Mercy
is for the
Just
by
Disclaimer:
I would have to include a separate novel
if I were to disclaim for all the toys I’m borrowing for this story. The short and sweet of it? Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
Wes Craven, CBS,
etc. etc. etc. If
I’ve forgotten
someone, it’s not because I don’t care; it’s because I couldn’t
remember. Big
statement: Not Mine. Just
playing in the sandbox.
Notes:
To understand much of the storyline involving
certain characters, it will help to read Resurrection
is for the Unbelievers.
The
Chicago of this story, as well as that of Resurrection
is for the Unbelievers bears little resemblance to the real Windy City. Where I could, I tried for
realism, but for
the sake of the narrative, much has been fabricated out of whole cloth. My apologies to any
natives of the city, I’m
sure it’s much nicer than I’ve depicted.
I
am not a profiler in real life, nor do I play one on
TV. Neither am I a
psychologist … in
other words, I’m probably wrong about some things, and I know it, but
hey, it’s
fiction so enjoy!
To
my beta readers, Ann & Tater, a big, heaping helping
of Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.
Love it, Hate it: Razz the Writer: shaych3@yahoo.com
Rain
like a river washed streams of claret from her
fingers. Overhead,
the sky rumbled
sonorously as trenchant waves of water poured over the grayed and
battered
city. Exiting the
shadowed confines of the
alleyway, a figure was caught in the brief flare of a streetlight. Limned in phosphor, the
person paused in the
white-white halo.
Huddled
against a nearby wall, Dazzle Razzle shivered as
another stream of cold water slid down her back.
It was a very slow night, and this stranger was one of the
few
people the prostitute had seen in hours.
She opened her mouth to call out the standard greeting,
but paused when
the figure turned to look in her direction.
Though
hooded, Dazz could see a coppery fringe of hair
peeking out from under the rain-soaked fabric.
Wet runnels of crimson liquid stained the nose and mouth. Dark, ugly splotches of
claret blossomed in
startling array against the pale gray of a worn fleece hoodie.
Whisper
fine threads of fear coiled in the pit of Dazzle
Razzle’s stomach, and she reached up to finger the gaudy silver cross
that
dangled between her breasts.
Swallowing, she met the gaze of the strange woman and was
startled by
the cold, dead eyes that unflinchingly looked back.
Then, the woman smiled, tipped her head back, and laughed
as the
rain rinsed the traces of blood from her face.
Approaching
headlights sent the stranger scurrying off into
the shadows. With a
shudder, Dazzle
muttered, “Damn, she must’ve gotten some fucked up shit.” When she’d realized that
the figure was a
woman, the prostitute had almost challenged her for working what was,
to Dazz, her
corner, but one look at the blood marring the stranger’s features had
staved
off those thoughts. Whatever
John the
crazy newcomer had found, Dazz wanted no part of him.
Removing
a wilted pack of cigarettes from the relative
dryness of her cleavage, Dazz fought with her lighter until a weak
flame was
produced. The
sudden, all-too-short
spark of heat barely sufficed to light the mashed end of her smoke. Taking several long drags,
the prostitute peered
out at the empty streets and sighed.
For a moment, the statuesque call girl considered calling it a night, but visions of her pimp’s angry reprisals kept her feet rooted firmly to the spot. It did not, however, stop her from checking for her mace and her shank. Briefly, she looked to the rooftops as if searching for something or someone, but as always, she spotted nothing.
Are you up there, or are you
home, all safe and dry in the
arms of your woman?
“Before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.”
-Hilda Doolittle
BAU – F.B.I.
Headquarters – Quantico, VIRGINIA
Though
the clock showed
that the hour had long since crept past the point when most of the
other agents
had gone home, three offices still had bars of light shading out from
under
their doors. The
first door bore the
name plaque of Aaron Hotchner. Lead
agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Hotch had poured himself into
the world
of profiling criminals in the wake of his impending divorce.
The next office belonged
to David Rossi. Once
retired, Rossi had
returned to service when Jason Gideon had left after his girlfriend had
been
slain by a serial killer. Driven
by a
decades old search for justice, David Rossi put in extra hours to work
on a
case that had been cold so long, that even the victims’ families had
given up
hope of a resolution.
As the third member of
their informal after hours club and the BAU’s Communications Liaison,
Jennifer,
“JJ”, Jareau, spent more time than any of the other agents ensconced in
her
office, going over files and searching for that one case that required
the
unit’s immediate attention. For
JJ, the
call to duty was not about finding refuge from a personal storm or even
seeking
justice for long silent voices.
Instead, the endless wallow in a flood of evil was about
creating
peace. Those who
had shared the broken
road of the lost, helpless and slain – the families and police officers
involved in the cases – deserved to have the sense of peace that a
solved case
would bring them.
Pinching the bridge of her
nose, JJ looked down at the file spread before her and sighed. This one had all the
earmarks of being a
prime candidate for the BAU. Six
men
found beaten, strangled and mutilated in the alleyways of Chicago’s
Seventeenth
ward. Very little
evidence existed, but
three weeks ago, a witness had come forward and given the police a
description
of a possible suspect. JJ
glanced at
the sketch, noting the Be On the Look Out advisement as well as the
vague
nature of the physical description.
Beyond that, there was not much to go on to assist in
discovering the
identity of the suspect.
It’s better than nothing at
all. The witness had to have been at least semi-sober for
this image
to be so striking.
The fax was smudged, but
not so badly that JJ couldn’t see the boldly drawn picture of a person
whose
eyes were so haunted, they appeared to have just gazed into the deepest
pits of
Hell. With a face
that was narrow and
elfin in nature, it was difficult to tell if the suspect was male or
female,
though the witness had believed it to be a woman.
According to the vital statistics, the suspect was a red
haired,
green-eyed Caucasian between the ages of twenty-four and thirty and had
been
dressed in a gray hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark colored slacks.
JJ sighed and rubbed her
eyes. The
description would likely fit
a number of Chicago’s citizens. Setting
aside the BOLO, JJ shuffled through the rest of the case file, which
consisted
of crime scene photos, evidence logs, witness statements and a
hand-written
note from a Captain MacPherson, begging for the BAU’s assistance.
There was such a note of
desperation in the man’s tersely worded missive that, coupled with the
horrific
crime scene photos, impelled JJ to close the file and stick it onto the
pile
that she would deliver to Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner for
immediate
consideration. Were
there other cases
where the crimes were just as terrible?
Of course, but something about this one had triggered all
of JJ’s
carefully trained instincts, and Hotch trusted that judgment. Gathering the stack of
manila folders, JJ
stood and made her way to her boss’ office.
With a soft knock, she
pushed open the door and said, “Here are the five most pressing cases,
Sir.”
Distractedly, Hotchner
said, “Thank you, JJ. Go
home. Get some rest. I’ll have my choice ready
for you in the morning. You
can brief the team after lunch.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Dimly glowing numerals on
the dashboard clock displayed the time as 10:47.
In the darkness of JJ’s neighborhood, the illumination
seemed
brighter than normal, throwing a haze of green shadows over the
interior of her
car. Pulling into
her driveway, she
glanced around, noting with mild disgust that the post holiday slump
had left
its stamp on the street.
Wilted decorations, dead
Christmas trees festooned with all manner of unwanted ornamentation,
and
garbage cans that overflowed with fragrant, rotting refuse had cropped
up at
the edges of sidewalks and driveways.
JJ
wrinkled her nose and then exited her vehicle, gasping as her feet hit
the
walkway.
A layer of slush caked the
cement, and by the time she reached her porch, the young woman’s feet
were
soaked. Pushing
open her door, JJ
kicked off her heels and grumbled about ruining yet another pair of
hose.
“You’d think I’d remember
to put on a pair of sneakers before leaving the office,” she muttered
as she
turned on lights and gathered her mail.
Without so much as a tank
of fish to keep her company, the agent was less than enthusiastic with
the
prospect of a meal alone, followed by a long night of staring at the
ceiling,
praying that her sleep would be restful.
Most nights, JJ attacked slumber with the same
single-minded
determination that had carried her out of East Allegheny and into one
of the
FBI’s most respected units. Of
late,
though, her dreamscapes had been torn asunder by nightmare visions. It was to be expected,
given the field in
which she worked. What
was not
anticipated, however, were the lushly fanciful dreams wherein she
allowed
herself to act upon certain unprofessional desires.
