Not Your Typical Event

I had been interviewed by countless policeman and FBI agents alike, all demanding the exact same version of the story. Agent Hotchner and his team gossiped about the case in a cluster at the foot of my bed, apparently thinking they were quiet enough so that I couldn't hear them. They were wrong. I listened intently, discovering the reason for all of this; the guy who had collided with Mark and I was a serial killer. He had killed eighteen other victims, Mark and I were the only survivors.

I had only spent a couple of hours in the hospital, and it was hell. The accident had happened at noon, and it was now four o'clock. They refused to serve me coffee, I had nothing to write or type with, and I was in a hospital gown with hot men in my room, probably looking like a troll. As if to top it off, a nurse came in looking for my chart, snatching in angrily out of my hand. I rolled my eyes, since when was it a crime to be interested in the medical field, in your own life at that ? Two more nurses entered the room, one male and one female. The kind female handed me a tray of food, and the male orderly had brought chairs for the agents. Three agents left to go to Mark's room, and four stayed in mine, including the three agents I knew, then a woman who I gathered was Agent Prentiss. She looked like she could kick some serious ass. The agents talked relentlessly, never looking up from their work. They never even noticed me staring at them. studying them. I tore my eyes away from the ever-present, adorable Dr. Reid, looking at the "food" the urse had handed me. It consisted of what I assumed were mashed potatoes, some kind of meaty lump, and a completely scorched to a crisp brownie in a cheap, black plastic container. The meat had eyes, and the mashed potatoes were about as viscus as water. I shoved the over-the-bed tray away, towards my left. The arm holding the tray up squeaked, alerting the agents. All conversation halted, and they turned to me. I was fooling with my IV again, and I looked up to find them all staring dissprovingly at me. "You have to eat, you need to gain your strength," Agent Prentiss told me, as if I didn't already know how weak my injuries had made me. I lifted the spoon, gathering some "mashed potatoes" and letting it slide right off the spoon, showcasing the genuine repulsiveness. "I'm not eating this slop !" I said. "I've seen air with more shape than these mashed potatoes !" I became acutely aware how stuck up I sounded, but I felt entitled to a little bitchiness. I hadn't asked for this, I hadn't asked for any of this.

Hotch's POV

This case was intense. The unsub had essentially mass-murdered eighteen people in one day, and he was still on the loose. I established a time frame with my team; it appeared he would only specifically strike from nine AM to 12PM each day. It was impossible to tell if that was indeed accurate yet though. We would need to wait until the unsub struck again.

It was a long day for all of us, each one of my team members struggling to come up with a motive, and a reason for the MO. Like earlier stated, this case was like nothing we had ever seen. The only conscious victim was a young gril of about fifteen, Luka Sommers. I had been in her room all day, and she was handling the stress of the accident and her injuries remarkably well. She had been able to identify the vehicle used by the unsub, as well as he appearance, Yet the police still hadn't caught him. Something else was going on here, I just couldn't determine what.