FIVE. SELA

"HE'S NOT TAKING IT EASY ON YOU, THAT'S FOR SURE," DEREK CHUCKLED. He and Daisy walked side by side into the prison that housed the Angel Maker until his death, the latter not particularly thrilled with what Hotch had assigned her.

"Was he like this with everyone when they started?" she asked as they removed their guns and phones and handed them over for security inspection. The man in question was Hotch, who had sent her to do some digging in the dead man's past with Morgan keeping an eye on her.

"Only with Prentiss," Derek responded, patting her on the shoulder as an act of comfort. Both of them knew that there wasn't much he could do about Hotch's hostility. "If it makes you feel any better, the rest of the team think you're pretty cool."

"Oh yeah?"

The prison guard they were meeting with came into view, and Derek glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "Anyone who isn't scared to argue with Erin Strauss belongs in the BAU."

Daisy couldn't resist the smile that spread across her cheeks. She hoped her colleague didn't see it, but she was fairly certain he did.

The guard introduced himself as Rutledge, and led them to one of the evidence rooms in the prison. They had prepared what was left of the Angel Maker's belongings for their arrival, so it didn't take long for them to dive right in.

"Ryan didn't have any next of kin, so after the execution, all of his effects got boxed and stored," Rutledge explained as another guard placed one of the boxes on the table.

"This is everything?" Daisy asked with furrowed brows, opening the box and peering inside. "All his correspondence?"

"Copies, at least," Rutledge replied as the agents sifted through the content. "Helps the warden keep tabs on certain prisoners if he can know what's in their mail."

"There's a lot of letters," Derek noted, picking up a pile of discarded paper.

"A lot of fans," Rutledge said with a shrug. "Real lady killer."

"Good one," Daisy muttered sarcastically, flicking through various drawings and fan art of the murderer.

"What about male fans?" Derek asked.

"Some, yeah," Rutledge nodded. "Freaks. This one kid would come by. Musician, I think. Black clothes and eyeliner and all that. He sent Ryan his demo tape and some sheet music he wrote in his own blood."

Daisy pulled a face. Nasty.

"Did you ever catch Ryan trying to smuggle anything out to this kid or anyone else?"

Rutledge made a 'hmph' sound. "Usual problem we have is stuff being smuggled in, not out."

Daisy peered across at the photos of young women Derek held - fans of the serial killer. "His DNA was found at a fresh crime scene in Lower Canaan."

"What kind of DNA are we talking about?"

"The type of DNA that cats in lockup don't have occasion to use," Morgan said sharply. "All right. Well, listen, thank you for all of this, but I want to look at all your visitor logs."

Before Rutledge could reply, Derek's phone rang.

"Excuse me," he muttered, opening his phone and putting it to his ear. "Yeah, JJ? Okay, uh, yeah, we're headed right back."

"Something wrong?" Daisy asked softly, her brows knitting together.

Derek's lips pressed into a thin line and he tapped his phone against his knuckle in deep thought. "A local newspaper just got a letter from someone claiming to be the Angel Maker."

★☆

Less than an hour later, Daisy was sitting at an abandoned desk in the Lower Canaan Police Department, reading what felt like the millionth letter full of misdirected yearning. Her expression of distaste hadn't led her face since she began, and she knew its wasn't going to go anywhere soon.

"Find anything good?" Spencer asked, approaching her. She looked up at him blankly. He smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, let me rephrase that. Find anything worth looking into?"

"Other than the bad boy trope being taken way too seriously?" she scoffed, running her hand through her hair. "There's not a whole lot to go on. A bunch of young women with unhappy marriages and abusive fathers finding this monster charming. Sad, though not unusual."

"One of the main reasons why many find serial killers so attractive is due to the fact that several are dominant alpha males. It's not surprising how many fell for Ted Bundy - his confident demeanour still draws in hundreds of fans every year," Spencer agreed. He then straightened up as he remembered something, and reached into his pocket. "Oh, here's the candy bar I promised."

He placed the chocolate next to her cold cup of coffee, and Daisy felt her frustration with the fan mail slip slightly. She opened the wrapper and broke a piece off, groaning in delight at the sugary taste. "God, this is just what I needed. Thanks, Spencer."

"I've noticed you don't call everyone by their surnames," Spencer said, shaking his head politely when she offered him a bite of the chocolate. "Any particular reason?"

