Chapter 2: Thirty Thousand Feet
The jet's engines hummed at a frequency that settled into my bones.
Thirty thousand feet above Ohio, the BAU spread across the cabin in their familiar positions. Hotch at the back, reviewing case files with the intensity of a surgeon prepping for theater. Morgan across the aisle, leg bouncing with restless energy. Reid beside me, already three books deep into what I assumed was background research.
Elle sat facing me, coffee cup cradled in her hands, watching.
She's been watching since we took off. Testing. Measuring.
JJ stood at the front, tablet in hand, walking us through the nightmare.
"Columbus, Ohio. Three families killed over the past six weeks. The Harrisons, the Mendozas, and the Petersons. Each staged to look like murder-suicides—father kills family, then himself."
Photos on the screen. Bodies arranged with care. Blood spatter that told a story no one was buying.
"Local PD initially treated them as separate incidents," JJ continued. "But the staging is too consistent. Same positioning. Same type of suicide note. Same gun placement."
[CASE FILE ANALYSIS: PATTERNS DETECTED]
[STAGING CONFIDENCE: 73%]
[WARNING: DATA FRAGMENTED. PHASE 1 ACCURACY COMPROMISED.]
The text flickered at the edge of my vision. I kept my focus on JJ, let the information settle without reacting.
Reid's voice cut in, rapid-fire and precise.
"Family annihilators typically fall into four categories: the anomic killer who experiences failure, the disappointed killer seeking revenge, the self-righteous killer who blames others, and the paranoid killer who believes he's protecting his family from external threats."
He flipped a page in his notebook without looking.
"However, in cases of faked murder-suicides, the unsub is almost never a family member. The statistical probability of a genuine annihilator staging with this level of precision is less than 3%."
Gideon spoke from his seat near the window.
"What do you see, Reid?"
"Organization. Patience. Planning. This is someone who knows how crime scenes are processed."
Morgan leaned forward.
"Former law enforcement?"
"Or someone who's studied it," I said.
The words were out before I could stop them. Six sets of eyes turned my way.
Careful. Contribute but don't shine. Competent, not brilliant.
"The staging isn't just careful," I continued. "It's surgical. Every detail designed to close the case quickly. Busy suburban neighborhoods. Fathers with documented stress. Notes that hit every psychological marker."
I pointed at the crime scene photo.
"But look at the gun placement. Right hand for Harrison, right hand for Mendoza. Peterson was left-handed."
A beat of silence.
Hotch's voice, measured.
"How do you know Peterson was left-handed?"
"Callus patterns in the photo of his hands. He also wore his watch on the right wrist."
The silence stretched longer.
Gideon's eyes hadn't left my face.
"Good observation," Hotch said. "Reid, pull everything on the victims' backgrounds. Morgan, coordinate with local PD. JJ, media blackout until we have something solid."
The team moved into motion. I stayed in my seat, forced my breathing steady.
[SUCCESSFUL OBSERVATION. +25 XP]
[FOCUS: 38/50]
Drain's continuing. The interface is pulling Focus even when I'm not actively using it.
Elle's voice, low enough that only I could hear.
"You're very still for a new guy. Most newbies are nervous."
I met her eyes.
"Nervous wastes energy."
A pause. Something shifted in her expression—the professional mask cracking just enough to show curiosity underneath.
"Where'd you learn that?"
"Kosovo. Watching nervous men make mistakes that got people killed."
She didn't look away.
"And you never made those mistakes?"
"I made different ones."
The mask stayed cracked. She nodded once, turned back to her files.
Progress. Small, but progress.
Across the cabin, Reid was organizing sugar packets into what looked like a complex grid system. He caught me watching and his face reddened.
"It helps me think. The patterns. I know it looks—"
"It looks like spatial reasoning." I nodded at the packets. "You're mapping the crime scene geography?"
His eyes lit up.
"The three families all lived within a fifteen-mile radius, but their neighborhoods don't share any obvious connection points. No common schools, grocery stores, or churches. I'm trying to identify secondary connection vectors."
"What about service industries?"
