Y'all should lynch me for taking so long.

Disclaimer: yeah, I'm going to stop doing this because I think we all get the point that I don't own the show.

Lunch was awkward. The trio was back in the parlor; plates of robust sandwiches and gleaming fruit had been wheeled in not long after the agents arrived, along with another pot of tea and one of coffee. There were fries – chips, Hotch reminded himself – served along with the sandwiches. Mrs. Adams had offered a mind-blowing variety of toppings for them. For the life of him, Hotch couldn't figure out how someone could eat the enormous sandwich, the pretty bowl of fruit, along with a generous helping of chips smothered in gravy. He stomach turned a bit at the thought. Hotch took a quick look at his companions. Neither looked particularly interested in the meal.

Both Emily and Natalie sported dark circles under their eyes. Hotch knew he had a matching set. Clearly, no one had slept well in preparation for this lunch meeting; although the circles marring Natalie's features were by far the most severe. The poor girl looked exhausted. If Hotch hadn't known better, he would have thought she'd been beaten during the night. She looked disturbingly like she had the first time he'd seen her in the hospital in Pennsylvania… exhausted, bruised, broken.

Hotch glanced at Emily, who picked at her food as well. It worried him that she wasn't eating. Emily never skipped meals. As an agent for the BAU, Emily had seen more than her fair share of nightmarish cases and been a victim in too many. Hotch knew he had, too. But as the leader of the BAU, Hotch had been responsible for the safety and well-being of every person that served under him. He'd learned the signs for each of his agents – irritation, anger, fatigue, hyperactivity, silence, loss of appetite. Emily's had never been loss of appetite. Irritation and silence had been the signs for Emily. She was silent now though. Hotch wondered how much of her silence was due to the stress of the case and how much could be attributed to the genuinely uncomfortable atmosphere in the parlor.

Hotch cleared his throat. In the quiet of the room, both ladies glanced up from their still-full plates. "Maybe it would be best if we came back tomorrow," he suggested tentatively. He didn't really want to leave; he needed to speak with Natalie about what had happened when she'd still been Abigail. But it was obvious that no one was willing to speak. Hell, even he was discomfited about everything.

"No," Natalie said with a sigh. "Let's just get started," she added without raising her eyes from the sandwich on her plate.

Hotch and Emily exchanged a glance. They'd discussed how to approach the questioning. They hoped to eventually convince Natalie to participate in a cognitive interview, but for now, they would let Emily lead off with what they hoped to be easier questions.

"When you ran into the camp on the day you were found, you were wet. Your clothes, your hair, your skin. Did you run though water during your escape?" she asked.

Natalie's brow furrowed in confusion. She hadn't expected to be asked about the escape, only her captivity. Her thoughts veered sharply away from the bad memories she had hoarded for so long. "I… uh…" she paused as she struggled to remember. "I don't think… wait." Natalie closed her eyes, tried to put herself back into the memory of running for her life. "There was a creek… not big or deep. It was only up to my calves. It splashed when I was running."

"That wouldn't have been enough to get you so drenched," Emily commented.

"No… I… I fell. In the creek. I slipped on the rocks; they were slimy… like algae and mud or something. I slipped… I didn't completely fall in… just down to my knees. I remember the pain when I landed on all fours. My left knee hit a sharp rock in the water."

"But you weren't hurt badly," Emily reminded her. "You got up and kept running."

"Yes. I wasn't down very long… a couple of seconds. I remember sliding across the rocks before getting up and running again."

"That explains the mud," Hotch commented.

"But I was dirty and wet before I fell in the creek," Natalie said.

"Why?" Emily asked.

"It was damp… in the dark, it was damp. It felt like… like the way your clothes feel when they don't get completely dry in the dryer."

"What about the dirt?" Hotch asked.

"Hmmm?"

"The mud, Natalie," Hotch said gently, bringing her focus back to the questioning. "If you were already muddy when you fell in the creek, where did the dirt come from?"

Natalie frowned. "The ground… I think some came from the room I ran from. The floor was bare, like tile or stone. But it wasn't clean, not swept. I tripped on something in the dark, slid across the floor. It was hard, like stones, but I remember feeling grit in my palms, scraping across my hip."

Hotch began to ask another question, about the room, but Emily shot him a glance and shook her head. Before he could question her, Natalie continued.

