the violet effect // spencer reid

2 • what's with the purples?

• chapter warnings: spoilers for s1e18, case talk •

previously:

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, but neither of them moved immediately. There was nothing more to say, nothing that could erase what had been shared in that quiet moment. But in the silence, Violet knew one thing for sure-her past, her brother, was far from over. And neither was the darkness that followed him.

•

••

The local detective, a grizzled man with a furrowed brow, leaned against the doorframe, eyeing Derek as if he expected a clear answer. "This guy is an assassin?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Derek remained thoughtful, his eyes narrowing as he ran over the case in his mind. "When you look at the victimology, there's no obvious links between the victims. They're all different. No patterns in age, race, or location. The kills are clean-almost too clean," he said, his voice dipping with an edge of uncertainty. "Except for the last one, Jeremy Collins. He was different."

"Jeremy Collins, that's the one that doesn't fit the profile?" Detective Kim pressed, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between the agents.

"Exactly," Derek responded, eyes focused on the file before him. "Collins was killed with a brutality that's a departure from the others. But aside from that, there's nothing else to indicate a pattern. This UnSub isn't leaving any traces. No DNA, no weapons, no mess. It's almost as if he's... an assassin."

Violet, who had been reviewing her own notes, added, "There's absolutely no evidence left at the crime scene. No hair, no fibers, no traces of psychosexual release. Nothing to give us a sense of the killer's psyche. Not even a signature."

Rossi, who had been listening intently, cleared his throat before chiming in. "Remember, our profiles are formulated not just by what's present at the scene, but also what's absent."

Violet nodded in agreement. "Exactly. And based on the evidence we've gathered so far, we believe you're looking for a Type Four Assassin."

Detective Kim furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled. "Type Four?"

Spencer leaned forward, sensing a teachable moment. "There are four basic types of assassins," he explained, his voice measured and precise. "Type Ones are political assassins. Think John Wilkes Booth. They're driven by ideology."

Violet picked up where Spencer left off. "Type Twos are egocentric, seeking fame and recognition. Their motivation is more about self-glorification."

"Type Three assassins," Rossi added, "are the cold-blooded psychopaths. These guys leave messy crime scenes, often with a trail of violence. They're the ones you'd expect to see in a horror movie."

"And then we have Type Four," Spencer continued, "the most dangerous of them all. They suffer from a major mental disorder, frequently delusional, and their crimes are marked by an almost eerie calmness. They often appear normal, blending into society until they strike. Our UnSub is likely a Type Four."

Hotch, who had been quiet up until this point, interjected. "The closer we come to understanding the delusion that's driving him, the closer we'll get to finding him."

Detective Kim looked uneasy. "So, what does that mean for us? What's he going to be doing in the meantime?"

"Finding more victims," Dave replied matter-of-factly. "These guys don't stop until they're stopped."

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a nervous-looking man stepped into the room. "Is there a Detective Kim here?"

"Right here," the detective answered.

The man looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. "I... uh, I have a client who... she received a note. She freaked out. I told her not to worry, but..." He trailed off, clearly unsure of how to continue.

"Where's the note?" Morgan asked, cutting through the tension.

The man handed Morgan a folded piece of paper, clearly hesitant. "My client, she's in the other room. She's really scared. Can someone help her?"

Hotch glanced at the note before turning to the rest of the team. "Reid, Violet-let's go."

•••

Spencer and Violet found themselves heading to the home of the woman who had received the strange note. It turned out she wasn't just anyone-Lila Archer, a famous actress with a list of high-profile roles. The situation had escalated quickly, and now, it was their job to protect her.

The actress greeted them in her spacious villa, which had an air of both luxury and warmth. "Wow," Violet remarked, glancing around with appreciation. "I like your house."

Lila smiled thinly. "I rent it," she said dismissively.

"Nice," Violet replied, though her attention shifted quickly as Spencer, ever the pragmatist, spoke up.

"You should probably change all your phone numbers. It's easy for people to track you down if they know where to look."

Lila raised an eyebrow but didn't seem overly concerned. "I'm unlisted," she replied.

Spencer gave her a pointed look. "That's good, but any time you call an 800 or 888 number, your number is entered into a data bank. It gets sold to telemarketers and anyone with access."

"And if someone has your cell phone number," Violet continued, "they can dig into your records online. Find out everything about you."

Lila scoffed at the suggestion, though the apprehension in her eyes was hard to miss. "Hanging out with you two could be really depressing," she muttered, clearly brushing off their warnings as she walked toward the kitchen.

Spencer shook his head, but he followed her. "You should probably also carry a piece of paper and a pen at all times. Write down any license plates you see often. If there's a pattern, it could be something significant."

Violet followed Spencer, rolling her eyes at how he could make even the most mundane suggestions sound like life-or-death advice. She paused, noticing a large piece of artwork hanging above Lila's couch. "Interesting," she said, her voice lightening. "A photographic collage. I like it because it's chaotic, you know? It's like life-obscure, difficult, yet beautiful."

Spencer frowned, staring at the art as if trying to read something into it, before turning back to the conversation. "Lila," he said, trying to keep things practical, "You should also get a dog. A guard dog. Something to protect you."

Lila tilted her head, not entirely convinced. "Allergic," she said flatly.

"Well," Violet said, before changing the subject, "I'd recommend keeping your windows locked tight, keeping everything off the grid."

Lila walked to the kitchen counter, picking up a kettle and preparing tea. "Earl Grey or chamomile?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

Both agents were caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. Spencer blinked, unsure of what to say. "Uh... yes. Sure," he answered awkwardly.

Violet laughed lightly under her breath, her earlier tension melting away, but she quickly masked it with a professional smile. "Chamomile, please."

The tension in the room lingered, unspoken. Spencer couldn't help but wonder if this woman's life was about to take a darker turn, one that they could do little to prevent. As Lila turned to prepare the tea, the weight of the situation hung in the air between the agents. The case wasn't over, and the UnSub was still out there, waiting for his next move.

As Violet glanced at Spencer, she could see it in his eyes-the same thought she couldn't shake. This wasn't just about protecting one woman. This was about stopping a killer. And until they did, there would be more victims.