Chapter 12: Simple, Really
Chapter 12: Simple, Really
I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in't; I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth 5.5
Residence of Jonah Thomas
"Hutchens, call for backup," Hotch ordered. "We just got our probable cause."
"We can't wait that long, Hotch," Prentiss protested. "Buddy could be hurt or dying; it'll take Dixon 45 minutes to get out here."
"There could be more traps," Reid said. "It's risky."
Hotch studied the house for a long moment; the air around him vibrated with tension. Reid was right, and he didn't like it, but he wasn't sure they had a choice. "I think it's a chance we'll have to take. Proceed slowly and stay observant. Morgan and Reid, Rossi and Hutchens; Prentiss, you're with me. Don't lose sight of your partner, and keep your radio line open."
"We'll take the house," Morgan said. "Let's go, Reid." They drew their weapons and began carefully creeping up the porch steps.
Rossi and Hutchens headed for a group of outbuildings off to the left, and Hotch and Prentiss made their way around the house. A Ford pickup was parked in the gravel drive; it was several years old, but it gleamed in the dull late-morning sun. The backyard was empty except for the truck; a barn rose ahead of them, and Hotch made a silent gesture toward it.
They moved cautiously across the barnyard. Hotch indicated a smaller door to the left of the huge barn doors, and after a careful check for any wiring, he reached for the handle.
The door swung open on silent hinges. It was dark inside, and quiet; the agents flipped on their flashlights and shone them around the empty space. "I don't think he's here," Prentiss finally said as her shoulders sagged in defeat.
Before Hotch could agree, a series of muffled booms rent the still air. They exchanged wide-eyed, frightened glances, and Hotch was reaching for his radio when Rossi's voice crackled through it. "Hotch, I think we found another trap."
"Are you ok? What happened?" he demanded.
"We're fine; looks like a propane tank rigged to a floor switch. Hutchens noticed it, and we were able to get out just in time. Can't say the same for the chickens, though; the entire coop just went up in flames."
"What else was over there?"
"Not sure. It's a damn mess; if he and Buddy were in here, they're gone now."
"Shit," Prentiss muttered.
"Get back to the car," Hotch said into the radio. "Wait there for backup. I'm pulling Reid and Morgan from the house, too."
Prentiss made an angry, frustrated little noise in the back of her throat. She could only imagine what Buddy must be going through, if he were even still alive. The house could easily be rigged, too, and they could lose any chance of ever finding Jonah Thomas and his innocent captive.
"Why haven't there been any traps in here?" Hotch said.
The thought had just occurred to her, as well. If the coops and other outbuildings were rigged, along with the doorbell - why would he leave the barn trap-free? She stopped pacing and shone her light more carefully into the shadowy corners; along the dirt floor. There didn't seem to be anything amiss. She turned back to the Unit Chief with a shake of her head. "I don't see anything; maybe this building-" Her light gleamed off something in the shadows, and she raised her weapon. "Hotch, get down!"
He didn't hesitate; threw himself to the floor. Three shots whizzed over his head, and he heard the heavy sound of a body striking hard-packed dirt.
Prentiss let out a long exhale; stepped around Hotch and kicked something aside. "Are you ok?" she asked him without looking around.
"I'm fine. What just happened?" He rose on legs that shook ever so slightly and brushed the dirt from his vest and formerly immaculate suit. He turned just as Prentiss knelt beside the prone form to check for a pulse. After a moment she gave a shake of her head.
"Gone," she said. "He was skulking, sir." She pointed out the object she had kicked. "I think that would've done some serious damage."
It was a fireplace poker, and it still had a hint of its red-hot glow. "Skulking," he said after a moment. "You sound like Reid."
Her mouth quirked. "I just saved your life; I can sound like whomever I damn well please." A beat. "Sir."
"Hotch, I think we've got something," Morgan's voice said through the radio. "There's a basement, and Reid said it's wired like the front door."
"I thought there weren't any basements in this part of Mississippi," Prentiss said.
Hotch eyed her a moment. "We've got a man down, probably the UNSUB," he told Morgan. "Rossi and Hutchens nearly got blown to hell along with the chickens, so I'm ordering both of you out of that house. Don't let Reid get any Mr. Wizard style ideas."
"Hotch, it looks like the lock is controlled by some sort of code. I'm not sure if I can break it," Reid said.
"I don't want you to try. There's no telling what the consequences could be if you get it wrong."
"There's somebody down there," Morgan said. "I don't know how much time we have."
"Buddy," Prentiss said. Helpless frustration roiled through her; he could be in pain, dying, and they couldn't get to him. She'd killed the only person who knew the combination, and she had no idea if they could get through the door in time.
"He quoted Bible verses and lines from Malleus Maleficarum. Maybe he…" Reid's voice trailed off, and Hotch had a vision of the faraway look the young genius got when his brain was hard at work.
"Reid, listen to me. You are not to touch that lock. Do you understand? Reid! Reid, do you copy!"
