Alex didn't even stop to put her things on her desk before she joined the rest of the team in the conference room. There had been an all-call to arrive at the office by seven; she hadn't even had time to grab coffee on the way in to work. She sat between Rossi and Emily in silence, waiting to find out about the case.

"All right, my lovelies, the details should be on your iPads," Penelope said at last, bouncing the projector remote in her hands. "We got the information about this case in the wee hours of the morning, and time is of the essence."

Morgan frowned. "Where are we flying to?" he asked.

"Nowhere," Penelope said, pressing her mouth together. Today her "Unfortunately, this is in our own backyard."

She clicked the remote and a posed school photograph flashed up on the screen- a smiling boy with unruly blond curls and mischievous blue eyes. "Riley Jenkins, age ten," Hotch said. "Yesterday his mother came home from work and found him missing. When she went looking for him in the neighborhood, she found his backpack and lunchbox abandoned at the local park."

"Does Riley have a history of running away?" Emily inquired.

"Not at all," Penelope said. "His parents say that he's well-behaved, gets good grades, does his chores. Practically perfect."

"An only child?"

"Mm-hm," Penelope said. She clutched the remote with both hands, tight against her stomach, as if it was some sort of shield. The parents are understandably frantic. And apparently there are no suspects in mind so far- no weird next door neighbor, no estranged relative, no creepy teacher or babysitter."

JJ tilted her head like an inquisitive bird. "Abduction by a stranger is highly unlikely," she said.

"But they still happen," Rossi pointed out.

Alex bit back a sigh. Missing children cases were always difficult, but she had a sneaking suspicion this one was going to be particularly bad. "How long has it been since he was last seen?" she asked.

"His school dismissed at three in the afternoon, so sixteen hours at most," Hotch said. "Rossi and JJ, I want you two to go to the Jenkins house and interview the parents. Morgan and Blake, you'll go to Riley's school and talk to his classmates, see if there's any information you can find there. Prentiss, you and I will go to the park where they found Riley's belongings."

"And I'll be command central here," Penelope said. Today's dress was an unusually subdued blue stripe, as if she'd dressed with the gravity of the case in mind. "Now go on, go save the world and find this little boy."

Alex stood up and picked up her coat. She'd worked dozens of cases during her career, consulted on hundreds, but somehow something seemed different about this one. There was a strange nervous pull at the pit of her stomach, and she wasn't sure why.

She glanced over her shoulder at the photo of Riley Jenkins and his exuberant smile frozen in time. "You ready to go, Blake?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready," she echoed, and she followed him out of the conference room.

Hotch frowned as he surveyed the park. The midwinter sky cast gray shadows over the naked trees and the heaps of sodden brown leaves half hidden in piles of slush. It did nothing to make the park appealing. Perhaps in summer it was more enticing- green lawns and blue sky and fresh air, the snow cleared from the playground equipment, mothers walking with strollers and children playing soccer and old men playing chess at the tables. But now it was bleak and barren, emptied of people in the middle of the busy street, the yellow banners of caution tape and the spinning red and blue lights a stark contrast to the gray ground.

"What are you thinking?" Emily asked in a low voice.

Hotch looked at the local officers moving across the scene. "I'm not sure," he said. "Something feels off about this."

Emily slid her hands in the pockets of her coat. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking it," she said. "He vanished in a three hour window without any prior hints of rebellion that would indicate he would run away, and no indication of someone who might take him."

Hotch exhaled slowly. "The cops don't have anything to go on?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said. "Just his belongings. And it doesn't look like they were left in a struggle, it looks like they were left there on purpose."

"You go see who you can talk to," Hotch said. "I want to see it for myself."

His shoes sank into the wet ground as he ducked under the caution tape. Riley Jenkins' belongings were left on a picnic table- a blue LL Bean backpack with his initials embroidered on the front but the corners a little worn from half a year of use, a Minecraft lunchbox with his name written in lightly bleeding permanent marker on the bottom, a shoebox clumsily covered in red construction paper and white painted hearts.

Earlier that week, he'd helped Jack make his box for his class for a Valentine's Day party. The kitchen table was covered in paper scraps and confetti by the time they were done, but Jack had been so pleased. He'd picked out Paw Patrol valentines for the boys and princess ones for the girls, and he'd painstakingly assembled them himself and written his classmates' names in magic marker on each envelope. He'd offered to help, but Jack had insisted on doing it himself, and he'd been so happy to go off to school in the morning with the box under one arm and the bag of valentines clutched in his other hand.

