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zizzlekwum · 9 months ago

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Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN

The BAU investigates a series of murders in Texas. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 17 "Distress."

Trigger Warnings: descriptions of a prior toxic relationship

Word Count: 6,304

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin @fatherfigured [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

You’re late to work on your first day back at the BAU due to red tape, so you get there just as JJ is beginning to present the next case.

“Welcome back,” Hotch says quietly as you take a seat at the table between him and Prentiss. You give him a nod before focusing your attention on JJ.

“This is Houston’s Fifth Ward,” she explains, pointing the remote at the TV. “It accounts for a large percent of the city’s growing homicide rate due to gang violence and a bustling narcotics trade. Although in the last forty-eight hours, there have been three distinctive murders in the ward.” She clicks a button on her remote, bringing up pictures of the crime scenes.

“Distinctive?” Morgan asks.

“Three men, three different socioeconomic groups, all killed on the street with their necks snapped,” JJ continues. “There appears to be no other injury, and there’s no apparent connections between the victim, or motive.” She shrugs.

You open your mouth to say something but stop as Reid enters the room, taking a sip of his coffee. He nods at JJ to continue while he sits down to your left.

“The ward’s detectives are inundated with homicides,” JJ explains. “Gang violence is a big problem. Shootings, armed robberies, it’s an everyday occurrence, but this type of street attack is new to them.”

“Could it be gang related,” Prentiss posits. “Maybe some type of new initiation rite?”

JJ shakes her head. “The gangs in the ward use guns. In fact, no known gangs exhibit this type of MO.”

“What about dope?” Morgan asks. “These guys come up with pretty freaky ways of killing the competition to get their message out.”

“But wouldn’t they want to leave a sign to tell others it was them?” you point out. “Kinda defeats the purpose if people don’t realize the killings are a targeted threat.”

“Yeah, and there just doesn’t seem to be any connection between the victims and the drug world,” JJ adds.

“Homeless man, a construction worker, security guard.” Gideon lists the victims.

JJ nods. “Just three dead men and no witnesses.”

“We’re looking for a homicidal serial criminal in a neighborhood populated by criminals,” Hotch notes. “The challenge will be separating him from the rest.”

“We have no evidence, no apparent interaction between the unsub and the victims pre- or postmortem, and an indistinguishable MO,” Reid says. “Should be simple.”

“Like finding a needle in a stack of needles,” you say. “Wonderful.”

* * * * *

On the plane, the team continues to try to make sense of the victims. “We got a construction worker, outsider in the community,” Morgan starts. “We got a security guard— that’s an authority figure. And then we got a homeless man. That’s a powerless victim that no one would notice missing.”

“They’re all over the place,” you note, jiggling your leg up and down, not looking up from where your hands are folded in your lap.

“So who’s he targeting?” Morgan asks.

“Let’s see if any of the victims frequented the same stores or sites,” Hotch says.

“He used blitz attacks,” Reid adds. “He most likely lacks the interpersonal skills he needed to coerce his victims into coming close, and he also used the element of surprise, which means he may have stalked his victims prior to killing them.” You swallow hard. Prentiss glances over at you, frowning.

“Well, if that’s the case, I wanna go to the last crime scene to see where he may have been hiding,” Morgan says.

“I want to see the neighborhood for myself,” Gideon says. “I’ll go with you.”

“Good,” Hotch says. “The rest of us can go to the precinct and set up shop.”

“I’ll map out the area and see if I can find any places the victims would have visited in the neighborhood,” Reid offers.

“Good, maybe we can find a connection between them,” Emily says, still watching you. “I’ll help you with that.”

Reid frowns. “I can handle it.”

Prentiss turns her attention from you to Reid, frowning. “I… wasn’t suggesting that you couldn’t.”

“Isn’t that what ‘I’ll help you with it’ means?” Reid snaps.

“Reid,” Hotch interrupts before he has a chance to continue. “Prentiss will help you with the geographical profiling and victimology.”

“Fine,” Reid says sharply, looking down at the papers in his hands.

Hotch sighs. “Remember, this is a high crime area. Be vigilant. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Y/L/N?”

