Hotch's Niece | Criminal Minds

Mark

Warning: Harsh and triggering language and content ahead! Read at your own risk!

At Alison Rowland's Apartment

Morgan knocks on the oak door of apartment 3C, and a tiny woman opens the door. "Can I help you?" she inquires politely.

"Alison Rowland? FBI, we're here to-" Morgan starts, but he is cut off by a vicious laugh from just inside the small apartment.

"FBI? Are y'all finally here track down that bitch that killed my wife?" A voice that most likely belongs to Mr. Rowland shouts.

Alison sighed softly, like she'd been dealing with these breakdowns since her sister-in-law died. "Please, come in," she murmurs.. Morgan walks in first, cautious just in case Mr. Rowland's grief had turned into anger strong enough to attack two federal agents. I follow Morgan with the same cautious approach, my hand toying at my gun. The man on the the couch looks nothing like the pictures Garcia had sent us. He has a scraggly, unkempt beard, concave cheeks and a hollow, broken look in his darkened eyes. The neck of a bottle of booze is gripped tightly in his left hand, and from our place easily ten feet away I can tell he reeks of cheap drugstore alcohol and vomit, which his dirty grey shirt and sweatpants show apparent traces of.

Mark Rowland is a tall man, probably just over six foot five, and heavily built. The heavy part of his figure was obviously thanks to muscle, not fat. He'd be very intimidating, if not for the fact that he was so very sad and empty.

Alison Rowland's apartment is quaint and would be absolutely adorable if not for the stench and the broken man on the couch. The rug is a pale purple that matches the doorframe and window frames, as well as the flowers on the otherwise cream-colored wallpaper. The cream wallpaper matches the couch, which was decorated with baby blue throw pillows and a light purple throw blanket tossed over one plush arm.

"Mr. Rowland, we'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind-" I start, but Mr. Rowland cuts me off.

"Fuck your questions!" he exclaims, tensing up. I'm afraid for a moment that he'll shatter the booze bottle he's squeezing it so tightly.

"Mr. Rowland, please calm down. We don't want to make you upset, we just want to find out who did this to you and your wife," I say as Morgan inches a little closer to me, wary of the angry man and underestimating my own hand-to-hand combat training. I started karate classes when I was five or six, and I'm a black belt. 

"It's been two weeks! Two weeks and NOW you want to find the woman who did this?" Mr. Rowland yells. Morgan steps in front of me, and I roll my eyes behind his back. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. My brain is trying to tell me something, something that Mr. Rowland said that he shouldn't know. What is it? Morgan continues attempting to calm the irate man down, and then it hits me.

"How do you know it's a woman?" I say, too focused on the possible lead to think about the fact that his wife was assaulted by a woman not long before she was killed.

"You hear that, Allie?" Mr. Rowland angrily laughs to his sister, who is perched delicately on the arm of the couch. "They don't even know it's a woman! What useless imbeciles!"

"That's enough, Mark, they're only trying to help, and you taking your grief out on them isn't going to get anything done. Just tell them the honest answer to whatever they ask you, please." Alison appeared to have finally had enough of all of Mark's groaning and moaning.

Mark turned back to us with a muttered, "None of you are on my damn side," but both Morgan and I chose to ignore the remark.

"I'll ask you again, Mr. Rowland, how do you know that the person who killed your wife was a woman?" I repeat my question.

He sighs, but answers despite his obvious lack of eagerness. "The woman who assaulted Jackie told Jackie that she was going to kill her, so when I got the call, I just knew that it had to have been her. Who else would want to hurt my lovely Jackie?"

"None of this was in the police report," Morgan says, moving from his place directly between Mr. Rowland and I, once he determined the man calm enough to be safe.

"Jackie didn't want to tell the cops that the woman had threatened her life. Sh-she was worried that they'd be too cruel to the woman if they ever did catch her. That's... that's just how nice my wife was. She didn't want the cops to be too hard on the person who attacked her." Mr. Rowland says, getting choked up as his eyes fill once again with tears.

"Mr. Rowland, this is very important. Did your wife say if the attacker gave any indication what she was threatening Jackie? Did the attacker say or do something that Jackie mentioned to you?" I ask.

He frowns for a moment, thinking. "Jackie said that the woman who attacked her heard the sirens, and her face went pale, like she hated or had a bad past with the cops. That's why she didn't want to press charges or encourage the search for the woman, because Jackie thought she was just some scared human, not a killer. Jackie was such a good person... she didn't deserve this." Mark says, looking up directly at me as he says those last four words. "You find the bitch who did this," he tells me.

"I will do my best," I promise him, assuming that's what he needs to hear to sleep at all tonight.

He nods a very finalizing nod, and with that, he reaches behind his back and pulls a gun from the couch. Morgan and I both react quickly, pulling our weapons as well, but before either of us can speak, he mutters a "I'm coming for you, Jackie," and pulls the trigger.

Mark Rowland was dead.

Yay! I'm back with a sadly short but intense chapter and with a bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry to anyone who found this offensive or harsh. I had a disclaimer so no complaining in the comments, please. I'm sorry about the hiatus I took as well. I haven't been sleeping well lately and as a result have been suffering from writer's block, so chapter updates may be few and far between for now, but I will try for at least every two weeks if not more often. Comment and vote, please! Love you all, see you soon.