the reaper
IT'S DARK OUTSIDE WHEN HE SHOWS UP AT HER DOOR. The moon has been high in the sky for hours, and the stars smothered by the city lights. She's got a stomach full of food, and a dessert that pushed her over the edge of satiated right into uncomfortably full. The TV plays low in the background, white noise while she flips through the pages of her textbook and scribbles her notes into the notebook beside it.
Her boyfriend is sprawled on the couch, where she is sitting on the floor, using the coffee table as a makeshift desk. Their close proximity is their makeshift quality time, between their jobs and her education. Silence settled amongst them, but peaceful silence nonetheless.
The knock on the door startles both of them. She shares a confused look with him, but he's already up on his feet, walking across the open floor to peer out the peephole before swinging the door open.
"Agent Hotchner?"
The solemn-faced man gives him a short nod. "Sorry to bother you this late, Agent Bell. Is Jane here?"
"Yeah," Calvin nods hesitantly, brows furrowed worriedly as he turns his head to look at Jane. "It's for you, honey."
Jane pushes herself to her feet, still clutching her pen in her hand as she makes her way over to the door, a smile growing on her face. "Hey, Hotch, what are you doing here? You dropping Jack off for a case?"
He says nothing for a moment, and then sighs, the noise short but disappointed. "Jane. He's back."
The pen clatters to the floor at her feet and Calvin shifts quickly, picking it up and placing a hand on her back to steady her.
"Jane? Baby, you alright?" Calvin looks between his girlfriend and his superior, face twisted in concern. "What's going on, Agent Hotchner?"
Jane reaches around to grab his wrist in her suddenly clammy hand. "Calvin– go, um– go grab our bags, alright?"
"Our– Jane, what's going on? Are we in danger?"
When she meets his gaze, he finds fear in her eyes that he hasn't seen since their first year together, when she was still wary of the real world and of him. Before the trust had sealed itself between them. "It's– it's him, Cal. It's The Reaper."
──────
She was young, when it happened. Not as young as she'd been when her life had first taken a turn for the worst, but young enough.
Young enough to know that no matter how much time passed, this would never leave her.
Interning at the FBI was a dream most people in her degree path could only hope for. Jane got lucky– she truly got lucky, like her name was picked out of a top hat by a magician, or something. Getting into a good school was hard enough, even after she changed her name, so getting picked to intern for the summer in the FBI's Forensics department was something she couldn't even fathom happening to her.
But somehow, some way, the universe had finally decided to give her a meager apology for all it had done to her thus far, and she found herself at Quantico just a week after her freshman year at Harvard came to a close. Not much of a summer break, but Jane hadn't had one of those since she was in 3rd grade, and she was determined to make something of this new identity. Something as distracting as a vacation wasn't anywhere on her mind.
Jane once considered the day she met Aaron Hotchner to be the best day of her life. Somehow, they ran into each other, even though their work took them in opposite directions most of the time. They'd had a paperwork mishap and got to talking, and the younger, less surly version of Hotch had invited her to have dinner with him and his wife, Haley.
Haley, Jane was quick to learn, hated talking about work at dinner. So Jane and Aaron were forced into small talk, and then Jane was somehow convinced to open up just enough for it to trigger Haley's pity and Aaron's empathy, to the point where they welcomed her into their lives with no hesitance.
It was easy to live this adult life with Haley and Hotch as examples of what it could be; blissful marriage, dreams that were supported by your partner, and a future written on the page of every romance novel or movie. Marriage, kids, and a happy ever after. It was the first time Jane had ever seen it and truly believed it could happen. It was all she wanted.
When Haley found out she was pregnant, it was Jane she told first, through her delighted tears and trembling hands. And then it was Hotch, kissing his wife and hugging Jane, and Jane knew she had a family, then.
And then Aaron was assigned to the Reaper's case.
Aaron got called to Boston, and Jane's forensics crew did, too. And somewhere along that vicious road, the Reaper realized how close Detective Shaunessy was to catching him, and he realized that the FBI was encroaching on his territory. So he watched the FBI agent, who had the grim determination that every newbie had to catch their first serial killer.
He watched how the man treated the young girl who came to his crime scenes and took pictures, wrote notes, and carefully handled the people he'd brutalized.
She was young and pretty, and naive looking, and entirely too good at her job, despite the large print on her white lab coat that read 'INTERN'. Little Jane Donovan, the underpaid intern, and the fresh-faced Agent Hotchner, ready to catch their first killer together.
He couldn't have that. So he took her.
He took Jane, and he took Tom Shaunessy, just to prove he could. He kept them for days, and he cut them up. He took turns, making them watch as the other was tortured. The old, weathered detective now wracked with guilt as the young girl was tortured because he wouldn't back down.
He'd been there for the reunion, too, of course. In the distance, through the crowd that had gathered where he'd left her for Agent Hotchner to find.
He'd watched the way Jane had clung to Aaron like a lifeline, bloody and beaten, and the way the guilt had then settled into Aaron's body, leeching what was left of his brighter demeanor. And once he'd negotiated his way into freedom through Tom Shaunessy, he watched as Aaron Hotchner took Jane Donovan home to heal her wounds, and not return until the time came again for him to continue what he loved.
