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˚⋆ ┊    TWO GHOSTS    ┊ ⋆˚
☆⋅⋆ ─ act i. in the place of you and me

CHAPTER TWO — welcome to the sequel

✎

❝ horror films don't create fear. they release it. ❞
↳  WES CRAVEN

⠀ ⠀ IT TRULY WAS A RARE OCCASION FOR NANCY TO LET HER NERVES get the better of her. Even when she knew she had the sympathy of anyone that had been told her story. Maybe especially then. There was something about strangers knowing her story that made her so uncomfortable. That people could read a couple of pages from a news article, or some bullshit unofficial biography, or even officers and agents curious enough to learn more about her infamous tale to go digging into the files too graphic or terrifying to release to the public. Because maybe, just maybe, Nancy wanted to keep something of the trauma she'd experienced to herself.

Tinted windows of the FBI's black SUV could only protect her for so long. The slew of reporters from all over Brooklyn may as well have set up tents the way they waited outside the precinct 24/7. It was so much worse than she remembered. But at least this time she wasn't the lone survivor being swarmed on her way out of the hospital. This time, she was Special Agent Chavez, consulting with the BAU. This time, the cameras weren't going to see her cry.

Although, this time, the murders weren't the sole reason for a gathering of reporters and journalists. A certain retired FBI agent had written a book about his experience on the country's most infamous cases. Disguised under an onlook into the psyche of teenage serial killers. An instant hit considering the pop culture themes of the nineties and early 2000s. The world was fascinated with the adolescent mind. And so was Hollywood. Next thing Nancy knew, some D-lister dressed in her clothes was plastered on every billboard, every bus top in town. And the boy that nearly killed her became a legend; just another boogeyman. Like Michael Myers or Freddy Krueger. Nobody stopped to think about the fact that the story was true.

She was haunted, even years after, by a bone-white mask with hollow black eyes and a gaping mouth. Now just a Halloween costume. A scary story to tell around the campfire.

The flashes and reporters yelling her name envied that of a movie premier as soon as the car door opened.

"Nancy, over here!"

"Nancy, is it true the Ghostface killer is back?"

"Was your brush with death the reason you joined the FBI?"

But Agent Hotchner was firm. Arm gripping her shoulder, he guided the junior agent through the crowd as uniformed officers parted the way for them. Her mind felt as though it was shattering to pieces. As though every click, every flash, had her jumping between being a seventeen-year-old high school student terrified for her life, and a twenty-five-year-old FBI agent putting on a fearless facade.

Fingertips digging into her palm, Nancy's mind began to race through all the ways Mateo had taught her to remain calm, at least on the outside. She could feel her heart racing, her pulse thumping in her ears like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. Nancy was thankful when their intrusive questions were muffled by the glass doors of the police station slammed shut behind them.

There to welcome them was an unfortunately familiar face. Nancy recognized the young detective, his sympathetic gaze met with a forced, short-lived smile. Detective John Delgado was a friend of her brother's. Who had evidently been promoted from the beat cop status he held eight years ago.

"Man, I'm sorry, Nance," he began, already establishing familiarity with the junior agent, "We've been tryna clear 'em for days, but they won't budge without an official statement,"

"Don't worry about it," shrugged Nancy, arms folded tightly across her stomach to give her some kind of comfort that she'd shielded her emotions, "Got used to it before, right? Just needed a little reminding is all," sensing her shaky demeanor, Barnes simply extended a hand toward her, hoping for at least a handshake from the girl he'd known all his life. She knew that it wasn't the case that he'd tried to remain professional. An unwarranted hug for the girl that was about to revisit all of her childhood traumas wasn't something you needed to be a detective for to know was a terrible idea. Yet, for whatever reason, Nancy found herself swatting his hand away, arms winding tightly around his shoulders for a brief moment before they separated. The young detective was visibly relieved to see she hadn't yet let the idea of revisiting her past get to her. At least not visibly.

"How you doin', kiddo?" he questioned, arms dropping to his waist where his golden badge was clipped, glistening in the sun. Nancy couldn't bring herself to lie. Not that it would do much good to do so in front of an FBI agent and a police detective.

