THEY FOUND TWO MORE BODIES. Rossi woke us up this morning, his screaming echoing through the halls of the quiet hotel. He nearly broke our hotel door down with now hard he was pounding on the wood. His impatience lead him to shouting through the door the discovery, two more bodies. The unsub hadn't followed his timeline, it has barely been twenty-six hours, he still had 10 more to go, and his victims has doubled. Rossi urged us on as JJ and I quickly changed out of our sleepwear. After we were semi acceptable we rushed to follow the older man to the lobby, where we find a very tired, very worried group of agents.

"Two more bodies in less then forty-eight hours?" Derek questions, his eyes far to attentive and alert for three in the morning.

"He's devolving."

"Who are the victims?" Hotch asks one of the three officers that stand among us.

"Didn't recognize em'." One of them shrugs. "Must be tourists."

"We're working on identifying them now." One that appears to be the highest ranking among the three steps forward, pulling out a small notebook. "Both females, caucasian, found with slit throats, and stab wounds through their chest and torso. Their eyes gouged out, just like the others."

"Who found them?" Rossi asks.

"Josh Felton. He is at the station now."

"Good." Hotch acknowledged before turning to us. "JJ, the reporters for the local paper and radio station are out front, don't give away any specifics, just reiterate the profile. Morgan, I need you to interview Felton at the station bring one of the departments officers as your second, show them how we handle our interviews, give Garcia and Cypher a ride there- I need you ladies to be on standby. Reid, and I will scout the new crime scene. Prentiss, and Rossi go interview the locals at the nearby bar, someone must have seen something."

I blink. Heavy eyes struggling to stay open, and I miserably fail in an attempt to cover a yawn with the back of my hand as people begin dispersing. Of course the unsub had to make his next kill at this ungodly hour.

"Tired, lil' sunshine?" Derek smirks as he and Penelope usher me out towards one of the vehicle's. Both on either side of me, protecting my small frame as we passed the half dozen reporters that are currently swarming around JJ.

"Not at all. I love running off of no sleep. It's my favorite thing! I'm actually thrilled right now can't you tell?" They laugh at my sarcasm as we all climb into the large suv.

The drive to the police station was quiet, I assume everyone is just to exhausted, or nervous to try to make conversation. My forehead rests against the warm glass of the car window as we drive down the very streets I had drawn merely hours ago. They all seem strangely familiar, as if I've been here before. A soft sigh leaves me as my eyes fall on bright yellow police tape the color cutting through the darkness of the early hour. 

Two more bodies.

Those women are dead. They will get to sleep forever.

Lucky.

Morgan disappears from site as soon as we enter the police station, off to interview the man who found the victims. Garcia blinks multiple times as she try's to get her computer systems up and running, to be ready to help out at a moments notice.

Hotch had called an hour later from the crime scene, saying they discovered a small mistake that could help point to an unsub. A half inch piece of wood, probably coming from the handle of the murder weapon, was found clutched in one of the victims hands.

There is really nothing for me to do. I'm no longer sleepy, and I'm just aching to do something productive, anything is better than just sitting here.

"Do you want me to get you some coffee?" I ask a still very tired Penelope as I stand from the table, already predicting her response.

"Dear god yes!" She groans as she rubs her eyes. "I'm a morning person, but four am is still night time in my book."

"I wholeheartedly agree." I give her a weak smile as I leave to wonder about the police station in search of their break room. It was not hard to find, seeing as the station is near desolate of people and the building is far smaller than anyone would wish the people in charge of keeping peace and order would have to work with. The kitchen was just as tiny as the rest of the precinct, a countertop lined cabinets all of which is lined with peeling brown paint, a refrigerator that looks older than I am, and a dinky table with three chairs.

With a creaky swing of the cabinet door I find coffee mugs on one of the upper shelves. Standing on my toes and leaning against the counter for leverage my fingertips brush against the cold ceramic. "Need help?" My body freezes at the unfamiliar voice midway to grabbing a coffee mug. With a glance over my shoulder I see one of the police officers, a muscular man in his late thirties.

His eyes are the first thing I notice— electrifyingly blue.

"Let's give you something to be sorry about, babe."

The discovery only causes a memory to pop in my head. My throat suddenly drying and I am stone, fear at the memory making me unable to pull my eyes away from his. "No... no. I'm fine."

Despite this he takes a step forward, his height towering over me, trapping me between him and the counter. He reaches over me into one of the cabinets, grabbing a mug for me.

"There we go." My breath catches, as my gaze falls to the gun in his belt. He is so close the holster on his hips digs into my abdomen.

"I said- I'm fine." I say, my voice louder this time as he sets the cup down next to my hand.

