window - joji

After I was back in my chair, alone for a while I settled down. After all, there was nothing left to do but think logically. Going crazy wouldn't get me anywhere.

I was probably right about the number of days. Even without the light, it made sense that the unsub visited once a day. Plus, circadian rhythms and all that. So it was still day three.

If I was wrong I'd find out soon enough.

There was still something nagging me. My stupid paint by number was still missing colors. I had thought I'd get the easy way out with my accidentally-smuggled-in phone. I guess now I'll have to do some actual profiling, I figured.

I was the fifth girl. What did I have in common with the other victims?

Alison Price. The hairdresser and new lawyer.

Maya Reyes. The chef.

Jennifer Nguyen. The engaged intern.

Eliza Lavigne. Eliza.

"What I wouldn't give for an evidence board," I muttered aloud to myself. Ooh! Talking to myself! That was a great sign.

In the face of my pitiful lack of supplies, I tried my best to imagine the headshots of the girls, side by side. I scoured my brain for details. All I knew was their ages, names, jobs, and faces. Data retrieval was Reid's thing, not mine. This was hopeless.

Reid would be so much better at this than I was. I blinked and my mental board was replaced with his earnest face. It had been less than a hundred hours since I'd seen him, but it felt like weeks. So far away. In more ways than one. He'd have figured it out already if he were strapped to the same chair I was. That's why he was Sherlock and I was Watson.

"Fuck off," I told fake Reid. He didn't budge. I could almost hear his voice, imagine him saying, "Don't give up, Maya. Focus."

"Fuck off," I told him again. His foggy face dissipated, but the voice was still there whispering in my ear as I ran through the victims' files over and over.

"Focus, Maya. What do they have in common?"

It didn't click into place so much as it settled.

Alison Price. Was I kidding myself or did she sort of look like me? Same hair. Same nose. Our eyes were different shapes but the resemblance was undeniable.

Maya Reyes. Well, that was my name.

Jennifer Nguyen. I'd bet anything that she was the girl I had thought of when I'd first heard the name, the one from my hometown.

Eliza Lavigne. My college friend. My friend. My emergency contact.

He'd shown up at my door. That wasn't pure chance, wasn't when he decided to take me. I was the plan all along.

Me. It was me. The paint by numbers was all filled in and the picture in front of me was my own face.

All those girls had been killed because of me. Their bodies flashed like slides in front of my mind's eye. Me.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred.

"You're hyperventilating," Reid said calmly in my ear, "You need to breathe slowly."

"Fuck off!" I yelled, loud enough that I could hear the sound bounce back at me. It was enough to get me breathing at a normal pace again. Still, it was a few minutes before I could think.

Me. Alright. I could use that to my advantage. If I was going to die in this dank place, it wouldn't be without a fight.

One question still stuck in my mind. How did he know from where to abduct me? The answer to that uncertainty came much sooner. He had hacked my phone. That's how he knew when I was leaving; he had heard Max call me. That's how he'd shown up to deliver my pizza. When my phone spazzed out, that was probably him. For all I knew, maybe there was service in this area and he had just turned off my phone's ability to communicate.

What I needed now was a strategy. That was when being a member of the BAU came in handy. I drifted into another night of fitful sleep with the anticipation of enacting my plan in the morning.

I didn't think I'd ever miss the sound of my alarm, but there was something creepy about waking up in silence. Also, the fact that I was strapped to a chair by a serial killer. That could have something to do with it. I let my neck hang to one side, then the other, trying to undo the damage that sleeping upright had caused.

Luckily, or unluckily, perhaps, my captor entered nearly as soon as I awoke. 

"You scared, whore?" He had settled on that name, as it seemed. Practically every third word out of the guy's mouth was "whore." 

"Of what?" 

"Of dying. Which you will. Soon." He lurched forward with the start of every sentence, a cheap attempt at intimidation. I didn't answer.

"It's a shame," I mused.

"What's a shame, whore?" Man, he was like a person pretending to be a serial killer, flipping in and out of character like a bad accent. Maybe he wasn't a true narcissist after all. He obviously had some self-esteem issues.

"Well, it's just that you went to all this trouble of taking me and no one knows," I replied.

"Everyone knows about me." I nodded, trying to look submissive.