"I've been better," It was then that it dawned on Nancy she hadn't actually given herself a minute to breathe. To process what she was about to walk into. She'd studied the human mind enough to know that trying to compartmentalize something so personal would be futile, "Can I, um..." Nancy grimaced, thankful she could blame the beams of sunlight seeping through the windows into her eyes as she gazed up at the Unit Chief, "Can I have a minute?"

"Of course," nodded Hotch, hand gently meeting her shoulder as she offered a reassuring smile, "We'll meet you upstairs,"

Hands clenched tightly together, Nancy wandered slowly forward to stare down at the metal bench bolted to the ground. It was one of those inanimate objects that made a person wonder, if you could talk, what kind of stories would you have to tell?

She remembered sitting at that bench eight years ago. The FBI interviewed her from the hospital. But the cops wanted their own statements once she was doing a little better (although she very much so wasn't considering they asked to see her not even seven days after the attack).

It had been easy to forget how over-stimulating just to stand in the hallway of a busy office could be. Constant ringing and dial tones made it impossible to think, not to mention the indistinguishable voices of beat cops and detectives alike. And suddenly her moment alone to think was one of the worst ideas she'd had in a long time.

Nancy hadn't forgotten what the beginning of an anxiety attack felt like. Sweaty palms, pulse thumping in her ear, never able to quite catch her breath no matter how slowly she inhaled. That's when it caught her eye. A shadowy figure lurking in the corner. A face she recognized from her nightmares. Bone white, with hollow black eyes and a gaping mouth.

The speed of her nervous footsteps sped up beside the beat of her heart, but every time she closed her eyes she saw that damn mask staring back at her. Like a haunted memory latched onto her soul.

Until — smack —

Nancy's head collided, rather cartoonishly, with a glass door, her body ricocheting backward from the impact as her hand flew to cover her now aching nose.

"Oh!" she groaned, redness in her cheeks so prominent she could see them in the reflection of the glass. That certainly was one way to get snapped out of a panic attack. She was too pissed off at how much her nose hurt to be anxious anymore.

But, at least nobody saw her completely embarrass herse-

"Are you okay?"

Shit.

The voice behind her was an amalgamation of confusion and concern, and the young man behind it seemed far too slender and well-mannered to be an FBI agent.

"Yeah..." groaned Nancy, pinching her nose, "Yup... nothing's broken, so..."

The young man's expression changed ever so slightly upon realizing she wasn't so badly hurt, the hand that wasn't tightly gripping the strap of his satchel rising to point at the bold letters engraved into a silver plaque, "It... it's a pull door..." he trailed off. As though he knew that his words would likely piss off the girl he'd met all of two minutes ago, and yet he simply could not hold them back.

Nancy's gaze darkened, her once pained expression now a glare intense enough, in some different reality the poor kid would have turned to stone, "Gee, thanks, Einstein," her head tilted to the side, "my next plan was to start lifting from the bottom," genuine shock covered his features at just how quickly the young agent had turned hostile. She realized it too, regretting her words as her gaze softened ever so slightly, "I... I'm sorry, that- that was mean," Nancy's clearly frazzled mind didn't quite have time to compute the fact that the still unnamed man's expression had dropped entirely, "I'm-"

"Bleeding,"

"What?"

"Y-you're bleeding,"

Hand rising quickly to her nose, Nancy's eyes widened at the sight of blood the second she pulled it away, "Shit!"

"Here," deciding simply to extend a handkerchief, which Nancy subconsciously noted was an odd thing to just straight up have in your pocket, she used one hand to quickly pinch her nose as the other reached for the tissue.

"Thanks..." she trailed off, looking up when she realized she's still yet to learn this guy's name, "Uh..."

"Spencer..." he smiled, rather nervously as his hands wrapped once again around the strap of his sachel, "Reid, uh, Dr... Dr. Reid," clearing his throat, he looked as though he already suspected Nancy wouldn't believe what he was about to say, "FBI..."

