Chapter Text
In the distance, the peal of a school bell rang out followed by the sounds of children screaming, laughing as they were starting classes for the day, shepherded safely inside without a care in their little world. The sun blazed overhead already, the stifling humidity inescapable save for a subtle breeze bringing with it the scent of hot asphalt and freshly mown grass. If one was paying extra close attention, there was also a faint hint of something meaty, something…rotten. Otherwise, it was a beautiful day. The sky was bright and clear, completely bereft of clouds. You could gaze up into it, that perfect unending sea, and feel as though you could float straight off of the earth, floating up and away like a balloon, forever absorbed into the perfect blue.
Below the shade of sycamore trees offering what little respite they could, Special Agent Derek Hale was parked and squinting in the harsh rays, even through his dark sunglasses. Unfortunately the AC in his shitty, beat-up old car barely functioned and he suffered the damp, uncomfortable patches under his arms accordingly. Beads of sweat rolled down his spine, dotted his forehead as he watched his colleagues across the street confer quietly to each other with clipboards, gesture and point though he couldn’t hear them at all from where he was. They scurried around like worker ants under the magnifying glass of some sadistic, childish god. They were all waiting for his presence too, he supposed. It wasn’t like him to be late but he was hungover and extra cranky. Better he take a moment to rein it in lest it explode on an undeserving target. The state he was in wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own.
His thoughts were usually calm, percolating in a steady rhythm. Today, not so much. He thought about the bad, watery whisky he indulged in at the bar the night before after his shift, about the massive pile of laundry he’d been ignoring for weeks, the tremors that had recently started in his hands though Dr. Deaton had assured him all the tests they’d done had shown nothing to be concerned about (‘just nerves’ the doctor had shrugged and said in his usual cool monotone, ‘try to cut down on your stress’- as if that was remotely possible given his occupation) and that he had should have asked about what he suspected was a developing ulcer but forgot in the moment. The gallons of coffee he was fuelling his body with every day were certainly reminding him now. He winced, fishing around for a bottle of antacids in the glovebox and sighing when it was nowhere to be found. Must have finished them off. It was going to be a long day, he could just feel it in his bones.
Well, he thought, no time like the present.
Across the street, the FBI had rigged up a couple ladders, a rudimentary pulley system, and they were now in the process of cutting down the body that hung above the front doors of St. Matthews Glorious Trinity Church. No easy task, being that high up and with the thick, braided ropes, cords or whatever had been utilized that seemed to be proving all the more difficult. The breeze had changed direction now and the smell really started to reach him then: the aroma of decay with its faint, twisted edge of honeyed sweetness. Luckily it was scaring away most of the small but curious crowd that had gathered at the far edges of the yellow tape wrapped around the area. People loved to gawk and stare, the bloodier the better even if they would never admit it. A news van was just pulling up, so he was sure it would turn into the usual circus in no time. For now, no one paid him much heed besides the odd, curious glance as he quietly ducked under and crossed the church grounds, the grass softly cushioning his footsteps.
He wasn’t religious in the slightest and so there was never much of a reason for him to visit a church, though he could appreciate the impressive architecture at least. A distant memory of tall ceilings, an aroma of incense, attending some sort of mass as a small child with his parents rippled out then dissipated just as quickly like smoke in the air.
“Nice of you to stop by, Hale.” Agent Erica Reyes popped her chewing gum, leaning against the wall and still staring up at the corpse without so much as a nod of acknowledgement that he was there. She was the only FBI agent he had ever met that insisted on bright red lipstick at all times. It was technically a dress code violation but being one of their sharpest agents, the Director cut her a lot of slack which she was more than happy to take advantage of. “Church’s custodian called local police around 5 AM this morning when he arrived for work.”
Derek glanced at his phone, nodded in greeting at a passing colleague. “It’s just after 8- what took so long?”
“Would you believe we’re still cleaning up and going through the last one?”
“Great,” he shook his head. “They’re coming in faster than we can process them now.”
A pop of the gum, a hint of sickly sweet fake banana smell, a prickle of palpable annoyance. “My thoughts exactly. Building was still locked up tight, no forced entry, nothing amiss.”
