∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

you're gonna see it someday, my affection for you

"who the hell are you people?" mason turner's voice is sharp and brittle as we step inside his house, the sound bouncing off the walls. jj switches on the overhead lights, the sudden brightness illuminating the cramped living room cluttered with books and medical equipment. "you're mason turner, right?" i ask, my voice steady but inquisitive as i scan the room. "dr. turner." he corrects curtly, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"this is my sister, lee hightower. has she been here?" william interrupts, stepping forward with barely restrained urgency. "can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" mason snaps, his frustration escalating. "we're with the fbi," hotch answers firmly, stepping into the space beside me. "we've been invited by the rcmp to assist on an ongoing investigation."

"you haven't been invited into my canadian home," mason spits back, his voice rising. "get the hell out." "sir, we've been invited by the proper authorities." i reply evenly, though his hostility thickens the air between us. before the tension can escalate further, jeff enters the room. his face immediately pales when his gaze lands on mason. "telephone," mason says icily. his fingers twitch, and a nearby computer dials automatically. "call 911." he instructs flatly.

the operator answers and mason begins rattling off his address, his tone clipped and professional. "this won't be necessary." jeff huffs, his face growing redder by the second. "i want these people out of my house. they have no right to be here." mason insists. "agents rossi, hotchner, can i speak to you in the other room?" jeff calls out, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the three of them disappear into a side room, but their heated discussion carries clearly through the thin walls. i exchange a glance with jj as their argument grows louder. jeff's frustration is obvious—he's demanding that william hightower be taken back into custody and that we vacate the premises. suddenly, morgan's voice cuts through the noise. "hotch!"

i pull out my gun instinctively, my pulse quickening as i sprint outside with the team close behind. "you said we were looking for ten missing people? there's a bin over there with over a hundred pairs of shoes." morgan says grimly, his voice heavy with disgust. the flashlight emily holds trembles slightly as she shines it over the large wooden container. i walk up to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "god, this is so much worse than we thought." i murmur, my stomach twisting as she nods wordlessly.

turning, my gaze falls on a pigpen just beyond the bin. the realization dawns cold and sickening. "we might not find bodies," reid says quietly from behind me. "pigs are omnivores. they eat anything, and i mean anything." hotch and rossi confer with the local detectives, their voices low and serious. within minutes, the decision is made: we're staying. calls go out to every available officer in ontario, and soon the farmland is swarmed with flashing red and blue lights.

as we stand together, morgan's expression hardens as we recount what happened inside the house. "mason turner is a quadriplegic?" morgan asks, clearly taken aback. "yeah, we were surprised too." i admit. "madelyn, do you have any federal contacts in detroit?" hotch asks suddenly, turning to me. "yeah, detective tay benning. why?"

"we'll need her to open missing persons files to help identify the victims." he explains. "i'll call her." i reply, already reaching for my phone. hotch decides to bring garcia to canada, knowing her efficiency will be critical here. as we estimate how long it would take the pigs to dispose of remains, the grim reality settles in—kelly, our latest victim, is likely here somewhere, waiting to be found.

rossi emerges from the house after questioning mason. "mason's brother, lucas, is mentally challenged," he reports, holding up a worn photograph of an imposing man. "he's the one who pushed mason off a barn balcony, paralyzing him. mason swears lucas is our unsub and he warned me that he's dangerous. he said if we find him alive, we're screwed."

by dawn, lucas's photo is plastered across media outlets, and officers swarm the property with canine units searching for any trace of kelly. jj does her best to keep grieving families away from the crime scene as they begin to arrive, their faces etched with desperation.

on the blue tarp, a hundred pairs of shoes sit in disarray, caked in dried mud and rotting from neglect. i watch as crime scene examiners sort through them, their gloved hands careful but efficient. a car door slams behind me, and i turn to see tay stepping out, her expression serious.

"agent mortier." tay greets as she approaches, her footsteps crunching over the gravel. she and i had crossed paths before, back when matt was a rookie, though we hadn't exactly been close. "you got here fast." i say, offering a small nod in acknowledgment. "detroit's not that far." she replies with a tight smile.

"did you bring those case files?" i ask, getting straight to the point. she nods, lifting a weathered file case in one hand. "i've got thirty-five open missing." "thirty-five?" i echo, the number hitting me like a gut punch. it's far less than i'd hoped. i gesture toward the blue tarp stretched out on the lawn, cluttered with pairs of shoes that csi has been meticulously cataloging. "that's barely a third. we've counted ninety-eight pairs so far."

tay's eyes widen. "ninety-eight?" she murmurs, glancing uneasily at the scene. "and they keep finding more." i reply, watching as another csi tech pulls out yet another mud-caked shoe, its sole peeling away. tay lets out a deep breath, her gaze drifting toward william hightower, who stands a little way off, visibly shaken. "how's he holding up?" "how would you be?" my voice comes out harsher than intended, the frustration bubbling up. "he begged for someone to help him look for his sister." i add, my tone biting. "we were undermanned." tay defends, though there's a note of regret in her voice.

"does it even matter?" i say, my voice lowering. "to you, these were all just throwaway people." "that's not fair." she snaps back, a flash of anger crossing her face. but before we can continue, a csi tech calls me over. "grab your files." i tell tay over my shoulder as i head toward the tarp. the csi tech holds out a rusted dog tag chain, a smear of mud clinging to the engraved metal. my stomach drops when i see the name: william hightower.

"fuck." i mutter, exhaling sharply as i hold the tags in my hand, feeling the cold weight of them. i turn, making my way toward william. his face lights up with hope as he sees me approach. "did you find something?" he asks eagerly, his voice lifting with a hint of optimism. i hold out my hand, the dog tags resting on my palm. his expression crumples as he takes them, holding them with a reverence that tells me how deeply this hits.

"she... she asked me for them," he says softly, his voice cracking. "before i went back over there. before i lost my—my leg." he struggles, choking on the words. "william, i'm so sorry." i don't know what else to say, feeling a surge of empathy hit me hard. i can't help but think of hannah, and the icy fear and agony that would consume me if she were missing.

"she didn't want me to go back," he continues, his gaze distant. "she always said... she knew something was going to happen. i should've listened." my throat tightens, my eyes blur. i pat his shoulder gently, giving him a moment to process as i step back, letting him grieve. the quiet settles around us, but his loss hangs thick in the air, heavier than any words could be.