"Service—" He blinked. "You mean delivery services? Maintenance workers?"
"People who enter homes without raising suspicion. Cable installers. Pest control. HVAC technicians."
Reid's hand moved faster, rearranging packets.
"That would require access to multiple service databases. We'd need to cross-reference—"
"Garcia can do it," Morgan said from across the aisle. He was grinning. "Pretty Boy, you might have some competition in the obscure-connection department."
Reid looked almost pleased.
I excused myself to the small bathroom at the back of the jet. Closed the door. Splashed water on my face.
[FOCUS: 35/50]
[WARNING: AUTOMATIC PROFILE ATTEMPTS DETECTED]
[PHASE 1 INTERFACE ATTEMPTING BASELINE READS ON ALL PRESENT SUBJECTS]
Shit.
The system was trying to profile everyone on the jet. Automatically. Without my permission.
I gripped the edge of the sink, focused on my breathing.
Control. You need control. The system can't run the show—you have to run the system.
[MANUAL OVERRIDE: STANDBY MODE ENGAGED]
[AUTOMATIC FUNCTIONS: SUPPRESSED (TEMPORARY)]
The pressure behind my eyes eased. The flickering text faded to a dim pulse at the edge of my vision.
Temporary. Everything about this phase is temporary.
A knock on the door.
"Mercer? We're landing in twenty."
Morgan's voice.
"Copy that."
I dried my face, stepped back into the cabin.
Gideon was watching me. Still. Always watching.
He knows something's off. He doesn't know what. But he's not the type to let it go.
I returned to my seat. Reid offered me a sugar packet.
"Glucose helps cognitive function during travel."
I took it, poured it directly into my mouth. The sweetness hit my tongue, sharp and immediate.
Reid looked pleased.
"Most people think I'm joking when I suggest it."
"Most people haven't done surveillance work on no sleep. Sugar and caffeine keep you alive."
"Actually, the metabolic effects of combined glucose and caffeine create a temporary spike followed by a crash that—"
"Reid." Elle's voice, cutting but not unkind. "He just got here. Give him a week before the full biochemistry lecture."
Reid subsided, but he was smiling.
Small kindnesses. Small connections. That's how you build something real in a place like this.
The jet banked, beginning its descent. Through the window, Columbus sprawled beneath us—suburbs radiating from a downtown core, neat grids of houses that looked peaceful from thirty thousand feet.
Down there, someone was moving between those houses. Choosing families. Destroying them.
My headache had faded. The system hummed quietly at the edge of my awareness.
[CASE PARAMETERS LOADED]
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: IDENTIFY UNSUB]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVAL]
The wheels touched tarmac. Through the window, I could see police vehicles waiting. Yellow tape. A suburban nightmare.
Elle stood, gathered her bag.
"Ready for your first BAU crime scene?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
She almost smiled.
"Nobody's ever ready. That's the first thing you learn."
The cabin door opened. Ohio heat rushed in, carrying the smell of cut grass and something else.
Blood. Even from here, I can smell it.
Or maybe that was just my imagination.
Hotch's voice from the front of the jet.
"Mercer, you're with Gideon and Elle at the Harrison residence. Morgan, Reid, interview the neighbors. JJ, set up at the precinct."
I grabbed my bag. Followed Elle down the stairs.
Gideon fell into step beside me, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed mine.
"The gun placement observation," he said quietly. "That wasn't in the file."
"No, sir."
"Then how did you know to look for it?"
Because I spent years teaching criminal psychology. Because I've seen a thousand crime scene photos. Because I know things I shouldn't know and can't explain.
"Pattern recognition," I said. "The staging was too clean. When something's too clean, you look for what they missed."
Gideon studied me for a long moment.
"That's either very good instincts or very specific experience."
"Maybe both."
He didn't respond. But he also didn't look away.
A patrol car waited at the edge of the tarmac. Elle was already climbing in.
"You coming, new guy?"
I moved toward the car.
Behind me, Gideon's voice, quiet enough that I almost missed it.
"I look forward to finding out which one."
The car door closed. Engine started.
And somewhere in Columbus, a killer was already choosing their next family.
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