Chapter 11- Innocence Gone

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Clever girl.  But do you think  I don't know where you live?  I'm still planning to see you in a few weeks.

He knew where I lived.  Deleting my email hadn't done anything, now he was sending me cryptic letters via snail mail.  If he knew where I lived...

There was no guarantee it was the same guy, though.  This letter could have come from a different man entirely, despite how unlikely Reid's statistics would tell me it is.  I powered up my computer and then found the saved emails--screenshots since I had deleted the account--and compared the text.

Three sentences, focus on himself, 'you' and 'I' but no names.  I'm pretty sure it was the same guy, so I added it to my collection and resolved to brush up on general profiles of obsessive stalkers.  It clearly was no longer a prank, but more cases like this than you would expect are just empty threats in an attempt to coerce money out of those they're 'stalking', and since I knew that, obviously it wouldn't work.

Maybe I could get something out of analyzing his handwriting, but I'd have to check online since I couldn't really ask Reid for help.  Well, I could ask him, but I wasn't going to.  I was perfectly capable of handling it myself.

And though the logical part of me believed that, the illogical part kept prodding me awake with worry every time I started drifting off, and it took two hours before I finally fell asleep.


I ran out the door, my gun clutched in one hand as I quickly rounded the corner of the building, peering through the dark for the boy.  He hadn't been with the unsub when we'd confronted him, but this unsub killed with homemade poison that  caused his victims a grueling amount of pain, lasting hours, before they died.  We could only assume he'd used it on the boy, and the minute we saw the kid wasn't with the unsub, I took off to look for him, despite Hotch's direct orders.

A rustling sounded from the bushes surrounding the building, and I levelled my gun at the waving leaves, stepping closer.

If it was the kid, yelling 'FBI' wouldn't do anything but scare him, and if it wasn't the kid, whoever else would be out here this time at night definitely wouldn't be up to something good, so if I surprised them without announcing my presence, I'd have a better chance of catching them.

More rustling as the vegetation brushed against the building, but I thought I detected a moan and labored breathing that was not my own.  I took another step, and between the leaves, crouched in a ball on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest, was the boy.  Dirt covered his face, two lighter trails running vertically from his squinted eyes the remains of tears, his hair was full of twigs and dead grass, the original color of his clothes was unidentifiable, and he was rocking back and forth, whimpering in pain.

I holstered my gun and was about to approach him when Hotch and Rossi showed up behind me.

"McDowell, what the hell were you thinking?" Hotch chided, but I cut him off with an even, "I got the kid," gesturing at the bushes where he was hiding.

I crouched down right in front of him and said softly, "Come here."

The boy sniffled and looked up at me, but then his gaze flitted over my shoulder and he screamed, "No!" and started sobbing.

I looked behind me, Hotch was there.

"It's okay," I beckoned, holding a hand out to the boy, but he shook his head and pressed himself against the wall of the building at his back.

"Aaron, back up," Rossi commanded, and I kept my eyes trained on the little boy's terrified ones as Hotch stepped back.

"Farther," I said when he had stopped six or so feet behind me, and only when he had gone back another two yards did the boy cautiously emerge from the bushes.  I straightened up, regarding him carefully.

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