everything you say now can and will be used against you in court."
"You're charging him? On what grounds?"
Skylar dropped the file on the table. Her lips contorted almost sadistically. The temperature in the room fell below zero. Her infinite anger radiated off her like fresh air off a humidifier.
"That's the evidence I missed earlier," she said.
"And how did you acquire this... evidence?" He asked.
"Mister Jenkins didn't tell us he had a secret laboratory used to trade Timothy's creation of the botulism strain. It was hidden away so no one would find out that he was selling the bacteria."
Of course, his lawyer hadn't known that. He turned to his client, eyes asking "is this true?" but Cory stared at the paper as if it were a block of ice.
"One of our Agents got locked in the lab after the alarm was activated," Skylar told them. Her eyes burned into the professor's skull. "He is now also affected with a heavy amount of the botulism. We don't know what it will do to him. That's why we need you to talk, Mister Jenkins-"
"Agent, my client is not testifying!"
"And this is not a courtroom, Mister whatever-your-name-is. Now, either your client talks or a friend of mine will die — forty plus people in the hospitals will die because the only antidote there is for this strain is in the hands of your client. Now, this is not just a speculation, it's what I know."
"The name is Winterbottom and you can't force my client to incriminate himself!" He said.
"Do you want me to send the military in and you tell them that? What Mister Jenkins did could easily be counted as terrorism, a case in which a lot of things change. Trust me, Mister Winterbottom," — Skylar stepped closer — "I know the law. I know what I can or cannot do," she bellowed. "Now, how about I send in someone who knows how to properly talk to Mister Jenkins?"
No one interrogated suspects quite as Michael Brown did. After years of working with terrorists and war criminals, he was specialized in talking to people like Cory Jenkins. She hated him, yes, but she liked Spencer even more and that's who she was doing it for in the first place. There was no other choice; Michael had to take over the interrogation.
"Michael." She opened the door.
"What is it?" He asked.
"He's all yours."
"What, seriously?"
"Yeah. There's just one more thing-" she leaned in closer, her lips almost touching his ear, and said, "Don't you dare go easy on him!"
Skylar took her place behind the one-way mirror and desperately awaited the look of fear on Cory's face once Michael had him all focus on him. Psychological manipulation it is called. He was a master at that technique. Not even the lawyer stood a chance against him. With Michael, suspects usually came straight to the point. Skylar knew he had used it on her multiple times before and so she had adapted to it.
Once you realize you're being played, you can reverse the effect. Skylar did that. With that talent, she was even more dangerous than any career criminal out there and yet she chose a life in law enforcement. Quite stupid, I admit, but there were parts to her personality that even Skylar hadn't touched yet.
"Has he talked yet?" Hotch suddenly appeared behind her.
"Jesus!" Skylar said. "Why do you always have to sneak up on people?"
"I'm sorry, I can't help it," he said.
"Yeah, I can see that."
"Has he talked yet?"
"No, he hasn't. Michael's been on it for ten minutes or so. Showing him pictures of the children and trying to find what triggers a response, but he hasn't found it yet."
Michael's rough voice filled the room. Winterbottom cut him off ever so often, but it didn't affect him. His demeanor stayed the same. Not calm but dominating.
"You're so stupid, aren't you?" Michael asked. He laughed. "Pathetic and stupid."
"Excuse me?" Cory asked.
"Someone like you shouldn't even be a professor. Seriously, stealing research from a student is kind of low, isn't it?"
"What are you- how dare you?!"
"Yeah, you're too dumb to create something valuable yourself so instead you hire your students to do the dirty work for you. I can see through your pathetic facade. You're lonely, bitter and not the smartest in the room. Everyone has better ideas than you. It makes you angry, doesn't it? You're so, so angry. Your parents must be ashamed of you!"
His hand suddenly hit the metal table. "STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE THIS!" He yelled.
"He's right," Winterbottom said. "You're overstepping!"
"I'm not overstepping," Michael objected. "I'm simply stating the truth of this pathetic little man who can't even keep a wife and his child around. That's the person I'm talking to and I won't take anything back. Only cowards get angry at the truth."
"I'm-" Cory blinked away tears.
