Midnight
Chapter Ten
One Minute to Midnight
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To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship.
Thomas Moore
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Whoah. Big response to last chapter. Not surprising, considering the ringer I put you all through. Not to worry, though. The cliffhanger is resolved. I know you all wanted me to post much earlier, but I had a full day of classes and then work between then and now. It's 1.21 am, and I have class at 10am. I stayed up just so you lot wouldn't have to wait another day. Thanks to PanicButton, cyce, sassyboots4, Prinzessin, cmwinner, jieyingg, IrigD, jessalynnGSR, dncnmndy, allie, wiis, tearbos, shar, Kitale (this is the ending I was referring to in that review: I tweaked it a little so it wasn't so similar to yours) , Final Frontier Voyager, Windy City Dreamer, ssbailey, bananasrokk, Beith, SeeMeInTheShadows, BaybeeTayy, antynora, bella_gray, wren_8811 and lapinporokoira.
***
Torture, pain, and so on and so forth. You know the drill.
***
Seconds after Rossi had answered the phone, JJ had herself called Garcia. A trace on the line will tell them whether or not they are going to the right place. She keeps her gaze on Rossi, trying, with her – admittedly, limited – profiling skills, to ascertain the graveness of the situation.
'Reid!' Rossi yells into the phone. The sound of the gunshot had driven a metaphorical stake into his heart. He would not be able to bear it if they were to lose the game this close to the end.
'Emily!' The sound of Reid's voice gives Rossi mixed feelings at both extremes. Relief at the fact that Reid seems to be unhurt, and unbridled terror at the fact that Emily quite possibly is.
Even a year ago, he would not have considered himself to have a close relationship with the rest of the team. In his days at the BAU, profilers worked alone. Sometimes he thinks it's better that way; you don't form attachments, don't get so worked up when you realize that one of your colleagues is in danger. You don't mourn so much when they are taken from you.
Then, David Rossi remembers the good times; the satisfaction he got from ambushing a suspect in interrogation with Emily, from giving a lecture to newbies with Reid, from taking down an unsub with Morgan. He does not want to lose that.
There is almost a minute of just ambient noises from Reid's end of the phone; footsteps, heavy breathing, a thump. Then, Rossi hears a new set of footsteps, growing louder as they draw closer to the phone. The call ends.
'We're going to the right place,' JJ says quietly, hanging up. In the back seat, she cannot determine the expression on her superiors' faces. From the sound of heavy breathing, though, she determines that they need the reassurance. The next call she makes is to the ambulance following them; she needs to know that they're close behind.
They are twenty minutes away.
***
When she had pulled the trigger, she had been expecting a bang. She had been expecting the firing pin to strike the bullet. She had been expecting the heat and the muzzle flash that accompanied a bullet being expelled from the chamber. She had been expecting the unsub to either find himself at the receiving end of the bullet, or to be startled enough that she could take further action.
When she pulls the trigger, nothing happens.
'Fuck,' she mutters to herself. She edges backwards slightly, seeing a shadowed arm rise in the darkness.
'You didn't expect me to leave the guns intact, did you?' he asks her softly. She knows that he is about to reciprocate her efforts, and that they will succeed where hers failed. She will feel the bullet strike her through the chest. She will see the blood spurt out, tiny droplets staining the snow. There will be pain, numbness, and then, finally, nothing.
Anticipating this imminent death, she takes another step backwards. It is not until she is falling that she realizes that the ground behind her is strangely absent. That she is, in fact, falling backwards over the edge of the cliff.
A loud bang sounds, resonating in the air. He is a second too late.
'At least you didn't get shot,' a tiny voice says.
All these thoughts disappear as she plunges into the icy currents below.
***
He does not see her fall, but he hears the shot. And when he turns, she is no longer there.
'Emily!' He runs in the direction of where he last saw her, attempting to draw his weapon at the same time. He is conflicted. Wanting to both save her, and protect himself. As it turns out, both desires are futile.
