Premeditated Chapter 8
On Tuesday morning, after a night of naturally restful slumber, Reid woke up feeling nauseous. The nausea was not caused by food poisoning or the stomach flu. It could not have been prevented by a food taster. It was the nausea of hunger. The only treatment was eating. The only flaw with the treatment was the impossibility of eating while experiencing debilitating nausea.
Reid stumbled out of bed in a stomach-growling stomach-turning daze. He scurried into the bathroom and threw up nothing into the sink. He regretted going to bed without eating anything the night before. The only thing he had eaten since lunch yesterday had been a couple of Twix bars on the way home from work. He berated himself for eating Twix bars in place of dinner. Eating candy for meals was a bad habit of his. It was an unhealthy habit that kept him skinny, weak, and vulnerable to predators. He was the runtish antelope that the lions targeted and chased down. In the wild, he was the ideal prey. In civilization, he was protected from harm by being locked up at the zoo. Clearly, the zookeepers had neglected their duties if they had allowed their charge to eat candy for dinner. Why had they not supplied him with ready-to-eat food-taster-certified meals pre-planned and pre-cooked weeks in advance? They should have supervised his every bite and swallow as well, making sure that he consumed all the vitamins and minerals that kept his coat shiny, his ears perky, and his tail frisky, while his brain sparkled with effervescent rainbow-hued bubbles of brilliance. The zookeepers had performed none of their duties, and here was the result - a scruffy bedraggled animal throwing up nothing into the sink, then dressing up in the previous day's clothes for another round of tedium in the ungulate exhibit. No one who visited the zoo cared about the ungulates. It was the lions that they came to see.
At 6 AM, Reid headed off to work with hair unbrushed, face unshaven, shirt untucked. He looked like he had spent the whole night at the office. He decided to pretend that he had spent the whole night at the office. The only things that gave him away were his eyes, which were fresh, or as fresh as they ever looked, and his brain, which was refreshed and ready to conjure up romantic fairy tales about the UnSub and the object of his affection.
At work, on an unseasonably warm morning two days before Thanksgiving, it took Reid three hours to get the call about the eleventh victim. As expected, her hair was auburn, and she was one of Ginger Ale's redheaded prostitutes. Reid was sure that the loss of one of the herd would be enough to convince the pimp to take the others off the streets, but he was not sure that he wanted that to happen. The idea of prostitutes roaming the streets gave him a sense of security, the same feeling that it must have given the pimp, every morning or every night before he went to sleep, to know that his herd raked in the dollars while he lazed in bed. In a way, the herd was more like a pride than a herd. A herd of ungulates had to be fed and raised for years before the ungulates could be slaughtered, sold, and profited from. A pride of lionesses dragged in the kill on a daily basis, and unlike the ungulates, the lionesses, being of the same species as the lion, could cuddle up with the lion and be told how pretty they were at sunset on the savanna.
"The UnSub is a fisher-hunter," Reid opened the profile.
"A fisher-hunter," Morgan stared blankly.
"Fishing-hunting is a type of criminal behavior in which the UnSub consciously fishes in a non-specific manner while subconsciously hunting for a specific prey," Reid explained. "In this case, the UnSub initiated his crime spree by fishing amongst blonde and brunette prostitutes who did not resemble his prey. As he continued his crimes, he chose victims who increasingly resembled his prey, but he was still fishing all the way through the tenth victim, because none of the victims could be counted as redheads. It was only with the latest victim, the eleventh victim and the first redhead, that he consciously switched from fishing behavior to hunting behavior. The whole series of crimes is like the predator-prey simulation played out over weeks instead of minutes."
"Not the predator-prey simulation again," Morgan rubbed his hand over his bald head.
"Is this another of Gideon's unpublished theories?" Prentiss asked. "I've never heard of this fishing-hunting behavior."
"Not Gideon's theory," Reid replied. "My theory."
