∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

break

"morgan's out canvassing the area." emily says, resting a hand on my shoulder as she scans the room, her eyes heavy with the weight of everything that's just happened. i shake my head, frustrated, my gaze falling on the blood-stained crossword. ray had been so close to finishing it, so close to making it out alive. "we had the streets, the building, even the fucking roof covered. how did he get through us?"

"garcia traced ray finnegan's phone calls," emily says, her voice steady, trying to keep me grounded. "he made one to a pre-paid cell at 4:38. another one to you at 11:41." i swallow hard. "it gave bosola seven hours to prepare. i think he was here before we arrived." hotch says looking over at me, his eyes steady but sharp. "he heard me call ray. this is all my fault." i sigh.

emily squeezes my shoulder gently, trying to comfort me, but it doesn't help much. i know this is on me. i'm the reason ray is dead. i feel it in my bones. "now he knows we're onto him." the detective mutters from across the room. "he's not the only one," rossi adds, his voice gruff. "whoever he works for knows, too."

we all stand in the dim bar, the air heavy with defeat. flashbulbs pop around us as crime scene techs take pictures, the coroner covering ray's body. my heart sinks as i walk over to the crossword puzzle, picking it up carefully. he had been so close to completing it. i regret ever making that call. ray's murder weighs on my conscience like a lead blanket.

hotch leads the team back to the field office. emily steps up to deliver the profile. "we're looking at multiple unsubs: both male. unsub a is the planner. he works in the criminal justice system—possibly a defence attorney, prosecutor, judge, or even a cop. we believe a personal tragedy struck him recently, something devastating. he's likely between fifty and sixty."

she pauses, scanning the team before continuing. "unsub b, on the other hand, likely met unsub a through the court system. he's been hired to carry out a twisted form of justice, which isn't cheap. that means the planner has access to large amounts of cash. the way the crime scenes are staged shows that unsub a either doesn't care that we see his mess or wants us to find it. unsub b, however, has no such interest. he should be considered armed and extremely dangerous."

rossi sits at a laptop, listening as garcia and reid go through stacks of files, reading off names and discussing potential leads. my ears perk up when i hear a familiar name. "wait, hang on, did you say judge schuller?" i ask, stepping closer to the group. hotch turns to me. "what's wrong?" "you know him?" emily asks, her brow furrowing.

i shake my head. "no, not directly." i stammer. hotch's gaze sharpens. "go on." i take a breath, the memories flashing back. "two years ago, his wife, emma, was killed by a drunk driver. judge schuller was a wreck, understandably. his wife was the love of his life." matthew was the first cop on the scene, he was on his way home when he watched the accident play out. he pulled her out of the car before it was completely engulfed in flames, her head injury being the factor that took her out. i remember ray's little fling with emma, she needed an out from schuller and ray was her way out but she never could have left schuller. 

reid looks up from his computer, his eyes darting across the screen. "that could be the personal tragedy." "twelve months ago, judge schuller took a leave of absence due to health issues." garcia chimes in, her fingers tapping rapidly on her keyboard. "he was diagnosed with terminal cancer," reid finishes. "he was given six months to live."

"that's when the killing started." jj adds, her voice low but certain. the detective frowns. "you don't seriously think that..." "judge schuller is the planner. yes, i do." i say, my voice steady despite the swirling emotions inside me. "fits the profile." jj says, crossing her arms.

"and tony mecacci, this guy, is most likely bosola—the enforcer." i point to the mugshot on garcia's screen. "what do you have on him?" "he went off the grid after his last trial." garcia replies, her eyes glued to the monitor.

"jj, put out a state-wide apb and release mecacci's photo to the media." hotch orders. jj nods, immediately moving to make it happen. the detective shakes his head, his disbelief evident. "judge schuller's a highly respected man. we can't just walk in there and accuse him of serial murder."

hotch's patience snaps, his voice hard and commanding. "then i'll go to the attorney general and petition the chief justice if i have to." the detective's eyes widen. still, before anyone can respond, i feel my stomach drop. "well, maybe not." i mutter, my eyes catching sight of a familiar figure stepping into view—judge schuller.

he stands tall, his face a mask of calm composure despite the storm that's been brewing around him. he looks directly at me. "i believe you're looking for me." he says, his voice cool and even, betraying no emotion. the entire room falls silent, all eyes on him. hotch leads schuller into the small, sterile investigation room, the judge's calm demeanour completely unshaken. the rest of the team watches from behind the one-sided window, their eyes locked on the man in the chair who is capable of so much destruction.

"hotch, if it's alright, i'd like to talk to him." i say, studying schuller's composed posture, the way his hands are neatly folded on the table. his calmness bothers me, more than it should. hotch glances at me, his brow furrowed. "are you sure?" "certain." i reply, already knowing he'll give me the chance. he nods. "we'll be out here." he opens the door for me, and i walk into the room, feeling the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders as i sit down across from the judge.

schuller looks up, his gaze is unwavering, calm, almost serene. it unnerves me. "you know we have to advise you on your rights." i start, keeping my voice steady. "i waive my constitutional rights against self-incrimination." schuller says smoothly like he's been rehearsing it in his head for hours.

i lean forward slightly, watching him closely. "when you walked in here, you said, 'i believe you're looking for me.'" he doesn't blink. "and i was right." "your timing was impeccable. how could you have known that?" i ask, flipping open the folder in front of me, letting the photographs of the crime scenes spill out onto the table between us.

schuller glances down at the photos, not even a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "i knew it wouldn't take you long to find me." my jaw tightens as i look down at the images of the carnage he orchestrated. "so you don't deny any of this?"

he looks at me, almost pitying. "why would i? what you see as a crime, i see as justice." "ray finnegan was a friend of mine." i say, keeping my voice cold, my anger bubbling beneath the surface. "he was a criminal." schuller replies dismissively, like ray's life meant nothing.

i lean in slightly, narrowing my eyes. "must've really thrown you when ray showed up at emma's funeral." that gets him. his expression tightens, and for a second, i see something crack beneath the surface. "how do you know about my wife?" he asks, his tone shifting, defensive. "could we just get to what i came in for?" schuller says, checking his watch like he's got somewhere better to be. "why? so bosola can go on and carry out whatever it is you have planned?" i ask, my voice sharp. "no, you call him and end this." 

the judge leans back in his chair, that smug smirk reappearing on his face. "even if i could, i wouldn't." i press forward. "is emma's death what started all of this insanity?" his face hardens, the tension clear now. his fists clench briefly, but he doesn't lash out. "you know the charges. charge me." he says, standing abruptly, buttoning his blazer as if he's already won this.

i sit back, my voice level. "and what started this was thirty-five years i had to sit and watch as the system i swore an oath to protect failed the very people our justice system was meant to protect." schuller shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his frustration, his anger. i don't flinch. i keep my eyes on him, unyielding. "i wonder what emma would make of all this."

that stops him. for a second, his composure falters, and i see the raw pain flicker across his face before he forces it back down. "every single person on that list deserves to die." he spits out. and there it is. i seize the moment. "so you do have a list." he freezes, realizing his mistake, the words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around him. i watch as the regret washes over his face, but it's too late. he just gave it all away.

"i'm finished talking." he says, defeated, sinking back into his chair. but it doesn't matter. i've already got what i need. the list, the motive—it's all out there now. the judge may be done, but we're far from finished.