It was only a matter of time before he came back. Jane and Aaron both knew that. They just never expected it to be like this.
──────
Aaron Hotchner is a quiet man. His team is used to it. His silence almost always speaks for him, and they've learned to communicate past his stoniness over the years. Silence, in this line of work, almost always means secretive. And one thing the BAU had yet to truly understand was Aaron Hotchner was a man that had many secrets, ones that he'd die keeping.
Jane Donovan was supposed to stay a secret, after everything. But now, with the Reaper back, it was inevitable that she would be cast in a spotlight by his team. She was one of two anomalies in this case, and it was his fault. That much would show in the evidence, and the reports of her time spent captive with the sadistic killer. And he cared greatly about his team, he did, but they wouldn't understand why he's gone to the lengths he has to keep Jane safe. They'd poke and prod, because it was their job to do so, and all of the time that he and Haley and Jane had put in over the years to preserve her life would be wasted.
That's what the Reaper wanted. He wanted everything to fall apart, because Aaron was capable of catching him, and that's the one thing he would never want. So he'd force Hotch into a corner, where he had no choice but to show parts of his life to his team, to the world, even though the thought of doing so made his skin crawl with anger and discomfort. He'd try and get him to make the same deal that Tom Shaunessy had made, but Hotch wouldn't let it happen again. He wouldn't take the easy route, not if it meant letting a sadistic serial killer live free for another half-decade.
The team was curious about his grim demeanor, he knew. But he'd be keeping his secrets as best as he could without hindering the investigation. He'd been a lawyer before he was an FBI agent– his poker face could rival that of a brick wall. He could keep Jane safe, still.
"The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate,"
Prentiss is quick to question the killer's actions, ever skeptical, never trusting. "So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?"
"Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics." He went from outright murder to torture and release. And Tom Shaunessy had been weak enough to take the deal– to play right into his hand. "Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering."
"He even got it in writing," Spencer notes, a tone of twisted observation in his voice.
JJ shrugs slightly, blonde hair shifting. "He won. Why start killing again?"
"Well, because the only person that knew he won, the person he made the deal with, just died," Derek says, earning a nod of bleak understanding from JJ.
Rossi shifts in the leather seat of the jet, glancing at the team. "Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power. That's why they contact the media."
"So how did he stop for 10 years?" Prentiss tilts her head, poking a hole in Rossi's observation.
"In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died. Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception," Spencer notes, eyes floating over the cover for the book he'd read after they first boarded the jet. He'd read of the Reaper's killings, of his possible whereabouts or identities. None of it added up in a way that was satisfactory, in his opinion, though he supposed that was just how serial killers worked. It never made sense to someone who wasn't them.
"What has he been doing all this time?"
"Planning what he would do if he started killing again,"
Hotch's words earn a low scoff from JJ, who's yet to master her neutrality in the face of the monsters they witnessed.
"So from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons 21 victims. Men, women, all ages, all types," Derek shuffles through the old crime scene photos with furrowed brows. "No specific victimology or M.O. How did you build a profile from there?"
"We didn't," Hotch doesn't take his eyes off the photos, the memories vivid in his mind in the wake of the resurgence of panic and fear the Reaper instilled in people. "Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance."
The members of the BAU simply look at Hotch for a moment, another wave of understanding washing over them as they realize how close-lipped Hotch manages to be about things even while speaking on them. They all hear unsaid words, but they're all well aware there's nothing they can do right now to get him to say any of it.
"BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press."
"Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement," Spencer grimaces, echoing Hotch's words. "The Reaper and the Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. The BTK killer was only caught after 25 years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one."
"Speaking of the media," JJ says, staring down at the evidence bag with Tom Shaunessy's letter from the Reaper in it. "When this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're gonna be all over the Boston police."
Hotch takes a moment before speaking. "The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of finding him. Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office. Set up shop, go through everything there. JJ and Reid, we'll go to the crime scene."
Hotch is already turning away towards the private conference room at the back of the plane before anyone can say anything else.
He pulls his phone out of his suit pocket and dials Jane's number, the line barely ringing through one full time before it picks up.
"Hotch? What's happening? Is there any news?"
"We're almost to Boston now, I'll be heading out to the crime scene first thing. I'll get Boston CSI to send you the photos to examine, alright?"
She heaves a sigh through the phone, the sound both relieved and full of distress. "Thank you,"
"I have to ask, Jane; did you ever receive a letter from the Reaper?"
"W–What? No– no! I didn't even think he sent letters, that's never been his style, has it?"
"No," Hotch notes. "But he sent one to Tom Shaunessy. He blackmailed him into surrendering after he let you both go. That's why we were sent away before we could solve the case."
There's silence for a moment before her voice comes back, thick with the anger he'd felt flood his veins when he first realized what Shaunessy had done. "Aaron, that's–"
"I know. I just had to ask you to make sure there's nothing else we miss this time around."