"Let's assume, for the moment, that your theory is accurate," Rossi said. "The fishing behavior is the UnSub killing blondes and brunettes, and the hunting behavior is the UnSub killing redheads. The latest victim was a redhead, so are we to assume that the UnSub has reached the end of his crime spree? Was the latest victim the specific prey that he has been subconsciously hunting all along?"
"No, I don't think so," Reid replied. "The latest victim had auburn hair, red hair at the boundary with brown hair. The UnSub has been targeting victims from both the blonde and brunette sides of the hair color spectrum, so his next victim will have red hair at the boundary with blonde hair. I believe that the UnSub is looking for a prostitute with naturally red hair of this particular shade," he projected a photo of bright orange hair onto the screen, clicking to enlarge the photo until the hair follicles filled the entire screen.
"And we know this, because..." Prentiss raised her eyebrows at the image.
"The pattern goes brunette, blonde, brunette, blonde," Reid said. "It saves blonde for last. Does that sound like a normal pattern?"
"It would normally go blonde, brunette, blonde, brunette," Garcia spoke up.
"I agree," Hotch nodded. "Our society places blondes above brunettes. It's a fact, whether we care to admit it or not."
"Men prefer blondes," Rossi chuckled.
"Right," Reid continued. "The evolution of blonde hair, along with fair skin and light eyes, is usually attributed to the necessities of vitamin D synthesis at high latitudes, but some anthropologists believe that blondism arose due to sexual selection during the last ice age, when the deteriorating climate and resultant scarcity of food forced men onto reckless hunting trips during which many of them were killed, leading to a high female-to-male ratio in the breeding population. In the competition for mates, fair-haired light-eyed women stood out from their dark-haired dark-eyed rivals, so blondism became prevalent in certain areas of Northern and Eastern Europe over a short time period."
"Thanks, Prof," Morgan muttered under his breath.
Reid nodded at Morgan, happy to see that Morgan found blondism worthy of sarcastic muttering in place of blank staring. More of the quota must have drained away. Perhaps the quota was draining away at an accelerated pace, now that Reid spent most of his time in his office with the door locked and the blinds closed. He no longer sat at his desk in the bullpen. It was freeing not to wear headphones all the time.
"To return to the profile," Hotch changed the subject. "Has the UnSub zeroed in on his specific prey with the next victim? Is he planning to end his crime spree after he kills the twelfth victim?"
"Yes, I believe that the twelfth victim will be the final victim of his organized crime spree," Reid said.
"You mean there's more to come afterwards?" Morgan asked. "Is he going to start a disorganized crime spree?"
"Possibly," Reid replied. "Or he may stop killing altogether, and we may never hear of him again."
"I don't understand," Prentiss frowned. "What is the UnSub's motive for the murders? What is the significance of red hair of that particular shade?" she pointed the chewed-up tip of her pen at the projector screen.
"The UnSub must have known a woman with ginger hair," Morgan suggested. "This woman must have meant something to him. She's the stressor for the crime spree."
"Morgan's right," Reid agreed. "The next victim is likely a substitute for the object of his affection. The stressor for the crime spree was her departure from his life."
"And the evidence for this is..." Prentiss tapped her pen against the edge of the table.
"The behavior itself. The fishing-hunting behavior indicates a particular motive," Reid explained. "It indicates an UnSub who has lost something and is trying to deal with the loss by replacing the something with a multitude of dissimilar things. This is the conscious fishing behavior. The UnSub lost the redhead who was the object of his affection, and he tried to replace her with blondes and brunettes who were entirely unlike her. He tried to move on. He failed to move on, because a subconscious part of his mind held onto her through her hair. That's why he chose victims with redder and redder hair as his crimes progressed. In his subconscious mind, each successive victim brought him closer to her. This is the subconscious hunting behavior. The switch from blondes and brunettes to redheads indicates that the UnSub is now consciously hunting for the prey that he had in mind all along."
