Morgan slowly came to consciousness with a blistering headache and a dry mouth. He ran his tongue over his mouth to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue wasn't as moist as it should have been. His stomach was growling, but he couldn't remember the last time he had been so thirsty. What time was it? He looked around, but the lighting in the room hadn't changed. How long had they been missing? The team must be close to finding them. He saw Reid shifting across the room. Morgan noticed his shirt was missing, but he decided not to bring it up.

"How are you holding up kid?" Morgan rested his back across the wall to relieve any pressure from his wrists. They weren't bleeding, but he was light headed.

"I'm fine. Morgan, what happened to you? Are those whip lashes?"

"We need to profile this guy. He kinda looks like Clark Gable, doesn't he?" Morgan smiled. "He was taking pictures of us while you were out of it. I'm thinking he sent those pictures to Hotch, and I'm thinking Hotch isn't too happy about that. If he took pictures, he's proud of what he's doing to us," Morgan said looking at Reid's pale face. Reid was a lot skinnier than Morgan thought, and Morgan didn't like seeing Reid's rib bones protruding out of his chest.

"It's also strange that he wants to talk to us while he does this. He's treating this like it was perfectly normal. He must have an accomplice of some kind. He didn't look physically fit to carry both of us through this house. Have you seen anyone else?"

"Besides the mop named Timmy? No, I haven't. Look on the bright side, you don't have to pee anymore," Morgan said smiling. Reid weakly smiled back. "Pretty boy, how long can someone stay alive without any water?"

"Three days," Reid quietly said. "When was the last time you had something to drink?"

"And how long do you think we have been missing? At least a day? I don't remember when I drank last. I feel fine though," Morgan said. Reid's brown eyes were focused on him so he looked away. "I'm fine kid. Stop looking at me like that. I'm going to try again to knock this wall over. Maybe if I push all of my weight against it, it will fall or something."

"Did you know that banging you head against a wall will burn 150 calories an hour?"

"Okay, just stop it. Seriously. I am going to throw you out of the plane when we are going back home. I'll sneak up behind you, and bam!"

"If we ever can get home…"

"We're going to kid. Hotch and the team are out there looking for us." They had to have had a profile now. J.J. was on the news, or so Harold claimed, so they were going to find them soon.

Garcia brought two stuffed animals close to her, had all the lights in her tiny office turned on bright, and stared at the wallpaper on her laptop of Reid fast asleep in the car. He had no idea what was going to happen to him that night. He had no worries, no cares. That's how she wanted to think of him. She didn't want to look at the pictures that J.J. was sending her. When her email beeped to tell her that the photos had been sent, she didn't want to open them. She waited a few moments to gather up her courage, and opened up the email. The first photo she saw was of Reid with blood dripping down the side of his pale face. His arms were chained above his head, and his shirt was missing.

"Oh my God," Garcia whispered. Before she had any more time to prepare herself, another photo popped onto the screen. The second photo was of Morgan in a very similar position. He had a black bruise on his forehead, his feet were bare, and his shirt was ripped with blood dripping down the edges. Garcia felt her stomach turn, and she knew that the contents of her breakfast weren't going to stay put. She covered up her mouth, and ran out of the room. She kept her head down so other agents wouldn't see her green colored skin or her red eyes.

She made sure she was alone in the bathroom before she threw up her pancakes into one of the toilets. She flushed, but she couldn't get herself off the floor. She broke down crying, and pulled her legs close to her head. She was safe, but her precious baby with her dark knight weren't. They were alone, cold, and bleeding, and she couldn't' do anything to stop it.

"Harold, who was the last Tsar to rule over Russia?"A bald man circled around Harold with a book in his hand. Harold tried his best to ignore. The man wasn't important. Who would need to about dead kings in the real world?

"I don't care. Where is Michael?" Harold hadn't seen him in over a week, and while his parents took no notice, Harold wanted to see his brother. The cook told him that Michael was visiting universities. His brother was planning on leaving him. Harold wouldn't be able to go college. He was still too young, but he couldn't let his brother leave. He needed him.

