Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Miss Jackson
Chapter One: No One's Gonna Find Miss Jackson
When the mind conjures up the image of a typical Behavioral Analysis Unit based in Sacramento, California, it is nothing like what is served.
If one has seen any of the stock-standard action movies that are produced by the dozen, the impression of clean-cut, American men and women saving the day springs to mind when the words 'FBI' are prompted.
In reality, however, it is a league of tattooed, hard-assed, multicultural idiots that are protecting the nation from the darker side of life. They're the bulletproof vest-clad heroes, saviors of the broken, the beaten and the damned, and they shouldn't be tending hangovers as they trudge bitterly through icy rain.
Mat York tended to ignore that last rule.
Grumbling, the 22-year-old pushed a strand of sopping wet, jet-black hair away from his eyes as he proceeded through the heavy wooden doors that would lead him to his workplace. The rush of tepid air that met his cool, damp skin was a pleasure - it filled the hollow cold buried in his body with gratifying warmth. Despite being from Tasmania, (a dismal, rainy place in itself) Mat had never gotten used to the feeling of an icy chill running down his spine.
Boarding the elevator that would show him to the second floor, the Tasmanian man let his mind wander for a few short moments. Working in the BAU, he was never told what he'd be doing from one day to the next - maybe it'd be a bus full of abducted children, perhaps it would be a sabotaged plane crash. He could never simply guess what would be waiting for him behind the mechanic steel doors of the elevator.
"Morning, Mat!" A sympathy-tinged voice greeted Mat as he stepped out of the elevator. Jay Meyer offered the male a sympathetic smile and a few Advil, watching as he flopped into a large leather chair, groaning.
"Don't ever, ever, ever let me go out drinking with Jack again."
"I hear my name?" Smirking, Jack Maddox leant against the doorframe, sandy-blonde fringe falling over his glasses that guarded cool turquoise eyes.
"I am going to kill you, I swear to god. I don't think I've ever had a hangover as bad as this one," the younger male groaned, clutching at his head with a dramatic sigh.
"You were totally up for it, don't go blaming me." Jack shook his head slightly, a bemused grin now smothering his lips as his eyes fixed on the tattooed man in front of him.
"I am going to fu-"
"Ahem."
Abruptly cutting Jack and Mat's mock-argument short, Sue Janson strode forwards, black patent-leather heels clicking on the hard linoleum floor as the middle-aged woman tutted loudly before clearing her throat. Once all eyes were fixed on her, Sue's own hazelly orbs flicked down to the iPad cradled in the nest of her right arm, projecting the image of a bloody woman up onto the large screen behind her.
"Hey, I think I know that face!" Jack's eyes widened as he examined the broken woman displayed on the screen.
"Do you watch porn?" At Sue's cold words, the tech worker blushed, a soft rose pink color arising on his otherwise olive-toned cheeks.
"Boys, you should know this face - this is Victoria Brooke, known professionally as 'The Cobra Queen'. She's a porn star-" a whispered comment of 'with those tits, of course she is' was made- "and she was found dead this morning, 6:30 AM. Her assistant, Maria Courtenay, was the one to find her. We have Ms. Courtenay in questioning, along with the victim's ex-boyfriend, her manager and her bodyguard. Mat, I want you to go look at the crime scene. Take Jay, Nate and Valerie with you. You know what to do, don't you, Jack? All the rest of you, please stay here."
Nodding at Jay, a pink-haired woman and his brother, Mat stood up, stretching out his arms and legs before making a beeline towards the door, but not before pushing past Jack to murmur 'nasty, man, didn't need to know you got off to her'.
**
"Hot," Valerie Middlesboro stated bluntly as her startlingly bright emerald eyes fixed on the naked body sprawled grotesquely in front of her.
"Val, seriously, now is not the time." Jay shook her head as she flitted agitatedly around the crime scene, giving it the casual once-over before turning to Nate York, who was bent over the bloody body.