"What is he going to do when he finds her?" Prentiss asked. "Is he going to kill someone who reminds him of his love interest?"
"That's unclear," Reid shook his head. "It's difficult to predict what he would do in that scenario. It depends on his specific psychological state, which we have no way of knowing."
"What are the possibilities?" Hotch asked.
"If we suppose that each crime is an act of love, then the UnSub..." Reid began expounding upon the possibilities.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Morgan interrupted with a hand in the air, like a hyperactive third-grader eager to answer a question in class. "What the Hell, Reid? A murder is an act of love?"
"To the UnSub, possibly," Reid answered. "Each murder is a test of loyalty and an act of love. Think of it this way. The UnSub is trying to move on from his love interest, looking for other fish in the sea to replace the one he lost. He finds that he is unable to replace her. He doesn't really want to replace her. She is irreplaceable. He becomes annoyed with these other fish, these prostitutes who are constantly trying to lure him onto their hooks while he refuses to bite. He is both fisher and fish. Throughout the process, he remains loyal to the object of his affection. He kills the prostitutes, because they are not her. How dare they tempt him when he has eyes only for her? To the UnSub, a murder is a test of loyalty. Not killing a prostitute would be a failure on his part, but not to worry, he passes the test with flying colors every time. A murder is an act of love."
"Sick!" Garcia exclaimed as she straightened her glasses with a fluffy pen.
"If a murder is a test of loyalty and an act of love, then the UnSub has no choice but to kill the twelfth victim, the one who reminds him of, but is not actually, his love interest," Morgan concluded.
"Does his love interest love him back?" Prentiss asked.
"Probably not," Morgan answered.
"Certainly not," Reid said. "The UnSub is displaying the effects of social rejection, specifically romantic rejection..."
"Romantic rejection, one of the prime stressors for violent behavior in men," Rossi completed the thought.
"Especially in men with high rejection sensitivity," Reid continued. "People with high rejection sensitivity experience inappropriate levels of anxiety in response to social slights, no matter how minor. The condition is often associated with neuroticism, a fundamental personality trait that causes a person to internalize negative emotions, such as anxiety, anger, guilt, and grief. Such a person often displays poor interpersonal skills and poor impulse control. An UnSub with high rejection sensitivity and a neurotic personality will overanalyze all his social interactions. He will play the interactions over and over in his mind, dredging up negative emotions if there were any, conferring negative emotions where there were none, and judging himself and his social partners accordingly. For such a personality, romantic rejection, in the form of unrequited love, would be a devastating blow."
"Devastating enough to kill," Rossi added.
"Supposing that he finds and kills a twelfth victim, what then?" Hotch asked.
"After he kills the twelfth victim, the UnSub will find himself at a fork in the road," Reid said. "He can either end the crime spree, having fished and hunted to no avail, or he can go on to repeat the final crime over and over again. In that case, he would find himself trapped in a loop, which, over time, would become increasingly tedious to maintain. He may stop, give up, and fall into a state of depression, perhaps becoming depressed enough to kill himself. Or he may attempt to break free of the loop by going on a separate disorganized crime spree."
"Is there a scenario in which the UnSub doesn't kill the tweflth victim?" Rossi asked.
"There is one scenario," Reid answered immediately, then paused, hesitating.
"Which is..." Rossi prompted him.
"So far, we've only considered the possibility that the twelfth victim is a substitute for the UnSub's love interest," Reid continued. "What if the twelfth victim is the UnSub's love interest?"
"The UnSub's love interest is a prostitute?" Prentiss asked.
"Why not?" Morgan turned and smirked at Prentiss. "Ever seen 'Pretty Woman'?"
"Pretty Woman, walking down the street...Pretty Woman, the kind I like to meet..." Garcia sing-songed the theme from the movie.
"What happens in this scenario?" Prentiss asked. "Does the UnSub kill his love interest?"
