Criminal Minds Suspect Behavior Fanfiction Number Eight
Ticket To Heaven
First Summary- A recent string of murders in Alaska takes the Red Cell team into unfamiliar territory to find a killer.
Second Summary- A recent string of murders in Alaska takes the Red Cell team into unfamiliar territory to find a killer. In the after math of Josephine Blair's death, the team must put their own fears aside to work the case effectively. New evidence and a shocking discovery complicates the case, tying Jo's killer to the new string of murders.
Rated High-Teen for cursing, blood, violence, alcohol, mentions of child abuse, and gore. Those will be kept as low as possible without compromising the storyline.
Pairings are Mick/Gina, but not quite together yet. It's a slow building relationship that advances with every story.
Some spoilers for the first season. Major spoilers for Siblings, Evil Angel, One Thousand, Monster, Demolition Lovers, Walk Away From The Sun, and Old City Bar. This is the eighth story in my own arc of the show now that it's been cancelled. You might want to read those first if you haven't already. It takes place three days after the end of Old City Bar.
I don't own anything involving Criminal Minds Suspect Behavior. Nor do I own anything involving the music mentioned in future chapters. The only things I do own are my creations. I am simply burrowing them for my own entertainment.
This is another case fiction similar to Demolition Lovers. It takes place in Alaska, which was thoroughly researched this time. Google and Wikipedia really has become my lifeline in setting the details for these stories. There might be some things that don't seem completely believable. I don't live in Alaska and have never been to the state, so I'm going on what the internet has told me alone. Any spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. Please don't verbally kill me for a typo. The first chapter is written in standard perspective, the rest of the story will be told from Gina's point of view.
Now, on to the story!
Chapter 1 Heart Grows Colder
"Patience." Rodger Peters reminded his seventeen year old son for the fifteenth time in an hour.
The teenager, Shawn, looked up at his father with a displeased scowl. He didn't want to be here, ice fishing on some river while visiting his mother in Alaska with the man who clearly only took him along to show his soon to be ex that he was capable. Shawn almost laughed at that thought. Yeah, his father was as capable as any overzealous politician-turned-parent could be. He didn't necessarily dislike his father. After all, the man did support him when his mother abandoned him, but he didn't hold a very high level of respect for him either. Or rather, he couldn't. Not after the campaign advertisements he had seen on the television. Not after the things he overhead his mother argue about with him.
He didn't voice his disdain for the situation though. It was in his best interest not to. So Shawn turned back to the task at hand with a heavy exaggerated sigh. The fishing rod in his thick dark gloved hands bobbed lazily in the water. A hole in the ice encrusted river showed a small school of fish just below the surface. It was hard to see through due to the early morning sunlight that was still rising and the size of the hole all together. How anyone could nab a fish in a hole less than ten inches in diameter was beyond him. Then again, this was his first time ice fishing.
It seemed to be getting warmer as the sun rose with time. Shawn silently mused the possibility of using that to his advantage. Maybe he could lie to his father. Tell him that he was worried the ice was going to melt as the temperature climbed. But that was a load of crap, he concluded. The river was well below freezing, obvious by the nearly two feet of ice that sealed the top. So that excuse wasn't going to work.
Perhaps a childish lie would suffice. He was freezing, despite the two layers of wool clothing and heavy coat protecting his thin frame. The wind was fierce against his face, parts that weren't masked by the dense gray scarf and hat running up to his ears, expressing his father's previous warnings of how frigid Alaska weather at the end of December could be. In retrospect, he wouldn't have to lie. If his father was truly careful of him as he had told his soon to be ex, then he would take the shivering and chattering teeth as a sign to wrap things up and go home.
But Rodger wasn't really paying attention to that at the moment. Shawn realized that when the older man shifted on his stool in front of his own hole a short distance away, watching the passing fish underneath intently. It didn't make sense to him. Why would anyone go ice fishing on a frozen river bed with barely any fish, and in the aftermath of a blizzard that had their town of North Pole left without power just a day prior? That didn't make any logical sense to the teenager. He tried to scramble his brain for a reason, but couldn't find one.
Sure, his father liked hunting. That was made clear when he was eight years old and he watched the man kill a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Now that was a disgusting sight. Even years later, the image still gave him nightmares. It was why he chose to be a vegetarian. Why he hated fishing and killing animals. Why he was absolutely bored out of his skull and frustrated at his single minded old man. And why he wished he could be back in his bedroom, studying his school notes on the famous Nikola Tesla for the upcoming paper he was eager to write.
