ESCORT / spencer reid.

one

     "I wish they could change that look in
their eyes."
—

IVORY ARDEN looked up at the clock, chewing her painted-red lips in slight guilt. "Are you alright?" She asked softly, grabbing the man's calloused hand.

He looked up, eyes puffed up and rimmed red. His wrinkles deepened as he frowned, tears still running down his aged face. "Yes. You should go."

"Okay. You can call me. Always." Ivory said sympathetically, standing up from the hotel room bed and gathering her things quickly.

As Ivory left the old man's hotel room, she thought deeply to herself. She always did. She always wondered why they cried to her, not their wives. Why they kept seeing her, and ignored the advice she gave of talking to the real source of their problems.

It was because she was young, she was beautiful, and because they wanted her.

And sometimes it made her feel sick. Leaving a crying man, $300 richer than before she entered.

Sex, money, and tears. Those three words have constantly repeated themselves in her mind ever since she'd taken this job three years ago.

Sex because it cured most pain. Money because it gave her worth. Tears because of the long nights she endured, soaking up the sins of those men; letting them cry on her shoulder until she herself felt the same pain. Sometimes it was a lot; to hear the things that these men have done.

But even Ivory knew that everyone deserved someone to talk to. She knew that, because she didn't have someone to talk to like most; some had her to speak of their problems to, but she only had herself, and sometimes it wasn't enough.

She cried too. Cried because she hated herself sometimes, guilt constantly ripping through her veins.

But she continued doing it because she was lonely.

/

Spencer Reid grimaced, scrunching his face up as the foul smell of rotting flesh hit his senses. He ran a hand through his hair, turning towards the lead detective. "How long has she been dead?"

"Three days. Whoever killed her rented this room out for four days; killed her within the first day, though. Maid found her exactly like this." The brunette man replied, narrowing his eyes at the woman laying on the bed.

"Her name's Marissa Warden." Morgan informed him, the dark-skinned man stepping at Spencer's side. "She's an escort."

"An escort?" Spencer asked curiously, leaning down and pulling the corpse's hair away from her neck to reveal multiple dark-purple ovals. "The sex was consensual, makes sense."

"Why would a client kill their own escort?" The lead detective asked the two.

"Many reasons: it can be personal, or an external motive like money. The unsub we're looking for had personal motives..." Spencer muttered. "Look here." He said, gesturing down at the scuff marks on the underneath the legs of the bed.

"The tying up part wasn't consensual." Morgan observed. "So he's Marissa's client; most likely a long time one since the trust seems clearly established; she doesn't have any pepper spray or defense weapons in her bag, like most prostitutes and escorts do."

"Yeah, like the other two victims." Spencer said. "Doesn't escort involve not only sex, but a certain level of therapy as well?"

"Exactly. So we're looking for someone who either has too much emotion when talking to their escort, or too little. He has to have a main outlet that he uses; a main escort." Morgan said, looking up at Spencer.