CHAPTER 1

"Another day in this carnival of souls; another night settles in as quickly as it goes. The memories are shadows, ink on the page, and I can't seem to find my way home. And it's almost like your heaven's trying everything, your heaven's trying everything, to keep me out." ~Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch

She ran for her life, her feet thudding on the solid ground, eyes searching the dark for a way out. She couldn't breathe, her chest aching, her cuts and bruises and burns making every step agony. He's coming for me, he's coming. RUN; you have to run! A voice in the black, reaching out to her, calling her name with a gleeful lust. He's here. Oh god, oh god, oh god. KEEP RUNNING. MOVE. HE'S COMING TO KILL YOU. Her vision fading, his footsteps closing in. STAY AWAKE. STAY ALIVE. HE'S COMING. She reached ahead, groping for the saviors she still believed would find her. You have to come. Please come for me. HE'S HERE! NO! Save me from this hell...

"Damn it, Hotch! We can't just sit here while that mother fuc—"

"Morgan!" Aaron Hotchner interrupted his agent, silencing the irate man with a glare. "I know you're frustrated, but I need you to calm down and focus." They'd been over this case again and again, and still, nothing. He knew it was frustrating - my god, I know it - but as leader of this team, he refused to let his emotions take over. The opposite could be said for Derek Morgan.

"Hotch," Morgan tried again, struggling to calm his voice. "We can only assume what that bastard is doing to her! And-and-damn it!" He threw himself into the nearest chair, and buried his head in his hands. She'd be okay—she had to be okay. All he wanted was to catch this son-of-a-bitch, and that was the one thing he couldn't do. All he could do was sit. And do nothing. And it was frustrating as hell.

Spencer Reid paced back and forth, dimly aware of what was going on around him. Think, Reid, think. She's probably already dead - no! Damn it. No. Just no. Not now. Now, he had to find a connection. Because that's what he did. He was genius Doctor Reid. He was Spence—oh god. He took a shaky breath. Find the connection; find the connection.

David Rossi stood in sullen silence, away from the group. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. The rhythmic beating of the rain reminded him of home. He used to lay awake in his bed for hours after his parents tucked him in, just listening to the sound of the rain tapping against his window. Now, it was all just a cruel joke. Now, the rain sounded like blood. Her blood. Her life…slowly slipping away from them all as they stood here and did nothing. Oh, but he wanted to something—damn it, he wanted to help her!

He looked over to where the rest of the team resided. He knew what each of them was thinking. Save her. Because nothing else mattered. Nothing else could.

Flip. Nothing.

Flip. Nothing.

Flip. Still nothing.

DAMN IT. Emily Prentiss leaned forward against the wooden table and rested her head against her forearms. What had it been—26 hours? Too long. That's how long it had been since their agent had been taken. And now it was taking them too long to fit the pieces together. They needed to find her and soon. Before she turned up dead—NO! Don't do that, Em. She needs us right now. Push back the anger, the guilt, the terrifying, paralyzing fear. Because we're going to find her. And she's going to be alive. She's going to be ALIVE.

Far away, in a dungeon cell, their agent lay on a slab of metal, stripped of her jacket and weapon and lashed onto the table. Her breathing was slow as she slept, but it quickened as the cold and wet began to seep through to her skin. Slowly, she awoke. Gasping. Strapped down on this freezing table made of steel. Can't move-can't breathe-just breathe; you have to wake up and breathe. Her eyes adjusted slightly to the dark that enveloped her body and mind. Where the hell am I? I CAN'T MOVE. WHERE AM I AND WHY CAN'T I MOVE. But then she remembered where she was, where he'd put her. In a dimly-lit, musty room that smelled of dead things and burned flesh. And in the top corner of the wall far above her was one small, barred window. There was no light other than the single burning bright bulb swaying slowly, ever so slowly over the table on which she lay. Crap. Yes, she'd been here before. But something was missing. WHERE IS HE. WHERE THE FUCK IS HE! I CAN'T MOVE AND HE'S COMING-

"Hi, there, sweetheart."

A low, raspy voice came from the darkness, from the corner of the room. As the voice came closer, a shadowy figure to match it began to appear in her blurred vision. It was...who was it? She couldn't think straight. NO. Oh, god. It was him. And just like that, the memories of the previous nights flooded back. They hit her like a giant crushing wave of pain, fear, and despair. She remembered the cold knife, sliding across her stomach and her legs. Rivulets of her blood flowing...dripping down, down, down… The jolts of electricity shooting through her body - a fire in her veins. His teeth biting into her arm as she screamed for mercy again and again. But he'd shown her no mercy. The scalding heat from the steaming poker and burning stones which he'd used to close her wounds…to keep her alive so that he could continue his work. And she remembered the sounds she'd made against her will, the violent screams that came from her mouth. The begging, the pleading, and the crying for help. But none came. They never came. Why didn't they come…?

"I didn't appreciate your attempt to escape." His voice came closer in the dark until it was right at her ear, his foul breath hot and wet. "You're going to pay for that mistake, my love." He growled, seductively. Dangerously.

She gathered her strength and pushed away the pressing fear. "Like. Hell."

His breathing slowed to a stop. She couldn't hear him anymore, she couldn't feel him, she couldn't see him. Damn it, where—

Sssssssssssssss.

Oh god. She knew that sound, she knew that sound. Her body recoiled, an automatic response to the pain she knew was coming. There was always more pain, and that was the first thing she learned down here. NO! God, please-NO!

"AGHHHHHHH!"

Her anguished screams penetrated the silence. Burning, it's burning, GET IT OFF ME, IT HURTS, PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!

Funny how no one ever listened to her cries in the night.

And so she suffered by herself in the darkness as the man who had snatched her away from her home, from her team, and from her family covered her bare stomach with twisted fiery-hot pieces of metal, humming merrily to himself as he did so.

"That's it, my love. Scream for me. 'Cause no one can hear you. No one cares. They won't come for you. No one ever will."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain she felt, but it didn't help, not one bit, and he knew that.

Think about something else. Think about the team.

Think about Hotch. So serious, yet so passionate about everything he does. He's lost so much to this job, and yet he still wakes up every day ready and willing to beat the bad guys. And Morgan. His strength, his teasing, his eagerness to save the victims no matter what the cost. Think about Rossi. Always cutting himself off from those he loves, to protect them from what haunts him the Emily. Compartmentalizing—whatever the hell that is—so concerned about others, yet never about herself. Prepared to give her life for this team, for this job. Then there's Garcia. Silly, witty, crazy-awesome Garcia. Huddled up in her tech room, waving fuzzy pens, shielding herself from the evil in the world. Waiting every day for her babies to come home safe and sound… And Spence. Socially-awkward, boy-genius Doctor Spencer Reid. Pretending everything's alright when it's really at its worst.

Yes. Think about the team. It helps.

JJ cried out as another wave of pain hit her.

Not really.

And it's almost like your heaven's trying everything, your heaven's trying everything to bring me down. ~Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch