A/N: It's ALWAYS a massive pleasure to write a request story. To be honest I'm pretty excited about toying with this particular story idea… (What can I say? I'm a fan of dark and twisted.)

DISCLAIMER: See all the names of those fabulous people at the end of the 'CM' –credits? Nope, I'm still not listed there. DAMNIT! (pouts and sulks)

FULL SUMMARY: Since Jason Gideon's departure the team and especially Dr. Spencer Reid have been wondering what happened to him. They get the just about last answer they would've wanted or been prepared for as a new case unfolds. When a deadly chase begins the lines between right and wrong become blurred further than ever before. It's such a short step to the dark side. Will they survive? And if they will, are they the same people they used to be?

WARNINGS: GORE. (Murders, blood, quite descriptive material…) Language. Adult themes. POTENTIAL CHARACTER DEATH. (There are some things from which people don't come out as the people they once were…)

Alrighty, then… (gulps) If there's still anyone out there, let's get started or my nerves get the best of me. I really hope that you'll enjoy this one!

Paradise Lost

Prologue

Earl Howley's blue eyes flew open as he unleashed a gasp that hurt. Broken ribs. Quite possibly several of them.

How the hell did he get into this mess? He'd… been leaving his cabin. That's right. He'd been packing his car when he heard steps. He never got the chance to take a look around before he'd been hurled against the vehicle, so that his forehead smashed against the back window and broke it. He remembered intense pain, all over his body. Apart from that… Nothing.

He twisted himself slightly although every single part of his body screamed protests, determined to see how bad the damage was. He winced. His left ankle was twisted into a unnatural position and there was blood all over his clothes, some of it even on the floor below him. Most of his skin was hidden by clothes but his black t-shirt allowed a view to his cut, badly bruised arms from which skin had been peeled off from several parts. He preferred no thinking about what his face looked like. The pain and feel of something sticky spoke loudly enough.

As though it would've made any difference he wondered if he'd managed to fight back at all. If he'd managed to damage the asshole who took him in return.

Earl blinked several times, working furiously to focus his eyes on his surroundings. The ceiling was gray, made of stone and marked with spots of mould. He could smell humidity. The air was so thick that he coughed loudly, irritating his ribs even further. His head swayed dangerously and for a few moments he was sure that he'd pass out. He didn't. Instead Earl was able to comprehend that he lay in a dark, laboratory like room that had shadows dancing absolutely everywhere. The reek from before mixed with that of blood, urine, feces and vomit. Filth covered everything – dust, oil, blood, bodily fluids… The whole room looked and smelled worse than a slaughterhouse. Enough so to make his heart begin to race and his blood to run cold.

What the hell…?!

It was at that very moment he noticed the security camera, hanging almost unnoticeably from the ceiling. A red light was blinking. Despite the fear rushing through him Earl's eyes narrowed. "Are you having fun, you son of a bitch?!" he snarled. "Is this amusing to you, huh? You've got me. So what the hell are you going to do with me?"

No one answered him, much like he'd been expecting. Instead his eyes shifted, sheer terror sharpening them. There was a metallic door on the other side of the room. With something red and quite ominous words had been drawn to it.

ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS TO OPEN THE DOOR

Earl swallowed thickly, his head buzzing and aching. He was no idiot. A very large part of his brain screamed that this was going to be a trap, that he was about to make a disastrous mistake. But the desire for freedom was greater than all else. And so he moved, ignoring the sullen fact that his body was far from well enough to really endure something so dramatic. After what felt like ages he'd dragged himself to the door and reached out a unsteady hand.

Earl screamed, louder than he ever had in his entire life.

Despite the fact that his skin was practically on fire it took a mighty while before he managed to pull his hand away from the burning hot metal. He gasped, no longer finding it from his lungs to scream, and tried desperately to clear his head.

That son of a bitch… That guy had created a trap and he'd been stupid enough to walk right into it. Stupid enough to think that there was still hope for him. But… What choice did he have?

He pushed the door open, screaming out of pain like some sort of a wild animal. Pushed, using absolutely all of the little strength there was in his body. Ice filled his veins as soon as the sight greeted him. He could've sworn that his heart stopped for a second.

"Fuck…!"

The room was tiny, more like a closet than an actual space. And there, on the wall directly before him, was a mirror. Words had been written on it with by then familiar ominous red.

LOOK AT THE FACE OF A MONSTER

SPEAK OUT THEIR NAMES AND REDEEM YOURSELF BEFORE GOING TO HELL

There, around his neck… What the hell was that metallic thing? It seemed to have spikes on it because he could actually feel it digging through skin. Some blood had seeped, staining his pale skin. Gasping, nearly hyperventilating, he scratched and pulled frantically but only succeeded in making the device grab harder. It was tightening, he could feel it. Soon…

Tears of terror, rage and despair filled his eyes before he screamed out. "Please…! You can't do this – I… I have a family! Let me out of here, please…! I'll do anything, just…!" Words ran out as he realized that whoever his captor was planned on showing no sympathy. Instead the device kept digging deeper. It was getting hard to breathe. In that desperate moment his eyes nailed on the words.

SPEAK OUT THEIR NAMES

Earl opened his mouth. His lips quivered and it took long before any sound came out. He hoped from the bottom of his heart that they were loud enough for his captor to hear. "Jemma… Jemma Harding. Kimberly Thorne. Olivia Peet." He closed his eyes for a second and winced. The pain on his neck was becoming unbearable. "Is… Isabella Manson. Layla Gordon."

He waited, and waited, a fool's hope spreading in his aching, tight chest. No relief came. Instead the decive squeezed even more tightly. His eyes widened, filled with a brand new set of tears.

