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The chills that ran down your spine as you walked through the scene, the only sounds being camera shutters and shuffling footsteps of your team, the way the air was suspended around you, imitating the way you held your breath. You forced your emotions into a box and shoved it to the back of your mind, your eyes turning from sympathetic to analytical, necessary for your job. The only one who noticed the change was your Crime Scene Photographer, Darcy. She pursed her lips at you, tilting her head towards the bedroom, acknowledging your shift into your role of head CSI.

This scene was different than the others, you immediately noticed as you crossed the bedroom threshold. Blood took over the wallpaper, staining the costly vintage pattern. The body lay face down on the bed, stab marks on the back, mostly shallow and jagged, indicating a struggle had occurred. Your thoughts were proven as your eyes scanned over the blood spatter. This victim fought back, causing a fight your killer hadn't anticipated.

She was the tenth one this month, the bodies being found more and more frequently, the killer getting more confident.

"Y/N."

Your name sounded behind you, making you turn around. Lead Detective Jimmy Woo stood with a grimace on his face, eyes expectant. You nodded as you brought him over to the side of the bed, where you could see the wounds better.

"This one is different, Jim. The scene is a mess, the body mutilated and uncharacteristically stabbed, not to mention the lack of sophistication."

You turned from the bed and walked over to a pile of cleaning supplies, crouching down and cocking your head to the side. Your eyes widened when you noticed what had caught your eye. Pulling out your tweezers from your toolkit hanging by your side, you called out to Jimmy, asking for an evidence bag. As he handed it to you, he asked an important question.

"Then how can we be sure it's the same killer."

Without hesitating you answered.

"The victim fits the profile. A woman in her early to mid 50s, lives alone, estranged from family," you nodded your head to the dusty photographs on the dresser, now decorated by dried drops of blood, "and the cleaning supplies, the same ones we know for a fact were used at the other scenes."

As you bagged the strand of hair, your mind thought back to the other crime scenes. The bodies of the victims lying in bed, dead for days or weeks at the longest, the rooms cleaned meticulously, the only mess being the crusty blood stains from the single slit mark on the women's neck. You thought that those scenes were the worst, but now as you looked around, you knew you hadn't seen the worst of humanity yet.

Handing Jimmy the evidence bag, which he passed on to the officers on the scene, you stood up.

"Forensics is done here, all pictures taken, swabs done, and now all evidence is bagged. Help me roll the body over."

Your plastic gloves were already soaked with blood as you and Jimmy rolled the victim onto her back. Jimmy choked on what he saw. You merely sighed. The slit on the victims neck was jagged but shallow. The scene played out in your head. The killer did the normal business of coming from behind with the knife, but this one struggled, making the cut not deep enough to kill. The killer pushed the woman onto the bed, trying to suffocate her with the pillow but she kept struggling. Finally, the killer resorted to stabbing the woman until the act was finished, even some post-mortem. Then, instead of having time to clean the scene and position the body, something unexpected happened. Someone visited the victim, the young next door neighbor who felt sorry for the elderly woman who never saw her family. The killer had to rush out the back, leaving countless pieces of evidence behind and ruining weeks of planning.

"Let's get her in a bag, make sure to contact the family and ask for her will and wishes upon her death."

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On the drive back to the station and your team's lab, you allowed yourself a moment to text your wife.

You: Hey hon, I don't think I'll make it for dinner. I might stay the night.

You let yourself slip information, a breach of protocol but you trusted Agatha.

We finally have enough to catch this bastard.

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The sounds of reporters never stopped as the hours passed, your team logging and entering every piece of evidence from this scene and past. You ran every single strand of DNA evidence you had through every database you had legal access to. Monica Rambeau, your secret weapon when it came to, well, weapons, made multiple 3D replicas of the suspects height and body weight, using the angles of the blood spatter and the stab wounds. You and your team had discovered a separate blood profile in the mix, a break that had you desperate for a culprit. Now you sat in front of the equipment in your lab, the rest of your team resting while evidence was being processed and while the detective went over profiles and case reports, looking for details they might've missed.