"Dad, this is pointless." Shawn finally built enough courage to announce his dismay. He sighed again, long and dawn out to express just how displeasing their recent 'father-son bonding' trip was. "Can we go home now?"
Rodger furrowed his brows, not taking his eyes off the small hole in front of him. He knew how to ice fish from his own father. And his grandfather before that. He also knew how much patience it required. A kid like Shawn wouldn't understand that; couldn't understand the complexity of the sport or the amount of pride it rewarded. No, a kid like Shawn was more worried with school or video games or girls. Or most recently, his damned school report. Shawn had been studying the famous geniuses of the world for the past two months and that was the only thing he talked about. It filled him with sense of pride, he had to admit, because it appeared like the research was teaching him something. Anything other than video games and girls was acceptable. Except when it put a damper on his daily schedule.
"No, Shawn. We're staying here until you catch a fish. It's time you learned how to be a man…" Rodger responded calmly, but the edge in his tone was an indication of just how annoyed he was becoming.
Shawn interrupted him crossly, shooting daggers over the scarf that covered his nose. "Killing doesn't make you a man."
The father looked away from his rod to scold his son. But stopped at the fierceness in light hazel eyes. Those were his mother's eyes. Rodger could see the disappointment and anger just as easily as he saw them the day before. When he told his near-ex that he was going to teach their son how to fish. How to kill for game and necessity. That was why their marriage could never work. Not because they were incompatible, but because he didn't see the same morals she did. Because he enjoyed hunting for sport and catching fish to cook on an open fire. She couldn't live like that. She wouldn't live like that.
He took another moment to study his son. Watching the shivers running through his thin body despite the coat, observing the once pale skin of his face turned into a slight reddened flush. No, this wouldn't do. He still had a lesson to teach and the frigid winter air wasn't going to stop that. "You're mother told you that?" He asked, raising his voice over the warm scarf obscuring his features.
"No, I learned that for myself." Shawn responded, smirking cockily under his scarf. He'd smarted off to the old man once or twice before in the past few weeks. Oddly enough, it felt good to express how much of a louse he thought the man was sometimes. This definitely felt like one of those times. "And I learned that I don't have to listen to you. I'll be eighteen in seven months. Then I can move out and stay with Abby Lytar…"
"And how well do you think that's going to work? You've got good grades and all, but no plans for college. Not even a résumé planned for a job. How are you going to get money? Or do you expect your 'in between' girlfriend to support you for the rest of your life?" Rodger questioned sharply, gripping his fishing rod and grinding his teeth. Teenagers were going to be the death of him more than the ruthless politics. That much seemed like such a common occurrence.
Shawn stiffened minutely, narrowing his eyes in anger. Of course his father was going to chastise him for not planning one hundred steps ahead. And of course his father was going to insinuate that he and his girlfriend didn't really belong in a relationship. Hell, that wasn't exactly a hard assessment, but it still wasn't any of his business. At least he didn't think it was. He forced away a feral growl that rose in his throat, something he wasn't proud of because it often meant he was going to lose his temper. Then stood from his stool, sliding it backwards a few inches against snow covered ice, and yanked the end of the fishing pole out of the hole. It danged a few inches from the ground and threatened to ruin the bait still attached. But neither men paid it any attention. Shawn jabbed it in his father's direction and hissed, "That isn't fair. This paper I'm writing could get me into a lot of places."
His father snorted a laugh and shook his head slowly. Then dropped his eyes back to the hole as he replied, "Right, because everyone wants to know about some dead geniuses that lost their sanity. How could anyone take them seriously when they lost it in the first place?"
And there was the Politician, Shawn thought bitterly. The man who raised him didn't even believe in half of what he did. It was like they were two completely different people, like they weren't even related. He knew that his father didn't think it was necessary to study science only because he didn't understand it. People always fear what they don't understand.
"You're an ass. How can we even be related?" The teenager stated harshly, thwacking his rod on the ice by his boots covered feet in exaggeration.
Rodger forced a chuckle, trying to hide just how much the words stung in some parental part of his mind. "I know. Just don't tell your mother…"
"Why? Because she'll use it against you and your stupid campaign for reelection? You know that she thinks your just a money-loving Politician."
