APOCALYPSE TEN
(There will actually be another chapter on this one, plus an epilogue. Also—I don't have time to edit fanfiction, and these are my rough drafts. I write quickly and by 'ear' so if something is phonetically misspelled—two or too, hear or here, just ignore it. Thank you! PS I'm not too sure I like this chapter, so please review and let me know your opinions,)
Kenneth Deffeyes said
"The least-bad scenario is a hard landing, global recession worse than the 1930s. The worst-case borrows from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: war, famine, pestilence and death."
Hotch's eyes scanned the crowd methodically, searching for the shooter as the court officers and Det. Allen's men secured the lobby. By Hotch's estimate only two minutes had passed. Emily stood beside him, her own eyes trained on the other half of the crowd.
Neither knew where Morgan was. When the shooting had started, he'd been three feet behind Emily. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.
"Hotch!" Emily said insistently. "South wall, what is that?"
Hotch's eyes immediately landed on what she referred to. Dozens of large sage green splashes of something peppered the white marble. It hadn't been there before the press conference. Hotch would bet money on it being green enamel.
The enamel was the one piece of the puzzle they still hadn't figured out.
"Stay here." He ordered, "I'll check it out, I think I know what it is. Keep your eyes open!"
"Gotcha." Emily scanned the crowd, watching each face carefully but quickly as Hotch wove his way to the back wall. She caught his movement as he lifted one hand and touched the green.
He returned to her position quickly, as Allen's men gave the signal that the floor was clear. The detective met them, concern on his face. "You both ok?"
"Fine." Hotch said, "Did they catch the guy?"
"We have the reporter. Damien Roberts, moved here five years ago from Seattle. SSA Morgan's got him in a squad car. Says he'll meet you and Agent Prentiss down at the station."
"What about the shooter?" Emily asked.
"No sign of him." Allen admitted, they'd scoured the building, but found no sign of whomever had fired the weapon. "Not even sure what caliber he used."
"Paintball gun." Emily said, decisively, bending down and picking up a small ball filled with metallic sage green paint, it obviously hadn't burst like it was designed to. Morgan had talked her into a paintball battle once; her, him, and two of his friends from the ATF. The little rounds hurt, but she'd left with two invitations from both Derek's friends for dinner later that week.
She'd never gotten to go out with either of them—she'd always had to cancel for cases. That was six months ago. She somehow doubted they even remembered her.
"Detective Allen!" An officer called from the front of the room, by the podium. "We got somethin' you need to see!"
Emily holstered her weapon as she followed the two men to the podium. Adrenalin still ran through her blood, and as it abated she began to shiver. Hotch moved closer, and she felt the warmth radiating from him. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, realizing he'd done it without thinking.
Was he that attuned to her? So aware of her and her body that he'd act so unthinkingly?
It frightened her.
The officer who'd called them over was holding a cylindrical tube, much like what drive-through tellers at the bank used to send envelopes through the pneumatic pipes. Inside was a piece of paper.
It had been sat on the podium, centered and precise. Someone wanted it to be found quickly.
Hotch motioned Allen to open it, and they waited.
"It's addressed to SSA Prentiss, sir." Allen said. Aaron Hotchner was one of those men that would always automatically be addressed as sir.
"What?" Emily asked, she moved closer, edging in between Allen and the officer. Hotch moved to read the letter over her shoulder. He placed one hand on her shoulder and leaned her back slightly, against his chest, clearing his line of sight.
My dearest Agent Emily Prentiss and team;
I want to offer my sincerest apologies for your ordeal. Corison was sloppy and inefficient. My one regret is that I could not be the one to take his life and send him to the Judgment.
Remember, my dear, that only by cleansing those of this world who are an abhorrence to my desire, can I achieve the peace I so long for. If you are pained by external things, it is not they that disturb you, but your own judgment of them. And it is in your power to wipe out that judgment now. Is your judgment correct, my dear?
I'll be waiting…
The Judge
Emily finished reading aloud, and turned to look at the man standing behind her. Had the reporter put this up there? She'd not noticed him holding something as large as the tube, so where had he hidden it? And why would he be obvious, if he wasn't wanting to get caught?
Nothing about the note made sense.
"Let's get back to the precinct. I'll want to interview Roberts after we go over things one more time. Have Garcia run the tape of the conference. We're missing something!" Hotch almost growled. He knew very well what could have happened here today. And he was aware that it would have been on his hands. He'd made her the target. Deliberately. And they'd not caught the shooter. "This isn't the same MO, nothing about this is making sense—we're missing something!"
"White enamel, red enamel, black enamel, green enamel? White, red, black, green." Emily muttered to herself, "White, red, black, green. Poison, stabbing, starvation, and infestation. Four colors, four CODs. Corison, Roberts, the third guy, and now someone else who wrote the letter. Four UNSUBs."
"What are you getting that?" Hotch asked, slowly, as he, Allen, and the officer looked at her, puzzled. He'd seen that look in her eyes often enough to know when she was on to something.
"The apocalypse!" Emily suddenly said, grabbing Hotch by the arm and pulling him slightly to her in her excitement. "It's following the tale of the Four horsemen of the Apocalypse! And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. I need to check something, Hotch. We need to get back to the precinct!"
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
Emily and Hotch practically ran into the station house, passing both Morgan and Reid in the hallway. Emily immediately headed to the little room that had become the command center of the BAU. JJ looked up from where she was rescanning the various files. Garcia sat beside her, absently scanning the list of twenty-three names Hotch had given her the night before.
Emily grabbed the list, and the two lists pinned to the bulletin board that listed the clients and employees for both the investment and law firms. "Garcia! Have you connected Thomas Corison to anyone on both of these lists? What about Damien Roberts?"
"Not yet. Why, jumping bean, what did you find out?" Garcia said, startled at the intensity on the other woman's face.
"There wasn't just three UNSUBS. Four. They're modeling themselves after the four horsemen from Revelations." Emily began. "The white horse, is commonly thought of as the rise to power, both investment planners and lawyers have power. Historically, to take power from someone, you had to kill them quickly—poison was commonly used. White enamel mugs. The red, is war. He carries a blood red sword. Red enamel on stab wounds. The third is black. And is known as death, commonly seen as famine and starvation. Black manacles, starved bodies. Some also say it represents plagues—bees! Sage green, is the fourth color. It's a misconception based on an incorrect translation of the Hebrew word for ill. Was mistranslated as paisley, or sage green. Green paintballs shot on the wall of the courthouse. It encompasses all the others. The letter said something about the Judgment and the judge. Courthouse, place of judgment. The fourth UNSUB is controlling the actions of the others, including Corison."
"Chick, slow down, what letter?" Derek said, coming to stand beside her.
"During the mess at the courthouse, someone placed a letter on the podium." Hotch handed it first to Morgan who read it and passed it to Reid.
Emily took a deep breath before continuing. "He quoted Marcus Aurelius. Which is ironic because Aurelius never believed in the afterlife and judgment. This last UNSUB is guiding the others, but he doesn't believe it himself. Aurelius supposedly wanted and desired death as the end to all desires. If cornered, this guy will most likely try to kill himself—and whomever is around him."
Allen was puzzled. "So we still got two more out there?"
"Yes." Hotch said. "And Roberts is the only lead we have to him. We need a profile on this new UNSUB before we do the interrogation. Let's work fast, people!"
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH
"Hotch! You guys got to see this!" Reid ran into the back room. "Someone's leaked a video of the altercation with Palmers to the media. It's all over the news—Nancy Grace, everything!"
Hotch, Morgan, and JJ ran to the center conference room, where Garcia, Allen, and Prentiss all sat watching the screen.
"It's someone's cell phone." Garcia determined.
"JJ, on the phone—find out who leaked that. Everyone else, we have other, more important things to worry about." Hotch said, as his eyes moved away from the screen. No matter how much he wanted to stay and hear exactly what was being said on screen, he knew they had other things to do.
"Yes, sir." Emily said, absently, eyes still glued to the screen, as the words of Palmers' threats to her replayed.
Hotch knew then she wasn't really aware of what he'd said. He motioned everyone else out of the room, and moved up behind her. One hand came up to rest on her shoulder. "Emily?"
"They're demanding to know if that's what is really like." Emily said, sighing. "If law enforcement is like that for women."
"It's not important." Hotch said. "Palmers is no longer in his position."
"But there are thousands more like him." Emily said. "You know, the first time something like that happened to me, I was still in the academy, I was twenty-four. Guy in the same program. Backed me against the wall. Told me the FBI had no place for a woman like me, but he had a place for me. Will it ever end, do you think?"
