Nine years. [i]Nine years[/i]. That was how long they had stuck around the girl. Only on her tenth birthday, was the first time they had saw her. They watched her behind those soulless eyes; empty eye-sockets, cerulean, and ocean-blue. Through these eyes, there was a sense behind their two-inch bodies. And every move she made, was taken in by those seemingly-soulless eyes. Questions. [i]Questions.[/i] They were the first thing they had thought when their eyes met with the five-foot girl. Every time they had been picked up, put down, and moved around, they swore there was something between humans and their toys. As far as they knew her, she was theirs; the only person who has ever held them, apart from the girl's mother. No other human talked to her; no one said "hello" to her. Then, there was belief: She chose [b]them[/b], the only companions who have ever listened to her, but never (couldn't) speak back. But, somehow, Rachel understood them. It was a fair trade: She understood them, they return the favor. But, sometimes, it felt like it was never enough. 

Sometimes, they just wished to [b]experience[/b] her, at great lengths.

Nearly midnight. The clock was ticking, again. The lights were dimmed, and only a few people remained at the hospital. The camera lights blinked momentarily at every second passing by. That one camera was positioned to view the whole hallway of the rooms that the patients have retired. The nearest room in the camera-shot, was Rachel's own, and the door mysteriously opening on its own wasn't caught unnoticed by the security guard in another room. He watched the door strangely opening on the computer screen. Those doors were heavy and they were locked every night. Every window was closed, so air drafts weren't possible. The door, was [i]locked[/i], and something he couldn't see, was [i]moving[/i] it! Suddenly, just before he could conclude a possibility, just as he sat up straight, something...[b]something[/b] wrapped around his neck, and the pressure was getting heavier and heavier on his throat. A cord was wrapped around his neck, choking him, and then, there was a blade slicing fast across the throat, slitting it. A surgical tool, making the slice, was in the grip of the assailant, and the life essence was leaving the man. There was a twitch, and he fell forward, face-first, atop the desk; the blood leaving him on top of the wooden surface. 

The unsub watched the scene with blankness, and with the bloody tool in-hand, he (that's right, it was a "he") walked out of the room, carefully closing the room behind him, and leaving the corpse behind, forgotten. Just as he crossed into the hallway, he then dropped the bloody tool on the ground, just leaving it there, as he moved through the hall, like a shadow (reminiscent to his dark clothing); his boots making light thumps on the floor...just before the lights flickered again.