GRRRRAAAAAHHHH, I hate how they paid very little attention to Prentiss in the new episode! It was a good episode, though. I just really hope Reid doesn't become a psychotic killer in the next season. Also, this chapter focuses a little more on the case and less on the emotion, since I appeared to have dwelt on that a lot in the previous chapters. Gotta stretch it all out a bit, y'know? The case will tie in with the plot line, I'm letting you know now, but once the case is finished the story will *not* be over. Okay? Keep reviewing and I'll keep writing. Lastly, I start school on Monday - I've been on spring break - so chapters may come slower. R&R!
"Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion." —Joseph Conrad
Two large black SUV's were used to transport the BAU team to the new crime scene. They divided evenly, with Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss in the first vehicle and the remainder of the team, consisting of JJ, Reid, and Morgan, situated in the other. This arrangement made by Hotch was done purposely. He, Rossi, and JJ were the ones most likely not to lash out at Emily or outwardly show any strong emotions that might bother her even more. Or, in the case of Reid, make the team members themselves become unfocused. JJ had been placed in the other car in hopes of consoling the two most agitated team members, and at the present Hotch had no way of knowing if placing JJ with his other two agents had made a difference. Nor could he be concerned with personal matters at the moment.
Once the whole team arrived, both SUV's and all, the sun was setting and the sky was beginning to darken. The precinct was back in Manhattan, making driving out to Brooklyn a bit of a hassle, but nobody had a choice. The scene was sectioned off with the regular crime scene tape, the six bodies practically submerged in the tall, uncut grasses of an abandon garden or park of some sort. Nearby stood a nervous looking teenage couple, who the team automatically assumed to be the witnesses, seeing as how they were hugging each other, looking very out of place.
Hotch surveyed the scene before turning to address the team. "JJ, Morgan, talk to the witnesses. See what you can get out of them. The rest of you, with me," he announced, subconsciously being careful not to directly say Prentiss' name lest he disturb Reid or possibly Rossi, ducking under the bright yellow tape and waving his badge. The team followed suit with the exception of JJ and Morgan, who shared a cautious glance before walking over to the trembling teenage couple, who were standing off to the side looking as if they had both just seen a ghost, and what an appropriate analogy.
"What happened?" JJ started off, her voice soft and empathetic yet commanding.
"We din't do nuttin' wrong," the boy protested instantly in a thick Brooklyn accent.
"We weren't blaming you," Morgan responded. It wasn't the first time that a conversation with a witness started off this way.
When the girl seemed too shaken to say anything, the boy spoke up again. "Me and my goil here, Janie, we was lookin' for some private time, y'know? And we's find this…" he nodded in the direction of the bodies.
The girl, dark hair framing her face in thick locks, interrupted when he trailed off. "We called 'ya right away," she said, her voice unsurprisingly shaky.
"Was there anyone here already?" Morgan inquired. The boy merely shook his head.
JJ and Morgan shared another look that said that's all we're going to get out of them. In unspoken agreement, they thanked the two teenagers for what little information they could provide and silently went to join the rest of the team, where Reid was crouching, carefully examining the bodies for himself while a detective rattled off the identities to Hotch.
"Here we've got Laura Hyne, Heidi Connor, Eliza Bart, Philip Keenly, Zachary Green, and Samuel Sutton. All between the ages of thirty-two and thirty-three."
"The age range is increasing," Morgan noted, looking down at Reid who was milling about the six bodies, resting in the same positions the others were found in. Their faces were covered in bruises and cuts to fit the M.O. Upon closer inspection some had broken bones that had been fixed in an arrangement to look normal and unharmed at first glance. Their clothes were ripped, revealing even more marred flesh. The sight was grotesque and sickening and everyone at the scene, no matter what their occupation, was glad that they hadn't been there to watch someone have these injuries inflicted upon them.
"The women show signs of sexual trauma," Reid reported, noticing the various patches of red near their more private areas. He gingerly held Zachary's left wrist in his own gloved hands, gently turning it over. "Signs of physical restraint and defensive wounds. By the older age group, I'd say our UnSub is escalating."
"Did that happen with the other victims, too?" Rossi asked. JJ nodded in confirmation.
"If it's the same killer, which I can safely say it is, then there should be traces of rust, too," JJ added, a fact that she and Hotch had gone over on the plane.
As Reid straightened up to join the team, Rossi continued. "So, they're being to chained to some kind of rusted metal?"
