First off, I'd like to say I have no idea where this came from. I just wondered why JJ had her phone on vibrate, and then started to wonder what would happen if it wasn't and this is what I came up with.

Warning: VERY VERY angsty. More angsty than anything I've ever written.

Disclaimer: I do not own CM.


I knocked on the door, as usual. It was just supposed to be a regular interview, but things are not always what they seem.

When Gina first opened the door, I should have known something was wrong. She was rambling, talking nonsense, but I chalked it up to her having just lost her best friend. She said something about her grandmother waking up, and she walked away. She left the door wide open, so I let myself in.

Okay, so sometimes people tease me and call me a pack-rat, a slob, disorganized. But Gina's house absolutely disgusted even me. There were boxes piled on top of boxes, way above my head. I stepped on a bug crawling on the floor and made my way to the back, trying not to knock over any chairs or clothes, or anything that may fall on me.

Outside wasn't much better. Honestly, I was shocked that one person could own so much crap. More chairs, more boxes, more scraps of wood sat on top of one another. I called Gina's name, but I guess she didn't hear me, so I kept walking. I couldn't see around all the stuff, but I knew she had to be here somewhere, so I introduced myself. "Gina? My name's Jennifer Jareau." Silence. "Gina, where'd you go?"

Now I knew something was wrong. Why wasn't she answering me? Something might be happening to her—or her grandmother--

I turned the corner and saw her in some strange hut type thing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered how someone who was so disorganized could build something so sturdy, so useful. But I was distracted by the blood.

Containers and containers filled with blood.

My brain didn't connect the dots. Blood, serial killer—I should have known, but I didn't. I probably just didn't want it to be true. I was probably too freaked. Yet my hand reached for the gun.

Sure, I'm a crack-shot, but I don't like to brag, and I sure as hell don't like pulling my weapon for no reason. I tried to ask her what was going on, but my throat was tight in anxiety and I couldn't get passed her name. I opened my mouth again to speak, and then...darkness.

"Who the hell is she?" the voice was male, shaky, unsure. I wondered why somebody would be so worried, so self-conscious that his voice would be so unsteady. I tried to lift my head to see what was happening, but what I saw was even worse than what I heard. My stomach churned; I wanted to vomit.

"Blood is going's going bad," Now a female's voice, just as shaky. Something was familiar about her voice, but I couldn't quite place it...

The man spoke again, but I couldn't make out the words. They ran together, not unlike the pictures I was seeing. My brain wasn't putting together sounds or sight. Then I remembered.

Gina. That was the woman. But who was the man? I couldn't tell if he looked familiar or not, the world was spinning too fast. That was why they both sounded and looked shaky--it was me, not them.

Something more about the blood going bad. Then about Dante; I remembered him as the singer, the lead suspect. Suddenly, everything was moving much slower. Not normally, just not as fast. I still couldn't move.

"Kill this woman." The words echoed, though I honestly can't say if it was because of my head injury or because of my fear.

Probably both.

"Kill this woman." My hand made its way to my hip, where my gun was resting right where I left it. Later on, I will wonder why they left me with a weapon, but right then and there my only thought was survival.

I closed my eyes to block out the shaking earth as I pushed myself up using my elbows. I winced as all of my weight rested on my arms, but I wouldn't give up. I would not give up.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

My cell phone. I was going to turn it on vibrate before I got to Gina's house, but I had completely forgotten.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The sound, usually just an ominous noise, pierced my ears and made my head shriek. I grunted and fell back on my stomach.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I bit back a moan as the ringing physically hurt me. I felt like my head was going to explode. I clutched where the shovel made contact with the back of my head, only to draw my hand away when I realized how much worse that made it. I made my hands into tight fists, my nails cutting into my palm. It didn't matter though; I would take that pain over my horrendous headache any day.

"The bitch is awake?" The man asked Gina. I heard them mumbling about something unintelligible and saw him hand her some sort of blue stick, which she took rather reluctantly.