"There was dirt just outside the room, too. But it was dirt like the ground, not like a dirty floor. When I got away, I ran. I couldn't see anything and was dragging my arms along the walls trying to find a door. I fell… through an opening, a doorway. That's where the dirt was. There was a slight step down, that's when I fell. The floor was dirt… hard, almost like clay," Natalie told them. She'd slipped into a slow, thoughtful rhythm as she spoke, her brow furrowed in concentration. "That's when I heard him. He was running, screaming that he was going to find me, that I was his," Natalie's voice began to quaver and she gasped a bit at the end of the sentence. "He was so close," she panted, "so close. I ran. I ran and - "

"Natalie," Emily said sharply.

The younger woman jerked away from her thoughts and the room silenced.

"You're not there anymore. He can't hurt you, okay?" the agent reminded her. She waited for Natalie to nod her understanding before continuing. "Don't focus on what was behind you; think about what was in front of you."

Natalie took another gasping breath, calming her racing heart. "Okay."

Emily continued, "You got up from the dirt floor and ran. Which way?"

"I don't know. I couldn't see anything. But I could hear him and I knew I had to get away."

"How did you pick a direction?" Emily asked.

"I ran away from the noise, away from the screaming. It was hard to tell because it was echoing. But I knew that I needed to be as far from the voice as possible."

"So, you ran in the opposite direction of the shouts. Did you see anything when you ran?"

"No. I couldn't see anything. There was no light. Unless he wanted it, there was never any light."

"Did you smell anything?"

"Uh…" Natalie hesitated.

"Close your eyes, Natalie," Hotch instructed. When she did, he continued, "Put yourself back in the darkness. You're running in the dark. What do you smell?"

"It's not a smell… it… it's like it stops smelling a little. In the dark, even though it was always cool, the air was… close. Still. It smelled like wet and dirty people."

Hotch continued questioning her in a soothing, even tone, "But not when you were running?"

"It did, but… it was less. Sometimes, when I was running there would be a space where it smelled normal… like a pocket of normal, fresh air."

"But you kept running through the pockets?" Emily asked.

"Yes, I couldn't make myself stop."

"Then what?" Hotch asked.

"The stairs…" Natalie whispered. "I found the stairs."

"How?" Hotch asked. "It was dark."

"That's how I found them. I ran into them," Natalie explained. "Literally. I ran into the bottom step, tripped and fell onto the steps. That's when I bit my tongue," Natalie suddenly recalled. She had a quick flash of memory – her chin landing sharply on one of the step risers and the jolt of her teeth crashing together, then the sharp taste of blood and the bright flash of pain in her tongue.

"I didn't think, I just went up. The stairs were rough, rough wood. Maybe not finished, definitely not sanded. That's where I got the splinter," Natalie told Hotch with a small sound.

Hotch smiled in return. He remembered the splinter. Abigail had been picking at it when he first met her. After sitting with her for several hours without speaking, Hotch was able to convince her to let him remove it. When the irritated sliver had been removed, Hotch cleaned and bandaged her foot.

"How long did you go up the stairs?" he asked.

"Not long… there was a door at the top. It wasn't locked. I remember being confused by that, afraid it was a trick."

"But you went through it," Hotch reminded her.

"I did. For a second, on the other side, I wished I hadn't."

"Why?" Emily asked.

"The light. The sunlight was so bright it burned my eyes."

"It had been that dark before?" Emily asked.

"Yeah. Sometimes there would be a light… maybe some candles or a… like a camping lantern thing. It was never very much. Just bright enough for whatever he wanted to see. When I came through that door, I thought I would go blind."

"Did you stop running?" Emily asked.

"Uh…," Natalie closed her eyes, struggled to put herself back in that moment. It was so hard to remember clearly. "I don't think so. I slowed down though. I tried to cover my eyes; it didn't work very well."

"Okay, so you went up the stairs and opened the door. You ran through the open door; what did you see?" Emily asked.

Natalie kept her eyes closed as she walked herself back through those first terrifying moments in the light. "A table… small and informal… a pale wood color. Um… dishes. Some cups, a couple of plates and forks and knives. Not dirty. They were set out… on a rack or something."

"Were they near a sink?"

"I think so… there's a towel… like a tea towel, folded near them."

"Alright, what about the walls? The floor?"

"God, I don't know… plain. Nearly white. It's so bright! It hurts my eyes!" Natalie told her. There were tears leaking from under her closed lids; even the memory of the brilliance in the room gave her a blinding headache.

"Why is it so bright?" Hotch asked. "Is it just the overhead lights?"

"No. Those are on, too. But it's the sunlight… it's coming through the windows."

"Where are the windows?" Hotch asked.

