Profile // A Spencer Reid Love Story

Chapter 32 // Goodmorning

Chloe's POV.

I could've sworn that Garcia was some sort of magical fairy with glasses and a keyboard, because within minutes after we had delivered the profile, she called us with new information.

We figured that the unsub most likely grew up around dead bodies and maybe that was why he had such a sick fascination with them, so we had Garcia try to find any males who's parents worked in funeral homes. When nothing came up that was relevant to the case, she looked up males who were recently fired from the medical facility in Bakersfield. Still no results, but then she pulled out her magic wand, spread some pixie dust, and found out that there was an anatomy Professor on paid leave.

The name was Dylan Myers.

Although he wasn't related to my kidnapper, Bennett Myers, the last name was enough to cause a hitch in my breath once Garcia announced it.

None of them noticed my reaction though, atleast I thought they didn't, because right after Garcia told us his name, she gave us directions to his home.

"I thought that this guy would be a loner, but there are tons of pictures of him surrounded by friends and family." I said to the team as I looked through some photos that were laid out on Myers' kitchen table. One of the last pictures was of Myers without a shirt on. He had a tattoo on the right side of his chest and a scar on his stomach.

"Hang on." Hotch said as he grabbed the autopsy photos from the first victim. As we did a side by side of the picture of Myers and the autopsy, we saw that they both had the same exact tattoo and scar. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked, looking up at Hotch.

"Dylan Myers isn't the unsub. He's the first victim."

7:32 PM || Police Station

The team and I headed back to the police station so that we could get all of our information and evidence gathered. With Garcia on speaker, we sat around a table in the conference room that was prepared for us.

"So, the real unsub killed Dylan Myers and then framed him. He wanted us to think that it was Myers doing these killings. Why?" JJ asked.

"Maybe Myers stood in the way of what the unsub really wanted. A girl, perhaps?" Reid replied, scratching the back of his neck. "Garcia, was Dylan Myers dating anyone?

"Hmm, he was a bit of a hermit. He's not on any social media sites either. However, he did go old school with a land line. I'm tracking his frequently called numbers as we speak." Garcia replied, her furious typing was heard from over the phone. "He called a young woman named Christine Locke several times. She's a former student, lives in Bakersfield.....and she's missing. I'm sending you her picture now."

Within a few seconds, all of our phones dinged and we received the picture of Christina. "She looks like the second victim." I observed. "Did she have a restraining order against anyone?"

"Uh, yes. She filed for and was granted a restraining order on August 6th from a Steven Parkett." Garcia informed us. "He was raised and lives at a cattle ranch and slaughterhouse in Bishopville just outside of Bakersfield. Sending you the coordinates now."

And with that, Garcia hung up. All six of us immediately left the station and hopped in our cop cars along with three officers. Morgan, Reid, and I were in one car, JJ, Hotch, and Rossi were in another. However, we were all connected on to one call.

That being said, I didn't have to worry about whether or not Morgan would bring up the fact that he most likely saw Reid and I holding hands earlier.

"Parkett grew up isolated, just like we thought. Mother died in childbirth. No siblings. The father was a violent schizophrenic, aggravated by chronic alcoholism." I informed Morgan and Reid as I read the information that Garcia sent me on my phone.

"Genetics. Didn't have much of a chance." Morgan replied, shaking his head as he drove.

Once we got to the slaughterhouse, Hotch, JJ, and I agreed to go inside while the rest of the team and the officers stayed out front with their guns in position incase the unsub appeared.

With Hotch infront of JJ and I, we entered the house with our guns raised.

The house was dimly lit and the smell of blood and rotted flesh immediately hit my nostrils as soon as we opened the doors. Knives, machetes, saws, and other tools used for slaughter were hung against the walls and there was a steel tub in the corner. As I got closer, I saw that there was a detached arm inside of the tub surrounded by preservatives to keep it fresh. "Look." I said, shining a flashlight onto the tub. JJ and Hotch walked over to me.

"We need to split up." He said. "JJ take the back door, Campbell and I will take the front. Keep your eyes open, he's gonna be close."

JJ nodded her head and took off, leaving Hotch and I to walk back towards the front of the house.

The slaughterhouse was huge, and although Hotch and I were both in the front, we still didn't have a good view of either one of us. As I went around the side, I noticed an old rusted truck and immediately walked towards it. Shining the light on my gun onto the truck, I opened one of the doors and looked down to see if there was anything on the seat. Seeing nothing, I looked back up only to catch a glimpse of the unsub's face in the opposite rearview mirror. However, before I could ever register it in my mind and turn around, I immediately felt an impact to my head.

Once I hit the ground, although the wind was knocked out of me, I began crawling away from him as fast as I could. Despite my efforts, I felt him grab onto my left ankle and pull me forward before rolling me over so I could face him. He held his machete up in the air and I shut my eyes tight, knowing that there was no way out of this, before I heard a gunshot. Reopening my eyes, Steven Parkett was face down on the ground and Hotch was standing a few feet away, slowly withdrawing his gun.

"Thank you, so much." I managed to breathe out with a small chuckle, trying to hide the fact that my entire body was shaking like crazy and images of Bennett Myers' face kept flooding my mind.

Medics shortly arrived after to take away Parkett's body and to examine me for a concussion or any injuries.

"No concussion," The medic started to tell me as she cleaned a small cut on my forehead, "but he did manage to cut you. It's not major, but I'm just cleaning it with alcohol and bandaging it up to make sure it doesn't get infected."

As she applied a bandaid to the cut, Reid walked over with concern all over his face. "Are you alright?" He asked, wrapping his fingers around my arm. "I'm fine, Spence." I said, giving him a small smile as the medic walked away.

"I talked to Morgan while we were out front. He, uh, he saw us earlier." He said, lowering his voice so our team couldn't hear. "He did?" I asked, starting to panic. I trusted Morgan so much, but this was supposed to be a secret between Reid and I.

"Don't worry. I told him that I was feeling exhausted over the case and you were just trying to make me feel better." He assured me, making me sigh in relief.

The six-hour plane ride back to Quantico was actually something that I had been looking forward to ever since the case ended. While the rest of the team chattered away, well, except for Reid who was sitting by himself reading a book, I took an empty window seat and fell asleep for the entire ride. Once we landed, it was three in the morning and everyone was super tired. So, just like the last case, we said our goodbyes and immediately gathered our things and headed our separate ways. Although, Reid insisted on walking me to my car.

"So...if you're not busy tomorrow, or, uh, later. You know, since it's basically morning, maybe I could take you on that date?" He asked nervously as I fished for my car keys in my purse. It was extremely adorable how he was still nervous about asking me on a date, especially when he knew that I had feelings for him. "Of course, Spence. Call me later, okay?" I said while smiling.

"I will. Goodnight- um, goodmorning, Chloe." He replied before giving me a hug. "Goodmorning." I chuckled and got into my car. Reid began walking towards his car, turning back once to wave to me.

After waving back, I hit the road, wishing upon every single star in the damn sky that the evening could come sooner.