You glance over at Hotch. You notice him watching your bouncing leg so you make an effort to stop. “Hmm?”

“I want you to stick with Prentiss and Reid for now,” he says with a frown.

You nod. “Gotcha, boss-man.”

He glances between you and Reid again before turning his attention away, and you let out a sigh. You really don’t want to go to Texas.

* * * * *

After you, Prentiss, and Reid get situated in the conference room, you begin to get to work, using a map of the neighborhood to get started. JJ walks in after a few minutes.

“What’s that?” Hotch asks. You turn to face them.

“One of the detective’s wives made us cookies,” JJ tells him.

“Wow, homemade cookies?” Prentiss says with a smile.

JJ sets the plate on the table and you go over to grab a cookie. “Yeah, I guess that’s what they mean by southern hospitality.”

Reid walks over to the window and fumbles with the blinds. “I need to concentrate— how can anybody hear anything with all this work going on?” He slams the window shut.

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it,” JJ tells him. “Construction crews are working around the clock.”

“Saw it on the way in,” Prentiss adds.

“City’s trying to return to its splendor, and that means that Houston’s poorest are being kicked out of their homes,” JJ explains as you nibble on a cookie.

Reid opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Morgan and Gideon entering the room, followed by a detective.

“Unsub might be homeless,” Gideon reports. “Appears to have been living in a building next to where the security guard was attacked.”

Reid gestures to the map. “These are the locations of the last three murders, all near abandoned buildings.”

“To be fair, there are a lot of abandoned buildings nearby,” you point out.

Hotch nods. “She’s right. I noticed the neighborhood, maybe he was recently displaced.”

“Could be a motive,” Emily adds. “Construction worker, security guard at a construction site. Payback?”

“What about the homeless man?” Morgan asks.

“We get a lot of beefs down there among the homeless. That one could have just been a fight about space or food,” Detective Fuller says.

“Let’s get a list of residents who’ve been kicked out of their homes by the gentrification.” He turns toward you and Prentiss. “You, Y/L/N, and Reid check the shelters?”

“Yeah, we’re on it,” Prentiss says, standing. You nod. Then she pauses. “Unless… you okay with that, Reid?”

Reid furrows his brow in confusion. “I’m fine with that.”

You and Emily share a concerned look as you follow him out of the room.

* * * * *

At one of the shelters, the three of you are looking for someone in charge when Prentiss’ phone rings. It’s Hotch, alerting you of another murder.

A woman walks up to the three of you just as Emily is hanging up her cell phone. “Heard y’all are looking for someone in charge? I’m Angie, one of the administrators.”

Emily holds out her hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Agent Prentiss, these are Agents Reid and Y/L/N. We’re with the FBI.”

“Really?” Angie says, surprised.

“Really,” Reid snarks as Emily shows her badge.

“It looks like you have your hands full,” Emily says.

Angie nods. “With the demolitions in the projects and the abandoned buildings, there’s no place else for people to sleep.”

Prentiss smiled. “Well, thank God there are people like you who take the ti—“

“Do you have a list of everyone who comes through here?” Reid interrupts.

“Uh, we have a sign-in sheet,” Angie tells him, frowning. “But we don’t force anyone to sign if they don’t want to. Some who do don’t even use their real names.” She smiles. “Elvis eats here a lot.”

“Do you think we could get a copy of any lists you might have?” you ask.

“Why?” Angie asks, frowning.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts unusually aggressive towards the other residents?” Reid asks.

Angie crossed her arms. “What’s this about?”

“A series of murders in the area. The perpetrator may be a homeless man. Maybe someone who stays here.” Reid looks around. “He may even be in this room as we speak.”

“Reid!” Prentiss says sharply as Angie looks around, nervous.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts paranoid or displays explosive, unprovoked bursts of violence, more than just pushing and shoving?” Reid continues, ignoring Emily. “I mean, someone who really tried to harm others.”

“There are territorial fights over food and places to sleep,” Angie says. “The nurse treats people for minor injuries all the time, but no one seriously hurt.”

“If anyone does come to mind, give us a call,” Reid tells her, giving her his card. “Thank you.” He turns and walks away as you and Prentiss share a concerned look.