"Oh, now he's crying. Great. Did you cry when you planned Timothy's murder, too? A child whose parents are devestated that he's gone now. Or the toddler that's fearing for his life because of what you did. Did you cry, too, or did you laugh because your pathetic little self gets off at causing other people pain for your own gain? Is that it?" He stared at him intently. Even Winterbottom was at a loss for words. "Yeah, I bet that's it," Michael said. "You're so sick you've probably enjoyed it. But you're too much of a coward to do anything yourself, right? So you let someone else do it for you again. Pathetic, but what else did I expect? Huh! Did you do it?"
"I-"
"You did, didn't you? Do you want to say yes. I bet you do. But you can't, can you?"
"Wh-I'm-"
"YOU'RE A PATHETIC LITTLE SICKO!" This time, Michael slapped the table. Everyone flinched. Winterbottom raised his hand, but he didn't get to speak. "YOU'RE A MURDERER, A NARCISSISTIC MURDERER THAT IS ALSO A COWARD. TELL ME ONE REASON WHY I SHOULDN'T FRY YOU ON THE CHAIR RIGHT NOW!" He yelled. "I look at you and I get sick. You do, too, don't you? You look in the mirror and you see this bastard staring back at you and you get sick. You murdered Timothy because you're just like every other psychopath. Dumb, needy, an emotionless monster that-"
"Enough!" Cory sobbed. Yes, he sobbed. His voice sounded fragile. Michael had broken him for good. His shoulders slouched — he gave up. "It was me, okay?" He said. "It was me!"
"Really?" Michael asked.
"Cory, you don't have to say anything," Winterbottom advised him.
"I have to," he said. "A few years ago, I first started to research the botulinum toxin. I did it in secret, that's why I, uh, I started to communicate on the dark web. I met this other professor, Herman Townes? Yes, he asked if we wanted to sit down together and compare our results. His assistant was there, too. So I showed him my results and we met in his lab. I- I didn't plan it to happen, it just did!"
"What happened?" Michael asked.
"We talked, we experimented for days. We were both tired and I accidentally dropped a test tube on my way across the room. I believed it didn't touch his food so I cleaned up without him noticing. It wasn't until the next morning that I found out he had passed away. It's just... it was highly concentrated and nowhere near finished and I didn't mean to kill him!" He said. "After the incident, I called a number I found online and asked if maybe, they could help me, you know, get away with it..."
"Whom did that number belong to?"
"I don't know, they call themselves Ace of Hearts or whatever. It's like this group of criminal consultants that help murders look like accidents. Believe me, I didn't plan for any of this, I just got sucked into it! If they wouldn't have helped me, I would've lost my job. It's... it's all I am."
"I take it you owed them a favor after that," Michael concluded.
Cory nodded. "I never talked to the leader personally, but after helping me get away with accidentally murdering my friend, they wanted me to give them a strain of my botulism as payment. They never asked for money just for the toxin," he explained. "They told me I will forever be in their debt. So when they call, I jump. I supply them with enough toxin every month, every chance I get. That's why I gave Timothy the assignment, but things went wrong and he figured it out somehow, I don't know. I told the group he's a good guy, but they reminded me that I will lose everything if I just let him get away with it, so I asked them to handle it. If I would've known... oh god!" He broke down crying. One hand covered his eyes, the other clenched to a fist. He sobbed.
"So what you're saying is, you never asked them to attack?"
"I- I- I just asked them to get rid of the boy. I wanted to keep my job, I didn't think-"
Michael scoffed. "No, you didn't think," he spat. "And it doesn't make you less of a murderer either."
"Please, you have to believe me!"
"I do, but it doesn't give you personality points, Mister Jenkins."
Skylar ripped the door open again. There she stood, angry and threatening in the doorframe. "What about the antidote?" She asked flat-out.
"I, uh, I gave it to the Ace," Cory answered.
"All of it?"
"What I created, yes. I keep the formula in a postbox down at 6th street. The keys are in my pocket." He raised his hips slightly.
Skylar bit back a curse. "Give them here!"
He reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys. She grabbed them without a second thought.
"Do you know anything else about the people who hired you?" Michael asked.
"No," Cory lied.
"There is," Skylar said.
"No!"
"You're lying."
He sighed. Her eyes were sharp, boring holes into his brain. "Okay, fine," he gave up. "They contact me over phone booths, telling me a place and a time where I'm supposed to drop off the delivery. I leave, they come, pick it up, and then it's done. I'm actually supposed to do it again in two hours."
Skylar asked, "Where are you supposed to drop it off this time?"
"Georgetown."
"Waterfront Park?"
"Yes."
"Two hours?"
