"It's strange." Rossi looked around the room after entering and couldn't help but sigh.
"This house is actually quite cozy," Reid echoed everyone's opinion.
Just like the tool shed from before, everything from the entryway to the living room was in its proper place.
Shoes were neatly arranged in the shoe cabinet, hats hung on the coat rack, books on the bookshelves were all in their proper places, and even the magazines on the table were stacked by type for easy access.
"It's not obsessive-compulsive disorder, nor is it germaphobia." Jack said, his gloved fingers brushing across the bookshelves and wiping away the dust.
"The books are arranged neatly, but there's no categorization or any particular pattern. It's not obsessive-compulsive."
"It looks like it's cleaned regularly, not too dusty, but that's about it. Not to the point of being a germaphobe."
Reid snapped his fingers, suddenly realizing sothing. "This is like Jack's house."
The others turned to look, Jack replied. "My house isn't this clean either. I'm just a disciplined bachelor, not to this extent."
At least his sofa cushions are never tidied up because Hannah always sses them up when she cos over.
Hotchner's answer explained everyone's confusion: "It's like having a diligent homaker. Before my son was born, Haley would have kept the house this tidy."
"Did Francis really treat the won he abducted as slaves? But why did he kill them?" Emily was still puzzled.
"Hotchner" Rossi, who was pulling out the desks one by one, suddenly spoke up.
Hotchner, who was browsing the bookshelf, looked up at the sound. "What's wrong?"
"There are more videotapes with the nas of those missing won written on them." Rossi simply pulled out the drawer; all the videotapes were destroyed, the tapes inside torn into a tangled ss.
"These need to be repaired imdiately, and Garcia needs to clean them up as soon as possible." Hotchner picked up the drawer and went straight out to find the sheriff.
Emily and Reid entered the kitchen and imdiately saw a large cardboard sign on the wall titled "Rules," with numbered rules written on it in marker.
"One, all behavior must please the master."
"Two, any resistance will be punished."
"Is this the law of his kingdom?" Emily reached out and peeled off the cardboard; this thing could also be considered evidence.
"Note that the word 'master' is used in the singular and capitalized, emphasizing that there is only one master here."
Reid said as he took the only photograph on the refrigerator next to him. The photograph showed Francis holding a shotgun, standing under a rocky outcropping, also taken from a low angle.
"So you think his accomplices were more like his servants or slaves? And what was the status of those abducted won?" Emily examined the photograph in his hand.
"His tools for venting his frustrations." Jack walked to the kitchen doorway, tilting his head to signal them to follow him.
The two followed him curiously into a room that resembled a bedroom, with a bed and a wardrobe, but incongruously placed at one end was a bloodstained wooden torture chair — the kind with chains and leather restraints.
"He slowly tortured those won here; no wonder it took so long for a victim to appear." Reid said, feigning sudden realization.
"There's fresh blood here." Hotchner, who was inspecting the wardrobe, flung open the bottom shelf, revealing a hidden compartnt.
"The victims were hidden in here."
Emily picked up a copper instrunt resembling an egg beater from the dressing table, twisting it in her hand. "What is this?"
As she turned it, the pear-shaped head of the instrunt split into three like flower petals, slowly unfolding and looking quite unsettling.
"The Pear of Anguish, a dieval torture device." Dr. Reid, the encyclopedia expert, imdiately chid in.
Seeing Emily still puzzled, Jack added a further explanation.
"You can think of it as a torture version of a dical examination tool."
Emily imagined it for a mont, her hand trembling involuntarily, and she quickly put the thing back.
"Help out" Rossi called to Jack.
Together, they used their strength to prop up the seemingly ordinary wire bed in the center of the room against the wall.
Everyone was speechless with astonishnt. The back of the wire bed was densely covered with various homade torture devices.
These weren't the kind of amusing, whimsical items; they were true torture devices, each one stained with blood.
Even with Jack's extensive knowledge, he could only recognize a few of the instrunts: whips made of finely woven steel wire, which seed capable of whistling through the air with the slightest flick; iron hoods with hidden sharp teeth, which inflicted excruciating pain; and forks fixed to a collar, forcing the head high, or else the sharp forks would pierce the chin.
Whether it was an illusion or not, everyone staring at these horrific instrunts of torture involuntarily hugged their arms, as if the room temperature had instantly dropped, and a faint, almost imperceptible scream seed to linger in the eerie, cramped space.
"They laid plastic sheets or sothing similar on the floor, tortured those poor won to death, and then used them to wrap the bodies."
"Each of them suffered months of brutal torture; judging from these instrunts, the bodies were severely damaged."
Even having witnessed countless bloody and violent serial murders, Rossi was still outraged by this inhumane act.
"We must do everything we can to help the victims' families and comfort these souls."
Jack stepped out of the cabin, back into the sunlight, and rubbed his arms, the chilling feeling gradually dissipating.
"JJ has finished her examination and is on her way back. We have the physical characteristics of Francis's accomplice." Hotchner showed the sheriff and his n the sketches he had received on his phone.
"In his twenties, 5 feet 8 inches tall, slim build, but be careful, he carries several firearms and is lethal."
The sheriff finished assigning tasks to his n and was about to leave when Jack stopped him.
"Sheriff, surely soone nearby knows who Francis's accomplice is. Can you give us a hint about who we should contact?" Jack asked.
"Harris Townsend, the head of the militia here. He owns a bar called 'Station,' but I don't recomnd you go alone. They're very unfriendly to outsiders, especially federal police."
The sheriff spoke absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the three bodies dug from the flowerbed not far away, his expression a mixture of anger and pain.
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