"You are so a bright boy Harold," the bald teacher said kneeling down to next him. "You're one flaw is that you are too lazy. Michael will be home soon enough. Now, tell me. Who was the last Tsar of Russia and what happened to him?"

"Nicholas II was the last to rule Russia, and he was murdered with his wife, daughters, and son in 1918 during World War I. Can I go now?"

"Yes, you are excused. I'm going to have a talk with your father about your interest in school work. He will not pleased I am sure."

"Go ahead professor," Harold mumbled as he jumped out of his desk. He ran up the stairs to his room, and slammed the door in anger. Michael couldn't leave him. He wasn't like the others. Michael knew about their parents didn't care about them, and they had no other friends. They were all they had. Harold needed Michael. Harold threw a framed photo of them against the door and he let his tears fall. His brother just couldn't leave him.

"Harold?" A knock at his door got him wiping his tears off his face.

"What do you want? Go away!"

"It's your father. Can I please come in? I think we need to talk."

Harold wiped his face with his pillow, and sat up in his bed. His father never came to see him. He was surprised that his father even knew which room was his.

"Yes, sir."

His father slowly opened the door, and looked around the room. Harold scooted to one side of the bed so that his dad could sit down.

"What's bothering you son?" His dad sat down next to him, but Harold noticed that he looked very uncomfortable. He was twisting his hands, and he kept glancing to the door.

"When's Michael coming home? I miss him," Harold asked.

"Ah, Michael. You're worried about your big brother? I assure you that he is safe, and he is perfectly happy. He has narrowed it down to two universities. Price is no issue of course, but he is trying to decide which one would be better for his career. He has chosen to be a lawyer. Isn't that wonderful? He will be able to help so many people. I was lucky that God blessed me with smart children. Your professors are always telling me that you are one of the smartest students that they have ever had. Your mother wants you to be a doctor like her father. Did she ever tell you that? She is so proud of both you."

"I haven't seen Mom since the lunch with the mayor," Harold said. Harold knew his mother didn't really like him. Michael was his first born so it was Michael who was showered with gifts and well wishes. Harold, despite his wealth, usually got seconds in everything from tutors to clothes. His mother didn't even know him. Harold didn't care. At this point in his life, he wouldn't want to start a relationship with her. She could die of a drug overdose at one of her little parties, and he just wouldn't care.

"I'll have to set up a family dinner soon. We can get together as soon as Michael comes back. We can make it a little party for the four of us. What is your favorite dish? I can have Steward prepare it for the celebration."

Harold hated it when his father pretended to know him, to care about anything Harold did or said. It was all an act and Harold could see past it. His father would forget about this conversation the second he left the room, and he wouldn't think of Harold again until the professor told him how poorly Harold was doing with his lessons.

"I like corn beef sir." Harold forced a fake smile and his father patted him on the head.

"Corn beef it is. I'm glad we had this talk Harold. I feel much better now. Don't you son?" Harold watched his father stand up, and walk out the door without ever looking back. Harold couldn't really blame his father. He knew that he had a lot of work to do to keep the household running smoothly, and that his dad had a lot on his mind. Harold didn't really take notice anymore that he was the last on his father's list. Knowing that his father was a bit concerned about his well being didn't really make Harold feel any better. The only person that he truly loved in this world was leaving, and the only parent he kind of knew couldn't notice the obvious. He thought that Harold was upset because his brother couldn't choose a college? His father didn't know him at all.

Harold paced around his room for hours it seemed, but his eyes kept getting drawn to the clear liquid that he kept underneath his night stand. He knew how deadly the small vile of liquid was, but he never had cause to use it before. He didn't have cause until that night. He slipped the vile into his pocket, and walked downstairs to the main living area. It was empty for the most part, save for a few handymen running around, but they took no notice of Harold. He went into the kitchen, and saw a cup filled with ice water sitting on one of the tables. He looked both ways, and then emptied the vile into the cup. He didn't know who it belonged to, but it didn't matter. He needed this release, the release that his brother had denied him for all those weeks. He needed to see someone drink that cup. He hid behind one of the pillars while he waited. The thought crossed his mind that the drink could belong to his mother, but he didn't get his hopes up. It was late, and his mother never drank anything but red wine past 9pm.