Daisy shrugged. "I dunno, I just feel kinda weird doing it when it's one-on-one, you know? When I'm not in the field, it just creates a barrier that doesn't need to be there."

"I see," Spencer muttered. "Well, uh, maybe you-"

"Reid," Hotch burst into the room with the town sheriff and Morgan behind him. "We've got an original letter. Would you take a look for authenticity?"

Spencer jumped to his feet and nodded, reaching for the evidence and scanning it closely. "I give you a legacy, a breath of life from the Angel Maker himself. Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear."

The Sheriff closed his eyes for a second and exhaled loudly. "That's the last thing people need to hear right now."

"Reid, how's it compare with the original correspondence?" Morgan asked, leaning against the desk Daisy was sitting at.

"They share some compelling characteristics," Spencer noted, his eyes darting between the two letters. Daisy could see the gears turning in his head, and thought it was rather impressive. "I'd obviously like to look at it under magnification with a better light."

"Best guess, Reid?" Hotch followed the younger man across the room.

Spencer's eyebrows raised. "I'd say it's authentic."

"Alvarez, bring those letters over," Hotch didn't look back, instead just waving Daisy over. Daisy gritted her teeth and gathered the letters she'd read through so far, bringing them over to her boss, who took them and laid them across the table. "How many of these did he respond too?"

"Around half," she said, gesturing to how some had two different letters paper clipped together. "He had plenty of time to write to more, but it seems like he had his favourites."

Hotch didn't respond. Daisy had to bite her tongue once more.

The Sheriff pulled his glasses out and sat them on the edge of his nose. "How can this letter be authentic if the guy's been dead for a year?"

"Could be an elaborate forgery," Hotch muttered.

"Or it could be the genuine article," Spencer scanned all the evidence in front of him. Daisy peered over and compared the handwriting with the new letter. From what she could see, they were identical - the small, misplaced dots in the 'i's and the gaps between capital 'T's and following letters. The uneven, unpredictable slanting of the words also confirmed the similarities. "It might have been written just before his death."

"Well, mail here isn't that slow," the Sheriff joked.

"Maybe it was released through an intermediary," Daisy piped up, scratching the back of her head before stepping back beside Morgan.

"You mean the copycat?" the Sheriff glanced over at her. She nodded lightly.

"We're going over the prison visitor logs to check who had multiple visits with Ryan, try to narrow our suspect pool," Morgan noted, though the door to the bullpen opening caught everyone's attention.

They all turned around, and the Sheriff walked over to the middle aged woman who had burst in. "Sela? What are you doing here?"

"Is it true?" the woman asked, the frown lines around her face creasing as she spoke. "There's a letter?"

"How did you know?"

The woman scoffed. "You didn't really think you could keep that quiet around here."

"The letter's not from him, not the way people might be saying."

The woman stared up at the Sheriff in disbelief. "But what does that mean?"

Hotch sighed. "It means we think he might have had someone on the outside, a friend."

"What if you're wrong? What if..." she trailed off.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Sela," the Sheriff assured her.

"I'm not talking about a ghost," she argued. "I'm talking about those rumours about the execution, how there were problems, how it didn't work right."

"What do you mean?" Daisy stepped towards Sela, tucking her hands in her cardigan pockets. Her voice was soft, comforting - she didn't get her therapy license to talk to civilians like a tough asshole.

"Yes, what are you suggesting?" Hotch stepped up behind Daisy, tilting his head curiously towards Sela.

"What if he's still out there?" She looked over at both of the agents, distress evident on her face.  She caught the Sheriff shaking his head, and she huffed. "Don't do that. You think I'm the only one? Look outside."

The Sheriff exhaled and took a step towards the windows, where the blinds were open. Daisy followed quickly behind him, peering through the cracks and seeing dozens of townsfolk gathering in the station parking lot. She felt a presence behind her, and she glanced up to see Hotch looking out as well.

Sela crossed her arms. "They want proof that he's dead."

Daisy pulled a face and looked back at Hotch. "What can we do? Dig up his grave?"

Hotch's tired expression said enough.

★☆

just so y'all know, i'm not going to stretch out every episode like this, i'm only doing so cause its daisy's first case and i'd rather not rush through it!! there will definitely be some others where i'll spread it over two or three chapters like the reaper episode, but uhh mainly this first one will take up some space

otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!! let me know what you think!!