[Nine Nine]
Inside, the Behavioral Analysis Unit had already set up temporarily in the meeting room. The whiteboard was covered corner to corner in photos of the six missing children, maps of Brooklyn, scribbled timelines, and hastily tacked-up clippings from old cases. Files were open across the table. Coffee cups were multiplying by the minute. The team had worked fast.
Hotch stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his face grim. Derek Morgan sat nearby, typing notes into his laptop while JJ organized the case files into a neat stack. Elle was pacing near the window as she went over the parents' statements again.
Spencer Reid was at the far side of the board, scrawling dates and annotations in his tight handwriting. His hair stuck up slightly, evidence that he had been tugging at it while thinking.
And Gideon—silent, thoughtful Gideon—had just stepped out for air.
The clock on the wall ticked past 11:07 PM.
"Six kids taken in the same hour," Derek said, shaking his head. "That's coordination on a level we don't usually see. You'd need multiple people, multiple vehicles, timing down to the second. These aren't amateurs."
"Agreed," Hotch replied with a thoughtful expression. "One person couldn't have covered three locations at once. We're looking at a group. Maybe organized crime, maybe something more personal."
Elle stopped pacing. "And two of the kids are already dead. Dumped back in the same park where they were taken. They are sending a message."
JJ leaned forward, her hands clasped together. "I talked to the parents of the birthday party victims. Both girls, age seven. The family said there was a clown they didn't hire. The clown said he doesn't need money and just wants to entertain the kids since they reminded him of his dead children. Since the parents couldn't afford a clown, they let him in. He handed out balloons, played with the kids, and then disappeared at the exact time the girls went missing."
Derek let out a low whistle. "That's bold. Middle of a party, thirty witnesses, and he still managed to walk out with two kids."
Elle muttered, "This guy's not afraid of being seen."
Spencer looked up from the board. "It's not about boldness. It's ritualistic. The timing, the public spaces, the way the bodies were placed back at the site of abduction. This isn't random. I've read about something like this before." He tapped the marker against his palm, then began writing on the board: Soul Snatcher – 2003.
Everyone turned toward him.
Spencer pushed his hair back and explained quickly, the words tumbling out. "Approx 11 years ago, in Oregon, six children were taken across different towns. Three were later found dead, each body left at the exact spot they were kidnapped from. Local press started calling the unsub the 'Soul Snatcher' because there were hints of a ritualistic component. Parents reported strange symbols on the clothes of the victims."
Derek chimed in, "Yeah, heard about that one. The local PD had a talk with the killer over the phone, and according to their statements, the killer thought they would gain longevity through ritual killings. They think they are transferring the victims' souls into their bodies."
Reid continued, "The case was never solved. The killings stopped after six weeks, but no suspect was ever identified. The methodology matches this almost perfectly. If it's the same person, or the same group, then the rest of these children may be killed within the next forty-eight hours."
Elle swore under her breath. "So we're looking at a copycat or the original Soul Snatcher."
Hotch's jaw tightened. "Either way, time is running out."
Across the room, a muted television ran the evening news. The anchor's voice was cool and detached as footage of police tape at Blueveid Park flashed on-screen.
"Brooklyn residents are voicing frustration tonight over the NYPD's failure to keep children safe. Two young bodies were discovered in Blueveid Park this evening, believed to be connected to the recent string of kidnappings. Parents are asking how, in broad daylight, six children could be abducted without police intervention."
The chyron at the bottom read: 'Killer on the Loose – NYPD Failing Families?'
Derek rubbed his temples. "Great. As if we didn't already have the pressure."
Hotch muted the television. "Focus on the case. Let the press do what they do. Right now, saving the remaining four children is all that matters."
...
[Mess]
The coffee in Gideon's hand was steaming when Amy appeared at his side. She had a thick binder clutched against her chest, and she looked as if she had stumbled onto something.
"Sir," she said quietly, setting the binder down on the counter near him. "First, I want to apologize for... I mean, I overheard something about a Soul Snatcher case when I was passing by the room. And I think I've got something."
Gideon gave her a faint smile. "It's alright. What have you got, Detective?" He set the coffee aside and turned toward her. Amy opened the binder and flipped to a section marked with red tabs. Her finger landed on a series of mugshots: three pale faces staring into the camera with cold, unblinking eyes.
"The Mason siblings," Amy said. "Larry, Lance, and Linda. They were arrested seven years ago in upstate New York. Convicted of murdering both of their parents. What made the case unusual was what they did after. Rituals. They called it soul absorption. Believed that consuming or channeling the spirit of the dead could grant them longevity."
Gideon leaned over the binder, scanning the records quickly. The words on the pages spoke of brutality cloaked in pseudo-religion. Photos of inverted symbols, crude carvings, animal bones arranged around the crime scene.
"And they were all released?" Gideon asked. His tone was skeptical but measured.
