The Escalation

!!I support the 2007 WGA STRIKE!!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

Prentiss looked down at her notes. Now she had a rough outline of how this was going to go she got ready for stage two. "I need to talk to you more about the 'stalking' business."

"I told you it was harmless. Just entertainment for myself. It was a long time before I contacted Spence."

"You found out where he lived. How exactly did you do that?"

"I paid for his name in the bookstore. It's amazing what people will give you for a fist full of cash." He paused, "Can you pass me that water please?"

Emily picked up the jug and poured a plastic tumbler of water and passed it to him. She noted his rough hands. Strange for a man who seemed to be no more than an odd curio collector.

"You paid for his name, but I need to know how you got his address."

He sipped the water and looked at Emily in the eyes again. "Do I need a lawyer?"

Prentiss stopped writing and tapped the pen a few times on her pad. "Address Flanders, how?"

"Fine – I hired a private detective. He followed Spence from the shop. He goes there almost every weekend. I had no idea he was a Federal Agent. I didn't know what he was. He looked like a student or something. He doesn't look like a Fed."

"So you were told he caught the subway most mornings and followed him?"

"I told you, I just watched. For a long time I just watched." He sighed. "I took note of how he reacted in front of people, and who he talked to, and who he looked at. I suppose it was a very rough profile of him. I guessed pretty early on – some of it – who he looked at, who he avoided eye contact with, who he was comfortable standing next to and who he wasn't." Another sip. "Then he got sick. I watched him very carefully then. I had seen that sickness before. I had seen it in my own mirror."

Emily was making notes and nodding.

"I found out where he worked. I still didn't realise he was an agent. I drank at the same coffee stand. I followed him everywhere. To the bar he frequents. Which is why I got the courage to finally talk to him.

…………….

She ran down the stairs with the other people, her bare feet cold on the stone floor, Jacks cries as loud as the emergency bells. 'Oh god it was Reid' she was thinking over and over. 'What happened to the other agents? Why was Reid here? What on earth made him come to me with a letter?' And someone pushed her from behind and her feet were slipping. She grabbed hold of the handrail with her free hand and sat down hard on the step, bumping her way down the last six, before the stampede of people behind her pushed Haley to the floor and ran over the top of her as she clutched Jack tightly and safely under her body.

Haley screamed.

…………….

They sat in Morgan's car going to a hotel to stay a night again. "Any chance of dropping me off at the hospital to see if he is alright?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not a chance in hell kid. Wait until he is released then go see him if you still have to. We need to find out why this son of a bitch is doing this first, and why. Until then, I think you better stay away."

Reid sighed and looked out of the side window.

"For his sake as much as yours Reid." A fire truck roared by them.

"It's my fault that happened." Another two fire trucks and a few police cars raced by them. Reid looked at the direction they were going. "What's happened?" Two ambulances. "Something has happened." Reid flipped his phone open and dialled JJ. More fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances flew by them.

……………

Hotch got the call about the explosion as it happened. His phone bleeped. With a sigh – it had been a long few days, and now Reid was driving off with Morgan. He flipped his phone open and put it to his ear.

"Agent Aaron Hotchner. You need to check up on your wife. I just blew her hotel up." And the line went dead.

…………..

Morgan and Reid were approaching the hotel they were going to stay in so pulled into the parking lot and listened to what JJ was saying. An explosion at the hotel Haley was staying in. The top floor – They couldn't get hold of the agents left to keep an eye on Haley, and she wasn't answering her cell phone. Get over there now – Hotch was on his way, and a message had been sent to Prentiss.

………….

Flanders sat and watched Prentiss leave. He didn't like her. She annoyed him with her silly questions. He wanted to go home. Be with his things again. Away from the stink of hospitals. Back to his whiskey, he must admit that was a big reason to want to go home. The lure. He pulled out the morphine drip and staggered out of the bed. His clothes were hanging in a wardrobe. Dirty, and somewhat blood smeared. He pulled them on anyway, and dragged his boot over his swollen ankle. It wasn't broken, just bruised, like the rest of him was. He stood and looked in the mirror and ran his fingers through his shoulder length hair and sighed. Everything always turned to dust. Some twist in fate didn't permit him to be happy. Everything just out of reach – enough money to last a normal man twenty lifetimes, and no one to spend it on. He could hear someone talking to him so turned to look at the face of the nurse.

"Mr Flanders, you really shouldn't be going home. Can you get undressed and get back into bed please. There are more tests to do."

"Erm – no – I am going home." He picked up his bag of stuff and had a quick look for his cell phone.

"Mr Flanders, I really need you to go back to bed. The rape kit, Sir, we need to discuss the results."

Floyd turned to her again. "Screw you - I'm going home."

"Mr Flanders – please – I would like to set up some counselling sessions with you. You need to be able to talk to someone about what happened"

He put a finger on her shoulder and gently pushed her to one side so he could walk by. "I am aware of what happened. I don't need to talk about it to someone who has seen how much money I have in my wallet thank you very much. If I need to talk to someone about it, I will arrange it. When, and if – not now, so kindly get your arse out of my way and let me go home."

"Sir, can I give some literature to read, it has telephone numbers and help lines. You might feel you need them."

"One more word from you missy and I am going to get mighty pissed. I don't get angry often, but you are really bugging me now. I told you I don't want to talk about it. Definitely not half in the corridor and definitely not with some blonde candyfloss tart with discount enamels."

He walked down the corridor in the hospital towards the elevator. It was a bank of four, and when the middle one pinged and the doors opened he stepped in. It was a roomy car and he was in there alone. He pressed for the ground floor and leaned back on the wall taking weight off his ankle. Damnit it hurt. He needed to get home before the morphine totally wore off so he could start his own self medication from the drinks cabinet. The elevator shuddered, and the lights went out.

"Crap, now what the hell?" Red emergency lighting came on.

It kept going down though at a steady rate, not stopping at any floors. Maybe a bit too fast? Maybe much too fast? Flanders stood and watched the numbers of the floors pinging up and knew something bad was about to happen. As ground floor approached and he wondered if this was the time to start preying to something, it slowed, the lights came back on, and it shuddered to a normal stop on the ground floor. When the doors pinged open he was met by a group of white faced people. He stepped out feeling sick and limping on his bad ankle.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" A woman with a buggy and toddler asked him.

He was about to nod when a screaming ripping metal on metal sound came from the car next to the one Floyd had just stepped out of. Everyone quickly stepped back out of the way. The woman with the buggy had grabbed Floyd by the arm and was pulling him away from the doors.

It made a horrendous smacking smashing noise as the elevator stopped at the ground floor and the doors pinging open. Floyd stood and looked at what was inside the car.

A young man in his twenties was on the floor. He was laying on his front in a gently increasing pool of blood. He had on a short sleeve white shirt and pale trousers. A messenger bag lay at his side and his hands were at shoulder height with his fingers splayed. There was a message written on the wall in blood.

"Dear Derek Morgan, there are six elevator related deaths a year."

…………………

!!I support the 2007 WGA STRIKE!!