"I told you, Spencer, I gotta go."
Grey looks to Reid. He's still in bed, as the two of them had been taking a much needed day of rest.
She was out of bed, now, though, adjusting her belt and attempting to look slightly formal.
"Please, Anne, it's only four-thirty. They said five," he drags out, reaching across the bed for her hand.
"You've been hanging out with me 24/7 since Monday," she giggles, grabbing his hand. "I'm not going to be late."
They had just wrapped up the religious murder case yesterday. Morgan and Gideon were able to locate the unsub, and the others found the third victim. She, unfortunately, was dead on arrival.
A few days of paperwork later, everyone was finally back home in Virginia, and Grey was supposed to visit Hazel and Brandon for dinner tonight.
"I'll bring you leftovers, okay?" she says, giving him a reassuring smile, on the verge of laughter.
His face lights up as he responds, "Ah, yay, thank you." He squeezes her hand, shaking it slightly with a grin.
"Of course."
"You look wonderful, by the way. Dare I say that you look caught up on your sleep," he says, laughing through the last few words.
She smiles radiantly, replying, "I slept for a solid ten hours last night. I'm pretty sure that's my record."
Grey then leans over, kissing his forehead and adding, "Seriously, I've got to go. I'll see you later, alright?"
"Mhm. Bye," he happily says, rolling over on the bed and yawning, giving a smile and wave.
She waves back, then picks up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder and leaving the bedroom.
She makes her way to the kitchen, grabbing her car keys off the counter. Shaking and jingling them a bit, she heads toward the door.
As she leaves, Grey makes sure to lock the door, though Reid is still inside. She had never liked leaving it unlocked, and it was only natural.
She walks down a few hallways, approaching the elevators. Clicking the down button, she waits on it to open.
No one was inside when the doors finally opened, which Grey appreciated. Elevator conversations were always awkward, and she had a distaste for them.
While waiting on the elevator to lower, she checks her phone for the umpteenth time, making sure Hazel hadn't called or texted to cancel. It wasn't the type of thing Hazel would do, but it's something Grey consistently worries about, no matter what.
After she puts away her phone, the doors open, prompting her to leave. She steps out, quickly walking through the lobby.
When Grey swings the front doors open, cold air hits her skin, causing her to shiver the slightest bit. It was cooler than she had anticipated. She considers running back inside to grab a coat, but decides against it. She figures she can just turn on the heat once she gets in the car.
Grey does as she had planned, getting in her car and turning up the heat. However, she didn't wait for the temperature to adjust before pulling out of the parking lot.
Her concern had only grown over the past few days regarding tonight. Hotch had said that it was probably going to be a method of revealing some sort of news to Grey. She knew it had to be something important, otherwise Hazel would've just told her over the phone.
Grey didn't have many guesses as to what it would be. She had gone through every possibility she could think of, from an early divorce to the two of them moving out of state. Nothing made sense.
She drives in silence for a while, not even bothering to turn on the radio. Sometimes the quiet was neccessary.
Grey only lived about fifteen minutes away from Hazel and Brandon, so luckily, it wasn't too long of a drive.
It still seems like it's taking forever for her to arrive, though, likely due to the anticipation that was building. She wasn't exactly giddy to learn what the dinner was about, but she was nervous as could be. It was unexplainable right now, and it didn't sit well with her.
She finally pulls up next to their rental home, taking a deep breath and smiling the slightest bit. Despite her worries, she was eager to see Hazel again.
She pulls her keys from the ignition, getting out of her car and walking up to the front door.
Grey knocks a couple times, waiting on someone to answer. After no one responds, she repeats the action.
Eventually, she gives up, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it. As expected, the door opens easily. "Jesus, Hazel," she laughs to herself, criticizing her for leaving the door unlocked.
When Grey steps inside, though, the house is dead silent.
Normally, Hazel was the type to have the TV and radio on all day simply for 'background noise'. It didn't seem usual for her house to be so quiet.
Grey's hypervigilance quickly kicks in, causing her to pull her gun. She knew good and well that Hazel and Brandon were just napping on the couch, or taking a minute to freshen up. After all, she arrived a little early.
She still decides to slowly walk through the kitchen with her weapon drawn, as she was better safe than sorry.
Grey makes her way to the living room, looking over the back of the couch.
She couldn't see much, so she walks around to the front of it, expecting to see Hazel fast asleep.
Grey knows exactly what she'd do if she saw Hazel laying there. She'd put back her gun, get up in Hazel's face, and shout something to wake her. Scaring her always gave Grey a good laugh.
It's not Hazel, though. It's Brandon, slumped down on the couch, blood soaked through his shirt and across the couch.
It takes the breath out of Grey. She isn't sure how to react at first, as that was the last thing she expected.
