Sawyer stepped away from the door now, allowing it to slowly shut, and he turned to face Ilse, quiet as ever, just watching her.

“He’s younger than I thought,” Ilse said softly. The door finally clicked shut behind the BAU operative.

“Mhmm.”

Ilse sighed. “Means he’s probably a different killer than the one from twenty years ago who abducted Samantha.” As she said it, she found this offered her some strange semblance of relief. It took a moment for her to realize why, but then it registered. If Samantha’s boogeyman had stayed in the dark archives of her past, then maybe Ilse could expect the same…

Maybe the postcards were just someone’s idea of a sick joke. Someone from the town. Someone who may have accidentally recognized her. Maybe nothing more. The trucker was too young to have been the same abductor from all those years ago. He was a new, upstart killer, haunting the mountain roads in search of prey as indicated by his treatment of Ilse. But not the old ghost hidden in a closet or basement. Not Samantha’s tormentor from her past.

Maybe, just maybe, some things were allowed to remain hidden, lost and forgotten, covered in dust and cobwebs where they belonged.

Somehow, this strange, nearly morbid thought brought a soft sigh to Ilse’s lips. She glanced at the sealed interrogation room door, listening to the muffled, but indeterminable sound of voices from within.

“Did they run the bowie knife yet?” she said, quietly.

Sawyer rubbed at his jaw, giving her a long look. Again, it seemed, perhaps, like the sort of question he ought not answer to a civilian. But again, likely against protocol, he just shook his head. “Not yet. Looks like there might be blood on it though.”

Ilse felt a little shiver of relief. She could feel the excitement at the prospect of returning home, of telling Samantha the good news.

The bastard was behind bars. She was safe.

Ilse winced, though, remembering her promise. She’d told Sam she’d be back within ten minutes. She’d been gone for more than an hour, now. Samantha was probably terrified. Ilse swallowed, feeling a sudden jolt of urgency to get back and calm her client.

“Guy had a record,” Sawyer continued, expressionless, watching her like an owl perched on a branch. “Violence against women. Sexual misconduct. Been escalating in recent years.” Sawyer gave her a long look and swallowed. He opened his mouth, but Ilse beat him to it.

“I know,” she said, wincing. “Stupid.”

This time, she was sure he grinned. He turned, though, hiding the expression and nodding once. He began to walk away, and Ilse fell into step next to the agent as they both moved toward the sliding glass doors of the precinct.

“So this is over,” Ilse said, softly and urgently, Samantha still on her mind. “Are they going to ask him about the other victims back at the shack?”

“Yup.”

“How about the two victims found on the side of the road?”