He only had to wait a few minutes before the cook that his father was talking about, Steward, wandered in. He put a half eaten plate of food by the sink, took the water, and drank it. Harold watched every sip, every movement that Steward's neck made as the poison seeped down his throat. Harold didn't even blink when the frightened cook grabbed at his throat as he started to choke. He fell to his knees, blood was rushing to his face, and he started coughing. Harold stayed quiet as another one of the servants ran in to see what was happening, but it was too late to save poor Steward. He fell on his side, and breathed his last with his eyes open towards where Harold was hiding. Harold felt himself release in his pants, but he would clean that up later. He snuck back upstairs when the servant called out for assistance. The cause of death would remain "undetermined", but Harold's parents hired another the next morning to replace him. Business went on as usual, and Steward's name was never mentioned in the house again.

"Sir, I am sorry to wake you," Markus said shaking Harold awake. Harold always took a nap after his lunch. It helped to settle his always busy mind. "There is a police officer at the door wanting to speak with you. I told him that you were napping, but he told me that it is urgent."

Harold stretched out his arms, rolled his neck, and yawned. His nap had been too short, and he felt a growing urge in his pants. He had been dreaming about Michael a lot lately. He blamed the young agent tied up in the guest room. They were similar in coloring and body structure which was starting to drive Harold crazy. He couldn't hold off his urges much longer. He followed Markus to the front door, and saw the police officer standing on the welcome mat. The officer was younger, probably hadn't served in office a year, and he looked terribly nervous.

"Please do forgive me sir, but we are being told to go door to door. Two agents were abducted from this area last night, and we are wondering if you have spotted them." The shaky agent held up two photographs, and handed them over to Harold. The photos were similar to the ones on the television, and Harold was wondering if he would be able to keep the pictures. Agent Reid was smiling a shy smile at the camera pointed him, and Agent Morgan looked a lot happier than in previous pictures he had seen of him.

"These are FBI agents you say? Doesn't this guy look to young to be FBI?" Harold asked pointing at Reid.

"Both of them are agents sir. They were last seen together, and they were only a few miles from your house," the officer said. Harold saw him trying to peak over his shoulder to look into his house. Harold moved his body to block the cop from seeing anymore than Harold himself. It was terribly rude to go peaking around in people's houses. Why were these two so important? His last guest had been the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the town. The two agents he had upstairs were virtually nobodies who wouldn't be missed once they were gone. Harold guessed from the way they were dressed that neither of them had any money, and by having a job like they did meant they didn't have much family. They were never home. Harold didn't like authorities poking around. The guests he chose were his business and his business alone. This simply wasn't going to do.

"I am terribly sorry Officer Beynett. I haven't seen either one of these fine young men. I do pray that they will be found soon. Could I help you with anything else?"

The officer turned around after re-claiming the photos, and headed back to his car. "No sir, that is all. Don't hesitate to call if you see anything suspicious or remember something."

"Of course. Oh, and Officer Beynett? Do ask the sheriff if he would be able to attend my party this weekend? The house has been empty for so long. I'm trying to bring some life into it. Tell him that he should bring his children along. I do love seeing the young ones."

"Sure. I'll ask him. Have a good day, and I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Harold watched the officer drive off, but he slammed the door behind him. How dare the authorities come poking around his house!

"Are you alright sir?" Markus asked. Harold pushed Markus aside, and ran up the series of stairs and secret doorways to where his guests were sleeping. He was throbbing in his pants, but he couldn't get over how people were actually looking for these agents. The police had never gone door to door before. Why were they so different?

He unlocked the door, and slammed the door open. Both of the guests were awake, but they were less alert than he would have liked. Agent Morgan was weakly hanging on his chains, and Agent Reid's dark circles were slowly overtaking his face. Markus was right. They weren't going to last much longer. He didn't have much time.

YAY! Chapter 10! Fun stuff is right around the corner so um, keep reading and um reviewing and yay! reviews make me happy and making me happy keeps chapters coming faster so in conclusion: reviews=happiness=more chapters. yay for math in the world of make believe! you guys still like harold? any predictions of what will happen?