Author's note: Please, please review. I need to know if this is any good. It is going to get darker as well. Hope that's OK.
Chapter Six
Hotch didn't reply. Gideon tried again. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" asked Hotch. He had removed his jacket and tie and was undoing his shirt. "I'm getting ready to go." He reached for a sweater. "I only have half an hour and I need to write a note to Haley as well."
Gideon held his hands up. "Whoa!" he cried. "You're not going anywhere!"
Hotch stopped. He looked directly at Gideon. "You read the email. I have to be in front of the building at two o'clock."
Gideon shook his head. "Hotch," he said firmly, "You can't."
"What about Reid?" Hotch exploded. "I can't just leave him there! He was in the wrong place at the wrong time – this is MY problem and I'm not going to run away from it!"
"But this isn't the way . . ." began Gideon.
Hotch interrupted. "We haven't got time to worry about protocol, Gideon. I'm not prepared to hide away while Reid gets slowly beaten to death on my behalf. I thought you knew me better than that!"
Gideon put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Of course you want to take his place. But can't you see this won't help him?"
Hotch couldn't see it. He began to pace his office.
"I need to save Reid from this," he pleaded.
"And you think giving yourself to the unsub will do that?" queried Gideon. "You being here is what's keeping Reid alive!"
"What do you mean?" asked Hotch, genuinely shocked.
"While the unsub can use Reid to bargain with, he has some value. As soon as you walk in there, I would bet the farm that Reid gets a bullet through the head." Gideon spoke rapidly and his tone was sharp. "This unsub wants to play with you and what better way than to appeal to your nobility – and perhaps your vanity?"
"Vanity?" Hotch was incredulous.
"Maybe," shrugged Gideon. "You go in there - Captain America - come to save the day - and the unsub kills Reid just to spite you."
Hotch sank down into his chair and put his head in his hands. Gideon was right. He usually was. But how could he stand by and let Reid take what was meant for him?
"Hotch," said Gideon kindly, "I know how difficult this is for you, but you are more help to Reid here. I'm already one profiler down – the team needs you. Trust me."
Hotch nodded.
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At two o'clock a cab drew up outside the building. It was immediately surrounded by the SWAT team. A nervous looking driver eventually got out and was hauled into the building to be interrogated.
It turned out that he knew nothing. A cab had been ordered and he had been told to expect further instructions once he had picked up his passenger. The agents released him.
"Now what?" asked Morgan.
"We keep on checking the files," replied Gideon. "And we wait."
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Tall Guy answered his cell phone. "Where's Hotchner?" he asked.
"Change of plan," came the reply. "Start phase two with Doctor Reid instead."
"Are you sure?"
"Please do not question me. He will be staying with you for the foreseeable future. You know what to do."
"Okay. Start now?"
"Yes. But be careful. If he dies, I shall be most displeased."
Tall Guy headed into the kitchen. He prepared the apple as he had been taught to do. Then he poured a cup of coffee. It was cold down there. The prisoner would appreciate a hot drink.
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The next email followed soon after the cab driver was released.
"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what."
Harper Lee, "To Kill a Mockingbird"
I wish YOU could have shown me what real courage is, Aaron Hotchner. I feel sure Doctor Reid will share my disappointment as HE sees it through – no matter what.
There was no video link.
Hotch understood why Gideon had prevented him from going. His logic made perfect sense. Giving himself up would have probably led to Reid being killed – the unsub was hardly going to pat the kid on the head and send him home. But still, the feeling that he had let Reid down again weighed heavily. Reid was being sacrificed in some sick game of revenge that no-one except the unsub truly understood and he could do nothing to stop it.
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Garcia avoided looking at Hotch as she updated the team. He knew he should apologise to her but he just didn't have the energy. He needed to focus on getting Reid out of there – the finer feelings of computer technicians could wait until later.
"I have ID for both of the men," said Garcia, excitement in her voice. "The tall one is called Lewis Barnes and the other one is Jack Barrett. Both have done recent prison time and have a string of violent offences. Barnes was released seven months ago and Barrett two weeks later."
