Calvin already stopped by, and Mallory didn’t strike me as the type to be thoughtful enough to drop off a gift…

Someone else whose attention was on Len. 

The way my heart sped up had me rushing toward Len, but she pulled the lid off before I could stop her.

The way her face blanched, I knew something was wrong. She almost dropped the package before I managed to grab it from her hands. The lid fell to the ground, but the package itself remained in my hands.

Inside sat two items, perfectly placed on top of white tissue paper partially stained red.

A note, scrawled in red writing, the words the first of many gifts written on it. The red was still sticky, like paint that had yet to dry.

In the center of the box, placed perfectly, sat a ring finger. The cut was clean, the nails perfectly polished. Red.

“Len, come inside,” I instructed.

I guided her inside and placed the box on the table, not touching anything. There could be fingerprints or other pieces of evidence inside. The more intact the box remained, the way we found it, the better for the FBI techs.

“Was that blood?” Len asked, her eyes distant.

“What?” I asked gently, guiding her to a chair.

“The note—was it written in blood?” Her eyes widened as they met mine.

“No,” I assured her. “It looks like paint.”

She nodded. “And the finger, it belongs to the victim from the other day, right? I saw her hand, the nails…”

“Yes,” I answered.

I wouldn’t lie to her, no matter how hard the truth was.

“This is all my fault,” she muttered, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, Len. You can’t think like that.” I knelt next to the chair. Her gaze was set on her lap, but she moved to find me staring at her.

“This is not your fault. The sadistic things this unsub does are not your fault. They are toying with you,” I explained.

“What do we do?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t have the technology needed to examine this, and it’s technically evidence in an active investigation. Hiding this would-“

Her face melted in both understanding and devastation.

“We have to turn it over?” she asked, but I knew she had the answer.

“Len, I would never suggest this if I didn’t think it was the only option, but this unsub is escalating quickly. I need back up,” I said.

Her hand found mine, and she held it in her lap. I needed back up; I couldn’t do this myself. The last time I’d tried, someone died. That couldn’t be Len. I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes.

“I need to correct the past. I ran last time; I won’t do that again, no matter the consequences,” Len said, a determined look on her face.