City Limits (Spencer Reid Fanfic)

Chapter Two: Thinking Out Loud

From their private jet, Hotch continued briefing the team.

"As you all know, the Babysitter was a serial killer that preyed on children, aged seven to twelve, during the 1970's. He was particularly active along the east coast, especially in New York state and Connecticut, but was known to have traveled as far west as Wyoming," he explained.

"He didn't discriminate, either," JJ piped up, "Race, gender, physical conditions... none of it mattered to him. Only age. He had a preference."

I thought back to what little I knew about the Babysitter. It was Uncle Jason's first case, that much I understood, but he almost never discussed his work life with any of us. One year at Christmas, the whole family headed up to his cottage in the woods, and I got a rare peak into his mind. While playing hide-and-seek with my cousins, I scampered away into the inner belly of the cozy structure, and found myself in his office. His desk was a stand-alone thing, a proud testament to his job, and with the soft light of a lamp practically spotlighting it, I gave in to the temptation to explore.

Beneath the walls lined with contemporary art and bird-watching books, I'd crouched under the sturdy oak frame and hunted through the drawers. Out popped a stack of manila folders as thick as my wrist, and I began thumbing through their contents with eager eyes.

Bound and tortured... rape... held hostage...

My twelve year-old self barely had time to comprehend the horrors within before Uncle Jason's son Stephen noticed me. Always desperate for attention from his career-driven father, he'd snitched on me, and I was soon cornered by the grown-ups and lectured for what seemed like hours. Uncle Jason didn't partake in the scolding, but only sipped from his eggnog, observing with a disappointed frown. I learned that the next day, a lock was installed on the office door.

Nevertheless, once I got over the initial embarrassment of having been caught, and the sting of that look on my uncle's face, I couldn't stop myself from thinking back to what I'd read in those files. The word 'Babysitter' had stuck out to me, because, at the time, I'd been a babysitter myself.

"...the last victim was eleven year-old Abbey Lang, whose battered body was discovered dumped on the side of Route 116 in Newport, Rhode Island in 1980. He left behind his signature, a single plastic baby rattle, so it appeared like any of his previous murders. But the killing randomly stopped," Rossi declared, his elaboration bringing me back to reality.

"For his last kill, you'd think he'd alter his M.O. somehow. Make it... 'special,'" I muttered.

Reid snapped his head up from his notebook. "He did, actually. All of his previous killings-- all documented twenty-six-- were achieved through single gunshot wounds to the back of the head. Abbey Lang was beaten to death... a far more personal approach, which suggests a mental dissolution."

Prentiss cleared her throat. "Maybe he knew we were onto him. The elevated media coverage, public appeals from the victim's families... could explain why he stopped leaving letters at the crime scene; those letters were the strongest piece of evidence in his case."

Hotch nodded as he mulled over possible scenarios.

"So, the last murder was almost four decades ago. At the time, the Babysitter was profiled to be between 25 or 40... assuming he was 25, he'd be nearing 60 now. How do we know he's back, or even that he's still alive?" Rossi inquired.

"That's where I come in, my loves," Garcia suddenly appeared via video message on Morgan's laptop.

"Yesterday afternoon, Providence police found the body of nine year-old Kylie Wu at a local park. She was so badly beaten, as you can see from the pictures, that the lab had to rely on dental records to identify her. Poor baby," she whimpered.