The night I almost drowned wasn't my last.

Yes, they cut me loose. Yes, they let me sink. The yacht even motored away. But just as I felt myself sinking beyond the reach of a human grasp - just as the saltwater started to burn my eyes, nose and lungs - a second, smaller boat came up. At first, I thought it was good. I thought I was rescued. I thought they'd pull me out and I could tell them about the team…but it was another one of them. He was thin and muscular, with a long gun slung across his back and a creepy smile that made my skin crawl.

He pulls me to the surface, my hands still bound. For a while, I just choke and sputter, unable to do anything else. I can't see, but I don't know if that's from the saltwater or the pitch-black night around me. I lay on the wooden planks of the boat with my cheek resting against them. In that moment, I can't think of anything except how glad I am to have been pulled from the water. How glad I am to have something solid under me. I lay in a semi-shocked state, running my hand over the floor of the boat.

By the time I start thinking clearly again, it is too late.

"Where are my friends?" I asked, careful not to say "team" or any words that betray our working for the government. That will only make a situation like this worse.

He smiles and comes closer to me. He squats in front of me, where I have the full benefit of his odor. He smells like salt, sea, spices and body odor. My stomach rolls.

"My friends? Take care of your friends. Your friends are not so lucky. You are the one we came for."

I want to be able to tell if he's lying but I can't. It's like all my skills are gone and in their place is this huge level of anxiety and fear. If he's right…if I am alone, what are my chances? Who would know to look for me, especially if the rest of my team is compromised?

Instead of grief, I feel an instant, rising anger that has me on my feet quicker than I think possible.

Reason is far beyond me, as I imagine the crew of thugs tying up Morgan, Hotch, Rossi - the biggest threats first - and tossing them in the ocean as they had done with me. Then Reid. Then Emily. Then Garcia. Something breaks inside me. I hate this man with a hate I've never felt for anyone. His people have taken the team I spent last year trying so hard to get back to… They've taken my friends, who have done everything they can to survive the unthinkable - and dispatched them - as if they were nothing.

"You son of a bitch…" I growl. I lunge at him, my training telling me I had better disarm him before he decides to shoot me. For a few seconds we struggle. I hang from the rifle at his back, trying to pull it free. This is all it takes for him to toss me off him, as if I weight nothing, and then start reigning blows onto me from above. Instinctively, I protect my head. I try not to cry out, but the force of his blows is too much. My back is in agony, and for the first time, I realize, he's on something. Regret pours through me with the agony in the moment before he hits me with the butt of his gun.

Pain radiates through my head, but I fall into a peaceful blackness.

When I start awake sometime later. I find myself on land. My head aches. There is some kind of bandage around it. Gentle hands touch me and I flinch, confused. These people killed my team. I'm alone. I'm at their mercy. I have no way of knowing their intentions, but given that they stole me off a boat, I can guess the odds aren't in my favor.

There is a light touch, and a woman's voice. There is gunfire all around me. I can't open my eyes, but I feel the weight of the woman's body as she braces herself over me. She's protecting me from whatever is happening. Wherever I am.

I try to speak but words are difficult to form. It takes all my energy simply to focus my attention and I hurt. God, I hurt. My entire body feels swollen, and my insides still somehow feel like they are burning with saltwater.

Everything is hazy and confusing. Like a nightmare, though, one thing remains clear. The fact that I am completely alone. My team is somewhere else. All I can do is survive. But I wish they'd kill me.

Death would surely be better than this. At least, if I died, I would know people there… My sister. My friends.

In a flash, I think of Henry, at home. I think of Will. I can't leave them behind. I have to live. But God, if I could find a way, I'd love to take myself out of this. Just to see the guy's face that pulled me aboard his boat, the guy who beat me… I get a small amount of pleasure imagining that. Until I realize that if I kill myself, I won't be able to see his reaction. That's the only thing that stops me, though.

I would love to be free like them. I would love to see my team again. But there is no way. We've had too many lucky breaks. To receive another would be unthinkable.

The soft touch again. The gunfire has stopped. I still can't open my eyes. I don't know where I am, or who is touching me. I don't know who means to beat me senseless and who doesn't.

A whimper escapes and I try to roll away.

God, I miss my team…