Earlier that week, Riley Jenkins had decorated a box and made valentines for his classmates, and yesterday he'd gone to school excited for his party, and somehow he'd left school, put his treasures on a table in the middle of a park, and he hadn't come home.

"Hey, Hotch," Emily called. "Can you come over here?"

He crossed over to her. She stood by the yellow caution tape with a man in a dark green baseball cap; he held a leash in his hand and a golden retriever sat at his feet. "You're looking for that kid, right?" he said. "I saw it on Facebook."

"Do you know Riley Jenkins?" Hotch asked.

The man shrugged. "I come here pretty often to walk my dog, I've seen him around," he said.

"Does he come to the park often?" Emily asked.

"Maybe once or twice a week?" he said. "Usually with a woman, I guess his mom. Always with a bunch of friends."

"He's pretty popular? Well liked?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Emily shifted her weight, her eyes narrowing. "Any particular children you see him playing with out here fairly regularly?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Uh, yeah, there's one, I think," he said. "Scrawny little kid. Uh...light brown hair, kind of long. That kid's out here all the time. Sun up to sun down last summer."

"Do you happen to know that kid's name, or where he might live?" Emily asked.

"Nah, no clue," he said. "He's out here all the time by himself."

"Have you ever seen any adults approach Riley?" Hotch asked.

"Not Riley. But the other kid. There's this one guy who's always hanging around him."

Hotch crossed his arms. "What can you tell me about that man?"

"Uh...maybe middle aged? At least late thirties, but probably older. Thick glasses...dresses like he just walked out of a thrift store. He's always playing chess with the kid."

"Chess?" Emily repeated. "That's an unusual choice for an elementary school aged child. You're sure?"

"Oh, yeah, they're always playing chess," the man said. "The little kid wins most of the time too." He shifted his weight. "Sorry, I don't know much else. You think the Jenkins kid is still alive?"

"We'll do our best to find him," Hotch said, his jaw tight. "Thank you for your time."

Derek Morgan hadn't attended elementary school in decades, but somehow he still had a strange sense of guilt walking down the silent empty halls, as if a teacher was about to walk out and scold him for being out of class. He could hear small voices through the walls, reciting memorized words in a steady droning rhythm.

The principal opened the door to an empty classroom and flipped on the lights. "The two of you can set up in here," he said. "You wanted to see the teachers first?"

"Yes, please, for both of the classes," Alex said. "How many students are in the fourth grade here?"

"Twenty-seven in Mrs. Pennington's class, twenty-three in Miss Fairchild's," the principal said. "Riley is in Miss Fairchild's class." He folded his hands. "Is there anything else we can do to help?"

"This'll be the best start," Derek assured him. "These teachers spend most of the day, five days a week with Riley. They're gonna know him pretty well. And once we start talking to his classmates, I'm sure we'll be able to get some helpful information."

The principal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, but just nodded his head. "I'll send the teachers in," he said. "But please, if you need anything else, just let me know."

Alex set her bag down on the empty teacher's desk and unpacked her iPad. Derek started shifting chairs around to make a sort of interview space. "It's weird," he said. "No matter how many elementary schools we visit, they always manage to be exactly the same but completely different at the same time."

"I just wish we didn't have to visit elementary schools," Alex said wryly.

"Yeah...you're right about that," he said. He pulled a box of tissues off a shelf and ripped the top open. He had a feeling it was going to be needed.

Someone knocked lightly on the open door. "Hi, are you two the agents?" one of the women asked.

"Yeah, yeah, come on in," Derek said, waving them in. "I'm Agent Morgan, this is Agent Blake. Come on in, take a seat."

The two teachers were polar opposites- one older with short graying hair and a dour expression, the other younger in a dark dress and a brightly colored necklace, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. "I'm Deborah Pennington," the older teacher said as she sat down. "This is Shelly Fairchild. We both teach fourth grade here at McKinley."

Alex switched on the audio recorder, setting it close enough to catch their conversation. "Which one of you has Riley in your class?" she asked.

