Make It out Alive

"Morgan, Bryson," Hotch called, motioning for us to come into his office. I waddled over, resting my hands on my eight and a half months pregnant stomach. "I need you two to go down to UVA and interview a patient there, Arthur Lane."

"Arthur Lane?" I asked. "Seriously? The Virginia Vampire?"
Hotch nodded gravely, handing Derek and I the files. "He's finally shown interest in speaking with us."

"He must be nearly eighty years old!" I exclaimed.

"Eighty-two," Derek corrected, flipping through the file.

"He's dying, isn't he? That's why he wants to speak with us. He wants to relive it before he dies," I stated.

"An untreatable brain tumor. And you're probably right, but maybe if we understand him better, we'll know more about how killers like him work," Hotch responded, shaking his head.

I followed Derek out to a Bureau SUV after saying goodbye to Spencer and got in the passenger seat, adjusting the seatbelt to fit comfortably around Abby.

"This sicko killed over three hundred and fifty people. Drained their blood and drank it," I told Derek as he drove.

"How'd we catch him?" he asked.

"He went for an agent," I answered. "Got shot five times in the legs, stomach and lung."

"This guy terrorized Virginia and surrounding states for nearly fifty years," he sighed.

"How did he not get death penalty?" I asked bitterly.

"Bastard probably got insanity," Derek responded in disgust.

After we reviewed the case, conversation got more personal. "So, how're you and Reid?"

"Absolutely wonderful," I assured him, rubbing my stomach.

"Don't you guys get stressed?" he asked.

"Sure, getting ready for a baby and planning a wedding is no way easy, especially with our high pressure jobs, but we're sorting it out," I responded cheerfully. "When are you gonna stop being Mr. Player?"

"Who knows?" he chuckled. "I think I'm going to take that Melanie girl from tech as my date to the wedding."

"She'll be delighted," I encouraged. In front of us loomed the huge hospital. "Shame he doesn't have any moats," I joked lightly.

"You wanna take lead on this one?" Derek asked. "You know the case better."

"Keep it tight, really tight," I told him, nodding.

*****

"My, my," Lane chuckled. "They're sending me a pregnant agent?"

"And me," Derek replied assertively.

Arthur Lane looked weak, bedridden because of the chemo, and even talking seemed to exhaust his skeletal frame. The only thing that seemed to still be alive in him was his eyes, a shocking blue that darted around the room.

"The doctor gives you about a month, Lane, is that why you finally consented to talk with us? To relive all the people you murdered?" I asked, jumping right into the interview.

"Oh, my dear, I hardly remember any specific person, nor do I recall how their blood tasted. Let me put it into perspective for you, shall I? Do you remember every hamburger you ever ate? Because I surely don't remember any of the sources of my food, only the fact that I had it, and have it no more," Lane said, regarding us coolly.

"So you don't remember any of the three hundred and fifty seven people you killed?" I pressed.

"Not at all," he answered calmly.