❝She is passion embodied, a flower of melodrama in eternal bloom.❞
Michaela Prentiss is the very definition of inconsistent. It's no surprise, really, considering that she's never lived in one place for more than five consecutive years. She believes...
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There's a certain type of bliss in ignorance. Michaela learned this much at a young age. However, as she swiveled back and forth in a chair at the Miami police station, she found herself wishing she knew what had happened to the young men whose pictures were tacked up on a corkboard. Michaela couldn't tear her eyes away from the photos, nor the autopsy reports underneath each of them.
Something felt off to Michaela. She knew of almost every one of her classmates. She never hung out with the same crowd, she definitely floated around, but there was something connecting the three men that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"What's on your mind?"
Michaela looked to Spencer sitting across from her. He seemed to be staring at a detailed map.
She sighed. "They all hung out together. You've already questioned Sam Martinez?"
Spencer nodded. "Yeah, he was the one person we could find connected to all three of the victims. He has an airtight alibi, he's not the unsub. Why do you ask?" He could feel his stomach flip when Michaela sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth. He shoved the thought from his brain as quickly as it came.
"There's someone else, too. Someone else in their clique. But I can't remember who. I never really did the clubbing thing a lot so I really didn't know any of them personally. But there's this blonde girl I'm thinking of. I think she might have dated Noah. I just can't remember her name."
"Are you saying that you might know who the unsub is? Someone connected to all of them?"
"I know Emily and Derek already checked it out, but I'm gonna go to Blume. Maybe I'll remember if I go there again," Michaela said. She stood up from her seat, slinging her cross body bag over her shoulder.
"You're not supposed to go anywhere without an escort," Spencer said, panic in his voice.
"I know," she said, her eyebrows scrunched together. Spencer was rather oblivious for a genius. "You're coming with me."
Without protest, Spencer hastily grabbed the keys to the SUV and struggled to catch up with Michaela, who was already halfway out of the station.
✖
Blume Nightclub was always busy, but even more so on the weekends. There was a long line outside of the entrance that led to two bouncers who were very briefly checking ID's and slowly letting people inside. Michaela walked past everyone standing in line, their crass stares going unnoticed.
"Michaela, who are we even looking for?" Spencer questioned.
"Tell them we're looking for Chantelle Davies. She works here," she answered.
Spencer pulled out his badge, showing it to the bouncers for confirmation. "Spencer Reid, FBI. I'm looking for Chantelle Davies. Is she working tonight?"