"There's one over the sink… and a big one behind the table." Her brow furrowed a bit. "I think there's another… There's another room… through an open doorway. I can see part of a window."

"How did you get out of the house?" Emily asked.

"The other room. I ran into the other room. It's bright… the window. It's not really a window. It's a door… like the one we had in the kitchen at home. A window on top… little rectangle panes. That's how I got out. I went out that door."

"Think about before you ran out the door. What else about that room? Was there furniture? Any other windows or doors?" Hotch asked.

Natalie struggled to remember. Everything had happened so fast. Her eyes stung and she was running for the door. "I didn't really look around. When I realized the window was over a door, I just ran for the way out," she told the agents. "I don't remember much furniture. There was a chair… off toward the right as I ran in the room. The door was not quite directly in front of the doorway when I ran in the room; a little off to the left of that opening. The chair… like an easy chair… was off to the right. It looked… old. Like the pattern was from the eighties or something; it was ugly."

"What about any other rooms?" Emily asked.

"I didn't notice any other doors or rooms, but I wasn't really looking for them. I saw my way out and ran for it," Natalie told them.

"Alright. You ran to the door with the window panes, did you see anything near that?"

"There were pegs on the wall, like where you'd hang a coat or scarf."

"Were there any coats there?"

"No. Just three bare pegs."

"How high were they?"

"Um… not high. When I got to the door, they looked to be about my shoulder height."

"Did you see anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay. You opened the door and ran out of the building. What did you see?" Emily asked gently.

"There should have been a step," Natalie said immediately.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"The ground was further down than I thought it would be. There should have been a step at the door."

"How far down was the ground?" Emily asked.

"I'm not sure… When I stepped down, the lip of the door way was at my shin, but not as high as my knee."

"What else did you notice?"

"There was a mat. Brown and thick and… bristly. It was rough and prickled the bottom of my feet."

"Was there a porch or patio?" Hotch asked.

"No. There were some stones… paver stones arranged on the ground for a couple of feet beyond the doorway. The mat was on the pavers. And there were some flagstones that looked like they made a path around the side of the house."

"Did you follow the path?"

"No," Natalie told them. There was no equivocation in her response. "I wanted to get away from the house. I ran away from them… away from the door and the path. The woods were close, only about 20 feet away. So I ran for the trees. I thought maybe I could at least hide there."

"When you stepped out of the door, did you hear anything?"

"I don't… I could hear yelling behind me. 'Where are you, you little bitch!'"

"Could you hear anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Cars, a lawnmower, an air conditioner, dogs barking, anything," Hotch said.

Natalie shook her head. "I don't think so. My ears were buzzing a bit… probably the adrenaline. Plus, I was so focused on that voice… I don't think I would have heard a plane landing over that voice."

Hotch nodded his understanding. "You ran for the trees," he reminded her.

"Yeah. I ran for the woods. It was easier to see in there, dimmer. The light didn't hurt my eyes so much."

"How far did you run?"

"I don't know."

"Did you ever stop?"

"No."

"Did you ever trip or fall over anything?"

"No."

Emily interrupted the questioning, "Natalie, your feet were bare. How did you keep running through a forest without shoes?"

"I remember stepping on things… rocks, sticks. I remember running through some thorns, too. But I didn't stop. I couldn't. I could feel the pain, but it was so quick… a brief, bright flash. Then it was gone. I just ran. I ran and ran and ran until the creek."

"Did you see anything, any particular trees, stumps, rocks?"

"No, but I didn't really look. If it wasn't in front of me, I didn't see it."

"Did you hear anything in the woods?"

"I thought I could hear him yelling behind me. It felt like he was right there… I could hear running, but I think that was just me."

"Do you know how long you ran until you fell in the creek?" Emily asked.

"No, but it felt like I'd been running forever. I had a stitch in my side and I was gasping. When I fell in the creek, some of the water splashed up in my face. I was breathing so hard that I actually swallowed some it and started choking. I was afraid he would catch me then. I was so tired and I couldn't breathe. My chest and throat hurt from swallowing the water and I was coughing. God, I was making so much noise! I thought he would find me then. I thought he would catch up to me and drag me back to that place."

"But you got up and kept running," Emily told her.

"Yeah, but I wasn't running as fast then. I was losing the adrenaline rush. My feet and legs were starting to hurt and the pain in my side was awful. I was more stumbling than running."

"But you kept running. You ran into the campers."

