An Imitation of a Light - Part Four
An Imitation of a Light
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: depiction of torture, violence (and another unpleasant death)
Part Four
Hotch woke laid out on a cold concrete floor, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He groaned, rolling over onto his back, and squinting up at the ceiling. The room was lit by a single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. The light didn’t quite reach the sides of the room, leaving the corners in darkness.
And then there was the smell, one that Hotch recognised from countless crime scenes; old blood mixed with human waste. The room smelt exactly as he expected an unsub’s torture chamber to smell.
Somehow that was disappointing.
The last thing he could remember, before waking, was closing the car door, his phone out and in his other hand. He couldn’t remember what had happened next. All he could think was that he’d been knocked out, somehow, in the middle of the car park, within sight of the Sheriff’s office, in broad daylight, without a single person noticing.
He frowned at the ceiling, there was something nagging at him, as though he could almost remember what had happened; or maybe, there was something he knew he should know.
Hotch sighed, shaking his head, frustrated, only to still, the movement having made him nauseous, and causing the pain in his head to flare. It felt like his head was in a vise, one that was slowly being edged closed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. Whatever it was that had been used to knock him out, it was making his nauseous, and was probably the cause of his headache. He couldn’t think what it might be, though he knew, if his head had been a little clearer, had felt a little less like it was stuffed full of cotton, he would have been able to name what had been used on him.
The only good thing, he supposed, was that his kidnapper hadn’t hit him. Drugs were better than a beating. The effects of drugs wore off; the effects of a concussion could last for weeks.
Though drugs could be worse than a concussion. It was just a matter of what drugs were used.
Hotch shuddered, trying not to let images of Reid in Georgia, as he’d looked via grainy video feed, invade his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past, or what could be, he needed to move, assess his situation.
He waited until he’d gotten the urge to throw up under control before he rolled onto his front again, pushing himself into a kneeling position. He wasn’t tied up; there was nothing other than the after effects of the drugs to limit his movements.
The door would be locked. That much he could guess. Windows, if there were any, and he couldn’t see any, would be barred and locked as well. He wouldn’t have been left unbound unless there was something else to keep him were they wanted him to be.
Hotch did his best not to think about the warehouse in St Louis. He wasn’t in a maze, there wasn’t going to be some series of challenges preventing him escaping. His captor wasn’t going to toy with him, dangling the hope of escape in front of him, just to snatch it away at the last moment.
He wished, suddenly, that he didn’t find it so easy to draw cases to mind. His own imagination alone would have been bad enough, but fuelled with knowledge, it was even worse. He couldn’t argue that no one was capable of doing the things he was imagining.
He took a moment to consider who might have taken him, though it was difficult to focus. If he’d been taken by the unsub, and odds where he had, he would tortured and then he would be killed.
Hotch could list the ways that he wasn’t going to die. The unsub didn’t seem to like repeats. Each one of the unsub’s victims had died in a different way, but there were still plenty of options left.
Hotch winced, trying not to think of all of the different ways he knew people could be killed. There were times when he wished that he didn’t know so much about death. About the ways a person could be made to suffer.
So many reasons to wish to have a different job. To have chosen a different career.
He managed to stand on his second attempt, swaying a little. There wasn’t anything close by that he could use to keep himself upright. He swallowed hard, waiting for the room to stop spinning before he took a step forward, moving towards the wall. He could prop himself up and take a proper look around, or he could walk around the room, one hand against the wall.
There was no way he would be able to get around the room without support. Not with the way he felt.
Hotch stumbled twice crossing the short distance to the wall, and was aware of various aches and pains, all over his body. It felt like he’d fallen or been dragged at some point; he idly catalogued that piece of information with everything he could remember from the files. There was a good chance the unsub was smaller than Hotch.
Hotch leaned against the wall, turning so that he was facing the rest of the room, fighting to focus. His vision was a bit blurred, and the semi-darkness didn’t help as he tried to figure out the layout of the room. It looked like there was a bed against the wall opposite him, the sheets rumpled and stained. Hotch shuddered, remembering the photos of Scott Monroe. He didn’t want, or need, to cross the room to look. It was enough to confirm, in Hotch’s clouded thoughts, it was the same unsub.
Hotch looked away from the bed. There was a chair in the corner closest to the bed, but it was too far into the shadows for Hotch to see if there was any blood on or around it. He guessed there was. The unsub didn’t seem to bother cleaning up after himself; the smell and the state of the bed told Hotch that much.
It was even possible the unsub was leaving the evidence behind on purpose.
If the unsub treated all of his victims the way he was treating Hotch, it seemed likely that everything about the situation was planned. He left the traces of his other kills, his other torture sessions visible for his next victim to see. They could stumble into the pools of blood, or just keep as much distance they could, dreaming up all of the things that could have caused them.
The unsub was letting his victims’ imaginations do some of his work for him.
Hotch tried not to think about the victims then, but as he turned he caught sight of manacles on the other wall, and it was a struggle not to give in to the nausea. He was thankful that he hadn’t headed in that direction. He couldn’t see any blood, if there was any, but he could fit each section of the room to a certain victim. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool wall.
His chest ached, and his throat felt raw and he thought that maybe a concussion would be better than the aftereffects of drugs after all.
Hotch had just opened his eyes again when he heard a bolt sliding back. His gaze was drawn to his right, to the wall between him and the bed, and the door that was just visible in the half light. There wasn’t a door frame, but there was a handle, and beneath that there was a lock. Another bolt slid, and the handle spun, then the door swung open.
-
Four hours after Hotch disappeared, they had started looking into Milton’s history. The Sheriff has assigned two of his deputies to look into Hotch’s disappearance, promising Rossi he would keep the team informed.
It didn’t make Hotch’s absence any easier to bear, but at least they knew if they were wrong, if there was another unsub, there were people looking into it. There was a part of Rossi that badly wanted to put in a call to Strauss, have another team sent out to cover that possibility, but he knew that it was stupid.
And more than that, he knew Hotch wouldn’t like it one bit. Under different circumstances, Rossi might have said ‘screw it’, and lived through whatever lecture Aaron delivered once they’d rescued him, but his instincts were telling him to leave it.
To their eyes, Hotch might not fit the unsub’s victim type, but they could be missing something. They could even be wrong about part of the unsub’s motivation, the kids could be a coincidence, something the unsub had factored in to trick them.
The guy was smart, getting away with four murders all so well planned, proved that much.
Rossi jumped a little as the laptop next to him beeped, Garcia appearing on screen, looking a little more frazzled than Rossi could remember her looking for a long time. He didn’t need to guess why.
It wasn’t just that Hotch was missing and she was worried. They had said that they were treating Hotch as a victim, and had meant Garcia had looked into Hotch’s history as well as Milton’s.
The team all knew Hotch was a private man, sometimes he shared bits of his past with them, but not often. Rossi thought that even Prentiss talked about her family more than Hotch did his.