Nancy's eyes narrowed into a doubtful stare, although she knew, whoever this Dr. Reid character was, had no reason to lie, "Right... Nancy Chavez..." she winced in embarrassment, "Special Agent... also FBI..." a nervous laugh escaped her lips at how hypocritical her thoughts had been thus far. Suspicious of the skinny guy when she quite literally tried to fight a door, "I swear I'm not normally this clumsy," Spencer nodded; if she didn't know better Nancy would have suspected he was very carefully selecting his words.

"I believe you..." he nodded, clearing his throat as Nancy soon realized just what he looked so desperately like he was trying to hold back, "You know, pushing on a pull door is not as uncommon as one might think. Our brains spend about 47% of the day on autopilot," Nancy couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Who the hell randomly knows so much about how the psychology of doors? "Doors with a handle or a knob let us know it's meant to be pulled. Whereas a door with a bar or no handle at all gives the brain an indication to push," hand slightly raised, Spencer pointed to the iron bar replicated on either side of the door, "Because this is a glass door, with a handle on both sides, your subconscious mind made the decision to push despite having a 50% chance of being incorrect," the doctor seemed almost confused at his ramblings, as though he's usually been stopped by now, "It's called a- a Norman Door? After Professor Don Norman, whose original study into the psychology of everyday items was accompanied by a book release in 1988,"

Nancy couldn't help but feel intrigued by his soft smile. With the rage of being so quickly embarrassed simmering down, she had to admit that Dr. Reid, despite his unwarranted info-dumping about doors, was rather easy on the eyes, "Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little better after that," Spencer laughed, reaching down to this time pull the door in the correct direction. And with an after you gesture, Nancy gave a quick nod in thanks before glancing around her shoulder, "So, tell me more about these 'Norman Doors'," Nancy began, looking almost as surprised by her own words as the fellow young agent behind her, who looked as though he'd never been asked to continue a tangent about something as simple as doors in his life.

"What?"

"Yeah, maybe I could stand to learn a thing or two... stop another door incident before it's too late, y'know?" Spencer's smile widened, although he'd yet to make his response. Brow furrowed in exaggerated confusion, Nancy waved a hand toward his face, as they stopped to wait for the elevator, "Hello? Earth to Dr. Reid?"

The agent chuckled, fingertip reaching for the button as he confessed, "I- I'm just a little more used to hearing 'sorry I asked' instead of, uh, 'tell me more' is all," Nancy frowned, though there was still a hint of a smile. This time, she gestured for him to enter first, head tilting as she silently awaited his fact-sharing to continue.

❀

⠀ ⠀ DR REID HAPPENED TO STILL BE TALKING NANCY'S EAR OFF by the time the elevator doors opened to reveal the fifth floor. If she was being completely honest, the younger agent had half-tuned the doc out long ago. But, apparently, held back on telling him said news considering she now knew he'd been told to shut up all his life. But her attention for the man she'd just met was soon cut short upon the sight of some, finally, comfortingly familiar faces.

Nancy had never been more relieved to see her little brother in her life. Eddie was only twelve years old when he was shaken awake in the middle of the night by his uncle with the news that his big sister was in the hospital after being attacked by a serial killer.

She turned to the young doctor, a genuinely apologetic look in her eye, "Could you excuse me for a moment?" Reid seemed confused for a moment, but nodded nonetheless, somehow able to sense the sadness behind her voice. He headed elsewhere, and Nancy turned to her brother, "Eddie," voice cracking just at the sight of him, Nancy broke into a light jog to skip whatever added seconds there would have been if she had simply walked from the elevator.

"Hey..." arms wrapping tightly around her brother's shoulders to pull him down into a protective hug. He'd been taller than her for a good few years now, but she still hugged him just the same as when they were little, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine..." sighed Nancy, though she sounded less than convincing, "Yeah, I'm... I'm okay," gaze shifting to the shorter woman beside him, doing little to mask her fear behind a tearful smile,

"Lexi, I'm so sorry you're involved in all of this," arms wrapped tightly around the shorter girl, her friend gladly accepted, letting out a deep sigh.