Rodger couldn't help but roll his eyes in response. He huffed as he stood up from his stool, stretching his aging muscle and cracking the kinks from his back under the dense coat. Sitting one place for over an hour was wearing on his bones, stiffening them in addition to the temperature around them. Cold had never been his friend. Even when he was growing up in Anchorage, the weather always seemed to make his bones creaky and his muscle sore. Although he was considering the fact that he was four seven years old and not as physically fit as he used to be. "What the hell do you want from me, boy?" He retorted, drawing himself to his full height, just a few inches shorter than Shawn, to intimidate him. The kid certainly took his appearance from his mother. Height and lanky statue included. The fishing rod was still gripped in his hand, tip barely protruding the water in the ice beside him.
Shawn grew even more frustrated than before. If his father had to ask what was wrong, then there was no use in explaining it. He wouldn't understand why he resented him since he was eight years old. Why he wanted to be as opposite to him as possible. Or why he just wanted to get as far away from the frozen river bed as possible. Something in the back of his head was telling him to go. That there was a problem, that it was dangerous. A change in atmosphere, maybe, or even the slightest variance in sound. He couldn't know for sure. All he knew was that staying there was a bad idea. "I just want to go home. Something's wrong…"
"Wrong? Shawn, we're the only people here. There's no one around for at least a mile. The forest holds wildlife, but I doubt a bear would charge us all the way out here for the hell of it." Rodger intervened again, waving his arms towards the surround forest lines to prove his point. True, there was wildlife that could pose a potential threat. But bears weren't notorious for attacking humans without a good reason. An elk could show that kind of aggression if provoked. However, the chances of it coming onto a frozen river just to charge two men were incredibly slim.
The teenager twisted his fishing rod in hand, gathering the extra string and wrapping it around the pole carelessly, and tossed it to the ground. He glanced at the hole he had been trying to catch fish in one last time, then spun on his heels and started for the opposing forest line. Their truck was parked on the other side of the trees. If he could get to it, he could use his father's spare key duct-taped to the inside of the right mirror to get inside and drive off. Screw his father. He could figure out how to walk the ten miles back to North Pole by himself.
"Shawn! Where the hell do you think you're going!" Rodger shouted as he watched his son start to walk away briskly. He could hear the snow and ice crunching beneath his son's boots. For a moment he just stood there and watched him. Making sure that he wasn't going to fall through a thin spot in the ice had been one of his many worries. There were a lot of people who frequented the river over the past month. Freezing temperatures would seal up most of the fishing holes within a day or two. But the possibility of falling through one that wasn't sealed was still fresh in his mind. "Shawn! You can't honestly expect to walk back to town! You'll freeze to death!"
"More than I already am? I find that hard to believe! Why the hell would you even care?" He shouted back in response, turning to glare at him in mid-step.
Rodger muttered a curse under his breath at his son's stubborn nature. Again, it looked like he took after his soon to be ex. Why couldn't teenagers be simple? He shoved the thought away and started packing his belongings in the large bag beside the stool. It was obvious what Shawn was going to do. He wasn't stupid and wouldn't risk hypothermia in this weather. Knowing that, Rodger was sure he was going to try to steal the car. It wouldn't be the first time.
He only had his back turned for one hundred and twenty seconds. In that time he, gathered up his supplies while wordlessly cursing his son's independence. He didn't know which was worse; his competition or teenagers. Once he had both his bag and tackle box in one hand and the heavy rod in the other, he turned his attention back to the spot he had last seen his son.
That was the most critical thing registering in his mind at that moment. Shawn was gone. Disappeared into the freezing winds like he had never been there to begin with. There were tracks leading towards the forest line. He couldn't see how far they stretched from his angle, but he assumed the kid didn't get there in the two minutes he had turned away. Certainly his long strides in three inches of snow and ice would work against him.
The winds were all but silent. They seemed to have been dragging sound with each brush against the river surface. Every creak of a tree in the snow enchanted forest, every crunch of snow made by an animal some short distance away, every breath he took muffled by the scarf over his mouth. It all seemed too close. As if it were in his face directly. It was hyper awareness, he knew. He knew what it was and why his brain flooded his body with adrenaline.
His son was gone. There one moment, disappeared the next. He may have complained and acted like an ass towards the kid, but he was still a father. Parental instincts don't change with a job.