He was obviously stabbed, and it looked pretty brutal. His eyes are wide open, and his face is frozen with a fearful expression.
In her heart, Grey immediately wants to shout for Hazel and beg for a reply. She could still be alive, even if she was injured.
The agent doesn't do it, though. She was taught how to do a safety sweep on a house, and not using that information would be dangerously ignorant.
Before she steps away, she presses her fingers to the body's throat, checking for a pulse. As expected, there was none.
She heads down a hallway next, trying to cover rooms as quickly as possible.
This happened to be her first time in the house, too, so she was unintentionally taking in the rooms' layouts as well.
One is a small guest room, which contained Hazel's headboard and bed from when she used to live with Grey. Other than that, the room was practically empty.
Another one was a minimalistic bathroom, that was very clearly decorated by Hazel.
The last room in the hall was a bigger one with beige walls, but it was completely empty. There was absolutely nothing in it, like they must have cleared it out for something.
After coming up empty, Grey makes her way back through the living room, avoiding looking at Brandon's body. She approaches what she assumes to be the master bedroom door, and takes a deep breath. She had a bad feeling about it.
Slowly opening the door, her worst fears are immediately met.
What used to be her lovable, dorky college roommate is a lifeless mess of flesh and bone. The body is absolutely eviscerated, and wildly slashed from head to toe. There's so much blood on the bed that Grey is almost certain there's none left in the body.
She was positioned, unlike Brandon. Her arms and legs were spread out to the corners of the bed.
Grey seems to shut down for a moment, staring at the bloody mess. It takes nearly 30 seconds for her to realize what had happened.
Tears immediately start falling down her cheeks, and she stays as quiet as possible, knowing that she still had to check the remaining rooms.
She swings open the closet door, scanning the area. Empty.
Grey checks the master bathroom, which is also empty.
Finally clearing the house, she turns back to the body, staring at it as if she was trying to remember what it looked like before.
There was no point in checking for a pulse this time.
Before she can look any further, Grey spots an envelope on the bedside table. She slowly grabs it, examining it.
It doesn't have an address, or even a stamp. Instead, it simply reads, "Annie" in big letters.
Grey seems like she halfway expected it. Who else would it have been?
She suppresses a sob, ripping open the envelope. She pulls out the piece of paper that was in it, unfolding it.
"Dearest Annie, Hello again. I'm sure you've noticed my handiwork by now, huh? She put up quite the fight, you know. Clearly still lost, though. I even made sure to remind her who I was, and I told her that it was all your fault, Annie. Because it is. Too bad you didn't get to have that dinner. Try and figure out who's next. Talk again soon."
Grey crumples the paper and hurls it across the room, watching it hit the wall and fall to the floor.
Sadness wasn't an option right now. All she had was anger.
She takes a deep breath, trying to figure out what she had to do next.
There was only one thing she could think to do. She pulls out her phone, dropping her purse to the floor after.
Grey searches through her contacts, finally selecting one. She hold the phone up to her ear, waiting on the reciever to pick up.
It takes a minute for it to pick up, but finally, the ringback tone ends.
"Hotch?"
"Grey," the familiar voice answers, "What's wrong?"
She had only said one word, but he could instantly sense the dismay in her tone.
Grey inhales, choking on her words. "Hotch... Hazel, my friend... Hotch, she's dead."
"What? What happened to her?" He expected something simple, like a car accident, or maybe even an unknown illness.
"My father killed her."
His voice sets into a panic as he fires back with questions. "How do you know it was him? Are you in their house?"
"He left a letter," she slowly explains, "I'm still in their house."
"Did you clear the house?" he asks.
"Yes, it's empty." She looks back towards the living room, absentmindedly continuing, "He killed her husband too. He just slaughtered them. He didn't even give a shit, Hotch."
"Grey, focus. I need you to give me the house address, right now."
"134 Adams Morgan."
He sounds like he recognizes the neighborhood, responding, "Good, good. I'm on my way now. Do you want me to stay on the line?"
She shakes her head, immediately denying, "You have to call The Bureau and the EMTS. It's okay, I'll be okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-huh," Grey quickly assures, "You're not too far off, it's okay."
Hotch gives in, saying, "I'll see you soon. You should get out of the house, Grey. Sit on the doorstep or something. Get some fresh air."
"Understood." She hangs up and grabs her purse, keeping her gaze away from the body on the bed as she exits the room.
Before she can get much further, she turns back around, walking back in the room. She approaches the left side of the bed, leaning over and picking up the crumpled ball of paper.
Grey clenches her fist around it, leaving the room once more and making her way back to the front door. She swings it open, stepping outside.
Sitting down at the doorstep, she straightens out the paper, reading it over and over again.
She can't believe that this was how her life was continuing to be.
Grey feels a tear start to fall and instantly brings her knuckles to her face. She wipes it away, silently reminding herself that she couldn't have emotions right now.