"It depends on the specifics of the relationship," Reid replied. "What was the exact nature of her departure from his life? Was there ever a genuine relationship, either platonic or romantic, or was the whole thing in his head? Is his love for her strong enough to overcome the negative emotions that arose from her rejection of him and that presumably caused him to kill?"
"If he does kill her, then..." Morgan waited for Reid to fill in the blanks.
"Then he loses it, whatever he has left of his mind," Reid replied. "He goes on a crime spree - disorganized, haphazard, insane."
"Tell me there's an alternative," Garcia peeked through the fingers covering her eyes. "What if he doesn't kill her?"
"Then he...heals," Reid replied. "If he finds her, but he doesn't kill her, then he will know that his love for her is strong enough to overcome all his negative emotions and aggressive impulses. It will be a moment of catharsis for him. Afterwards, he will let go of her for good. The crime spree will end, and the UnSub will find closure."
At the last words, the room fell silent. Morgan and Prentiss exchanged glances, as did Hotch and Rossi. Garcia shuddered in her chair. Reid stood in place, waiting for a response from his colleagues. He was very surprised, somewhat annoyed, and slightly angry that his colleagues had nothing to say. He had laid out the intellectual fugue and the emotional fantasia, both clear as the winter sky, but there was no response, only silence. Why was there no response? Why was there only silence? Silence was a form of social rejection, designed to make the speaker think twice before speaking again. When greeted, at the end of a long speech, with utter silence, the speaker was supposed to feel bad about himself. He was supposed to play his speech over and over in his mind, searching for the errors and omissions that had demonstrated his inadequacies, as a speaker and as a thinker. As the silence continued, he would attempt to fill it, bringing forth ideas at the fringes of relevancy and validity. The ideas, the bad ones, would instigate discussion to fill the silence, and the speaker would wonder why the audience focused upon the myriad poppable bubbles, scores among millions in the common foam, rather than the one sparkling shimmering globe that he had blown up to hover, out of harm's way, in the air over their heads.
"Moving on..." Reid broke the silence. "The concrete part of the profile..."
"Wait!" Morgan raised his hand again. "There's more to this profile?"
"Of course," Reid answered. "So far, we've broken down the psychological motives and criminal behaviors of the UnSub, but the profile hasn't actually given us any specific leads, any directions for future investigation. The concrete part of the profile..."
"Where else is there to go?" Prentiss asked, flicking her pen again, its chewed-up tip eliciting a wave of nausea within Reid's still empty stomach.
"The UnSub is a pimp," Reid blurted out the words, quickly, before anyone could interrupt him. "The UnSub is a pimp who was in love with one of his prostitutes who ditched him for another pimp."
"What?" Morgan and Prentiss spoke and stared in unison.
"Yes, Reid, do explain," Rossi joined in. "What makes you believe that the UnSub is a pimp, that the UnSub is a pimp in love with his prostitute, that the prostitute left the UnSub for another pimp...Why don't you fill us in on all the answers to all the questions, one at a time?"
"It all fits," Reid answered. "The story fits the profile. Suppose that the prostitute left the UnSub for another pimp. What is the significance of this action? A prostitute leaving one pimp for another is a business decision, similar to a corporation leaving one ad agency for another. Pimps operate according to a hierarchy, and their positions within the hierarchy affect the number of prostitutes they can recruit and maintain and therefore their business earnings. Fillmore Slim, a pimp who operated in San Francisco during the '60s and '70s, was known as "The Pope of Pimping", because he had 15 prostitutes working Fillmore Street at all times. Over his entire career, he had 8,000 to 9,000 prostitutes work for him. A wannabe, like Ginger Ale, has probably had 50 or so prostitutes work for him over his young career. When a prostitute leaves a wannabe, she not only damages his earnings, but also his position and advancement within the pimp hierarchy. A prostitute leaving one pimp for another is a form of social rejection, much like a breakup in which a woman leaves one man for another."