"Shawn!" He shouted, pulling his scarf off his face as he released his gear. It clattered to the ice loudly, but he didn't pay it any attention. He couldn't pay it any attention. Everything was too wrong, too hyperactive to really care what happened to his equipment. Within seconds he was tracing Shawn's boot prints in the snow, following the path and looking around the river bed all at the same time. He needed to find the kid.
Find his son.
It wasn't until he was ten feet from the end of trail that he realized why his son was acting out. Well, he was always acting out towards him. But under normal circumstances he wasn't so disagreeable about things. Under normal circumstances, he wasn't paranoid. Rodger assumed it was paranoia. Maybe even self inflicted paranoia based on the desire to get the hell away from his father. He'd been a father long enough to know that kids lie. Parents like to pretend that their children are angels and would never lie to them. But the truth is that a child, a teenager, would lie to get out of something they don't want without a second thought. It happens, it's happened to Rodger before, which was why he didn't think anything of it.
He didn't think anything of it until he saw the hole in the ice ten feet away. The hole that wasn't just big enough for ice fishing. It was big enough for a person to fall through. Big enough for Shawn to fall through.
That was all Rodger could say. It choked from his frosty lungs like sandpaper in his throat. Like he had swallowed enough water to drown himself. In reality, it was caused by sudden realization. It turned his stomach up-side-down and made his head swim with more adrenaline. That sinking feeling his gut that told him to move and move now.
And he did. He moved as fast as his chilled legs would allow. Slipping and sliding on ice and snow, ignoring the patches of disheveled portions separated feet apart, he kept going. Even as the bitter wind tore at his unprotected face, crusting his lips and painfully biting his skin like a thousand tiny needle pricks, he continued to run. His legs screamed in protest, muscles burned with movement as they tried to accommodate the formidable cold and the need to move. It didn't matter what happened to him. As long as he got to that hole before his son suffered.
Water sloshed on his boots as he skidded to a halt in front of the hole. It started to freeze on contact with the above ice, but more was already being added with every passing second. The fall looked to be only about a foot. Considering the river was roughly two feet thick on the surface, that was strange. What was even more strange was the ragged edges. Most ice fishers don't use an ax or heavy saw to cut out a spot. They should have known that it was dangerous to do it that way. It was old fashioned, yes, but dangerous nonetheless.
Lighting was dim under the water. Rodger could only see as far down as about a foot. Which wasn't much considering the river ran deep in this section. The current was slow though, allowing it to freeze every year, so Shawn had to have been close to the entrance. He could have risked jumping in after him. Should have risked going in to save his only son. He would have too had it not been for the fact that he couldn't. Two people suffering from severe hypothermia was a death wish. Especially if they were the only two around to call for help and rely on each other to stay alive.
He touched the water surface with his glove, feeling the drastic change in temperature through the dense fabric. It was only eight degrees above the ice, meaning the river itself underneath was slightly warmer. That was better than nothing, he supposed. But it was still cause for panic.
There were no signs of Shawn close to the surface. He tried to calm the beating in his chest, the way his heart seemed to lodge deeper in his throat as he screamed the teenager's name. It choked the words into a cross between a growl of frustration and a desperate sob. The kid had to resurface for air. Unless he was trapped or carried too far under the sheet of ice, he was going to resurface. Instinct is a tricky bastard and Rodger knew that. He knew that instinct was going to save his son. Or he was going to risk everything and jump in after him. Whichever came first.
"Shawn!" He screamed once more, feeling his throat seize due to the wet, icy air. He slammed his fists into the sides of the ice, praying that would be enough to lead his son back. It hurt, he had to admit. Not just the sting of ice through his clothes as he laid flat on his stomach against the temporary land, head inches from the water surface. It was the possibility of the inevitable. Of what he knew was going to happen because logic was just as hyper attentive the rest of his nerves.
No, he couldn't think about that now. He couldn't allow himself to acknowledge what he already knew. Shawn wasn't dead yet. He could still be alive, despite the frozen waters and undeniable hypothermia. That was motivation enough to continue his work.
He pounded on the ice one last time, breathing hard in fear and exertion. When he couldn't bring himself to raise his fist again, he hung his head barely above the water in shame. It had been over three minutes since he last saw his son. Logic told him that Shawn couldn't hold his breath for three minutes. The kid wasn't active in any sports so he didn't have the same stamina that someone his age normally would have. He wasn't as resilient as some of the others he had seen. In several ways he was still just a kid. A kid stuck under two feet of ice in a freezing river. A kid dying from hypothermia and possibly pneumonia and even worse, suffocation.