“Hey kiddo, how you doing?” The others looked up when Rossi spoke, then drifted over when they spotted Garcia on the laptop screen.
“Wishing that I could time travel, but as I obviously can’t, I have been looking at Milton, and Hotch’s, public records. There’s nothing there to suggest why the unsub chose them. Not that it matters with Milton, because you guys have already figured out why, but I checked anyway.” Garcia took a deep breath once she’d finished. Rossi could fill in the blanks; they hadn’t found anything in the public records for the other victims either, so much hadn’t been officially reported when it should have been.
Rossi found himself wondering about the kinds of skeletons that could possibly be hiding in Aaron’s past that might have drawn the attention of the unsub.
“You didn’t find anything in the records for the other victims either.” Morgan’s voice is harsh, and Garcia winces a little. It didn’t need to be said, and Rossi took a moment to be angry with Morgan, then he just mourned the loss of their normal banter.
“I can tell you that Milton has lived in the area for his whole life, that he’s married, but doesn’t have any children, and he hasn’t got a criminal record.” All things that Rossi and Prentiss had already learned from the man’s brother, though it was good to have official confirmation. Garcia hesitated for a moment before she moved on to Hotch. Rossi could see the tension in her body. “Hotch and his parents lived in the area until a year after Sean was born, when they moved. I can’t find a criminal record, not even an expunged one.”
There was a sharpness to the last words, something that Rossi hadn’t expected from Garcia, and he spots Morgan tensing. Under different circumstances, he would have jumped at the chance to poke Morgan, but like so many other things, he leaves it alone. No matter what people might think, David Rossi does know when to leave well enough alone.
“Thank you Garcia.” JJ said, offering Garcia a faint smile, and gaining one in reply. It was a mere shadow of Garcia’s normal smile, but it was a smile.
“I’ll keep digging and let you know if I find anything else.” Garcia said, eyes bright with determination. She wanted to find Hotch as badly as the rest of them, and she was more than willing to do whatever it took, Rossi could tell. It was a reminder of why he admired her so much.
“Garcia,” Rossi stopped her before she could sign off; there was something else they needed first, “you need to spread your net a little wider. Look at family well.” Rossi hesitated, trying to remember if any of Hotch’s family lived in the area still, but coming up empty; he knew more about Haley’s family than Hotch’s. “And I need you to send us information for any family Hotch has in the area.”
Garcia’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for a moment before she nodded, “Of course, I’ll get that to you right away.” The screen went blank, just as she turned away from the screen, fingers already moving, typing faster than Rossi ever could himself.
-
Hotch had no idea how much time had passed since he’d woken up; he didn’t even know how long had passed since he’d stepped out of his SUV. It had been just after lunch then, he remembered because he’d eaten an apple while sitting in the car at the morgue.
He had been planning to eat something more substantial once he’d made it back to the others, provided he had the time. In hindsight, he thought, maybe it hadn’t been a very good plan.
The door had opened, a few minutes before, for the third time since Hotch had woken, but the unsub hadn’t entered, just dropped a body onto the floor, just inside the room, then left.
The woman, Hotch guessed from the dress he’d caught a glimpse of, was alive, though she wasn’t moving. Hotch fell over once as he crossed the room to kneel at the woman’s side, wincing as his knee popped. Yet another reminder that he wasn’t as young as he had been, and of the battering his body had taken over the years. He felt for a pulse automatically and it was a relief to feel the steady throb beneath his fingertip.
The woman stirred under his touch, dark eyes opening and widening. He backed away carefully, knowing the last thing she needed was for him to be in her personal space. There was blood on her temple, and that said more to Hotch than anything else.
He had been drugged, but she had been hit. Normally, it would have been the other way around. It was easier to knock a man out with a blow than it was to drug them, there was less risk. A woman’s struggles would be weaker, so drugging them would take less energy.
It couldn’t just be a control thing, it had to have something to do with whatever the unsub had planned for them. Hotch didn’t want to think about what that might be.
He could guess though.
She shifted carefully, rolling onto her side, never turning her back on Hotch, then used her arms to push herself into a sitting position. There was a long pause before she cleared her throat, “Who are you?”
Hotch attempted what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he doubted she could see. She was squinting, and the bulb was, if anything, giving out even less light than it had been when Hotch had first woken. “Aaron Hotchner.” Honestly, he thought, was the best thing, make sure she knew they were in the same situation; let her know that he at least wasn’t a threat.
She frowned, her hand drifting to touch her forehead, causing her to sway a little at the loss of support. She winced as her fingers made contact with the open wound, pulling her hand back quickly, “Laura. Where are we?
She hadn’t lost her wariness, and Hotch knows that means she hadn’t seen her attacker. They were in the same boat, but she didn’t know it.
Hotch shook his head in answer to her question, “I don’t know, I think we’re in a basement.”
She was still squinting, her expression pained, “How long have you been here?” She was testing him. Smart woman.
Hotch shook his head again, he was starting to feel that little bit more helpless. He didn’t have anything to tell her; or at least, nothing that would make her feel any better about their situation. “I’m not sure.”
She made a face and he fought the urge to move closer and offer comfort. She wouldn’t welcome it.
“He drugged me, took me from the police car park.” He did what he could, offered her more information.
She nodded, though Hotch could tell she still wasn’t entirely convinced. She looked away from him, taking in the room. He knew the moment she caught sight of the blood on the bed linen.
She shifted, crying out when a fresh round of pain hit, and Hotch winced. She was breathing heavily as she forced herself upright, looking around the room, taking in each of the separate stains. “Oh God,” she whispered, then covered her mouth with a shaking hand.
-
After a long, mostly sleepless night, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi drove to the house where Hotch had spent his early childhood. It had come as a surprise when Garcia had informed them the house hadn’t been sold when the family relocated; the fact that Hotch’s step-mother was living there was an even bigger one.
Morgan hadn’t even realised that Hotch had a step-mother, it made him think maybe Hotch’s childhood had been even more complicated than he’d thought.
Morgan’s first impression of the house was it was expensive. The driveway was relatively short, leading to a double garage, set off to one side from the house. There were a number of trees, planted in exactly the right places to hide the garage from view when you were on the road.
That was Morgan’s second impression, appearances mattered a lot to whoever lived in the house. He couldn’t help but wonder how much the house had changed since Hotch was a kid; he was hoping a lot.
Morgan let JJ and Rossi lead the way up the path from the driveway, and up the few steps onto the porch. Rossi hit the doorbell, then took a step back, falling into line with the others. They were stood waiting for almost a minute before they heard a key in the lock, and the door opened, revealing an aging blonde in a designer tracksuit.
Rossi held up his badge, “I’m Agent Rossi, these are Agents Jareau and Morgan, we were wondering if we could talk to Mrs. Hotchner?”
The woman blinked, then frowned, “David Rossi?”
Rossi nodded, flashing her his most charming smile, “That would be me.”
She pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her stomach, “I would have thought Aaron would have come himself.”