"Steel tends to be the fastest rusting metal, which is what pipes are typically made out of," Reid said.
"Pipes suggest that they're being chained in a basement of some sort," Morgan concluded. "How many places in New York have basements?"
"Too many to narrow down," Hotch replied.
"Up 'till now the bodies were found in Manhattan," JJ pointed out.
"Manhattan's an island, how'd he manage to transport six bodies over the boroughs without suspicion?" Rossi wondered aloud.
"What if he lives in Brooklyn and he's just driving out to Manhattan to do his dirty work?" Emily suggested. At the sound of her voice Reid visibly tensed and Rossi's tone became somewhat clipped.
"That would mean that this was a slip up," Rossi forced, gesturing to the area where the bodies lay, lined up.
Morgan shook his head. "How does he live in Brooklyn, kill in Manhattan, have access to chloroform…" He shook his head again. "There are too many questions!" he shouted exasperatedly, worn out by his emotions and the overwhelming barrage of questions without viable answers. JJ gently draped an arm over his shoulders as he held his head in his hands and Hotch took this as the signal to get back to Manhattan before it was dark.
"Let's drive back and work on this more in the morning," he proclaimed, glancing once over his team before heading to his designated SUV, tailed by Rossi and Emily. Reid, head bent and hands stuffed in his pockets, trailed after JJ and Morgan, the trio headed in the direction of their own SUV.
Once Hotch, Rossi, and Emily reached their car, Emily made her preference to sit in the backseat known and did so before either of the two men could say anything. Neither of them complained, though, as they seated themselves in the front and started their way back to Manhattan in silence. It stayed that way for a while, with Hotch focusing on the road, Rossi somewhere between awareness and slumber, leaning towards slumber, and Emily looking dejectedly out the window as the roads and the bridge blurred past. It was most definitely going to be a while before she was even remotely forgiven. In perspective, she didn't blame any of them for their behavior towards her and she could only imagine how they felt inwardly, but she desperately wished, along with the rest of the team, that it didn't have to be this way. She never thought she'd feel so lonely surrounded by the people she could best describe as her family.
No amount of mental preparation could help her watch her team and observe their pain and feel nothing in response. The guilt was only heightened by the fact that she knew she had caused that hurt and could do nothing to dispel it. Just like that night, all those months ago, when Garcia left that voice mail on her phone, she felt tears begin to well in her eyes. Her breathing pattern changed as she fought to keep them from spilling over and Hotch, ever observant, looked at her in the rear view mirror. He raised an eyebrow but she continued struggling to choke back sobs and keep her gaze leveled outside the window at the darkening sky.
Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate or soothing thing to say, but Hotch wasn't exactly known for being the comforting, sensitive type. "Prentiss, do I need to take you off the case?"
Instantly she jumped at the sound of his voice breaking the hush. Rossi slept on, so she inconspicuously sniffed, took a deep breath to steady her voice, and subtly turned to look at him in the corner of her eye. "No. No, I'm alright."
"This was a hard blow to the team," Hotch went on, paying no attention to her reaction, since he didn't honestly care to. His voice remained steady, despite the heavy feeling behind it.
"I know," she sniffled again, a little more audibly, forcefully rubbing her eyes and wiping away the hints of tears. If Hotch noticed, though, he didn't show it.
A few beats of quiet passed in the car, even though both of them could feel that the dreaded conversation was far from over. There was too much left unsaid, mostly on Emily's part, but perhaps a bit on Hotch's as well. Emily was outright sniffling now, failing at her attempts to stifle her body's show of emotion. Hotch, feeling uncomfortable, did his best not to say anything as they continued to drive.
Eventually, after a few minutes passed allowing both of them to gather their thoughts, Emily spoke, her voice only cracking in the slightest. "If I learned anything during my time away, Hotch…" she paused, taking a deep breath to steady her voice, "it's that there are things much, much worse than death." Ulterior and deeper meaning dripped from every word in that single sentence alone, and with that she rested her head against the cool glass of the car window and let her eyes slide shut, effectively ending the tense discussion.
It was at that very moment in the soundless car, on their way back to Manhattan, that Hotch began to feel the first inkling of concern for her. However, he didn't act on it or pursue the touchy topic. Instead he opted for focusing on his driving more so than he ever remembered doing in the past eight months, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and Emily escaped into a light and troubled sleep in the backseat.