Angie looks at Prentiss. “A murderer?”

Prentiss holds up here hands. “I-I’m sorry. This investigation is still—“ She pauses, flustered.

You glance over your shoulder at Reid’s retreating form. “No one’s actually been hurt in a shelter,” you reassure Angie.

Prentiss nods. “We’re just— we’re acting in an abundance of caution. So please, let the police know if anything unusual occurs. Thanks.”

Angie nods, and you and Prentiss head outside to find Reid, who is observing the people outside.

“There’s a high presence of mental disorders with the homeless,” he says.

“Yeah,” Prentiss says, not really paying attention to what he said. “What the hell was that in there?”

“What?” Reid asks.

“‘He may even be in this room as we speak?’ We have nothing to support that.”

“We’re investigating a serial homicide,” Reid argues. “Should I have pretended there’s no danger?”

“You just scared the shit out of that woman,” you say. “She’s probably afraid of every dude who walks in, now!”

Reid shrugs. “Again, until we find this unsub, how is that a bad thing?”

Prentiss frowns. “What is the matter with you?” she asks, not unkindly.

Reid raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, what’s the matter with me?”

“I’ve never seen you act like this,” she explains.

Reid frowns, upset. “Oh really? In the months that you know me, you’ve never seen me act this way? Hey, no offense, Emily, but… you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do you?” He turns and storms off, leaving you and Emily standing there, shocked.

“What the fuck?” Emily mutters.

“He… he’s not okay,” you tell her, frowning. “It’s not you.”

She nods. “I know, but….”

You put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m worried about him, too,” you admit. “But I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

Emily looks over where Reid is walking away. “Let’s just get back to the station,” she says quietly. “There’s nothing left for us to do here.”

* * * * *

When the three of you walk into the station, Reid begins filling in Hotch. “We just got back from the local homeless shelter,” he says. “The administration hasn’t noticed anyone new displaying aggressive behavior.”

“He’s not in a homeless shelter,” Hotch says. “I just talked to Gideon and Morgan. They think that he’s killing to protect some makeshift shelter of his own.”

“Are we ready for a profile yet?” Reid asks.

“We’re missing something.” Hotch frowns. “How did this homeless man learn to kill so efficiently?”

“You know what we need?” Prentiss says.

“We need to get lucky,” Hotch tells her. “We need him to make a mistake.”

Everyone goes back to what they were doing while Emily pulls you aside. “Okay, what’s up with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been off ever since we were assigned this case.” She frowns, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You sigh. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

She shakes her head. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I….” You’re not sure how to word it, so you decide to just plow right ahead. “I was nineteen when I met my first boyfriend. We met online, which may seem crazy now, but where I’m from— or should I say when I’m from— that isn’t uncommon.” Prentiss nods, listening intently. You stare down at your hands, wringing them together and bouncing your leg. “Honestly, I try not to think about how many red flags I refused to see. It embarrasses me.”

Emily nods. “We’ve all been there,” she reassures you.

You laugh humorlessly. “Anyway, he was thirty. I mentioned I was nineteen at the time, right? Now, had I not still been a literal teenager, the age gap would’ve been less creepy, but I was just a kid. And he was the first person to have ever shown interest in me. We started off as fast friends, while I overlooked all the red flags, like I said, but then we started becoming something… more.”

You cringe before continuing. “You know how I said the first red flag should’ve been his age? Well, second red flag should’ve been that he was a convicted felon.”

“Oooh, yeah, that’s… not great,” Emily says sympathetically.

“To be fair— and this is the only concession I’ll give him— he was like twenty when his only friend, who also happened to be his fiancée, was killed in a car accident. He kinda went crazy and tried to rob a bank like, literally three days later.” You shake your head. “Dumbass got caught at a hot dog stand. And I’m not condoning it, but, I mean, temporary insanity exists as a legal defense for a reason.”

Prentiss nods. “No, I get it.”

