It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. - Frederick Douglass
There are some doors better off unopened…Some things best left undiscovered. Hotch knows this now, but the knowledge came too late. It came with a cost. Searching for these kids is like searching for Jack in those endless rooms, except that the walls have fallen down and the search area has expanded indefinitely. It hurts to remember this terror. It clutches at his chest. But he forces himself to keep going. Keep asking these questions. Keep enduring the sick and twisted looks of pleasure on this man's face. Because, maybe, it will get him somewhere.
Hotch glances at his wrist, checking for the time. 11:30. The kids have been gone roughly 16 hours. His team is no closer to finding them. The crime scenes are gruesome and the only clues they have unearthed so far are unsettling in nature.
No overnight bags or backpacks have been taken. No clothing is unaccounted for. Toothbrushes still in the bathroom. Which means, they weren't taken on a hasty trip. Likely, they are dealing with something much darker than kidnapping.
How does the sun feel?
The sun is burning. Too shiny. Too hot. It makes the scary things real. It makes the car feeling come back. The thirsty feeling. Try to talk. Try to get up. Can't.
Look around. Is Daddy coming?
Look around. Where are they?
The big dirty place for garbage. Why did they get thrown away?
A house is right over there. Too far to go.
Sleepy again. But still thinking. Why did they get thrown away? Look over by the flies. Eyes are too heavy. Try to get up. Try to talk. Too tired. Broken…
Maybe they all got broken. Maybe that's why they got thrown away.
Sleeping. The sun stays awake.
Hotch has a terrible headache. He needs to talk to Jack but refuses to call his son in the middle of a case this bad. He doesn't want any of the things he sees to somehow seep into Jack's consciousness. He doesn't think he can handle it if Jack asks if he is getting the bad guys. Because this time, they have the bad guy. They just don't have the kids the bad guy hurt. He rubs his temples.
"Hotch. You okay?" Rossi asks. He is back from the Michaels crime scene. Everyone is already reconvening and Hotch has made absolutely no progress with McAffrey.
"I'm fine," Hotch insists, though it's clear he isn't.
"Why don't you let me take over the interrogation for a while?" Dave offers. "Take a break."
"Four kids are missing, Dave. I don't have time for a break," he snaps.
Reid comes back from the McAffrey house looking green. Morgan is solemn. Emily is, somehow, calm and focused, despite the horrors she encountered at the Michaels home with Rossi. A mother stabbed is bad enough. Four generations slaughtered in one house is something else entirely. Those little girls are something else entirely. Hotch shakes his head, clearing it.
"Good news is, none of the kids have known medical conditions. All of them are strong. If they're out there anywhere, they have a good chance."
"Survival skills are high," JJ offers, wanting to keep morale up as well. "It sounds like the five-year-old is pretty much in charge of all the younger kids when the parents went out. Good relationship with their mother, though. She was in a tough spot. Wanting to leave but with no resources and four kids to support alone…"
"Good. Let's keep working," Hotch says.
It's raining. It's pouring.
Lick the water dots.
There. That's better.
Then it's all done. No more water dots.
More sun. More sleep.
"Hotch! Are you all right?" Emily asks, catching up with him outside the station. He just needs some air. That's all. Or so he tells himself. As usual, Emily is onto him. As usual, his whole team is onto him.
A light rain is falling, and he thinks of the children. Maybe out somewhere in it. Not dressed warmly enough. All alone, or with each other? Alive or not?
He shakes his head because he can't speak around the lump in his throat.
Emily crosses her arms. Remains a few feet away, silent. She waits. When he doesn't speak, she finally breaks the silence. "You know, JJ's having a really tough time with this?" she asks, and goes on as if Hotch has responded. "She keeps thinking of Henry. Of what kind of father could do this."
Wordless, he nods. He knows what she's doing…exactly what she's doing, but he finds, he doesn't care. He does not add that he is all too familiar with what kind of father could do horrible things to his children. Hotch had been raised by one himself. He knew that terror. Lived with it every day until his father died. Even now, sometimes, he dreams of it, jerking awake. Reliving the nightmare of his youth.
"But the thing is…" Emily continues, undeterred, "JJ is a great mom. She doesn't have to worry. Just because she works around crazies doesn't mean they are going to rub off on her." A pause. "This guy isn't your father. You are nothing like your father."
Hotch's gaze snaps to Emily's face. Slowly, the heat leaves his eyes. She is right. And just because this monster is similar to his own father is no reason not to focus all of his energy on finding these kids.
Just the opposite.
"Thank you," he says, offering another small nod, and then making his way back inside.