"Romantic rejection again," Rossi remarked. "It does make sense as a stressor for the UnSub, if the UnSub is a pimp. A pimp is essentially the center of a harem, the husband in the middle of a polygynous household. Unlike a sultan with 3,000 wives all to himself, a pimp rents out his wives to other men, and his wives are free to join a different harem without the fear of being beheaded."
"Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but if the pimp has romantic interest in one of his prostitutes and the personality type that Reid described, then the situation could result in a crime spree targeting other prostitutes," Hotch said. "The abandonment would not only damage his position and advancement within the pimp hierarchy, but it would also bring his own masculinity into question."
"We're talking about the unrequited love of a pimp for his prostitute?" Morgan asked.
"How romantic," Garcia cradled her cheeks in her hands.
"Personally, I was thinking sick," Prentiss directed her words at Garcia.
"Both, I guess," Morgan interjected to dispel the tension. "This scenario would explain the M.O. of the earlier crimes, the ones from October, when the UnSub was still an inexperienced killer. The first three victims died of exsanguination, but only after their legs had been broken in multiple places by a blunt object. The beating/slashing combo is a very haphazard M.O., so the targeting of the legs must have had some symbolic significance that overrode the risky nature of the M.O."
"Don't you dare run away from me," Rossi suggested. "Don't you dare leave me. That's what a pimp would say to a prostitute who tried to ditch him. Pimps often employ physical violence to keep their prostitutes in line. A pimp might beat his prostitute for merely looking at another pimp. Why do you think they carry around those pimp canes?"
"I thought it was to look cool," Garcia covered her face with her hands.
"Couldn't a regular guy do that too?" Prentiss asked. "Yell the same thing at his girlfriend when she tries to break up with him? Don't you dare run away from me? Don't you dare leave me? I still don't see why the UnSub has to be a pimp. The UnSub could've substituted a prostitute for his ex in order to act out his aggressions..."
"It wouldn't be that easy to substitute a prostitute for the object of his affection," Reid cut her off.
"Huhnn-huhnn-huhnn," Morgan chuckled. "What are you saying, Reid? That you've got personal experience, and it didn't work out?"
"Unless someone has a severe mental disorder with a completely altered perception of reality, it's not that easy to substitute one person for another," Reid proclaimed in frustration. "People have all kinds of delusions, ranging from paranoid beliefs to erotomania to visions of grandeur, but it takes a seriously ill individual to mistake one person for another, especially if the person was close to him. We're talking about people at the edges of sanity. The UnSub is an organized killer with an evolving M.O. He is a perfectly sane individual. His motives are clear. His behaviors are clear. The crime spree is a way for him to cope with an unbearable loss. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the prostitute is the object of his affection. She's not a substitute! She's the one! I'm also convinced that he's going to kill her. He's going to kill her, because..."
"She's no longer his," Rossi cut in. "She switched pimps, so she belongs to someone else now. Their relationship, which probably never existed except in his own mind, has changed in a fundamental way. He loved her when she belonged to him. Now that she belongs to someone else, he wants to kill her."
"All this time, he's been holding onto her," Reid said. "Now, it's time for him to let go of her."
"Alright, I've heard enough about pimps and prostitutes to last a lifetime," Hotch halted the discussion. "We'll stop here for today. If the UnSub is a pimp, then we've got a concrete lead in the case. If not, then we've still got the rest of the profile. Morgan and Rossi, keep tabs on Ginger Ale to make sure that he's keeping his prostitutes off the streets. Let him know that we're progressing on the case if he gets antsy about losing money. Try to find out more about his prostitutes, especially about the ones with bright orange hair and/or the ones who switched to him from another pimp. Prentiss, work with Garcia to dig up information about all the pimps in the area, focusing on wannabes who would be most sensitive to social rejection. Reid, continue doing what you're doing. I don't know what you're doing, but it's giving us directions for investigation, so just keep doing it. Anyone with any new insights, bring them to me or to Dave, if I'm not around."