Staring at the partially
reflective surface of the microwave door, JJ closed her eyes against
her own
image and allowed herself to momentarily wallow in the memory of warm,
velvety
brown eyes twinkling in undisguised merriment.
As though summoned by the tacit permission to dream, the
picture
resolved fully, becoming the woman to whom the eyes belonged.
JJ’s breath caught at the
moment of perfection so quickly supplied by her tired mind: Emily
Prentiss, her
dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, Kevlar vest hanging partially
askew as
she and Derek Morgan traded affectionate jibes after a particularly
grueling
case. It was a rare
glimpse for JJ,
since her role as press liaison often led her to miss the events
following the
apprehension of a suspect.
Surrounded by a bevy of
reporters, JJ had glanced up at just the right second to catch sight of
the
brunette agent. Their
gazes had met,
and JJ was further shocked to be the recipient of one of Emily’s all
too brief,
but heartbreakingly beautiful smiles.
With a sigh, JJ opened her
eyes and allowed the memory to fade.
The clock now read 11:14, and she was hungry.
%%%
Dinner, it turned out,
wasn’t horrible. Of
course, reheating
leftover Chinese from Garcia’s most recent, “Moo shoo and Movies” night
wasn’t
really much of a challenge.
“And to think, Aunt Lilly
spent all that time teaching me to cook,” muttered the young agent as
she
forked through the plateful of Kung Pao chicken.
With the television on low, JJ picked her way through the
meal,
stopping now and then to enjoy a sip from a glass of ruby red merlot.
The vintage, something
French and quite probably expensive, had been Emily’s well-meaning
contribution
to Garcia’s movie night, but had gone untouched in the wake of a
surfeit of
beer, snacks, and junk food. It
had,
however, been broached, so the older agent had suggested they toss out
the
remains. Ever
practical, JJ had instead
taken the bottle home and was now enjoying the warm, full flavor of the
wine. Slowly, a
genial sense of
lassitude settled over her, letting the cares and worries of the day
dissolve
into a comfortably sleepy haze.
She was reaching for the
remote when her phone rang.
“Jareau,” she said,
without looking at the caller ID.
“Hey, JJ, good, I’m glad I
caught you up.” The
slightly husky
tones of Agent Emily Prentiss’ voice reached through the phone and
slapped her
into full wakefulness.
“Is there a problem? Are we being called in?” JJ sat forward, set aside
the wineglass, and
reached for her gun.
“No, no, nothing like
that. It’s really,
nothing,
really. I just-“
The agent’s voice cut
out momentarily and was replaced by the faint noise of car engines.
“What?
Could you repeat that?”
“Crap.
Sorry about that. I
was –“ The agent’s
voice faded again. “-Out
and my car got
a flat. The tow
service won’t be here
for at least an hour to fix it.”
JJ felt the stirrings of a
smile prick the corners of her mouth.
“Can’t you change a tire, Agent Prentiss?”
“Oh sure, I can change a
tire. There’s just
this one little
problem though – the axle’s bent nearly double.
It adds a level of difficulty I hadn’t anticipated. I’m afraid I left my
‘Wonder Woman pills’ in
my other purse today.” There
was a
teasing edge to Emily’s tone.
“Emily!
What the hell happened?”
JJ shot to her feet and grabbed a nearby
pair of sneakers. Shoving
her feet into
them, she grabbed her coat and car keys and headed out of the door
without
turning off the television. “Are
you
all right?” The
huffing cough of her
engine as it turned over almost drowned out Emily’s response.
“I’m fine, JJ,” said Emily
with a laugh. “Really. A little shook up, but
otherwise I’m okay.”
“So where are you?” JJ’s startled sound of
surprise at Emily’s
response was followed by a drawled, “That’s a bit… remote. How’d you happen to get a
flat all the way
out there?”
“I think I hit a brick or
something. Whatever
it was did a number
on the undercarriage, but I’m okay.”
Emily’s laughter turned slightly nervous.
“It’s just that, well, I’m out here, and it’s dark and
quiet, and
funny thing, I have this job where I get to exercise my over-active
imagination
in order to solve crimes that tend to happen in places just like this.”
“Well, I’m on my way, so
just sit tight. I’ll
be there soon.”
“JJ?”
“Yes?”
“Would you just… talk to
me while you drive? I’d
rather not sit
here in the dark with nothing but the wind for company.”
Thoroughly charmed, JJ
smiled and replied, “Sure. What
did you
want to talk about?”
“I don’t know, how about
you tell me what your favorite movie is?”
Office of Lockley and
Associates – Chicago, ILLINOIS
To
the casual observer,
the quaint, two-story turn-of-the-century building located near
downtown
Chicago was little more than the unremarkable business and residence of
one
Kate Lockley and her partner, Elizabeth Blaine.
A detective agency with experience in many of the common
practices of such places, what set Lockley and Associates apart was its
uncommon specialty.
The clientele that passed
through the doors would never suspect that behind the pleasant exterior
of Kate
Lockley’s secretary and assistant lurked secrets that would force the
entire
world to rethink its stance on the supernatural.
Those that populated the deepest, darkest shadows of the
world –
the places beyond even the gray areas where the criminal element made
their
homes – they knew of Kate and her people.
Some, like the former law firm of Wolfram and Hart, had
appreciated their
unique talents, while others considered them a nuisance and a threat.
“Honestly, Boss, don’t you
and Doc ever take a vacation?” Dozens
of small, sluggishly bleeding wounds covered the arms and face of
Kate’s half
demon assistant, Derskingorlus. His
normally teal blue scales were dulled to a pasty gray, and his bright,
lime
green hair hung limply in his eyes.
Sprawled in a chair behind a desk, the half demon looked
over at his
employer and bit back a sigh.
On the other side of the
desk, Kate stood beside her seated partner, Elizabeth Blaine. Biting her tongue in
concentration, the
private investigator chose not to reply as she daubed several small
droplets of
Dermabond onto a gaping wound in the redhead’s arm.
Even though Elizabeth sat perfectly still, it was obvious
that
Kate was having trouble mending the wound.
The torn and shredded flesh bled profusely, and for a
moment, Kate
considered abandoning the glue in favor of a needle and thread.
Putting greater pressure
on Elizabeth’s arm, Kate felt more than saw the other woman’s flinch. When she looked down at
her lover, she
caught the fleeting expression of pain that flared in the other woman’s
eyes. “Just need to
hold this a bit
longer, Doc,” she said soothingly.
“It’s almost done.”
Pain was not a stranger to
Elizabeth Blaine. Once
human, she had
suffered the curse of vampirism, the bleak emptiness of death and
finally
rebirth and bonding to a symbiotic life form known as the Tos ki’Dren. None of the three lives
had been free of
pain, either physical or emotional, though her latest incarnation
certainly
afforded Elizabeth a certain tolerance of the hurts of the flesh. Working with Kate Lockley,
the vampath, as
Elizabeth’s kind was known, had learned that pain was just a part of
the job.
Usually, she could shunt
the hurt aside, but in this case, Elizabeth’s iron will was being
undermined by
hunger. One drastic
side effect of
being a host for the Tos was the development of a form of empathic
telepathy. This
manifested in several
ways, the most basic being a kind of rapport that the vampath could
establish
via touch.
It was through this
empathic bond that the Tos fed, though it also required nourishment in
the form
of caloric intake. After
a long night
of battling monsters, the symbiote had gorged on a surfeit of emotions
and now
needed something a little more solid to top off the more esoteric meal.
With a weak smile,
Elizabeth dropped her control long enough to establish a rapport with
Kate. After three
years of being the
blonde investigator’s lover, the bond was stronger than ever and
falling into
the link was like being wrapped up in a soft, warm blanket. Thought translated to
emotion, which Kate
could easily interpret. Make it
quick, love. I’m starving.
Slowly, Kate released
Elizabeth’s arm, and laid a hand on the vampath’s shoulder. Still joined by their
link, she projected a
reassuring reply of, Not
long now.
Watching them, Dersk felt
a familiar pang of jealousy stir in his gut.
Laying his head against the back of the chair, he groaned
and said,
“Evil warlocks, psycho vampaths, unholy spawn of demons, and the
occasional mad
god – can’t a day go by without a miniature apocalypse?” Lifting his head to eye
his boss and her
lover, he was forced to grin at the gooey faces they were making at
each
other. And I might as well be
singing bad pop songs in a minor demonic dialect for all they’re paying
attention. Those Who Guide and Make,
their cuteness knows no bounds. However, unlike Elizabeth, Dersk
was not a friend of
pain, or its little cousins, ache and exhaustion.