This was a war, and she was going to win.
▪︎▪︎▪︎
"Grey!"
Her head shoots up, looking for the origin of the voice. She sees him immediately, as he's pretty much right in front of her.
"Hotch."
He furrows his brow, giving a knowing frown.
Grey stands up, enclosing the space between them in a hug. She resists the urge to cry, slowly mumbling, "He just killed them, Hotch. He just killed them."
It was difficult to let her mind wander beyond that one aching thought.
"I know," he replies, in an attempt to comfort her. "It's okay. We're going to get him, Grey."
She breathes deeply, taking a moment, then slowly letting go of Hotch. "You... You can go in if you want. The scene could use an unbiased point of view," her voice cracks on the last part, realizing that this was just another crime scene.
Simply put, it was normal. This was her everyday job, and she couldn't act like it was any different without being hypocritical.
Grey slowly gives him the folded paper that was in her hand, adding, "Here's the letter." She wanted it out of her hands, away from her presence.
Pressing it into his palm, she unknowingly digs her nails into his hand. She had somehow just now noticed the blood dripping from her left hand, likely from incessant scratching.
He doesn't seem to notice, though, giving her a sad, yet supportive smile and enclosing his fingers around the paper. "Thank you. I'll be right out. The EMTs should be here soon. If they get here before I come outside, send them my way."
She nods, sitting back down on the doorstep and trying not to think about what Hotch was going to be looking at.
Hotch walks into the house, taking in the decor as he enters. He tries to get straight to the point, though, briskly walking into the living room. He didn't want to leave Grey outside for much longer.
He easily spots what she had encountered earlier, looking at the young man's body that was lying on the couch. Hotch assumes that was Hazel's husband that Grey had spoken of.
The man's death looked quick, consisting of a couple stab wounds to the chest. There was still plenty of blood, though, as one would expect.
The choice of weapon made sense, since Grey's father just wanted to indirectly hurt her. It was easy, but it still had plenty of shock value.
Hotch sighs, walking towards the bedroom, taking a coincidentally good guess as to where the other body was.
He's almost as surprised as Grey when she saw the mess, mostly because of how brutal it was. He can't understand how she dealt with seeing that, regardless of her usual unaffected behavior.
The body was barely recognizable as human, slashed and cut from head to toe. The final cut was a slit throat, but there were plenty before that.
She was overpowered and tortured, which, again, was simply to cause Grey distress.
Her father didn't care about these people. He just wanted to unhinge his daughter.
It was a basic profile.
Hotch takes a deep breath, grimacing. The sight nearly made him nauseous, though seeing things like this was a daily occurrence.
This was personal. It involved Grey.
He heads back toward the living room. He had seen enough, and was ready to take a break, at least until the paramedics arrived.
Making his way back to the front door, he takes a quick glance at the wall, noticing an empty frame that was mounted on the wall.
He squints, perplexed by it. No one mounts an empty frame.
Hotch quickly grabs it, taking it off of the wall and opening the front door. "Grey," he calls, getting the agent's attention.
She turns, squinting at the frame he held. "Did you find it empty?"
He nods, asking, "Do you recognize it?"
Grey stands up, taking it from him. She runs her fingers over the wooden frame, mumbling, "Yeah. We both have one. It's a photo from the day we met, when we both moved into our dorm."
She doesn't say anything else, quickly realizing that her father had most likely stolen the photo.
Soon enough, an ambulance pulls up in the driveway, and two paramedics exit the vehicle.
Hotch seems relieved, making a big hand motion and saying, "They're in here, D.O.A."
The two medics rush inside, nodding vigorously. They still acted like the victims could be alive, and Grey seems to appreciate it.
"Did you call the team yet?" Grey asks, not bothering to make eye contact with Hotch.
"No, I thought you may need some time to process this before we start the investigation." He seems to be phrasing it as more if a suggestion than an answer.
Grey shakes her head, denying his statement. "You guys are going to be his next targets. I'm fine. I just need this to be over. Call the team." She gives him a stare, making sure he understood that it wasn't a request.
He nods, pulling out his phone.
"I'll wait in the car," she adds, heading toward Hotch's vehicle.
She opens the passenger side door, getting in and slamming it shut. Letting out a sigh, she closes her eyes, trying to clear her head.
This was never what she wanted. She thought this was all over six years ago.
Grey knew that she was going to have to delve into her past. That was how profiling worked.
That was how victimology worked.
It was going to hurt, and she knew it. Everything that she'd pressed to the back of her memory was going to resurface. All of her old wounds would be reopening, and she would just have to sit and take it.
Grey clenches her fist tightly, opening her eyes and trying to ignore the fact that her old friend was dead.
Her father only did it to distract her, and she knows it. She can't focus on it, or else, she's as good as dead, too.