Dopamine || Reid

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SOMETHING DOSENT ADD UP. This case has been heavy on my mind ever since I left the precinct. Why would our unsubs abduct two children in one night, and leave an obvious signature that would make it easy for us to connect them? The even bigger question is why would they abduct another child a few hours later only to dump her at the doors of a police station with a bullet wound and an airway obstruction? Why give her a chance to be saved when she would have been dead within a few minutes of her throat being blocked?

It doesn't make any sense.

Nothing about this makes any sense.

When I finally made it to my apartment I hang Hotch's suit jacket up on the coat rack after locking my door. I can't stop myself from immediately stripping of the tank top which is now covered in dry blood. On my way to the washroom I roll up the tank top and toss it into the trash bin.

I don't even try to save it, knowing I will never take the time to get the stains out.

My eyes fall to my waivering hands as I reach to turn the shower on. The sight takes me back a bit. Skin paler than normal, skeletal fingers stained and spotted with the blood of Rosalyn Kennedy, a kid who may or may not be dead by now.

My brows furrow. Eyes burning as I try to will my hand steady— but after a few moments the trembling only grew worse.

"No one can hear you. Go ahead, scream as loud as you can."
"Aaahhhhgh!"

With a shaking breath I clench my fists resting them against my forehead.

What if I didn't do enough? What if she dies. The other children... what if they... are they... what if they're being... what if this case ends like so many others, their lives taken despite everything we do?

What if I didn't do enough? I didn't do enough.

Biting the inside of my cheek as I force myself to step under the water set at the coldest temperature. My body shakes violently and my teeth chatter against one other as I spend the majority of my time trying to scrub the upper layer of skin off where the blood stained. Picking under my nails to wash the flaking red away, trying to get rid of the evidence it ever happened.

The icy rain drowns away the thoughts of the case, soothing over the dread and panic with pain. Pain soon morphed into a dull ache.

I finally give up after ten full minutes of scrubbing at my skin raw. At some point it became impossible to tell if the red hue is Rosalyns blood or my own due to the harshness of my scraping.

My limbs feel heavy as I routinely blot myself with a towel, lazily scruning come curl cream into my damp hair before wrapping myself in a robe. Nerve endings slowly waking up after leaving the steady numbness brought by the water. Raw skin tingling from the abuse necessary to scrub the blood and icky feelings away.

The sensation brought the thoughts of the case back. I hadn't expected this case to impact me so harshly. I've seen things, done things, experienced things far worse... and yet it's eating me. I don't think I'll be able to sleep until it's solved.

The unsubs actions don't align with a single focus. This just adds to my suspicions that we are dealing with more than one unsub. One does a certain thing, another does something to contradict it. The abductions were clean and organized, they had to have been planned. But Rosalyn Kennedy seemed to be a victim of opportunity... an opposing method... a snag in their operation.

One unsub could have shot Rosalyn, while the other must have dumped her in hopes she would be saved.

This wouldn't work in a dominant-submissive relationship.