Morgan’s eyebrows rose as he realised why the woman had seemed familiar; Sean Hotchner looked a lot like his mother. Morgan exchanged a glance with JJ. It wasn’t going to be an easy interview, if they even managed to make it through the door. Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if she turned them away.
“Mrs. Hotchner,” Rossi said, taking her use of Hotch’s first name the same way Morgan had, “we’re actually here to talk to you about your stepson.”
Mrs. Hotchner shifted her weight glancing at each of them in turn before she nodded, stepping to one side and motioning for them to enter. Morgan hesitated, letting Rossi lead the way into the house; her attitude had changed completely as she’d looked at them. It made Morgan wonder how long she’d been waiting for a visit from the FBI, though he was glad they hadn’t come for the reason she obviously thought. She closed the door behind them, and then led them down the corridor and through a door, leading them through a dining room and into a conservatory. She waited patiently for them to sit on the couch before she sat herself, perching just on the edge of a lounge chair. “What is it that’s happened?”
JJ edged forward, closing the distance between herself and Mrs. Hotchner as much as she could while staying seated, “I’m afraid your stepson is missing.”
“He’s not dead?”
None of them said anything for a moment, then Morgan forced himself to speak, keeping his voice even, “No ma’am, he’s not.”
She took a deep breath, then waved her hand, “Call me Lianne please, and none of this ‘your stepson’ nonsense. Aaron or Hotch is fine, I’ll know who you’re talking about.”
“Lianne,” Rossi said, “we’re working a case with an unsub who seems to be using his victim’s secrets against them, and we think he may have taken Aaron.”
Lianne pursed her lips, “You came to me to ask if there are any secrets of Aaron’s this ‘unsub’ could use against him?”
Rossi nodded, and Lianne laughed. Morgan felt a little sick, and he saw JJ pale out of the corner of his eye. He doubted that Lianne was being malicious, she didn’t know what they did, but it wasn’t an altogether kind reaction to have to Rossi’s question.
Lianne seemed to sense the tension, stilling, and offering them a smile, “He’s mentioned all of you, on the occasions we speak. I’d have thought, considering how long you’ve been acquainted, that you would know that Aaron doesn’t share much.” Lianne shook her head, expression turning a little more solemn, “I suppose he hasn’t told you all that much, about his childhood?”
“In all honesty, I didn’t even realise you were his stepmother.” Rossi admitted, and Morgan hated it. He knew why Rossi was going with honesty, but Morgan hated that they had to do this. When they got Hotch back, and it was very much a when in Morgan’s mind, not an if, there was going to be some fallout, on both sides, from the questions they were having to ask.
Lianne looked surprised, “You’ve met Sean?”
They all nodded, and Morgan wondered when Sean and Rossi had met.
“You didn’t wonder why he’s blonde and blue eyed, and Aaron’s dark?” Lianne asked.
“It happens.” Morgan answered, without pause, and Lianne smiled.
“Edward, the boys’ father, he was almost as pale as me, Aaron’s colouring is almost entirely inherited from his mother.” Lianne paused, “As far as secrets, I’m afraid I don’t know of any that Aaron might have that could be used against him. We do talk, but not about anything like that.”
“It’s likely to be something you would overlook, something you suspect he might have been involved in.” Morgan prompted, and Lianne shook her head.
“I’m really not going to be much help there I’m afraid.”
“Ok, how about you talk us through anything that happened while you were living here, before you moved.” Rossi pressed, and Lianne hesitated, before she nodded to herself.
“How much do you know, about Aaron’s career before the BAU?” Lianne asked, hands clasped together on her lap. It was almost a nervous gesture, and it made Morgan wonder what it was that was making her uncomfortable.
“He was in FBI SWAT, and before that he was a prosecutor.” Morgan answered, while Rossi nodded his agreement.
Lianne sighed, “There was one case, with SWAT, there were a lot of questions about ‘the way it went down’,” Morgan’s eyebrows rose at her choice of words. It looked like they weren’t the first FBI agents to pay her a visit. “I know they cleared all of them, but it took a little while. There were civilian casualties, or so the agents who came to speak to me said. I had no clue what they thought they would gain by talking to me.” She shook her head.
Morgan exchanged another look with JJ. While they hadn’t known that anything like that had happened, it didn’t help them now. The unsub targeted crimes that had never really been investigated, that his victims had never been tied to.
Lianne frowned, “But that’s not the kind of thing you’re looking for?”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.” Rossi said, and Lianne sighed, shaking her head.
“I met Edward when Aaron was thirteen, and I honestly can’t think of a single thing that happened between then and his leaving for college that might help.” She paused, dropping her gaze to the floor, “The only bad thing that happened was Edward getting ill.”
“You’re certain?” Rossi pressed, and Lianne scowled at him.
“I am. Though, considering you didn’t know Aaron had a step-mother, or that Sean is only his half-brother, I think that there are a few things you should know.”
-
The unsub hadn’t given his victims long to get acquainted, or at least it hadn’t seemed like long to Hotch; it was hard to tell when he didn’t have a watch, or his phone, or even the faintest slant of daylight. Time was meaningless in the basement.
The unsub had pre-planned everything, or that was how it seemed to Hotch. The door to the basement had opened, then the unsub had stepped inside, gun in hand. Neither of them had been willing to risk being shot, Laura stumbling to where the unsub told her to go, while Hotch had stayed still, doing his best not to flinch as the unsub had walked over to him.
The syringe hadn’t been as much of a surprise as the unsub had wanted it to be, Hotch knew, but it had been a long time since Hotch was last surprised by an unsub. There hadn’t been any rope, and the unsub hadn’t made Hotch move to the manacles. There were only so many options left for controlling Hotch, while the unsub had his way with Laura.
Hotch shuddered, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t have the energy to move, nor the will to turn his head. He didn’t want to see what the unsub was doing to Laura.
It had been hours, Hotch was certain, since the unsub had entered the basement. The gun was on the floor, halfway between Hotch and Laura. If he had had any control over his body, Hotch would have made a move. The drug or combination of drugs, that the unsub had given him had made him sluggish, made it seem as though everything was happening in slow motion.
Laura hadn’t screamed much to being with, she had sworn at the unsub, cursing him in English and Spanish, her anger countering the pain, but eventually, blood loss and exhaustion had started to take its toll. Idly, in the back of his mind, Hotch noted that the unsub was taking less time with Laura than he had his other victims.
Hotch didn’t think Laura would last the day, not if the unsub continued at the pace he was.
Hotch flinched each time Laura moaned. She didn’t scream. Couldn’t scream, not anymore.
“This isn’t good enough.” The unsub stopped, turning away from Laura and walked over to Hotch. Hotch stared up into the other man’s eyes, unable to do anything to defend himself. The unsub scowled, then bent down, grabbing Hotch’s arms and pulling him across the room until he was next to Laura.
The smell was so much worse close up. Hotch hadn’t been expecting it, had thought that enclosed as the basement was, the smell would be a constant. It wasn’t.