"Precisely."
Spencer's chest rumbled with a dry cough. His lungs contracted; it cut off his oxygen supply for at least three seconds before he was able to take another breath. "Ugh," he groaned. He almost missed the table when he reached out to hold himself up.
"Doctor Reid?" Elizabeth's worried voice sounded from outside the glass. She eyed him suspiciously. "Are you alright?" She asked.
He nodded weakly. "I'm, uh, I'm fine. Just... a little dizzy, that's all." He was lying, of course.
Besides the fact that he could barely breathe, his head was spinning and his fingertips turned numb. Every word that came out of his mouth demanded great effort. His mind was playing tricks on him. Spencer felt sick to his stomach, to his heart, to his lungs. Everything was in so much pain, he simply wanted to cut his organs out for good.
"Kid," Morgan said.
"Yeah?" Spencer answered.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes."
"Okay." He turned away from the glass and towards Elizabeth. "How long does he have?" He asked, quieter this time.
"It's been three hours since exposure," Elizabeth stated.
"What does that mean?"
"The way he's progressing, I give him two hours until he's completely paralyzed."
Derek sighed. He shut his eyes in agony. "Damn it," his lips formed the words.
Just then, a phone rang. Skylar's caller ID popped up. He had never felt so relieved. With his large finger, he swiped right and answered the call, "This better be good, sweetheart!" He said.
"It actually is," she said. "I already told Emily, but Cory Jenkins talked. He told us where to find the formula to make the antidote. She and Rossi are heading there now."
"Thank god!"
"Yeah. He also told us that he's got a meeting with our unsubs in a little less than two hours."
"That's good news."
"Hmm.The most important thing though... how is he?" Skylar dared to ask. Morgan looked over his shoulder to see Spencer leaning against the desk in exhaustion.
"How about not good?" He said.
"Fuck!"
"I hope Prentiss is quick with the formula because he doesn't have much time left."
"Yeah, I'm already on my way." The elevator pinged in the distance. "Would you mind putting me on speaker?" She asked. "I'd like to talk to him."
"Hey, kid!" Derek approached the glass again. "Someone wants to talk to you," he said. He turned the phone away from his ear, pressing the speaker button to make Skylar's voice be heard.
Spencer looked at the device. "Who?" He asked.
"Hey," Skylar answered. "H-how are you?"
"Sky..." He gave Morgan a threatening look. His eyes were loopy, but he managed to lift them just enough. "I'm fine," he lied again.
"I'm gonna leave that lie uncommented. Anyway, Michael got Cory Jenkins to talk. He told us where to find the antidote's formula, which means we'll get you out of there, Spence. You'll be fine!"
"I- that's- thank you."
"You don't have to thank me. Michael did it, not me."
"How about the-" he coughed, "-the unsubs. Sorry."
Doctor Anderson shot him a glare.
"He's got a meeting scheduled in two hours. We're hoping we can stage the scene enough to filter them out," Skylar explained. "As long as they don't catch wind of this, our plan is solid."
"Was it your plan?" Spencer asked with a tight-lipped smile.
She chuckled. "What would you say if it were?"
"It's technically not a bad plan."
"Technically leaves space for so many objections, Spencer..."
"I just think it's important that you know what you're doing," he admitted. "Statistically, with you, that's not always the case."
"More like never," Morgan cut in.
Skylar scoffed. "I just like taking risks," she said.
"Promise me something?" asked Spencer.
"Anything."
"If anything happens-"
"No, we're not doing this. No goodbye-talk for now!"
"Would you just listen to me, please?" He raised his voice, loud and clear, and then it broke at the highest octave. It went quiet after that. "Sky, whatever happens next, I need you to know that this isn't your fault," he said. "I know you blame yourself, you blame your father, but neither of you has anything to do with this."
There was a moment of silence before she said, "Thank you."
"Thank you for being my friend."
"You're not saying goodbye, Spencer. I'm already on my way to you."
"No, you're not. You're going to drive to the arrest and do it yourself because you were the one who came up with the plan."
"No-"
"Yes! Do it to prove to your father that you're better than him. Do it for yourself. Do it for me."
She hesitated. Spencer stared at her called ID, hearing her breath hit the speaker. She thought about it, she thought about it while waiting in front of the elevator and when she finally answered, he already knew the answer.
