Sorry for my inconsistency with the updates. I write when I have time, but I'm finding I have less and less of it. But here's chapter 4. Review if you like it, it makes me write faster!

Chapter 4: The One That Got Away

"You know he kind of looks like Lenin."

"Prentiss, he in no way resembles John Lennon. Not even kind of."

"I was talking about Vladimir Lenin, Morgan. Add a little goatee and mustache and—"

"Can we focus please?" Hotch's voice cut through the air, ending all side discussions. The entire team, sans Rossi who had disappeared a couple hours earlier, to where no one was quite sure, was seated around the conference table, each studying a copy of the headshot the sketch artists had created from Anna's description.

It had been 25 hours since Reid's visit to the hospital, not that he was counting, and in that time there had been a visible change in the team. They were re-energized by the new evidence, the possibility of actually catching the guy now seeming within reach. The thick fog of tension that had clung to each of them began to lessen, the desperation ebb away into a more crystalline focus. They were even starting to crack jokes again.

The only one who seemed unaffected by the course of events was Hotch. He was still on edge, still just as tense as before, if not more. The dark circles under his eyes were darker even than Reid's. He clearly had not taken his own advice and gotten any rest. Even his usually immaculately pressed dress shirt was slightly rumpled, as if he had slept a fitful few moments in it before giving up on sleep all together and coming into work. Reid would have been concerned about Hotch. Concerned that he was heading for the edge. That he was unraveling before Reid's eyes like he had only once before; the day he had found Haley. The day Reid witnessed for the first time a man turn to ash, so completely destroyed and consumed by his loss that there seemed no possible way that life could ever go on. God that horrible day. But this was not that day, and this was not that Hotch. As much as Hotch was showing definite signs of the wear and tear of the job, his eyes were clear and alert. He was focused, more focused probably than anyone else working the case. And Reid was not concerned. Yet.

"We need to focus on identifying who this man is," Hotch continued on the same breath. "I want his face plastered all over the state, on every news station, every newspaper cover, I want his face hanging in every shop in the city." His voice was hard, brimming with a fierce resolve, his entire body tense. His jaw was so tight Reid was surprised he was even able to get the words out. "I want to make it impossible for this guy to show his face without being recognized. This is our chance, let's make him pay."

Hotch paused, staring around the silent room. He seemed to be contemplating speaking more, but thought better of it, mumbling out a short, "That's all," before heading for the door.

As the door closed behind him, Morgan and Prentiss turned to each other.

"What the hell is up with Hotch?" Morgan asked, eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea," Prentiss answered, her eyes wide.

"I haven't seen him act like this since…" Morgan trailed off. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid looked at each other, silent understanding passing between them. No one talked about Haley, not out loud anyway. She was alluded to, through unfinished sentences and knowing stares, but never spoken about. She was a constant reminder of what they all gave up when they took the job, of the life they could never have.

For Reid, the only image that was now conjured by Haley's name was of Jack's heartbreaking sobs as his mother was lowered into the earth, Hotch standing helpless beside him, unable to make Jack's hurt go away. That was why no one else on the team had a family. Why no one really ever let anyone too close. Why the average shelf life of a relationship for a team member was about three weeks. Attachment was dangerous, for both sides.

"I think Hotch is ok," Reid spoke up after a moment, his voice catching slightly from tiredness. "He's not like…like then. He just wants this case done with."

"Yeah well he can join the club," Morgan replied. "At least now we have this," he said, his finger tapping lightly on the sketch. "How was the girl when you went to see her in the hospital?" Morgan asked, turning to Reid. "Do you think we'll get anymore useful info out of her?"

"Uh, I don't know," Reid answered, suddenly inexplicably nervous. "Hotch said he was going to do a second round of interviews once she was recovered more."

"Yeah but what do you think?" Morgan pressed. "Did you get the sense that she would remember more? Or that she would be up for any hypnotherapy or sensory recognition therapy?"

"I don't know Morgan," Reid answered, slightly exasperated.

Morgan continued as if he hadn't heard Reid's response. "Do you think she'd be up for going back to the crime scene? Maybe running through the events with us, seeing if the visuals trigger any memories? Or maybe going on air, making a public statement?"

"I really don't know." Reid answered again, some of his frustration seeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "She'll be released tomorrow, you can ask her yourself."

With that Reid stood and crossed the room to the coffee pot, pouring himself a generous cup. He rubbed at his right eye, pressing his fingertips firmly under his brow, trying to find the magic pressure point that would relieve all his pain. It was only nine and already his head was throbbing.

