Welcome back everyone. Again the response to the last chapter was wonderful. Much appreciated. Now lets go find out who wanted to talk to Emily.
Hotch sat with his hands folded on the scarred table of the interview room. It has been hours since he last saw Emily and he knew it was all part of Morrissey's manipulation to irk the hell out of him. The detective was stalling, trying to show his superiority by getting him to ask, to beg to speak to Emily but Hotch didn't fall for it. He calmly waited him out. That idiot didn't know whom he was messing with and Hotch was looking forward to getting Morrissey's ass kicked off the force.
The door across from him opened and a female guard escorted Emily in. She was now dressed in blue and white striped inmate scrubs. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and secured to her waist by a length of chain. They had also put her in leg irons. Hotch's eyebrows rose slightly. The amount of restraints was overkill, just another one of Morrissey's tricks to demean Emily in her boss' eyes. It would have worked on Strauss but not on him. He briefly considered asking the guard to remove the restraints but he had a feeling he would lose that particular battle so he didn't try.
The officer shoved Emily down in the chair. Instead of leaving, she stood on guard, one hand resting on Emily's shoulder to prevent her from hopping back up. He noted that Emily's face was impassive and her eyes unreadable. That was not a good sign of her mental health.
Hotch leveled his steely gaze on the woman guard. "You may go," he said with a curt nod.
She blinked at him. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I have my orders. The prisoner can't be left unsupervised."
Hotch's voice grew deeper and colder. "You. May. Go." He met her gaze unflinchingly, daring her to defy him.
She backed down. "Yes, Sir," she said and quickly left the room.
Emily opened her mouth to speak but he discretely held up a finger, signaling to her to remain quiet. The two sat in silence. Hotch gazed at her, wondering how much effect this debacle was going to do to a mind that was still dealing with the aftermath of Doyle. Emily, avoiding any eye contact at the moment, stared a nonexistent spot over his left shoulder. The only sound to be heard was the occasional rattle of the chain when she shifted position. A minute or two later, the phone next to Hotch's elbow let out three short, sharp beeps.
A small smile came to his lips. "It's safe to talk now."
Her eyes drifted over to him and returned the smile. "Garcia?"
"Yes."
She nodded once then let her eyes wander away, the smile fading.
In another room, Morrissey pounded the desk in frustration when the sound cut out and the picture grew fuzzy on the monitor. He could no longer hear or see what was going on in the interview room. He had been hoping that Agent Prentiss would reveal something incriminating to her boss that he could use against her in court. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.
The flustered computer tech pounded away at his keyboard. "I have no idea. I can't seem to get it fixed." On the monitor the fuzzy images of Hotch and Emily began to scroll.
In her lair back at Quantico, Penelope leaned back in her chair with a smug look on her face. "That's what you get for arresting my Raven Warrior."
Hotch's eyes softened. "Emily, how are you doing?"
Emily gazed up at the ceiling, letting out a snort of derisive laughter. "That is one loaded question that I have ever heard."
He watched as one of her protective walls came crashing down, revealing the anger simmering behind it.
"Let's see. That bastard Morrissey arrested me for a murder I didn't do. I've been photographed, fingerprinted and body searched. And now I'm sitting in front of my boss, cuffed hand and foot, wearing scrubs that say prisoner across the back in big, bold black letters. How the fuck do you think I'm doing, Hotch?" she asked sarcastically.
It was her first flash of true emotions she had shown since the handcuffs had first been slapped on her wrists.
"I would say you are having one hell of a bad day."
She snorted again. "You have no idea." As quickly as the wall had fallen, it was back in place, smothering the anger burning within. Emily's face was once again on emotionless mask.
"You're right, Emily. I don't have any idea what you are going through. I've never been in your position."
"I hope you never are," she said honestly.
Hotch nodded and pulled out a small notebook. "Did Morrissey tell what he supposedly has on you?" he asked, clicking the pen. "He is purposely withholding the evidence from us."
"I can believe that. He is an egotistic excuse for a man." Again there was a flash of anger that she quickly clamped down on. Emily turned her gaze to her hands, taking in the bruising from the cuffs being too tight. "He said he had my fingerprints and blood at the scene."
Hotch straightened. "Did you cut yourself when you were interviewing Hill?"
She shook her head. "No. Not that I remember." She tried to look at her arms but the handcuffs and the chain around her waist prevented her from lifting them to look under them.
"Then how did he get a sample of your blood?"
"I have no idea."
He made several notes. "Did he say anything else?"
"He said he had a witness willing to testify that I bought a gun off of him."
"Did he give you a name?"
She sighed softly. "No."
Hotch nodded. "What else?"
Emily tugged at the cuffs. "Said there was video of me leaving the hotel the night of the murder. That's it."