He clicked his tongue before shaking his head, his icy blue eyes burning holes in my body. "Just say thank you."

This isn't him. This isn't him. I'm fine. I'm in a police station. This isn't him. My hand brushes against my jacket pocket before pulling away to grab the coffee pot after my phone seemed to feel white hot against the fabric. A phantom burn as my mind reminds me that he may not be here, but he always is in one way or another. Inescapable, like the officers eyes that follow my every movement. Ocean blue eyes trailing up and down my figure making my stomach twist in discomfort.

I could run. But he would catch me. I could scream. But he has a gun. He did me a favor, he probably thinks I'm in his debt now. I need to get out of here. No. No I'm being paranoid. Not everyone is like that. I have to remind myself that it's okay, he is just being nice- creepy, but nice. I'm in a police station, I'm okay. I'm over reacting. I am projecting past situations onto this innocent one. Breathe.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly pour the hot liquid into the coffee mug. I managed to squeeze away from him and the counter. As I began to head for the door, all rational thought leaves me when his hand tightly gripped onto my arm, stopping me from getting past him. "Hold on baby."

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. I can feel the panic settling in my chest. How my breath catches, the room seems to spin, and my heart feels like it will beat out of my body.

Time seems to slow down as his grasp causes the mug to slip from my hands. Hot coffee falling over the counter and the linoleum floor, the ceramic mug shattering when it makes impact.

I need to get out of this room. Before I could do anything, a soft banging of the doorknob hitting the wall echos throughout the room.

"Nicolette—" Spencer stands awkwardly in the doorway, his brows knit together as he takes notice of the broken mug, the spilled coffee and my petrified expression. "What's happened?" Spencer's concern is immediate and very welcomed, his eyes narrowing at the officer obviously piecing together the scene. The officer curses under his breath, quickly letting go of my arm and pushing past Spencer as he leaves. "Nicolette what did he do?"

I finally let out that breath that I didn't realize I was holding in. "I'm okay." I shakily lie through a whisper as I bend down and begin carefully picking up broken pieces of the mug.

"You don't look okay." His eyes grow wide at his own words. "No! I don't... I don't mean you look bad. You look gre- I mean it's just, you seem terrified."

An ache spears through my stomach, the familiar burning of hands scarring me. "I'm okay." Bad. Bad. Bad. Don't. Bad. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. "I-I just need... I need to clean this."

To my surprise he kneels down too, picking up the rest of the jagged ceramic and reaching to the counter to get some towels. "Here, let me." He looks at me softly, still concerned. "I-I came to tell you that Hotch said he needed to see you, he is in the chiefs office."

"Oh, okay." I breathe out a small sigh, finally being able to meet his eyes. "Thank you, Spencer."

His eyes light up at my reaction, and he nods meekly. I stand from my place on the dirty floor, knees shaking as I try to push down the memories that keep trying to consume my head. "Oh, we have a suspect now." Spencer announces before I make it to the door. Almost as if he had forgotten until now.

"So soon?"

"Josh Felton. Dereks interview turned into an interrogation pretty quickly. Apparently he only began calling the authorities when a group of men from the nearby bar spotted him around the crime scene. And his car was found a few hundred yards away, a knife with a broken handle was in his passenger seat." He explains, standing after he had wiped up the spilled coffee.

"Isn't that enough to get him convicted?" I ask hesitantly.

"Typically this is where we would hand it over to the local authorities but, something dosent feel right." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "Somethings still don't add up."

"...they also hold a level of unpredictability when it comes to their choice of killing, and not having a set victim profile. But he is structured in the timing of his crimes, and his signature... He seems to be fighting with two different profiles. Organized and spontaneous."

"Organized and spontaneous." I hum, not missing the widening of his eyes as he realizes someone did listen when he said that. "Maybe he's working with a partner? Both taking on one of those roles? Or he is struggling with a mental illness? Flip flopping between the two?"

"Y-Yeah," the word leaving him like a fleeting breath. His height makes it so I have to look up at him, our eyes meeting a little too long.

I force myself to pull my gaze away, fighting against the fuzzy feeling in my stomach. "And the eyes?"

"We haven't found them yet." He shakes his head. "N-Nicolette? Are you sure you're okay?"

"I will be." I offer him a weak smile. "So um.. Chiefs office, right?"

He doesn't seem satisfied with my response but still he nods and gestures so I can leave before him. I can hear my footsteps echoing down the hall, only my footsteps.

I send a quick glance over my shoulder only to find Spencer is awkwardly holding the small mug of coffee, his concerned gaze locked me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I feel slightly safer. I have no reason to feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, but a small bit of relief forces a smile on my face as I approach the chiefs office.