"Like Sue said, definite signs of sexual and physical abuse. There's bruises round her wrists and ankles, maybe she was tied up?" Nate's words caused Mat to cock a brow, snatching a pair of gloves from the box Valerie was gripping. Pulling them on, he lifted one of the girl's wrists up, examining the purple bruising carefully.
"These weren't made with rope, they were made with something harder - steel, maybe?" Mat knit his brows as he continued to examine the body, whereas Nate was now browsing the room, lips knotted in a tight line as he searched the room for any indication of a murder weapon.
"Unsub's left nothing behind," he commented icily as his fingers latched round a drawer handle, yanking it open.
"Absolutely nothin'," Jay agreed, down on her knees now, poking and prodding lightly at the body.
"Maybe we should consider that this wasn't the location of the murder?" Valerie tilted her head, gaze fixing on Nate's. Nodding once, the younger York bit his lip in thought.
"Is there anywhere else Ms. Asher would work?" Nate's eyes glinted for a moment.
"Don't think so. All the videos were taped here." Mat shook his head, letting off a dejected sigh when he saw the gleam in his brother's eyes dissipate.
"Guys, I don't think our unsub's male." Shaking her head vehemently, Valerie held up a bra, eyebrows raised suspiciously.
**
"Adult film star Victoria Brooke was found dead in her studio this morning," the newsreader announced, worry tinting his voice.
"The FBI suggest foul play, but no autopsy has been carried out. More at 11."
A shadowy figure smirks, tilting its head back to let loose a seductive, dark laugh.
"They 'suggest' foul play? Honey, I wrote foul fucking play all over her filthy whore body." Bending down to stroke a spidery, pale finger across a wriggling brunette's cheek, the figure's strikingly bright hazel eyes narrowed.
"They're not gonna find you at all, Miss Jackson. They're not gonna find any fuckin' one of ya'."
The figure clicked it's fingers, and the room was illuminated. Chains rattled, and muffled screams filled the padded room.
When the mind conjures up the image of a typical Behavioral Analysis Unit based in Sacramento, California, it is nothing like what is served.
If one has seen any of the stock-standard action movies that are produced by the dozen, the impression of clean-cut, American men and women saving the day springs to mind when the words 'FBI' are prompted.
In reality, however, it is a league of tattooed, hard-assed, multicultural idiots that are protecting the nation from the darker side of life. They're the bulletproof vest-clad heroes, saviors of the broken, the beaten and the damned, and they shouldn't be tending hangovers as they trudge bitterly through icy rain.
Mat York tended to ignore that last rule.
Grumbling, the 22-year-old pushed a strand of sopping wet, jet-black hair away from his eyes as he proceeded through the heavy wooden doors that would lead him to his workplace. The rush of tepid air that met his cool, damp skin was a pleasure - it filled the hollow cold buried in his body with gratifying warmth. Despite being from Tasmania, (a dismal, rainy place in itself) Mat had never gotten used to the feeling of an icy chill running down his spine.
Boarding the elevator that would show him to the second floor, the Tasmanian man let his mind wander for a few short moments. Working in the BAU, he was never told what he'd be doing from one day to the next - maybe it'd be a bus full of abducted children, perhaps it would be a sabotaged plane crash. He could never simply guess what would be waiting for him behind the mechanic steel doors of the elevator.
"Morning, Mat!" A sympathy-tinged voice greeted Mat as he stepped out of the elevator. Jay Meyer offered the male a sympathetic smile and a few Advil, watching as he flopped into a large leather chair, groaning.
"Don't ever, ever, ever let me go out drinking with Jack again."
"I hear my name?" Smirking, Jack Maddox leant against the doorframe, sandy-blonde fringe falling over his glasses that guarded cool turquoise eyes.
"I am going to kill you, I swear to god. I don't think I've ever had a hangover as bad as this one," the younger male groaned, clutching at his head with a dramatic sigh.