His gun no longer works. In the small room of the house, they barely had enough time to check the chambers. There are bullets inside, but he suspects that the problem lies elsewhere. He tosses it to the ground. It is no longer of any use to him. He does not have time to wonder if these are his last seconds on Earth, because before he can think, before he can take a single step, the tranquilizer dart hits him square in the chest.
He is graced with a few brief seconds of consciousness before the darkness rushes up to meet him.
***
She gasps involuntarily, a reflex action associated with immersion in such cold water. It is deep enough that even with the velocity of the fall taken into account, she does not hit the bottom. From above, the current of the water seemed stronger, but now she's here, she realizes that it's a gentle flow, not yet augmented by the melted snow. Of course, in her weakened state, it does not take much to overcome her. Her brain takes a second to catch up, and she knows that she needs to stop panicking. It's the ones who panic that end up drowning.
Drowning...
...It would be so simple just to let go. She is already at the end of her rope. She has been running on empty for a while now, the survival of herself and of her friends the only incentive for her to keep going. 'It hardly matters now,' she can't help but think. 'Reid and Morgan are probably dead.' She realizes then that she is surrounded by darkness; is that just a trick of the mind, or is she really drowning?
She feels relaxed, almost opposite to what she thinks she should be feeling. She's dying – she should feel something other than such tranquillity. She has heard that drowning becomes one of the more relaxed forms of death, after the panic has stopped, after the body has slowed down. This thought does not actually enter her mind; the flow of blood to her brain has slowed. It is peripheral vasoconstriction, the second stage in the body's attempt to preserve itself upon immersion in such cold waters. It is preparing for the endgame.
She no longer has any perception of reality. The images, the colours she sees, are all an illusion of the mind. She has never seen such things; a beauty that transcends the realm of mortal possibilities. She would not be entirely displeased to find herself stuck in this state of limbo for eternity. That is its purpose, to ease her path. As Reid would tell her, it is not spiritual in origin. When the brain senses that death is imminent, the pineal gland releases amounts of the chemical Dimethyltryptamine. A naturally occurring hallucinogen, it causes the mind to see things, to feel things that are so much greater than anything experienced in life.
Her body floats lifelessly in the water.
***
Morgan tries to stem the flow of blood from his leg. It doesn't seem to stop. He knows that the femoral artery can't have been nicked; otherwise he would have bled out almost ten minutes ago.
He's in a new room ('How many rooms does this house have?'), the only furnishing being a monitor that hangs from the ceiling. The screen is black, and Morgan stares at it, as if waiting for some image to appear.
And eventually, one does, though it is not an image that Morgan is particularly happy to see.
He sees Reid, alive, strapped to a chair. Does that mean Emily is dead? He pushes the thought out of his mind. He does not want to think about that right now. He will consider her alive for as long as possible, to protect his own sanity.
He's sitting here, waiting for the end. And it surprises him completely when the door swings open.
***
Reid finds himself being shaken awake. He tries to turn away, but finds that he is secured to a chair, his forearms facing upwards.
He breathes as if he has not done so in an eternity. Then, he remembers.
'Emily...where...?' It is painful to talk, but he gets the feeling that his message was conveyed with just those words. He awaits the answer fearfully.
'She's dead,' says the unsub shortly.
'No,' he says. 'No!' He can't – won't – believe that Emily is dead. Even having seen the aftermath of the events in the snow, he does not accept it.
'Oh, don't worry,' he says casually. 'In a few days you'll be dead too. But not before I finish having my fun.' He's tapping something – is that a needle? Reid realizes all too soon what is going on. He struggles in his bonds, trying desperately to move his arms away from the needle. He is not going to let this happen again.
'You disappointed me,' the unsub says. He won't be injecting any time soon; he needs to make his profound speech. Though his mind is fuzzy, Reid thinks he understands this unsub. Understands the methods behind his madness. 'Even after relapse, you persevered. You wouldn't let the addiction rule you. You wanted to make it through this clean, even if it killed you. Do you know how boring that is for me? So it's come to this. I've got your little friend watching on the monitor. He'll watch as you claw your eyes out for just one more fix.'
