The Mysterious Disappearance of Alaric Morgan-Reid

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Alaric told herself the rhyme as she sat up in her bed. The shadows in the corner of her room were dark and dense, and as she peered at the door left ajar she tried to tell herself she was dreaming.

The noises had woken her up many times before. She had told Derek, but he replied that he never heard them – it was her imagination, nothing more. Spencer at least humoured her by allowing the hall light to stay on and letting Clooney in her room, where now he slept at the foot of her bed, ready to defend if need be.

"Hello?" she called, but no one answered. There was a faint scuffling in the distance and, gathering her courage, the girl slipped out from under her covers, arming herself with a heavy book from her nightstand.

Clooney's head rose when he noticed she was out of bed. His tail wagged and he sprung to his feet, but as soon as he heard the scuffling – closer now, nearly outside of her door – he crouched low to the floor, baring his teeth as he let out a deep warning growl.

"Quiet, Clooney!" Alaric muttered; "They might come in here!"

She took a quick survey of her room. The door was her safe exit, but if the intruder came after her she resolved to use the window; there were some bushes below that would break her fall, and it was large enough that she could force Clooney through if she had to. But that all depended on whether or not they came after her. If not, she needed to reach her minder before they realised she was there.

Why does this always happen when Derek and Spencer aren't here? She thought as she peered out into the hallway.

"Follow me," she murmured to Clooney; "If you see something, don't bark."

The dog growled and she took that as assent. If he did bark, Alaric hoped the sight of a dog would be enough to scare the intruder away.

In the hall she could see nothing out of the ordinary. There was a small table on the opposite wall some inches away from her where Derek had put the second house phone, and as she caught sight of it Alaric had an idea. She opened the door wide and hurried out, snatching the phone from its cradle and dialling in '911.'

"Just in case," she mouthed as she slipped it into her pyjama pocket.

The pair turned to the stairs, which curved around the corner and into the dark downstairs hallway. Alaric's minder was in the guest room – but when she thought about it, Alaric realised how useless she would be if there were an intruder in the house. A middle-aged, mild-mannered woman, Mrs 'Java' Bean was nervous of Clooney and strange cars in the street, so to enlist her help against a potentially dangerous invader could have proved more trouble than the invader themselves.

"Don't bark," Alaric reminded Clooney. She put a finger to her lips to emphasise her point, then moved forward. The scuffling sounded again, this time closer to the stairs. She stopped at the very top step, where she tried to steel her nerves against the thought of facing a criminal.

Derek keeps a gun in his office, she reminded herself: If they chase me, I can run upstairs and lock myself inside. Where does he keep the key? I bet he's moved it again.

With a shake of her head, Alaric started down the stairs.

The carpet under her feet seemed to make too much noise. She was uncertain if it she heard the scuffling again, but as Clooney growled behind her and tried to force his way past she decided she must have. There was no light save the moonlight that poured in through the window, so everything around her was lit in a strange, silver glow.

Her book at the ready and her free hand clutched around the phone in her pocket, Alaric prepared to come face to face with her intruder.

She took one step on the floor, and her feet landed on something warm. There was a horrible squeal and she leapt backwards, landing painfully on the bottom step as she blindly threw her book in front of her. Clooney started to bark as the squeal became a terrified chitter, and upstairs Alaric heard the telling sounds of her minder getting out of bed.

A switch was thrown and the downstairs hall filled with light. The scuffling could still be heard; Alaric caught sight of a sharp furred face diving underneath the shoe-rack, chittering in fright and pain as her dog barked after it.

"Alaric Morgan-Reid!" she heard Mrs Bean shout above them; "What on earth are you doing up so late? And why are you making such a racket?"

She turned her head to see the woman come downstairs, wrapping her orange robe more tightly around her waist. Mrs Bean's face was typical of a woman her age, with crows' feet around her eye sockets and wrinkles becoming more noticeable as time went on, but her one distinguishing feature was the tattoo on the back of her hand. It was a swallow, and underneath it in black ink was the name 'Maria.'

"I thought I heard someone down here," she said; "We have rats."

"Is that any reason to wake up all the neighbours in the middle of the night? Clooney, be quiet!"