The younger teacher half raised her hand. "I do," Miss Fairchild said. "He's, um...he's such a sweet boy. Do you have any new information? The police-"

"Let's just talk about Riley right now," Alex said gently. "What kind of student is he?"

"Oh, he's very bright," Miss Fairchild said. "He picks things up very quickly. He can be a little distracted sometimes, but-"

"He's a little rowdy," Mrs. Pennington interrupted.

"He's just energetic," Miss Fairchild said. "He'll...you know, he'll get out of his seat sometimes, or talk to his friends when he should be quiet. But that's pretty normal for fourth graders."

"Has he ever had any significant trouble in your class?" Derek asked. "Outbursts, or behavioral issues, or a sudden drop in his grades?"

She shook her head. "No, never," she said. Her eyes welled up. "Riley is a very good student. And his parents have always been involved. His mother has been the classroom parent a few times, and his dad comes on every field trip. There's a lot of other children at this school who aren't as lucky to have parents as engaged in their child's education."

"Is he well-liked by his classmates?" Derek asked.

"Oh, yes, very much so," Miss Fairchild said.

"The fourth grade classes are together for certain things- recess, gym class, specials, lunch, things like that," Mrs. Pennington added. "Riley's a ringleader, he's usually heading up whatever things the kids are doing."

"Agent Morgan and I are going to interview some of Riley's classmates," Alex said. She picked up a notepad and pen. "Are there any children that Riley spends the most time with, any particularly close friends?"

Miss Fairchild took a tissue from the box and dabbed at her eyes. "Oh, so many," she said. "The Williams twins, Jayden and Jaylen. Liam McIntire." She sort of smiled, her eyes welling up. "He's got a little crush on Sophia Howard, it's so cute. And in Mrs. Pennington's class, he's friends with Kyler Mitchell, Benjamin Braswell, Spencer Reid-"

Mrs. Pennington snorted. "Good luck with that one," she said.

Alex paused, her pen hovering above the notepad as she frowned in concern. Derek caught her eye, then turned back to the teacher. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Spencer Reid is a troubled child," she said. "He's not your typical troublemaker, he just...likes to push his boundaries. He's too smart for his own good, he's always mouthing off. And he cries constantly, he's always crying about something, and trying to get out of class to go to the nurse. And it seems like he always has his thumb in his mouth. Babyish, disgusting habit." She folded her arms. "And when I try to get him to participate properly I can't get two words out of that child, so good luck talking to him."

Alex raised an eyebrow, but she wrote the name down on the list. "Well, Agent Blake and I will do our best," Derek said. He looked over at the other teacher. She was staring at her fellow teacher in almost disgust, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Any other children you think we should talk to?"

"Just a few," Miss Fairchild said. She spelled their names out and Alex wrote them down quickly in her even cursive. "And you'll keep us updated, right? We'll do anything to help find Riley."

"Absolutely, we'll let you know," Derek said. "We're doing everything we can."

It didn't matter how many times he had to talk to terrified parents, it never got any easier. He'd spoken to hundreds, maybe thousands of friends and family members during his career, but there was a specific sadness in a missing child.

Rossi eyed the Jenkins house critically. Middle class striving to rise upward- new construction in an affordable neighborhood, living room decor that looked like it belonged in a social media post, a large flat screen TV. And there were signs of Riley everywhere. Family photographs on the wall, small sneakers lined up by the front door, a video game console with brightly colored controllers.

Mrs. Jenkins walked into the living room with two mugs in her hand; she handed one to JJ and one to her husband. Both Lou and Marie Jenkins looked haggard and pale, dark circles ringing their eyes. Clearly distraught over their missing son.

JJ took the coffee but didn't drink it. "Mrs. Jenkins, can you tell me about the morning that Riley disappeared?" she asked. "Everything you remember."

Rossi listened. JJ talked the parents through the morning before his disappearance, the week before, the year before, searching for any details that might possibly indicate where this child could have gone. Even to his practiced ears, he couldn't pick up on anything that might turn into a lead.

"Who would do this?" Mrs. Jenkins said, dissolving into tears as her husband took her hand. "Riley's just a little boy. Who could possibly take him?"

JJ silently handed over a tissue box. "Mrs. Jenkins, I understand," she said softly. "I have a little boy too. Henry's four, almost five. I'd feel just like you if he was missing."