At that very moment, all that the half demon wanted was to
crawl
into bed and sleep for a week. He
looked down at the rents in his brand new jeans and sighed. The pants were ruined. His demonic blood had
stained the fabric in
multiple places, and the wounds were beginning to ache fiercely.
“Dersk,” growled
Elizabeth. “It was
just a pack of
werewolves. That
doesn’t even qualify
as a footprint on the path to an apocalypse, miniature or not. I know you’re hurting, but
right now you
need to just shut up and wait your turn.”
Rolling his eyes, Dersk
said, “Werewolves, schmerewolves.
There
were twelve of them and three of
us. We should have
called Willow and
Kennedy. Ohio isn’t
that far away, and
they’d have loved
to come out and play.”
“Four,” grunted Elizabeth
softly as Kate wrapped a layer of gauze around her arm.
“Father Luke was there, too.”
Strapping one last piece
of tape over the bandage, Kate looked up from her work and said, “I’m
sure we
all would have liked to have had them beside us, but they’re needed at
Slayer
Central right now. We’re
just going to
have to get along without them.”
“Oh, right.
As if a batshit insane coven of vampire
witches is that difficult for a bunch of slayers to handle,” Dersk said
disdainfully.
“It would be if they
weren’t also dealing with demonic interference in local politics, a
possible
dragon sighting, and a projective
telepath with nightmares that make mine look tame,” said Elizabeth. “The slayers have their
hands full and need
all the extra bodies they can get.
Willow is their best chance against the telepath.” The vampath turned to Kate. “I still think that we should have gone with them.”
Raising one pale eyebrow,
Kate said, “And leave Chicago to the werewolves, vampires, and stray
demons
that make the Windy City their home away from Hell?”
She chuckled wryly and added, “My bottom line only lets me
play
hero for so long, Doc. Without
Angel’s
connections to Wolfram and Hart, we need to concentrate on the small
stuff so
we can pay our bills.”
“You’re right.”
Elizabeth sighed, stood, and pressed a
quick, loving kiss onto her lover’s mouth.
“Thanks.”
Kate shrugged as if to
say, “No problem.”
Over the years, they had
worked the after-slay bandaging into a ritual that was as much a part
of their
daily lives as Elizabeth’s supernatural nature or Kate’s fondness for
her
sidearm.
The vampath retrieved a
fresh set of bandages and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “I guess I just like the
chance to go out
and kick a little apocalyptic ass every now and again.”
Kate snorted.
“I’d rather keep to the small stuff like
werewolves, vampires, and cheating husbands, Doc.”
“Don’t forget the
occasional showdown with fire-breathing, multi-clawed, gnarly toothed
Khemdar
rats,” said Dersk airily. “I
mean, really,
Boss. How could you
forget the rats?”
Kate made a face. “My bad.”
Moving over to the desk, she changed her gloves for a
fresh set and then
began to assist Elizabeth in dressing the half-demon’s many injuries. “Go ahead and add Khemdar
rats to that
tally. God knows
I’d not want to forget
the little bastards. They
might try to
eat my garbage can again.”
After they’d finished
gluing, patching, and bandaging each other up, Kate wandered over to
the mini
fridge she had tucked away in the corner of her office and withdrew a
couple of
bottles of orange Gatorade and a vial of viscous, carnation pink liquid. From the top of the
fridge, she retrieved
three plastic cups, and into these, poured a measured amount of the
pink stuff
and then topped them off with the Gatorade.
“Drink up, everyone,” she
said even as Elizabeth and Dersk both made similar faces of disgust. Before leaving, Willow had
made sure to put
together a large batch of the “after slayage” potions that the group
had come
to rely upon to help heal the numerous injuries that went
hand-and-stake with
the work of keeping the worst of Chicago’s supernatural citizens from
turning
the city into another Hellmouth.
In between chugs,
Elizabeth said, “I love Willow dearly, but I swear, if she keeps
tossing
Kennedy’s dirty socks into her ‘pick-me-up’ tonics, I’m going to
scream.” With one,
final gulp, the vampath crumpled
the cup and tossed it into the trash.
“Guh. Okay,
I’m heading out to
find something that doesn’t taste like dirty meth head.
Any requests?”
“Pizza!” crowed Dersk at
the same time that Kate said, “Not pizza!”
“Right, burgers it is
then,” said Elizabeth. As
she ducked
out the door, she added, “I’m going to make sure Father Luke got home
safely,
as well.”
Kate nodded.
“Thank him for me, and tell him he’s invited
to dinner next week. Remember:
no
pizza!”
Pouting, Dersk said, “Why
does girlfriend always trump demonic whipping boy?”
“Because it does,” said
Kate as she took hold of the back of the chair, spun it around, and
shook it,
partially dislodging the half demon, who grudgingly moved to the couch.
There really wasn’t
anything Dersk could say to that, so he just stretched out, closed his
eyes,
and pretended to nap until the vampath returned.
Warrenton &
Rosslyn, VIRGINIA
The
lonely stretch of
highway was completely devoid of any cars other than Emily’s dark sedan. Twin beams of light cut
through the darkness
and illuminated the ruin of the older model Crown Victoria’s
undercarriage. As
JJ pulled in behind the vehicle, she
watched as the passenger door opened and the brunette agent slowly
emerged,
carrying a gym bag and a small, decorative purse.
“You weren’t kidding when
you said it was deserted out here,” said JJ as Emily climbed into her
car. The older
agent was shivering and let out a
soft sigh of relief and appreciation at the comfortably warm
temperature inside
of JJ’s vehicle. Dropping
the gym bag
at her feet, she let her head fall back against the seat and closed her
eyes.
“Oh God, you have no idea
how glad I am to see you,” said Emily.
She let out a long, explosive sigh and added, “It’s damned
cold
tonight.”
“There’s an extra jacket
in the back seat,” said JJ as she carefully maneuvered the sedan back
onto the
freeway. “You sure
you’re okay with
leaving your car?” With
an effort of
will, JJ kept her eyes glued on the road ahead rather than stare at the
amazing
outfit that the older agent was wearing.
From the black leather pants, to the extremely low-cut
silk blouse and
the scarlet heels that did everything but shout, “Fuck me,” Emily was
dressed
to conquer, and JJ was sorely tempted to raise a white flag.
Turning to grab the coat,
Emily said, “Anyone who wants that old thing is welcome to it. It’s followed me from at
least three
different field offices.” She
gave the
old black Crown Vic a parting glance and added, “Besides, the heater’s
busted,
and the radio only gets three different stations, all of them boring.” Pulling on the
fleece-lined denim with a
soft noise of appreciation, Emily settled back into her seat and got
comfortable. Surreptitiously,
the
brunette inhaled and fought to contain a moan of pleasure. Mmm, it smells like JJ’s
perfume, and
it’s warm. At this rate, she may never get it back.
JJ managed not to look too
surprised. “You
drive a Bureau
vehicle?”
Emily shrugged and
gestured to the dirty white drifts of slush that edged the roadway. “Sure.
It’s not like I can use my own wheels in this weather.”
“I’m afraid to ask.” From the corner of her
eye, JJ watched as
Emily first gazed out the window, then at her.
There was a smile lurking
in the shadows of the brunette agent’s eyes. Licking her lips, she
slowly
enunciated, “It’s a motorcycle.”
“You’re shitting me.” Why do I get the feeling that I
should have known this? I bet Garcia
does. Hell, I bet Penelope’s already
wrangled at least one ride with her. Briefly,
the thought of what it would be
like to be on a motorcycle behind Emily Prentiss flashed through JJ’s
mind, and
she nearly groaned aloud. Heat
that had
nothing to do with the temperature of the car caused her cheeks to
redden, and
made JJ grateful for the shadowed darkness within the cab.
“No, I’m as serious as a
heart attack. I
keep it in storage
during the winter months and only take it out when I have time.” Emily shrugged. “There hasn’t been much in
the way of free time available since I
arrived. The bike
is safer where it is,
and it makes more sense to use the Bureau car.”
“You’re just full of
surprises,” JJ said softly as they pulled off the freeway and onto the
street
that led to Emily’s apartment.
Emily’s grin was
contagious. “I’ll
take you for a ride
sometime, if you want.”
Oh I want. I want
way, way too much. A ghostly sensation of
vibrating machinery and the warmth of
pressing her body tight against Emily’s back trilled along her nerves. JJ shook her head, forcing
the fanciful
thoughts to dissipate. “I
don’t think
so. You couldn’t
pay me enough to get
on one of those death traps.”