"Three months ago," Amy replied. "Parole hearings for each were pushed through after appeals citing good behavior and rehabilitation programs. But here's the strange part. They were released at separate times, yet within weeks, they all vanished from state oversight. No recent addresses. No current jobs. They just… disappeared. And now six kids are missing in Brooklyn."
Gideon exhaled slowly. He lifted his eyes from the binder and studied Amy. "You think they're connected to the Soul Snatcher pattern."
Amy nodded. "Three different abduction sites. Three offenders. A cult background. The timing fits too perfectly to ignore. And I went to the park to ask around, and I dropped my pen. So when I was picking it up, I saw weird symbols drawn under the benches. I took some snapshots." She flipped the binder. "There..."
For a moment, Gideon was silent, flipping through the files. His eyes lingered on the old crime scene photos. The mutilated bodies of the parents, the crude symbols scorched into wood, the obsessive writings found in notebooks seized from the siblings. Words like "vessel" and "rebirth" repeated dozens of times.
"This could explain the coordination," Gideon said finally. "And the ritualistic elements. Reid was right. The Soul Snatcher case in Oregon might not have been a lone unsub. It could have been a cell. And if the Masons were connected to them, it is possible this is their resurgence."
Amy gave a small nod. "Exactly. And if they are escalating, the four remaining children might be intended as some kind of… offering."
Gideon closed the binder. "Great job, detective."
He was about to say something when Raymond entered and stopped behind him.
Amy looked at Ray. "Ray! Aren't you on leave?"
Gideon turned back.
"Well, I was. But the Captain called. So, here I am," Ray said with his usual calm expression, but his eyes were on Gideon.
Gideon handed the binder back to Amy. "Take this to Hotch. Walk them through everything you found. I'll join in a moment."
Amy could sense the tension between them, but nodded anyway. "Yes, sir." She tucked the binder under her arm and left the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence hung for a beat, broken only by the faint murmur of voices from the meeting room. Ray stood with his arms loosely folded, gaze fixed on Gideon with an intensity that felt like a warning.
"What does the best profiler in the country want with a rookie officer like me?" Ray said, his tone low and mocking. "Last I checked, you made it very clear that my input wasn't needed and I'm stepping over my boundaries and that I should follow the orders given to me."
Gideon's expression didn't shift. "Raymond—"
"No." Ray cut him off. He stepped closer, his words clipped, steady, but carrying the weight of old wounds. "I remember exactly how it went. I gave you a deduction with evidence. You refused to hear it because it didn't fit into your neat little box of criminal psychology. You pushed your theory instead. And because of that, three people ended up dead. One of them was my..."
Gideon's jaw tightened but he didn't look away.
Ray's voice dropped even lower, "And you dare stand before me as if nothing happened. Ha!" He took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to argue about the past. Saving those kids was the top priority.
Gideon finally spoke, quieter than Ray expected. "I don't expect forgiveness. I don't expect trust. But four children are still alive, and every hour we waste brings them closer to being lost."
Ray held his stare for a long, tense moment, his fists flexing at his sides. He shook his head, bitter amusement flickering across his face. "Still the same. Always about the case. Never about the cost. Well... Lives are at risk as usual. So, you do you with your merry band of puppets. I am just a rookie officer. I'll join the patrol unit. Good luck." He turned back and walked to the door.
...
[A few minutes later] [Parking]
Ray buttoned the last clasp on his blue uniform shirt and slid into the driver's seat of the marked cruiser. Then he drove out of the lot.
Two blocks away, he slowed near a shadowed alley and pulled over. The radio crackled faintly before he twisted the dial off. He waited.
Jake and Boyle stepped out of the dark like two kids sneaking out past curfew. Jake's hoodie was pulled over his head, and Boyle clutched a backpack that looked far too heavy for the way he struggled to carry it.
"Finally," Jake whispered, getting into the car first. "I was starting to think you ditched us for your profiler girlfriend."
Boyle slid in after him, shutting the back door carefully. "Yeah, and I'm ninety percent sure an old lady across the street thinks we're running a drug deal and might have called 911."
Ray's eyes went to the rearview mirror, his tone dry. "You two are louder than a drug deal." He pulled the car back into gear and eased onto the street.
Jake leaned forward between the seats. "Okay, tell me we're really doing this. Tell me we're about to outsmart an entire FBI task force, find these kids, and prove once and for all that the Nine-Nine doesn't need anyone swooping in to steal our thunder."
Ray kept his eyes on the road. "We're doing this. But quietly."
Boyle hugged the backpack like it was life or death. "Good thing we brought supplies. Flashlights, snacks, taser batteries, and—"
"Charles," Ray cut in. "Focus. You brought what I asked for?"
Boyle nodded, unzipping the bag just enough to reveal a tangle of files, photos, and surveillance notes they had quietly pulled from the precinct. And Amy might have helped him with the info. "All here."
Jake, for once, looked serious as he noticed the pictures of the dead kids. "Operation Soul Snatcher, unofficial Nine-Nine edition. Let's hunt some psychos and save those kids."
---
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[25 advance chs] [No double billing.]
---