Rodger was panicking for all the right reasons. So much so that he didn't think he heard it right. He didn't think the muffled thump two feet to his right was real. It couldn't be real. Maybe it was just a figment of his imagination. A subconscious desperate thought that only served to bring more panic. But it wasn't, couldn't be, not after the second time he heard it.
It was getting closer with each thump. Two feet, a foot and a half, twelve inches… One step further until it was so close to the edge of the broken ice that Rodger knew what had to be done. He knew it wasn't some damned fish banging on the underside. That was a ridiculous thought, he chastised himself angrily. Why the hell would he even think about that?
That didn't matter at the moment. Not when he sucked in a deep breath to prepare himself. Not when he almost fell in the hole as he stuck his entire arm, all the way up to his shoulder, inside the river. And not when he groped around blindly, holding onto the slipping ice edge for dear life, and hooked his gloved hand around something struggling. It felt like fabric, slid against his glove like fabric, and didn't stop fighting until he had dragged it to the surface.
Shawn's head broke the river surface in a gasping heap. He was shivering violently, teeth chattering against each other so hard that Rodger thought they were going to break. All of the clothing made the risk of hypothermia and pneumonia that much worse. He was soaked and breathless as he coughed water from his lungs and freezing, even as Rodger pulled him out of the hole as fast as he could. Even as his father laid him on the ground and covered him with his own coat whilst trying to find his cell phone in one of the many pockets. There was no way to stay warm. Rodger saw that, knew that, as Shawn curled himself into a tight ball against the ice and tried to regain some composure. He had to get him to a hospital and out of the cold. If he had to carry the kid through the forest to the their truck and drive him personally, he would. The kid was out of the water and breathing, but he was far from okay.
"Dad…" The teenager gasped through clattering teeth, holding the new coat as tight as he could against saturated clothing.
Rodger yanked off his gloves with his teeth carelessly, spitting them onto the ground as he sank back to his knees next to his son and tried to dial for emergency services. His own fingers shook with cold and adrenaline, making his frayed nerves add to his frustration. With a sigh, he subconsciously rubbed Shawn's exposed shoulder in a small show of comfort. "It's okay. I'll call for help. You'll be out of here in no time." He mumbled more to himself.
"Police…" Shawn gasped again. Rodger furrowed his brow, confused as to why his son would want police involvement. He just fell through an ice fishing hole. There was no fowl play, no intentions of the accident, so why would the police care?
"Shawn, the police aren't…"
The teenager cursed under his breath, trying to cough against the water still rattling his lungs. "Under… Look under…" He choked with a pointed nod back at the hole.
Rodger was torn at his words. He didn't want to leave his son alone again for even a second. Nor did he want to pause in trying to call for help. But Shawn was rather adamant about his request. He watched his son try to push himself up on shaky arms, try to show him something that left him more scared and shaken than his recent near brush with death. Rodger cursed again as he pushed the kid back down forcefully. One harsh glare told him to stay still as he climbed to his feet. "What am I looking for?" He asked loudly as he approached the hole again.
The older man bit his tongue and chewed his lip as he tried to interpret. But trying to interpret what his son was saying in his current state was impossible. "Keep talking Shawn." He ordered sternly as he dropped to his knees again. The phone was shoved back in his second coat pocket as he drew a small hunting pocket knife. One of the rules his own father taught him was to never go anywhere without it. Especially hunting.
Minutes were spent clearing snow from a five foot radius surrounding the hole. The snow itself was thick and wet, covering the surface and sticking to his skin. It obscured any real view of the ice as he tried to see through it. Two feet was a lot of ice, especially when it was comprised of snow between layers. How did Shawn expect him to see whatever he had in the river?
Rodger sat back on his hunches to take a break after a few minutes. He glanced at his son, watching the shivers that raked his soggy body and the light hazel eyes that followed him intently. It pained him to see the kid in that state. To see him so vulnerable and childish. All he wanted was for the kid to grow up, to be a man. Hopefully, one day, a better man than he himself was. That was poetic, he conceived with a faint smile as he looked back at the hole. Perhaps he could use that as part of his campaign.