"Okay," Skylar said. "But you're going to hold on, okay? Because I'm not saying goodbye even if you are, but if this ends up being the last time I will get to say it and you simply decide it's over, I will be pissed!" The chuckle escaping her parted lips was a sad sound. A sound that broke everyone's heart upon hearing it.
"I promise," said Spencer.
"Good. See you later, alive and kicking." The line went dead.
A silky sheet covered Spencer's vision. He took a step back from the phone. His limbs moved exactly once before he couldn't feel them anymore. Air replaced where his legs used to be. With the sudden loss came dizziness and with dizziness came even more loss of control.
His knees budged underneath his weight and he dropped down like a wet sack of potatoes. He exhaled, but the air wouldn't fill his lungs. Soon, he was gasping for breath. His lungs shrank, deflating his chest and his throat. Not even his organs remember how it was to feel. Lying on the floor, he realized his heartbeat slowing down. Screams erupted around him. Derek called his name. It was faint, wrapped in cotton, and his eyelids fluttered shut.
He started to think, maybe he shouldn't have made that promise. He should've called his mom and said goodbye. He should've thanked Morgan, thanked Garcia, thanked Emily, and thanked Hotch; he should've thanked everyone he's ever loved. Now that his body was paralyzed, he could feel the sudden guilt rushing in. It replaced the pain, replaced the fear.
I'm dying, it's what he had expected.
His eyes closed, finally, and the only picture on his mind was Skylar and how she was laughing so happily, and then even her face disappeared as he slipped into an uncomfortable hole of nothingness.
Waterfront park appeared like it always did. Children were playing, families talking, couples kissing, birds chirping — the picture was as idyllic as it could get.
Lurking behind the trees, the military and FBI had disguised themselves to look like ordinary citizens. They walked among the visitors, lurking behind bushes, lurking with rifles.
"You've got eyes on the bench?" Hotch asked through the earpiece.
"Positive," the sniper answered.
"Good, but remember, we need them alive."
Skylar checked her watch. "Two minutes," she said.
"Are you sure you want to be the one following Jenkins?" Michael asked her.
"I'm the only one that manages to look..." she eyed the people around her, "well, less official."
With her jeans and her sweater, she blended in perfectly with the crowd. It was nearly impossible for a stranger to recognize her as an Agent. Skylar had decided she was best suited to accompany Cory Jenkins so he wouldn't escape while dropping off the delivery at the bench. Even to the untrained eye, her plan seemed rock-solid.
She uncuffed the suspect with a frown on her face. "Don't try anything," she warned.
Cory rubbed his sore wrists and said, "I wouldn't dare."
For the first time, his guilt came off sincere. She could see in his eyes that he meant it. Still, she doubted that he wouldn't have made a run for it if he had gotten the chance.
Hotch gave them a nod, meaning 'go' - the two-hour deadline was over. They had to act fast, Cory had told them. The unsubs counted on punctuality, something about their plans getting messed up otherwise. Alone that made Skylar wonder about just how wide their spider web of criminality was spread already.
She followed Cory closely. He held the small package in his hands. One look to the right, one to the left, and then he dropped it next to the seat. An order came through the earpiece, telling him to turn around. He did as he was told. Just as he turned his torso to walk back towards Skylar, a tingle went down her spine. Someone was watching her. She could feel a pair of oddly familiar eyes on the back of her head, watching her, digging through her. In a moment of weakness, she turned around.
A shot ripped the air in two. Mothers threw their children on the ground in a haste to protect them from the danger. The deafening sound echoed long after it had stopped.
Skylar pulled a gun from the well-hidden holster on her ankle (none other than Hotch himself had ordered her to). She assessed the situation. Everyone was laying on the ground - was there anyone seriously injured? Before she could answer the question herself, Cory fell to the ground. Unlike popular beliefs, you can survive a headshot if it misses certain areas of the brain, but in this case, nothing was missed. A thick pool of blood was building around him and his eyes stood wide open, no life left in his orbs.
Skylar was so focused on the dead body she had failed to protect (again) that she almost missed the second shot. The second, the third, and the fourth.
"Sky, get down!" Hotch yelled through the earpiece.
"You've got a clean shot?" Someone else asked.
"Negative," someone said.
A few meters away, three men appeared. Her blood froze. One of them raised their gun. The bullet traveled a great distance, but — and she had already braced for impact — it never hit her. Instead, Michael groaned loudly as he fell to the floor. She squeezed the trigger at about the same time. She hit her target right in the heart.