"Got it, Head Hotcho!" Garcia saluted as she gathered up her belongings to return to her hacker cave.
"Reid, can I talk to you for a minute?" Hotch waited for everyone else to exit the room before addressing Reid.
"Sure, Hotch, what is it?" Reid assumed a blank neutral expression.
"I really appreciate your work over the past few days, but for the benefit of the team, I'd advise you not to come on too strong during the case briefing or the profile," Hotch said. "We work as a team, so, although you'd like to jump ahead, you've still got to wait for everyone else to catch up. That means not skipping over the basic skeleton of the profile and not creating your own version of the story to impose upon others. The BAU is more effective when our profiles emerge from a discussion rather than a lecture."
"You're right, Hotch," Reid nodded. "Sorry about that. I guess I did come on a little too strong with the profile today. I mean, I could be wrong about the whole thing, especially the part about the pimp. I guess I just feel a more personal connection to the cases now that I'm the one screening them."
"Like you own them? Like it's all up to you to solve them?" Hotch asked.
"Yeah, exactly," Reid replied. "How did you know?"
"JJ used to have the same problem," Hotch explained. "When she first started screening cases for the BAU, she felt like each case was her baby, like she needed to personally see everything through to the end, including attending the funerals of the victims and arranging counseling for the families. But, over time, she learned to hand the cases off to the profilers after the case briefings. It's harder for you, because you're a profiler yourself. It's impossible for you to distance yourself from an ongoing case. You have to remember that you're not the only one working on the case. It's not entirely up to you to solve the case. You don't have to take personal responsiblity, even if we fail to solve a case."
"Yeah, you're right," Reid said. "I've been overreacting all week. It's like my first case all over again."
"I'd like to say that about a case again," Hotch smiled a little. "Unfortunately, my first case is fading away behind the mists of time," he paused, then started again. "One thing I will say though...Regardless of your style today, you did an exceptional job with the profile. You really took us inside the mind of the UnSub, both the intellectual and emotional aspects of his psychology and behavior. I can honestly say that this is the first time that I've truly empathized with an UnSub, truly understood his thoughts even as I understood that his actions were wrong. Good work on that, and I'll leave you to clean up the mess," he gestured at the table, the bulletin board, and the projector.
"Thanks, Hotch," Reid waved, blushing, as Hotch exited the room.
Alone in the Round Table Room, Reid basked in the praise of his boss. He basked so much in the praise that he dismissed the criticism. He dismissed the fact that the BAU was supposed to work as a team. He dismissed the fact that he was not supposed to take the case personally. How was he supposed to get inside the mind of the UnSub if he failed to take the case personally? In order to solve the case, he had to stand in the shoes of the UnSub. He had to understand the thoughts of the UnSub, so he could understand the actions of the UnSub. It was only after he understood the past actions of the UnSub that he could predict the future actions of the UnSub. That was the only way to stop the UnSub. That was the only way to solve the case.
A case was not a chess game, as Gideon had described it. A chess game took place on the intellectual plane. The player moved the pieces on the board. The sacrifice of a pawn engendered little remorse, and the victory, though pleasing, served only to reset the board for the next game.
As Reid saw it, a case was a symphony. At its heart, a symphony was a story. A story took place on all planes, intellectual and emotional. The reader fell into the story, becoming one of the pieces on the board. Each sacrifice, of pawn or queen, was accompanied by its pertinent proportion of pain, and the end, though cathartic, mutated the board to evolve a new game that was entirely unlike, or possibly still like, the old game, with old variations on old themes, that had been played out so many times before.
At 8 PM, Reid found himself rushing through the red light district of the redheaded prostitutes, searching for the woman with the titian hair. He needed to find her before she disappeared to the beck and call of her pimp. The pimp had agreed to take his prostitutes off the streets, but only after a final night of earnings before the lull of the Thanksgiving weekend. The UnSub had killed his latest victim on Monday, so the pimp had reasoned that he was unlikely to kill again so soon.