He gagged, somehow managing to roll himself onto his side, but there was nothing in his stomach to come up but bile. The unsub rolled Hotch roughly onto his other side, and Hotch was dimly aware of how tacky the concrete was under his cheek.
“Better.”
Hotch shuddered at the sound of the unsub’s voice, while Laura stared blankly at him, the fight gone from her eyes. Hotch didn’t blame her, couldn’t blame her as he stared at her face, which was so pale in the faint light.
If he hadn’t known, hadn’t heard, her screams of agony, he might have been tricked into thinking the unsub hadn’t touched her, but he could see the little stains, here and there, on her skin. The unsub had chosen a more insidious method of torture this time.
Hotch closed his eyes swallowing hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Laura gasped, and Hotch opened his eyes, watching as her body shook for a few moments before stilling again. Her eyes were shut tight, muscles in her face twitching.
Her lower right jaw was oddly misshapen, the skin a pale grey. There was another patch of grey skin on her neck, and more, spaced randomly over her skin. Hotch remembered how much she’d struggled, when the unsub had stripped her of her clothes. The woman lying beside him was a shadow of that one.
The unsub had done that.
Hotch blinked slowly, tired suddenly. The unsub kicked Hotch in the shin, then squatted beside him, reaching out, taking Hotch’s right hand and intertwining it with Laura’s right. She blinked rapidly, confusion touching her for a moment before it passed, exhaustion taking over once more.
Hotch tried to squeeze her hand, but it was hard. He knew, distantly, that was what the unsub wanted, but Hotch wanted to offer her some comfort. Better that she not be alone with her killer when the moment came.
She stirred, mewing softly, when the unsub dripped something onto her stomach, her muscles jumped, her hand suddenly gripping Hotch’s, hard, and he flinched. It wasn’t long before she faded back into exhausted slumber, stirring every once in a while to moan and writhe.
Hotch never once let go of her hand.
-
Hotch stirred, waking from the haze that had settled over him, a feeling of loss almost overwhelming him. Something was wrong; he thought groggily, not quite remembering where he was.
It took him a moment to manage to open his eyes, and then he knew what it was that had woken him so suddenly. Laura’s hand was cold in his, which was smeared with a mix of blood and liquid.
All he thought, in the moment before the unsub moved closer, was that at least she had died with her eyes closed. He doubted it had been a quick, or a painless death, but her eyes had been shut.
Hotch flinched, curling around his arm when the unsub pulled the needle back out, shivering in the cold. Hotch let go of Laura’s hand, trying to move away from the unsub, but finding that his body still didn’t want to cooperate. He just managed the few inches it took to reach the corner.
With Laura dead, Hotch thought, he was alone with the unsub. He shivered again, managing to curl up a little. He had been wearing his suit jacket before, he thought, but it was gone.
He couldn’t remember if he had been wearing it before.
Hotch flinched as the unsub’s shadow fell across him, and the muscles in his legs twitched as he tried to tense them, tried to do something, anything. He pulled himself away, squeezing himself further into the corner.
The unsub leant in close for a moment before he pulled away. Hotch shuddered, listening as the unsub walked across to the door. The key slid into the lock, turned then slid out before the unsub opened the door.
Hotch could see each movement in his head, the door opening, then closing behind the unsub, the multiple locks sliding into place before the unsub climbed up the stairs out into the light.
Hotch couldn’t feel the pinprick in his arm, but when he shifted and glanced at it, there was a little trickle of blood running down his arm. He watched it for a long moment before he rolled onto his back, to stare blankly up at the ceiling.
He was alone in a basement with the dead body of a woman he had known almost nothing about.
-
Innes and Duncan arrived a few minutes after Rossi, JJ and Morgan had returned from their trip. Prentiss watched the flash of irritation cross Rossi’s face, there wasn’t going to be time for them to talk about what they’d learned from Hotch’s step mother.
It’s a relief in a way though, Prentiss thinks, considering how little she and Reid had managed to find while the others had been gone. There still wasn’t anything for them to add to the profile. Their unsub was still a white man, in his thirties to forties, who had lived in the area for most of his life and was most likely married with kids. The list wasn’t a short one.
Prentiss doubted, watching the expressions on the other three’s faces, that they had uncovered anything that might have explained why Hotch had been taken. She hoped the news the deputies were bringing wasn’t going to render that a moot point.
Hotch couldn’t be dead.
“Detective Sumner called us, asked if we could bring you guys along,” the Sheriff had asked that they no travel solo, it made sense, with Hotch gone, “they’ve found another body, looks like our guy.” Innes said, shifting her weight a little. She was feeling the tension, Prentiss could tell.
“Male or female?” Rossi asked the question of the moment, and Duncan shook his head.
“They didn’t say.”
For a moment they stood in silence, then Rossi spoke, “Prentiss, Morgan, go with them.”
Prentiss nodded, looking to Morgan, watching as he forced himself to move, “Let’s get moving.”
Prentiss swallowed hard, forcing the dread to the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to make any assumptions; she would wait and see what was waiting for them.
She wouldn’t think about what would happen if it was Hotch.
-
It felt wrong to Prentiss, to be so relieved when the body at the crime scene turned out to be a woman’s, not a man’s. But then she knew it was only natural. It was like the cases when they had taken people to ID bodies, only for it not to be that person’s child.
It was easy to be relieved when it wasn’t your own loved one lying dead.
This was a bad case, one of the ones likely to give someone nightmares, and she didn’t know what any of them would do, if, when, they found Hotch’s body. She didn’t want to know what punishment, or what death, the unsub would choose for Aaron Hotchner.
Their new victim was Laura Henrickson, or so Sumner had told them when they had arrived at the scene, though how they had made such a quick identification Prentiss wasn’t sure. The body was laid out in much the same way as the other victims had been, face up, arms laid across the stomach, legs straight.
A lot of the locals were avoiding looking at the body, moving around it, but not letting their gaze linger. Prentiss couldn’t really blame them, it wasn’t a nice sight.
“Acid.” Morgan said, his voice soft.
Prentiss nodded, pulling on gloves and leaning down over the body. At first sight it looked like the attacks had been focused on the face, but on a closer look Prentiss could see that the victim had been redressed, and the acid burns extended under the neckline of the shirt. “He redressed her, after.”
Morgan crouched down next to her, looking where she was pointing. His mouth thinned, and he nodded, “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to see what killed her.”
Prentiss gave a nod of her own. The acid burns were clearly visible, but it was hard to say what had killed the woman. There was blood, and pus, but nothing that gave a specific cause of death. Prentiss wondered then, if maybe the acid could have been enough to kill the woman. It had to have been stressful, and stress could stop a heart just as easily as a bullet.
She stood and stripped off her gloves. The newspaper had already been bagged by the crime scene team, but she had made a note of which paper it was, and the date. Reid would be able to find it, and figure out what it told them about this new victim.
Prentiss wondered what Laura’s sin had been, to entail such a gruesome choice of torture.
