Chapter Text
As soon as the team returned to the station with Jeremy Rand in custody, Parker had grabbed Crocker and pulled him into Hendrickson's office. The two of them had been talking for ten minutes while Rand was processed, and Reid learned about Hendrickson's surprising affliction that had made the arrest easier than it should have been.
"If we hadn't been trying to communicate with Emily for the last hour, I wouldn't believe you," Reid said, shaking his head.
"Any luck there?" Morgan asked. He and JJ stood with Reid outside of the detectives' office. Over his shoulder Reid could see Hotch and Rossi talking quietly with each other by the board. Over JJ's shoulder he saw Jennifer watching Hendrickson's door with a worried frown on her face.
"Some," Reid said, pulling his attention back for the moment so he could fill them in.
Ever since Jennifer had come out of the office both triumphant at making contact and then frantic at the sight of Veronica Ellicott's beast form attacking the church door in the postcard, she'd been trying to regain her calm enough to try again. Crocker had tried talking her through controlling her breathing, then singing since that had apparently worked before. Reid had suggested cognitive exercises, but none of them had worked. Whenever Jennifer looked at the postcard again, all she heard was the beast and she couldn't break through.
"We should bring Veronica's mother in," JJ said. "Maybe she would be able to break through and calm her daughter down."
"I don't know if Veronica would be able to hear her in the postcard." Reid glanced at Jennifer who was still worriedly watching Hendrickson's door. "Let's ask. Jennifer!" He called, startling her.
"What? I mean yes?" She turned and visibly focused on them, coming over. "Hi," she said, waving shyly to Morgan and JJ.
"JJ had a thought. Would Veronica's mother be able to talk to her?" Reid asked.
"Like I did? No. It doesn't work like that." Jennifer shook her head. "No one else ever hears what I hear, and I've been the only one who could talk across boundaries. I mean, I've only done it once before, but there was no one else, so I assume it's just me. Sorry."
"It was a long shot," JJ said reassuringly. "I just wish there was some way to get through to her. Change her back."
"Well," Jennifer shifted, looking uncertain, but she went on anyway. "You could call her anyway? When we get them out, Veronica will probably come out in her winged cat form and we'll still need to calm her down."
"So you think we'll get them out okay?" Morgan asked, glancing down the hall to the where Kendall and Rand were being held. "No one seemed too sure of that a while ago."
"Yeah, well," Jennifer crossed her arms, another sign of discomfort, and this time she didn't continue.
Reid's eye narrowed. "Is this what Parker and Crocker are talking about? Do they have a way to get them out? Is it another of these troubles?"
"Sort of?" Which was as good as a yes, the way Jennifer's attention drifted back to the door.
"Come on, yes or no?" Morgan asked impatiently.
Jennifer clearly didn't want to answer, but fortunately for her, Crocker stormed out of the Chief's office then and he didn't look happy. Parker followed more slowly, and she didn't look happy either. The whole police station paused, watching them both, and clearly there was something that Reid and his team were missing because all the local cops seemed to be waiting for a sign of some sort. Crocker glared at everyone who stared too long, then went to where Jennifer had been working at the central and picked up the postcard.
Jennifer joined him, touching his arm tentatively and not moving closer until he grabbed her hand.
"Duke," Parker's voice broke the collectively held breath. "It's Nathan."
"I know," he said. His gaze fell on Reid and the others. "You get to tell them," he said, handing the postcard to Jennifer, then heading for the holding cells. None of the local cops stopped him.
"Tell us what?" Rossi asked, coming over with Hotch.
"We can get them out." Parker crossed her arms across her chest. "But you're going to have to cut us a lot of slack."
Hotch didn't like the plan. Not one bit. Dave argued against it. Morgan thought the ruse would work. Hotch wasn't sure that Parker and Crocker were bluffing. But he didn't see an alternative.
The three of them stood at the observation window as Parker and Crocker entered the interrogation room where Jean Kendall was being held. They had their game faces on, and despite his non law-enforcement status, it didn't look like this was Crocker's first rodeo.
"Hello, Jean," Parker said. "We're here to talk about the people in the postcard."
Kendall sat back, her body language speaking of someone in control of the situation. "It's like I told you before. I'll let them go when you let me and Jeremy go," she said.
"No. No, see, that doesn't work for us," said Parker, taking the seat across from Kendall, and sitting back, just as relaxed and in control. It was a little disturbing to watch, and Kendall sensed it too, though she tried to hide it.