Mrs. Jenkins let out a small sob as her husband squeezed her hand. "Is there anything else we can do?" he asked. "Can we go out and do something?"

"Right now, getting as much information as we can is the best thing we can do," JJ said. She still held the coffee mug but she hadn't taken a single sip. "Why do you think Riley went to the park after school yesterday?"

Mrs. Jenkins half laughed. "He's always begging to go to the park," she said. "Our backyard is too small for a swingset, and he has so much energy. And he has so many friends in the neighborhood, they always want to go down to the park to play."

"Can you think of any friends he might have gone to play with yesterday?" JJ asked.

Rossi's phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen as the parents listed off names. "What about one boy in particular?" he interrupted. "Thin, small for his age, light brown hair?"

Mr. Jenkins looked confused, but Mrs. Jenkins sighed heavily. "Oh, that one," she said. "Spencer Reid. I don't like it when Riley wants to play with him."

"Why not?" JJ asked.

"He's just very…" she said. She waved her hand dismissively. "There's just something about him that worries me."

"How so?" Rossi asked, frowning.

"I've never seen his parents around, for one," she said. "He's always by himself. And he's just...you know. He's kind of a mess, if you know what I mean. I think he lives in those apartments down on Fifth Street, and that's not a very nice neighborhood." She paused. "Do you think he might have gotten Riley into trouble?"

"We don't know that, but I think it would be helpful if we could talk to Spencer," JJ said.

"Some of our team members are at Riley's school," Rossi said. "We'll make sure they speak to him."

Alex tapped her last few notes on the iPad screen. "All right, thank you, sweetie, you did great," Derek said, getting up from his chair to escort the fourth grade girl to the door. "You can go back to class." He closed the door behind her and sighed. "How many kids do we have left?"

"Three, it looks like," Alex said.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom, I'll be right back," Derek said. "I'll probably check in with Penelope too, see if she's heard anything new."

Alex skimmed back over her notes as he left the room. None of the kids had really given them much to go on. No leads, anyway. Just a bunch of children sad and scared over their friend. At least there were only a few fourth graders left to interview. She needed to get this over with.

The door creaked open and she glanced up. "Hi," she said.

A small boy peeked into the room. "Are you the FBI agent?" he asked.

She smiled. "That's me," she said. "Come on in. We have a minute or two before we'll get started." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, but he didn't sit down. "What's your name?"

"Spencer," he said softly. "Spencer Reid."

"It's nice to meet you, Spencer Reid," she said. "I'm Alex."

The first thing she noticed was that he was too thin, his cheeks almost gaunt and his clavicle jutting out above the collar of his tee shirt. His clothes didn't fit him either- his shirt was too big and his shorts were too short- and looked like they hadn't been washed in a while. But he had beautiful eyes, big hazel eyes flecked with gold and fringed with thick lashes.

He hovered a safe distance from her, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt. Alex set the iPad aside. "You can come sit down, sweetheart," she said gently. He bit his lip, as if he was still trying to size up the situation, but he sat down across from her. His feet dangled a fair distance above the floor, and she could see that his sneakers were filthy and fraying. "We'll just wait for my friend." She glanced towards the door, trying to see if Derek was on his way back. "Are you having a good day in class?"

Spencer scrunched up his nose. "Not particularly," he said. "My teacher is reading Where the Red Fern Grows to us, and I'm not really enjoying it."

"Oh, I remember that one," Alex said. "The boy with the two dogs, right?"

"We're only a few chapters in, but I read ahead," Spencer said. "The ending is trite, and the axe sequence is honestly just disturbing, especially if it's meant to be a children's book."

His syntax and vocabulary didn't sound like a fourth grader's at all, and she wasn't expecting that at all. "Do you like to read?" she asked.

He lit up "I do," he said, wriggling in his seat. "I started reading when I was eighteen months old. Well, my mom said I could read already, but my dad didn't believe her. But I read everything I can. And my mom reads-" He faltered. "I read a lot."

There was something there, but she wasn't sure what. "What's your favorite book?" she asked.

Some of the brightness came back to him. "I like War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells," he said. "David Copperfield. Um...the space trilogy by C. S. Lewis. Pretty much anything by Diana Wynne Jones."