-
Part Five
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: depiction of torture, violence (and another unpleasant death)
Part Four
Hotch woke laid out on a cold concrete floor, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He groaned, rolling over onto his back, and squinting up at the ceiling. The room was lit by a single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. The light didn’t quite reach the sides of the room, leaving the corners in darkness.
And then there was the smell, one that Hotch recognised from countless crime scenes; old blood mixed with human waste. The room smelt exactly as he expected an unsub’s torture chamber to smell.
Somehow that was disappointing.
The last thing he could remember, before waking, was closing the car door, his phone out and in his other hand. He couldn’t remember what had happened next. All he could think was that he’d been knocked out, somehow, in the middle of the car park, within sight of the Sheriff’s office, in broad daylight, without a single person noticing.
He frowned at the ceiling, there was something nagging at him, as though he could almost remember what had happened; or maybe, there was something he knew he should know.
Hotch sighed, shaking his head, frustrated, only to still, the movement having made him nauseous, and causing the pain in his head to flare. It felt like his head was in a vise, one that was slowly being edged closed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. Whatever it was that had been used to knock him out, it was making his nauseous, and was probably the cause of his headache. He couldn’t think what it might be, though he knew, if his head had been a little clearer, had felt a little less like it was stuffed full of cotton, he would have been able to name what had been used on him.
The only good thing, he supposed, was that his kidnapper hadn’t hit him. Drugs were better than a beating. The effects of drugs wore off; the effects of a concussion could last for weeks.
Though drugs could be worse than a concussion. It was just a matter of what drugs were used.
Hotch shuddered, trying not to let images of Reid in Georgia, as he’d looked via grainy video feed, invade his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past, or what could be, he needed to move, assess his situation.
He waited until he’d gotten the urge to throw up under control before he rolled onto his front again, pushing himself into a kneeling position. He wasn’t tied up; there was nothing other than the after effects of the drugs to limit his movements.
The door would be locked. That much he could guess. Windows, if there were any, and he couldn’t see any, would be barred and locked as well. He wouldn’t have been left unbound unless there was something else to keep him were they wanted him to be.
Hotch did his best not to think about the warehouse in St Louis. He wasn’t in a maze, there wasn’t going to be some series of challenges preventing him escaping. His captor wasn’t going to toy with him, dangling the hope of escape in front of him, just to snatch it away at the last moment.
He wished, suddenly, that he didn’t find it so easy to draw cases to mind. His own imagination alone would have been bad enough, but fuelled with knowledge, it was even worse. He couldn’t argue that no one was capable of doing the things he was imagining.
He took a moment to consider who might have taken him, though it was difficult to focus. If he’d been taken by the unsub, and odds where he had, he would tortured and then he would be killed.
Hotch could list the ways that he wasn’t going to die. The unsub didn’t seem to like repeats. Each one of the unsub’s victims had died in a different way, but there were still plenty of options left.
Hotch winced, trying not to think of all of the different ways he knew people could be killed. There were times when he wished that he didn’t know so much about death. About the ways a person could be made to suffer.
So many reasons to wish to have a different job. To have chosen a different career.
He managed to stand on his second attempt, swaying a little. There wasn’t anything close by that he could use to keep himself upright. He swallowed hard, waiting for the room to stop spinning before he took a step forward, moving towards the wall. He could prop himself up and take a proper look around, or he could walk around the room, one hand against the wall.
There was no way he would be able to get around the room without support. Not with the way he felt.
Hotch stumbled twice crossing the short distance to the wall, and was aware of various aches and pains, all over his body. It felt like he’d fallen or been dragged at some point; he idly catalogued that piece of information with everything he could remember from the files. There was a good chance the unsub was smaller than Hotch.
Hotch leaned against the wall, turning so that he was facing the rest of the room, fighting to focus. His vision was a bit blurred, and the semi-darkness didn’t help as he tried to figure out the layout of the room. It looked like there was a bed against the wall opposite him, the sheets rumpled and stained. Hotch shuddered, remembering the photos of Scott Monroe. He didn’t want, or need, to cross the room to look. It was enough to confirm, in Hotch’s clouded thoughts, it was the same unsub.
Hotch looked away from the bed. There was a chair in the corner closest to the bed, but it was too far into the shadows for Hotch to see if there was any blood on or around it. He guessed there was. The unsub didn’t seem to bother cleaning up after himself; the smell and the state of the bed told Hotch that much.
It was even possible the unsub was leaving the evidence behind on purpose.
If the unsub treated all of his victims the way he was treating Hotch, it seemed likely that everything about the situation was planned. He left the traces of his other kills, his other torture sessions visible for his next victim to see. They could stumble into the pools of blood, or just keep as much distance they could, dreaming up all of the things that could have caused them.
The unsub was letting his victims’ imaginations do some of his work for him.
Hotch tried not to think about the victims then, but as he turned he caught sight of manacles on the other wall, and it was a struggle not to give in to the nausea. He was thankful that he hadn’t headed in that direction. He couldn’t see any blood, if there was any, but he could fit each section of the room to a certain victim. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool wall.
His chest ached, and his throat felt raw and he thought that maybe a concussion would be better than the aftereffects of drugs after all.
Hotch had just opened his eyes again when he heard a bolt sliding back. His gaze was drawn to his right, to the wall between him and the bed, and the door that was just visible in the half light. There wasn’t a door frame, but there was a handle, and beneath that there was a lock. Another bolt slid, and the handle spun, then the door swung open.
-
Four hours after Hotch disappeared, they had started looking into Milton’s history. The Sheriff has assigned two of his deputies to look into Hotch’s disappearance, promising Rossi he would keep the team informed.
It didn’t make Hotch’s absence any easier to bear, but at least they knew if they were wrong, if there was another unsub, there were people looking into it. There was a part of Rossi that badly wanted to put in a call to Strauss, have another team sent out to cover that possibility, but he knew that it was stupid.
And more than that, he knew Hotch wouldn’t like it one bit. Under different circumstances, Rossi might have said ‘screw it’, and lived through whatever lecture Aaron delivered once they’d rescued him, but his instincts were telling him to leave it.
To their eyes, Hotch might not fit the unsub’s victim type, but they could be missing something. They could even be wrong about part of the unsub’s motivation, the kids could be a coincidence, something the unsub had factored in to trick them.
The guy was smart, getting away with four murders all so well planned, proved that much.
Rossi jumped a little as the laptop next to him beeped, Garcia appearing on screen, looking a little more frazzled than Rossi could remember her looking for a long time. He didn’t need to guess why.
It wasn’t just that Hotch was missing and she was worried. They had said that they were treating Hotch as a victim, and had meant Garcia had looked into Hotch’s history as well as Milton’s.
The team all knew Hotch was a private man, sometimes he shared bits of his past with them, but not often. Rossi thought that even Prentiss talked about her family more than Hotch did his.
“Hey kiddo, how you doing?” The others looked up when Rossi spoke, then drifted over when they spotted Garcia on the laptop screen.
