Bag of Bones

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas

Sorry meant to post this last night but got distracted.

. . .

Rossi came to stand next to Hotch, watching the sandy lad curled up in the chair of the interview room. He was nervously chewing on the quick of his thumb nail as he sat wide eyed in the corner of the room. His chair deliberately moved back from the table.

"So he asked for me, did he?" Dave said softly.

Hotch nodded. "Apparently he remembers you from the original case. He appears to trust you."

"As I recall we visited a lot of schools back then, a kid looking like that should have caught our attention on those visits. We should have seen him as a potential victim. If we had of investigated him back then . . ." Dave's voice trailed off as he drove his hands deeper into his pockets, his jaw tightening.

"Don't Dave," Hotch snapped. "We were hunting an UnSub, not coveting possible victims. We warned all children, not just those who fitted the victimology."

"But still . . ."

"Hindsight is an amazing thing, makes it a lot easier to realise what we should have done, but we didn't and we can't change that."

"And because of that another kid died. Hell, if Chris Nixon hadn't of crashed, how many more would have been added to the list?" anger was evident in Dave's clipped tone.

Hotch spun to face his colleague and friend. "You know we can't think like that!"

"Do as I say, not as I do," Dave huffed. "Think we are both good at that. Are you ready?"

The older profiler moved towards the door, pausing for Hotch to join him. Together they made their way through to the interview room. Opening the door slowly and carefully, Hotch led the way in. He noted the way James' eyes followed him before darting back to Rossi, staring intently at his colleague.

"James, this is Agent Rossi, you asked to speak to him, so I have asked him to join us for this interview."

"Hello, James," Dave smiled reassuringly as he offered a hand to be shaken, his previous mood shifted to be replaced with his professional facade.

James didn't take the offered hand. Instead he drew his knees up closer to his chest, swapping the thumb he was chewing. Hotch noted the same child like quality that he had observed earlier.

Both men took a seat by the table, Hotch gently resting a file on the flat surface, before lacing his fingers and placing his hands on top.

"James," Hotch began, "you agreed to come down here to talk to us about what your father did. Could you tell us about that now?"

James shrugged insolently. "You know what he did, he killed boys," the flat and unemotional tone of his voice was chilling.

Dave leant forward on the table, lacing his fingers together as he spoke calmly. "Humour me, James. I have wanted to know for a long time what happened to those boys. Only you can help me with that. So let's start with Paul Grace, after all he was the first, wasn't he?"

James nodded, rubbing his eyes. "He took me to the park, he hadn't ever done that before. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do so I held back, played on my own. I had never been allowed friends home from school. He had told me I didn't need friends. All of a sudden he pulled me over to the others, shoving me towards this other kid. He told me I had to be his friend. I did as he told me, I went and played. It was . . . fun."

"So your father used you too befriend the boys," Dave clarified.

James nodded, his deeply shadowed eyes looking up at the profiler.

"I didn't know why. We met Paul several times over the next few weeks; he had never taken me out so much before. I . . . I started to like it."

"What changed that?"

"Paul disappeared."

"Did you know what happened to him?"

James shook his head vigorously. "I asked, but I was told to shut up, and that it was none of my business. Within days we were back out, he took me to a different park and we met Mikey Brown. He said I needed a new friend."

"And the same thing happened."

"Yes."

Hotch leant forward. "James, when did you find out what your father was doing?"

James' eyes darted nervously from one man to the other, his eyes wide. "I found Dan's bear."

"Daniel Health?" Hotch clarified.

James nodded, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek. "The door was open. I knew I wasn't ever supposed to go down there, but I saw the blue bear on the step and I knew it was his. It didn't make sense, Dan had never been to our house, I still wasn't allowed friends to come home. I stepped down to get it quickly, but he saw me. He was angry. He shouted as he took the bear. Telling me I was stupid, that I never did as I was told. He went to slap me, I froze. He said if I didn't shut up I would end up like them . . . in a bag."

"He threatened to kill you if you told, so you stayed silent," Dave summarised.

James shook his head, a fluff of hair falling forward over his tired, red rimmed eyes.

"I tried to tell Mom, but she wouldn't listen. I told her Dad was taking boys, my friends, but she told me to be quiet and to never tell anyone what I had seen. She said it was a mistake and I was confused. But I knew what I had seen. Mom just kept telling me not to make him angry, that I didn't want to make him angry."

"Had you seen your father's temper before?" Dave asked.

James shook his head, sniffing before wiping his arm across his face; "But I heard it for the first time that night. And saw the evidence on my Mom the next morning. He had always been so controlled. Thinking about it I never saw him laugh or cry. He was just him."

"That is useful James; it helps us to understand your father's personality."

James shifted slightly in his seat at the vague complement.

"We do have some more questions about what your father did, if that's okay," Dave smiled as he spoke.

James nodded as the interview continued.