A Love For Crime- Chapter 1

1

She felt so alone as she sat in the far left corner of a pitch black stone-walled room, with no means of escape. Suddenly two flashes of light blinked in front of her, and she found herself standing up, with her palms against the two walls, which had significantly begun to close in. As the walls began closing in on her she tried with all the strength she could muster to prevent them from coming closer to killing her. There were two more flashes, and as she looked up from the ground and straight forward she saw him. His face was well formed, except for the fact of the set of stitches that were unevenly placed across his right cheek. His hair was disheveled: it’s strands facing in all directions, along with dirt and saw dust that seemed to fly out with each step he took. As the distance between to the two began to close, she finally noticed the hammer in his hand. She pushed harder and harder on the walls, but to no avail. Now he was right in front of her. How he managed to walk that distance in a matter of no more than three seconds, she could never guess, but as he raised the hammer high above his head she let out a blood-hurdling scream, and –

SSA Audrey Marshall woke up gasping for air, while gripping onto the sides of her mattress as a lifeline. Her knuckles were becoming quite pale, and she felt as if the TV dinner she had the previous night might decide to make a reappearance.

“Bzzz, Bzzz. Bzzz, Bzzz.” Her phone started to vibrate, indicating another early, and most likely, long day at work. She closed her eyes, ever slightly, as if to block out the pain. She began her recent morning ritual of calming herself after these night terrors. Most people would call them nightmares, but nightmares were for children with the irrational fear of dinosaurs or ghosts or monsters. Certainly not for an FBI agent who also happens to be a Unit Chief. She began breathing deeply. In, and out. In and ou —

“Bzzz, Bzzz. Bzzz, Bzzz.” She opened her eyes and sighed. Once she felt her hands were steady enough, she reached for her cell, and pressed the green button on the much too bright screen.

“Marshall.” She answered, with a tinge of annoyance.

“Hey, Audrey, it’s James.” He said rather urgently.

“We got a case?”

“Yah, I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s a really bad one.”

“You didn’t wake me.” She responded. In reality she had barely gotten any sleep, so it wasn’t really a lie. “How bad?” She didn’t think this was going to be an open and shut kind of case.

“Female serial abductions. They were minors.”

Marshall gave an internal sigh and paused, for a moment, before responding.

“I’ll be there in 20.”

“We’ll see you there.” He said and hung up.

Marshall brought the phone down from her ear, and back onto her bedside table. With an internal huff, she climbed off of her bed and reluctantly got dressed. She had put on standard black trousers, a silk purple button-down shirt, along with an un-buttoned, black jacket and dress shoes. After she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and take care of other hygienics, she walked into the small kitchen area and began to brew herself a cup of coffee.

When it came to coffee, she preferred a latte, but years of working in law enforcement had conformed her into tolerating a regular cup. After it finished brewing, she fastened the top on her cup, grabbed her car keys, and headed out of her apartment building.

The drive to her work, the Behavioral Analysist Unit, the BAU for short, wasn’t very long. Once she had reached the parking garage to the federal building, she grabbed her now practically empty coffee cup and briskly headed into the elevator and up to the 4th floor.

As the elevator doors opened she could clearly tell that this case was going to be chaos. There were agents bringing piles of files to their bosses’ offices, just to be back in five minutes’ time with another. There were multiple agents making calls at their desks, most likely trying to calm the press down as much as they possibly could. It was a useless effort, Marshall knew, as the press always found a leak into the story they wanted to tell. Marshall shook her head, and proceeded into the bull pen area of the office, only to notice that her team members’ desks were completely vacant. They must be in the conference room, Marshall concluded as she made her way out of the bull pen, and down a long, narrow hallway, where doors after doors were lined up on the sides of it. After a good two minutes she reached her destination, and she laid her eyes on the all too familiar smooth, wide, wooden door, with a circular silver handle. They always met here to discuss cases and to see if they would take them or not. Though, if the case made it as far as for them to be discussing it in the conference room, it was almost guaranteed to be confirmed as their next case.

Marshall put her hand on the doorknob, sighed, and opened the door to see all of her team members sitting around the circular wooden table, reading the files, and briefly discussing the case. As she walked into the room she looked at each of her team members around the table.

First there was Zachary Connors. He was your stereotypical tough guy with a not-so hidden 6-pack that he loved to show to any girl he met. Though, despite his exterior, Audrey Marshall thought that he had a soft side somewhere, and, if she were truly honest, she might even say that his tough exterior was just a cover—a wall, if you will. A wall that is trying to protect someone, or something, Audrey began to think as her thoughts began purging her into a grey area. She tried not to analyze her colleges, but it was pretty difficult, her being a profiler and all.