“Wishing that I could time travel, but as I obviously can’t, I have been looking at Milton, and Hotch’s, public records. There’s nothing there to suggest why the unsub chose them. Not that it matters with Milton, because you guys have already figured out why, but I checked anyway.” Garcia took a deep breath once she’d finished. Rossi could fill in the blanks; they hadn’t found anything in the public records for the other victims either, so much hadn’t been officially reported when it should have been.
Rossi found himself wondering about the kinds of skeletons that could possibly be hiding in Aaron’s past that might have drawn the attention of the unsub.
“You didn’t find anything in the records for the other victims either.” Morgan’s voice is harsh, and Garcia winces a little. It didn’t need to be said, and Rossi took a moment to be angry with Morgan, then he just mourned the loss of their normal banter.
“I can tell you that Milton has lived in the area for his whole life, that he’s married, but doesn’t have any children, and he hasn’t got a criminal record.” All things that Rossi and Prentiss had already learned from the man’s brother, though it was good to have official confirmation. Garcia hesitated for a moment before she moved on to Hotch. Rossi could see the tension in her body. “Hotch and his parents lived in the area until a year after Sean was born, when they moved. I can’t find a criminal record, not even an expunged one.”
There was a sharpness to the last words, something that Rossi hadn’t expected from Garcia, and he spots Morgan tensing. Under different circumstances, he would have jumped at the chance to poke Morgan, but like so many other things, he leaves it alone. No matter what people might think, David Rossi does know when to leave well enough alone.
“Thank you Garcia.” JJ said, offering Garcia a faint smile, and gaining one in reply. It was a mere shadow of Garcia’s normal smile, but it was a smile.
“I’ll keep digging and let you know if I find anything else.” Garcia said, eyes bright with determination. She wanted to find Hotch as badly as the rest of them, and she was more than willing to do whatever it took, Rossi could tell. It was a reminder of why he admired her so much.
“Garcia,” Rossi stopped her before she could sign off; there was something else they needed first, “you need to spread your net a little wider. Look at family well.” Rossi hesitated, trying to remember if any of Hotch’s family lived in the area still, but coming up empty; he knew more about Haley’s family than Hotch’s. “And I need you to send us information for any family Hotch has in the area.”
Garcia’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for a moment before she nodded, “Of course, I’ll get that to you right away.” The screen went blank, just as she turned away from the screen, fingers already moving, typing faster than Rossi ever could himself.
-
Hotch had no idea how much time had passed since he’d woken up; he didn’t even know how long had passed since he’d stepped out of his SUV. It had been just after lunch then, he remembered because he’d eaten an apple while sitting in the car at the morgue.
He had been planning to eat something more substantial once he’d made it back to the others, provided he had the time. In hindsight, he thought, maybe it hadn’t been a very good plan.
The door had opened, a few minutes before, for the third time since Hotch had woken, but the unsub hadn’t entered, just dropped a body onto the floor, just inside the room, then left.
The woman, Hotch guessed from the dress he’d caught a glimpse of, was alive, though she wasn’t moving. Hotch fell over once as he crossed the room to kneel at the woman’s side, wincing as his knee popped. Yet another reminder that he wasn’t as young as he had been, and of the battering his body had taken over the years. He felt for a pulse automatically and it was a relief to feel the steady throb beneath his fingertip.
The woman stirred under his touch, dark eyes opening and widening. He backed away carefully, knowing the last thing she needed was for him to be in her personal space. There was blood on her temple, and that said more to Hotch than anything else.
He had been drugged, but she had been hit. Normally, it would have been the other way around. It was easier to knock a man out with a blow than it was to drug them, there was less risk. A woman’s struggles would be weaker, so drugging them would take less energy.
It couldn’t just be a control thing, it had to have something to do with whatever the unsub had planned for them. Hotch didn’t want to think about what that might be.
He could guess though.
She shifted carefully, rolling onto her side, never turning her back on Hotch, then used her arms to push herself into a sitting position. There was a long pause before she cleared her throat, “Who are you?”
Hotch attempted what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he doubted she could see. She was squinting, and the bulb was, if anything, giving out even less light than it had been when Hotch had first woken. “Aaron Hotchner.” Honestly, he thought, was the best thing, make sure she knew they were in the same situation; let her know that he at least wasn’t a threat.
She frowned, her hand drifting to touch her forehead, causing her to sway a little at the loss of support. She winced as her fingers made contact with the open wound, pulling her hand back quickly, “Laura. Where are we?
She hadn’t lost her wariness, and Hotch knows that means she hadn’t seen her attacker. They were in the same boat, but she didn’t know it.
Hotch shook his head in answer to her question, “I don’t know, I think we’re in a basement.”
She was still squinting, her expression pained, “How long have you been here?” She was testing him. Smart woman.
Hotch shook his head again, he was starting to feel that little bit more helpless. He didn’t have anything to tell her; or at least, nothing that would make her feel any better about their situation. “I’m not sure.”
She made a face and he fought the urge to move closer and offer comfort. She wouldn’t welcome it.
“He drugged me, took me from the police car park.” He did what he could, offered her more information.
She nodded, though Hotch could tell she still wasn’t entirely convinced. She looked away from him, taking in the room. He knew the moment she caught sight of the blood on the bed linen.
She shifted, crying out when a fresh round of pain hit, and Hotch winced. She was breathing heavily as she forced herself upright, looking around the room, taking in each of the separate stains. “Oh God,” she whispered, then covered her mouth with a shaking hand.
-
After a long, mostly sleepless night, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi drove to the house where Hotch had spent his early childhood. It had come as a surprise when Garcia had informed them the house hadn’t been sold when the family relocated; the fact that Hotch’s step-mother was living there was an even bigger one.
Morgan hadn’t even realised that Hotch had a step-mother, it made him think maybe Hotch’s childhood had been even more complicated than he’d thought.
Morgan’s first impression of the house was it was expensive. The driveway was relatively short, leading to a double garage, set off to one side from the house. There were a number of trees, planted in exactly the right places to hide the garage from view when you were on the road.
That was Morgan’s second impression, appearances mattered a lot to whoever lived in the house. He couldn’t help but wonder how much the house had changed since Hotch was a kid; he was hoping a lot.
Morgan let JJ and Rossi lead the way up the path from the driveway, and up the few steps onto the porch. Rossi hit the doorbell, then took a step back, falling into line with the others. They were stood waiting for almost a minute before they heard a key in the lock, and the door opened, revealing an aging blonde in a designer tracksuit.
Rossi held up his badge, “I’m Agent Rossi, these are Agents Jareau and Morgan, we were wondering if we could talk to Mrs. Hotchner?”
The woman blinked, then frowned, “David Rossi?”
Rossi nodded, flashing her his most charming smile, “That would be me.”
She pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her stomach, “I would have thought Aaron would have come himself.”