"You don't have a choice," she said, but her eyes flickered to Crocker as she spoke, and he didn't miss it.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked calmly, a slightly mocking tone in his voice that suggested that Kendall should.
"No," she said.
"I'm a troubled person," Crocker drawled. "Just like you. Do you want to know what my trouble is?"
Kendall stayed silent, held herself still.
Parker kept up her dead-eye stare, and Crocker smiled a shark's smile that was all teeth and completely at odds with his behavior earlier in the main room. He smiled like he smelled blood in the water.
"My trouble" he said, setting his hands on the table and leaning into her space, "is to take away troubles. Do you want to know how it works?"
Kendall's eyes didn't leave him, and she leaned back when he leaned closer, reaching out.
"What's he doing?" Dave asked aloud, echoing Hotch's thoughts. When Parker had presented her plan earlier, she'd said the Crocker could absorb other people's troubles if he killed them. They were supposed to be playing bad cop, unsupervised cop.
But Crocker had taken ahold of one of Kendall's hands, and from his pocket he drew a short-bladed knife. Too quick to stop, he slashed it across Kendall's palm, opening a bloody line as she gave a terrified scream.
Hotch was already moving -- this had gone too far. But when he and Dave burst into the interrogation room, Parker was standing to block them.
Crocker was in Kendall's face. He'd let go of her hand and grabbed her by the throat. "You want to reconsider letting my friends go?"
"What's going on here?" Hotch said in his best command voice, sidestepping Parker, but when he tried to pull Crocker off, Crocker lashed out, sending him into the wall, hard. Harder than any man should have been able to push another. The wind was knocked out of him, and Hotch struggled to breathe for a moment but his diaphragm wouldn't catch air for a good ten seconds. Then he nearly stopped breathing again when he saw Crocker's eyes -- they had changed, white around the pupil.
Parker had Dave by his jacket and was whispering something in his ear.
Crocker ignored everyone except Kendall, who was terrified, unable to look away. "You think they can stop me from ending you?" Crocker stage whispered. "You have five seconds to agree to let my friends out of your postcard. Four. Three."
"Yesyesyesyesyes," Kendall spluttered, crying now. "I'll let them go, I'll let them go."
"Good." Crocker released her and shoved her back into her chair. When he turned, his eyes were back to normal, his hands, bloodstained. "Get the postcard," he told Parker. He circled around behind Kendall's chair. "I'm just gonna stand right here where you can't see me while you do your thing."
"Agent." Parker came over and offered Hotch a hand up. He and Dave followed her out silently, but as soon as the door closed -
"What the hell was that?" Hotch demanded. "You said -"
"You assumed," Parker cut in. She was half a foot shorter than him, but she didn't back down. "We caught your serial killer your way. We're going to deal with our troubles our way."
"But you can't just torture a suspect," Dave said. "That makes us no better than them."
"Maybe not," said Parker, "but she's going to return our people and Veronica, and that's all I have time to care about." She looked between both of them. "The troubles aren't kind. They kill people. And sometimes we have to do terrible things to make them stop. Kendall has total control over who goes in and out of that postcard. Total. No loopholes. Without her help, we have exactly one option for getting them out. If I have to choose, I'm choosing the three people she victimized."
Hotch closed his mouth on his first response, a knee-jerk reaction to being caught off guard. He didn't like it anymore than he had liked what he'd thought had been the plan in the first place. But if Parker was right -- and Hotch thought she was -- she had a solid point. He'd choose Prentiss over a Kendall. Dave would, too.
Hotch gave Parker a small nod. "Fine. Let's get this over with," he said.
Parker lingered a moment. "Not going to pull us up on charges, I hope," she said, a calculating note in her voice.
Hotch glanced back at the interrogation room door. "Would Crocker really kill her?" he asked.
"If she doesn't let her victims go, then they die in the postcard with no food or water."
"Then he would." Hotch saw the truth in her eyes. He'd probably done it before. How else would he know how his trouble work, Hotch wondered darkly.
Parker tilted her head then headed back to the main room without answering.
The girl-beast had stopped screaming finally, and she was only half-heartedly pawing at the door every now and then. That was improvement that Prentiss would take.
"Beatles next?" she asked, the words painful on the back of her throat. Wuornos shrugged, looking as tired as Prentiss felt. It had been hours since they'd been trapped here, and they'd spent the last thirty minutes singing at the top of their lungs.
"I wish we knew her name," Wuronos said. "I wish we could just talk to her." He'd tried after the first song, but that had only set the girl-beast off again. When Emily tried a few minutes later, she hadn't succeeded either.
