The breakthrough came on a mundane, rainy day, in which the sky was swathed by clouds and the outside was made glistening with puddles, people having long abandoned the streets to return home.
Derek had been grappling with some paperwork that morning, with JJ at his elbow and Prentiss working at her desk, and Spencer was left to his own devices in the evidence room. Rossi and Hotchner were given the task of going through case files in the hope that something, anything would make itself known, while Alaric was once again in the stead of Garcia in her 'lair;' a place she had come to recognise as a cosy, toy-covered prison.
When Hotchner hurried through the bullpen with Rossi in tow, Derek had but a moment to look up and realise they were coming towards them.
"We've had some more contact," he said, eyes dark and inscrutable; "Meet in the conference room. Get Reid."
The genius was collected from his base of operations and, as a team, they went to the conference room, where they were confronted with the sight of both elder agents seated near the television screen, switched off so as not to draw their attention away. At their hands were dozens of letters; these were far less nuanced than the previous ones, incoherent and scribbled, as though a child had written them rather than two serial killers.
"What are these?" Derek asked when they were all settled down. His eyes had zeroed in on them much like a hawk would its prey, and his hands were knotted together in front of him.
"More letters," Rossi replied; "All came through today."
"Not from Alaric's parents," Spencer observed, grabbing one from the pile and giving it a quick look; "These are barely legible. I can't make out more than three words."
"More than we could. What are they?" Rossi asked.
"Dark, girl, and Alaric." He shook his head; "They're from her brothers, aren't they?"
Hotchner nodded. With a business-like tone he told them all he knew, which didn't amount to much. He theorised that the brothers had been writing to Alaric for a long time, perhaps with the belief that she was reading them, and that was how the parents were able to keep them on so tight a leash. Derek asked if it was possible the boys themselves had discovered a way to send letters – it was a possibility, he argued, as they may have been privy to their parents sending them, and might have then gone on to mimic the action.
"Impossible. They don't have the mental capacity." Rossi said after a while of following the thought. Because he hadn't been too sure of it himself, Morgan made no attempts to pursue it.
"Does this change the nature of the case?" Prentiss asked; "We've still got a victim out there, and there are still two murderers on the loose."
Rossi glanced at his neighbour, who nodded; "Go ahead."
The team were handed another letter. This one was written in the same style that they had come to expect. It detailed to them where they would take Heidi and, in essence, where they were to be given back their daughter, using words that made Derek's blood boil just by reading them.
'Make sure she's in good enough health to last the next few days without food or water. This is our demand for her betrayal to us. We gave her life and intelligence; she owes to us loyalty and obedience.'
"They plan to starve her," Spencer was the one to bring it up, voice incredulous and outraged, but face careful not to reveal his deeper emotions. He could imagine Alaric in a similar position to the victims – his eidetic memory would never forget it, and he cursed that fact, for it was one of the most heart breaking things he had ever seen.
"They won't get the chance. We're not actually giving her back to them; it's just something we're letting them believe until we have them in the open."
"Then we get Alaric and the twins?"
"The twins will probably have to undergo massive psychotherapy for what they've seen, especially with their condition," JJ pointed out. It was true; the boys were as yet too young to understand the finality that was the end of life, but the horror of witnessing it, of seeing someone killed by the two who were supposed to protect them from terror? There would be emotional scarring there that went further than their condition would let them delve.
In Garcia's office, Alaric had just finished her second book of the day, and placed it beside her with a heavy sigh. There was little left to do, save for mundane games and films so identical they made her want to cry. Her mind wandered, and she found herself thinking about her brothers; about Harry and Lewis, and how they were, how they were coping with what was no doubt a horrifying situation.
When the door opened to reveal Derek and Spencer, she released herself from that train of thought.
"Uncle Spencer!" she exclaimed, hugging his legs, to which she came just above due to her abnormally short height; "Did you finish looking at the evidence? Do you know where my brothers are now?"
If there was a moment she thought that the pair knew nothing, it was quickly dispelled by the fact that they glanced at each other, done in what they had hoped to be secrecy. Her smile dropped and she stepped back, looking up at them with guarded eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Alaric, baby girl…we have to tell you something."
It was at this moment that Garcia turned. She knew what was to happen, that Alaric was a bargaining chip, but she felt it rude to leave when she had kept the girl in the dark for so long. There was also a morbid curiosity in her; she wanted to be witness to her reaction, good or bad.
And so, with a hint of trepidation about them, Spencer and Derek told Alaric what she didn't know – that Hotchner had hatched a grand plan, and she was to be at the centre of it. Once they were done she was silent for a full minute, swaying on feet suddenly too unsteady for her, and when she spoke, she did so with a quiver.
"Will it save my brothers?" she asked.
"We…hope so." Spencer replied.
There was a nod; "Then I'll do it. I have to do it. It's the only way I can get them back, isn't it?" she went to the door, looking at them with expectant eyes. "Come on. People don't like waiting."
Separate glances were spared between the adults. Each one was unsure what to do next.
"Come on," she urged; "I trust you."