Whoever carved the jagged death trap was either unskilled in the sport of ice fishing or reckless, Rodger thought to himself. They had almost cost him his son. If he ever found the person responsible…
He swept his frozen hand across the ice once more, brushing snow to the side roughly. Then slammed his pocket knife in the ice frustratingly. This trip was just supposed to show his soon to be ex that he does care. That he was not some damned money-loving Politician like his family thinks he is. Sure, he was running for a seat in the US government senate. And yeah, he could understand why his son and near-ex resented him for it. But he was trying to do something right for a change. This trip was supposed to do that.
But no, this trip did nothing more than drive a stake between him and his son. They were so far apart, even after Shawn's potential death, and that just pissed him off even more.
He drove the knife down into the ice again, twisting it, letting the pent up adrenaline and anxiety flow through the blade with every movement. It forced his mind back to reality. Forced him to take a breath for the first time in what felt like hours and concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn't find anything through the ice like Shawn had told him. There was virtually nothing in the river but fish and ice. Whatever Shawn saw was either a panicked hallucination, or a misshaped figure in the underwater shadows.
Sticking the knife as deep as he could in the small crease he had created, he looked back at his son and shook his head. "Shawn, there's nothing here. There's too much snow and ice. I can't see through to the river…"
Shawn, however, didn't believe that. He knew what he saw under the ice. More importantly, he knew what he was seeing at that moment. He ignored his father's gaze and watched the knife in the ice with a studying expression. Even five feet away, he could see that something was wrong with it. It wasn't the same kind of feeling he had before. But it was pretty close to it. A slight change in position, in color of the blade and the hue of the icy snow surrounding it, captured his attention as well as one of his favorite video games. It was the subtle things that always fascinated him.
At that moment, there was nothing more subtle than the swell of blood coating his father's blade. It slid up from the hole he had been carving out of anger like sap running from a tree. Pressure was pushing it against the metal, spilling onto the ice in a slow dribble. He watched it slick the ice as it started to pool. Gravity seemed to be forgotten, Shawn considered, because it was oozing up instead of down. Meaning there was a pocket of air to cause pressure.
Meaning there was something encased inside that bled like a mammal. But that didn't make sense. If it was an animal and had been there for more than a few days to be encased, then why was it bleeding? How was it bleeding?
"Dad…" Shawn choked, trying to warn his father.
Rodger followed his son's gaze, turning to the blood that oozed from the hole and towards him. He jumped to his feet in surprise and yelped roughly. Well that was new. He didn't dare touch the knife. It wasn't a fish, he concluded quickly. Fish didn't bleed like that. The chances of an animal were climbing as he watched it pool on the ice. But he couldn't be sure until he saw what he had accidentally hit. With any luck, it was an animal of some kind. A poor beaver, maybe, that didn't get off the river before it froze over.
As he pulled the knife from the crease and laid it aside, wiping snow and blood aside to see further into the hole, he realized just how wrong he was. It wasn't an animal. Unless an animal had hands like a petite young woman and wore a diamond wedding ring. That was a stupid thought.
Of course he and his son stumbled onto a dead body half sealed in two feet of ice. Little did he know, that wasn't the only one.
Note- Ta-da! Hello people! I'm back!
So, this is the beginning chapter to the new story. It's written in the standard perspective and focuses on two new characters. Rodger and Shawn will be used in later chapters to help find the unsub. I think their relationship is interesting and can be exploited more as the story progresses. There was a lot of research done on ice fishing so I hope it all sounds believable. The first half sets up the characters, while the last half sets up the mystery. There is more than one body frozen in the river that has to be taken out. That will be explained in detail in either the second or third chapter.
This entire story, if my plot bunny doesn't run with it again, is already planned out. I haven't gotten it all on a word document yet, but I'm working on it. There is a connection between the unsub and Josephine Blair's murderer. One that will lead to a very intense chase scene. I'm excited to get to it. The length of the story is currently undetermined and I don't plan on putting a limit on it yet. It'll go wherever it wants.
Now, for the next chapter spoiler. ADVERT YOUR EYES IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW YET!
The next chapter starts with Mick and Gina in Gina's apartment. There's a really dramatic scene, because this does take place a few days after Jo's murder, that brings them closer together. Neither is taking what happened well, just like everyone else. It plays into the rest of the story and poses several more questions. To top it off, there is a scene with Jenna in the next chapter too. Personally, I love writing the interaction between her and Mick. Their relationship as brother-sister is very entertaining.
And I think that covers it. You know what to do, right? Reviews are loved and appreciated. Thanks to the people who have read, reviewed, and subscribed to my stuff so far! You guys are awesome!