“I wouldn’t let you get
hurt, JJ,” said Emily softly. Not
ever.
Glancing at Emily, JJ was
struck by the expression of abject longing that flashed in Emily’s eyes
before
the older agent turned her gaze out toward the city.
Don’t make me want what I can’t
have, Emily. It never ends well. This
was not an unfamiliar
moment for JJ. It
seemed that she and
the older agent had been engaged in a shadowy game of flirt and
counter-flirt
since the brunette had joined the BAU.
There was a certain safety in the harmless exchanges, but
over time,
they had changed, becoming less playful and far more serious. A door still stood between
them, yet they
both held the key. It
remained to be
discovered if one or the other would attempt to unlock it.
“So,” JJ said hesitantly
as she searched for a way to change the subject.
“Hot date?”
“What?”
Startled from her reverie, Emily shifted in
the seat and sighed. “No,
no. In fact, I
think tonight should be folded,
spindled and mutilated, and then filed away in the category of ‘What
the hell
was I thinking’.”
JJ grimaced.
“That bad?”
“Worse.
Would you believe I honestly thought I was
on another planet? I
swear, that’s the
last time I let Garcia set me up with one of her friends.”
“Oh God, please tell me
she didn’t set you up with –“
“Her cousin’s best
friend’s half sister’s nephew’s buddy from Arizona?
Oh yes. Did
you know that
there are monsters that walk among us every day?
And I’m not talking about the ones who are candidates for
the
BAU.” Emily pressed
her fingers to her
forehead and groaned. “I
must have
heard every single vampire, chupacabra, and big foot myth ever written.”
Sympathy etched every line
of JJ’s posture even as she tried not to laugh.
Emily sighed.
“Go ahead, laugh. You
know you won’t be happy until you do.”
She tried to frown, but ended up snorting
softly. JJ chuckled. Emily snickered. They looked at each other.
JJ laughed, but then quickly bottled it up, biting her lip.
“Next time, ask me first –
believe me when I say that I’ve met most of Garcia’s extended circle of
friends, and there aren’t many I’d recommend as blind date material.” Least of all Steven
Dunlop. God, what was Garcia thinking?
A droll grin crept across
Emily’s lips and she drawled, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
JJ pulled into the
apartment complex just as the skies opened up and let loose with an
unholy
deluge of rain. Groaning
softly, Emily
started to unbuckle her seatbelt while softly muttering about getting
soaked
before she took three steps.
Hesitantly, JJ reached
across the seat and brushed her fingertips over the sleeve of the
jacket. “Take
this,” she said. “You
can give it back to me when I pick you
up tomorrow.”
At the feather-light
touch, Emily froze. Weakly,
she said,
“You don’t have to do that. I
can take
a cab.”
“Nonsense.
We’re both going to the same place.
In fact, we can stop and get coffee and
avoid having to drink the battery acid at work for at least another
hour.” There was
something tantalizing about the
possibility of catching Emily just as she’d woken, or better yet, fresh
from
the shower, her face still soft from the heat of the water and smelling
of the
marigold body wash JJ knew the older agent preferred.
Emily smiled shyly and bit
back a laugh. There
it was again. That
game that she and JJ played where they
danced around almost flirting, but then would inevitably end with them
backing
away before the light banter moved beyond the safe boundaries of
friendship. How
long should she wait
before replying? How
much time could
fill the space of three heartbeats, and if she allowed the thudding
rhythm to
carry into numbers four and five, did that mean that she was finally
ready to
throw caution to the wind and reach for what she truly wanted?
Her tongue crowded with
words, Emily somehow found the courage to say, “Make it breakfast and
I’ll see
you at six-fifty.”
Now caught on the other
end of the seesaw of tease and counter-tease, JJ allowed herself only a
brief
hesitation before replying, “See you at six-fifty, Agent Prentiss.”
Office of Lockley and
Associates – Chicago, ILLINOIS
Looking up from the
article, Dersk let out a low whistle.
“What an asshole. Doesn’t
that
reporter guy know that blowing the cops’ secrets isn’t going to win him
any
friends on the force?” He
shook his
head and read, “The victim’s chest was covered in rings of bite marks
that, to
this reporter’s untrained eye, appeared to have been deeply bruised as
though
the assailant had sucked on the wounds.”
Lowering the paper, the half demon said, “Oh please, vamps
always go for
the throat. What a
complete
moron.” Scanning
down the paper, he
added, “Heh, Captain Mac sounds like he wants this reporter to take a
long walk
off a short pier.”
“All cops want all
reporters to do that,” said Kate as she served herself dinner. “What’d Mac say?”
“Oh, he confirmed that the
wounds were bite marks and then he said, ‘I refuse, however, to
speculate upon their purpose. Be
assured that we are taking great pains to solve this case.’ Care to
interpret that, Boss?”
Mouth full of spicy glass
noodles, Kate muttered, “Foovies.”
The
choice of Chinese over burgers or the nixed pizza proved to be a
pleasant
surprise. There was
a little restaurant
not far from the agency, and since Kate and her crew had helped to rid
them of
a pesky invasion of Khemdar rats, they were always willing to throw
together
late night meals for the investigator and her associates.
Having lived with Kate for
three years, Elizabeth was the most qualified to interpret her lover’s
mangling
of the language, but even she was taken aback by the phraseology. Raising one ruddy eyebrow,
she delicately
deboned a chicken wing, licked her fingers and said, “Dick, don’t talk
with
your mouth full.”
Kate paused in her
chewing, stuck her tongue out, swallowed, and said, “They’re just about
one
death away from calling the FBI, if they haven’t already.”
“Boss, that’s amazing,”
said Dersk as he dunked an egg roll into a pot of wasabi sauce.
Visibly confused, Kate
said, “What is?”
Around a mouthful of egg
roll, Dersk replied, “You got all that into ‘foovies’.”
He swallowed and added, “I’m
impressed.” Belching,
he reached for a
cup of tea, sipped at the tepid liquid, and then made a face. “Damn, I hate it when it
goes cold.” Spinning
around in the chair, he stuck the
cup into a nearby microwave and squinted at the appliance’s faceplate. After a few seconds’
perusal, he punched two
buttons and waited.
“Fibbies,” said Kate, and
then she took another bite of her glass noodles.
“Huh?”
Dersk paused in his efforts to reheat his tea
and shot Kate a look of pure confusion.
“I believe that’s cop talk
for, ‘FBI’,” said Elizabeth. Turning
to
Kate she added, “Really honey, you mustn’t confuse the poor boy. His brain’s melting out of
his ears right now
from all that wasabi and hot mustard.”
“Oh ha-fucking-ha,” said
Dersk as he stuck his tongue out at the vampath.
“Just because I like my food to bite back…”
Elizabeth grinned,
revealing the growing length of her fangs.
“Be careful what you wish for, Snake Boy.”
The microwave dinged, and
Dersk retrieved his tea. Blowing
on the
now steaming liquid, the half demon said, “Funny, you don’t look like a
carton
of General Tsao’s best.” He
eyed the
cooling remnants of the dish and grinned.
Dropping her fork into the
now empty container, Kate said, “Go ahead.
I’m stuffed.” She
leaned back in
her chair and patted her stomach contentedly.
Glancing at the clock revealed the time to be close to one
in the
morning. Plenty of time,
then. “When
you’re done, head over to Bash’Ems and find out what the mood is among
the
nonhumans. A
headline like this is
bound to ruffle a few feathers.”
“And scales, fangs, and
claws, too,” said Elizabeth wryly.
Standing, she brushed crumbs from her shirt and said, “I’m
off for
patrol.”
Kate caught her hand and
pulled her close, butting her head against the vampath’s abdomen. “Don’t stay out too long. We’ve already had a long
night.” Double standard much,
Kate? She’s a big girl, just like Dersk is a big
boy. Still,
the investigator left her head resting against her lover’s belly,
content to
listen to the faint thud of Elizabeth’s heartbeat.
Combing her fingers
through Kate’s hair, Elizabeth said, “I’ll take the short route. It’s just… maybe I can get
a handle on this
SOB’s identity. Give
the CPD a late Christmas
present.”
Dersk stood as well. Shrugging
into his leather
jacket and
morphing into his human guise, the half demon said, “Just don’t bite
off more
than you can chew, Doc. I’m
not in the
mood to be hauling bits of you back home so the Boss can patch you up. Again.”
