A/N:This will (most likely) be the shortest chapter in the story. I wanted to start this chapter with part of Aaron's story and wasn't sure if I should finish it all up in one long chapter or spread it throughout the story. I chose the latter. So I hope you enjoy this - I know I didn't do much with the rest of the team but I wanted to get a bit of Aaron in here and there will be some Foyet in later on chapters (that's a promise).

Disclaimersandwarnings:For more information, check the previous chapters and stories.

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In the Face of Evil

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Summary:

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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Chapter3 – Revelation

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"Get Jack on the phone, Haley.Tell him to get on the phone."

He was growing desperate at that point – the plea was in his voice. "Please, get him on the phone." He knew he wouldn't make it on time. He knew he wouldn't be able to save her. But him – Jack. He had to try and save Jack.

He heard Haley hand the phone to someone.

"Hello, daddy?" The timid voice was, no doubt, his son.

Hotch sighed in relief. "Jack, I need you, okay? I need you to work the case with me."

There was no hesitation as the boy on the other end whispered, "Okay."

He gripped the phone tighter. "Thank God," he heard himself mutter. "Thank God."

Then the sounds of gunshots…

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"Jack's in the SUV right now, waiting."

JJ was still staring at Spencer – as if the young profiler had any clue as to what she was talking about. Slowly, unsurely, he shook his head. "Why are you telling me this, JJ?" He gulped nervously.

JJ crossed her arms over her chest. "I just thought you might be interested to know, Reid." She continued to stare at him pointedly.

His face reddened – he felt as if he should know something but he didn't. "Why would I be interested in knowing?"

JJ shook her head, "Maybe because he wants to talk to you."

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He almost dropped the cell-phone.

"Aaron. Oh, Aaron."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. His teeth clenched and the mantra, 'Don't lose focus. Keep looking at the road. Foyet wants you to lose control – don't. Don't react,' kept playing itself over and over in his head.

Foyet never stopped talking.

"You want to hear her scream, Aaron?"

He swerved.

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She scurried off before he could say anything more, though Spencer wasn't sure what else he could have said – his head was still trying to wrap around the fact that they had Jack, that Jack wasn't missing anymore, that he was safe now, and then the fact that Jack may have gone through a traumatic experience during those months hit him square in the chest. Spencer sucked in a sharp breath. He started to fidget, letting the nervousness roll through him like waves crashing on a beach.

Seconds ticked by, soon merging into minutes – painfully long minutes that seemed to last eternities. Spencer tried to imagine Jack; a little boy with clean, blonde hair and a wide grin on his face – Hotchner's little boy.

JJ came back moments later, carrying Jack in her arms like he was a baby. When Spencer looked at him, he was sure his heart had stopped (completely) for a second before hammering, pounding in his ribcage. The picture of a smiling Jack in his mind immediately morphed itself into something wicked, evil…

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Hotch knew he was too late. He wasn't sure how he knew; only that he just did – that somewhere, deep down, something was telling him he didn't make it. He wanted to turn tail and run now – something else told him it was a bad idea to be here. But Jack…

Jack, his little boy. Jack, his whole world. Jack, his reasoning. Jack, his promise. It was about Jack, all about him. So he entered – not too carefully, cautiously either but hurriedly, desperately. Because he could still hear the gun-fires, the cruel laughter, the broken sobs, the confused tone of his son as he was handed the phone and his own silent anguish as everything happened all at once, all too suddenly.

He looked around in the darkness, gun drawn out in front of him, hands wet with sweat. He had entered into the living room, leaping away from every shadow that presented itself – paranoia, he told himself silently, frowning. Then he stepped into the kitchen, heart pounding wildly.

Knifes on his right, stove on his left – nothing moved, nothing touched. He cursed to himself. Had he been expecting something else – a missing knife – Foyet jumping from behind the counter – maybe even Jack lying on top of the table, gurgling as blood bubbled into his mouth, gasping for one last breath? Had Hotch finally lost his mind?

Maybe…

Perhaps…

Something creaked from behind him – Hotch turned around, eyes wide, mouth open in a gape. The gun in his hands shook and his grasp on the metal loosened. The words fell out before he could stop them, "No, no, no. Let him go. Let him go!"

"Why don't you drop the gun first, Aaron? There's no need to cause an accident here, right?"

It was his first mistake that night – the gun fell to the floor with a dull thud.