"No, I– it's fine, I get it. It's a case. You have to cover all your bases. Just, uh– make sure I get those crime scene photos as soon as possible, okay? I want to help as much as I can."
"Of course," Hotch shifts, looking down at his black leather shoes as guilt pinpricks his being. "Jane, I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For all of this. Not solving the case the first time." He clenches his jaw. "If I'd fought Shaunessy a little more, we could've finished this."
He can practically hear the shake of her head on the other line. "Hotch, this isn't your fault. This is exactly what he wants. He wants you to feel bad, he wants me to be scared, but I'm not. I'm not, alright? Because I know that you're going to end it this time, for good."
There's a knock on the door and Hotch turns to face it just as Prentiss pokes her head in. "Yes?"
"The pilot just announced that we're landing soon," She eyes him curiously, the phone still pressed against his ear, and he knows she has questions. It's just a matter of if she'll ask him outright or just try to sniff out clues pertaining to his privacy.
"Thank you, Prentiss," Hotch shifts his gaze, returning his attention to the phone. Emily doesn't leave the doorway, but he doesn't spare her much thought. "I've got to go. Keep Haley and Jack company for me."
"I will. Goodbye, Hotch,"
Hotch slides his phone back into his pocket with no fanfare, and eyes Emily's curious face.
"Babysitter." He intones, not exactly lying. It was usually Jane that watched Jack when he had to go out of town for a case. "She's a friend of Haley's."
Most of the curiosity leaves Emily's face at his half-truth. "I bet she makes great overtime with the hours you work,"
He hums, allowing a smirk to twitch at his lips. Playing the field lightly, just enough to keep them from being too prodding this early on into the case. "I practically sign my checks to her every month."
──────
"Another couple. Much older this time," Rossi looks around the newest crime scene with vague disdain, but his face is carefully neutral after all these years. Hotch is already ducking into the vehicle, blue latex gloves contrasting against his dark suit as he examines the bloody mess. "One shot, one stabbed. No reason to stop out here,"
"His license and registration are out of his wallet," Hotch shines the flashlight onto the blood-spattered cards, brows furrowed into a deep frown as he stands upright again. "Looks like he used a cop ruse."
"Good spot, isolated, few drivers," Rossi nods.
"He left Nina Hale's watch,"
Rossi leans in near the driver's side window, squinting at the dark scene lit up by flashing lights and Hotch's fluorescent flashlight. "Okay, so what'd he take?"
Hotch takes a moment, looking over the scene before his eyes catch on the ring of slightly paler skin around the man's finger. "His wedding ring."
"Arthur and Diane Lanessa, Weymouth. Married 32 years– they were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week," Sergeant O'Mara walked over, his tone coated in disappointment and guilt. "I've gotta go make notification."
"You want company?"
The man shakes his head, pressing his lips together. "I got it."
Hotch tries to ignore the guilt he feels at the man's upset, tries to remind himself that the delay of justice isn't his fault, because he didn't know about the note Shaunessy had gotten. If Jane had gotten one, she would've come to him immediately, he knows it. There's nothing he could've done, only what he can do now, and he won't be stopping until he's caught this time.
Kneeling back down, Hotch shines his light into the mess on the floorboard. "Looks like he went through her purse,"
"Any idea what he was looking for?"
Hotch doesn't answer for a moment, just briefly shifts a few of the discarded items from the woman's purse before he raises his gaze to the sun visor and flips it down.
A crinkled photo falls from it, and he instantly spots the blood soaked into it.
The frown deepens on his face as he stands upright again, clicking his flashlight off as he moves to hand the photo to Rossi.
"The question mark is new,"
Hotch nods, gesturing to the red 'FATE?' sprawled across it. "It's for us. He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had 10 years to save them and that these latest ones are on us."
Rossi raises a thick, dark brow. "You got all that from one question mark, that's impressive,"
"I may know him better than I've let on," Hotch's voice is full of disappointment and he clenches his jaw as he eyes the picture again.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that there is a profile on the Reaper."
"I thought we were called off before we had one,"
Hotch nods, avoiding Rossi's prodding gaze. "We were. I had just started the profile and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case..."
"It stuck with you," Rossi nods knowingly, catching Aaron's guilt-filled eyes.
Aaron sighs shortly. "I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone."
"So you never shared it with anyone,"
"I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't." Aaron shakes his head, feeling the decade's worth of frustration leak out of his pores. "I don't know, maybe if– if I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction."
Rossi eyed him closely. "Now you think you're right,"
"The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be."
The older man nods, handing the desecrated photo back to Hotch. "Okay. Then we need to hear it."
──────
"The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore," Hotch looks out at the police officers watching him, along with the members of his team nearby. "Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger, female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone."
Flashes of Jane's blood-stained face enter his mind. The fear he'd felt even after she was released from the Reaper's captivity, he had known that it wasn't over. When she'd collapsed in his arms, he'd seen what he thought was the extent of the damage, what was considered a miracle, though he'd later learn at the hospital that Jane had been kept alive on purpose.