"I don't know." Hotch said, rubbing her shoulder, noticing idly that she didn't seem to avoid his touch any longer. It was a good sign, for him, that she was more comfortable around him, less on edge. He hated he'd made her feel that insecure with his coldness over the last year plus. She hadn't ever deserved that from him. And he was thankful she was beginning to feel comfortable enough to share personal feelings and experiences with him. She'd not done that since the night he'd told her he needed her objective—and she'd replied she needed to know she was human. She'd backed away from him in every way but professionally ever since. Until now. "There will always be those who seek to control those they perceive as weaker, and it will often be in a sexual manner. I wish I could change it, wish it would change—but it won't until more women join the ranks."
"But with something like this showing—why would they want to?" Emily sighed, dejectedly, leaning back into him ever so slightly. She watched as, on screen, her knee flashed and Palmers doubled over slightly. Shivered when his promise that it wasn't over yet sounded through the speakers. "I probably shouldn't have aimed off-center."
"Come on. Let's go. I want a working profile of this final UNSUB before I go in to question Roberts." Hotch said, as she turned around to face him. His hand dropped from her shoulder, moved to rest around her back. He didn't like the look in her eyes. Big, dark, vulnerable—resigned. Almost defeated, in a way he wasn't used to ever seeing her. "I need you on this. Are you ok?"
"Yes. I am." Emily said, stiffening her spine slightly. She took a deep breath, and was once again SSA Emily Prentiss, ready to conquer the world. Wonder Woman—as Garcia called her. "I want in on the interrogation. I've seen Roberts before, Hotch. I just can't place him, yet."
"You sure you're up to it?" Hotch asked, not liking the idea at all. This case had been a nightmare, and it was especially difficult to see the way it was affecting her.
"It's my job. And I am more than capable of doing it." Emily said, firmly. "I need you to respect that."
"I do." Hotch said, and he did. "But whenever an agent is injured, I like to cut them some slack."
"I don't need slack, Hotch." Emily said. She'd learned early on in the academy that any sign of weakness in a woman counted against them twice what it would in a man. Slack was never really an option. "Let's find the others, and do this."
"Yes, ma'am." He said.
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
"Are you all sure she should be in there?" Detective Allen asked from his place between Kinsey and Morgan. They were all arranged in front of a one way mirror, watching as Prentiss and Hotch prepared to do the interrogation.
"She'll be fine. Emily and Hotch interview really well together." Spencer said, shrugging. "They almost read each other's minds."
"Isn't that what you all are trained to do?" Allen asked, skeptically.
"Well, yes, in a way, I guess you can call it that." Spencer began.
"Yes or no, Spence." Kinsey demanded softly, cutting off his ramble. Morgan grinned to himself.
"What Reid means is, we're trained to observe criminal behavior. But Hotch and Emily—they don't need to be looking at each other, and they finish each other's sentences effortlessly. Takes a person a while to catch on, but once you see it, you can't miss it." Morgan said.
"You all do that." Kinsey said. "It's a bit off-putting at first. After that, it's kind of cool."
"But she can handle it?" Allen asked again. The woman in question looked vulnerable and delicate behind the glass. The white bandages, the curled hair, the big, dark doe eyes—none of it shouted skilled interrogator to him. "You sure?"
"She wouldn't be in there if she couldn't." Morgan said, emphatically. "Hotch wouldn't allow it."
"If you say so." Skepticism still colored the man's voice.
"Just watch. And be prepared to be amazed." Morgan insisted, lips quirking. "Interrogation magic coming up!"
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
Before they led Roberts in, Hotch grabbed Emily's arm and pulled her closer. "Keep the fact that we know about the symbolism behind everything. These guys get off on thinking they know more than we do."
"Understood," She whispered as the door opened and one of Allen's officers led the man in. He smiled, quirked his lips in Emily's direction.
He completely ignored Hotch.
"Mr. Roberts, please sit down." Hotch said. Emily would only speak when Roberts cooperated; Hotch would use her attention as a reward. Make Roberts work for her attention. Make him almost beg for it. Make him screw up. Just to have those dark eyes focused on him.
Hotch understood how much a man would work for a woman like Emily Prentiss.
"Sure thing. Hello, Agent Prentiss." Roberts said, as he dropped into the chair.
Emily didn't answer.
