Chapter 26: Patterns
The cold case files spread across my desk like a map of forgotten crimes.
Three in the morning. The BAU was empty except for the overnight cleaning crew and me. I'd told myself I'd go home after one more hour of review. That was four hours ago.
I reached for my coffee cup. Empty. Third one tonight.
Focus. You know what you're looking for.
The Fisher King. In my old life, in the world I'd watched through a television screen, he'd been a monster who'd nearly destroyed the BAU. Randall Garner—a man with delusions of being the wounded king from Arthurian legend, orchestrating an elaborate game that left Elle shot and the team shattered.
That was still years away in this timeline. But the signs would be there early. A pattern forming in cases that no one connected because no one knew to look.
I pulled up the first file.
Art theft—Richmond Museum of Fine Arts, January 2004. A single medieval tapestry taken. No forced entry. No security footage. The piece depicted the Fisher King legend—a wounded monarch waiting for a hero to ask the right question.
Second file.
Museum break-in—Norfolk Historical Society, August 2004. Nothing taken, but a display case opened and items rearranged. The display had featured artifacts from the Crusades, including a replica of the Holy Grail. Whoever broke in had placed a note inside the case: "The question must be asked."
Third file.
Rare book dealer robbery—Alexandria, March 2005. Owner assaulted, collection ransacked. Only items taken: first editions of Arthurian texts. Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur. Chrétien de Troyes's Perceval. The dealer described his attacker as "obsessed with the Grail myth."
[PATTERN ANALYSIS: INITIATING]
[COMMON ELEMENTS: ARTHURIAN LEGEND — FISHER KING MYTHOLOGY — GRAIL QUEST IMAGERY]
[PROBABILITY OF SINGLE PERPETRATOR: 87%]
[BEHAVIORAL PROFILE: MISSION-ORIENTED — DELUSIONAL FRAMEWORK — ESCALATING FIXATION]
[FOCUS: -4]
The system confirmed what I already knew. Someone was building toward something—collecting items, establishing a mythology, preparing for a performance that would make sense only to them.
Randall Garner. It has to be. He's already moving.
I closed my eyes, tried to remember the timeline from the show. The Fisher King episodes had aired in Season 1's finale and Season 2's premiere. If this world matched that timeline, the attack would come in spring or early summer of next year.
Months away. But the preparation had clearly started long before.
If I raise this now, what happens?
The connections were thin. Three cold cases across two years, linked only by medieval imagery. Any reasonable investigator would dismiss it as coincidence. Without the meta-knowledge I carried, there was no justification for the alarm bells ringing in my head.
But if I waited too long—
Elle gets shot. The team gets broken. Garner plays his game and people suffer.
Can I change that? Should I try?
The question had no easy answer.
I flagged the three cases in the system, added private notes linking them. Started a quiet investigation file that wouldn't show up in standard searches. If anyone asked, I was studying regional crime patterns for professional development.
Breadcrumbs. Leave breadcrumbs that can be found later.
"Interesting reading material."
Reid's voice made me jump. He stood at the edge of my desk, two coffee cups in hand, looking curious rather than suspicious.
"Couldn't sleep," I said. "Thought I'd get some work done."
"Cold cases?" He set one cup in front of me—fresh coffee, still steaming. "I find them fascinating, actually. The unsolved ones always have something missing. Some piece of evidence that was overlooked or misinterpreted."
"You recognized these files?"
"The museum break-in caught my attention when it came through last year. The note—'The question must be asked'—that's a direct reference to Arthurian Grail mythology. In the original legends, the Fisher King's wound can only be healed when a visiting knight asks the right question. Perceval failed because he stayed silent when he should have spoken."
Reid already noticed. Of course he did.
"You think it's significant?"
"I think it's unusual." Reid sat down across from me, cradling his own coffee. "Most criminals don't leave literary references. When they do, it usually indicates an organized mind with a specific fantasy framework. The unsub in that case wasn't stealing for profit—they were constructing a narrative."
"Worth pursuing?"
Reid considered the question.
"Without additional data points, there's no way to establish a pattern. One case with mythological elements could be coincidence. But if similar incidents appeared elsewhere..." He trailed off, eyes distant. "It would suggest something larger. A mission-oriented offender building toward a specific goal."
I pushed the art theft file toward him.
"Richmond Museum. January 2004. Medieval tapestry depicting the Fisher King legend."
Reid's eyebrows rose. He pulled the file closer, started reading.
"This wasn't flagged as related."
"Different jurisdictions. Different reporting systems. I only noticed because I was looking for patterns in regional theft data."
"Interesting." Reid's voice had shifted—engaged now, the way it got when a puzzle presented itself. "The tapestry theft, the museum break-in, the book dealer robbery... they could be the same perpetrator. Someone creating a collection."
"Or preparing for something."
Reid looked up.
"Preparing for what?"
The attack on the BAU. The shooting. The game.
"I don't know yet," I said. "But it might be worth keeping an eye on. If anything else surfaces with Arthurian themes—"
"I'll flag it." Reid nodded, already making mental notes. "This is good work, Ethan. Most agents don't bother with cold case patterns during their free time."
"I find it relaxing."
He smiled—that shy, quick expression that made him seem even younger than he was.
"I understand that. There's something meditative about searching for connections others missed."
My phone buzzed. Garcia.
"Mercer, are you in the office? The network's doing something weird and I need someone to check the server room."
"On my way."
I left Reid with the files, headed toward Garcia's domain. The hallway was quiet, lit only by emergency strips and the glow from her door.
She was at her station when I arrived, surrounded by screens showing code cascades and error messages. Her headphones hung around her neck, playing something that sounded like 80s synth-pop.
"There." She pointed at a terminal. "It keeps trying to access the archived case files, but the permissions are scrambling. Can you check the physical connection in the server room?"
"Sure."
I found the issue—a loose cable that had probably been jostled by the cleaning crew. Simple fix. The kind of mundane problem that reminded me that not everything was conspiracy and darkness.
When I returned, Garcia was singing under her breath. Off-key, but earnest.
"Take on me... take me on..."
I smiled despite myself.
"Connection fixed. Should be working now."
"My hero." She spun in her chair, gave me a theatrical bow. "Now go home. It's almost four in the morning and you have that hollow-eyed thing happening that makes me worry."
"Yes, ma'am."
I was almost to the door when JJ appeared, looking harried despite the hour.
"Mercer. You're here. Good." She checked her phone. "Conference room, ten minutes. I'm calling everyone in."
"New case?"
"Priority. Three dead cops in two weeks." Her expression was grim. "Someone's hunting hunters."
The cold case files could wait.
Today's monsters needed catching first.
But the pattern stayed in my mind, ticking like a clock I couldn't see.
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