Chapter 6

Searching

"One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly." Friedrich Nietzsche

It was a good two hours drive to Fayette City. When Rossi parked the SUV a little way down the road from Masefield's last known address, it was early morning. Hotch had been missing for fifteen hours, and Rossi was very worried now.

They climbed out of the car and crept up to the house, guns drawn. Rossi indicated for Emily to take the back, he and Morgan went to the front door.

"FBI!" Rossi yelled, his voice loud in the quiet suburban air. There was no sound from inside. Rossi stood back while Morgan kicked the door open.

They entered the house, Rossi facing forward, Morgan covering his back. The house was dark and quiet. Rossi checked the room in front of them; Morgan checked the kitchen to the right. Both rooms were clear. Upstairs the bedrooms and bathroom were clear. Emily checked the back of the house, and Morgan unlocked the back door for her.

The house was tidy and clean, and deserted. If the twins had lived there since their mother died, there were no signs.

The three agents checked everything that could indicate that Hotch had been there, but there was nothing. Morgan and Emily went into the basement but all there was down there were a few boxes of china and some clothes.

They went back up and joined Rossi in the living room.

"Hotch was never here." Rossi said, looking through papers in a desk in what appeared to be a study corner. "But there might be a clue as to where they have taken him." He looked at his colleagues with worried eyes. "I want this place gone through with a fine tooth comb. Check everything. Time's running out."

-0-0-0-

Reid wasn't sleeping. He was lying in the lounge on a couch with his right arm over his eyes, thinking. Hotch had been missing for fifteen hours, and the call from Rossi confirmed that their best lead was a dead end.

There had been no contact from the kidnappers, no ransom demand, no-one claiming responsibility. This was definitely personal, there was no statutory limitation on revenge.

He uncovered his eyes and blinked in the light. His head seemed to have cleared. Mostly, anyway. He got up and made his way back to Garcia.

"Perfect timing, Babe!" she said as he entered her space. "I think I may have found the pickup on satellite!"

Reid sat beside her and looked at the screen. She pointed to a grey smudgy image of a truck driving out of Quantico.

"Cant you get a better picture than that?" asked Reid.

Even before he had finished speaking, Garcia had cleaned up the image, and Spencer had a good view of the truck. He could see something on the flatbed.

"I'm pretty sure that's the truck." Reid said. "I can't be a hundred percent certain without the plate, but I'm about ninety five percent sure."

"That's good odds." Garcia said. "I'm going to try to follow it. All I can say at the moment is that it's leaving Quantico and travelling west. Fayette City is to the north. If this is the right truck I'm following, then they didn't take Hotch to Fayette."

-0-0-0-

The twins had left Aaron alone for a few hours while they slept. Aaron drifted in and out of consciousness, blood loss keeping him under, pain and fear for his child keeping him awake. His left leg was numb now. The pain had reached a peak, and his brain had cut off feeling. His other leg hurt though, every time he moved, even to breathe, the excruciating waves of pain flooded his body. If he looked down he could see the un-natural bend in his shins, and the lump where the bone broke through his skin. It was no longer white, but covered in dirt and mud from outside. Unless they killed him very soon, he guessed he would feel the affects of infection. He thought it unlikely that he would walk again, even if he should survive.

But he had to survive. When he died, they were going for Jack. He couldn't die. He had to make it.

A hand grasping his chin, lifting his face up. Slowly he opened his eyes. Bren was standing in front of him. In his hand he held a knife.

"Time for the next session!" he said, pressing the tip of the blade below his neck between the collar bones.

Aaron tried to pull away from him, but the pain in his legs prevented any movement. He held his breath and waited.

Bren smiled at him and pressed the blade into Aaron's skin. Aaron gasped as blood soaked into the collar of his shirt. Bren pulled Aaron's clothes away from his skin, and pulled the blade downwards, cutting through his shirt and jacket. Then he cut from the side of his neck, along the top of his sleeves. He pulled at the stiff bloody fabric, and removed Aaron's clothes, leaving his chest bare and vulnerable.

Aaron's arms had been protected from the harsh ropes up until now. He had been able to hold his weight off his legs without too much pain in his arms. This tiny measure of comfort was now gone. The rough bindings cut into the delicate skin of his underarms. He felt warm blood run down his sides. He whimpered as new pain left him crying for relief, wishing for death but praying to live.

He opened his eyes and looked into Bren's face.

"Please..." he whispered. "Please don't hurt my son..."

Bren hit Aaron across the face with the back of his hand, jerking his head to the side. Aaron didn't think he could hurt any more, but as his body rocked, he felt the agony of both his legs, and the rope tore into his underarms, ripping into muscle and cutting to the bone like a serrated blade. He cried out, the sound of his distress echoing through the silent woodland.

"Maize has a surprise for you. She is going to be writing something!" Bren said, looking pleased. "You are going to die for ruining Mum's life. She was a good woman, and she died inside when you left her."

"Please, you...have to ...believe...me. I am...not your...father..." Aaron said softly, painfully. "I didn't sleep...with your mother." Aaron sobbed. "DNA can...prove it. Please...let me prove...it to you."

Bren held the blade against the side of Aaron's nose.

"Shut up, you bastard." he said, pressing the knife. "Our mother was a beautiful woman, and you destroyed her." He turned away from Aaron and called to his sister. "You ready for this, Maize?"

Maize came and stood in front of her captive. "I'm ready." she said, taking the knife off her brother. She pulled up Aaron's head, grasping at his hair. She looked into his eyes.

"But is he ready?" she said. "Hold his head up, Bren. I want to see his face."

"I've got an idea!" Bren said, and went to the drawer under the sink. He came back with a length of rope, a hammer and some nails. "This will hold his head up!"

Bren knotted the rope, and nailed it to the wall beside Aaron's neck. He tightened the rope across his throat, and nailed the end to the other side.

Aaron had to hold his head up now otherwise he would be throttled.

"What are you...going to do?"

Maize dug the knife into the upper right of Aaron's chest and pulled down. The shallow wound gushed blood and Aaron felt sick. She stuck the point in again, and began to carve.

Aaron couldn't struggle, but he screamed.

"Get the blood off, Bren. I can't see what I'm doing!"

Aaron gasped as cold water was thrown at him, washing the blood from his wounded chest. When she started to cut again, Aaron fainted.

The ropes ripped further into his skin, and his throat began to bleed and soak the rope with scarlet.