Morgan’s eyebrows rose as he realised why the woman had seemed familiar; Sean Hotchner looked a lot like his mother. Morgan exchanged a glance with JJ. It wasn’t going to be an easy interview, if they even managed to make it through the door. Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if she turned them away.
“Mrs. Hotchner,” Rossi said, taking her use of Hotch’s first name the same way Morgan had, “we’re actually here to talk to you about your stepson.”
Mrs. Hotchner shifted her weight glancing at each of them in turn before she nodded, stepping to one side and motioning for them to enter. Morgan hesitated, letting Rossi lead the way into the house; her attitude had changed completely as she’d looked at them. It made Morgan wonder how long she’d been waiting for a visit from the FBI, though he was glad they hadn’t come for the reason she obviously thought. She closed the door behind them, and then led them down the corridor and through a door, leading them through a dining room and into a conservatory. She waited patiently for them to sit on the couch before she sat herself, perching just on the edge of a lounge chair. “What is it that’s happened?”
JJ edged forward, closing the distance between herself and Mrs. Hotchner as much as she could while staying seated, “I’m afraid your stepson is missing.”
“He’s not dead?”
None of them said anything for a moment, then Morgan forced himself to speak, keeping his voice even, “No ma’am, he’s not.”
She took a deep breath, then waved her hand, “Call me Lianne please, and none of this ‘your stepson’ nonsense. Aaron or Hotch is fine, I’ll know who you’re talking about.”
“Lianne,” Rossi said, “we’re working a case with an unsub who seems to be using his victim’s secrets against them, and we think he may have taken Aaron.”
Lianne pursed her lips, “You came to me to ask if there are any secrets of Aaron’s this ‘unsub’ could use against him?”
Rossi nodded, and Lianne laughed. Morgan felt a little sick, and he saw JJ pale out of the corner of his eye. He doubted that Lianne was being malicious, she didn’t know what they did, but it wasn’t an altogether kind reaction to have to Rossi’s question.
Lianne seemed to sense the tension, stilling, and offering them a smile, “He’s mentioned all of you, on the occasions we speak. I’d have thought, considering how long you’ve been acquainted, that you would know that Aaron doesn’t share much.” Lianne shook her head, expression turning a little more solemn, “I suppose he hasn’t told you all that much, about his childhood?”
“In all honesty, I didn’t even realise you were his stepmother.” Rossi admitted, and Morgan hated it. He knew why Rossi was going with honesty, but Morgan hated that they had to do this. When they got Hotch back, and it was very much a when in Morgan’s mind, not an if, there was going to be some fallout, on both sides, from the questions they were having to ask.
Lianne looked surprised, “You’ve met Sean?”
They all nodded, and Morgan wondered when Sean and Rossi had met.
“You didn’t wonder why he’s blonde and blue eyed, and Aaron’s dark?” Lianne asked.
“It happens.” Morgan answered, without pause, and Lianne smiled.
“Edward, the boys’ father, he was almost as pale as me, Aaron’s colouring is almost entirely inherited from his mother.” Lianne paused, “As far as secrets, I’m afraid I don’t know of any that Aaron might have that could be used against him. We do talk, but not about anything like that.”
“It’s likely to be something you would overlook, something you suspect he might have been involved in.” Morgan prompted, and Lianne shook her head.
“I’m really not going to be much help there I’m afraid.”
“Ok, how about you talk us through anything that happened while you were living here, before you moved.” Rossi pressed, and Lianne hesitated, before she nodded to herself.
“How much do you know, about Aaron’s career before the BAU?” Lianne asked, hands clasped together on her lap. It was almost a nervous gesture, and it made Morgan wonder what it was that was making her uncomfortable.
“He was in FBI SWAT, and before that he was a prosecutor.” Morgan answered, while Rossi nodded his agreement.
Lianne sighed, “There was one case, with SWAT, there were a lot of questions about ‘the way it went down’,” Morgan’s eyebrows rose at her choice of words. It looked like they weren’t the first FBI agents to pay her a visit. “I know they cleared all of them, but it took a little while. There were civilian casualties, or so the agents who came to speak to me said. I had no clue what they thought they would gain by talking to me.” She shook her head.
Morgan exchanged another look with JJ. While they hadn’t known that anything like that had happened, it didn’t help them now. The unsub targeted crimes that had never really been investigated, that his victims had never been tied to.
Lianne frowned, “But that’s not the kind of thing you’re looking for?”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.” Rossi said, and Lianne sighed, shaking her head.
“I met Edward when Aaron was thirteen, and I honestly can’t think of a single thing that happened between then and his leaving for college that might help.” She paused, dropping her gaze to the floor, “The only bad thing that happened was Edward getting ill.”
“You’re certain?” Rossi pressed, and Lianne scowled at him.
“I am. Though, considering you didn’t know Aaron had a step-mother, or that Sean is only his half-brother, I think that there are a few things you should know.”
-
The unsub hadn’t given his victims long to get acquainted, or at least it hadn’t seemed like long to Hotch; it was hard to tell when he didn’t have a watch, or his phone, or even the faintest slant of daylight. Time was meaningless in the basement.
The unsub had pre-planned everything, or that was how it seemed to Hotch. The door to the basement had opened, then the unsub had stepped inside, gun in hand. Neither of them had been willing to risk being shot, Laura stumbling to where the unsub told her to go, while Hotch had stayed still, doing his best not to flinch as the unsub had walked over to him.
The syringe hadn’t been as much of a surprise as the unsub had wanted it to be, Hotch knew, but it had been a long time since Hotch was last surprised by an unsub. There hadn’t been any rope, and the unsub hadn’t made Hotch move to the manacles. There were only so many options left for controlling Hotch, while the unsub had his way with Laura.
Hotch shuddered, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t have the energy to move, nor the will to turn his head. He didn’t want to see what the unsub was doing to Laura.
It had been hours, Hotch was certain, since the unsub had entered the basement. The gun was on the floor, halfway between Hotch and Laura. If he had had any control over his body, Hotch would have made a move. The drug or combination of drugs, that the unsub had given him had made him sluggish, made it seem as though everything was happening in slow motion.
Laura hadn’t screamed much to being with, she had sworn at the unsub, cursing him in English and Spanish, her anger countering the pain, but eventually, blood loss and exhaustion had started to take its toll. Idly, in the back of his mind, Hotch noted that the unsub was taking less time with Laura than he had his other victims.
Hotch didn’t think Laura would last the day, not if the unsub continued at the pace he was.
Hotch flinched each time Laura moaned. She didn’t scream. Couldn’t scream, not anymore.
“This isn’t good enough.” The unsub stopped, turning away from Laura and walked over to Hotch. Hotch stared up into the other man’s eyes, unable to do anything to defend himself. The unsub scowled, then bent down, grabbing Hotch’s arms and pulling him across the room until he was next to Laura.
The smell was so much worse close up. Hotch hadn’t been expecting it, had thought that enclosed as the basement was, the smell would be a constant. It wasn’t.
