The Downward Spiral
Pale Death with impartial tread beats at the poor man's cottage door and at the palaces of kings.
Horace
FOURTEEN
She handed Hotch her gun, and then started unclipping her vest.
'Emily,' he said. 'I can't let you go in there, you know that.'
Instead of appealing to his emotions, she chose to address his sense of reason.
'I'm the only person you have who has a chance of talking him down.'
'Fourteen years is a long time, Emily. There's no reason to believe he would remember anything about that time in his life.'
'I can't just stand here and watch this happen, Hotch.' She gave him her vest, and then straightened her shirt unconsciously. 'I need to do this.'
She held his gaze for several seconds, her expression one of determination.
'If you can't talk him down, the snipers have a green-light to kill,' he warned her.
She nodded. 'I know.'
She had to remind herself to breathe as she walked slowly and purposefully towards the bank. She could feel all eyes on her, vulnerable, exposed.
She put her hands up in submission, showing that she was unarmed. The glass doors swung open in front of her, a terrified-looking woman ushering her in quickly.
'Who are you?' He demanded. She looked at him, at his face, his trembling hands, and she knew that he was, more than anything, scared.
'My name is Agent Prentiss. I'm with the FBI. We only want to help.' She spoke slowly, steadily. The last thing she wanted to do was spook him. He visibly relaxed at the calmness of her voice.
'They said…they said if I didn't do this, they'd kill more people. I never wanted to…'
'It's okay. Can you tell me your name?'
'Steven,' he said. 'My name is Steven.' Her heart twanged. She had imagined that they would have reinvented him, given him a new name, a new life. If he still had something left to hold onto, then maybe they had a chance.
'Can you tell me who "they" are, Steven?'
'في دائرة,' he whispered. The Circle. 'They took me from my mother.' His voice cracked as he mentioned her. Emily took the opportunity to step forward slightly. She could see the shine of tears in his eyes, and it took all of her strength not to succumb to her own emotions.
'What do you remember about your mother?' It was a question of both personal and professional importance to her. Asking that question might bring him from the brink of destruction, might save all the hostages. It would also let her know if she ever had a chance at a real relationship with the son she hadn't seen in fourteen years.
'I…' he faltered. 'I tried to hold on to the memories for so long. But now, all I can remember are her screams. But sometimes…when I close my eyes, I think I can almost see her eyes, her hair. Her smile.' He was shaking as he closed his eyes.
Emily choked back a sob.
'Do you remember her name?' she asked softly. He didn't answer, his eyes still closed. As though he had complete trust in her not to disturb him. Or, he didn't care if she took him down.
'We can protect you from them. We won't let them hurt anyone else.' What she had meant was "I can protect you from them. I won't let them hurt anyone else."
He opened his eyes – his father's eyes – and looked at her. Their tears almost mirrored each other. He didn't flinch, didn't step back when she moved right in front of him and began removing the explosives that had been strapped to his chest.
'Is there a dead man's switch? Remote detonator?'
'No…no, I don't think so.' Nodding, she unfastened the harness, laying it gently on the table beside them.
'It's going to be okay,' she told him soothingly. Tears unfettered, he threw himself into her arms. Surprised, but not disappointed, she held onto him tightly. She wondered if he knew, if he had realized.
A single gunshot rang out.
Her shirt felt wet and sticky. And red. She didn't remember this shirt being red.
Blood.
She felt no pain, there were no visible injuries. This wasn't her blood.
'Steven?' she asked. She was still holding him, but he didn't respond. Almost hyperventilating, she pulled herself and her son down to the ground gently. His head lay in her lap, that red, sticky fluid leaking from his chest.
'I…' He couldn't speak. She put her hands on his chest, trying to dam the blood that just didn't seem to stop. She turned, saw the cascade of broken glass that littered the floor. The gunshot had come from outside.
'Emily!' Hotch's voice, running towards her.
Steven, life ebbing away by the second, seemed to hear him. 'Mother?' he asked. He was shaking, body slowly but surely giving up.
'It's okay, Stevie,' she said. 'It's all going to be okay.'
When she felt his heart stop beating, saw his eyes close on the world for the last time, she pulled him to her chest, clinging tightly to the body of her only child.
A/N: Oh god. That chapter was so hard to write. Emotionally draining. I'd been planning to do this all along, but in the end it surprised me anyway. I think I need to go do something happy now. Don't forget to REVIEW.
Edit: I have recently come to the conclusion that it is biologically impossible for me to write a happy ending.