Two-Faced

Chapter 5

tw// murder, knives, blood

After the long workday, I was excited to get home and relax. I didn't sleep much last night after Spencer brought me home, and to say I am exhausted is an understatement.

I park outside my building and gather my coat, loose files, and my work bag. As I walk up the sidewalk, I notice a man following me out of the corner of my eye. I speed up slightly to get away from him, but he speeds up as well.

"Hey!" he calls.

I try to ignore him, but he yells again.

"Come here, sweetie, let me get a good look at you!"

I know I shouldn't respond, but I'm an FBI agent, I can handle myself.

"No, thanks," I reply.

The man's footsteps get louder and quicker, and it hits me that he is chasing me. I start to run as well, but I know I will eventually have to turn around and fight.

I drop my bag behind me and the man trips over it. He lands on his hands, the rough concrete ripping them up. He isn't down for long, though, he starts to get up but I buy myself some time by kicking him in the shoulder.

"You bitch!" he hisses.

I remember I have a small pocket knife in my bag that I bought for self-defense, though I've never needed to use it. Luckily, I put it in an accessible pocket so I am able to get it easily.

I was using it more as a threat than a weapon, but the man doesn't notice the knife when he charges at me. The blade pierces his abdomen and he howls in pain.

For some reason, I don't run. He is no longer in any shape to attack me, but I feel the urge to stay and fight. I thrust the knife forward, again and again, several times until I'm tired.

When I finally pull away, the man clutches his wounds but his hands are not enough to keep the blood from spilling out onto the ground.

I watch as he bleeds out; the color draining from his face and his eyes slowly clouding over with a milky haze. His strength leaks out from his wounds and he collapses to the pavement, hitting his head when he lands. He won't be getting back up anytime soon, or ever, the small voice in my head says.

I look down at the man again, and I realize that I now have the bloody corpse of a person who is much larger than I am. I wrack my brain trying to come up with a way to dispose of the body, but there's no way I can do it by myself.

I need to call Spencer.

I reach into my pocket and take out my phone and Spencer's contact comes up first since I have him favorited. My thumb hovers over the dial and I hesitate for a moment before I press it. This is the only option I have.

"Hello?" Spencer answers after the second dial.

"Spencer, I need your help," I say hurriedly.

"Why? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Well... I'm not hurt, but I did hurt someone," I tell him, cringing at my own words.

"What did you do, Y/n?" his voice drops an octave.

"I killed a guy outside of my building. It was an accident, I swear! At first, it was self-defense but then... I couldn't stop."

"Fuck," he says under his breath, "I'll be right there. Don't try to leave and if anyone passes by, act like you just stumbled across the body. No one would question a hysterical woman."

"Okay, please hurry."

As soon as he hangs up the phone, I start counting down the minutes until he arrives. He only lives ten minutes away, but it feels like the slowest ten minutes of my life.

When I see his car pull into the parking lot, my heart rate picks back up and I can hear it beating out of my chest. Spencer runs down the sidewalk towards me and when he stops, his eyes dark between the body, me, and the bloody knife in my hand.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

"What are we gonna do, Spencer?" I ask, voice cracking.

"Calm down, we can figure this out together," he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Are there any cameras around here?"

"No," I shake my head, "This whole side of the building is a blind spot. I made sure to check all the security when I started at the BAU."

"So there's not even a shot of your car pulling in?" I shake my head again. "Okay, that's good."

He drops his hand from my shoulder and reaches down to grab the man's hand.

"Take your shoes off and help me pull the other arm," he says.

"Why do I have to take my shoes off?"

"We want to make it look like one unsub pulled this off instead of a team, so we don't want to leave any extra footprints."

Deeming his reasoning sensible, I slip off my flats and take the man's right hand. His flesh isn't cold yet, but it feels rubbery and lifeless. Despite being the one who killed him, it makes me sick to my stomach having to move the body afterward.

Spencer and I drag the man off the sidewalk onto the grass. We move some garbage cans to hide the body behind and, luckily, there is no obvious trail of blood leading to the hiding spot.

"Did you touch the body or leave any DNA?" he asks.

"I don't think so. Once he hit the ground I didn't touch him."

"Okay, that's good. Put the knife back in your bag and we're going to go up to your apartment."

I furrow my brows as I look at him. "Why would we stay here?"

"Because we need to make it look natural. If you never come home from work, it'll look suspicious, but if we are caught on camera going up to your apartment, that will solidify our alibi."

"What will we tell them?"

Spencer picks up my work bag in his left hand and takes mine in his right. I smile up at him and we start to walk around the building.

"We don't have to share all the details with them, but I'm going to work tomorrow wearing the same clothes I am now," he grins.

"You're a genius, Spencer," I say as I lean my head against his shoulder.