He gagged, somehow managing to roll himself onto his side, but there was nothing in his stomach to come up but bile. The unsub rolled Hotch roughly onto his other side, and Hotch was dimly aware of how tacky the concrete was under his cheek.
“Better.”
Hotch shuddered at the sound of the unsub’s voice, while Laura stared blankly at him, the fight gone from her eyes. Hotch didn’t blame her, couldn’t blame her as he stared at her face, which was so pale in the faint light.
If he hadn’t known, hadn’t heard, her screams of agony, he might have been tricked into thinking the unsub hadn’t touched her, but he could see the little stains, here and there, on her skin. The unsub had chosen a more insidious method of torture this time.
Hotch closed his eyes swallowing hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Laura gasped, and Hotch opened his eyes, watching as her body shook for a few moments before stilling again. Her eyes were shut tight, muscles in her face twitching.
Her lower right jaw was oddly misshapen, the skin a pale grey. There was another patch of grey skin on her neck, and more, spaced randomly over her skin. Hotch remembered how much she’d struggled, when the unsub had stripped her of her clothes. The woman lying beside him was a shadow of that one.
The unsub had done that.
Hotch blinked slowly, tired suddenly. The unsub kicked Hotch in the shin, then squatted beside him, reaching out, taking Hotch’s right hand and intertwining it with Laura’s right. She blinked rapidly, confusion touching her for a moment before it passed, exhaustion taking over once more.
Hotch tried to squeeze her hand, but it was hard. He knew, distantly, that was what the unsub wanted, but Hotch wanted to offer her some comfort. Better that she not be alone with her killer when the moment came.
She stirred, mewing softly, when the unsub dripped something onto her stomach, her muscles jumped, her hand suddenly gripping Hotch’s, hard, and he flinched. It wasn’t long before she faded back into exhausted slumber, stirring every once in a while to moan and writhe.
Hotch never once let go of her hand.
-
Hotch stirred, waking from the haze that had settled over him, a feeling of loss almost overwhelming him. Something was wrong; he thought groggily, not quite remembering where he was.
It took him a moment to manage to open his eyes, and then he knew what it was that had woken him so suddenly. Laura’s hand was cold in his, which was smeared with a mix of blood and liquid.
All he thought, in the moment before the unsub moved closer, was that at least she had died with her eyes closed. He doubted it had been a quick, or a painless death, but her eyes had been shut.
Hotch flinched, curling around his arm when the unsub pulled the needle back out, shivering in the cold. Hotch let go of Laura’s hand, trying to move away from the unsub, but finding that his body still didn’t want to cooperate. He just managed the few inches it took to reach the corner.
With Laura dead, Hotch thought, he was alone with the unsub. He shivered again, managing to curl up a little. He had been wearing his suit jacket before, he thought, but it was gone.
He couldn’t remember if he had been wearing it before.
Hotch flinched as the unsub’s shadow fell across him, and the muscles in his legs twitched as he tried to tense them, tried to do something, anything. He pulled himself away, squeezing himself further into the corner.
The unsub leant in close for a moment before he pulled away. Hotch shuddered, listening as the unsub walked across to the door. The key slid into the lock, turned then slid out before the unsub opened the door.
Hotch could see each movement in his head, the door opening, then closing behind the unsub, the multiple locks sliding into place before the unsub climbed up the stairs out into the light.
Hotch couldn’t feel the pinprick in his arm, but when he shifted and glanced at it, there was a little trickle of blood running down his arm. He watched it for a long moment before he rolled onto his back, to stare blankly up at the ceiling.
He was alone in a basement with the dead body of a woman he had known almost nothing about.
-
Innes and Duncan arrived a few minutes after Rossi, JJ and Morgan had returned from their trip. Prentiss watched the flash of irritation cross Rossi’s face, there wasn’t going to be time for them to talk about what they’d learned from Hotch’s step mother.
It’s a relief in a way though, Prentiss thinks, considering how little she and Reid had managed to find while the others had been gone. There still wasn’t anything for them to add to the profile. Their unsub was still a white man, in his thirties to forties, who had lived in the area for most of his life and was most likely married with kids. The list wasn’t a short one.
Prentiss doubted, watching the expressions on the other three’s faces, that they had uncovered anything that might have explained why Hotch had been taken. She hoped the news the deputies were bringing wasn’t going to render that a moot point.
Hotch couldn’t be dead.
“Detective Sumner called us, asked if we could bring you guys along,” the Sheriff had asked that they no travel solo, it made sense, with Hotch gone, “they’ve found another body, looks like our guy.” Innes said, shifting her weight a little. She was feeling the tension, Prentiss could tell.
“Male or female?” Rossi asked the question of the moment, and Duncan shook his head.
“They didn’t say.”
For a moment they stood in silence, then Rossi spoke, “Prentiss, Morgan, go with them.”
Prentiss nodded, looking to Morgan, watching as he forced himself to move, “Let’s get moving.”
Prentiss swallowed hard, forcing the dread to the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to make any assumptions; she would wait and see what was waiting for them.
She wouldn’t think about what would happen if it was Hotch.
-
It felt wrong to Prentiss, to be so relieved when the body at the crime scene turned out to be a woman’s, not a man’s. But then she knew it was only natural. It was like the cases when they had taken people to ID bodies, only for it not to be that person’s child.
It was easy to be relieved when it wasn’t your own loved one lying dead.
This was a bad case, one of the ones likely to give someone nightmares, and she didn’t know what any of them would do, if, when, they found Hotch’s body. She didn’t want to know what punishment, or what death, the unsub would choose for Aaron Hotchner.
Their new victim was Laura Henrickson, or so Sumner had told them when they had arrived at the scene, though how they had made such a quick identification Prentiss wasn’t sure. The body was laid out in much the same way as the other victims had been, face up, arms laid across the stomach, legs straight.
A lot of the locals were avoiding looking at the body, moving around it, but not letting their gaze linger. Prentiss couldn’t really blame them, it wasn’t a nice sight.
“Acid.” Morgan said, his voice soft.
Prentiss nodded, pulling on gloves and leaning down over the body. At first sight it looked like the attacks had been focused on the face, but on a closer look Prentiss could see that the victim had been redressed, and the acid burns extended under the neckline of the shirt. “He redressed her, after.”
Morgan crouched down next to her, looking where she was pointing. His mouth thinned, and he nodded, “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to see what killed her.”
Prentiss gave a nod of her own. The acid burns were clearly visible, but it was hard to say what had killed the woman. There was blood, and pus, but nothing that gave a specific cause of death. Prentiss wondered then, if maybe the acid could have been enough to kill the woman. It had to have been stressful, and stress could stop a heart just as easily as a bullet.
She stood and stripped off her gloves. The newspaper had already been bagged by the crime scene team, but she had made a note of which paper it was, and the date. Reid would be able to find it, and figure out what it told them about this new victim.
Prentiss wondered what Laura’s sin had been, to entail such a gruesome choice of torture.
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Part Five