"You… You were supposed to…!" he managed. And after that he couldn't say another word ever again. The spikes had nearly reached his windpipe. At that very second all lights went out, leaving him to die in utter darkness.

The last thing Earl Howley ever saw of this world was the reflection of his own horrified face.

Dr. Spencer Reid gasped like he'd just finished the longest dive, his eyes wide and a sheen of cold sweat lingering on his forehead. His head spun while he struggled to make his madly jumping heart calm down. His thoughts were rushing all over the place, making it impossible to comprehend anything.

After managing to calm down slightly Spencer looked around. A bout of embarrassment made him blush as soon as he realized the he was in a metro. He must've been even more exhausted than he'd thought to just fall asleep like this. Several passengers were looking at him funnily and he couldn't help wondering if he'd screamed out loud in the nightmare's grip.

"Sorry", he muttered, running a far from steady hand through his hair. "Just… a bad dream." Just like those that'd kept him awake the night before.

Mercifully his stop came soon, allowing him an escape from all those prying eyes. He breathed in fresh air, letting it clear his head. He couldn't linger in the world of chilling dreams any longer. He had work to do.

By the time he made it to the briefing room the rest of the team was already there. They gave looks of worry on his exhausted appearance and he wished from the bottom of his heart that he would've been able to just say that he was alright. Derek Morgan's eyebrow bounced up. "We were already starting to wonder if you'd show up at all."

Spencer cleared his throat, taking a seat. Where did that foul taste in his mouth come from? "Sorry. The metro was late." That, at least, was honest.

He could actually feel how badly the others would've wanted to press on but thankfully they had work to focus on. He didn't manage to breathe properly until Aaron Hotchner looked away from him and spoke. "Garcia, could you introduce the case to us?"

Penelope nodded with a slightly nauseated look on her face. "The local police of Birmingham, Alabama, contacted us. So far they have four murders in their hands, each of them a week apart from the previous. The latest took place yesterday." She put the pictures on display and looked away as fast as she could. "Four men, all of them from ages of twenty-five to thirty-five. Intelligent, highly educated."

"Not exactly in the highest risk group", David Rossi muttered.

Penelope went on after a second. "The… The UnSub grabs a new victim three days after the body of the previous one has been found. He keeps and tortures them for four days before killing them with…" She didn't really need to say it out loud. They all saw the slashed throats.

The victims were battered, bruised, cut and covered in blood. But nonetheless Spencer noticed something that made his skin crawl. He couldn't help wondering if the others saw it too. Slender figure… Brown hair of varying lengths… Glazed over hazel eyes…

The UnSub clearly had a type.

Yes, the team noticed. A tense silence filled the room until Derek spoke. "Except for the looks, do they have anything in common?"

Penelope swallowed thickly and sighed. "I'm sorry, but… Not much that I could find. Alex Durbin, the first victim, had almost finished his third year of med school studies. The killer lured him along from a local bar." She bit her lip. "The second victim, Jonathan Nash, was a father of two and a high school teacher. Apparently everyone loved him. He was on his way home from work when something made him pull over. He was never seen alive since." She had to look away from the pictures once more to maintain her professional front. "The third victim was Nicholas Stone. He… He left behind a wife and a five-months-old baby girl. He would've turned thirty next month. He was a lawyer. According to his secretary he vanished during or after a meeting with a potential client." She took a deep breath, folding her arms tightly to her chest. "The latest victim, Kenneth Jackson, is what truly hit the local police. He was a detective and a father of three. He vanished on duty. His… His best friend found his body."

"Oh crap…", David groaned with a wince. They all knew just how messy this part would make their investigations. Understandable as their feelings were dealing with angry cops who'd lost one of their own wouldn't be a joyride.

Penelope wasn't finished, though. "Kenneth… He was the only one who said that he felt like someone was following him around before his death."

Derek gritted his teeth loudly. It was was Emily Prentiss who spoke what the rest of them were thinking. "He's keeping an eye on them, waiting to spot the perfect opportunity."

Aaron frowned, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded to his chest. "So… We're most likely looking for a man at the age of 25 to 40. He's probably caucasian."

Spencer nodded slowly, his head buzzing and humming. "He'll have to be socially suave and intelligent, most likely well educated. He was well spoken enough to catch these men off guard and smart enough to be able to grab most of them in broad daylight."

JJ bit her lower lip and Spencer could've sworn that her eyes shifted towards him for a fleeting second. "We've got only a few more days until he takes another victim."

Aaron nodded. "We'll take off in thirty minutes. We'll talk more during the flight."

Spencer was just about to make a speedy escape when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He shivered a little until he turned around to find JJ's worried face. "Are you okay, Spence?"

Spencer did his best to create a convincing front. "I'm fine. I've just… been having these weird dreams lately." He was forced to bite back a yawn and wondered when was the last time he slept properly. "I guess I'm just tired. It can't be anything more than a bad feeling."

JJ's smile was far from reassuring. "Yeah. Just a bad feeling."

None of the teammembers noticed the news broadcast on Earl Howley's murder. The murder took place in Fairfield, Alabama.

TBC OR NOT?

A/N: So… It looks like we got TWO killers with the price of one, ladies and gentlemen. (That is, of course, if all is as simple as it seems…) And it's always nasty when one of the profiler matches the victimology, isn't it? (shudders)

Soooo… The choice is yours, my friends. Should I continue this, or sail towards new waters? PLEASE, let me know! It's always nerve wrecking to start planning on a new story so I'd be REALLY happy to know. This is your chance to gather some good karma, ya know?

Whatever the case, thank you so much for reading! Perhaps I'll be seeing ya around.

Take care!