Gina came over to me and slowly, shakily, lowered her hand. She was holding the strange blue object tightly in her right hand, which tried to find its way to my neck.

I finally realized what was happening here. I attempted to roll over, only to be greeted with more throbbing in my head.

"Whoa there, that's not going to work," the man muttered. I began thrashing around violently whilst trying to keep my head as still as possible. I moaned loudly, trying to get the attention of anyone within earshot.

"Shut up," the man growled. When I didn't obey, he ripped off the sleeve to his shirt and rolled it up in a rope-like thing. Mid-moan, he stuffed the cloth into my mouth as a gag and tied it behind my head. I coughed against the foreign object in my mouth, but when I reached back to untie it, I saw a big knife gleam in his hand. Immediately, I stopped squirming.

Meanwhile, Gina and her blue object got closer to my face. But I was still unable to move my head sharply to avoid being pricked.

The blue thing was cold and pointy against my neck. At first it did no damage, but she gradually began to push harder. As soon as I felt the blood dripping, soccer instinct took over.

I lifted my leg up and kicked as hard as I possibly could. It got the man right where I was aiming for. He yelped in pain, a sound I would have laughed at under different circumstances.

As he clutched his groin, he dropped the knife right above where he had been holding it.

Right on my leg.

When the blade first pierced my skin, I was in too much shock to feel anything. But then the pain processed. It was piercing, it was agony. I screamed despite the gag, but not loud enough for even Gina to hear me.

Gina, who was still pushing the blue thing further into my neck.

Suddenly, I knew how all the other victims died.

Then I heard a sound I will never take for granted again. I heard Morgan and Hotch calling my name.

I wanted so desperately to tell them where I was. I wanted to call out, to have them save me. I wanted Morgan to lift me and carry me away from this torture, from this hell.

The only thing stopping me was a piece of fucking cloth.

"JJ? JJ!" I heard Rossi shout. Gina's hold on the weapon lessened ever so slightly as she looked around in bewilderment.

"JJ!" Emily gasped. Then, "I got her!"

Wait a second, I thought. She found me. Emily found me. I would make it....

"Gina! Gina, step away from Jennifer," Emily ordered. I heard shuffling behind me, suggesting that the rest of the team had crowded around the scene.

But as Emily was attempting to talk Gina out of murdering me, I saw a blur as Hotch tackled her to the ground. I felt the blue weapon leave my body and the blood flow sped up.

Morgan ran up and untied the cloth from behind my head. I coughed slightly as he pulled it out of my mouth.

"Her leg," I heard Emily croak. Morgan and Hotch gasped as they saw the knife embedded in my leg.

"Call an ambulance," Morgan said softly to Rossi. "JJ, you're okay, we're here. It's going to be okay."

" leg," I managed to groan.

"I know. We are calling an ambulance. It should be here soon. Stay with me, Jayje. Tell me what happened," he pleaded as I fought to keep my eyes open.

"I—I tried talking to...Gina. Man came and head," I gasped out. "Gina tried to kill me like she...murdered the others. Man dropped knife--" I let my voice trail off.

"JJ, stay with us," Hotch ordered. I took a deep breath.

"Ambulance is here," Rossi said. "I'll go get the paramedics."

Morgan nodded. He, Hotch, and Emily sat beside me, rubbing my back and murmuring comforting words.

Three men rushed up to us, one of them carrying a box in his hand. The medics, I figured. He said something to Rossi and Morgan.

Somebody was talking to me, but I couldn't tell who. Words like stitches, blood loss, and concussion were being thrown around. Something about removing a knife. But I didn't understand any of it.

I closed my eyes and let the familiar darkness engulf me. I let my pain get swallowed by the blackness, the nothingness.

It was nice.

Wow, where the hell did this come from? Just kind of wrote it as I thought it. Really, really angsty, I know.