“Love you too, Snake Boy,”
said the vampath as she flashed Dersk the bird and then bent to kiss
her lover
on the forehead. As
she turned toward
the weapons closet, she was stopped short by a tug on her belt loop.
“I think you can do better
than that,” Kate said as she stood and drew even with her lover.
The lascivious glint that
sparked in the vampath’s eyes was all the invitation Kate needed to
draw her
lover down into a long, heartfelt kiss.
Falling into the empathic rapport that was part and parcel
of
Elizabeth’s nature, Kate smiled and hummed softly as their love
expanded to
puddle around them, cocooning them in a warm blanket of desire that had
only
grown stronger as the years passed.
When
she had first fallen for the vampath, Kate would not have been able to
imagine
herself three years down the road, and still deeply in love with
Elizabeth, but
now, she was content to look at a future of tomorrows where she and
Elizabeth
would grow old together.
With a gentle bite to the
vampath’s lower lip, Kate whispered, “Hurry home, dear.”
JJ tried.
She really tried not to let her gaze drift
down Emily’s half-clad, tousled, and mussed appearance, but she just
couldn’t
stop herself.
“Am I too early?” she
asked, while holding up a bag that was wafting delicious scents in
Emily’s
direction and a crate containing two steaming cups of coffee.
Blinking owlishly, Emily
shook her head. Is she checking
me out? She’s checking me out!
“I overslept,”
she said sheepishly. “Late night, you know?”
Stepping away from the door, she indicated that the blonde
agent should
enter.
JJ slid by the brunette
with a smile. “I’ll
get this set out –
why don’t you finish waking up?” Oh
God, this was a bad idea. I am never going to get that image
out of my
head. That
the picture of Emily Prentiss in the morning would be so much more
pleasant
than the thousand shades of evil she had to observe on a daily basis
had
already occurred to JJ, and the silent protest was a weak one at best. In time, she would come to
cherish this
memory like a beloved stuffed animal; it would be the perfect armor
against the
ever-rolling onslaught of ugliness that battered at her psyche every
day.
Still bemused by the
blatant ogling that JJ had given her, Emily found herself nodding and
saying,
“Okay.” When she
returned from the
bathroom, plates, bagels, and little tubs of cream cheese had been set
upon the
table. It was far
too homey for Emily,
and she had to fight to keep from wrapping up the blonde agent in an
affectionate embrace that was far more than friendly.
You are co-workers,
Em.
Jennifer Jareau is not one of your take-home party dates. No
liberties, okay? You’re finally where you want to be, where
you’ve dreamed of being for years.
Don’t fuck it up by hitting on someone who works with you.
“This looks great, JJ, but
you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” said Emily with a smile as
she sat
at the table. “We
could have gone to
McDonalds.”
The face JJ made was so
comical that Emily couldn’t help but laugh.
“I think not,” said JJ
darkly. “Breakfast
is not a time to
pack your belly with grease, chemicals, and more grease.”
“Ew,” said Emily,
wrinkling her nose. “I
may never eat
there again, now.”
Taking a seat opposite to
the brunette, JJ said, “That’s the point.
Here, try this.” She
proffered a
small jar of jam. “My
aunt makes it.”
Emily hefted the container
of dark purple preserves. It
was still
sealed and had no label other than a wax impression of an
unidentifiable fruit
affixed to the lid. “What
is it?”
“It’s jam, silly. Put
some on your bagel and
try it.”
Licking her lips
thoughtfully, Emily gave the lid a twist and was surprised when it
popped open
rather easily.
JJ chuckled and said, “I
loosened it for you.”
Eyeing the blonde
communications liaison, Emily said, “How long did you work at it?”
With an enigmatic smile,
JJ replied, “Just try the jam, Emily.
We do have to be in at eight.”
Snickering softly, Emily
lifted the lid away from the jar and took a whiff of the contents. The scent immediately
reminded her of lazy
summer afternoons wandering in the Alps, gathering wild berries with
her
grandfather. Without
hesitation, she
dipped the tip of a finger into the spread and tasted it. The flavor that exploded
in her mouth made
her moan in gustatory appreciation.
“Black raspberry.
Delicious.” Heaping
a generous
portion onto her bagel, she passed the jar back to an open-mouthed JJ.
Flummoxed by the sight of
Emily’s unhesitatingly visceral enjoyment of the spread, JJ took the
jar and
absently slathered jam onto her own breakfast.
What
the hell kind of a dance is this? How much longer can we
pretend that we don’t know what’s
happening?
The business of eating
pushed aside conversation, but the lack of verbal communication did
nothing to
dispel the growing tension that was oddly comforting.
Several times, each woman looked up, only to find the
other
staring at them, a bemused, somewhat confused expression slowly growing
in
their eyes. Every
breath grew more
fraught with words that clamored for the chance to be heard.
“JJ-“ Emily said, her
voice a bit strangled with the struggle to not blurt the
stomach-churning
emotions that were turning a simple breakfast into an effort of will.
JJ forgot to breathe.
A phone chimed, another
buzzed, and responses so habitual, they were programmed, found both
women
answering with the short, but typical, “Prentiss” and “Jareau”.
“Yes, Sir.
No, Sir, I have not.
Right.
First thing when I get in.”
JJ’s
face had lost all trace of its uncertainty as she effortlessly slid
into her
role as communications liaison.
“Hey, Garcia.
What’s up?”
Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s technical analyst and resident
information
guru, had become one of Emily’s best friends.
Since an incident the previous year wherein Penelope had
been shot, the
brunette agent had made it a point to get to know the quirky woman who
was so
important to JJ. In
Garcia, Emily had
found someone she could confide her secrets, even when they involved a
certain
blonde communications liaison. From
the
beginning, Penelope had made it plain to Emily that trust was of
paramount
importance to her. Over
movie nights,
shared meals, and the occasional shopping trip, both with and without
JJ, Emily
had come to rely upon that honesty and had begun to share some of her
life with
the analyst.
“The sun, Biker Mama. And…
a little bird told me
you had a wee bit
of trouble last night. I
was just
checking in to make sure you’re all right.”
Unlike JJ, Penelope had loved the idea of Emily on a
motorcycle and had
made the agent promise to take her for a spin the first chance she
could get.
Emily chuckled.
“I’m fine, Penelope.
JJ was kind enough to provide a timely
rescue.”
“Oh?”
There was a wealth of meaning crammed into
the single syllable. Laughing
delightedly, Garcia said, “Well don’t dilly-dally on my account. Tell Garcia all about it,
Stud.”
“Maybe later.”
“Maybe?” Garcia
squawked. “Oh, I do
not think so,
Missy. You will not
be holding out on
anything this juicy. Now
spill
it.” When Emily did
not respond, Garcia
began to ponder. She
also turned up the
volume on her phone. At
the edge of the
highest point, she heard a very familiar voice.
The wicked smile that lit up her face could have powered
half of
DC. “Oh you
naughty, naughty girl,” she
drawled.
“What?
What’d I do now?”
Garcia chuckled.
“You, my little stud-muffin biker mama, are
having breakfast with the object of your affections, are you not?”
Emily winced.
“Yes,” she squeaked, sparing a moment to
glance at said object, who was, to Emily’s relief, deep in her own
conversation.
“Say no more, my
girlie-girl. Go. Shoo.
Enjoy the most important meal of the day.
But-“ She paused and sighed wistfully.
“I want details. Lots
and
lots of details, got me?”
Feigning nonchalance,
Emily said, “We’ll see.”
“Finish your breakfast,
Biker Mama. You’ll
need all your brain
cells a-humming and a-jumping so you can go to work and be big strong
profiler
woman.”
Rolling her eyes, Emily
said, “Goodbye, Garcia.”
On the heels of the
analyst’s laughter, the line went dead.
Setting aside her phone, Emily picked at the remainder of
her breakfast
while JJ continued her conversation.
In
the interim, a pad of paper and pen had appeared, and the
communications
liaison was busily taking notes. Every
so often, she would set her pen aside and take a delicate bite of bagel
or a
sip of coffee.
It was quite methodical,
Emily decided after a few minutes of observation.
JJ would write a few lines, take a bite of bagel, write a
few
more lines, and then take a drink of coffee.
Then the cycle would start all over again.
Just when it looked like the conversation would outlast
the
breakfast, JJ nodded and said a final, “Yes, Sir.
I’m on my way in now, Sir.”
Ending the call, she sighed heavily and said, “Are you
ready? One of the
cases up for review has another
body. Hotch wants
me to get the files
ready for the team to go over by ten.”