He felt another body move into the space beside him, a pair of smooth white hands reaching for the coffee pot in front of him. "Hey," a gentle voice said. "You ok?"

Reid looked to his left, meeting Prentiss's concerned gaze. Great, Reid thought, just what I need right now. Another passive aggressive intervention attempt.

"I'm fine Emily," Reid said in a rough voice, then immediately regretted his tone when her face crumpled in hurt. He sighed, rubbing at his face before bringing his hands up to ruffle his hair. It was so messy, it had been days since he had actually tried to untangle it and his fingers caught slightly at the small knots that had formed in the unruly mass. "I'm just really tired," he continued. "I haven't been sleeping well. Or at all."

He froze. Why had he said that? What had prompted the sudden confessional? He was supposed to be reassuring his team of his abilities, not casting doubt on them, not drawing attention to his vast assortment of weaknesses. He slowly met her eyes again, expecting to see doubt in them, or perhaps a sort of confirmation or even disappointment, but all he saw was understanding. Her gentle brown eyes were knowing, but not pitying. She sighed, putting a small hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly.

"Reid, do you think any of us are getting any sleep?" Prentiss asked in a gentle voice. "Every time I close my eyes I see these girls. I see them dead, and cold, and broken, and I hear that guy laughing at us. I've never even seen the guy, but I hear his laugh, all the time."

Her brows were scrunched together, her lips set tightly together in a thin white line. But her eyes were still kind.

"So what do we do about it?" Reid asked in a small voice, his eyes searching hers for an answer, for some sort of absolute truth.

"The only thing we can do," she answered, her hand slipping from his shoulder and falling slowly to her side. "Catch the guy."

An hour later Reid found himself once again at the coffee pot, staring off into space as he aimlessly twirled a stirrer in his steaming cup. His mind was wandering again, flitting from one thought to the next with no discernible pattern. He was vaguely aware that he was supposed to be working on his geographic profile, but the thought of staring at his overly confusing map for another second made his head throb painfully in protest. In all honesty it wouldn't make any difference anyway. There was little that could be done until the unsub made his next move. Or until Anna was able to provide more information.

A sharp ringing snapped Reid out of his daze, the noise causing him to jump slightly and almost overturn his coffee cup. He turned around to find Morgan leaning over the conference table to answer the large black phone that sat in its center. He pressed the speakerphone button, his voice light as he called out, "Speak to me baby girl."

"Only if you beg," Garcia's voice purred through the speaker.

Morgan gave a short chuckle before becoming all business. "Tell me what you got."

"Well," she continued, her voice also becoming more serious. "I searched for any recent arrests or convictions in the Phoenix area matching the description given by Ms. Blake and got a list longer than Reid's old hair."

"He probably won't have any priors," Prentiss spoke up. "A crime like the ones he's committing suggest serious mental illness, not a background in illegal activity. He's more likely to have been institutionalized than incarcerated."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Garcia continued, her speech quickening slightly in excitement. "So I performed the same search but instead with those institutionalized in or around the city of Phoenix. Then I cross-referenced with those released within the last six months and got a much shorter, more manageable list that is currently flying through the radio waves and onto your phones."

"Have I told you how much I love you Garcia?" Morgan asked, a large smile on his face.

"Not in the last 24 hours," Garcia responded, the smile evident in her own voice.

"Well I love you," Morgan cooed.

"Awww, ditto my love. Stay cool guys," and with a soft click, the line went dead.

The group turned to each other, about to discuss the recent development in the profile when Rossi burst into the room.

"Hey man, where've you been—," Morgan began but was cut off.

"We have a problem," Rossi rushed out, slightly out of breath. "The unsub killed again."

"What?" Prentiss said in alarm. "This is way too soon, it's only been 48 hours. The MO says we should have at least another 24 before we have another body."

"Well he didn't get to finish last time," Reid murmured, his brows knitted in deep thought. "And news of Anna's survival has been all over the news, it must have triggered him to kill again, and sooner."

"He already had a pretty short cooling off period between victims, now there's basically no period at all." Morgan replied. "So he only spent 36 hours with her this time?"

"From what we can tell only about 12." Rossi answered.

"Only 12?" Prentiss asked in confusion. "And then he stabbed her?"

"Yeah, then he stabbed her," Rossi said, his eyes lowering to gaze intently at the table. "56 times."

"What?" Prentiss said again. "That is way over kill. He's pissed, and is taking it out on his victims."

"And he's going to keep on taking it out on them until he gets what he really wants," Morgan continued, his eyes meeting Reid's across the room. "The one that got away."

Reid swallowed a large lump that was forming in his throat before speaking. "Anna."