"Mr. Roberts, you know why you're here." Hotch said. He took the seat directly in front of the man. Emily stood, leaning against the wall near the door. "We have a few questions for you."
"I'll answer any question you have—if Emily does the asking." Roberts said, eying her closely.
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
Detective Allen was still skeptical. "Why won't he let Prentiss question him, if he's willing to talk to her?"
"We can't reward him, until he gives us something to use. He's focused on Emily, so by denying him the privilege of speaking with her—we maintain control."
"So why is she in there?"
"Because seeing her, yet not talking to her, can throw him off. Make him make a mistake. We really don't have a whole lot to tie him to anything. In fact, we really don't have much to hold him on, if at all. But his prints were all over the note." Reid said, eyes trained on the UNSUB. "Hotch is keeping control, Emily is just in there as a shiny carrot."
"And this will achieve what?" Kinsey asked, from her position in front of Reid. She was a shorter woman, and the crown of her head passed under his chin with a good three inches of clearance. He tried not to notice how good she smelled.
It brought back too many good, recent, memories. He hoped he'd get to re-experience those memories before the team headed back to Washington. "It'll throw him off his guard. He might let something slip."
"Ok." Kinsey said. "Then what next?"
"Then we find the other sons-of-bitches." Morgan said, as Garcia entered the room. "Hey sweet-girl. Whatcha got for me?"
"Whatever you think you can take, my cinnamon chocolate hottie. I have two names for you." She waved a sheet of paper under his nose.
"Great, baby-girl. You got addresses?"
"Better than that…one of these guys is right here in the building. Officer Phillip Holmes. If I recall correctly, he's one of your men, Detective Allen." She said, softly. "He's Corison's cousin on his father's side—and Roberts' cousin on his mother. And Walter J. Coulier."
"Judge Coulier?" Allen said disbelievingly. "He's in on this?"
"I don't know, but he's connected to Corrison, Roberts, and Holmes, sir." Garcia said. "I don't know if it's what you're looking for, but I figured I'd let you know in person what I found."
"Dammit, Holmes is the officer who led Roberts into the room!" Allen said, suddenly. "We need to re-search Roberts, now!"
He ran from the room, followed closely by Morgan. Kinsey, JJ and Reid continued to watch the interrogation. JJ hit the light that signaled Hotch and Emily they needed to speak to them. They had to get them out of there. Neither one was armed—it was too dangerous to have a weapon in a small space with a serial killer.
Hotch nodded to Emily to open the door, but she didn't get the chance.
Roberts pulled his hands free from the cuffs. And jumped from his chair. His hand was around Emily's arm before she even realized he'd moved. He pulled her against his body, holding the small knife against her neck and backing them both toward the wall.
The door slammed open, revealing both Allen and Morgan with their weapons drawn. Kinsey and Reid stood behind them, also trained on the man in the bright orange jumpsuit.
Hotch froze, eyes trained on Roberts. "Let her go."
"I don't want to do that." Roberts said, in a completely calm tone. "I like her. I think she likes me, too."
"Why are you doing this?" Hotch asked, his own tone mirroring Roberts'. "You have to know this won't work out good for you."
"The judge has promised me my reward."
"Judge Coulier?" Morgan asked, repeating the name Garcia had given them.
"Yes. So you do know him." Roberts said. "A wise man. You should read his writings."
"What reward has he promised you?" Hotch demanded.
"A life of peace and happiness. Wealth. Promised land, paradise." Roberts' voice rang with a fanaticism that the BAU had heard before. They'd heard it before—the Frances Goreman case, other cult-type cases. Those who'd used religion or their versions of one to hurt or torture others. Roberts, an obviously educated, confident man, had bought this judge's rhetoric hook, line, and sinker. "Emily."
"Excuse me?" Hotch said.
"Coulier promised that if I completed my mission, I can have Emily."
"What mission? Why her?" Hotch demanded, keeping his hands visible.
He didn't dare look at Emily. Couldn't bear to see her with a knife at her throat.
"Deliver the message." Roberts said. "Then take her to him."
"Why does he want her?" Hotch asked, moving around the table.
Emily hadn't made a sound, was remaining completely quiet, completely calm. Not drawing Roberts' attention to her. Letting Hotch do what he had to do to get her away from him.
Hotch looked at her, then. Saw the calm trust in her eyes.
It nearly staggered him. He knew exactly how precarious the situation actually was.
God, he couldn't let her down. Not now.