There wasn’t much left to
her breakfast, so Emily stood and said, “Sure.
Just let me get my gun.”
After
depositing their dishes in the sink, the brunette walked to the wall
opposite
her kitchen, opened up a panel, depressed a series of numbers into a
keypad,
and removed her service sidearm and badge.
Holstering the weapon, she pulled on a charcoal gray suit
jacket and
said, “After you,” to the waiting JJ.
Unavoidably, there was a
strained quality in the air between the two women.
It was as if everything had suddenly become brittle like
frozen
glass. Those
unspoken words that had
fought so hard to be heard were now hiding in the rapidly growing mire
of work,
duty, and propriety. Emily
allowed
herself a moment’s self pity before stowing her thoughts and desires
into one
of her favorite compartments.
Glancing at JJ, she
realized that someday soon, they would have to talk, but today would
not be
that day.
BAU – FBI Headquarters
– Quantico, VIRGINIA
JJ
felt like she was a
million miles away. File
folders, crime
scene photos, and endless sheaves of police reports fanned over her
desk, and
yet, all she could see when she closed her eyes was the look on Emily’s
face in
that moment before Hotch’s call had derailed her morning.
With a small sigh of
regret, JJ gathered up the files and headed for the bullpen. Meeting the eyes of the
team, she glanced
toward the conference room and was soon followed by the rest of the
agents. Their boss,
Aaron Hotchner, was
the last to enter the room. Closing
the
door behind him, Hotch crossed to stand next to JJ as she passed around
the
file folders for the case that had been chosen as their next job.
“Chicago has a serial
preying upon young men in ward seventeen,” said JJ without preamble as
she took
her place at the head of the oval table.
“Over the last nine
months, six men have been found beaten, strangled, and mutilated in and
around
the alleyways near known prostitute strolls,” added Hotch as he took a
seat. The others
mirrored their boss,
choosing places around the table and opening files.
JJ picked up the remote
and began to shuffle through the slides in the presentation. On the screen, the panoply
of gory images
began to flash, starting with the image of a young man; his body bent
at an
impossible angle, lying as though tossed aside like so much refuse. The next photo was taken
from a closer
position and detailed a series of deep bite marks that covered his
chest and
torso, most notably in a ring pattern around the pectoral muscles. Around his throat, a
ligature mark that
appeared to have been made by a thin, twisted implement had swollen and
puffed
into a gross caricature of a necklace.
His face was a mass of fresh cuts and bruises.
The pictures of six more
victims appeared, all bearing a similar pattern of violence.
“The bite marks are both
ante and perimortem; the bruises definitely antemortem – they show
signs of
healing.” Looking
from the screen to
the agents, JJ said, “This morning, the latest victim was discovered in
an
alley behind a local bar.”
Emily winced at the images
displayed on the screen. “With
that
much violence, the victim must have made some noise.
Someone might have heard the commotion.”
Agent Derek Morgan, a
native of Chicago, snorted. “That’s
if
they weren’t spaced out or busy.”
Shaking his head, he said, “It’s going to be tough to find
someone willing
to talk about anything hinky in that neighborhood.”
“Are you kidding? It’s
going to be difficult
getting anyone to
talk about the weather in that neighborhood,” said Emily. “It’s been seven years or
so since I’ve been
in the area, but it can’t have changed that much.”
Before coming to the BAU, the brunette agent had worked in
field
offices in Chicago and St. Louis.
Hotch nodded at the two
agents. “I know,
which is why I’m
counting on your ties to the community to help.”
Morgan frowned, but said,
“Right.” The last
time he’d been home,
he’d been a suspect in a serial murder case that had ended with his
vindication, but had resulted in a very prominent man in his
neighborhood being
arrested for the crime. There
were
bound to be a few people who would still view him with more than a
little
suspicion. Trust
would be hard
won. “I’ll give
Gordinski a call and
see if he can point me in the right direction.”
Emily shrugged.
“I’ll talk to some people.
They might be able to offer a few names.”
Dr. Spencer Reid looked up
from his perusal of the case file and said, “Anecdotal evidence
suggests that
the clients of prostitutes come from a vast array of backgrounds and
profiles –
all of these victims appear to be between the ages of twenty-one and
thirty-four. Also,
all of these men have hair that is a
rather specific shade of red. I’d
be
interested to know if the color is natural.”
Pressing his knuckles against his lip, he added, “Violence
against
prostitutes is common – nearly sixty percent of reported cases are
perpetrated
by the clients.”
Hotch nodded.
“Right, that’s why I want you to geoprofile
the neighborhood. With
the victims
being of such a clear type, I’d like to nail down a target area for the
police
to investigate.”
“None of these men look
like they need to sell themselves to earn money,” said Emily. “Victim number five is
wearing Armani
loafers and number two has a Patek Phillipe on his wrist. I don’t think they were
hooking.”
“Garcia, I want you to
check into the backgrounds of the victims.
Try to see if you can find out why they were in the area,”
said Hotch.
“I’m on it,” said Garcia
with a nod as she gathered up copies of the files and headed for her
office.
“Any thoughts, Dave?” Hotch
turned his attention
on the elder
statesmen of their group. David
Rossi
had been one of the men who had first put together the BAU. Once retired, the older
man had returned to
active duty when another agent had abruptly left the team.
Rossi frowned and stroked
his short, neatly trimmed beard. “There’s
something odd about this one, Hotch.”
Thumbing through the pictures, he shook his
head and added, “I’m not sure. I
need
to think on it some more. Maybe
on the
plane, I’ll have something to add.”
Hotchner nodded.
“All right everyone, gather your ready
bags. Wheels up in
forty.”
Apartment of
Elizabeth
Blaine and Kate Lockley – Chicago, ILLINOIS
Awakening
to the insistent
tease of teeth over a rapidly hardening nipple, Kate opened her eyes
and looked
down at her lover. With
a soft moan,
the investigator slid her hands into Elizabeth’s hair and tugged.
“C’mere,” she murmured
huskily.
“Mm, morning love.” Elizabeth
allowed herself
to be drawn up
into a long series of slow, open-mouthed kisses that grew more and more
heated
as the fuzziness of sleep gave way to their insistent desire. Like a warm, golden flood
of sunshine,
Kate’s love flowed into the vampath, filling all the shadowed sections
of her
heart with joy.
Three years, Elizabeth
thought as she floated in the blissful radiance of their passion. There’ve been so many times when
we
could have failed. When the monsters
we’ve faced might have destroyed what we have.
Instead, we grew stronger, and our love deeper.
Humbled,
the
vampath offered a silent prayer of thanks.
Every day, I know that my second chance was
the greatest blessing
I’ll ever receive.
It had not all been
roses
and chocolate truffles. In
any given
relationship, troubles were bound to spring up around
miscommunications, which
would in turn, lead to a better understanding between the couple
involved. Not so,
with regard to Elizabeth and
Kate. The nature of
the vampath’s
abilities meant that Kate could rarely hide her feelings from Elizabeth. More than once, Kate had
tossed Elizabeth out
of the apartment until she was ready to talk.
Unfortunately, the emotional highway was not a two-way
street, and
Elizabeth often buried her own emotions rather than burden Kate with
her
troubles. It was a
situation that
irritated the blonde investigator to no end, and “Talk to me, damn it!”
had
become a familiar refrain to their arguments.
Three years, and the
determination not to give up on their relationship, had given them time
to
adapt. Elizabeth
learned to be more
forthcoming, while Kate accepted that sometimes, the vampath just
needed to be
near her, even if she could do nothing to help.
Most of the time, the compromise worked.
In the rare moments, when
no equal ground could be found, it was hell for both women. Yet they would never trade
any minute of
their time together for a different path.
One surprising benefit of
their relationship came from the Tos ki’Dren itself.
Not only did the symbiote grant Elizabeth a host of
supernatural
abilities – Willow had theorized that the entity was just protecting
itself
because, in its natural state, the Tos was extremely vulnerable – but
Kate had
developed some unusual skills as well.
Again, it was Willow who postulated that because Kate was
Elizabeth’s
chosen mate, the Tos had chosen to confer some small powers to her in
order to
keep the vampath happy. The
transfer of
powers wasn’t much, but Kate’s wounds tended to heal faster, and she
could,
sometimes, sense subtle emotions from the people around her.
Dersk called it Kate’s
“BS-o-meter”. Everyone
else just
accepted it as a part of the nature of the paranormal – it had a
tendency to
rub off on anyone who was around it for long.