"But not about me."

"You think I'm stupid? I know the police are looking for you."

"I know you're not stupid. After all, you kidnapped an FBI agent," I said, "But I doubt the police have made the connection. They're still trying to figure out how to connect the four girls you killed before me." Hopefully, flattery could make up for my mocking him earlier. How much praise of the execution of a crime canceled out calling someone a pizza delivery guy?

"They'll know when I dump your body like I did with the rest of them," he snarled.

"You're right. When it's all already over, I guess."

"When there's nothing they can do," he corrected, though he sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than anything else. That was my cue.

"At least they won't have to worry. I know they'd be scared if they knew where I was now."

There was a long pause. I considered fluttering my eyelashes but thought it too transparent. I'd let him make the connection on his own. That's the only way it would work anyway.

"Why don't we let them know?" he sneered. There was the false bravado again.

"What?" I asked as dumbly as I could manage.

"I think it's time I paid a call to those investigators on your little team."

"You're going to call them? How will they know you have me?"

"Shut up. Be a good girl and I might let you say 'hi' one last time." Oh, thank god. That was easier than I thought it would be.

He said he'd be back later. My sudden burst of adrenaline at the thought of getting to talk to someone other than this unsub was not well-matched to the hours of waiting that ensued. Blank walls and an endless stream of anxious thought. I felt like I at least deserved a window to stare out like Rapunzel in her tower. At least that gave me plenty of time to practice and perfect what I was going to say. It had to be subtle, succinct. No problem. I could do subtle and succinct in my sleep. The BAU could spring me with a few well-worded clues. We'd done more with less.

I shivered. I was almost worried I'd get from pneumonia from the cold, but I wouldn't last long enough to die from it anyways. A brutal and painful death tomorrow awaited me if I didn't escape in time. The bruised and torn skin of my predecessors flashed again in my mind, but for the first time, I didn't feel guilty for not saving them. I just felt afraid. If this went wrong, I'd never see anyone I cared about ever again. Poor Max. He'd lose two friends in a week.

The door opened. It was sooner than I expected. The unsub stalked into my circle of light.

"Good morning," I said, for no reason at all. Did I think good manners would get him to go easy on me? Just another sign I was going crazy.

"Good morning, whore." The unsub- I could probably stop calling him "the unsub" by now. After all, he wasn't exactly unknown. I knew exactly who the killer was. The only thing I didn't know was his name. Or his occupation. Or if he had any family... Actually, you know what? I thought to myself, "Unsub" seems right.

"Time for you to tell your team you're about to die," he said. Oh, goody. What more could a girl ask for?

"First, it's time for a little trip," he added and withdrew something from a chest pocket of his flannel. I squinted. A nondescript pill.

"What's that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. He smirked.

"What, you didn't think I'd let you talk to the police sober? And have you use all your secret codes?" 

"We don't have secret codes," I said, a reflex. Why didn't we have more secret codes?

"Open up," he instructed. Before I had any chance to react he wrenched my mouth open and dropped the pill down my throat. I nearly choked as he covered my mouth, waiting for me to swallow. His disgusting finger in my mouth. I could have bitten them hard, made him hurt just a fraction as much as he had hurt all other girls, hurt me. But instead, I swallowed obediently. His fingers rooted around in my mouth to make sure I hadn't cheeked the pill. Breathe, Maya, breathe. 

Satisfied, the unsub stepped back and crossed his arms, presumably to watch whatever devolution came next.

Fuck. I'd been exaggerating when I said I could do subtle and succinct in my sleep. I needed to be fully conscious. Not tripping. Now my only hope was that Garcia could use the sound of me drooling into the microphone to pinpoint my location. She could trace a call to a steel bunker, right? Or wherever the hell I was.

I could already feel my face getting heavier, though maybe that was just anticipation. The unsub watched me for a while. My tongue felt like a foreign object in my mouth. I tried to lift it to my palate but it flopped back down. I giggled.

The man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and dialed a number, reading of the paper as he typed. Each beep echoed in my eyes. This. This was... Going to be great. I giggled again.

The man held the phone to his ear, said a few words, then walked over to me. 

"One call. Beg for your life, whore." He held the receiver to my ear.

"Maya?" said my favorite voice.

"Reid."