You kept yourself from drifting into sleep by scrolling on your phone. When you opened your messages, your brow scrunched together. Agatha hadn't responded to your text, leaving it delivered. Frowning, you started typing but realizing the time, you thought she would be sleeping. Maybe you missing dinner tonight had struck a nerve with your wife. Sighing, you slumped in your chair, practicing your apology in your head. You knew it wasn't common of you to miss dinner, so maybe she had something special planned for tonight, even if it was nowhere near one of your birthdays or an anniversary. But that didn't mean anything, maybe it was a surprise date night. You were so lost in your worry, you almost didn't hear the ping from your computer indicating a match. You read the results, a hint of surprise at the determined sex of the killer. You started to type some notes in an email for Jimmy when your computer indicated it had found an 94% DNA match in a database. You paused, your hands still hovering over your keyboard as the killer's picture came up on your screen.

Time suspended around you, suffocating you as your vision tunneled. The buzzing of your phone broke you out of your stupor and with shaking hands you opened the message from your wife.

aggie❤️: no worries about dinner love, how's the case going?

Your eyes flickered from the text to the picture on your screen, your wife's cold blue eyes staring into your soul. You hesitated before you answered.

You: not well. everything came up a dead end, ig it's back to square one.

You put your phone face down on your desk, quickly exiting out of the page, your wife's picture replaced with your background. Which did nothing to sooth your rapidly panicking state, as it was your wedding photo. You slammed the power button, relief flooding your body at the black screen. With shaky hands, you cradled your head.

This can not be happening. You thought, pinching your arms, desperate to wake up from this vivid nightmare.

This

Can

Not

Be

Happening.

Your phone buzzed with your wife's reply and you read it through blurry vision.

aggie❤️: im sorry to hear that hon. text me when you're on your way home <3

Normally, the heart as the end of the text would send butterflies ablaze in your stomach but now all it did was sending waves of nausea coursing through you. Were there signs you missed? Something you overlooked through the haze of being in love?

Were all these women dead because you were too blind to see what was in front of you the whole time?

You stood up suddenly, your chair crashing behind you. Darcy rushed in, concern lacing her actions.

"Y/N, are you-"

"I have a migraine. Staring at a screen for too long and all that." You cut her off, even giving a slight chuckle at the end to play it off. Darcy still looked concerned but let you gather your things and walk out of the lab.

"If anything comes up, I'll call you!" she called out, not knowing her words caused your stomach to hardened.

As you went to walk out of the station, you noticed Jimmy had recklessly left his gun and holster on his desk.

You walked out of the station, pulling your jacket tight against your body as you got into your car.

No one had noticed Jimmy's gun was no longer on his desk.

In the front window, blocked by curtains stood the shape of your wife, her shadow seemingly staring straight at you. She turned and walked away, breaking the spell on you. You quickly got out of your car but before you shut the door, the gun sitting innocently in your passenger seat caught your eye. You hesitated before you quickly grabbed the gun, tucking it into the waistband of your pants, covering it with your jacket. You tried to casually walk up the steps of your home but nothing could stop your hands from shaking.

This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea You kept repeating to yourself as you unlocked the door, pushing it open and crossing the threshold, holding your breath. You let yourself breathe before calling out for your wife, desperate to appear as if nothing was wrong.

"A-Aggie?"

Internally, you cursed yourself for your stutter but your wife's response was immediate.

"In the living room, my darling."

You headed down the hallway, coming up with possible outcomes for how the next conversation would go. Nothing prepared you for the outcome you faced as you turned the corner.

Once more, you found yourself frozen, your back pressed painfully into the wall. Your wi- Agatha, sat in her lounge chair, legs crossed and holding a full wine glass leisurely in her hand. Her face was splattered with dried blood, her shoulder and arm the same along with scratches from when the elderly lady had fought back. But the sight of the very proof you didn't want wasn't what froze you. No, it was her eyes. The sharp blue bore into you, her expression stone cold. She raised her glass to her lips and took a sip, never once breaking eye contact. She only looked away when she set the glass down on the end table with a sigh and that's when you noticed it.

The knife.

Her fingers traced the blade before she picked it up, blood of the earlier victim still staining the metal. Your whole body was shaking, your breaths coming out in stutters, your lips wobbling from unshed tears. Agatha noticed this and in a split second she was standing in front of you, one hand cradling your face and the other holding the knife.

"My love, don't cry. There's no reason to cry."

