Chapter Text
The Unsub you are looking for is a white male in his mid to late twenties. He is fanatically religious and suffers from a delusion that he has been chosen by God to complete his personal mission of defending this town from all those whom he sees as 'trespassers'. He sees anyone coming into the community, whether an immigrant to the country or simply a person from out of town moving to a new neighbourhood, as an intruder. The man we are looking for is not the kind whose neighbours would be shocked to learn what he's done - he will be known to his community for his harsh religious views and uncompromising criticism of those around him who are not living up to his own beliefs.
The nature of the video footage sent to your precinct is important because it indicates not only a lack of remorse but an assumption of aligned goals; in speaking directly of his 'holy mission', the Unsub has revealed that he believes the local police are aware of the divine nature of his crusade and are seeking privately to help him. This makes it unlikely that he is taking extensive forensic countermeasures, as he does not believe that you are actually attempting to stop him. The lack of forensic evidence found on the bodies and at the dump sites, and the concealment of the original murder locations, therefore leads us to believe that the Unsub is not working alone. The torture and killing is personal and the videos confirm that only one man has been directly responsible for the deaths, but we believe that the Unsub's tracks are being covered by anywhere from three to six accomplices after the fact - 'disciples', if you will, who have accepted his delusion of a mission from God and are attempting to protect him while he carries out his work.
This Unsub will not stop on his own, and the clock is ticking until he kills again. We need to find him, and all of his accomplices, to bring this to an end.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The splash of holy water stung the cuts on Spencer's face.
"Awake, trespasser, and face your judgement!"
The eyes of the man in the priest's robes were wild as he swung the aspergillum again, with such force he barely kept hold of it.
"And what cause soever shall come to you of your brethren that dwell in your cities, between blood and blood, between law and commandment-"
The air was thick with heavy incense, choked by the smoke of the dozens of candles that formed a blazing spread beneath the massive crucifix hung on one wall. Swimming gradually up from the black depths of unconsciousness and fighting what was surely a severe concussion, Spencer could only take in his surroundings in disconnected flashes, details devoid of context; the scrubbed flagstone floor beneath his knees, the red-brown splatter of old blood on the hem of the otherwise snow-white robe of the man standing before him, the fanatic tremor of the killer's voice as he proclaimed chapter and verse.
"-statutes and judgments, ye shall even warn them that they trespass not against the Lord, and so wrath come upon you, and upon your brethren: this do, and ye shall not trespass!"
The unforgiving bite of wood and steel around Spencer's wrists and neck was all that was keeping him upright in his unsteady state, but it also held him trapped on his knees, a supplicant's posture. A modified pillory, his hazy brain provided, to keep him in the position that this self-proclaimed warrior of God saw fit.
Spencer had always hated cases with religiously motivated Unsubs - the senselessness of it all was sickening, the way that the killers were anything but ashamed; were proud of their deeds, in fact, and would proclaim their actions with a twisted smile from behind the shield of their own self-righteousness - but this case had been even worse than most. A family of refugees slaughtered, the youngest child only six. A newlywed couple who had moved into the neighborhood with the intention of starting a family, executed and left on the steps of their own home. Other victims, equally innocent, killed with equal brutality and displayed with equal contempt for the simple crime of setting foot in a town that this killer considered his.
The revulsion in Spencer's gut for the case at hand had mingled badly with the bone-deep weariness still dragging down his heart since his release from prison, and the combination was what had led him here.
"And I will make the land desolate, because they have committed a trespass, saith the Lord God! When the righteous turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity-"
Even with his head ringing in the aftermath of being hit hard enough to knock him out, Spencer knew he didn't have much time. His team would be looking for him, but it wouldn't be an easy search.
Luke had gone with him to interview the staff at a local Catholic community center several of the victims had frequented, but the doors had been locked when they arrived, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. They had separated for only a moment - Luke checking around the side of the building to see if there was another door that might be open, Spencer stepping back from the front door to call Emily and let her know what they'd found. The phone had only been on its second ring when a weight had come down on the back of Spencer's head and everything had gone black.
Just a moment of inattention. Perfectly human, perfectly understandable. Yet Spencer knew he wouldn't have been so distracted, wouldn't have let his guard down at that critical moment, if he hadn't been half lost in the past since they first took this damned case.