The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear the pieces of a heated conversation on the other side.

"There is no discussion," Hotch's strong voice echoes around the small room. "She observes the interrogation with you. End of story."

"She is a child." Prentiss began. "I don't trust her yet. I know nothing about her. She won't even tell us her real age!"

"I was actually just born yesterday." I step forward, pushing the door open the rest of the way. I didn't even get so much as a smile. "I-I'm kidding... I turn twenty-one in two weeks. If that makes you more comfortable."

"She is twenty?!" Prentiss nearly shouts in anger, shock and disbelief is directed at Aaron. As if he is the reason I'm not older.

"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't matter if she was thirty or ninety. When you are given an order you follow it. How are you supposed to learn about her if you never work with her?"

"I don't want to risk a fallout in the investigation." She starts tightly. "I need someone I can rely on for intel, not someone who needs their hand held."

Well now I won't suggest we hold hands. I snicker to myself which doesn't help the situation in the slightest.

"She is an important member of this team, and her age has no factor in that." Air is heavy and thick with tension, it almost hurts to breathe. "You won't need to 'hold her hand'. She has unique skill sets that will greatly benefit our department, you just need to give her the opportunity to use them."

His eyes fall to me. Giving me an opening to defend myself. List my credentials, share my IQ, have her guess the number of languages I'm fluent in and laugh at whatever low-ball number she says. He is giving me an opportunity to show off.

But like the child she thinks I am- I don't take it.

"'An important member of this team'." Emily scoffs. "She hasn't been here a week. She is too inexperienced to be 'consulting' the team on anything. I don't know enough about her, or her abilities to trust her on this."

Aaron's jaw is locked closed, his eyes now narrowing on her. "You know Prentiss, you are beginning to sound a lot like Gideon when you first started." I watch her face fall as he brings up the name. "Remember, he said the same things about you. He didn't want you, or trust you to do the job. He was downright horrible to you. Remember how that made you feel? Like you had something to prove. Like you didn't belong here. And now you are doing the exact same thing." He took a step towards her, his eyes never leaving hers as he radiated disappointment.

She was quiet for a few moments, pondering over the harsh words. "Fine." Her response was so quiet I almost missed it. "Fine, I'll meet you in the observation room." She hastily exited the office, brushing past me in the process.

Hotch's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, anger turning to pity. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's fine." I mumble. "I'm not blind to how this works, I know I'll have to prove myself."

"Regardless," he exhales through his nose. "I'm having you observe Derek and Rossi's integration with the unsub. Try and establish if he truly fits the profile, we still have too many questions then answers." I give him a curt nod, before heading out to the observation room.

"You're against a wall here." Rossi glares across the small metal table that the unsub is handcuffed to. "We know about your car, we know about the knife, we know all about you." He slammed a file down on the table with a flourish. "The question is, are you going to help yourself by cooperating? I can talk to the attorneys, be in your corner, maybe get you down to one of the nicer prisons, the ones less prone to violence. But I can't help you unless you help me."

Lie. Legally detectives and agents can't sway your sentencing for the better or for the worse. They surprisingly have very little power. They can however tell the judge or jury the facts of your cooperation. But that means essentially nothing in the eyes of the courts, especially when you are being convicted of serial murder.

Prentiss stands facing the glass with her hands clasped behind her back, watching the scene in front of her. I join, being careful to stand a few feet away from her, not wanting to invade her space.

The unsub, Josh Felton looks terrified. Sweat collects on his brow, his fidgeting hands never stop moving, and his eyes dart back and forth between Rossi and Morgan. His head snapped to the side quickly. "No. No. No. NO. He told me you would say that. He told me! Izabagi sent you didn't he!" His voice wavered towards the end. "Didn't he!"

Izabagi, another Japanese folklore. He is knowledgeable in that area. That part fits the profile, but he is also paranoid, he has ticks. I pull my phone out of my pocket and call Derek, ignoring Prentiss's skeptical gaze.

He steps to the side, answering my call silently.

"Hi it's Nicolette. I'm watching behind the glass with Emily. Um- I-I think he is suffering from mental illness or disorder- not a substance induced delusion or a head injury. If you don't play along, he could lash out, or shut down."

Derek lowers the phone, hanging up without saying anything.

"He sent you— he sent you!"

"Yes he did." Morgan announces. "He knows what you did, Felton. He needs you to confess your sins. Its okay, this is a safe space, he told us you would be honest."

I let out a sigh. He listened, he actually listened.