"You were totally up for it, don't go blaming me." Jack shook his head slightly, a bemused grin now smothering his lips as his eyes fixed on the tattooed man in front of him.
"I am going to fu-"
"Ahem."
Abruptly cutting Jack and Mat's mock-argument short, Sue Janson strode forwards, black patent-leather heels clicking on the hard linoleum floor as the middle-aged woman tutted loudly before clearing her throat. Once all eyes were fixed on her, Sue's own hazelly orbs flicked down to the iPad cradled in the nest of her right arm, projecting the image of a bloody woman up onto the large screen behind her.
"Hey, I think I know that face!" Jack's eyes widened as he examined the broken woman displayed on the screen.
"Do you watch porn?" At Sue's cold words, the tech worker blushed, a soft rose pink color arising on his otherwise olive-toned cheeks.
"Boys, you should know this face - this is Victoria Brooke, known professionally as 'The Cobra Queen'. She's a porn star-" a whispered comment of 'with those tits, of course she is' was made- "and she was found dead this morning, 6:30 AM. Her assistant, Maria Courtenay, was the one to find her. We have Ms. Courtenay in questioning, along with the victim's ex-boyfriend, her manager and her bodyguard. Mat, I want you to go look at the crime scene. Take Jay, Nate and Valerie with you. You know what to do, don't you, Jack? All the rest of you, please stay here."
Nodding at Jay, a pink-haired woman and his brother, Mat stood up, stretching out his arms and legs before making a beeline towards the door, but not before pushing past Jack to murmur 'nasty, man, didn't need to know you got off to her'.
**
"Hot," Valerie Middlesboro stated bluntly as her startlingly bright emerald eyes fixed on the naked body sprawled grotesquely in front of her.
"Val, seriously, now is not the time." Jay shook her head as she flitted agitatedly around the crime scene, giving it the casual once-over before turning to Nate York, who was bent over the bloody body.
"Like Sue said, definite signs of sexual and physical abuse. There's bruises round her wrists and ankles, maybe she was tied up?" Nate's words caused Mat to cock a brow, snatching a pair of gloves from the box Valerie was gripping. Pulling them on, he lifted one of the girl's wrists up, examining the purple bruising carefully.
"These weren't made with rope, they were made with something harder - steel, maybe?" Mat knit his brows as he continued to examine the body, whereas Nate was now browsing the room, lips knotted in a tight line as he searched the room for any indication of a murder weapon.
"Unsub's left nothing behind," he commented icily as his fingers latched round a drawer handle, yanking it open.
"Absolutely nothin'," Jay agreed, down on her knees now, poking and prodding lightly at the body.
"Maybe we should consider that this wasn't the location of the murder?" Valerie tilted her head, gaze fixing on Nate's. Nodding once, the younger York bit his lip in thought.
"Is there anywhere else Ms. Asher would work?" Nate's eyes glinted for a moment.
"Don't think so. All the videos were taped here." Mat shook his head, letting off a dejected sigh when he saw the gleam in his brother's eyes dissipate.
"Guys, I don't think our unsub's male." Shaking her head vehemently, Valerie held up a bra, eyebrows raised suspiciously.
**
"Adult film star Victoria Brooke was found dead in her studio this morning," the newsreader announced, worry tinting his voice.
"The FBI suggest foul play, but no autopsy has been carried out. More at 11."
A shadowy figure smirks, tilting its head back to let loose a seductive, dark laugh.
"They 'suggest' foul play? Honey, I wrote foul fucking play all over her filthy whore body." Bending down to stroke a spidery, pale finger across a wriggling brunette's cheek, the figure's strikingly bright hazel eyes narrowed.
"They're not gonna find you at all, Miss Jackson. They're not gonna find any fuckin' one of ya'."
The figure clicked it's fingers, and the room was illuminated. Chains rattled, and muffled screams filled the padded room.
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