Prentiss thwapped his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. He didn't startle or move, and she said, "Come on. She's getting restless," to get his attention.
She started up Eight Days a Week since that seemed apropos to the case, and after a few beats, Wuornos started humming along, joining in on the chorus.
And that was what they were doing when Prentiss suddenly found herself flat on her ass in a tiny little room with Wuornos stumbling on top of her and the girl-beast screaming on top of him. Prentiss ducked, covering her head with her arms, trying to roll away. Wuornos was shielding her, and the first thing that registered in the messy loud confusion was that he was bleeding again, this time from his arm.
"Nathan!" someone shouted, and then there were hands on Prentiss, pulling her back -- Hotch and Parker in the door of what she now recognized as an interrogation room. Wuornos and Crocker, from the Grey Gull, were holding off the girl-beast, though Prentiss wasn't sure how, while Rossi ran in with keys to the cuffs of Jean Kendall at the interrogation table. Then Prentiss was out, Rossi and Kendall were out, and Crocker was pushing Wuornos out before quickly following and slamming the door shut.
They all stared at each other in stunned silence for a minute. Then Prentiss turned to Hotch, who still held her by the shoulders, and gave him a hug. "Oh, thank god," she said with feeling. "I was worried we'd be stuck there forever."
"Glad you're back," Hotch said hugging her close for a moment before letting her go.
Across the hall, Wuornos was getting a hug from Crocker. When they broke apart, Parker got her hands on him, and Wuornos tucked his head into her neck, all the tension and stress of the last few hours melting away as he melted into her. Prentiss exchanged a glance with Hotch; looked like Morgan was right about those two.
Clapping, cheers and congratulations from the Haven police officers greeted them when they entered the main room of the police station. Laverne the dispatcher gave Wuornos a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and a number of people patted Prentiss on the back.
But it was her teammates she was looking for. Nothing felt so good as Rossi pulling her in for a hug, or Reid's strong arms around her shoulders.
"We thought we'd lost you again," Reid said quietly in her ear. "I'm so glad you're back."
"Can't get rid of me so easily," Prentiss replied, holding him tight a second longer before stepping back. "Where are JJ and Morgan?"
"Morgan's fine," Reid reassured her. "He and JJ are on their way. Someone else wants to talk to you first." Grinning, he handed her his phone with Garcia on the other end.
"Em!" Garcia said immediately. "Tell me all is well in the world!"
"Well, there's a girl still transformed into a beast in an interrogation room right now, but I'm back in the right place so no complaints here."
"For the record, I hope you took pictures because you do not understand how hard it's been for me to wrap my head around the weirdness that is Haven, Maine, from 600 miles away."
"I'd send you a postcard, but I'm kind of off postcards forever now," Prentiss said, and even though she was smiling, she meant it one hundred percent.
Across the room, Hotch was waving at them from the door to the detectives' office, so Prentiss cut the call short with promises that she wouldn't get kidnapped ever again.
"Please tell me, we got our guy and we can go home now," she said. Prentiss was tired and hungry, her throat hurt and all she wanted was a hot coffee and bed.
Rossi patted her on the arm, then gently looped it through his elbow. "We got our guy," he said, "and I'm pretty sure Hotch found you something to eat."
Granola bars and coffee were all they were cracked up to be. Prentiss let her attention focus on them while Reid quietly filled her in on everything that had happened while she and Wuornos had been in the postcard.
After plying her with sustenance, Rossi and Hotch went to discuss what to do about Veronica with the Haven police, so that's who she was expecting when the door to the detectives office opened a few minutes later.
"Emily!" Morgan rushed in, and Prentiss was barely on her feet when he swept her up in a fierce hug. Prentiss held on tight. When JJ joined them, and Morgan didn't let go, Prentiss opened up her arm and pulled her and Reid in for a group hug.
"You gotta stop disappearing on us," Morgan said eventually.
"I'll try." Prentiss couldn't offer more than that. In the meantime she held on to her friends, and that was enough.
Mrs. Ellicott stood in the observation room looking in on her transformed daughter with a lost expression on her face. JJ's heart went out to her. If it were Henry in there? Well, JJ had no idea how she would cope, let alone be able to believe it at all.