"What about connections to Hotch?" asked Gideon.
"Nothing so far," said Garcia. "But I have current addresses for both Barnes and Barrett."
"Good work," nodded Gideon. He clapped his hands together. "OK – we'll check these addresses out – see what comes up. But I don't think either of these men is our unsub."
"You don't?" asked Morgan in surprise.
Gideon shook his head. "The emails say "I" not "we". There's only one person behind this. These guys could just be the hired muscle. But let's see what we get from the addresses."
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Reid leaned back against the cold stone wall, his eyes closed. He felt a little light headed – probably hunger. One piece of bread and one apple had done little to nourish him properly. He had left only the stalk and seeds of the apple, making sure he made the most of the opportunity to eat something. The coffee had been a pleasant surprise and at least it didn't taste any worse than the stuff on offer at work.
He really was feeling woozy. He couldn't quite work out where his arms and legs were. Nor could he move them properly. He rolled his head from side to side on the wall, trying to get his bearings.
Reid lifted his hands. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on them but his vision kept zooming in and out, like someone playing with a camcorder for the first time.
He smiled. He felt OK. His upper body was sinking back into the wall but it wasn't an unpleasant experience. In fact, it was quite relaxing.
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Gideon and Hotch were alone in the conference room. Hotch had his elbows on the table and his hands clasped tightly together. He pressed his mouth against his fists, subconsciously sinking his front teeth into the skin. He needed to do something, anything, to bring this tension to an end. He could imagine what Reid was going through physically – he'd seen the aftermath enough times from other cases. But what was the young man thinking? Did he know Hotch had betrayed him?
Gideon patted him lightly on the arm. The touch startled him.
"Stop beating yourself up and start profiling instead," said Gideon gently. "Try some victimology. Look at the whys. "
Hotch sighed and nodded. "The place is obvious. I live here."
"And why you?" continued Gideon. "The unsub appears to be blaming you for his imprisonment."
"What about the time?" asked Hotch. "Why now? Is this the first opportunity he's had?"
Gideon leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "He mentioned an innocent man. Why?"
Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Gideon – prisons are full of innocent men! Apparently none of them committed the crimes they're in there for!"
Gideon nodded but he was still frowning, processing information. "Innocent – there has to be a link there," he muttered.
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Some time had passed from when Reid first started to feel disorientated. His whole body felt weird – he couldn't really tell where he started and finished. The relaxation had started to fade and was being replaced by something else . . . he was really dizzy.
There was a sudden feeling of nausea in his throat. He looked wildly around the cell for the bucket but he couldn't focus properly on anything. He was starting to panic.
Reid tried to bring his hand up to his mouth but he couldn't really control his movements. His hand flapped around his face which served to increase to queasiness. His breathing was coming faster and his heart was pounding. He needed to find the bucket but he had no idea where it was. He was starting to heave. He crawled to where he thought the door might be. Suddenly, his stomach lurched and he was violently sick. He froze on his hands and knees, eyes watering as he vomited again and again. The liquid splashed onto his fingers but he wasn't able to move. Even though his stomach was practically empty, he couldn't stop being heaving. The bitterness of stomach acid in his mouth made him shudder.
Eventually it stopped. He was sweating and his skin felt like it was burning. Reid bowed his forehead to the ground, trying to cool himself down. Arrows of pain from his injured hands shot up his arms and his stomach was gripped with a cramping pain.
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Elle and Morgan returned from the raids on the addresses given by Garcia full of disappointment. The apartments contained little apart from rented furniture. The occupants had either moved out – or they had never lived there. Rent had been paid for six months in advance – in cash. There was no evidence trail.
Morgan looked at the rap sheets for both men. Gideon was right. There were aggravated assaults, battery, grand theft – auto, but nothing that indicated this level of organisation. These were men who lived a life as part of a criminal underworld, where everyone and everything has its price. They weren't the type to take a grudge to this kind of extreme. If someone upset them they were likely to shoot them - not start playing elaborate games.
Elle brought him some coffee. "You talked to Hotch yet?" she asked.