“So yeah, red flags abound,” you continue. “And like I said, it was the first time anyone had ever been interested in me like that, so I was naive. I quickly became obsessed, but I didn’t recognize it as obsession and thought it was love. Stupid fucker ate that shit up. He eventually flew up to Mass to visit me for Halloween. I thought things were fine— other than the fact that I hated kissing him, but I chalked that up to sensory issues. He went back home, and that’s when shit started to hit the fan.

“Really soon after he went home, a celebrity followed me on Instagram— that’s a photo sharing website. Turns out that celebrity was the son of Lou Ferrigno, who was the Incredible Hulk. As I’m sure you know, I’m a huge Marvel fan.”

“Oh, I know,” Emily says with a chuckle.

“Anyway, I thought it was cool that the son of the Incredible Hulk followed me. I told the guy I was dating, and he got wicked jealous and spent the entire night at the 24-hour gym by his house.”

Emily blinks. “That’s fucking insane.”

“Yep,” you agree. “That’s when I started to lose interest, and got my first urge to break up with him. However, I was too nice, and knew that his family sucked— long story short, his step-dad was abusive and his mom allowed it— so I wanted him to spend Christmas with me and my family in Massachusetts, to have a good holiday.

“So I put up with his clinginess, along with other insane shit, until he flies up for Christmas. Christmas Eve night, while my extended family was over, he cornered me and tried to be clingy and I just shut down. He literally chased me to my room, and when I closed and locked the door, he stood and talked at me through the door. I had a meltdown and ended up cursing him out, after which my mom came up and convinced him to go downstairs, then reprimanded me about yelling and swearing while family was over. I spent hours in my room that night instead of enjoying Christmas Eve, and only came out after I called my aunt, who was in, like, Mexico or something for a holiday vacation, and she talked me down. I eventually went out and luckily, Fuckface was in the basement for the rest of the night. I decided to be nice and not break up with him on Christmas, and faked my way through the day.

“A couple weeks later, while I had been pretty much faking any interest in him to give him a couple nice weeks, I was invited to my friend’s baby shower. It was Patriots themed and everyone was expected to wear a Pats jersey. Since Fuckface hated the Patriots, I told him I wouldn’t make him go. He fucking thanked me, then had the gall to cry to my dad after I left that I didn’t take him with me. I came back home, missed the shower, and immediately broke up with him, but told him I wouldn’t insist upon him going home since, again, his family sucked and I wanted to be nice. Which, by the way, if you ever see me trying to be nice to someone to my own detriment ever again, please smack some sense into me.”

“Will do,” she tells you solemnly. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” You take a deep breath. “It all came to a head a few weeks later, when he found out that I had a date. He stormed upstairs and complained to my mom, right in front of me, that he just assumed we would, and I quote, ‘find our way back to each other,’ and what was he supposed to do? He then wondered aloud, in front of AJ, my nine-year-old little brother who had his own severe mental health issues, if he should hunt down my date and blow his brains out, and— again, I quote— ‘see that pink mist.’”

Prentiss takes a deep breath. “Fucking unhinged.”

You nod. “Seeing AJ becoming distressed, I yelled at Fuckface to shut up. He proceeded to storm over to me. I ducked, and he smacked my hat off of my head. Now, I’m convinced he tried to hit me, but my mom always insisted he was just trying to hit my hat off of my head. Not okay either way, of course, but one is worse than the other. I ran upstairs, afraid, and locked myself in my room and armed myself with the switchblade I got from camping that year that I kept next to my bed. I didn’t sleep at all that night, and he flew back home the next morning. That was the last I physically saw of him, but he proceeded to cyberstalk me for the following two years.” You take a shaky breath. “Anyway, to sum it all up, my crazy ex was from Texas, and even though I’m literally in a different universe, and Texas is so fucking huge that even if I weren’t in a different universe, the chances of running into him would be slim to none, I’m still anxious about being here.”

Emily puts a hand on your shoulder. “It’s a trauma response,” she tells you.

You nod. “I know. That doesn’t make me feel any less stupid for stressing over a nonissue.”

“It’s not a nonissue,” she insists. “It’s trauma. And even though you may be safe, your mind doesn’t fully recognize that.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Maybe. I don’t know, I just—”

“Please help my daddy!” You’re interrupted by a young girl running into the police station, followed by a man with blood dripping from his nose.

