The Slasher of South Hill
A/N: A request from @dakota-dream for one where the reader’s father is a notorious serial killer (much like Ashley) and she doesn’t tell anyone (unlike Ashley, lol). One day, the case gets brought up again, because although her father is in prison, it is believed he may have a partner who has started up again. Although the two aren’t romantically involved, Spencer is right there comforting her and all that good shit. LOL @coveofmemories
The only one on the immediate team that knew was Hotch - and he had to know because of the background check you’d undergone when you started. You remember begging him not to tell anyone.
“What happens if it comes up?” he asked.
You mean someday someone might just come right out and ask, hey, Y/N, is your father a homicidal maniac? “You think that’s just going to come up in conversation, Hotch?” you said with a taut smile. “I don’t think it’s going to come up. If god forbid, someday, something comes about that leads us as a team back to my father, then I’ll come clean, but until that point, I really don’t feel like announcing that kind of information. Like, hello, my name is Y/N, and my father killed 10 women while I was in high school. Kind of a conversation killer.”
He smiled at your starkness. “I’ll of course keep it to myself, but just so you know, I’m sure everyone would be able to separate you from your father. You’re not the same.”
“No,” you said. Thank fucking god for that. “But I am who I am because of the disgusting and despicable things he did. And I really hate the idea of being associated with him. Hence the last name change.” As soon as you turned 18, you legally changed your last name to your mother’s maiden name. It was kind of an old lady last name, but it was sure as shit better than being associated with your father in any way.
He nodded your way - a silent affirmation that he would keep your deep, dark secret. As you left the office that day, you though that with any luck, nothing would ever lead the team back to your father and that way you’d never have to tell anyone about what he was doing in your neighborhood as you were asleep in your bed.
Now, as you stared at the TV screen, you took in the images before you, thinking how similar the two women looked to your father’s victims.
Your grandmother, his father, had tried to abort him when she was pregnant. She claimed she knew her child would be evil. But the failed attempt led her to give birth at eight months, and it was a troublesome birth at that. The cord was wrapped around his neck for an extended period of time. Honestly, your father probably didn’t stand a chance with the genes he’d inherited, the house he grew up in, and the traumatic birth he’d suffered. Even before he was born, his surroundings spelled serial killer.
While you were going to school and playing soccer, unaware of the insane bullshit that was about to unfold, your father was killing ten women in your neighborhood and the surrounding areas that looked an awful lot like your grandmother did when she was young. Your father’s case was so oedipal is was cliche.
As a home security installer, he had the best access anyone could possibly have. At the drop of a hat, he knew what women were vulnerable, how he could get into their homes, how long he could be there without getting caught, and so, could fully prepare whatever he needed to bring to their homes so he could torture them. Once inside, 100 positive that he wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone, he knocked the women out and tied them down to a bed, waiting for them to wake before he started his sadistic routine. First, he would make small cuts on their bodies with an extremely sharp knife - not enough to draw much blood, but enough to painful. You remember hearing a recording of one of his prison tapes where he said how that was always his favorite part, when they realized they would never make it out of their ordeal alive. It always happened quickly, but it was the part that made him the happiest. He would increase the depth and length of his cuts until the women were begging for death at which point he’d strangle them. After they were gone, he’d open them up, taking the reproductive organs as trophies. When he’d been caught, he proudly showed the authorities the ten jars he’d kept, the organs perfectly preserved so he could look at them whenever he wanted.
“Our two victims are suburban women, cut pre-mortem, strangled to death and then opened up post-mortem,” Hotch said. “The reproductive organs were removed.” When he looked at you, you could feel it. This would be the moment you’d have to share your deep, dark secret. The similarities were too much for this to be a coincidence.
As Spencer looked on, taking in each and every gory detail of the victims, he said what you’d hoped he wouldn’t. “The torture beforehand, the cause of death and the removal of the organs, plus the look of the victims make this look very much like the case of Kenneth Stanford, The Slasher of South Hill.”
Everyone started spewing out theories and possibilities as you sat there quietly, trying to build up the courage to say what you needed to say. Once you had, you gave Hotch a look. “Anything to add, Y/N?”
“You all know me as Y/F/N Y/L/N, but that’s my mother’s maiden name. Until I was 18, I was a Stanford. The Slasher of South Hill is my father.”