The Waste Land, 31/44
Title: The Waste Land
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. He isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Five - Darkest Before the Dawn (Hotch)
Outside, the sun is rising. The rain, it seems, has stopped for the moment, and the sky is free of clouds. If Hotch were to walk out the front door, he’d see a brilliant display of blue and orange, but he doesn’t.
He stands, staring at the whiteboard.
It’s Rossi and Morgan’s turn to be sleeping, so Prentiss and Garcia are the ones sitting at the table, going through the files. Garcia’s significantly less perky than usual, and Prentiss seems to be on her third cup of coffee since she’d woken up. Another day, Hotch might have sent everyone back to the hotel, but today he doesn’t.
This case is too important.
Foyet is too important to slip through their fingers once again.
‘We’re missing something,’ he says, and there’s no immediate response.
Eventually, Garcia says, ‘I think we’re missing a lot of things.’
It’s true in more ways than one: they’re missing Reid and JJ. They’re missing Rossi and Morgan. They’re missing George Foyet.
‘Missing breakfast,’ Prentiss adds, turning another page on the file.
‘Boston is where it all began. It’s where the Reaper started his killing. There’s a reason for that. There’s a reason he came back.’ It’s the same reasoning they’ve repeated, over and over again, but it doesn’t seem to lead to anything. There are no breakthroughs, no sudden moments of truth.
‘Well it’s definitely not the weather,’ Prentiss quips, adding with a slight blush, ‘Sorry. I get snarky.’
‘We’ve noticed, sunshine.’ Garcia gives her a small smile, but there’s no levity. There’s a short beep from her laptop, and both Emily and Garcia give a start. She’s been running searches all night; different aliases, with different parameters. Anything that might help them find George Foyet.
‘Okay, in the Boston area, no Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden or William Parker has purchased Oxycontin or Tapazole or any generics of said brands any time in the last six months,’ Garcia announces.
‘But he knows we know those aliases,’ Emily points out. ‘He could be using a new one.’
‘Bring up a list,’ Hotch instructs Garcia, who follows up the command with thirty seconds worth of rapid typing. ‘Everyone in the Boston area who’s bought those drugs. Same time frame.’
‘He’s probably working in a computer science area,’ Emily adds. ‘And he’s probably changed his appearance in some way. Every single person within a hundred miles knows what the Boston Reaper looks like.’
‘Okay, this might take a while,’ Garcia informs them - since she’s running off her laptop, rather than her main system, processing power is slower.
It takes one hour and seventeen minutes.
In the meantime, Rossi and Morgan had made their return, and the whole team, minus JJ and Reid, are sitting around, as the tension climbs.
Garcia scrolls down the list.
‘Stop!’ Morgan calls out. ‘Stop. There.’ He points at the screen. ‘Search that one - Peter Rhea.’
‘Peter Rhea?’ Garcia asks with a frown.
‘The Reaper,’ Hotch says, flatly. It’s been sitting in front of them the whole time.
The DMV records for Peter Rhea show a man with a shaved head and a beard. He’s a little pudgier around the cheeks, but beneath all of that, Aaron Hotchner can see the dark, empty eyes of the Boston Reaper. Sometimes, he feels like he’s at the point where he sees that emptiness in everyone.
‘This is it,’ Prentiss says, a little stunned. ‘We have an address.’
‘Doesn’t this seem a little too easy?’ Morgan asks with a frown.
Nobody answers.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Team-centric - gen
Genre: Drama/Suspense
Summary: Part Three: George Foyet has returned. He isn’t going to let the BAU forget his legacy. Ever.
Warnings: Character Death
The Waste Land
Part Three: The Reaper’s Gambit
And then-the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little-less-nothing!-and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Robert Frost - Out, Out-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
William Shakespeare
Chapter Five - Darkest Before the Dawn (Hotch)
Outside, the sun is rising. The rain, it seems, has stopped for the moment, and the sky is free of clouds. If Hotch were to walk out the front door, he’d see a brilliant display of blue and orange, but he doesn’t.
He stands, staring at the whiteboard.
It’s Rossi and Morgan’s turn to be sleeping, so Prentiss and Garcia are the ones sitting at the table, going through the files. Garcia’s significantly less perky than usual, and Prentiss seems to be on her third cup of coffee since she’d woken up. Another day, Hotch might have sent everyone back to the hotel, but today he doesn’t.
This case is too important.
Foyet is too important to slip through their fingers once again.
‘We’re missing something,’ he says, and there’s no immediate response.
Eventually, Garcia says, ‘I think we’re missing a lot of things.’
It’s true in more ways than one: they’re missing Reid and JJ. They’re missing Rossi and Morgan. They’re missing George Foyet.
‘Missing breakfast,’ Prentiss adds, turning another page on the file.
‘Boston is where it all began. It’s where the Reaper started his killing. There’s a reason for that. There’s a reason he came back.’ It’s the same reasoning they’ve repeated, over and over again, but it doesn’t seem to lead to anything. There are no breakthroughs, no sudden moments of truth.
‘Well it’s definitely not the weather,’ Prentiss quips, adding with a slight blush, ‘Sorry. I get snarky.’
‘We’ve noticed, sunshine.’ Garcia gives her a small smile, but there’s no levity. There’s a short beep from her laptop, and both Emily and Garcia give a start. She’s been running searches all night; different aliases, with different parameters. Anything that might help them find George Foyet.
‘Okay, in the Boston area, no Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden or William Parker has purchased Oxycontin or Tapazole or any generics of said brands any time in the last six months,’ Garcia announces.
‘But he knows we know those aliases,’ Emily points out. ‘He could be using a new one.’
‘Bring up a list,’ Hotch instructs Garcia, who follows up the command with thirty seconds worth of rapid typing. ‘Everyone in the Boston area who’s bought those drugs. Same time frame.’
‘He’s probably working in a computer science area,’ Emily adds. ‘And he’s probably changed his appearance in some way. Every single person within a hundred miles knows what the Boston Reaper looks like.’
‘Okay, this might take a while,’ Garcia informs them - since she’s running off her laptop, rather than her main system, processing power is slower.
It takes one hour and seventeen minutes.
In the meantime, Rossi and Morgan had made their return, and the whole team, minus JJ and Reid, are sitting around, as the tension climbs.
Garcia scrolls down the list.
‘Stop!’ Morgan calls out. ‘Stop. There.’ He points at the screen. ‘Search that one - Peter Rhea.’
‘Peter Rhea?’ Garcia asks with a frown.
‘The Reaper,’ Hotch says, flatly. It’s been sitting in front of them the whole time.
The DMV records for Peter Rhea show a man with a shaved head and a beard. He’s a little pudgier around the cheeks, but beneath all of that, Aaron Hotchner can see the dark, empty eyes of the Boston Reaper. Sometimes, he feels like he’s at the point where he sees that emptiness in everyone.
‘This is it,’ Prentiss says, a little stunned. ‘We have an address.’
‘Doesn’t this seem a little too easy?’ Morgan asks with a frown.
Nobody answers.