Staring too long into the shadows inevitably meant that
something was
bound to look back, and in Kate’s case, that something was actually
beneficial,
if at times a little disconcerting.
When given to speak on it,
Kate would alternately praise and curse the gifts of the Tos, depending
on if
they were being helpful or just another nuisance.
All in all, the investigator was happy to take full
advantage of
the symbiote.
For her part, Elizabeth
was just grateful to have found someone who loved her despite her
rather unique
history.
As Kate’s hands began to
slip and skid their way down Elizabeth’s body, the vampath pushed aside
trivial
thoughts to concentrate fully upon showing her lover just how glad she
was to
be awake.
%%%
Later, as Kate was working
on a skip trace and Elizabeth was running sword drills in the back
room, Dersk
related what he had learned from the nonhuman community.
Perched on a stool midway
between his boss and her partner, the half demon rubbed at his eyes,
yawned and
said, “Well, the general consensus is that it’s not one of us.” He lit a cigarette, took
several drags, and said,
“Demons eat their victims, vamps turn ‘em, and everyone else knows
better than
to leave their trash lying around for the mortals to find.”
Elizabeth paused in her
exercises while Kate shot the half demon a mildly annoyed look.
Dersk shrugged and said,
“Hey, I don’t make the prevailing opinions, I just relate them.”
“Has anyone seen
anything? It’s all
well and good for
the boys at Bash’Ems to hold up their appendages and play innocent, but
if I
know anything about that crowd, it’s that they appreciate a good kill. It’s like crack for them –
some of them
would do anything for a ring side seat.”
Elizabeth stowed her sword and pulled out a pair of wicked
looking
daggers. Repositioning
the practice
dummy, the vampath began to attack it with a single-minded intensity
that made
Dersk shiver just to watch.
“I didn’t pick up anything
about a new pastime among the blood magickers, but that doesn’t mean
anything. They
prefer to do their own
dirty work. However,
I did overhear a
couple of baby vamps talking about a freebie they picked up from some
guy’s
leftovers, so maybe they might have seen something.
I’ll ask around at Flugrut’s later.”
Dersk yawned again and then dug around in his jacket
pocket. “Pollatrix
gave me this.” He
offered his boss a folded, stained, and
rather fragrant piece of paper.
Delicately, Kate accepted
it, wrinkling her nose at the odor.
“I
don’t suppose you’ve been able to convince him to bathe more
frequently?” She
unfolded it, revealing a police sketch
and BOLO request.
“He’s a refuse demon, Boss. I
gather that the more
fragrant he makes
himself, the more he attracts mates.”
“That is not a mental
image I’d like to carry around for the rest of my life,” said Elizabeth
as she
wandered into the office to take a look at the BOLO.
Wearing only a sports bra and lightweight track pants, the
vampath’s toned and muscular body revealed more than an unusually pale
skin
tone. Roped and
coiled over her arms
and shoulders was a series of tattooed thorns, all done in blackwork. Here and there, tiny spots
of color picked
out the shapes of budding roses, but those were few and far between. On her abdomen, the
figures of two
beautifully illustrated dragons faced each other, framing the vampath’s
navel. As she
turned, Dersk noticed a new addition
to Elizabeth’s body art.
“Hey, when did you get new
ink?” Perched on
one of the thorny
branches, the new dragon looked out at the world with eyes that matched
Kate’s,
and in its claws, it held a stylized key.
“Just before Christmas,”
said Elizabeth. “It
was a gift from
Willow.”
“Oh, well it’s
gorgeous.” Dersk
knew that the
vampath’s body art was something more than a visual affectation or
expression
of her counter-culture nature. Just
exactly what it meant, he never quite understood, but he knew that it
had something
to do with her need to make amends for her actions as a vampire. Though she had not had
quite the same
reputation as say, Angelus, or to a lesser degree, Spike, the vampiric
Elizabeth Blaine had still managed to leave an impression on the
nonhuman world.
And now, the vampathic
version
leaves another kind of
mark. I bet it stings a hell of a lot
more than the first one. Dersk
grinned. In battle,
Elizabeth was all fury and fire. Driven
by the innate abilities of a hunter,
but honed by years of training with a slayer, the vampath approached a
fight
with a zealousness only matched by the depth of her compassion for
those she
worked to save.
“Thanks.”
Kate perused the BOLO,
clicked her mouse a few times, entered something, and hit return. Now looking at a much
cleaner version of the
police sketch, the investigator closed her eyes and sighed.
“Could they have found a
worse eyewitness? This
could be
anyone. Hell, it
could be Elizabeth if
you squinted hard enough!”
The vampath moved to stand
behind her lover and took a long look at the image on the screen. Cocking her head to one
side, she said,
“Hmm, it’s either a woman or a very pretty man.
The information says it’s a woman, but I’ve seen lots of
pretty
boys down at Limbo and Wilde’s.”
Dersk joined them. “You
could be on to
something. In this
case, the male of your species is
far more deadly than the female.”
The
half demon was referring to the fact that men were more likely to be
serial
killers than women. He
peered closely
at the image. “You’re
right about the Limbo
boys, though Doc. There’s at least six
different guys who resemble that image, and
two of them aren’t even human.”
With a startled grunt,
Kate looked up at Dersk and said, “Do you think they could be behind
this?”
“What? No, I mean…” Dersk
closed his mouth and sighed. A
thoughtful haze drifted
over his eyes. “Well…
no.
No, of course not.” He
frowned. “Hey, just
because there’s
someone out there chewing up humans doesn’t automatically mean that
it’s of
demonic origin.”
“Nevertheless, I think the
possibility should be explored.
Elizabeth, you and Dersk should check this out. I’m going to head down to
the precinct to
see what I can get from my sources there.”
Kate shut down the computer and stood to grab her coat.
“Right,” Dersk growled
discontentedly while Elizabeth jogged upstairs to change. “Why can’t we just stick
to the seriously
bad juju? I mean,
is it too much to ask
to have a simple case of vamp infestation or even better, a cheating
spouse?”
Quirking a grin as she
holstered her sidearm, Kate said, “Why be normal?”
Office of Captain James
MacPherson
“You
must be the folks
from the BAU,” said the short, balding form of the police captain in
charge of
the task force assigned to catch the “Kiss of the Vampire” killer. He extended his hand and
found it captured
in the strong grasp of a petite blonde that preceded the group of
agents
wearing what he could only describe as “FBI Agent Casual”. “James MacPherson, but you
can call me Mac.”
“Jennifer Jareau. We
spoke on the phone,”
said JJ warmly as
she shook the man’s hand.
He smiled, his cheeks
dimpling in pleasure. Pulling
his hand
back, he reached up to smooth the sides of his graying hair and sighed. “It’s a real cluster fuck,
Agent Jareau. Anything
your people can do for us would be
well-appreciated.”
JJ made quick
introductions and then said, “Why don’t you show us where we can set up
and
we’ll get started.”
The team was led to a
cramped room that was overflowing with boxes of case files. MacPherson had the grace
to look slightly
abashed at the condition of the conference area.
“Sorry about the
mess. We’re
horribly understaffed.”
Hotch spared the man a
brief, but solemn smile. “It’s
all
right, Captain. This
will be
fine.” Glancing at
the files, he said,
“JJ, would you make sure that Garcia has copies of these?”
“Of course.
Captain, if you could point me in the
direction of your computer records room?”
As JJ and the officer
left, Hotch turned to the rest of his team and said, “We know the media
has had
access to information we usually like to keep back, and that can’t be
helped. What we
need to do now is find
something else – something only the killer knows then link it back to
the
UnSub. Prentiss,
you and Dave head over
to the morgue. Get
everything you can
on the latest victim.”
“Right,” said Emily. She
glanced at David
Rossi, wondering how
the taciturn agent would react to working with her.
In the months since he’d joined the team, they’d only been
partnered
a few times, and each time, she always felt as though Rossi didn’t
quite trust
her.
Cocking his head, Rossi
returned Agent Prentiss’ gaze with a steady, measured look of his own. He supposed he shouldn’t,
but he often found
the situation with the younger agents amusing.
The puppyish Dr. Reid treated him like some ancient guru
while the
territorial Derek Morgan puffed up his shoulders and barked like a dog
defending a bone. At
first, the
technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, had regarded him with the
absent-minded
respect one gives anyone with a title.