"Do you understand? Reid! Reid, do you copy!" Hotch's voice barked through the radio. It barely registered as Reid concentrated on the keypad before him; numbers raced through his head; he imagined and discarded dozens of possible combinations.
"Reid, I think he's serious. We should get out of here," Morgan said. "One of these traps nearly killed me; you've got no idea what you might be dealing with."
"No, Morgan, I can get it. Just give me a minute."
"Reid-"
"Quiet, please. I'm thinking," he snapped. He tapped a series of buttons, and the combination was rejected. Reid ran both hands through his messy hair; snagged long, thin fingers among the tangled curls. The slight pain seemed to jog his mind, and his face suddenly cleared with the light of epiphany. "Eureka," he muttered as he typed again. This time the light turned green and the door swished open. "That's Greek, you know," he told Morgan. "It means 'I've found it.'"
Morgan wasn't really amused, and he didn't really have time for a language lesson. He pushed past the younger agent and moved slowly down the stairs, weapon ready. The smell of burnt flesh hit him almost instantly; he fought the urge to gag.
"What's that noise?" Reid whispered.
"I don't know," Morgan said with slow shake of his head. "It sounds like water running."
Reid's deep-set eyes went wide. "Water!" Now he was the one to push Morgan out of the way, and he ran down the steps at full speed.
"Reid!" Morgan cried. "God damn it."
The basement room was small, little more than a cellar designed to hold canned goods and other supplies. It was completely lined in stone. A heated brazier was set against one wall; various metal implements poked out of the cooling coals. A chair was bolted to the floor; it had leather shackles at the neck, wrists and ankles.
What brought Morgan up short at the base of the stairs was the sight of his skinny partner wrestling with something in a huge aquarium. Water flew everywhere, and the young agent was soaked. Morgan tried to make sense of what he was seeing; was there some man-eating fish that had attacked Reid? Or…
His mind cleared, and he realized the fish was actually a man, tied at the wrists and ankles, and Reid was trying to pull him out of the tank. Morgan hurried forward to help, and together they dragged him clear. He wasn't breathing.
"The float test," Reid gasped. "A suspected witch was thrown in a pond, and if she floated she was innocent. If she sank, she was guilty."
Morgan cut the bonds around Lester's wrists and began CPR. Reid radioed for help, and Hotch's furious voice echoed through the tiny basement.
"I told you not to go in there alone!"
"Yell at him later," Morgan said. "Right now we've got an unconscious man who needs medical assistance." He pumped Buddy's chest; blew more air into his unresponsive mouth. As he began compressions once again, the man beneath his hands suddenly let out a choking cough. Morgan turned him onto his side, and water spluttered from between his lips.
"You're ok, man," Morgan said, patting his back. "It's gonna be ok."
He was nude, and the two agents couldn't help but notice the savage burns all over his body. "You're gonna be ok, Buddy," Morgan repeated. "Just try to breathe. Just breathe."FBI jet en route to Quantico, VA
"I just want to know how you figured out the combination," Prentiss said to Reid. She passed him a cup of coffee and scooted past him to the window seat next to his; the other agents quietly stopped what they were doing to pay attention.
"It was pretty simple, really," he said modestly. "I remembered the Bible passages he had quoted from, and I used those numbers in combination with a simple numeric code. Then I took the Malleus Maleficarum passage, combined with the scorecard he left for us, and I-" He noticed Prentiss' blank look; he cleared his throat awkwardly and took a sip of scalding coffee. "Ow," he muttered when it burned his tongue.
"Sounds simple," she said.
"I like math," he offered with a small, pained smile.
"I don't understand how Buddy survived," J.J. said. "If Thomas put him in the tank before he went to find Hotch and Prentiss in the barn, he must've been in there 10, 15 minutes."
"He left the tank only half full," Reid said. "When I failed at the combination the first time, the rest of the water poured in. That's when…that's when Buddy started to drown." He looked down into his coffee cup; his expression was haunted.
"If you had waited for the rest of us-" Rossi began.
"It wouldn't have mattered," Hotch said. "Reid is probably the only person who could have figured it out. If it had taken any longer, Buddy would've died."
"If I had gotten it right the first time, he wouldn't have drowned at all."
Hotch's brows rose. "Water was leaking into the tank, Reid. It would've filled eventually; probably before any of us could have cracked that code."
"So I'm not fired?" he asked with a weak smile.
"Not this time. But we will need to talk when we get back."
"You did a good thing, kid," Morgan said. "Just don't get too cocky."
Reid made some reply, and Rossi offered his opinion, but Prentiss let it all fade out. She watched the clouds out the window and considered. They'd just left their second small town in as many weeks, and just like in Alaska, the town would never be the same again. She wished the world were different. She wished people were different.
She pressed her hand against the cold window.
More than anything, she wished for a little peace. They all needed it. She wondered, as they flew above the earth in their little cocoon of quiet toward home and the next case of horror and depravity, if any of them could ever hope to find such a simple, wholesome thing after all that they'd seen.
She had to believe they could.
Each one has to find his own peace from within. And peace to be real must be unaffected by outside circumstances.
-Mahatma Gandhi