“I-I need help, I was attacked!” the man shouts.

JJ hurries over to him. “Can I get some help here, please?”

You head over to the man’s daughter as he turns to JJ. “Please call my house to come get my daughter, please!”

You bend down to speak with the little girl. “Hi, I’m Y/N. We’re gonna take good care of your dad, okay?”

She nods as Emily comes over to you two and says something in Spanish to the girl. “Maria,” the girl says.

Emily glances at you. “Her name is Maria.”

You hold out a hand. “Maria, do you wanna come with me and Emily while my friends help your dad?” She nods, taking your hand, and you lead her to the unused conference room.

“Is my papa gonna be okay?” Maria asks as you direct her to a chair. Hotch sits down to her right as Emily takes the chair to her left, you staying crouched in front of Maria.

Hotch nods. “Yes.”

You glance at Hotch, who gives you a small nod. “Maria, do you think we could ask you a few questions?”

“It would really help us find the bad guy,” Emily adds. She waits for Maria to nod before continuing. “Did he say anything to your papa?”

Maria shakes her head. “No.”

“What were you and your papa doing before the bad guy came?” Hotch asks.

Maria takes a deep breath, squeezing your hand. “Papa took out the garbage. And then he jumped out and he hit my papa. I was screaming at him. I thought he was gonna hit me, too. But then he stopped… and he looked at me funny.”

You squeeze her hand. “What do you mean by ‘funny?’”

Maria looks at you. “He looked sad. He did say something. Not to my papa. To me.”

“What was it?” Emily asks.

“He said ‘are you okay? Why are you crying?’” Maria says. “And then we ran.”

“Maria,” Hotch says, giving her a small smile. “What you did was very brave. Can you help us with one more thing? Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

Maria nods. “He was white. And tall. And dirty.” She looks down at Hotch’s hand. “And he had a ring like yours.”

Hotch points to his wedding ring. “Like that?”

Maria nods again. “I remember his ring.”

You squeeze her hand. “Thanks. You did a good job.”

She opens her mouth to respond before focusing on something behind you. “Abuela!” She jumps out of her chair and runs toward a woman who just walked through the doors. Emily goes over to greet her while you and Hotch walk back to the conference room to update the team.

* * * * *

“He asked if she was okay and why was she crying,” Hotch says once he joins you, Emily, and Reid in the conference room. “He wasn’t aware of what he was doing to them.”

“Garcia’s on line one,” JJ says, pressing a couple buttons on the phone, next to an open laptop.

“Go ahead, Penelope,” Prentiss says.

“All right, cowgirls and boys,” Garcia says. “I’ve got the comparison satellite images of the before and after pictures, and I found something. Check it.” An image of the top of a building appears on the laptop screen. “See it yet?”

“Yeah,” Hotch says.

“Is that an SOS?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Garcia says. “It’s made of debris and other rocky bits of gobbledygook. This is the building where the security guard got killed.”

“He’s asking for help,” Hotch says.

“Wait, guys, listen outside,” Reid says.

“Chaos,” Hotch says. “The SOS.”

“He’s a war veteran,” Emily realizes.

“PTSD episode?” you ask.

Hotch nods. “He thinks he’s in a war zone.” He dials Morgan and Gideon, who are with the detective. “He left a distress signal on the roof of one of the buildings,” he tells them once Morgan picks up.

“The quick strikes are consistent with trained military tactics,” Morgan says.

“He must’ve served in a place that looked or sounded like this ward,” Emily suggests.

“Well, we were right about him being homeless, in a sense,” Gideon says. “Wherever he is, in his mental state, he’s certainly not at home.”

“He may not even be aware he’s killing,” Hotch says.

“Now how’s that?” the detective asks.

“When soldiers suffered from anxiety, depression, and flashbacks in World War One, it was called shell shock,” Reid says.

“Battle fatigue in World War Two,” you chime in. He nods.

“Now we refer to it as PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, war related, a side effect of which is slipping into dissociative states,” Reid finishes.

Prentiss nods. “The mind divorces itself from reality so it can cope with the trauma.”

