Criminal Minds ~ DNF

1

"George!" Maisie Ashworth called out. George turned to find his friend waving from the other side of the courtyard. He waved back cheerily before setting off in the direction of her. At the touch of her arms enveloping him in a hug, George sighed in relief. The way that Maisie smelled was familiar and comforting and made the previous week feel less stressful. They'd had back-to-back practicals and George was exhausted. He was very pleased to see the school secretary.

"Have you had any cases yet?" She asked, looking down at her friend as they let go of each other.

"Not yet, Maze. I'm just waiting it out."

"I think you're in luck, then. General Schlatt wants you in his office by noon today," Maisie smiled encouragingly. "Whatever he's got planned, it's big. He requested you specifically."

"Wow. Thanks, Maisie," George could feel his cheeks burning. General Schlatt was undoubtedly the harshest mentor in the entire Academy. George had only met him once and when he did, Schlatt had shouted at him to "Get out of the way, maggot!". Not exactly the kindest person in the training camp, as you can probably tell. The only person who actually liked him was Tubbo, a second year and one of George's friends that was desperate for the approval of any of his superiors. George, like the majority of his classmates, hated Schlatt with a burning passion. Rumors of a tyrannical, alcoholic General with anger issues were spread around the training camp like wildfire. George avidly tried to steer clear of the man either way.

"Fuck!" He cried as he looked at his watch. 11:52. Schlatt's office was on the other side of the Academy! George would have to really run if he wanted to make it by 12. He hastily made his excuses and took off in the direction of the front building. George was never one for running, always coming last in sports days and Cross Country. Even when he had to run for Obstacle training, he was panting and whimpering like a bitch in heat by the end of the day. He sometimes wondered why he was even in America to start with. The brunette had been sent to The FBI Academy after gaining high distinction in his police-force exams back in England. Ever the overachiever, George had accept the offer immediately, excited for a challenge. He had also immediately regretted it when he stepped out of the plane into the burning Virginia sun. The English winter had turned into a beautiful American spring. It took George months to adjust to the American ways of living. He burst through the Staff Block without curbing his speed, shouting muffled apologies as he pushed past people. His shoes made an awful squeaking noise as he skidded to a stop outside the door marked 'J SCHLATT'. Cringing at the sound, the Brit checked his watch once more. 11:59. If his breaths weren't already so audibly ragged, he would have let out a huge sigh of relief. Without any further hesitation, George rapped his knuckles on the door. There was a commotion inside, the sound of glass hitting a hard surface and some other scrambling before somebody on the other side cleared their throat with a "You may enter."

"Ma- Miss Ashworth told me that you sent for me, sir?" George said, his words met with a look of confusion from the man in front of him. His stomach sank. Was his friend full of shit, lying to him to make him feel better? The humiliation was enough that George was getting ready to make his apologies and leave when a look of recognition passed over Schlatt's face.

"Oh! You're that British kid, right? Agent Dickson!" Schlatt pointed at him with a laugh. George's eyebrows involuntarily raised. Were the rumors true? Was the General drunk? Once a soldier, always a soldier?

"Davidson," he corrected. Schlatt's entire mood switched from cheery and bright to serious and businesslike.

"I don't care," The words were sarcastic and rude. George reeled slightly, unused to superiors speaking that way to him. Schlatt recovered, silently reminding himself to be nice to the brunette. "So, your teachers tell me that you're top of your Forensics class. This true?" He slurred, the larger words becoming increasingly mushed until they were almost unintelligible. George tried his best to piece together what was being said to him.

"That is true, sir. I'm told that I possess quite a gift for it," George tried to keep his voice level. The man was obviously drunk out of his mind. Did he even know where he was? George noticed at least a dozen empty beer bottles littering the floor and Schlatt's desk.

"Wanna put that to work in the field, kid? I can make that happen," Schlatt offered. George nodded fervently, unwilling to pass up an opportunity.

"Then listen to me. The psychiatric behavioral-therapists have a study going on right now. Theyre going around all of the serial killers we have in custody and bombarding them with psychoanalytics. You remember Barney?" Schlatt asked, another smile playing on his lips.

"I do." It was hard to forget. Barnaby Cansado was one for dress-up, usually donning exciting costumes used to entice small children. What he would do to them, well... I'll spare you the details.

"He gave us enough information that we had to rent another storage facility to house all of the tangible copies. It was a fuckin' good idea on the shrink's part." Schlatt continued. Racking his British brain as to what a 'shrink' was, George remembered meeting 'Barney' in his second year at the Academy. It was deeply unsettling, and all of his classmates agreed with him when he commented on the mental instability of the man.

"What does this mean for me? I'm with Forensics, not Psych," George asked. He could feel his hands beginning to shake at the mention of the killer. The gory side of the job was never something George enjoyed much.

"Because there's something we need from a certain person, and someone like you would be perfect to draw it out of him."

"Who and what would that be?"

"We need information about the killer who goes by the Fire Killer. I'm sure you're all familiar with the name down in Forensics. We need names, addresses, anything that would lead to his apprehension. And we can get what we need directly from..." Schlatt paused to take a swig of his unfinished drink before swinging an arm at the corkboard behind him. His hand landed over one of the larger newspaper clippings, covering the main article and photo. "This man right here."

Schlatt removed his hand and George read the title of the article. 'LOCAL LIBRARIAN HANNAH ROSE LARSON TAKEN BY SERIAL KILLER'. Forcing himself to look at the photograph, he saw something so horrific that he thought he would never sleep again. A young girl no older than twenty-one was lying on her stomach, her long brown hair falling across her shoulders at random intervals, matted and soaked with blood. Her glazed-over eyes were wide open in fear, her mouth slightly agape. There were several small cuts across her face and arms, probably due to struggle. The most horrendous of her injuries, though, lay on her back. Two circles were cut out of her skin, followed by a deep gash running the width of her torso.

The shapes together mimicked a sadistic smiley-face.

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Word count: 1257

Luna xx