Derek watched the body gently swaying back and forth, some demented church bell that made no sound and never would again. “Besides him, you mean?”
“Right, besides him.” Erica agreed, then zeroed her sights in on Derek. “You okay? You look a little green around the gills this morning.”
“I’m fine,” he tried to play it cool even though his head was starting to ache and a hook of nausea had indeed sunk itself deep into his guts. He still hadn’t eaten anything yet, waiting for his sour stomach to work through the revolting feeling before he dared offer it anything in apology for the hell he kept putting it through. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
That was an understatement. Ever since the murders had started he had felt…off. Even experienced agents weren’t immune to burnout and taking too much work home with them, often with emotional and physical consequences. This was different though, in a way he couldn’t yet nail down. His focus had slipped, and so too had previous bad habits he thought he was done with. The alcohol certainly helped him fall asleep but it couldn’t guarantee a restful one where he didn’t have horrible nightmares he couldn’t quite recall upon waking. Still, he was loathe to admit that something was shaking him.
Erica sighed, resigned and empathetic. She knew exactly how he felt being knee deep in the muck with him. “You and me both. Believe me, I get it.”
They shared a moment of comfortable silence before Derek changed the subject, happier to talk about anything else other than his latest dysfunctions. “Where’s the custodian now?”
“Paramedics came to look him over and they ended up taking him to the hospital- blood pressure was really out of whack. He’s an older guy; got a nasty shock, I bet. Just be glad he didn’t have a heart attack and add another body to the pile. Anyway, I questioned him myself before you got here and he didn’t have much to add. Didn’t recognize our friend here either.”
“Not surprised.” He peered up at the body. “Pretty utilitarian for him, wouldn’t you say?”
Erica shook her head. “Maybe. Not ruling it out yet but you’re right- it doesn’t have the same…flair, we’ll say, as the other victims. Dramatic, sure, but not as flashy.”
“Sorry a hanging isn’t exciting enough for you.”
Erica laughed. Sometimes the only way to get through the day was the blackest of humour. “Don’t try to be cute, Hale. I’m much better at it than you.”
Derek smirked back, showing a hint of white teeth. “I don’t know about that. Well, maybe he’s running out of inspiration.”
“Hahhh,” she drawled out. “Don’t count on it. I think he’s enjoying the attention he’s getting too much to give up anytime soon. He’s practically a celebrity now.”
“We’ve told them to be responsible in their reporting.”
Behind them, right on cue, another news van pulled up to join the first. The reporters had smelled the literal blood and were jockeying for position to see who could be first to break the latest instalment of the ghoulish saga. Nothing got people to tune in quite like a fresh, juicy murder. Derek could already imagine the salacious headlines: SATANIC KILLER STRIKES AGAIN- NO ONE IS SAFE!
“Speak of the devil..” Erica huffed out a breath, clear in her distaste. “And when has the media ever respected that?”
“Yeah, fair enough. We could get formal about it. Publication ban?” Even as the suggestion left his lips, Derek didn’t really believe it to be a realistic solution.
“We could advise the Director but it’ll be a pain in the ass-“
She was interrupted by a cry above from one of the coroner workers perched on their ladders. They had almost lost hold as the body finally came free from its support.
“Hey, watch it!” Erica snapped. “That’s all we need now. Christ’ sake.”
“Said in vain, right in front of a church no less.” Derek tsk-tsked dryly.
Erica scoffed, popped her gum again. “Yeah, whatever. I know you’re no believer either so spare me. Let’s take a closer look once Greenburg has him safely on the ground.” She raised her voice slightly, pointedly: “Unless he wants to throw him around some more.” A muttered, half-hearted apology came that she rolled her eyes at.
Above them, the carved faces of angels and cherubs looked down dispassionately with stone eyes, expressions cold and sullen. At their feet there was the crinkling sound of a blue, plastic sheet being laid down, carefully weighed down at the corners, gently flapping with the wind. Examination kits were opened, pictures taken. The medical examiner, Dr. Allison Argent, was methodically dictating her findings in a low, measured tone into a recorder.