He still caught glimpses of the scars on her body, and he imagined they decorated her skin just like the only other living victim of the Reaper– George Foyet. Precise, made to inflict pain and draw it out, but not kill. Jane was a message for him, and Hotch had known even then that it wasn't one to be taken lightly. Not after he'd seen the damage the Reaper was capable of.
"Why is he so democratic?" O'Mara asks, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to the FBI agent.
"Because his kills aren't just about his victims," Hotch said. "He needs recognition. He wants us to know."
Rossi speaks up from beside Aaron. "The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims– it's all for us."
"Why?"
"Power," Hotch says simply. "The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him."
"The burden was too much to bear," Rossi catches the Sergeant's eye again. "In a very real sense, Tom Shaunessy was the Reaper's 22nd victim."
Hotch nods in agreement, pointing a finger at the evidence board full of the victims' information. "Like BTK killer Dennis Rader, the Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others."
"I believe our killer has another interest that may give us our best opportunity to catch him," Rossi says, glancing at the mapped out evidence. "The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger woman he spent more time with and stabbed 46 times."
O'Mara is quick to question this lead, though not skeptical of the profile, just desperate to try and understand. "Why?"
"He pays special attention to his younger victims and his weapon of choice with them is the knife. A substitute instrument for bodily penetration."
"And the younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile."
"Hebephile?"
"Someone who's attracted to adolescent, post-pubescent children. Teenagers." Spencer says, looking uncomfortable.
O'Mara shifts, looking just as uncomfortable as he shifts his attention back to Aaron. "There any more proof of this? There's never been sexual trauma."
Hotch nods, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before he heaves a sigh and looks back up at the room at large. "I know you're all under the impression that the only victim to survive the Reaper is George Foyet, but there's another. Her name was Jane Myers."
There's a collective shock from the police officers, but also from his team, and Aaron avoids their prodding gazes as he continues.
"Jane had just turned 18 when the Reaper attacked her. He spent more time with her than anyone else, and she survived it."
"How is that possible? How is there no record of this woman existing in such a high-profile case?"
"Unbeknownst to the FBI at the time, Tom Shaunessy was being blackmailed by the Reaper, and when we were called off the case, it was considered a failure at Quantico. To cover up any mistakes that could have made their way into the press, the FBI made sure no one had ever heard of Jane Myers."
His team's collective look of shock deepens with every word he speaks.
"Jane was kept in a hotel room, here in Boston. Over the course of two days, the Reaper stabbed and mutilated her 78 times, all done in a way that would inflict pain but keep her alive. She was dropped off a few blocks away from the police department, and ran to safety just before she collapsed and was taken to the hospital. In every report, Jane stated that in between the mutilations, he treated her with care, like she was family to him, as is typical amongst hebephiles."
Letting the new information sink in for a moment, Hotch quickly moved on, eyeing the police officers. "Look for men with access to authority. High school teachers, counselors, coaches– and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last 10 years."
Hotch turns to face Prentiss, who'd just walked in, and sends a short nod to the officers as he turns to follow her. "That's all for now. Thank you."
He follows Emily into the office they'd set up in, finding Derek perched on the desk waiting.
"Garcia can't find anything on George Foyet."
Garcia's tinny voice comes through the speaker quickly. "I've got nothing, sir,"
Confusion floods his face. "What do you mean?"
"He's gone," She says simply. "I mean, he's completely off the grid and he's gone."
"How is that possible?"
"9 months after he was released from the hospital, he, uh, quit his job, sold his car, closed his bank accounts, canceled his credit cards, cell phone, apartment, everything. He has no paper, thus he has no trail, and I can't find him, 'cause he's gone."
Hotch tilts his head, catching onto Garcia's unsaid words laced into her tone. "You think it's intentional?"
"It's more than that. Like, even dead people stay on the grid for decades. Take it from me, erasing yourself like this, it's extremely difficult. It takes commitment. You'd have to be willing to cut every tie of everything and everyone you've ever known in your entire life. It's like– it's like killing yourself. I gotta say, this is impressive,"
Emily shrugged slightly, looking between Derek and Hotch. "Well, after what the guy's been through, can you blame him? Foyet's the only living person who knows what the Reaper looks like, and he's still out there."
"But it doesn't change the fact that we still need to find him,"
"I'll keep looking,"
"Garcia, we don't have much time."
"I know, sir,"
Derek shook his head, looking lost in thought. "He would have to completely isolate himself. He's totally alone."
"But," Emily starts with a skeptical tone. "How do you cut all ties? You'd have to talk to someone, right?"
A thought crosses Hotch's mind as his eyes fall to Roy's book laying on the desk, and he pulls out the business card and his phone without hesitation.
"Colson,"
"Roy. Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor."
──────
"How did Colson find this guy?" Rossi looked out the windshield of the SUV, though he occasionally spared a glance at Aaron in the driver's seat the longer they waited for any sign of George Foyet.
"He interviewed Foyet extensively for his book. They kept in touch."
Rossi gave him a short look of disbelief. "They're friends."