“He’s reliving a memory,” Gideon says. “He’s trapped in his head in some war zone.”

“Hiding and defending himself from the enemy,” Morgan adds.

“Okay, but how do we find a man who’s trapped inside his head?” JJ asks, frowning.

“He’s got a wedding ring,” Prentiss points out.

“Someone’s probably missing him,” you add.

“Good,” Gideon says. “I’m on the way in with Detective Fuller. Morgan has one last crime scene to check.” He hangs up.

“JJ,” Hotch starts, “check missing persons reports, see if anyone matches the description. It would’ve been filed recently, the last two or three days.”

She nods. “Okay.”

* * * * *

JJ almost immediately finds a promising lead, inviting the wife of a missing man into the precinct. She and Detective Fuller lead the wife and another man into the unused conference room.

JJ turns to Hotch, just outside of the room. “Dana Woodridge and Max Weston. Her husband and his best friend, Roy Woodridge, has been missing since Tuesday.” Hotch nods and you follow him into the room.

“He was on his way home from work,” Dana starts. “He called before he left the office and said we needed to talk when he got home. He sounded upset.” She swallows hard. “That was the last I heard from him.”

“What was he upset about?” Prentiss asks.

Dana shakes her head. “He didn’t say.”

“Dana called me that night when Roy didn’t show up,” Max continues. “So the next morning we filed a missing persons report.”

“Mrs. Woodridge, where does your husband work?” Hotch asks.

“He’s a consultant at a security firm downtown,” she answers.

“Did your husband ever serve in combat?” Gideon asks tentatively.

“Excuse me?” Max says, frowning.

“Is he a war veteran?” Hotch asks again.

Max nods. “Y-yeah, we both are. We were in special ops. 75th Ranger Regiment, Bravo Company, Third Battalion. But Roy, he retired shortly after things went bad in Mogadishu.”

“That was back in 1993,” Reid says. “Let me ask you this— does he display any, uh, behavioral tics? Certain everyday things that make him jumpy or startled?”

“Why?” Dana asks.

“Does he?” Reid ignores her.

“Is this going to help find him?” Dana frowns, glancing at Max.

“Mrs. Woodridge, please,” Prentiss implores. “We need to know everything we can about your husband.”

Max sighs. “We all had a… hard time over there. You bring some things home with you.”

“Like what?” you ask.

“He has a hard time with loud noises,” Dana explains. “He can’t be in crowds. He has nightmares and wakes up in cold sweats.” She pauses. “The smells are the worst. He… if he smells something burning, like a barbecue, or gas, or fire… he gets sick.” Max rubs his face as Dana continues. “It really only got bad about a year ago.”

Gideon looks at Max. “What happened to him in Somalia?”

Max laughs uncomfortably. “Nothing. Combat happened.”

“What does that mean?” Gideon asks.

Max stands. “I’m gonna… get a drink of water.” Gideon follows him.

Hotch pours Dana a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “Could somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

You and JJ look to Hotch. “There have been some people hurt, recently, and we think that there may be someone lost on the streets,” he explains. “Someone who thinks that he’s still at war.”

Dana shakes her head. “Well, Roy would never hurt innocent people. Why would he even be in this neighborhood?”

Prentiss goes to respond but the phone rings. JJ presses the speaker button. “Hey, Garcia. We have Mrs. Woodridge here with us.”

You can hear Garcia hesitate. “Oh, uh, well. I found an ‘02 white Ford F150 pickup truck.”

“Oh God,” Dana says. “That’s his truck.”

“It was impounded,” Garcia continues. “It had a flat tire and was picked up on Lyon Street about a quarter mile from Highway 59.”

“He takes the freeway to work every day,” Dana says.

You and Prentiss share a look. “Mrs. Woodridge, I’m very sorry,” Emily starts, “but this is definitely your husband.”

* * * * *

Back at the conference room, you’re updating the map when Gideon comes back in. “We need to put a SWAT team together. Plan a grid search, go building to building.”

“He’s reliving the war, isn’t he?” Hotch asks.

Gideon nods. “A specific incident in which he killed a child.”