Clooney barked once more for good measure, and then returned to Alaric's side. He sulked as Mrs Bean berated him, but when the child stroked his ear she heard his tail thump against the wall.

"Honestly Alaric, this is the fourth time you've done this," she chastised; "I've spoken with Mr Morgan and he's told us, in no uncertain terms, that the house is safe. There are alarms!"

"Alarms malfunction!" she protested.

"They haven't malfunctioned!" Mrs Bean replied; "Now go back to bed and don't get up again until morning! I'll have to tell your fathers about this."

"Go ahead! And while you're at it, tell them we have rats."

She stormed past her and to her room, where after Clooney had come in she slammed the door. Alaric turned, furious that she had been fooled again; the third time that month, and the second since Derek had lectured her about it. Spencer had even decided that they might need to send her to a therapist – he claimed her experiences, coupled with the fact that they were often out of the country, were putting a strain on her mental well-being. Both he and Derek agreed it could have been the root of her sudden housebreaker fears.

"This is stupid," she murmured as she paced the room; "I'm not imagining it. If they were here more, they'd hear it too!"

Clooney looked up at her with doleful eyes. He returned to his spot on the bed, where he rested his head on his paws and let his tail fall limply over the side. Alaric pulled at her blue pyjama sleeve, searching her bedroom for anything that would settle her nerves.

Over the course of her nine months under Derek and Spencer's care, the child had decorated her room to suit her tastes. There was a desk to the left of her bed covered with books, and beside that a wardrobe filled with clothes – mostly miniature waistcoats and themed shirts. Her red curtains were drawn so she could see the moon and her duvet, themed after a popular videogame, had half-fallen on the floor.

Alaric went to sit on the bed. As she did she felt a lump in her pocket, and diving into it she found she still had the landline.

"Damn it!" she hissed. She did not dare go outside to return it, not so soon after Mrs Bean had chastised her.

Instead, she searched inside her nightstand drawer. There was a small notebook hidden there filled with emergency numbers; Spencer and Derek's were the first, written in red ink and underlined several times.

"Should I?" she asked her companion, but Clooney only looked at her and wagged his tail.

Alaric held it for a while. Her carers were more than likely after some murderer – and if not, no doubt Mrs Bean would call them and mention the child's little mishap.

"Might as well be me," she said as she dialled Derek's number.

In California, where Spencer and Derek had been chasing after a serial killer for the past three days, Morgan's phone rang in his pocket. He took it out expecting it to be Hotchner, but his brow furrowed when his home phone number came up.

"That's weird," he murmured to himself; "It's three am over there."

He answered it and said hello, and when he heard Alaric's voice on the other end he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Alaric," he said; "What are you doing up, sweet-pea?"

"It's midnight in California. What are you still doing up?"

"Don't turn this around on me. Why are you up? Did Clooney jump on your stomach again?"

There was silence. Realisation dawned and he sighed, shaking his head as he swapped the phone to his other ear.

"Intruders again?"

"We have rats," she replied; "I stepped on one."

"Rats? So you're calling me, at midnight, because of rats?"

"Mrs Bean is going to call you in the morning."

"Then it is because of intruders. What happened this time?"

"Where's Uncle Spencer?"

"He's in his room, probably clearing up his paperwork. Stop avoiding the question. You've called me, you obviously want to talk."

So Alaric told him, and as he listened Derek noted down the tone of her voice, how she stuttered over certain details. If he and Spencer ended up contacting a therapist, he wanted to have a decent amount for them to work with.

"Alaric, I've told you – the house is safe. No one's going to get in without our permission."

"But how do you know?" she asked; "Plenty of people have the same alarms and get broken into."

"Ally, Uncle Spencer and I will be home tomorrow. If you're still up, we'll go over the entire house and prove to you it's safe. But for now you've gotta sleep."

"I don't want to."

"Is Mrs Bean there?" he asked.

"She's in her room."

"Clooney?"

"He's staring at me."

"Good. Curl up with Clooney and shut your eyes. I'll see you tomorrow, sweet-pea."

Alaric said her goodnights and hung up, but she could not settle. She swore she could still hear scratching in the walls, constant noises at her door, and even overhead on the roof.

Rats, she told herself as she laid in her bed: Just rats. Damn it, guys, why aren't you here?