✓ 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃'𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝘴. 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥

CHAPTER SIX.

chapter six — everything
"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity." — Edger Allan Poe

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EDITED: December 7th, 2020
Tessa's POV

      THE RIDE TO THE POLICE station was full of an awkward silence, Spencer had his careful brown eyes studying the road while driving, and I was staring out the window as the scenery would appear and then disappear, and repeat over again with a new view. Again, neither of us knew exactly what to say, so we just stayed quiet.

      "So, uh, do you want a ride to the hotel tonight?" Spencer cleared his throat, focused on the road ahead of us, rather than looking at me — which I was grateful for, since I still felt utterly embarrassed for the puking incident earlier.

      "That'd be better than asking Morgan," I playfully teased, my cheeks turning a rose color as my eyes flickered from looking outside the window, over to Spencer.

      "He's just taking you to the hotel, it's not like he's asking you on a date..." I thought to myself, and a small smile crossed my face at the idea of Spencer asking me on a date, but how would work play into effect? Is that even allowed? Dating among coworkers, especially in the FBI, didn't exactly sound professional. And I've only known this man for a few days, yet there was this charm floating around my stomach, like butterflies.

      "Okay," he replied, and by now the soft smile he had played out on his lips turned even bigger, which made my grin double in size.

      After the silent ride back to the police department, Spencer and I were now in the conference room, along with the rest of the team. We all arrived back at basically the same time, but I had just enough time to make myself a cup of well-needed coffee before we had another meeting.

      "So, Rossi, Prentiss, and I talked to the families. They basically all said the same thing, blonde, very fit, went to gyms before work or went on jogs around the block," Hotch announced, nodding towards the board where pictures were now hung, and a few words were written in a white chalk.

      "So, the unsub definitely has a type, could he possibly be trying to recreate some type of person?" I suggested carefully, choosing each word with precise precision so I didn't sound wrong in the slightest. I took a quiet seat on a chair, the cushion on top of it felt quite uncomfortable, but I ignored it.

      I was still extremely nervous to voice my opinion in front of the group, since I didn't want to find out that I was wrong in front of them with disappointment, so my tone of voice sounded a bit unsure.

      I peeled open the file that was laying on the table in front of me, and reread it for the hundredth time already. After scanning it for a moment, I returned to take a quick sip of my warm sugar soaked coffee, the toasted liquid slid down my throat just perfectly and made my heart warm up — surprisingly.

      "It seems like it," Rossi agreed, nodding in my direction, which made me smile a bit, happy he seemed to agree with my statement. I adjusted my back, straightening it out, as a more confident side of me appeared.

      "There's something just not sitting right with me," I mumbled, more myself than the group, but they all seemed to pay attention anyway. "There's hate, and a lot of it. But men typically use a weapon as their source for both death and abuse. So, why would he cut their throats and not cut their body? 59% of men who kill with knives also cut their victims skin."