"I-" his voice cracked, his head snapped again. "He... they told... h-he told... told me. Told me to! He sent you! He sent you! You're going to kill me! Aren't you? Aren't you!" He shouted. His wrists reddening with the harshness of his pulling against the restraints. "He made me. He made me. They were demons. Demons! I had to kill them. He said I had to kill them!"

"He isn't lying." I note. "This is real to him."

"He is probably bipolar, or maybe schizophrenic." Emily says after a moment.

"I'm torn between a few psychotic disorders- schizophrenia, delusional disorder, schizoaffective disorder, and maybe an extreme delusionary break with borderline." I glance her way. "He dosent seem organized enough to do this alone. He has to have someone with a dominant personality. Someone with a clear head on their shoulders to be the organized part in all of this." I respond basically reiterating what Spencer said far earlier, my brows knitting together as I stare intently at the scene before me. Emily pulls out her phone, messaging Aaron with a short update.

"No one is going to kill you." Derek lowered his voice, trying to remain calm. "We can protect you, Josh. But we need to know what happened."

Another lie. The most they could do is suggest he is sent to an institution instead of prison.

"I don't want to go back!" Felton sobs, his hands covering his face. "I don't want to! I don't. I don't. No. No!" His voice is a full on scream now.

"Go back where?" Rossi asks.

"Glass. Blue door. Blue. Glass. Glass! I don't want to. I don't want to!"

Morgan and Rossi attempt to calm the man, before eventually having to call for an ambulance to take him to the hospital as he only became more distraught.

"Hotch is taking Reid to some of the addresses Garcia came up with." Emily tells me.

"She has an address? With so little to go off of?" I don't try to hide the skepticism in my voice.

"Glass, and blue door." She confirms. "In a small town like this, there is only so many places it can be."
••••

Josh Feltons mother died three years ago. His father was forced to take him in after Josh's mother lost the fight with cancer. Robort Hanks moved his Ophthalmologists office which had a bright blue painted door, to Caliente Nevada to care for his son who struggled with his mental health all of his life. Without his primary caretaker he quickly spiraled out of control, refusing to take his medication. Robert didn't seem to care, being far too busy truing to rebuild his business in such a little town.

As his son spiraled, he did his best to cover it up, displaying a shiny appearance to anyone to peered into their lives. After the first murder he seemed to take to Josh's paranoid side, and manipulated him into ridding the world of the 'evil' ones. Apparently he figured if his son was going to murder people he may as well get something out of it. When he sensed his son was especially deep in his delusion he would choose a random person to abduct for him. He may not have been the one 'holding the knife' per se, but he encouraged it, even giving his son the signature.

After the team and a group of officers went to the address there was a stand off. Hanks barricaded himself inside the building, threatening to kill a supposed hostage. After three hours, when it was confirmed no hostages were actually taken, they stormed the small office. He didn't have to confess, for the evidence was on display for all to see inside among the rows of optical frames.

The gouged out eyes of each of the victims, completely encased and preserved in glass.

"Whatcha' thinking about, sunshine?" Derek collapses onto one of the nearby couches of the jet.

"Hmm?" His voice causes me to jump, it is unexpected and surprising. "Oh, nothing."

"Nothing?" He pry's with an almost evil smile.

The most common tell tells of a liar is avoiding eye contact, over explaining, and subject change. So I do the opposite. Keeping my answer simple, and staring him dead in the eye. "Nothing at all."

The fact that Emily doesn't trust me to stand in a room and look though glass has been weighing ok my mind. If she doesn't trust me, I doubt anyone else on this team does. Aaron wants to. He really does, but that's because he doesn't want to believe I would have wasted the life he worked so hard to save.

"Hey, look at me." I reluctantly do so, his deep brown eyes are full of pity. It makes me sick. "You did good, kid. I know first cases can be hard-"

"It's not my..." I stop myself. Think before you speak. "It's not that."

"You know, we couldn't have solved this without you." He pauses. "Well, we could have. But it would have taken a hell of a lot longer."

"Thanks." I must not sound convinced, because he leans towards me, his gaze intense and serious.

"I mean it. You came up with the theory that happened to be right. You recognized Feltons mental illness, you found a pattern in the route that lead right to the optometrist. That's a lot of leaps you gave us. Especially in a case as gruesome as this."

I give him a small smile, my eyes glancing over to the group assembled by a chess game. Spencer and Rossi have been playing this entire time, JJ, and Penelope sit near, laughing and making small comments with each move the men make. I will never be a part of this team if they don't trust me.

"Hey Rossi!" Derek noticed my gaze, and catches the attention of the older man. "Switch the girl places. You've been hogging that game for an hour!"

"You wanna play with boy-genius?" Rossi chuckles before making his way from the table to us. "Be my guest."