"Sort of," Hotch replied, sitting upright as he looked out at the street. "But Foyet wouldn't give him his phone number. He gave him one of his aliases, though."
Hotch moves quickly when he spots the familiar face. "That's him."
He moves slowly as he crosses the street, Rossi in tow, trying to keep his pace steady so he doesn't scare the man before they even get the chance to talk to him.
"George Foyet?"
Hesitance shows on the man's weathered face as he looks between the two men.
"It's okay, we're FBI. This is Agent Rossi, I'm Agent Hotchner," He shows his badge as they approach the man on the sidewalk before folding it and putting it back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "We met once before. Do you remember?"
"Yeah, I remember," Foyet nods, still holding his bag of groceries in one arm. He looks around warily for a moment before looking back at the FBI agents. "Would you mind if we get off the street, please?"
"Sure," Hotch nods, letting the man lead the way up his front porch into his house. He eyes the slight limp of the man's stature, and the cough that seems to break from his lungs every few minutes or so.
Once in the kitchen, Foyet sets the brown bag down on the counter and looks at the agents. "How'd you guys find me?"
"Roy Colson,"
Something akin to betrayal seems to flash over Foyet's face. "Oh,"
George rattles a few pills into his hand, eyeing them. "Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a freelance computer specialist for the city," George throws the pills back with a wince.
"We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible."
Hotch holds the evidence bag with the thin-framed glasses out for Foyet to take. "This yours?"
Shock crosses the man's face as he hesitantly takes the bag from Aaron. "I knew it wasn't a copycat," George shakes his head, both fear and relief lacing his voice.
Before he can say anything else, a coughing fit overtakes him and he turns away from the men to shield his mouth. Rossi hurries to get him a glass of tap water that he takes with gratitude as he sits down.
"Thank you," George keeps his gaze on the table, a decade of fear weighing his shoulders down. "I'm sorry. I– I was gonna propose to her that night, at the restaurant. But I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost, he had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me,"
Rossi shakes his head, pity in his voice. "Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again."
Foyet shakes his head, a noise of grief scoffing off his lips. "I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her 67 times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody 67 times?"
His voice breaks and he's quiet for a moment as he steels himself. "I never found the ring."
Hotch keeps his voice plain as he speaks. "He should've left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held onto them all this time."
Foyet smirks wryly, though it disappears quickly. "What, you think he's got some special interest in me? I've been living with that possibility for the last 11 years."
Rossi takes a short step back as the man stands up again, wiping at his tears with the napkin he'd grabbed. "Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?"
"I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in a car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone to great lengths to make sure none of the things you've just mentioned ever happen."
Rossi nods understandingly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you," He hands the man a small notepad and a pen.
"We can take you someplace safe until this is over,"
"No," Foyet shakes his head immediately. "Boston's my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me."
"Then we'll protect you here,"
Unadulterated fear shows on the man's face. "You can't protect me. Nobody can."
He ducks his head to start writing down his addresses and aliases, oblivious to the look the two men share. "Please be careful with this."
Rossi nods reassuringly. "It's safe with us."
"He's just a man," Hotch says, careful to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he repeats the mantra he's been telling himself for the past few days. "Nothing more."
"Then why can't you catch him?"
"We will."
Rossi and Hotch turn to leave, the older man giving him a short nod. "Thank you for your time,"
Before they're out the door, Foyet stops them. "One more thing,"
Hotch nods urgingly.
"The girl– the other one, who survived back then. Is she..."
"She's still alive," Aaron says, nodding understandingly. "And she's offered up information to help us catch him, just like you have."
Foyet nods, the action hesitant and jerky, like he's been throughout the meeting. "That's good to hear. Thank you, Agents."
──────
"6 bodies. Not including the driver." Rossi looks around the bus in abject disbelief, though he feels as if he shouldn't be surprised at what someone is capable of this far into this line of work. "He put 'em down with the gun, or more likely guns. And finished them off with his knife."
Hotch doesn't look away from the bus driver's collapsed frame, draped halfway over the wheel. "Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring."
"What'd he take?"
Aaron shakes his head, turning to walk off the bus. "Does it matter?"
He walks away from the scene, ducking into the alley a few feet away, Rossi following closely behind him.
"Hey, what's going on with you?"
Aaron lowers his hand from where he'd been rubbing at his forehead, no longer trying to stave off the headache that's been pounding behind his eyes for three days. He turns to face Rossi, anger and guilt woven into his features. "He called me tonight at my hotel and offered me the deal."
"And what did you say?"
"I hung up on him," Hotch sighs. "And then he does this."
Realization hits Rossi and he gives Hotch a wide-eyed look. "So you think this is your fault?"
Aaron tries to steel his quivering lip, ignoring the wetness at his waterline. "It is."
"Well, here, use mine," Rossi unsheathes his gun from its holster, offering the handle to Hotch, who turns away with a roll of his eyes. "No, you convinced me. You hung up on him, you– you you practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us, we'll get this guy without you,"
"Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it!"
"Shaunessy made the deal, the killings stopped. He closed the case and sent the BAU away. For 10 years, you worked on other cases, active cases."
