Unknown- A Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 25- Dial Tone

Reid and I ordered Chinese take-out with Garcia for lunch and spent the afternoon avoiding work and watching kitten videos with her in her tech room.  Well, I almost fell asleep watching kitten videos with her because I was too tired, and my eyes hurt too much, to spend a few more hours bent over files and paperwork.  Reid had already finished all of his paperwork, so he sat quietly behind us, speed-reading some thick philosophical work by an old dead guy.

However, we had to stop the kitten videos when Hotch called Garcia for information.  I quickly scooted out of range of the camera before Hotch's face popped up on one of Garcia's many monitors.  No need to get myself in more trouble.

Apparently they were working on a case where the unsub had brutally murdered three women and cut off their heads.  As morbid as it was, it certainly sounded interesting.  The unsub would have to be extremely strong, or have access to a guillotine or some other medieval execution weapon, depending on the cut.  If it was clean it was most likely a sharp blade, but it if was jagged with hesitation marks, it was likely the unsub had hacked it off with a saw or possibly an axe.  The team must have come to the same conclusion, Hotch was having Garcia search for shops specializing in medieval weaponry or other large-bladed items. 

"Sounds gruesome.  Aren't you guys lucky you're not on this case and instead here with me and all of my non-icky awesomeness?" Garcia teased sarcastically after she had hung up with Hotch.

"Oh yeah, thrilled to be watching a million different cats do the same thing," I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Sure, kittens were cute, but after watching them for an hour and a half, they were not cute enough to keep me interested to the point where I could stay awake.

Garcia gasped in offense before observing that I had a black hole of uncaring where my heart was supposed to be and then turning to work on finding the Knights of the Round Table's favorite store.

In order to keep from falling asleep in her comfortably warm and dimly lit 'Batcave', I decided to go pretend to do more paperwork.  It's not like I didn't have a whole week to get it done, but I'm sure Hotch would have more for me to do whenever they got back, so it'd be best to keep it from piling up.  At least that's what I thought, instead I snapped out of a zoned-out daze a little after five to find that I'd been staring at the same paper for a half an hour. 

Yeah, I think it was time to go home and attempt to get more than forty minutes of sleep.  Oh, and figure out how to catch my stalker without the resources of the FBI sometime before he would kill me.

I sighed and gathered up my stuff, hoping it hadn't gotten too cold out yet because in my rush I had neglected to bring a jacket this morning.  Reid was already gone, but I called a, "See you tomorrow," to Garcia's back when I passed the open door to her tech room.

I pushed open the door to my apartment and heaved a sigh, dropping my bag on the armchair.  I punched in the code to turn off and reset my security alarm and then stepped on the back of my boots with the toe of my other foot to pull them off, leaving them abandoned on the floor.  I butt-bumped the door shut,  turning around and locking it. I'd already gotten the mail--no letter this time, but I wasn't as relieved as I should have been--and fed Mrs. Mulcahy's cats, so I had a whole night to spend trying to crack the case.  My case, to which the solution could determine the longevity of my life, if worse came to worst.

I plopped down in the center of the circle of threats, poring over them for hours until my eyes were so blurry I could no longer read the fine print, scraggly penmanship, or my own sloppy handwriting.  I straightened up and rubbed my eyes, getting to my feet and going to get some food.  Not that I was physically hungry, I could hardly tell the difference between hunger and dread chasing each other around in the pit of my stomach, but it was past two in the morning and I hadn't eaten anything since the Chinese food we'd had for lunch.

I absent-mindedly checked my phone as pasta was reheating in the microwave, only to find that I had three missed calls and three messages, all from the same unknown number.

The previously appetizing smell of pasta suddenly made my stomach churn, but I grabbed a notebook from a drawer and scrambled around for a pen that actually wrote before forcing myself to hit the View Voicemail button, turning up the volume as I listened.

"10:17 pm on Monday, October 17th," the automated voicemail machine played.  The dial tone sounded. All I heard was the staticky crackle of deep breathing. 

I know I shouldn't have logically, I know I'd heard messages like that while we were on cases numerous times before, I know it was just an involuntary visceral response, but a shiver crawled up my spine and made me shudder in terror all the same.

The second message played.

"12:32 am on Tuesday, October 18th."  "Charlotte, why don't you answer?  You know I can see you.  Hard at work, are you?"

The third message played.

"2: 17 am on Tuesday, October 18th."  "I'm coming for you.  Don't bother locking the door. It will hardly deter me from....finally seeing you.  Face.  To.  Face."  Beep.  "End of messages."

I stared at the screen.  The voicemail box disappeared.  Above all the apps, from the top of the screen the small white numbers shouted back at me.  2:21.

I fumbled to open my contacts list and scrolled down before quickly thumbing Reid's name and then the call button when it brought up his number.  It seemed to ring forever, and then his voicemail came on.

"This is Doctor Spencer Reid.  Please leave a detailed message  and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I angrily hit the red end call button but then hit the green one to call again.  The microwave went off and started beeping, I opened the door and then slammed it shut to close off the sickening scent of food, impatiently waiting as his phone continued ringing.

"Hello?" he groggily answered.

"Reid, you need to come over here right now," I exclaimed, my words rushing out.  I didn't even try to control the panic, I was terrified.

"What?  McDowell, why?" he asked blearily.  I must have woken him up, he sounded considerably more confused than the last time I had called him early in the morning.

"I can't--you just--I need to--" I stumbled over my words before sucking in a breath and attempting to push out a coherent sentence.  "I need you to come over here, right now," I said, forcing back the tremor in my throat.  I paused and then added pleadingly, "Please."

"Give me five minutes." 

The dial tone sounded in my ear, but somehow this time it eased the lump in my stomach, if only slightly, instead of knotting it more tightly like the previous tones had.