Derek snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves, crouched down and just observed for a beat while the team efficiently fell into place around him, quickly and quietly running through their tasks. At his feet, the body awaited his observation without complaint. No rush now, nowhere to be. A life reduced to a puzzle of skin and bone, a riddle demanding to be solved.
A man, older, perhaps pushing sixty. Wispy strands of hair covered a mostly balding scalp, grey where it wasn’t spattered faintly with blood dried to a dark brown. His eyes were thankfully closed, mouth slack, his chapped lips parted as though he had merely dozed off, a facsimile of peacefulness. Clothing was nondescript- a dark blue button-down shirt, no tie, black slacks, black sneakers. Derek didn’t recognize the brand but guessed something orthopaedic, like something favoured by nurses or someone who had to be on their feet for long periods of time. Dark patches around the forearms where blood had soaked through the fabric. Hands were bound in front of him and laying the body down had made it seem as though he were in the middle of a prayer.
“So, what do we think?” Erica murmured over his shoulder.
Derek thought for a moment more, his eyes roving over the corpse’s pale form. “The hanging wasn’t what killed him and even so, I doubt he was up there very long before being spotted. Only minor bulging of the eyes, mouth, and face.” He gently pressed around the neck and upper chest. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken either.”
He looked a moment more before removing a small utility knife from his pocket, Erica watching curiously, saying nothing. He gently cut through the plastic cable ties binding the hands, releasing them to flop down to rest softly at the sides before he eased up one of the shirt sleeves and turned a wrist over.
“Here,” he paused as further pictures were taken. A long, deep vertical wound ran almost from the wrist up to the elbow. Clean edges, almost surgically clean. “Bet we’ll see one just like it on the other arm as well.”
Further examination moments later proved that true.
“Would explain why he’s so pale, even for a dead guy.”
Derek nodded. “Yeah. I’m thinking by the time he was hung up here there was hardly a drop of blood left in his body.”
“Almost staged like a suicide. Why bother to string him up like a Christmas goose?”
Allison had come around the other side to join them, shooting her a withering look. “Don’t you think that’s a little disrespectful?”
Erica shrugged. “Sorry, just asking. ”
“Well it’s almost impossible he did this himself.” Allison said as she delicately collected her samples, gently swabbing the bloody wound. “Those lacerations are too deep. See how the edge of the radial bone is exposed? One side, maybe you could do it, but go that deep a second time with your non-dominant hand, also while already experiencing massive blood loss? Not a chance. I’m sure the autopsy will confirm.”
Derek nodded in agreement, adding: “And he definitely didn’t climb up there after slashing his wrists either, obviously."
"Obviously." Erica mimicked.
A pause between them before Allison followed up with the question of the hour.
“So, is it him?”
Derek was hyper-aware that the rest of the team around them had quieted down, waiting for his answer after their preliminary look over. He considered carefully what words he chose next, turning them over in his mind.
This had been a hunt over three months in the making. Six victims deep now, potentially another about to added to the growing list. No leads. The whole department was frustrated, the public halfway between panic and morbid fascination. Certain colourful details had leaked from the last few victims and the media had quickly coined ‘The Artist’ as their killer’s nickname. Victims had been found…arranged very particularly- exhibited, you could say. It was highly unusual and the profilers were concerned they had an especially bizarre form of psychopathy on their hands. No obvious MO, no connections between victims so far. Someone would go missing, not come home after work, miss an appointment, and a few days later they’d show up- just usually missing some parts. Derek didn’t blame anyone for being on edge about it but still, better to remain cautious and keep cool. They were the last line of defence against hysteria and rumours spiralling out of control. Though, the way information kept leaking and the gaggle of reporters they had to keep beating back, they may have already failed in that regard.
“Too soon to say," he settled on. "You’re right that it doesn’t have the uh panache we’ve grown to expect but let’s wait until forensics and autopsy can tell us more.”
Everyone seemed almost disappointed, expectation dissolving back into a low hum in the background. Calls were being made and another vehicle had arrived to transport the body back to the morgue for identification and processing.
Derek looked up again at the endless blue sky, wishing that gravity would simply release him and he could leave all this behind, flying away like some errant bird until he was no longer visible, a tiny speck that faded from view completely.
He swallowed thickly, his hands tingling slightly, stomach starting to burn again.