"You don't understand," Aaron shakes his head. "I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile."
"Make me understand then," Rossi says, impatience leaking into his voice. "Tell me what's brought you back here every time."
Hotch clenches his jaw before releasing the tension, straightening his spine in an attempt to wear the shame proudly. "The girl– the one the Reaper let go,"
"Jane Myers?"
Hotch nods. "He took her because of me. I put her in danger because I was young and stupid, and I didn't know what I was dealing with."
"Why would he target an 18 year old girl because of you, Hotch?"
"Because I adopted her," Hotch bites out, Rossi's face falling in shock. "She needed stability, she needed a way to get her life in order. I met her the first year of her internship with Forensics, and I requested that she be brought to Boston so she could get field experience. He was watching– he was always watching, and he saw how close we were. So, he took her and tortured her, and he only gave her back because he got Shaunessy to agree to the deal."
"Aaron," Rossi shakes his head, tone less harsh than before. "You've never told any of us about this girl before. Why?"
"She'd been through a lot by the time I met her, and after we got called off this case the first time, I knew the only reason she'd gotten hurt was because I didn't know what I was dealing with. When we got home, I talked to Quantico and I talked to the D.A., and they agreed to seal her statements on the attack and her identity under her juvenile records. After that, she legally changed her name and once Haley and I got guardianship of her, it was settled. She was a new person, and the murders had stopped. We didn't think there was any reason to worry."
"Until Shaunessy showed you the letter," Rossi finishes, earning a nod from Hotch. "Where is she now?"
"She's in D.C. with Haley and Jack. She's got an apartment with her boyfriend, but they've been staying at my house since I met with Tom Shaunessy."
Rossi heaves a sigh, easing up slightly in light of the new information. "Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything– you go ahead. But that voice in your head, it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron, it's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me, I know."
He pauses, shifting slightly. "And you've kept Jane safe this long. There's no way the Reaper could know if she was still alive or not if you've gone through all of the trouble to keep her safe."
Hotch is silent for a moment, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with a stiff sigh. "You can put that away," He gestures to Rossi's gun, earning a sarcastic look from the man.
"You sure?" Though he teases, he's already got the gun back in the holster.
"It's a little dramatic, don't you think?"
"My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic,"
Aaron attempts a smirk, though it's weak as they walk out of the alley. "Which one?"
Rossi pretends to think for a moment. "All of 'em,"
Hotch pats his back with a nod, looking down at the slightly shorter man. "Thanks,"
"Anytime."
Hotch ducks away from Rossi to approach Colson, slipping to the other side of the bus. "Go ahead and run your story. It won't matter after this."
Colson nods, keeping up with the man's long strides. "I am, but I'm gonna leave the Shaunessy deal out. I don't think the families need to know, not at least until you catch him."
"I appreciate that,"
"Foyet called," The reporter informed the FBI agent. "He wants to see me."
"Is he mad that you gave him to us?"
Roy shrugs slightly, shaking his head. "I just think he doesn't have anyone to talk to, and the Reaper's killing him too, only slower."
Hotch can't help but sigh. "He wouldn't be the first."
──────
"Jane."
"Aaron," Jane says his name with relief pouring through the speaker, and Hotch shifts, turning away from the window so his team can't see him and try to lip read, or read his facial expressions.
"How is everything there?"
"We're all fine. I mean, I've been a nervous wreck, but Calvin's trying to keep me distracted, and Jack just wants me to keep teaching him how to play chess."
Hotch smiles slightly, feels his heart warm at the thought before the guilt kicks away the feeling. "Good. Look, uh– I don't want to add to your stress, but I need to ask you a few questions."
Jane's quiet for a moment, and he imagines she's excusing herself from other people's company. "What's wrong?"
"He left a code. He's never done that before, and we don't know where to start. I'm gonna list these numbers off, and I want you to tell me if they mean anything to you, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah of course. What are they?"
"1488, 201, 1439."
Jane contemplates for a moment, brows furrowing. "No, I can't– nothing comes to mind. It's too long to be a phone number, and too long for an area code."
Hotch glances over, eyes falling to Reid as the younger man examined the numbers with his usual closeness, murmuring under his breath to himself. "Could it be anything else? We've ruled out mathematical problems and equations."
"I... Hold on. Give me a second,"
"Sure,"
Jane covers the speaker as she turns to yell out for Calvin, the sound faintly echoing into Hotch's ear. He can't make out what Calvin says, but he hears Jane ask him a question.
"Can you go get those pictures Hotch sent over earlier? I need to look at something."
Hotch steps back into the conference room, keeping his phone pressed to his ear. Rossi gives him a nod, but Spencer doesn't look up from the photo of the numbers scrawled on the bus windows in blood.
"Hotch," Jane says, voice suddenly back in his ear with an alarming urgency to it. "1439 is the number of the duplex you interviewed the other survivor– Foyet."