It was only after coming under his too intense scrutiny
during the
Battle case that the young woman’s attitude had changed. Now, whenever Rossi had to
deal with the
quirky woman, he could almost taste the palpable aura of dread that
laced her
voice.
That will change, old
man. She’s one of those people who can let things
go. Not like you – twenty-odd years on and Miss
Garcia won’t even remember you; much less care that you were a rotten
bastard
to her once.
Agent Jareau seemed to
view him as the gruff old uncle of the group, and he supposed that he
was fine
with that. Not that
his pride wasn’t a
little damaged, after all, in his day, he was considered quite a catch,
and if
he was ten years younger, he might consider asking her out to dinner.
I suspect that even were
I
Morgan’s age, the lovely Miss
Jareau would still fail to grant me a second glance.
David Rossi had been
around the block a time or twelve, and he knew attraction when he saw
it. Unless he
missed his guess, then very soon,
Agent Hotchner would be perched on the horns of a very sticky dilemma.
Though at this point, I
think
Hotch might simply close his
eyes and pretend it wasn’t there, just because it would irritate
Strauss.
Director Erin Strauss had
made no secret of the fact that she disliked the man in charge of the
BAU, and
because of it, had tried and failed to remove him from the team.
Erin, you always were
far too
political for your own good.
This brought
him back to the young agent eyeing him now with the critical gaze of
one
deciding whether they were about to be led to the execution chamber. Rossi almost smiled. He rather liked Emily
Prentiss, and not just
because she was the daughter of a politician.
In another life, David Rossi might have tried to take
advantage of that
accident of birth, but now, at this end of his career, all that
mattered was
results.
She thinks I don’t trust
her
when the truth is, I just
don’t care. As long as she does her
job, keeps her private life private, and doesn’t get in my way, I’m
perfectly
fine with that. Hotch is the one who
doesn’t trust women, not me.
“You like pizza, Agent
Prentiss?” Rossi asked softly, and just barely managed to keep from
chuckling
at the half-second look of complete surprise that flooded Prentiss’
eyes.
At the morgue, they
learned very little, though Rossi appeared quite pleased with something
he’d
discovered, and afterward, the two agents found themselves in a
hole-in-the-wall pizza joint that looked as though the interior
decorating had
been done sometime in the mid 1950’s.
Taking a seat in a corner table, they put in an order and
waited while
the silence between them grew ever more uncomfortable.
Finally, Emily pulled out her cell and set
it on the table.
“I’ll call Garcia. She
can patch us through
to the team.”
Rossi nodded.
“Good idea.”
Over a couple of slices of
deep dish, Prentiss and Rossi discussed their gleanings while the rest
of the
team listened in via speakerphone.
“Rohypnol and Ketamine
were found in the victims’ blood,” said Prentiss.
“Which explains why no one heard anything.
The victims were probably unconscious during
the attack.”
“The rain destroyed any
DNA from the lipstick around the bite marks, but there were traces of
latex
left in the wounds,” said Rossi. “This
suggested the use of a prophylactic, so they’re running tests to
determine
origin and, if possible, brand.”
Emily took up the
recitation while Rossi took a bite of the rapidly cooling pizza. “The contusions on the
head and face were
caused by a large, blunt instrument, but they haven’t yet determined
the exact
nature of the weapon.”
“Anything on the
ligature?” said Hotch, his deep voice sounding oddly tiny coming over
the small
speakers of the cell phone.
“Nothing useful.
It was a braided or twisted piece of wiring
– common to most household cables.”
Emily sighed. “Again,
the rain
washed away most of the evidence.”
“Whoever did this is
strong. They had to
be able to drag
seven well-built men into an alley, beat and then strangle them all
without
anyone noticing anything strange.
I’d
like to find out more about how quickly the drug cocktail acted on the
victims. The amount
of power the UnSub
needs to control victims suggests that we’re dealing with a man, but,”
Rossi
paused and then said, “I don’t feel comfortable saying that for sure. There’s something about
this that says
otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” said
Prentiss around a mouthful of pizza.
There was silence on the
cell as well.
Rossi shrugged.
“It’s just a feeling, and I’m trying to be
better about sharing my feelings.”
From
a briefcase, he pulled out a file and laid out a succession of photos. The gruesome nature of the
images made Emily
glad that they’d chosen an isolated seat rather than one closer to the
other
customers. “Look at
the pictures,” said
Rossi as he tapped the photos. Each
was
a close-up of the victims’ chests.
“Notice the patterns here, and here?” he pointed at the
nipples and
navels of the men.
“Dave, we can’t see what
you’re talking about,” Hotch said impatiently.
“Photos A-12, B-14, C-22,
D-8, E-15, F-9 and G-11” said Emily as she lifted and identified each
image.
“All right, we’re looking
at them,” said Morgan. “Wait
a
minute. I think I
see what Rossi’s
saying. Look.” This time, it was Prentiss
and Rossi’s turn
to wait for an explanation.
JJ’s soft, “Oh my God,”
made Emily bite her lip in consternation.
Of late, the older agent had been stricken by a purely
instinctive
desire to shield the younger woman from the horrors of their job. Intellectually, Emily knew
that JJ was more
than capable of handling it, but the brunette was coming to learn that
where
Jennifer Jareau was concerned, intellect and reason quickly gave way to
emotion
and instinct.
“Prentiss, Rossi – get
back here as soon as you can. Garcia,
could you run a check for any other crimes with a similar M.O. but were
not
homicides?”
“You got it Boss-man,”
said the technical analyst.
The phone call ended,
leaving Prentiss and Rossi to finish the now-cold meal.
Both agents were used to such inconveniences
as cold food or short sleep and had long ago learned to fill up and
take naps
whenever they could, for the next opportunity might not come for a long
while.
While they ate, Rossi
watched Emily study the photos, a tiny frown creasing her forehead. “You see it, don’t you,
Agent Prentiss?”
Emily looked at the photos
that were still spread on the table.
At
first glance, all she saw was the remains of seven men whose lives had
been
ended far too soon. It
was only when
the images began to run together, and the distinguishing marks of each
man
blurred away, leaving only crimson-stained hulks of tissue behind, that
Emily
saw it.
The pattern of bite marks
had a design about them that became startlingly clear the longer she
looked. Picking up
the shot of victim
number four, she squinted at it and then said, “So what kind of UnSub
bites a
phallic image into his victims?”
Rossi replied, “We could
be dealing with a sexual sadist. Those
bites weren’t meant to enflame or entice the victims – they were too
deep and
too full of rage. The
lipstick traces
might indicate gender or is possibly a part of the UnSub’s fantasy. Either way, I suspect that
we are dealing
with a severely damaged individual.”
%%%
“So basically, this guy is
turning his victims into walking dicks?”
Derek Morgan said as he tossed the pictures onto the table. “There is a very good
reason why I’m not
visiting my momma right now.”
“Speaking of, how is your
family, Morgan?” said Emily as she walked into the room. Absently, she allowed her
gaze to stray to
the other end of the table where JJ had taken up residence. Surrounded by a stack of
files, the
communications liaison was busily taking notes while on the phone with
someone. Probably
Garcia. I wonder if she has our hotel
reservations
yet? It’s getting late, and I’m in dire
need of a shower.
The blonde agent looked up
and flashed Emily a quick smile before returning to her call.
On the wall hung a map
depicting the sites of each attack, and Reid was busily marking and
shading
each area according to a list of notes he had painstakingly culled from
the
case files. Already,
Emily could see a
definite pattern emerging. All
of the
kills had taken place in and around the Seventeenth ward and were all
within a
block or two of areas of known prostitution.
“They’re good, they’re
good. Wondering
when I’m coming by for
dinner. Figured I’d
head over there
when we pack it in for the night.
Save
the government some money and get some real sleep for a change,” said
Morgan as
he turned to glance at the other agent’s work.
“Hey, Reid, what do the yellow dots mean?”
The boyishly handsome
agent twitched and then stepped back from his work.
Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he said, “The
yellow
markers indicate the presence of a bar or club in the area. Red for other violent
crimes, blue for the
known position of patrol cars, and green for private security.”
Emily wandered over to the
map. “Interesting. It’s like our UnSub knows
where all the
right holes are.” She
indicated each of
the pins that represented the victims.
Each murder had taken place as far from the presence of
security or
police as possible, while still being near a bar or club.
“I’ve still got to place
markers for fifteen more bars, but I think I can pinpoint what our
UnSub’s
comfort zone is,” said Reid absently as he retrieved another piece of
paper and
a fresh box of pins.