He looked over his notes. "That's a start," he said and stuck the notebook inside the pocket of his suit coat. "Morrissey isn't going to let us anywhere near the evidence. He has emphasized several times, and rather loudly, that this isn't a BAU case. We'll simply go around him and get the evidence from your lawyer."
Emily nodded, still staring at her hands. Hotch noted that she was refusing to make eye contact and that worried him. Not knowing her as he did, others would interpret it as a sign of guilt. But he knew she was trying not to show any weakness and deep down…Emily was scared.
"I spoke to Strauss and she is sending the best lawyer the Bureau has. He should be here in plenty of time for your arraignment."
"Good."
Hotch folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty and called your mother. I thought that you would want her to hear it from me then hear it on the news."
Emily briefly looked up. "Thanks, Hotch. I really appreciate that," she said with a weak smile. "I assume that the news didn't go over too well with her?"
"Not at all. She was as mad as hell." He smiled. "I do believe that was the first time I ever heard her cuss."
She rolled her eyes. "She's ticked that I managed to embarrass her again."
He shook his head. "Emily, she is not mad at you. She's pissed at Morrissey for having the gall to even arrest you. She knows you didn't do it and she said that she wants to help in any way she can to help us prove that you are innocent. And she is more than willing to pay whatever they set for bail."
"Hotch, you know that they aren't going to grant me bail. It's murder and I'm a flight risk due to her connections."
"I know but I didn't want to upset her any further. The Ambassador also told me to tell you that she will be here as soon as she can."
Emily's head snapped up, locking eyes with him. "No!" she said vehemently.
Hotch looked at her in puzzlement. "I don't understand."
"I don't want her here." She sucked in a breath. "I don't want her seeing me like this." Emily rattled the chains of her restraints and gestured to her inmate scrubs.
"Your mother only wants to lend you her support," he argued.
"I don't care," she said with a stubborn look on her face. "She can do it from where ever she is at the moment."
"Emily—"
"And I don't want the team at my arraignment or trying to visit me. I also don't want them seeing me this way. It was bad enough being taken down in front of Morgan and then paraded past the rest of them like a common thug."
"Prentiss—"
"Hotch, please," she pleaded. "Please do as I ask. The only people I'm willing to see are my lawyer…and you."
"As you wish," he said, reluctantly giving in.
"Again. Thank you," she said, sincerely with a nod.
Just then the door behind Emily swung open and in swaggered Morrissey with a somewhat frustrated look on his face. The two agents smiled at each other, knowing the reason why he looked that way. The guard that had escorted Emily in earlier was right behind him.
To cover his annoyance, he glared at Hotch. "Time's up, Hotchner. You had your little talk with the prisoner. It's time to return her to her cell." He nodded to the guard who went over and pulled Emily to her feet.
Hotch stood up with her. He knew that there hadn't been a time limit. Morrissey was just strutting his stuff, trying to prove he was in charge. He ignored the grandstanding and focused all of his attention to his troubled agent.
"I swear to you, Prentiss, that I will do everything within my power to get you out of here as soon as possible."
"I know," she said as the guard dragged her toward the door.
Emily jerked her arm free and glared at the guard before turning and purposely plowing into the detective, knocking him back into the door. "Oops…I didn't see you standing there," she said with a smirk, her cold eyes boring into him.
"Get her out of here!" he roared, turning red.
"You really should get your blood pressure checked," Emily taunted as the guard latched back on to her arm and hauled her through the door. Once on the other side, she meekly allowed herself to be led away.
"Agent Prentiss is correct. You should get that checked out before you give yourself a coronary," Hotch said with the same smirk Emily had used.
Morrissey straightened his tie and jacket to cover his embarrassment. "You know, Hotchner, you shouldn't make promises you can't possibly keep," he jeered.
Hotch got in his face. "This one I'm keeping," he said, eyes burning with contempt. "Mark my words," he warned and walked out.
Hotch marched out of the interview room, his face an expressionless mask. As soon as the team saw him, they rose to their feet as one. He stopped at the table and began to gather up the files. They stared at him in confusion.
He paused. "We're finished here," he announced. It's time to pack up."
Derek stood rooted to the floor. "What about Prentiss? We can't just leave her here," he protested.
Hotch leveled his stony gaze on him. "We have to. She's been charged with murder. It's in her lawyer's hands now."
"But—"
"Morgan, it's not open for discussion." Hotch looked around and saw that no one was moving. "Now," he said sharply.
They all exchanged worried looks before grudgingly doing what he ordered. In silence the team packed up their equipment and files. Occasionally one would pause and glance down the hallway that led to the jail then returned to their work. Behind them, Morrissey leaned against a wall with his arms crossed and a triumphant smirk on his face. He reveled in the power he had to force the FBI to slink back to Quantico with their tails between their legs. Yes, it was definitely a good day, he marveled.