Before you registered what she said, you found yourself melting into her palm, a sense of safety washing over you. But then you realized. And pushed her away as best you could.

"No reason?" You scoffed, tears now rolling down your cheeks, "No reason? You killed people Agatha! Innocent women who-"

"They were not innocent!" She practically roared, pushing away from you to stand a few feet in front of you, using the hand with the knife to point.

"They broke their families. They kept secrets from everyone and used their daughters as nothing but collateral!"

As she yelled, your mind connected the dots and you let out a sob, making Agatha pause to stare at you. You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head as you started to laugh hysterically under your breath.

"This, all this, has been because of your mom?" You started out quiet then began to yell, "These women were not your mother! Their lives were not yours to judge, not yours to take! Your mother treated you horribly yes, but that is not an excuse for murder!"

Your voice cracked on the last word, like you were finally accepting your reality. Your wife was a serial killer, an unstable serial killer. And what's worse is that you couldn't find it in you to hate her.

In a flash, your wife was back to crowding you against the wall, the knife now at your throat, her eyes ablaze.

"You have no idea, none at all, what I went through! How dare-"

She paused at your hiss of pain and watched, mesmerized, as a drop of blood slid down your neck. Your eyes met and she watched as sadness, confusion, betrayal swirled. She relieved the pressure of the knife, leaning in closer. You cursed yourself as your eyes flickered down to her lips. You barely saw the smirk before her lips crashed against yours, desperate and possessive. It was a tidal wave of emotions, Agatha desperate to hold on to you and you were saying goodbye.

It ended when your phone rang.

Agatha pulled away. You made eye contact before you pushed Agatha with all your strength and ran. You ran through your house, towards the bedroom, very aware of your wife chasing you. You made it to the room, slamming the door open and using your body weight to keep the door shut, even the lock started to budge from the force of Agatha's pushes. With shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and answered it. Darcy's frantic voice filled your room.

"Y/N? Oh my god Y/N, it's Agatha, it's your- Oh my god, you need to get out, I already sent cars, they're on their way. Y/N? Y/N!"

You struggled against Agatha on the other side of the door as she became more aggressive with Darcy's words.

"I'm-I'm okay right now Darcy, I'm going to be fine-"

The door broke down, sending you flying to the floor, sliding across it as you phone fell from your hand. You clutched your sides in pain as you watched Agatha pick up your phone.

"Goodbye, Ms. Lewis."

You could hear Darcy's panicked yelp before Agatha hung up. She turned to you, head cocked to the side as she took your lying form in. She started to walk towards you but you remembered your weapon. Too quick for either of you to understand, you had a gun pointed at your wife. Agatha practically skidded to a halt, her eyes radiating hurt. You pulled yourself up, now standing, never wavering in your stance.

"You would shoot me?"

Agatha's voice was small, almost scared. It almost fooled you, almost tricked you into lowering your guard and your gun, forgiving your wife of all her sins and finding a way to escape before the cops showed up.

But then your mind replayed the crime scenes in your head. The one from this morning fresh in its brutality. The slit throats, the methodically cleaned rooms.

You swallowed down your tears, voice wavering as you spoke.

"You don't give me another choice. This is my job, Agatha, to catch people like-like you. Did you think I would never find out?"

Agatha blinked as she finally showed an ounce of remorse. Not for her victims, for the relationship with you she killed.

"That was the plan."

Her words made time stand still around you, the sounds of sirens muffled as you stared at your wife, who didn't make any move to run as cops flooded into your house. As they handcuffed Agatha, you saw her eyes break away from you to someone at your side. Jimmy gently and cautiously took his gun from you, holding onto you as you collapsed into his arms, sobs wracking your body. At the sight of your crumpled form against your friend, Agatha started to fight against the handcuffs. The officers pushed her out of the room and you followed, watching as she was shoved into a car. Before the door shut, you caught her mouthing words at you.

I love you.

The tears wouldn't stop coming as you fell to your knees on your doorsteps, your body shutting down as you became silent.

All you wanted was to wake up from this nightmare but you knew you were stuck, this monstrous reality holding you hostage, striping you of your happiness.

It wasn't until the cars pulled away and your street went silent did you realize you were alone.

And alone you would now stay.