❝ you're the best of us. ❞
in which the ex-agent with a therapy license decides to get back in the game.
CRIMINAL MINDS SEASON 4
OC X AARON HOTCHNER
TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ABUSE AND ISSUES SURROUND...
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THIRTY. THE LETTER
DAISY WAS EXHAUSTED BY THE TIME SHE MADE IT TO HER APARTMENT. Her eyes were drooping, her legs were weak, and all she wanted was to collapse onto her mattress and sleep until noon the next day. She had a late start at work, and was looking forward to doing absolutely nothing the entire morning.
In one hand was her used go-bag, and in the other was a short stack of mail from her locker in the lobby. She was yet to sort through it, and she didn't pay it much mind as she tossed it on her kitchen island.
Slipping her shoes off and grunting as her sore feet hit the hardwood floor, Daisy grunted, her fingers massaging the skin on her neck. She hadn't gotten any sleep on the flight home, and she was looking forward to a nice dose of melatonin to help her drift off.
She trudged through the kitchen, yawning as she opened the fridge and took out the orange juice. She squeezed the opening and drank from the carton (it wasn't like she was sharing with anyone), and relished in the sweet taste hitting her tongue.
With her free hand, Daisy sifted through junk mail and flyers for the local election, only to find a plain white envelope with DAISY scrawled messily on the front.
Her brows knitting together in confusion, Daisy put the carton down and used her thumb to tear the paper apart. Two items fell out; a letter and torn piece of material. Daisy pursed her lips, not daring to touch the cloth. She instead picked up the letter and opened it.
Praise Him, for I have found my love.
That was all that had been written, the handwriting almost unintelligible. However, as she read it, a deep fear struck in her chest. She opened her top drawer and pulled out a pair of tongs, using them to pick up the material. Turning it over, her eyes widened at the icon printed on the crusty white surface.
An 'L' and 'C' interlocked in faded black ink, with small lettering dotted around. Liberty Church, La Plata County.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Daisy tried to control her quickened breathing. She acted quickly, putting the cloth in a ziplock back and fastening it, making sure not to contaminate it with her own DNA.
A sickening feeling rose in her stomach, and she ran her hands through her hair. Somehow she knew exactly who it was.
It was him. He'd made it out of the church before it exploded.
Harrison.
Daisy grabbed her phone and punched in the first number she could think of as she raced around her apartment, double checking the locks on the windows and doors. She chained her front door and closed all her curtains, her phone between her ear and shoulder as she listened to it ring.
You've reached Aaron Hotchner, I'm unable to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message with me or the Behavioural Analysis Unit at...