“Guys, the SWAT team’s gonna have guns, right?” Reid points out. “What happens if he tries to fight them?”

You sigh. “You know what happens, Reid.” You and JJ leave the room and go look for Dana, who is grabbing another cup of coffee. She notices the cops suiting up in the room next door.

“Can I get you something, Mrs. Woodridge?” JJ asks.

“Those men are going after Roy?” Dana says. Her voice breaks. “Do they need so many guns? I mean, he’s just one man.”

JJ pulls her away from the doorway. “It-it’s protocol, ma’am.”

Dana looks at you. “How badly were they hurt? Y’all said that people were hurt.”

“Some people were murdered,” you tell her gently.

“Murdered?” she repeats quietly. She sighs. “He never really came home. I lost him fourteen years ago. It’s been like living with a ghost.” She grabs JJ’s arm. “Help him,” Dana pleads. “Please, help him.”

JJ swallows. “We’ll do everything we can.”

You go back to the conference room where Reid is messing with the map. “Reid, what are you working on?” Hotch asks, following you into the room.

“Three days ago, police shut down the freeway at 5PM for ten minutes. Cars were stalled and Roy must’ve tried to exit onto a surface street. Sadly, he ended up in an unfamiliar area with a flat tire.” Reid pauses. “He was changing that tire when an eight-story building on Market imploded five blocks away. He heard the explosion and the ground rattled like a mortar bomb had landed nearby.”

“You think that explosion is what triggered the dissociation,” you say.

“Exactly,” Reid tells you. “Since then, he’s been stuck in that state. Running when he needed to, sleeping when he could, camouflaging himself into his surroundings, and hiding from his perceived enemies.”

“He’s reliving the worst moment of his life,” Hotch says. “He’s gotta be terrified.”

Reid nods. “Yeah.” Hotch exits the room as Reid’s phone rings. “Yeah, Garcia, what do you have?”

“Why isn’t Derek answering his phone?” Garcia asks.

“He’s probably stuck underground somewhere,” Reid explains.

“Underground?”

“I’ll explain later,” Reid says.

“Oh, okay,” Garcia says. “Anyway, I finally got through all those recent police reports he asked me to check, which, by the way, was no hopscotch through the park because that precinct you’re at is kinda tragically behind on their paperwork.”

“They’re very undermanned,” you tell her.

“Oh, jeez, really? I can’t imagine what that feels like,” Garcia quips. You chuckle. “Oh no wait, yes I can, cuz—“

“Garcia, do you have anything for us?” Reid asks.

“Well, he told me to look for anything unusual, and it’s all… usual. Minor break-ins, apartment burglaries, televisions, stereos, car thefts, and smash and grabs. Common stuff in the world of burgling.”

“Nothing someone lost on the streets might use for survival?” you ask.

“No, nothing reported,” she says. “Like I said, it’s all petty. There’s a… some vandalism at construction sites. Communications radio missing from one.”

“Wait, stop,” you say.

“Did you say a radio?” Reid asks.

“Yeah, construction foreman reported that one of their trucks had been broken—“ Garcia’s voice cuts off as Reid hangs up, hurrying out of the room.

“Guys,” Reid interrupts Gideon, who is briefing the SWAT team. “He may have stolen a radio, a walkie-talkie.”

Hotch waves him over to the room Max is in.

Morgan walks into the room. “We were right. He had a nest of sorts right near every murder scene.”

“There was a burglary of a two-way radio from a construction site recently,” Reid reiterates.

Max nods. “That could be Roy. We only used UHF back then.”

“He’s looking for help,” Gideon says.

“And he’ll keep trying to contact operations command,” Max adds.

Hotch turns to the detective. “Detective, can we get a dozen UHF radios set up in this room, each of them tuned to each of the preset channel frequencies?”

“Right away,” Detective Fuller says.

“Wait a minute,” Max says. “When he calls, we need to be very careful with the communication, because we set up specific responses to contact op com so we could avoid hostile interception and to establish no danger signals. And we had specific names to identify our squad to the operator.”

“Do you remember the language you set up?” Gideon asks.