Next to Connors was Jacob Bradley. He had pitch- black hair that stopped at the backs of his ears. His skin was as pale as a board, and his eyes were a deep hazel. Jacob was one of those people who put others’ needs before his own. Which is good, Marshall thought, you have to have some selflessness in this line of work, but I feel that he tends to forget to put his needs first once in a while. For instance, last week they had been on a case, it was high priority: 5 women had been raped and murdered, and were found, miles apart from each other. We were all very sleep deprived, but Bradley in particular was very weary and I hadn’t seen him eat anything since the previous day. This wasn’t an abnormal occurrence for him, however, since he was always one to get absorbed in his work. Never the less, Bradley’s a good agent, so Marshall hasn’t really pressed the issue.

To the right of Bradley was a rather young woman named Elaine Moore. Moore had long, brown hair with a hint of blonde on the ends. Her eyes were a perfect resemblance of a chestnut, and her smile lit up any room. This particular brunette still surprised Marshall, even though she had been working with her for a good 5 years now. Moore had graduated high school at a mere 12 years old, with an eidetic memory and an IQ of 196, and had finished her first PhD by the time she turned 18. By the time she had entered the bureau, she was 29 years old and had completed her 3rd Doctorate. Needless to say, she was the best candidate to fill the empty spot on Marshall’s team.

Next to Moore, who was standing next to the electronic smartboard, was James Amadri. James was the team’s Media Liaison, and dealt a lot with the press and divulged, or in most cases refrained from revealing, information that the press tried to pry out of them. James had a chocolate-colored skin tone, baby-blue eyes, and a black stubble where, one could only expect, a full head of hair used to be. He wore a pair of square-shaped spectacles that fell down to rest on the bridge of his nose as he observed the file in his hands. I wonder when he’ll retire… Marshall pondered, not for the first time. Amadri had been with the team for a good 25 years, even before Marshall had shown up, so Marshall knew it was only a matter of time until she saw his resignation letter come through her multiple piles of paper on her desk.

The final member of their team was no other than Tracie Bolton, who was not an agent at all. She was their technical analyst, and was talking to James near the smartboard. Bolton, not known to be pessimistic, wore bright colors to work daily, and could make anyone laugh with her bubbly personality that followed her everywhere she went. Probably to compensate for the horrors we see at work, Marshall concluded as she walked into the Conference Room and sat down at her usual spot at the front of the table.

“What do we got?” Marshall asked, almost ritualistically, as James sat down in one of the empty chairs, and Bolton grabbed the remote for the smartboard, and began her speal.

“I hope y’all packed your jackets, cause we’re headin’ up north.” Bolton started as she revealed a slew of crime-scene photos across the smartboard’s screen. The first photo was a snapshot of a young, blonde girl, probably around 11 or 12 years old. Most likely a school photo, Marshall concluded as she looked at the other photos. The next two were of average homes, practically identical. The first was a light blue, 2-story home with a front porch to boot. On the left hand side of the photo, you could see a small portion of an Oak tree in their yard, the leaves taking on a light shade of red. The other picture had the same 2-story house, though a shade of white, and had a stone-tiled walkway instead of a porch. The final picture on the screen was of another young blonde child, around the same age, who had the biggest fake-smile Marshall had ever seen.

Marshall looked back to the table and opened the file in front of her. It contained both of the girls’ medical information, along with their personal history. Before Marshall could read more into the girls’ lives, or even figure out their names, Bolton spoke once more.

“These two beautiful, young ladies,” Bolton indicated to the two girls on the screen as she spoke, “were abducted from their neighborhoods, less than a month apart from each other, in the small town of Wilkingson, New Hampshire. The first one,” Bolton enlarged the photo of the girl on the left, “Sarah Barclay, was last seen trick-or-treating with her friends on Halloween, but never went home.”

“Did her friends see anything?” Connors asked from across the table.

“They said they parted ways and assumed Barclay went home, like the rest of them.” Bolton concluded. “Our next young lady on the other hand, was out biking, against her mother’s orders, on this past Thanksgiving.”

“What is this Unsub’s vendetta with holidays?” Marshall pondered aloud as she continued to observe the girls’ photos.

“Could be a part of their trigger.” Amadri mentioned before continuing, “or a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Connors joined in, closing his folder, “This Unsub’s always abducting one-on-one. He always waits until they’re alone.”

“75% of abductions that succeed usually are.” Moore justified.

“Have any bodies been found?” Marshall asked Bolton as she flipped through her folder.

“None yet, Ma’am.”

“Then we’ll assume they’re alive. This Unsub has a purpose and it’s our job to figure it out and find these little girls. Suit up. We leave in an hour.” Marshall concluded as she closed the manila folder, walked out of the conference room, and headed towards her office. There was a man out for young female preteens in New Hampshire, and all she could think about was her experience with the ‘man with the hammer’. One thing’s for sure, Marshall thought, This is gonna be one hell of a case.