"There's a family story, about Uncle Joshua." Mrs. Ellicott's voice was calm and steady. "One day he went out hunting, only he didn't come back. He was gone for days and days, and we sent out search parties. The last person to see him alive saw him arguing with Dewitt Nigels over the property line. His cows had gotten through a hole in the fence again -- they were always going back and forth -- and that's what they were arguing over. Only this time Dewitt Nigels had shown up with his two sons. Dewitt thought that was the end of it, but only one son returned with him to the house when they went their separate ways. So the search parties searched for his son too, and they found him. He was dead, clawed to death by an awful beast that'd he'd shot in the chest with Uncle Joshua's hunting rifle. They had killed each other."
Parker, standing on Mrs. Ellicott's other side, said, "Veronica's not lost in the woods. She's not being hunted. She's in there, and she's waiting for you to call her home."
Veronica-the-beast was pacing, like a tiger in the zoo. Every few turns she'd partially unfurl her wings and let out a piercing screech, which made them all flinch.
"What if there's nothing of her left?" Mrs. Ellicott asked.
"You're her mother," JJ said. "She'll hear you. She's just scared and lost. Singing seemed to help before. Do you have any songs that she may remember from her childhood?"
"Why her childhood?"
"That's when the deepest bonds are made," JJ said. "Songs she was attached to then will be important to her and deeply held in her emotional memory."
Mrs. Ellicott was quiet for a minute.
"What can it hurt to try?" Parker asked.
For a moment, JJ wasn't sure Mrs. Ellicott would. The fear of trying and failing was powerful. She glanced over at Parker, but Parker was fully focused on Mrs. Ellicott, and JJ watched the detective take her hand.
"This will work," Parker said. "You won't lose her."
It was what Mrs. Ellicott needed. She nodded, and when Parker hit the intercom she began singing a lullaby that JJ hadn't heard before. It was slow and silly, full of llamas wearing pajamas and whales with polka dot tails.
Veronica-the-beast didn't stop pacing immediately, but she did look up, looking for the sound. After the second verse she paused and let out a questioning cry. After the third verse she sat down on her haunches and lifted her head up. The sound that came out wasn't a screech, but something still strangled and harsh.
Mrs. Ellicott paused. "I need to go in there." The look on her face was no longer lost. JJ didn't even think twice before nodding, and Parker was already reaching for the door to let her through.
When she stepped inside the interrogation room, Mrs. Ellicott started singing again, and when she reached out to stroke Veronica-the-beast's cheek, between on verse and the next she was holding Veronica-the-girl.
With Veronica returned safely to normal and Kendall and Rand safely locked up in separate cells for the night, all the energy that had kept everyone on task throughout the day fell away. Outside, the shadows were getting longer. Hendrickson showed up from the hospital for long enough to thank the volunteer search parties and send his officers home.
He came into the detectives' office where Hotch and Reid were taking down the board and bagging anything that may be needed for the court case. The rest of the team had already left the station in search of dinner.
"Agent Hotchner." Hendrickson had an undamaged vest on again over a long-sleeved henley and jeans. He held out his hand, which Hotch took. "Thank you for your help on this one."
"Of course," Hotch said, "though I think we should be thanking you for all you and your people did too. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes . . ."
"That's Haven for you," Hendrickson said with a smile that held as much fondness for his crazy town as anything else.
"So what happens now? Jean Kendall can't be kept away from pictures forever," Hotch said. It was the one thing that he kept turning over in his head. How would she be controlled -- could she be?
"We'll find a place for her," said Hendrickson vaguely. "Rand was the real killer, and fortunately for us, he's not troubled."
"She's not going to disappear, is she?"
Hendrickson frowned at the implication. "We take care of our own."
Hotch didn't like the sound of that. He fixed Hendrickson with a look and asked, "Crocker?"
"No." Hendrickson's reply was short and sharp. "Duke wouldn't, even if I asked. Which I wouldn't, because we take care of our own, and for better or worse, that's what Kendall is. "
That didn't exactly reassure Hotch. "Troubled." It was a different euphemism, certainly better than cursed. "How will this play out in town? The fact that one of the unsubs was troubled?"
Hendrickson shrugged. "One of the victims was, too. Until the troubles end, it'll always be something."
"You can't keep this hidden forever," Reid said.
"You can't a mange this on your own either," added Hotch. "You barely have enough resources -"
"We do just fine," Hendrickson cut him off.
"And when it spills outside you're borders?"
"We don't let it. And if you think getting the FBI involved is going to help, it's not," he went on. "Bringing an army here won't stop the troubles."
"But you would have people who could help you manage them," said Hotch.
