The Lost Ones, 14/?
Special Agent in Charge Maxwell Wellington of the Violent Crimes task force stared at his clock. It was 10.47a.m. For the last seven and a half months, Emily Prentiss had consistently arrived before 8 a.m. It was a dedication that he failed to see from some of the more seasoned agents.
And yet, it was 10.47a.m. on the day she was due back, and her desk remained untouched. It was highly uncharacteristic. No matter how hard he was on her, she wouldn’t show up late just to spite him.
Then, he remembered the address she had left him, the last words she had spoken before storming out of the office. “Maybe next time I’ll just stay around make sure that my desk is sufficiently polished instead of trying to catch a killer.”
Shit.
She’d gone and checked it out herself. And now she wasn’t showing up for work.
This was bad.
Who had she been with? Pearson’s partner. They would have checked out the address together, of that Wellington had no doubt. Prentiss was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
Sighing, he picked up the phone, and dialed the phone number of Lieutenant Daniel Heller. He had the feeling that this was going to be a long day.
* * *
Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was on the phone to his fiancée, Haley, when walked up to his desk. Thirty-three years old, Hotch, as he had been affectionately labeled by his colleagues, had been in the Behavioral Analysis Unit for a little more than three years, firstly under the command of the legendary David Rossi, and more recently that of Gideon.
‘Got a case,’ Gideon mouthed. Hotch nodded, finishing up his conversation. As soon as he had returned the handset to its cradle, Gideon handed him the file.
‘It’s an interesting one,’ the older profiler commented. ‘Chicago - A young homeless man disappears, and then a police officer and an FBI agent investigate, and then they disappear too. No bodies recovered. No other evidence.’
Hotch flipped through the file, staring at the photos of the missing persons. He paused.
‘You know one of them?’ Gideon asked, reading the expression on Hotch’s face.
‘I know the FBI agent,’ answered Hotch. ‘I worked for her mother, about seven years ago. Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss.’
Gideon nodded. ‘Did you want to take point on this one?’
Hotch frowned. He’d never taken a solo case before.
‘I think you’re ready,’ shrugged Gideon. ‘Besides, I have consults to do.’
Hotch picked up the phone again. It looked like he wouldn’t be going home any time soon.
* * *
They’d talked a lot.
That’s all there really was to do; sleep, and talk.
It had been over thirty-six hours since they had awoken in the small cell, and it almost felt as though they knew a good deal of what there was to know about each other. Favorite food, favorite movie, favorite color. That was just the tip of the ice-berg. After all, what better place was there to bare your soul? What better place to confess your sins?
Morgan had told her his greatest demon; it was only fair that she should reciprocate.
That didn’t make it any easier.
‘…I was fifteen years old, in a foreign country. I couldn’t tell my parents, and let’s face it; an abortion is pretty hard to get in the Roman Catholic capital of the world.’ There were tears running down her cheeks, and yet she could not remember having started to cry. Hell, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had cried. Crying wasn’t something that was done without very good reason in the Prentiss household. ‘I had a friend…Matthew - he helped me find a doctor. He sacrificed everything to help me; I ruined his life with my stupid mistake, and now, I can’t help but think…what if it was a mistake? What if that was my only chance to have kids? Have I screwed that up too?’
Morgan pulled her closer towards him, arms tightening around her waist. The air-conditioner had been long since, yet they remained close - as much to have psychological comfort as well as physical comfort.
‘God, I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I know it’s nothing - nothing - compared to what you went through, but…I’ve never told anyone before today.’
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, kissing the top of her hair. ‘There’s still plenty of time left. We’re going to make it out of here alive.’
If she was going to die, Emily reasoned, the company was pretty good.
And with that thought, they heard the sound of the door unlocking. Things were about to get interesting.
And yet, it was 10.47a.m. on the day she was due back, and her desk remained untouched. It was highly uncharacteristic. No matter how hard he was on her, she wouldn’t show up late just to spite him.
Then, he remembered the address she had left him, the last words she had spoken before storming out of the office. “Maybe next time I’ll just stay around make sure that my desk is sufficiently polished instead of trying to catch a killer.”
Shit.
She’d gone and checked it out herself. And now she wasn’t showing up for work.
This was bad.
Who had she been with? Pearson’s partner. They would have checked out the address together, of that Wellington had no doubt. Prentiss was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
Sighing, he picked up the phone, and dialed the phone number of Lieutenant Daniel Heller. He had the feeling that this was going to be a long day.
* * *
Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was on the phone to his fiancée, Haley, when walked up to his desk. Thirty-three years old, Hotch, as he had been affectionately labeled by his colleagues, had been in the Behavioral Analysis Unit for a little more than three years, firstly under the command of the legendary David Rossi, and more recently that of Gideon.
‘Got a case,’ Gideon mouthed. Hotch nodded, finishing up his conversation. As soon as he had returned the handset to its cradle, Gideon handed him the file.
‘It’s an interesting one,’ the older profiler commented. ‘Chicago - A young homeless man disappears, and then a police officer and an FBI agent investigate, and then they disappear too. No bodies recovered. No other evidence.’
Hotch flipped through the file, staring at the photos of the missing persons. He paused.
‘You know one of them?’ Gideon asked, reading the expression on Hotch’s face.
‘I know the FBI agent,’ answered Hotch. ‘I worked for her mother, about seven years ago. Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss.’
Gideon nodded. ‘Did you want to take point on this one?’
Hotch frowned. He’d never taken a solo case before.
‘I think you’re ready,’ shrugged Gideon. ‘Besides, I have consults to do.’
Hotch picked up the phone again. It looked like he wouldn’t be going home any time soon.
* * *
They’d talked a lot.
That’s all there really was to do; sleep, and talk.
It had been over thirty-six hours since they had awoken in the small cell, and it almost felt as though they knew a good deal of what there was to know about each other. Favorite food, favorite movie, favorite color. That was just the tip of the ice-berg. After all, what better place was there to bare your soul? What better place to confess your sins?
Morgan had told her his greatest demon; it was only fair that she should reciprocate.
That didn’t make it any easier.
‘…I was fifteen years old, in a foreign country. I couldn’t tell my parents, and let’s face it; an abortion is pretty hard to get in the Roman Catholic capital of the world.’ There were tears running down her cheeks, and yet she could not remember having started to cry. Hell, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had cried. Crying wasn’t something that was done without very good reason in the Prentiss household. ‘I had a friend…Matthew - he helped me find a doctor. He sacrificed everything to help me; I ruined his life with my stupid mistake, and now, I can’t help but think…what if it was a mistake? What if that was my only chance to have kids? Have I screwed that up too?’
Morgan pulled her closer towards him, arms tightening around her waist. The air-conditioner had been long since, yet they remained close - as much to have psychological comfort as well as physical comfort.
‘God, I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I know it’s nothing - nothing - compared to what you went through, but…I’ve never told anyone before today.’
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, kissing the top of her hair. ‘There’s still plenty of time left. We’re going to make it out of here alive.’
If she was going to die, Emily reasoned, the company was pretty good.
And with that thought, they heard the sound of the door unlocking. Things were about to get interesting.