Silver Frame

Aaron Hotchner was sitting at his desk, doing what little paperwork he had left.

Upon entering his office, most people's eyes landed on the picture of his five year old son, but most didn't notice the picture that was partially hidden by the photo of the little boy. Unlike the picture of Jack, which had a simple black frame, the second picture had a silver frame with complicated engravements. The fancy frame held a beautiful photo of one single figure, a girl that was in her early teens. From the grayscale photo, it was hard to tell what color her hair was, but it was dark and swept down the sides of her face beautifully. The child was sitting on a chair, leaning on a desk with her head propped up by her hand, her elbow resting on the desk. The girl had her head cocked to the side and was smiling at the camera.

She was the whistle Hotch heard in the wind. She was the whisper that gave him the strength to go through the tough cases. She was the embrace that held him through his divorce. She was the soft singer that had helped him get his newborn son to sleep. She was the conscience to the UnSubs that had none. She was his angel, his ghost.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork and stared out at the bullpen. A sweet melody came to his ears, her melody… her lullaby. For a moment he saw her spinning in a metallic blue gown… the very one she died in.

"Aaron…" her voice drifted to him as she spoke to him. Hotch snapped out of his trance when he realized it wasn't her voice he'd heard, but Hailey's, she was on his work phone's voicemail.

"Aaron, pick up. You were supposed to pick Jack up an hour ago," her angry voice yelled into the phone.

"Sorry Hailey, I'll be there in five," he told her quickly as he slammed down the receiver he didn't remember picking up.

As Hotch left the office, he set his file down, forgetting about the candle JJ had lit and put on his desk. As he got into his car, the flames were spreading around his office. A branch off his small tree broke, pushing over the two pictures. Between the broken pieces of silver and glass lay the photo. Soon the flames spread to the small picture, only if you squinted could you see the neatly written name on the back of the photo.

Layla Strauss