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Hotch's nightmare
Aaron Hotchner opened his eyes to fluorescent lights and a white board with nurses schedules. Turning his head slightly revealed David Rossi sitting in a chair next to Hotch's hospital bed. His expression was a mixture of concern, relief, and concentration. He smiled and said, "Welcome back. You had us a little worried."
Since the last thing Hotch remembered was receiving a package in his office, he said, "What happened?"
Rossi said, "That's what we're going to figure out. What do you remember?"
Hotch tried to rub the left side of his head, he had a nasty headache, and found the process impeded by the restraints on both wrists. His gaze snapped from wrist to Rossi. Confusion and the first hints of panic churned in his gut. Rossi offered a sympathetic and reassuring smile. He said, "Doc is on his way. He has some questions before they come off. Why don't you tell me what you remember while we wait?"
Hotch took a deep breath and tried to recall what had happened after he took the package from JJ. Nothing occurred to him, so he described what he did remember. He said, "We got back from Abilene. I started in on some paperwork. JJ told me we had a new case and were gathering in the conference room. She dropped off a small package. I was going to open it. Now I'm in the hospital. What happened?" He tugged lightly on the restraints. "What did I do?"
Rossi said, "I need you to remember that on your own. What was in the package?"
Hotch said, "I don't know. I don't remember opening it."
"Think about it. Relax, we've got lots of time."
Hotch tried. He visualized the package, a padded envelope with a local postmark and a return address in Richmond. To his surprise, a memory popped like an exploding lightbulb.
"A digital voice recorder." He told Rossi.
"Good! What happened next?"
Hotch searched his memory again, but nothing else surfaced beyond a faint recollection of the scent of sage. He shrugged as the doctor arrived.
A young man of middle eastern descent, the doctor wore a stethoscope around his neck and carried a medical chart in one hand. "Hello, I'm Doctor Singer. Can you tell me your name?" He asked Hotch.
Hotch said, "Aaron Hotchner," adding, with no effort to disguise his impatience, "I work for the FBI, it's 2015, and Obama is president. So, why am I in restraints Doctor?"
A smile touched Singer's expression and he traded glances and nods with Rossi before he said, "The usual reason. It was feared you were a danger to yourself or others. Do you remember anything about what brought you here?"
"No."
"How do you feel?"
"I have a nasty headache and I'd really like a straight answer to my question."
"I'll arrange for something for the headache. Agent Rossi is in charge of answers, straight or otherwise. Do you have any nausea? Blurry vision?"
Hotch sighed and said, "No. Thank you." Singer noted the chart before putting it aside and releasing the restraints. Singer said, "You've suffered a mild concussion. We're going to keep you for observation. Agent Rossi will be here during visitor's hours. I will see you tomorrow. Good night agents." Singer left.
Hotch rubbed his wrists and lay back, trying to relax. Dave was going to provide answers in his own time. Pestering him wouldn't accomplish anything, so Hotch tried a change of subject. "Is the rest of the team okay? We have a case?"
"They're keeping busy."
"How many victims?"
"What happened after you found the recorder?" Meds for the headache arrived and Hotch took them before he probed his memory again. There was nothing relevant, just the faint memory of the smell of sage.
###
David Rossi sat forward as Hotch tensed slightly.
"What is it?"
"Sage." Hotch said with a shrug. "When I opened the package, I remember smelling sage."
"All right, what does that tell you?" Rossi asked. Hotch shook his head, but Rossi could tell he was holding something back. "What?" Rossi asked again. "Just say it. There are no wrong answers."
"It's nothing." Hotch insisted. "But sage reminds me of the Peter Lewis case."
Rossi remained silent, waiting for more. It came in the form of Hotch's sharp, startled intake of breath. He clutched the blankets with both hands. His expression shifted from one of concentration to one of consternation and horror as he whispered, "I win." An agonized moan followed and Aaron Hotchner curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth in emotional turmoil as memories consumed him.
###
JJ knocked on the door frame to Hotch's office, a small padded envelope in one hand. She said, "Hotch? We have a new case. Everyone is gathering in the conference room, and this came for you."
"I'll be there in a minute." Hotch promised, stacking the files he'd been working on neatly and standing up. JJ nodded and handed him the envelope before heading for the conference room. Hotch glanced at the local post mark, noted the return address was a post office box his brother had set up. He opened the envelope. Inside was a small digital voice recorder. There was no accompanying note or packaging indicating it was a gift. The display indicated one message had been recorded. Baby brother is becoming a techie. I wonder what happened to the pen and ink. Hotch removed the device from the envelope and hit the play button, expecting to hear a message from his brother suggesting dinner or drinks. Instead, a puff of sage scented air emerged from the device's speaker, followed by the voice of Peter Lewis saying, "I win."
Hotch dropped the recorder as if it had burned him. When he looked up, Lewis stood in the doorway, wearing the same demonic grin he'd worn while being put in a patrol car after the team had caught him.
Lewis said, "It's time to finish the job. When I'm done, you'll know what to do." He backed away and walked into the bull pen. Hotch was relieved to see that it was empty, everyone had either gone home or was waiting for him in the conference room.
"Stop!" Hotch demanded. Lewis reached Reid's desk, stopped, and turned to face Hotch.
"It's time to finish the job." Lewis repeated and drew a pistol, pointing it at Hotch. Hotch matched his draw and they faced each other's gun barrels. "Drop the weapon." Hotch ordered.