"The apartment you interviewed Foyet in today was 1439 Yarbrough," Spencer's voice overlaps with Jane's in his ear, and Hotch's eyes widen as Rossi pulls out the notebook Foyet had written in earlier.
"The other addresses he gave us. 201 South Brookline, 1488 Edenhurst. The numbers on the bus are Foyet's addresses."
Hotch nods, already heading for the door. "We'll split up and cover each address. I've got to go– call me if something changes."
──────
The attack on Morgan and O'Mara had left Hotch rattled. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he knew at the least that Spencer and Rossi both realized it.
He'd been looking through the files for so long the words were starting to blur, and his overall lack of rest throughout the trip was catching up to him. He was scared, surely, but he was more angry than anything. Angry at himself for letting this drag out, letting more people get hurt. And especially angry at the Reaper for being who he was.
It wasn't often that Hotch felt anything in particular for one of their unsubs, but the Reaper stuck with him for so long, he couldn't help but feel pure hatred for the man. The chaos and fear he instilled in the general public was one thing, but knowing the torment he'd inflicted on Jane when she was just getting to start over ignited a burning rage in his chest that he kept smothered and smoked out more often than not.
Heaving a tired sigh, Hotch spoke to the room at large, his team gathered around the table. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"
"He's one of the only surviving victims?" JJ offers up, shrugging. "Besides Jane Myers, but she's out of his range as far as we know. She left Boston with you, and never came back. He's not made any indication of her this whole time."
Hotch nods in agreement. "There's been nothing from Jane. No sign of a letter like Shaunessy or Roy Colson's, and no cold calls or threats. It's Foyet he's focusing on, for some reason, but he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing,"
JJ frowns, eyes falling to one of the victim's photos. "What about the girlfriend? Amanda Bertrand? What– what do we know about her?"
"19, a freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses."
"Michigan," Hotch repeats, brows furrowing on his forehead as he thinks. "Where the Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad."
"That can't be a coincidence," JJ shakes her head.
Rossi frowns, looking down at the papers laid out on the table as he recalls the conversation with Foyet earlier that day. "He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose,"
"But she just got here from Michigan," Derek says, slight confusion in his tired voice. "They only met when the class started."
"How long had she been in the class?"
"Four weeks," Emily says with a slight laugh of disbelief.
"So, it was either love at first sight or what?" JJ says.
"Foyet was lying,"
Hotch nods slowly. "He's a 28 year old teacher's assistant in freshman classes," He turns, picking up the phone to dial Garcia.
"That gives him plenty of access to young girls," Rossi notes, recalling their profile of the killer.
"Garcia,"
"I'm here,"
Hotch moves to put her on speaker phone for the room to hear. He turns, looking to his right. "Uh– what are Foyet's aliases?"
Rossi hands him the notepad and Hotch scans them quickly. "I want you to look up in Boston city records– Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education."
"Well played, sir. So, they all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach Computer Science."
"High school?"
"Yeah," Garcia confirms quickly, her fingers typing away faintly through the line. "Oops. Scratch that, they're not all working for the Department of Education."
Hotch shares a look of surprise with Rossi. "They're not?"
"No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students."
Hotch blinks, immediately recollecting their conversation with Foyet, and all of the comments the man had made. All of the recent actions of the Reaper.
"Hotch?"
He sits upright suddenly, looking around at the team. "Colson went to see Foyet. Garcia, I need you to locate Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is the Reaper."
"Oh, God, uh," Garcia types quickly as Hotch gathers things up, his scrambling movements getting the rest of the team into action. "Okay, triangulating now– I got it. 2633 South Budlong."
"That must be an address that Foyet didn't give us. Let's go,"
──────
"He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back and he inflicted those wounds on himself."
Rossi nods as Hotch speeds along, looking to Derek. "He knew EMS would get there in time to save him,"
"Between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect."
Derek shook his head slightly. "Why would he do it?"
"It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him. None of the statements Jane gave could give us enough information– she never saw his face like Foyet claimed to, and she'd never been face to face with George Foyet since. There was no way for him to be caught."
Derek looks out the windshield, disbelief in his voice. "He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction and still we didn't see it."
Hotch shakes his head. "I don't understand why he never went after Jane. She's never heard from him, after all these years. Someone as intelligent as him would have no problem finding her, even with the name change."
Rossi leaned forward slightly, giving Hotch a concerned look he tried to reel in in Derek's presence. "Take it as a blessing, Hotch. Jane's safe."
Derek looks between the two older men in confusion, but before he could question their vague remarks about Jane, Hotch was skidding to a stop outside of the house.
They all got out as quickly and quietly as possible, and Hotch rounded the front of the vehicle, sending Derek, Emily, and a few other agents around the right side while they took the left around to the side door.
The door opened with no resistance, unlocked, and Rossi followed Hotch with his gun raised, quickly scanning the room as Hotch moved forward.
Coming around the corner into the living room, Hotch's finger hovered over the trigger of his gun as he came face to face with Foyet, holding a gun to Roy Colson's head.
"It's over."
Foyet's head snapped over to him, manic gleam in his eyes darkening, nothing like the frail man he'd posed himself as earlier that day.