"You shouldn't antagonize Morrissey like that," the woman guard spoke up as she led Emily back to the detention center.
Emily had her eyes on the floor, focused on not letting the leg irons trip her up so she couldn't spare a glance at the guard. "What can he do to me? Slap me in solitary confinement?" she retorted. "I'm already going there."
Technically it was protective custody. Since she was a federal agent, it wasn't safe to let her mingle with the general population of the jail. Law enforcement officers and federal agents were one step above child molesters in the prison hierarchy, making them prime targets for violence. But both terms meant the same thing. She would be spending twenty-three out of twenty-four hours every day locked in her cell with no human contact except with the guards and her lawyer. For the twenty-fourth hour, she would be let out of her cell for exercise and/or a shower.
"He could add assault of a police officer to your list of charges."
Emily gave a dismissive shrug as they walked through the last barred gate into the small Special Housing Unit. The guard pulled her to a stop at the security booth where they verified her identity by matching the computer file on her with the inmate ID band she had around her left wrist. Then she was led down a short corridor lined with six cells on the left and high wire mesh covered windows on the right. As they walked, Emily noted that all the cells were empty. Lucky me, she thought humorlessly. I've got the whole place to myself. She knew it wouldn't stay that way indefinitely; at some point she'll have company even if she wasn't allowed to talk to them.
The guard stopped at the last cell. She thumbed open her mike and asked for C6 to be opened. There was a buzz and the door slowly rolled back on well-greased wheels. Emily was made to stand in the doorway. A second guard stood nearby on alert while the woman guard bent down to remove the leg irons. She straightened and put one hand in the small of Emily's back and pushed her the rest of the way into the cell.
"Close C6," the guard said into her mike.
Emily turned and watched the door slide closed with a loud clank, severing the last of her freedom. At first she thought they were going to leave her in handcuffs, but the guard instructed her to approach and put her back to the rectangular opening set in the barred door. She did as ordered and felt the chain around her waist being unlocked.
"Turn around and put your hands through."
Emily thrust her restrained hands through the opening and breathed a mental sigh of relief when she was released from the handcuffs. She wanted to massage her bruised wrists but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of showing how much they had hurt her.
The woman guard collected the restraints. "Hope you don't hate cramp spaces because you're going to be spending a long time in here, Fed," she smirked and left with a laugh.
Stepping up to the door, Emily wrapped her hands around the bars and watched until the two guards were out of sight before turning around to check out her new accommodations for the next six months or for however long it takes for her case to go to trial. It was a standard 6x9 cell with a barred door and painted a nondescript light gray. It had a stainless steel sink and toilet, a bunk, a shelf, a table and a chair that were all bolted to the walls and the floor. The cramp quarters were functional and uncomfortable as it was intended to be.
Moving over to the bunk, she sat down on the thin mattress, alternating between playing with the inmate ID wristband and rubbing her bruised wrists. Emily stared through the bars of her cell out through the high window at the setting sun. When she had woken up this morning, a jail cell was the last place she had expected to be in at the end of the day. She was supposed to be on the jet with the rest of the team winging back to DC. Better yet, curled up on her couch with a glass of red wine and a good book with Sergio purring in her lap and Mutt snoring at her feet. Instead, she was surrounded by institutional walls and could only curl up with her despair and sense of isolation.
Something tickled her nose and she reached up to rub it. When she brought her hand down, she saw blood coating the side of her finger.
"Damn! Another nosebleed," she swore and went over to toilet and grabbed a wad of toilet paper. She pressed it to her bloody nose, wondering if it had been brought on by stress, the sinus cold she had been fighting during the entire case or if it was just a combination of both.
After a few minutes of direct pressure, the bleeding stopped. Emily threw the bloody wad into the toilet and went to the cell door. She put her arms through the bars and rested her forearms on the crossbar, leaning her forehead against the cold metal. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She reopened them and let them drift back up to the window to watch the last rays of sunlight fade.
She didn't know how long she could endure this. She had survived her months of solitary existence in Paris because she could get outside and feel the sun on her face and breath in the fresh air. Here sterile walls surrounded her, the stale stink of institutional air invaded her lungs and her only connection to the outside world were the high windows that only allowed her to see the sky. But she had to persevere to give the team time to find the bastard who had framed her. To do so, she had to remain in control of her emotions. Emily closed her eyes and started to assemble the necessary walls and boxes she would need to lock away the unwanted and dangerous emotions that could threaten her self-control. If she couldn't, then she was lost.
Will Emily survive this or will this be the case that finally breaks her? Has Morrissey driven the team back to Quantico with their tails between their legs or are they regrouping to fight again? Do check in next week at the same crime time and crime channel to find out. Until then.