"Don't you dare, none of this is your fault," she pulled away suddenly, looking Nancy deeply in the eye as she sent a soft nod her way, "You sure you're alright?" Nancy only forced another less than reassuring smile. Eddie's gaze shifted, Nancy knew how much he hated when she shifted the focus from herself. Especially at a time like this.

"Never better..." Nancy hadn't meant to close herself off, especially from her brother. But, at least for the moment, the less he knew the better.

"So, he's back?" asked Eddie, brow furrowed in deep concern.

"No," assured Nancy, "No it's just some... shitty copycat, alright? I'm gonna fix this," Eddie looked shocked at her wording as if confused at the very idea of it being Nancy's responsibility to fix at all.

"This isn't your mess to fix, you know that, right?" tearing her eyes from her brother's anxious gaze, she knew he only meant well. But before he had the chance to comfort her any further, a familiar voice from afar called for their attention.

"Agent Chavez?" whirling around, trying to mask the fact it had made her jump, Nancy quickly recognized Hotch's assertive tone. Grasping ahold of her brother's wrist, her look of reassurance was less than considering their newfound life-or-death circumstances.

"I'll be right back, okay?" her soft smile was forced, there was no hiding that. But Eddie was willing to do whatever he could to comfort his big sister.

"Woah, against horror movie rules!" he teased, earning a shove from both his older sister and her friend

"That's not fucking funny," she scolded. But Eddie only rolled his eyes, because he knew she could never be truly angry with him.

"I don't need a babysitter," pouting mockingly, Nancy took her little brother's cheek in her hand, squeezing his face between her index and her thumb.

"'Course not, little brother," softly, she let him go, delivering a short pat to the arm before approaching the awaiting unit chief, "Hotch,"

"Nancy," he nodded, concern softening his usually knitted brow, "What happened to your head?"

"Oh, you should see the other guy," Nancy chuckled nervously, still rather embarrassed about the whole thing. But her joke only seemed to make the unit chief more concerned. And so, to further explain, the young agent cleared her throat, gaze averted to the ground, "The other guy is a door," Hotch nodded, seemingly satisfied with the news that the minor injury was a simple accident.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Nancy hadn't meant to interrupt him so abruptly. It was a habit of hers that had gotten her in rather a lot of trouble with her superiors at the academy. But somehow Hotch was different. With this case, at least. Deciding to simply accept her response rather than push any further, Hotch lead Nancy to where two unfamiliar agents were speaking with a police officer. It had been years since Nancy had consulted with the BAU. Although the last time was a brief internship-like position offered after graduating from the academy.

"Agent Chavez, these are Supervisory Special Agents Prentiss, and Morgan," Nancy had to forcefully stop her eyes from widening. These guys were legendary. FBI academy teachings, training courses, and lectures alike held the BAU on a pedestal.

"Wow, I've... heard a lot about both of you," Morgan seemed much smugger to hear that, with Prentiss simply offering a soft smile

"Well, I hope it was all good,"

"Mostly," teased Nancy, even though she hadn't truthfully heard a single bad thing about the BAU.

"Mostly?" questioned Morgan, joking alongside the younger agent, "Who's got somethin' bad to say? Was it Riley?"

Nancy was visibly relieved at the sound of a familiar name. Or, what she assumed was one anyways. Agent Marshall Riley. Who had given up much of his time training junior agents at the academy before his time had to be fully committed to the BAU, "Haven't seen him yet actually,"

"No," Hotch's unmistakably serious tone seemed to remind the agents what they were truly doing "He and Agent Gideon are investigating the most recent crime scene," Nancy remembered the older Agent Gideon too. Only other agent to also be there the night Hotch came to her rescue. A hero of hers, as a founding member of the BAU.

Morgan nodded, hands buried in his pockets as Emily decided to break the somewhat awkward silence, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure, boss?" she questioned, eyes on Hotch as she gestured to the junior agent.

"Agent Chavez is on loan to us from the K9 training unit," he explained. Which earned confusion not only from his BAU team. Because that was most certainly not the expertise they were looking for in inviting Nancy to consult. In fact,