He stood quickly, still aiming the gun at Colson's head as he kept his eyes on the FBI agents. "Stop. I'll kill him."
"You need him to write your story,"
"I'm taking him with me," Foyet shakes his head, desperation in his voice. "I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe."
"No, you're not," Hotch's voice is firm and dark, and in the face of anyone else, would leave no room for argument.
In the face of Foyet's narcissism, though, it brokers rage. "I said I'll kill him."
"You kill him, I kill you."
Foyet huffs. "You think I'm afraid to die?"
Hotch is quick to shoot him down. "You're not afraid. You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's going to come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy."
The serial killer smirks, no hesitation in his voice as Derek comes up behind him, gun raised. "I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy,"
With Foyet surrounded by his team, Hotch feels the slightest bit of ease in his shoulders for the first time in days. "Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead."
"If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?"
"That's your choice, not mine." Hotch echoes Rossi's words of reassurance earlier, feeling them ring true like they had. "You're the serial killer."
Something like pride shines in Foyet's eyes. "That's right." He turns to face Morgan, slimy smirk twitching on his features. "Hello, Derek."
Smirking, Foyet uncocks the gun and sets it down on the table, and Morgan wastes no time in grabbing his wrists, slapping the cuffs on him and tightening them to the point of discomfort. He grabs Foyet by the shoulder, jerking him roughly. "Where's my badge?"
Annoyed by his silence, Morgan wrenches his head back by his hair. "Where is it, you son of a bitch?"
"I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize," Foyet shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Aaron.
"You're dreamin'," Morgan shoves him forward, he and Emily pushing past Rossi and Hotch to take him outside to the awaiting police department and FBI agents.
Hotch turns, leaning down to look at Roy. "You okay, Roy?"
The journalist nods, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure they actually got him out of the house. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm okay."
Hotch nods, but he doesn't feel relief like he thought he would after all these years of dreaming about catching the Reaper. He doesn't quite feel that small sense of satisfaction like he'd hoped.
He walks off past Rossi, ignoring the older man's too-knowing gaze, and settles with the fact that he'll be disappointed in himself over this forever.
──────
Jane flinches when Calvin caresses his hand down her head, brushing her hair down her back, but she lets out a sigh and releases the tension from her body as she relaxes into his side. The news plays lowly on the TV, but Jack had fallen asleep on the loveseat so they didn't bother turning it up. Haley had long since gone to bed, with the promise that they'd eventually carry Jack up to his room once they retired to the guest room.
Once Hotch had called her with the news of the Reaper's real identity and his subsequent arrest, Jane had felt a flurry of emotions she couldn't even begin to put names to. For whatever reason, perhaps the small part of her that was proud to be a survivor despite it hardly ever showing, she felt betrayed by the man. She hadn't ever met him or spoken to him directly, but for the past decade, whenever she was reminded of the attack, she was somewhat comforted by the fact that it hadn't just been her that survived a psychopathic serial killer. It made her feel less crazy, if anything, to tell herself that there was someone else out there who had the same nightmares she did, and had the same scars as her.
But to learn that George Foyet was the Reaper had been mind-boggling. It had left her in a distant fog for most of the evening, and she'd not been able to truly relish in the relief that came with him being in police custody once and for all.
On the side table by the couch, her phone screen lit up, vibrating loudly amongst the low tones they'd long since settled into.
Jane winces, glancing over at Jack as she leans out of Calvin's hold to grab her phone.
"Hello?"
"Jane Donovan. I like the new name, sweetheart."
Jane frowns. "Can I ask who I'm speaking to?"
"It's your old friend Georgie."
Jane's heart plummets into her stomach, and a wave of nausea hits her like a tsunami. "W–What?"
"Have you seen the news yet?"
Jane's eyes snap to the TV, and she realizes Calvin has sat up, his focus entirely on the breaking broadcast. The headline flashes in big, bold letters, imprinted into her brain instantly.
'Infamous serial killer escapes prison'
"No," Jane shakes her head, hot tears burning at her eyes. "No, it's–"
"Oh, it's true, honey," His voice makes goosebumps crawl over her skin, and she shivers uncontrollably, catching Calvin's attention. "I want you to pass on a message to our mutual friend, Agent Hotchner. You tell him that he should've taken the deal when I offered it to him."
Jane's voice breaks when she speaks around the lump in her throat. "You can't– you can't do this,"
"But I can, little Jane. And you'll be the first one to know what happens when people disobey me."
The line clicks before Jane can say anything else and her phone clatters out of her hand to the carpeted floor as her arm falls limply into her lap.
"Jane? Jane, are you alright? Who was that?"
Calvin shakes her gently, and she turns to face him, his features blurred by the tears in her eyes.
"He's going to kill me," She breathes out, her words making Calvin drag her into his arms protectively. "He's going to kill us all."
──────
author's note; welcome to the first chapter of the spencer fic reimagined, aka me making my characters more traumatized :) hope you like this 9k chapter bestiolas
edited and published; 8.8.23.
- liz