JJ continued to sift through the file in disbelief, “how can one small town have this many major events in just two years?”
Rossi shook his head, “a serial killer that makes their victims look like they were attacked by wolves, an opportunistic revenge killings by a sixteen year old, a swarm of high profile professional killers, nearly fifty found dead bleeding mercury, that one still unsolved and a town epidemic of ergot poisoning that made them nearly break into civil war against, and I'm not kidding, werewolves.”
“You left out one,” Prentiss said aiming a small smile at JJ.
The older man sighed. “Oh yes, no modern pagan religion practices human sacrifice, and yet this town has a serial kill nine to awaken a tree. A tree! That doesn't happen in the real world. It's the stuff of bad hollywood.”
Spencer Reid came in, and took a seat next to JJ. “This sounds like an interesting town.”
“The weird part is that nearly all the events involve a couple of local teenagers.” Prentiss laughed, “Scott McCall and M. 'Stiles’ Stilinski.”
“Interesting,” Reid said looking at the file. “I just met our new intern, Garcia is giving him the tour. His name is Mieczyslaw Stilinski, but he said to call him Stiles.”
“Can't be the same kid, can it? I mean it's a rare name, but what are the odds that he would even be interested in law enforcement after all this?” JJ asked weighing the giant file in her hands.
“Probably not as far off as you'd expect.” Reid pointed at something on a page. “Scott McCall's dad is in the bureau. He could have put in a good reference and psychologically speaking if a person is repeatedly found in situations like these it's because they put themselves into those positions. Someone who does that is either identifying with the killers or the ones trying to stop them.”
Prentiss nudged JJ. “A bag of Cheetos says this is the same guy.”
“No way I'm taking that bet. Those kids are a talking dog and a green van away from being the Scooby Gang.” Everyone laughed.
“We didn't have a talking dog, but Scott could be cast in the part of Scooby.” He thought for a second. “That makes Liam Scrappy, Lydia obviously Daphne, but like a weird parallel universe version, that is smarter than Velma.” A young man in late teens entered with a blond in a pink dress with cat eye glasses.
“If your best friend was Scooby does that make you Shaggy?” Garcia asked pointing a pen with a sparkling purple poof at the end.
He laughed and shook his head. “No. As the driver and the guy that dated the redhead, I'm Fred, but without the orange scarf. We also had Roscoe, my Jeep, instead of the had the Mystery Machine.”