"Yeah, I kept going. When I ran into the campsite, I just saw a guy. I thought it was him. I thought he'd circled around, gotten in front of me. He started shouting and then the other one showed up, the lady. She was coming out of a tent. I ran toward her. She was saying something… 'Holy fucking Christ.' I tried to ask for help, but I was so tired. I just stopped. Everything just stopped."

"That's when you passed out."

"I think so. I came around when the guy was leading the cops into the campsite."

"Okay," Hotch told her. "I want to go back to the house for a minute. You said that when you went through the door at the top of the stairs, the light burned your eyes. That it was coming through the windows over the sink and behind the table."

"Right."

"Do you remember if it was direct sunlight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Could you tell if it was just a bright day? Or could you actually see the sun through the windows?"

Natalie closed her eyes again, tried to remember. "I think I can see it through the window behind the table. The windows are on the same wall, but I'm closer to the table and I can see out of that window better. Plus, it's a lot bigger."

"Okay, that's good," Hotch told her. "Now, when you ran out of the window-topped door, where was the sun?"

"Um… toward my left, over my shoulder."

"When you ran into the woods, where was the sun?"

"In the same place, over my left shoulder."

"How was it positioned in the sky?" Hotch asked.

"Uh… not low. It was up, not directly overhead, but close."

"Okay, that's good. When you fell in the creek, could you see the sun?"

"Kind of. There were a lot of trees though. It wasn't as bright."

"Where is it in the sky?"

"I think… I think it's more off to my right then. It's really high in the sky, but more toward my right than it was before."

"Now look at the water. Is it moving?"

Natalie thought back to her tumble in the creek. "Yeah, but I don't know how much of that is from me falling."

"Can you tell which direction it's flowing?"

"It looks like towards the left?" Natalie said unsurely. She couldn't really tell. "There's so much muck; I can't really tell which way the water goes, but I think kind of toward the left. There's a bend in the creek not far up from there, so I can't really see where it goes or if it turns."

"That's fine," Hotch told her. "Now, when you ran into the campers, where was the sun?"

"I don't know," Natalie told him.

"Why not? Was it dark? Were there too many trees?"

"No. No, it wasn't anything like that. I could still see; there was plenty of light. But when I saw the guy, I started to freak out a bit. I'm pretty sure I started hyperventilating and that's why I passed out."

"But you could see okay?" Hotch pressed.

"Yeah. It wasn't as bright as before, but there was still enough light."

"And when the cops came?"

"It was darker then. I could see them, but not a lot of detail."

Hotch sat back, looked over at Emily who smiled.

"That's good, Natalie," she told the younger woman. "You've been able to give us a lot of detail that will help us narrow down where you might have been held."

Hotch looked over at the windows and realized how late it was. The sun was starting its decent. His stomach grumbled a bit, too.

Natalie heard it and smiled. "How about I have Mrs. Adams bring some tea and coffee? We didn't eat much lunch and I'm actually hungry as well."

Emily looked at Hotch. They both knew the dangers of pushing questioning too far. Victims and interrogators became sloppy and frustrated. Important details could be missed.

"Maybe we should stop for the day. We've been at this for several hours already. It might be best if we took a break, got some rest," Hotch told her.

Natalie briefly looked away from the agents. She licked her lips, a nervous habit Emily had noticed. "I'd rather keep going. I know you have more questions. You haven't even gotten to what he did to us."

"Are you sure, Natalie?" Emily asked. "We can come back tomorrow after you've had a chance to rest."

Natalie loosed a soft, rueful laugh. "I haven't really been sleeping well the last few weeks. I'd really just like to get this over with, if you're up to keep going."

Hotch nodded his consent. "Alright, Natalie. We'll have tea and keep going."

Natalie left the room and Hotch and Emily were able to speak freely since they'd walked into the house.

"She remembered more detail than I expected," Hotch told his former colleague. "How do you think she's holding up?"

"She's doing well. Considering her discomfort when we arrived, she's been cooperative with the questioning so far. But we haven't really gotten into the worst part of what happened."

"I know. Do you think she's ready for what's coming?" Hotch wondered.

"Are we?" Emily countered.

"I don't know," Hotch admitted.

Neither agent spoke again as they waited for Natalie to return. When the young woman did return, she pushed the same tea cart laden with little snacks and steaming pot of tea. The group settled away from the lunch table, in the little sitting area where they'd been the day before.

After Natalie had poured cups for each, she looked over at Hotch.

"What do you want to know first?" she asked him.

"How many girls were there?" Hotch asked.

"When I was first taken?"

"Yes. How many girls were there then?"

"Eleven. There were eleven of us."

Thoughts? Comments? General dickery because I took so long to update?