Reid takes a deep breath. He can make it through this; he knows morphine isn't as strong as the Dilaudid was. If he kicked that habit, he can kick this one too.
'What was your drug of choice?' the unsub asks, almost in a conversational tone. He tightens the strap around Reid's upper arm, preparing the veins for injection. Reid does not answer. He will not pander to this man's wishes. 'An opioid, sure, but which one? Heroin? Codeine? Dilaudid? Come on, Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid. Tell me, and I'll let you ask me a question.'
'Dilaudid,' says Reid, eventually.
'Well let's try you on Fentanyl, then. Much, much stronger.' Reid gasps as the needle plunges into his arm. He can almost feel the liquid squirting into his veins, so much more potent than anything he has experienced. 'Ask your question.'
'What's your name?' He knows the profile. He knows that this man is a sadist, intent on reassuring his victims of his power. He knows that this man was most probably abused as a child, and his torturous ways are an outlet of that helplessness. The one thing he does not know is this man's name.
He seems confused by the question. Distracted, almost; which is exactly what Reid is going for. He sees the movement out of the corner of his eye.
He flinches at the sound of the gunshots, and cannot help but watch as the unsub stares down at the two holes in his chest. 'I...' he puts a finger to the holes in disbelief. He sinks slowly to the floor, dead.
Hotch steps forward, reholstering his weapon. Neither of them mention the needle sticking out of Reid's arm, the consequences it will have. Right now, they are just happy to see each other.
He loosens the bonds, helps Reid out of the chair. He shakes as he stands. He can feel the drug coursing through his veins. In one moment, a total destruction of what he has building up for a year and a half. The morphine he probably could have dealt with, but this?
The sight of Hotch pulls him from his reverie. He needs to find Morgan, Emily. To see that they are alright. Then, he remembers the unsub's words, like a knife to his heart.
'Need to find them,' he says, trying to push past Hotch. He needs to know that Morgan is alive, at the very least.
Hotch holds up a single hand, and that is enough to slow the weakened profiler's progress. 'We've got Morgan,' he says calmly. 'He was bleeding out; the unsub stabbed him in the thigh. But the paramedics are looking at him. They say he should be fine.'
Reid sees the look in Hotch's eyes, knows what the Unit Chief will say before he even says it. 'We haven't found Emily yet.'
'Outside...' says Reid. 'We were outside. She said there was a river...Then there was a gunshot, and I couldn't see her anymore. He said she was dead, Hotch. She can't be dead, can she?' He stares at Hotch in horror. The Unit Chief struggles to remain stoic at Reid's words. He suppresses the desire to break down as he reaches for his radio.
'Rossi, it's Hotch.'
***
Hotch stays with Reid, JJ with Morgan. Rossi is leading the search outside. Hotch knows that if he had gone, and the findings had been negative, he probably would have broken down completely, regardless of whether or not anyone was watching. If it had been Reid or Morgan, he would have done the same thing. Right now, he can't stand to lose anyone.
Torch beams intersect in the darkness; anyone watching from a distance might have suspected that an alien abduction was at work. The truth was far more foreboding.
David Rossi is the first to reach the cliff edge. He shines the flashlight down, and at first, he sees nothing. Then, further along the bank – is that a flash of pale in amongst the darkness? He edges closer, and confirms his suspicions. Yes, it's a flash of pale – a flash of pale skin, to be more specific.
The cliff merges with the bank several feet from where he is, several more feet from where she's floating. He can just reach her without having to dive in himself.
She doesn't move when he pulls her from the water. He's already called for the paramedics, though he doesn't realize just how panicked his voice had been. He sees the paleness of her skin – so pale it's almost blue. He feels the chill of her skin. He puts a finger against her neck. There is no pulse. There is no rise and fall of the chest.
That is all David Rossi has time to determine before a paramedic pushes him out of the way.
Yeah, I think you all know how serious everyone's injuries are. Sequel will probably be less physical whump, more psychological whump. Still looking for ideas on that sequel front, folks.