The little boy slowly rose into consciousness, opening his eyes into darkness. He strained his eyes, taking in his surroundings. Nothing. Just four walls, a ceiling, a floor on which he lay. He was moving, though. The road was bumpy, too; he could feel the vehicle move up and down with the road's potholes and rises. A small yawn escaped him before hitting the strip of silver tape across his mouth. Panic set in all at once. The boy screamed regardless of the restraints and quickly discovered that his hands were similarly bound. He knew this was bad, but he couldn't quite get past the confusion. He didn't know where he was, how he had gotten there. Who had put him here? The boy thrashed angrily, determined to break his restraints. But his attempts were futile; his small four year old frame was unable to set him free.
"Mommy! Mommy!" His voice, so young and innocent, was muffled but still shrill against the deathly silence of the dark space. Where were his parents? Didn't they know he was in trouble? He struggled to make sense of the situation, to no avail.
A normal day. He went to preschool, a place he was beginning to think of a pleasant rather than torturous. He had made such progress, his teacher said. A smart one, they had there, she had told his father. Dinner. They'd had spaghetti. Mommy wasn't home, but that was normal. He would see her soon. Daddy had just gotten home that morning, so the boy was eager to play with him, to fill him on everything he had done the past two days. Daddy was tired, but he tried not to act like it. Daddy put him to bed, trying to keep his eyes open as he read the boy a story. The boy went to sleep, expecting to wake up the next morning. Begin the routine again. Maybe Mommy would be home then.
He didn't remember anything after that. Somehow he had ended up here, in a car he had never been in before. In a box inside of the car. The boy finally gave up, sweat making his blonde hair cling to his forehead. The screams slowly turned to sobs, and the rock of the moving vehicle and it's humming engine drifted the boy off to sleep.
The next time he was awoken, however, his eyes met those of a man. They weren't like his fathers, though. These eyes were cold, calculating. The boy shifted uncomfortably as the man's breath hit him, foul and warm. Before he had time to register any more than this, he was being hoisted into the air by the arms of this strange man. They were outside, and the boy took a moment to get used to the sunlight. Once the haze cleared, he saw trees. Tons of them. In fact, that's all he could see. Then, a change. A house. The boy began to scream and wave his arms, hoping there was someone in the house who could save him. But soon, they were on the steps of that very house, and the boy was thrust into confusion all over again. The man chuckled at the boy's ignorance, shaking his head. He took the boy inside and set him down in a small room containing only a cot and a wooden bucket. He slowly unwound the restraints from the boy's hands and feet, but the tight grip he assumed on the boy's wrists eliminated any chance of escape. The boy continued to cry silently, his face red with tears. The man let go of his wrist for a moment to wipe a tear away from the boy's face. The gesture seemed kind, but the man's face told a different story. It was still cold, closed off. It wasn't until his fingers were firmly latched on the boy's arm agin that he spoke for the first time, his voice deep and scratchy. The boy was terrified to realize that this greeting was not friendly at all; only solidifying his fears that the man was not a friend. And for the first time, he was scared to his very core.
"Welcome home, Henry."
JJ lazily opened the front door, too exhausted to bother announcing her arrival but still alert enough to make sure the door was locked behind her. She trudged through her house, only half awake. A voice behind her brought her back to reality, and she reacted in fear. JJ turned, hands at her side to pull the Glock she had not yet removed from her belt. Her face relaxed as she saw only Will, hands up in surrender.
"Jayje. It's me?" He asked, still unsure if she recognized him.
"Hey, sorry," she sighed, walking towards him. JJ struggled to stay standing as he hugged her. They hadn't gotten much sleep the past few days, and police station coffee only lasted so long. Between the days in Colorado, Reid's insisting that she play cards on the plane rather than rest, and the commute from Quantico that seemed to last longer than usual, the profiler was barely keeping her eyes open.
"Tough case?"
JJ let out a breath. "You could say that," her voice was making an effort to be sarcastic but it came out weak. "We caught him... he killed another girl first. We didn't get there fast enough," she said, and Will picked up on her guilt-ridden words.
"JJ, it'll be okay. There's nothing more you could've done," Will said, trying to comfort her. After a moment of silence, he added, "Are you sure about this?"
"About what?"
"Going back. At least at the DOD you didn't see these things every day."
"Yes," she said for what she felt was the thousandth time. "It's where I belong. And I'm trying, Will, I really am. To be here more for Henry, for you."
He nodded, not about to argue with her again., especially at this hour.
"I'm just going to go say goodnight to Henry," JJ said, walking in the direction of her son's room.
As much as she loved Will, she was getting tired of the same conversation over and over again. The BAU was her family and she wasn't about to leave them. She quietly pushed open the door and tiptoed over to his bed, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler. JJ looked down, her blonde hair falling around her face. Her whole body was suddenly paralyzed with fear. She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself, but found her legs giving out. Her voice was hoarse, desperate.
"Will! Will!" JJ continued to scream his name even when she could hear his footsteps racing down the hallway.
"JJ?" he asked, his voice full of fear and concern.
She looked up at him, eyes pooling with tears, hot as they flowed down her cheeks.
"He's gone."