Hendrickson still wasn't convinced. "And the scientists who follow that want to experiment on us? The politicians who will want to lock us up for everyone's safety? You saw the crowd this morning. We've got enough of that already -- and the rest of us will fight to make sure that doesn't happen. You want to bet the lives of your agents against us?"
Hotch didn't miss that Hendrickson included himself among the potential resistance. He probably wasn't wrong about the fallout either. Hotch would have to put any proposal for helping Haven into writing. His report would get read by fifty directors, all the way up the chain, and whomever else they saw fit to inform.
He let out a breath and shook his head. "No. I don't imagine that would do anyone any good."
"Will the troubles ever end?" asked Reid.
But it didn't look like Hendrickson had an answer. He shrugged again. "We know a little bit about how they started. I'll let you know when we figure it out how to get rid of them for good. Until then, I'll send you a copy of our official reports that keep the troubles out of it. Should help you keep from being laughed out of the FBI, too."
"Thank you," said Hotch. Hendrickson nodded and shook Hotch's hand, then left them to it. Hotch sighed, feeling as if, despite successfully closing the case, they were going to be leaving it half open.
Beside him, Reid held up one of the postcards holding the body of the first victim from Camden. "Should we see if we can convince Jean Kendall to return the bodies?"
Hotch took it, weighing closure for the families versus the extensive lying that would be needed to explain where they were found and where the related evidence was without causing more undue grief if it all fell apart. "I'll bring it up with Hendrickson before we leave in the morning." This time, he'd let the locals decide.
"So, Reid, what's the final score?" Emily asked the next morning. The SUVs were packed and the four of them were waiting outside the police station for Hotch and Rossi to finish up the paperwork before they headed for the airport. "How does Haven rate as a vacation spot?"
Reid gave her a sideways look but gamely took the bait. "Scores well on scenic beauty and relaxing views. The constant wind is a strike against it, and so is the unfortunate habit of the citizenry to manifest supernatural powers."
"The fishing is supposed to be good," Derek said.
"Weren't you going to charter a boat before we left?" Emily seemed to recall something like that coming up before everything took a left turn.
"Not anymore," Derek shook his head emphatically, wincing. "Who knows what would happen to me out there."
"Mostly your run of the mill smugglers and fishermen," said Parker from behind them. She and Wuornos came down the steps from the station. Wuornos held a cup of coffee, Parker held a set of car keys. "The ocean's big enough you probably wouldn't run into the rest," she added, grinning.
"I don't even want to know," said Derek, shaking his head. "No offense, but your town is messed up."
"Thanks. We noticed," said Wuornos. His sleeves were rolled up and he had a bandage wrapped around his forearm just under the circular tattoo. Now that Emily could guess what it meant, she wondered if he wore it as a badge or a warning.
It took her a moment to notice that he was holding something out to her. "What's this?" she asked even though she could see it was a postcard. The postcard. The little church that had sheltered them, the rolling hills, and the town and sea in the background.
"I was gonna burn it, but I thought I'd see if you wanted to help," Wuornos said with a small smile. He held out a lighter in his other hand and held it out to Emily, too.
"Is this how you deal with the troubles when they're done?" JJ asked as Emily accepted the lighter and flicked it open.
"We also drink a lot," said Parker, wryly.
"Yeah. I know how that goes," Derek said, grinning back.
Everyone gathered around Emily who didn't hesitate. She held the corner of the card to the flame and smiled as it burned, letting it fall to the sidewalk. When she looked up, Wuornos was watching the postcard burn intently. Sensing her eyes on him, or something, he looked up and this time his smile was genuine and held the same relief she felt at watching their former prison disintegrate into ash.
"That felt good," she told him. She was pretty sure she was still going to have nightmares, but at least she could wake up knowing the postcard was gone.
"Catharsis," Reid offered.
"Something like that." Emily let out a breath.
"Well, we've got to get going," Parker said. "Somebody turned their front porch into lasagna."
"Lasagna?" JJ asked skeptically, but it was easy to see that Parker was serious.
"It never stops, does it," Derek said.
Both detectives shook their heads. "Nope," said Wuornos. "We get all the fun cases."
Emily knew that feeling, too, but at least their cases, difficult as they could be, were grounded in reality.
"You ever need any recommendations for good music, let me know," she told Wuornos, getting an exasperated eye roll and a firm handshake as they said their goodbyes. Then they were off to deal with a pasta porch, and Hotch and Rossi were leaving the station so they were ready to go, too.
"All set?" asked Morgan.
"All set," said Hotch. "Writing this one up is going to be interesting.
The End