Spencer didn't know what had happened to Luke, but even if his fellow agent had escaped unscathed, the odds were not in Spencer's favour here; he was currently looking directly at the Unsub's face and didn't recognize him, which meant he wasn't any of the local figures whose profiles they had already reviewed. They hadn't had any luck identifying the location where any of the victims had been killed, and even now Spencer couldn't put together much; the flagstone floor suggested a public building of some kind rather than a private residence, but with the room lit only by candle-glow and his head still spinning from recent trauma, there was little else he could make out through the shadows that reeled around him. There were no windows he could see, the walls themselves obscured by drapes of dark cloth; the room was empty of furniture save for the pillory that held Spencer, the white-draped altar strewn with candles, and the massive crucifix that loomed over everything.
The setting was alien, but also horrifically familiar, an echo of a different time and place - a floor of rough wood instead of flagstone, then, and the acrid scent of burning fish heads instead of the cloying waft of incense. The claustrophobic darkness, the fevered recitation of Biblical vitriol… Spencer tried to squash it down, but the thought rose despite himself, coalescing out of the depths of his aching heart.
I wish Hotch was here.
Not here, in this dark and reeking room - here on the team, here on the other end of a video screen, here where Spencer could reach out to him and pray for rescue as he'd once done while being held captive by Tobias Hankel. Spencer had never believed in God, but he'd always had faith in Aaron Hotchner… but Aaron was long gone from his life, like so many of his oldest and dearest friends, and Spencer was mostly glad of it. If anyone deserved a quiet retirement with his family, it was their former unit chief, who had been through so much hell over the course of his career with the BAU. Most days, the thought that Aaron was out there, safe and hopefully happy, was enough to warm Spencer against the chill of loneliness in his bones; it was only now, facing dire odds once again, that Spencer allowed himself to admit just how deep the ache of missing Aaron had pierced into his heart.
But he couldn't let that distract him any more than it already had. There was no one waiting in the wings with a heroic rescue this time; he couldn't assume that his team knew where to find him, and so it was up to Spencer to rescue himself.
"-and doeth according to all the abominations that the wicked man doeth, shall he live?"
The man in the bloodstained robe drew a breath, and Spencer seized his chance.
"Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness." The Unsub faltered, a look of shock flashing across his face as he looked directly down at Spencer for the first time, who swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat before he went on.
"That's - that's what you want to do, right? Correct the faults that you see around you?" Spencer's lips were so dry he could feel them cracking as he spoke, the taste of bloody metallic and sickening on his equally parched tongue. "You don't have to do it this way. I'm not here to trespass against you. I'm an FBI agent-"
"I know who you are, trespasser," the Unsub cut him off. His heavy brow pulled down in a scowl, the man stepped closer, one hand disappearing into a pocket of his clerical robe. "Do you intend to confess your sins? To beg the Lord's forgiveness?"
The taste of bile mixing with the blood in Spencer's mouth.
Confess your sins, boy!
The ghost of Charles Hankel roared in Spencer's ears, and this time he didn't try to cling to his pride, to reality; there was no stalling for time here, his only chance was to somehow appease the Unsub's delusions enough to find his own window of escape, and the words spilled out of him.
"Yes. Yes, I've sinned, and I confess it freely - I repent of the evils I've done, I pray for the Lord's forgiveness-"
The Unsub's hand withdrew from the folds of stained cloth, now clutching a heavy revolver. Spencer felt a flash of cold across his whole body, like he'd plunged into a freezing river. A Colt Python, chambered for .357 Magnum - the same calibre that had killed all the other victims.
Sneering, the Unsub pressed the barrel to Spencer's temple, the steel cold and cruel against his fever-hot skin.
"All his righteousness that he hath done shall not be mentioned: in his trespass that he hath trespassed, and in his sin that he hath sinned, in them shall he die!"
This is God's will.
Somehow, Spencer's dehydrated body still had water enough left for a few, precious tears.
"Please," he whispered. Not to the Unsub, but to someone far away, someone who would never hear.
The Unsub's finger tightened on the trigger.
A bang loud enough to shatter the world
And then
Silence.