"He hasn't spoken to me," replied Morgan, defensively. "He was way out of line with Garcia. He's acting like a complete jerk."
Elle smiled. "I know. But are you two stags going to lock horns indefinitely? The last thing this office needs is more testosterone!"
Morgan shrugged.
"Do you blame him for this?" asked Elle suddenly. "This isn't . . ."
Morgan placed the cup on the table and stared at it. "Of course it isn't his fault," he said quickly. But he didn't meet Elle's eyes.
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Reid pulled at the cloth of his T-shirt. He tugged and tugged but he couldn't stop it sticking to his skin. He felt so hot and the soles of his feet were burning. He looked round the cell but he wasn't sure where the blanket was. He thought he was supposed to be sitting on it but it wasn't anywhere. The walls kept moving backwards and forwards, changing the shape of the cell every time he looked. Corners were appearing and then disappearing again. He felt so very far away.
"Spencer?" called a voice. "Spencer – where are you?"
"Mom?" he whispered, looking round for her. "Mom?"
"Spencer," called his mother, "What are you doing?"
He kept missing her. He could see her from the corner of his eye, but each time he turned, she had moved. Everything kept moving. Why couldn't things just stay still? The walls were looming close and then falling back in a pulsating rhythm. The nausea rose again.
"Mom – I'm here," he called, "Mom? Please, Mom?"
Reid was panicking again. The sweat was starting to trickle down his forehead. "Mom?" His calls became more frantic – where was she? "Mom!" He heaved and retched again – his stomach having been so completely emptied there was little to throw up apart from bitter yellow bile.
He really needed to get out of here. But the door had moved. Maybe his mom knew where it was. "Mom – where's the door?" he shouted. "Mom! Tell me, please." Tears were filling his eyes. "Mom? I need you - please."
Why wouldn't she help him?
The sound of the door swinging open made him jump. They were coming in. He scrabbled at the floor, trying to crawl back to the blanket. The floor was tilting and sliding. Reid clung on desperately. "Mom?" he whispered. He put his palms flat against the floor and tried to hold it down, to keep it from tossing him around.
He lifted his head. Talons grabbed hold of his arms and started to drag him. He tried to drop to the floor, kicking out as much as he could with his feet chained together.
Reid could see the tub on the floor. He began to struggle. He twisted his body and tried in vain to pull his arms free. Where was his mom? The creature holding him was too strong. He was being pulled towards the tub.
He caught a glimpse of it.
It was full of blood. The viscous liquid was glossy and red.
He started to scream. "No!" he yelled, "No . . . no . . . no." He writhed and thrashed but they wouldn't let go.
He tried to yank his arms away. His heels drummed hopelessly on the cold floor. "No!" he hollered.
Reid was forced to his knees as sharp claws ground into his hair. He shook with horror. No, they couldn't do this, no. He kept screaming.
"No."
"Don't!"
"NO!"
He held his breath instinctively as his head was plunged into the tub. His shoulders twitched violently as he squirmed to get free. Then, as his head was pulled back up, he sucked in air with violent gasps, trying with desperation to fill his lungs. Then his eyes widened in terror as his head was forced under the liquid again.
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The BAU returned to pouring over the files from Hotch's prosecution days, looking with increasing anxiety for a link, anything to help them find their friend.
Garcia was still avoiding Hotch. Hotch was still avoiding everyone.
Gideon was concentrating so hard on the list of names in front of him that he jumped when Morgan tapped him on the shoulder.
"We got another psycho mail," said Morgan.
The team didn't hurry to Garcia's office this time. Nobody was in a rush to see Reid getting another kicking, or to read the unsub's taunts and threats.
"I can't trace do much with this one either," said Garcia, apologetically. "This guy must be a programmer. The emails are truly anonymous – this one supposedly came from an internet café in Scotland."
"Let's see it then," muttered Morgan.
Hotch was jumpy, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He tapped his lips with his fist. He hoped that the scene played out on the screen was not going to be the one he had been imagining.
It wasn't.
It was worse.
TBC