What Goes Around Comes Around

I woke up to the sun shining brightly in my eyes. I grimaced and turned away from the window. Why hadn't we closed the curtains? The sight I was greeted with on the other side of me was much more pleasant, though. There lay a sleeping Spencer. Soft snores left his mouth as he slept peacefully. He looked so perfect laying there. As he slept, unaware of anything going on around him, I took the opportunity to reciprocate the words he had told me last night.

"I love you, too," I whispered.

Slowly, Spencer's eyes fluttered open. He looked around to take in his surroundings before looking at me and giving me a small smile.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"Nope," I replied, a small blush creeping onto my face. I really hoped that he hadn't heard me. Would it be so bad if he had, though? "Good morning, Hon."

"Good morning, Babe."

Just then, Spencer's phone began to buzz on his nightstand. Hotch.

"This is Reid," Spencer said, answering the phone. A moment of silence followed before he said, "yes, Sir." He turned to me and sighed. "They found another body. He had 'comes' carved into his chest."

I groaned. That made three bodies in less than twenty-four hours.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said. "At this rate, he's definitely going to kill again today."

"Yeah," Spencer nodded in agreement. "We have to get to the station."

~

The rest of the victim's kids had also received a bouquet of their favorite flowers. They had thought nothing of it until JJ called and asked them about it. Somehow, it was reassuring to know that I wasn't the only one. Upon arriving at the police station, I learned that the team had already delivered the profile. We were looking for a white male between the ages of thirty and forty. His father had abused him, and his stressor was that his father had recently gotten released from jail. I wondered how they'd figured all that out, but I had a feeling that I didn't want to know.

The fourth victim's daughter was at the station. Lisa Davis. That name sounded oddly familiar. I decided to go see her to see if I knew her. I was greeted by a crying woman around my age. She was tall with long blonde hair pinned into a neat bun. She wore a professional pantsuit. I definitely knew her. I just didn't know from where.

"Hi, Ms. Davis," I said, reaching out my hand to shake hers. "I'm Agent Jordan Hawthorne. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head as she wiped a stray tear away.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm not really sure how I should feel if I'm being honest," she admitted. I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "I mean, I hated that man, but I never thought I'd be getting a phone call from the police saying he'd been murdered, you know?"

"I understand," I told her.

"No you don't," she said back. "How could you?"

I took a deep breath before speaking.

"My father was one of the victims," I admitted. "The second one. So believe me when I tell you I know exactly how you feel."

"Oh."

We stood there silently for a moment. I considered whether or not I should tell her I knew her. Would that make things worse? Would she even be able to recognize me like this?

I um," I cleared my throat. "I think I know you. I heard your name and I thought it sounded familiar, and when I saw you, I knew I knew you from somewhere. I just don't know where I know you from."