Chapter 441: Guilt and Consolation (Bonus Chapter 2)

Emily was helping manage the media held back behind the police tape, while Reid took photos of the symbols and numbers painted on the bus windows.

Jack and Rossi boarded the bus through the rear door, finding six passenger bodies scattered throughout the aisle. Some were slumped over their seats, while others were lying face down in the aisle, all with their throats slit.

"The killer forced the driver at gunpoint to change the bus's route, leading it to this secluded road. He must have scouted the area in advance, making sure it was isolated," Jack deduced. "Then, he ordered the bus to stop here. Initially, everyone, including the driver, likely thought it was a robbery, until..."

"Until he shot the driver dead," Rossi finished Jack's thought. "Some passengers panicked and tried to flee, but were shot in the back. The rest never had a chance to react."

"Look at the wedding ring," Hotchner, standing by the driver's body, said.

Both Jack and Rossi followed his gaze and noticed the ring on the driver's left ring finger.

"What did he take this time?" Jack asked, his head aching as he stared at the carnage.

The killer, though brutal and deranged, planned his crimes meticulously. Jack had seen his share of violent scenes, but the sight of these victims still sent chills down his spine. Often, the most terrifying threats were the invisible ones lurking in the shadows.

"Does it even matter anymore?" Hotchner muttered before abruptly turning and leaving the bus.

Jack and Rossi exchanged a glance, both sensing that something was off about Hotchner's mood. Seeing him briskly walk into the alley, Rossi hurried after him.

Jack, trailing behind, slowed his pace. Emily joined him, gently tapping him on the shoulder. "What's wrong with him?"

Jack shook his head. Other than the time Hotchner's marriage was falling apart, Jack had never seen him this shaken.

They stopped at the alley entrance, watching as Rossi caught up to Hotchner and put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to face him.

"What's going on?"

Hotchner took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before speaking.

"The 'Reaper' called my hotel room tonight, offering a deal. Just like he did with Tom Shonas."

"So, you turned him down?" Rossi finally understood why Hotchner was so distressed.

Hotchner nodded. "I hung up on him, and this is his response—a massacre."

"So now you think this is your fault?" Rossi tilted his head slightly, glancing at Jack and Emily, who were discreetly eavesdropping from the alley entrance, before focusing on Hotchner.

Reid had joined Jack and Emily, his face filled with concern as he listened.

"Yes," Hotchner's voice cracked, his eyes welling with tears. "Yes, I do."

Rossi, to everyone's surprise, suddenly pulled out his gun and held it out to Hotchner.

"Here. You can use my gun," Rossi said, his tone sharp.

Hotchner, taken aback, raised a hand to wipe away his tears, clearly embarrassed. But Rossi continued, unfazed.

"Go ahead. Don't be shy. If hanging up the phone was the same as pulling the trigger, then finish it. These people died because of you, right?"

Jack, standing at the alley entrance, raised a hand to stop Emily from stepping forward. This was something only Rossi could handle. Their collective attempts to console Hotchner would only backfire.

"David! Stop!" Hotchner staggered back a step, clearly rattled.

"It's been ten years. Ten years that you've had to follow this case," Hotchner started, but Rossi cut him off.

"And that's because Shonas made a deal with the Reaper. That stopped the killing. He put a temporary end to the case and sent the BAU away. How many cases have you handled in the FBI over the last decade? Do you even know?"

"But I never let go of this case. I've been working on the profile alone all these years," Hotchner said, his voice heavy with guilt.

"Alone? I retired, wrote a book, made a ton of money, and enjoyed life. Should I feel guilty if someone got murdered during one of my book signings?"

Rossi's argument, though a bit of a stretch, made a solid point afterward.

"If you want to end up like Shonas, consumed by guilt, go ahead. But know this—this is exactly what the killer wants. He's not playing on your conscience, Aaron; he's playing on your pride."

Rossi softened his tone, speaking more gently but firmly. "Those people's deaths aren't your fault. The killer did this. Our job isn't to dwell on what-ifs. Our job is to stop him, no matter what. We're cops, Aaron. If it wasn't us, someone else would be chasing him. You know why Jack invited the CSI team at the start? Because he never believed profiling alone could solve this. Catching the killer is the goal, not proving we're right. With someone like the 'Boston Reaper,' it's time to set aside your pride."

Hotchner remained silent for a moment, looking down. Shame briefly crossed his face before he muttered, "Put the gun away."

Rossi squinted at him as if he wasn't sure. "Are you sure you don't need it?"

Hotchner almost laughed through his tears, shaking his head as the others approached.

"What a dramatic scene," Jack quipped, sharing a grin with Emily, who hugged Hotchner in comfort.

"My wife always says I'm a master of theatrics," Rossi said proudly.

Reid suddenly chimed in, "Which wife?"

"Every single one," Rossi replied without missing a beat.

——

The incident couldn't be brushed off so easily, but at least Hotchner wouldn't continue to wallow in self-blame. Future problems could be dealt with later; right now, solving the case was the priority.

After handing over the crime scene to Russell and his team, the BAU prepared to return to headquarters for a late-night session to analyze the case.

Before they left, Morgan Brody, the doll-faced researcher, gave Jack an update on her progress.

"I tracked down the surgeon who operated on George Foyer. According to his recollection, Foyer was indeed on the brink of death. The ambulance's timely arrival saved him. That stab wound to his chest was fatal, and blood filled his lungs, nearly drowning him."

Jack felt a wave of disappointment, thinking his suspicions had been wrong.

"But," Brody added with a playful flutter of her long lashes, smiling sweetly as if teasing him, "I ran a simulation of all the wounds on Foyer's body and sent it back to headquarters. Dr. Robbins, our forensic pathologist, is leaning toward supporting your theory."

Jack's spirits lifted. "What's the reasoning?"

"When someone inflicts wounds on themselves, the angle and force of the cuts are different. Dr. Robbins is currently conducting tests using pig carcasses for comparison. We should have results soon."

"Please thank Dr. Robbins for me," Jack said, shaking her hand gratefully.

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