“I couldn’t forget it,” Max tells him. “Roy and I wrote it. The callout was ‘this is John Doe looking for Mark Rippen.’ Rippen was our hero at the time, number eleven, the quarterback for the Redskins in 1993.”

Gideon nods. “Now we know where he is in his head. If he calls in, we’ll be on the other end when he does.”

“What if he doesn’t call?” Detective Fuller asks. “What if he just kills someone else?”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Gideon tells him.

Detective Fuller frowns. “Kinda easy for you to say. Now, this guy may be messed up, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has killed four innocent people. Now, why don’t we just do the grid search?”

“If you set up a grid search and he confronts one of your men, you’ll be planning a funeral,” Max tells him.

“I can guarantee you we’re right about his profile,” Gideon says confidently.

“He wants to get rescued,” you add.

Gideon nods. “All we’re asking is that you just give us a chance to bring him in.”

* * * * *

Once all the radios are set up, you all gather in the conference room.

“It’s channel eleven,” Detective Fuller says.

“You ready, Garcia?” JJ asks.

“I’ve got nat recon satellites all over the ward,” Garcia says over the phone.

“Stand by,” JJ says.

One of the radios makes a static noise. “This is John Doe looking for Mark Rippen.”

Gideon looks at Max. “Can you help us?” He hands him the radio. “You know how to do this better than we do.”

Max nods, taking the radio. “Roger that. This is number eleven, all clear.”

“Maxey,” Roy says over the radio. “Boy, am I happy to hear from you. I’m taking heavy fire. Request immediate extraction.”

Max takes a breath. “What are your coordinates?”

“Unknown,” Roy says. “I lost my land navigational aids. I went high but I don’t recognize anything. I don’t have a fix on my grid coordinates.”

You look at Max. “Is there any other way for him to signal his location?”

Max nods. “Did you put up any flags?”

Roy laughs. “Yeah, you bet your ass I did. I’m holding cover here!”

“Roger that,” Max says. “Hold your position.” He turns to Gideon. “He triangulated. We need to look for three large, colored flags. Maybe on rooftops. They’ll be identical in size and shape.”

“Did you get that, Garcia?” you ask.

“I got it,” she says. You can hear her keyboard clicking as she types.

“Number eleven,” Roy says over the radio. “Do you still read me?”

“Garcia!” Gideon says.

“I’m working as fast as I can,” she tells him.

“I can still read you, loud and clear,” Max says. “Stay put.”

“I found one!” Garcia exclaims. “I found one! I got them! I see… housing projects and a courtyard.”

“We need street names, Garcia,” Hotch says.

“Farmer and Capron! Farmer and Capron!” she says.

“I know where that is,” Detective Fuller says. “There’s some abandoned buildings right there. I’ll have construction sites to halt work and secure the streets.”

“He’s gonna expect men in fatigues,” Max says. “And a chopper as cover.”

“I can take care of the chopper,” Detective Fuller says.

“We’re in black SUVs,” Hotch says. “Tell him we’re security executives. You’re coming with us, we need to do this fast.”

“Tell him to stay there,” Gideon tells Max. “We’re coming to him.”

“Roy, we’re coming to you, buddy,” Max says over the radio.

* * * * *

You stay behind with JJ, Emily, and Reid as everyone else rushes out to meet Roy. Reid gets the call from Hotch and shakes his head at you and Prentiss. JJ is in the room with Mrs. Woodridge, who breaks down.

Later, once Mrs. Woodridge has left and everyone is packing up, Detective Fuller comes in. “Folks. Ah, look. Thank you so much for coming here,” he says. “No one ever makes this place a priority. We’re grateful to you.”

“I wish it had ended differently,” Emily says.

“Yeah,” the detective says. “Me too.”

You look around, frowning. “Has anyone seen Gideon?”

“Agent Gideon left some time ago,” Detective Fuller tells you. “Said he’d meet you all at the airport.”

JJ frowns. “Did he says where he went to?”

Hotch stands. “I think I know where he is.”

The rest of you pack up quietly and head to the airport.

NOTE: Fuckface, if you're reading this, fuck off and leave me alone and stop cyberstalking me.

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