ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒈𝒐𝒅'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 ❜
chapter no. 016!
❝ THE CONNECTIONS. ❞
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LIAR, A WORD USED TO DESCRIBE SOMEONE WHO TELLS LIES; A WORD USED TO DESCRIBE SOMEONE WHO INTENTIONALLY DECEIVES ANOTHER. Lies serve one of three functions: to be instrumental, interpersonal, or psychological. In the case of Joseph Arthur, his lies served as interpersonal moves of manipulation. It was as if he were playing chess: the more lies he told, the closer he got to checkmating the Queen. He'd lied more than both of his associates did combine, which was something I wasn't expecting. I was anticipating him to solely play mind games with the FBI, but he did just the opposite. He cooperated. He opened his mouth wider than anyone else had—wider than I had.
Pushing through the interrogation door, I stormed out, hot with anger. Before I had entered that room, I was filled with an escapable fear, but now, as I exited, I was prepared to dropkick someone.
"What's wrong?" Spencer asked before anyone else had an opportunity to, his brows scrunched together as he made his way to my side.
Noticing how close he'd gotten, I stepped away, shaking my head, and sighed. "He's a lying douchebag. That's what's wrong." I snapped, running a hand through my hair. This was the most emotion I'd displayed in front of any of them, aside from the good doctor. However, I'd rather them see me angry than vulnerable.
"What'd he lie about?" Morgan asked, crossing his arms.
My eyes flashed to his before I glanced away. "Arthur never needed my father, he needs me," I explained bluntly as I tried to compose myself.
The Unit Chief looked in my direction. "He didn't need Ross Valentine because of what he knew, he needed him because somebody else does. Your father isn't crucial to their endgame." Hotch said, and I nodded, breathing heavily.
"That means that the possibility of the Founding Fathers still being alive is greater than we thought," Rossi stated, glancing at the black-haired man.
I turned my head and glared at the man behind the two-way mirror as the feeling that something else was going on crept back. "Something isn't right," I confessed, tucking my hair behind my ears.
Footsteps approached and I glanced over to see that Jareau had joined me. "What do you mean?" she asked; her eyes trained steadily on the leader.
"Arthur was being truthful when he said my father was alive, but he was lying about not knowing why the others would lie. He knows why. Owen and Farell wouldn't lie if it wasn't a part of the plan; they wouldn't lie if Arthur wasn't going to either. Something had to have happened to cause him to change course. They don't need my father to reach their goal. They need me. This means that my father is needed for something else— something that isn't a part of the plan. Owen insinuated that the Founding Fathers aren't dead. So, let's say that they're alive. They would be the ones that need my father, not Arthur, Farell, or Owen, which would make sense. The three of them aren't the ones in charge. They're simply carrying out orders given to them." I theorized, glancing over at the blonde, whose arms were crossed.
It was silent before Blake spoke up, "Does the song Oh, My Darling Clementine have some sort of sentimental meaning to it? Or a hidden message? He sang it to you and called you Clementine, the supposed woman who the song is about."
I turned around and met her eyes. "Both." I breathed, "Michael Le told me when I was a kid that I reminded him of that song. He would sing it to me when we were alone. I was under the false impression that only the two of us knew about it, but it turns out we're not. I assume Le told Arthur. After all, he was Le's first pick to be the new leader and his favorite member. The similarities between the two of them are uncanny. Arthur purely sang the song to get a rise out of me and to see if I was smart enough to pick up on what happened to my father."
Spencer frowned. "But the song isn't about your father in his eyes. It's about you," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.
"To Le, yes. To Arthur, no." Shaking my head, I sighed silently. "Ruby red lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine, I was no swimmer. That means my father is near a body of water and the only one connected to the Red Scorpions is the San Pedro River. Which is, coincidentally, right across from Fairbank, Arizona. The location of what was supposed to be our new headquarters."
Rossi shook his head, holding his hand up as a way to interrupt me. "Wait, how do you know he was talking about your father? He could have sung that as a taunt," he suggested.
"Everything they do has a meaning behind it, whether it's blatantly obvious or hidden. The Surrey Six killings, the code, the two circles, the ritualistic killings, my arrest, Paradise Lost. All of it has a meaning behind it. Those lyrics have meaning to them. A meaning Arthur knew you all would never figure out." I said, moving my hands as I spoke.
Morgan raised a brow, "But you made the connections?"
I nodded, shrugging as if it were obvious. "My entire life has been built around them and selling narcotics. Do you genuinely believe I wouldn't be able to make a connection to any of what they say or do?" I asked, raising a brow as Morgan had no answer to this. Spencer stared at me, his brows furrowed, and I could tell by the way his eyes were moving left to right that he was trying to read me.
"What other connections were you able to make?" Hotch asked slowly, he was eyeing me as well.
"Remember how I said that I represent Sin to them?" I asked, and everybody nodded. "In Book Two of Paradise Lost, Sin meets her father, Satan, at the gates of Hell. When you first die and get to Hell, you arrive in the woods in front of this gate made of sticks, but between you and the gate, is a river that you must drink from before you can cross over. Once you cross over, you discover that there are two circles of Hell: Limbo and then Hell. Satan crosses over and meets Sin, who is holding the key to the gates. She opens them for him to pass through on his way up to Heaven. The second lyric Arthur sang: Then the miner, forty-niner, soon began to peak and pine, Thought he oughter join his daughter, now he's with his Clementine. They left my father behind in Fairbank to be ablocated. He's going to be leased to someone and that someone is most likely the Founding Fathers.
"Those lyrics from Oh, My Darling Clementine had two meanings. The first one refers to how they left my father behind near the San Pedro River, where the river can be interpreted to represent the gates of Hell. The second one refers to how my father is now being ablocated. Sin meets her father at the gates of Hell and is holding the key. My arrest is the key to the mission and now my father is passing through in Fairbank to make his way into the hands of Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, and Hennessy Lu." I finished, out of breath. That was the most I've spoken the entire duration of time that I've known them.
Spencer frowned, his honey-against-copper eyes still on me and I shifted uncomfortably. Jareau was leaning her chin on her hand as she stared at Arthur; noticeable bags underneath her eyes. I could tell that they were all drained by this case— not that I blamed them. If I had their job I would be too.
Blake was staring at the ground in deep thought as Rossi rocked back on his heels, his eyes closed. Looking at the Unit Chief, I saw that he was already staring at me. I raised a brow questioningly and he glanced away. Adverting my eyes to Morgan, I noticed that he was, once again, watching Spencer. The dark-skinned man seemed to do that a lot: stare at the curly brown-haired man. It was evident that the two had a strong relationship, but something else was occurring.
"I've got to hand it to you, Cara," Jareau spoke, her eyes never once leaving the mirror. "You might be the reason we close this case. For good." I raised my brows and turned my head in her direction.
"She's not wrong. When we close this case, it'll be because of your help." Spencer said softly, shooting me a small smile. "You've impressed all of us."
I wasn't used to flattery or recognition for doing good. Doing good was something punishable and wrong. This was the first time in years that I did good and didn't get brought to Death's knocking door. "Uh, you're welcome," I cleared my throat awkwardly, growing more uncomfortable than before.