The other two suddenly realized that they didn't stand much of a chance. From afar, the sniper set off a shot. It hit the second unsub in the chest — against his order, he had most likely aimed to kill. Skylar raised her gun towards the third and last man. Their eyes met for a split second. He saw her, he recognized her, and then his gun lowered.
"Shot clear," the sniper said into the earpiece.
"Hold!" Hotch ordered.
Skylar believed there was something unspoken between her and the man she had never met before. He knew her, she felt that but how? Her eyes were questioning as they stared at each other. One, two, three seconds passed just staring. After the fourth second, a switch flipped, and he ran.
"I've got eyes on the suspect," Skylar spoke.
"Copy that," Hotch answered.
She knew Michael was smiling at her. In pain, but he was smiling after her. She ran as fast as her heels could carry. Through the masses and grass, wherever the hunt would take her.
Skylar followed the man into a dark alleyway. A fence divided the space right in the middle. Knowing she had him trapped, she raised her gun at him. "There's nowhere to go," she said. His pace slowed down visibly. "It's over, sir! If you surrender yourself now, I can help you..."
"Are you sure about that?" He asked. Judging by his voice, he was smiling.
"Yes."
"Well, that's too bad." Mischievously, he laughed. "Because I am not going to jail!"
The shot hadn't even reached her ears yet before her shoulder started to burn. A metaphorical screwdriver stuck in her skin and someone was violently twisting it further into the muscle; they turned it left and right, up and down until her flesh was parted. That's what it feels like to have a bullet stuck in your shoulder.
Skylar fell back. Black dots danced in her vision. "Shit!" She cursed.
The fence jingled underneath the man's weight. He climbed all the way to the top and jumped down the other side. He already felt inferior.
It was just a bullet, after all. Skylar bit down on her bottom lip as she rolled over. She barely felt the pain. She was angry, rightfully so, and she craved the sweet scent of revenge for what they had done to Spencer, to her father. He was the only one left to punish for answers. The wound in her shoulder didn't seem so important anymore.
Climbing the fence easily counted as torture. Her landing was neither graceful nor perfect, but right after abandoning the black dots from her eyesight, she set back into motion. Skylar checked behind every corner, every container, and every trash pile in the alley. She followed the entire way until she found back to a place in daylight. It was huge but with no one around. She spun on her heel. Empty.
She could feel a hard push from the side. Weight was applied to her torso and her chest. She fought against the strange force, but the man wouldn't budge. He grabbed her throat tightly, cutting off her oxygen supply in an instant. She went limp.
Pictures flashed in front of her eyes; she was suddenly back in that small room, chained to the floor. Hands wrapped around her neck, filthy hands that had been all over her body already. Her brain was filled with fear, regret, and guilt. She loathed herself, disgusted with her body and her soul and everyone she dragged down with her.
Bang! Cold liquid dripped down her face. The grip around her throat loosened. She wasn't in that small room anymore, she was outside. And then the weight fell from her body.
Skylar kicked her legs to relieve his straddling position. She didn't dare to open her eyes until she was sure his breath wasn't in her face anymore. Air rushed by like an airplane. She couldn't feel anything but the throbbing of her heart.
Next to her laid the unsub. Dead. The shot had gone right through his forehead. No doubt the same shooter as before. Skylar prepared herself for the inevitable — the person would target her next. She would die without saying goodbye to anyone. At that moment, she actually welcomed it with open arms, though death never came to her.
She waited almost an entire minute before she dared to sit up. The space was empty, it was only her and the dead body. Whoever had shot the unsub had done so to protect her. They had never wanted to kill her. Coincidence? Skylar rubbed her bloodied face. She couldn't wrap her head around what had happened. The confusion was written in the stranger's blood seeping into her features. Another dead body, another one counted as collateral damage — today's body count: four.
One riddle remained though, who was the mystery shooter and why had they spared Skylar's life?
Hello, there's not much I could say but that I'm sorry. My life has been a mess. My grandpa died,school is being a bitch, we have to move out of our apartment in a few months and on top of all that, my mental health is declining.
My birthday was this week so I tried to do more for myself, but now I'm back and since I parted this chapter in two, I hope that you guys can forgive me if I post again tomorrow (today?) since it's 3am and I should probably sleep.
I will finish the second part and then post it some time around noon. This time it will happen, I just had to part the chapters and still have to spell check part 2. But that just means more for you, yay!
Have a good day!