Reid walked as fast as he could down the trash-strewn sidewalk. He scanned his surroundings with his eyes, blinking away brown and blonde, zeroing in on red wherever his brain saw it. In the darkness, red looked black and black looked red, so the hunt was difficult. Hunting was more like fishing than hunting. From a distance, he would see red, but when he came closer, he would see that red was black. He would have to throw the fish back into the sea. He would have to continue the hunting that was too much like fishing to satisfy a predator's impulses, getting more and more desperate as he searched for the woman with the titian hair.
In order to calm himself as he searched, Reid contemplated the profile of the UnSub. The profile had come to him as a flash of insight the night before, on the way home from work. The psychology and behavior had made perfect sense while he had constructed them in his mind. They had continued to make sense while he had spoken them aloud in the Round Table Room. It was only after he had spoken, during the silence that followed, that he had begun to doubt the profile. He doubted not the accuracy of the profile, but its implications for himself.
The profile had been more like a profile of himself than a profile of the UnSub. During the silence, he had analyzed this thought and found it to be inaccurate.
The profile had been both a profile of himself and a profile of the UnSub. This thought had been accurate, but he had not wanted it to be so. That was why he had made up the story about the pimp. He had made up the story to distance himself from the UnSub. He did not know if the UnSub was really a pimp or if the UnSub was really a pimp in love with his prostitute or if the prostitute had really left the UnSub for another pimp. For all he knew, the UnSub could be a psychotic individual who had mistaken each prostitute for the corpse of his sexually abusive mother that he kept frozen in a cryogenic tank in the basement. But he did not believe this, because the profile had made sense, and the story had fit the profile. The story had shown him that he was entirely unlike the UnSub.
First of all, Reid was not a pimp. He was not a lion at the center of a pride of lionesses. He was an ungulate, grazing the savanna with his herd, the runtish one at the back of the pack, trying his best not to lag behind for fear of the prowling felines.
Second, Reid had not lost anyone to anyone else, because he had never had anyone in the first place. In this respect, he was both worse off and better off than the pimp. The pimp had owned his prostitute, but, although he had owned his prostitute, he had not enjoyed a meaningful relationship, either platonic or romantic, with her. Theirs had been a business relationship - superior and subordinate, colleagues at best. Unlike the pimp, Reid had not owned her, but he had at least enjoyed a platonic relationship with her. He had been content with the platonic relationship until she had wanted to bump the platonic relationship down to a business relationship - colleagues rather than friends, colleagues willing to exchange greetings in the lobby but unwilling to carry a greeting upstairs. The seemingly minor incident had reminded him of his dissatisfaction with the platonic relationship, dredging up the many negative emotions that he had experienced in the aftermath of the failed romantic relationship. Indeed, the romantic relationship had not even failed, because it had not even existed to fail. The romantic relationship had not existed, and the lioness, to rub salt in the wound, had presented the lion with a cub that he had not wanted, because it had not been his.
Finally, Reid was entirely unlike the pimp, because the pimp had wanted, and still wanted, to hurt his prostitute, and Reid had never wanted to hurt JJ. No amount of negative emotions or aggressive impulses, whether those of ungulate or lion, predator or prey, could make Reid hurt JJ. It was as simple as that.
For Reid, the analysis, like all analyses, brought him comfort. The hunt brought him the prey, in the form of the woman with the titian hair. She loitered in an empty lot, tying up her bright orange hair into a long straight ponytail. Reid felt himself drawn to her hair. He felt an uncontrollable impulse to examine it under his Maglite. He wanted to compare its color to the color that he had assigned to it and projected, in the form of hair follicles, onto the screen. As he walked up to her, with a happy bounce in his step, Reid delighted in the thought that he had found the UnSub's JJ before the UnSub had found her. It was all up to him to save her from him.
"Felicia," he said her name.
Master Post