A/N: I can honestly say I am surprised that so many people have voiced their positive opinion on this story. I know it is only the beginning and it is far too easy for a story to turn bad, but I am so happy and thankful for all of the people who have put faith in this story. When I started writing this I really doubted posting it or even finishing the first chapter, but your support has made me decide to keep this story going and make it a good one. I hope you enjoy, but this story will become very dark, very quickly. If you are uncomfortable with that, I'm sorry but turn back now. I won't be pulling any punches. Please continue to review, I love hearing from you. -HSW

A Bullet to the Head

Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative. -H.G. Wells

"You are not taking me off this case, Hotch."

"I wasn't even considering it." Hotch said entering the semi-large room with dark pink walls.

Spencer stood in the middle of the room, his head down and looking down at an old, worn out blue/gray elephant in his hands. He stood between a small glass top table with two multicolored striped cushions substituting as chairs for the small table. There were three open books on the table, with a notepad covered in small doodles and a few scribbled down chores.

The floor was wooden, white, with two rugs on the floor. One was pink shag, fuzzy and clean with an empty cat bed sitting in the middle of it. A ball of new yarn sat in the bed with a toy mouse just barely off to the side. It was a plain basket, with a dark purple blanket spread over the inside. Another was spread over the other side of the room, larger and rectangular but it matched the other circular one. The pattern on the rectangular was pink and gold loops and it wasn't shag just soft. It lay in front of the window seat with a purple cushion on the wood with green and pink pillows strewn across the seat. An extremely old and worn out copy of Lewis Carrols "Alice in Wonderland" was laid gently in the corner, propped up against the corner beside the window with blinds pulled up and pink, purple, and green see through curtains pulled to the side.

In the corner beside the windows seat was a tall lamp, with a light purple hood, and a small pink radio on the floor with three cds resting beside it and an art pad beside a pair of headphones. The sketch she had been working on was a portrait of her cat, playing with the ball of yarn.

Her bed was made neatly, almost perfectly. The fitted sheet was pink and the quilt was white with a green inside with white Fibonacci Spirals on the inside. There were eight pillows on the bed, three green, three pinks, and two white with pink, green, and purple circles. Her bed had built in drawers underneath the mattress, and a built in book shelf as the headboard that was filled with books and two pictures, One of herself and her little brother, and another of her graduating high school. Her bedside table matched the painted purple wood that made the full size bed. There were three notebooks in the first gap, and two psychology text books underneath. A tall green lamp stood on the table next to a red alarm clock. A matching book shelf was catty cornered in an opposing corner, with more books, a few bottles of nail polish and a lava lamp that matched the color scheme of her room. There was a dry erase board on the corner, with dates and times of classes and a few phone numbers.

Tacked onto the wall were test scores and papers that had perfect grades on them. Across the ceiling were multiple bright colored, circular lights that ranged from small to large. It gave the room a comfortably dim lighting. Her closet was open and full of bright colors just like her room, with scarves and bright jewelry and sneakers. There were jeans and jackets, multiple colors and jeans that ran from skinny to baggy. There were button up blouses and mismatched socks balled together inside sleeves of a shoe holder that attached to the back of her door.

Spencer shook his head, "The bright colors and the neatness… it's all faked. This is forced."

"She surrounded herself with bright colors and things that made her comfortable, things to make her appear normal, but she isn't."

"She tries to be… it's cluttered so she wouldn't feel alone. The pillows, the old stuffed animals, she was afraid of being alone."

Hotch nodded, "This was her safe haven."

Reid nodded, "I had a, uh, I had an elephant like this when I was a kid."

"Really?"

"My dad gave it to me; he said it was because I had the perfect memory."

"Maybe that's why he gave it to her, too."

"Maybe…" he said, "Hotch, could I-"

"Yeah, I don't think she'd mind."

He nodded and exited the room without another word.

00000000000

Rylee opened her eyes slowly and winced at the pain. She could feel the bruises forming on her inner thighs, and the scratch marks that marred her hips and lower back. She hissed as she forced herself to sit up, the chains that held her captive rattling and sliding against the concrete floor.

Her dark blue eyes narrowed and tried to force themselves to focus; making the throbbing headache she had even worse. She groaned and lifted a hand to her eye, "Hello?" she muttered, pain clear in her small voice, "Is anyone here? Hello?" she began to cry louder.

She shook, cold and hurting, "Hello?" she yelled out.

She looked around the room slowly, noticing mirrors on the left wall and water dripping down the right. There was a dim light coming from somewhere she couldn't see. The room was large; it reminded her of her old high school's gym. She was chained in what she guess was the center of the room, alone… very much alone.

She lifted her hand to her neck, but found no necklace. She choked a sob and pressed her knuckles against the bare, bruised skin between her collar bones. "SOMEONE HELP ME!" she screamed, before collapsing onto her stomach, "Please." She whimpered, not quite crying.

She rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her small stomach, "Imagine there's no countries…" she sang quietly, a few tears beginning to roll down her cheek, "It isn't hard to do…"

Her voice defiantly wasn't the best voice in the word, it was a bit too high and it didn't sound quite right, especially with the song she was singing, but it wasn't a terrible voice. Her voice shook with the tears as she began to cry.

00000000000000

"Nothing to kill or die for… and no religion too…"

"You're gonna want to hear this guys." Morgan said pressing a button on his phone, "Talk Garcia."

"The girl who got kidnapped-"

"Rylee." Spencer filled in quickly.

"She's still alive! The site that the first video was on just posted a live feed. I just sent it to your phone."

Morgan pressed another button and on the screen.

"Imagine all the people,"

Spencer inhaled a bit and narrowed his eyes, she was hunched over and was singing quietly, the bruises were clear as the camera zoomed and recorded her image from her legs to her tear stained and bloody face.

"Living life in peace, you." Her voice cracked as she choked a sob.

"Garcia, can you trace it?" Hotch asked suddenly.

"I can try, but it's jumping all over the place."

"Rush it, she's family."

"What?" Morgan asked, looking at Hotch confused.

"She's my little sister." Spencer was able to choke out, "She's family."

They all fell silent as Hotch put a hand on Spencer's shoulder as he tightened his grip on the elephant.

"You may call me a dreamer, but I'm not the only one… I hope someday you join us and the world will all be as one…" She cried openly.

Spencer glared at it, "Shut it up."

Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living. Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress.

-Bruce Barton