"Hotch, I don't have a weapon." Lewis' voice had changed, it sounded a little like Reid's, as if he was trying to imitate Reid's voice. Hotch ignored the attempt to distract him and repeated his demand to drop the weapon.
"Hotch! What are you doing?" Derek Morgan appeared on the walkway that led to the conference room. "Put the gun down." He approached Hotch slowly, veering to put himself between Hotch and Lewis.
Lewis shifted his aim and pointed the gun at Morgan, but Morgan didn't react, his focus remained on Hotch.
Confusion kept Hotch from pulling the trigger. Morgan should have sought cover, or at least halted in place. He should have drawn his own weapon. He shouldn't be putting himself in the line of fire. Something was wrong. Rossi, JJ, and Garcia appeared on the walkway. Their expressions all blossomed with dismay and fear.
"Talk to me." Morgan pleaded as he came between Hotch and Lewis, one hand on his own holstered weapon. "Why are you doing this?" Hotch lowered his gun and raised it again, trying to find a line of sight on Lewis that Morgan didn't block.
"He's going to shoot! Get out of the way!"
"Who's going to shoot? Reid isn't holding a gun."
"Not Reid, Lewis! Morgan, get out of the way!"
Confusion flared briefly in Morgan's eyes, and was replaced by fear. His tone became coaxing and reassuring. He said, "Hotch, Lewis is in prison. We sent him there last year. He's not here. Reid is. If you pull that trigger the only person you'll hurt is either me or Reid. Lewis can't shoot me or anyone else in this room. The only one with a weapon drawn is you. Give me the gun Hotch." Morgan took slow steps forward, hand held out for Hotch's weapon.
Abruptly Lewis laughed and disappeared. Reid was now visible behind Morgan, looking both relieved and terrified. Hotch felt sick at what he'd done and sicker about what he'd almost done.
"Hotch, it's okay, nobody's hurt, just give me the gun." Morgan reached for Hotch's weapon, but—If Morgan hadn't come—If I hadn't hesitated—Lewis had done it, he'd caused Hotch to turn on his team. If he could do that, he could make Hotch turn on anyone. He could make me hurt Jack! Lewis had won. His words echoed in Hotch's mind, "You'll know what to do."
He did. It was so simple. It would keep Lewis from using him to hurt anyone else. Hotch rested the barrel of his gun under his own jaw and took a breath. Morgan was already moving. He tackled Hotch and shoved the gun barrel away as Hotch pulled the trigger.
Hotch didn't notice where the bullet went. All that mattered was that he was still a danger to everyone he knew.
"No!" Hotch moaned, struggling in Morgan's grip, trying desperately to retain his hold on the gun. It was useless, he had no leverage and lacked any desire to actually hurt Morgan, even if it meant being able to finish the job. Morgan wrestled the gun away from Hotch and tossed it. A moment later, Reid had it. Handcuffs ended any chance of Hotch retrieving his gun, but the compulsion to eliminate the threat Lewis represented remained and Hotch began hitting his head against the floor.
"Stop it Hotch!" Morgan's words were barely audible through the aftereffects of gunfire. Hotch ignored them. Morgan shifted his grip so he could prevent Hotch from hurting himself further. Soon Rossi was there as well and any chance of finishing the job disappeared. EMS arrived several minutes later and a syringe full of sedatives accomplished what Hotch had been unable to. With unconsciousness, Lewis ceased to be a threat.
###
David Rossi waited until Hotch stopped rocking and his breathing slowed. Rossi waved off the two nurses who appeared in response to the noise and waited for Hotch to look up.
When he did, Hotch's eyes were full of guilt, self- loathing, and despair. He said, "Are Morgan and Reid okay? Did my shot hit anyone?"
"No, they're fine. The only thing damaged was your head."
"And my reputation. And my sanity."
"Yes, well, we have answers for that. You want to hear them?"
Hotch rested his forehead against his bent knees and sighed. He said, "Why not?"
"There were no witnesses except the team. Everyone else had gone home."
"Security footage—"
"Garcia worked her magic. It won't come to light for years, if ever. Doctor Singer is the son of an old army buddy of mine. As far as the hospital is concerned, you're officially a John Doe. The lab analyzed the recorder for trace and found the same psychoactive cocktail Lewis used before. None of this is your fault Aaron. This is Lewis' sick idea of revenge, one he won't be able to repeat, because he's going to lose all outside contact privileges. Lewis found a way to drug you and used the recorder to deliver instructions and a post hypnotic trigger. But he didn't accomplish anything except giving you a concussion. You're not a danger to anyone anymore." He gripped Hotch's shoulder and shook it gently. "This is not your fault. Trust me, I know. I've been through it. Derek has you to thank that I didn't shoot him three years ago. He was just returning the favor."
"There was a trigger." Hotch pointed out shakily. "There was a trigger and a response. Dave, I don't remember him planting either."
"Of course you don't He probably told you to forget when he did it."
"What else did he tell me to forget? You said I wasn't a danger anymore, but you don't know that. I could be a walking time bomb, waiting for another trigger."
"That way lies madness." Rossi warned. "We've cut off his access to outside help. He's not going to be allowed to repeat this."
"It doesn't matter." Hotch whispered. "Unless I can retrieve that memory, He's won."
"So, you hunt that memory. He only wins if you give up."
Hotch smiled and didn't reply, but Rossi could see the defeat in his eyes and knew the team's efforts to bury what had happened had been in vain. Hotch was going to admit to all of it. That forced Rossi to face the unpleasant possibility that the team might need a new leader soon.