"You do like to read," she said. "You have great taste." He smiled up at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners and a dimple popping in his cheek. "I like to read too. I think my favorites right now are Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson, and Heaney's translation of Beowulf."

"I haven't read that version yet," he said. "Just the Burton Raffel. I'll look for the Heaney next time I go to the library. My mom really likes the Raffel translation though, she might get mad if I read a different version."

He said that in a matter-of-fact tone, but something pricked at the back of Alex's neck. Something wasn't quite right. She just couldn't put her finger on it.

Derek walked back into the classroom. "Hey, there," he said, and Alex watched Spencer draw himself up, small and self-protected. "How're you doing, buddy?"

"This is Spencer Reid," Alex said. "Spencer, this is my friend Derek." She cleared her throat as Derek sat down beside her. "We're just going to ask you some questions about Riley, okay?"

Spencer was already pale, but the color seemed to drain completely from his thin cheeks. "I saw him after school," he blurted out.

Derek tilted his head, frowning. "When was that?" he asked.

"After school yesterday, around three-thirty," Spencer said in a small voice. "I might...I might have been the last one to see him."

Alex glanced over at Derek and checked the audio recorder. "What do you remember about yesterday?" she asked.

Spencer's mouth trembled. "I was walking home, and Riley caught up to me," he said. "He asked me if I wanted to play in the park, or if I wanted to go to his house. His mom doesn't like me very much, so I said we could go to the park."

"Why do you think Mrs. Jenkins doesn't like you very much?" Derek asked. Spencer shrugged, but he dropped his eye contact, and Alex had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly why, but he wasn't about to tell them.

"So you and Riley went to the park," she said. "What happened then?"

"He put his stuff on a picnic table, and he went over to the playground equipment," Spencer said. "And then Mr. Michaels came over."

Derek leaned his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped. "Who's Mr. Michaels?" he asked.

Spencer stared down at the floor. "Gary Michaels," he said. "I met him at the park last summer. He plays chess with me a lot, and when I win he buys me snacks."

"He does?" Alex said, keeping her voice calm and gentle. "Does he do that often?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "At least once a week. And I win almost all the time. He's not very good at chess."

"So Mr. Michaels came over to talk to you and Riley?" Derek said. Spencer nodded. "What did he say?"

His hazel eyes stayed downcast. "Hey, guess what? I just got a brand new puppy. He's real cute, eight weeks old. A cocker spaniel mix. You wanna come see him? No, thank you. Spencer, whatcha doing? Come on, I'm waiting. Mr. Michaels was telling me about his new puppy. I want a puppy! My mom said no, but my dad said I could get one next month for my birthday. Where's the puppy, I want to see! Oh, I just wanted to bring Spencer. No, I want to see the puppy too! Come on, Spencer, let's go!"

He spoke in a flat rapid monotone without looking at them. Alex set down the recorder, startled. "Spencer, is that exactly what was said?" she asked.

He raised his head. "Yeah," he said miserably. "I have an eidetic memory."

Derek seemed a bit confused by that. "So Mr. Michaels told the two of you he had a puppy and invited you to go see it?" he said.

"He only wanted to take you to see the puppy, he didn't want to take Riley," Alex said.

Spencer nodded. "He put his hand on my shoulder," he whispered. "And he was rubbing my neck. I didn't like it. And...and he held on too tight."

"What happened after that?" Derek asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I saw...I thought I saw…" Spencer started to say. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I thought I saw someone I knew, so I ran after them. And then...I went home."

"You didn't see Riley after that?"

"No," he said. "But...but I'm scared that Mr. Michaels did something to him."

"Did you tell anybody?" Derek asked. "Your mommy or daddy?"

He shook his head and hunched over in his chair, his narrow shoulders slumping. Impulsively Alex reached over and placed her hand over his. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said. "And you did a great job telling us everything you remember. Do you think you could tell an artist what Mr. Michaels looks like, so they can do a sketch?" Spencer nodded. "Okay, sweetheart. We'll send you back to class, but we'll bring you back when the artist gets here. Is that okay?"

"Uh-huh," he said in a little voice. His hand was thin and icy cold under her palm. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No, no, you've done great," Derek assured him. "You can go back to class for now, okay?"

Spencer nodded. "Thank you," he said. He slid down from the chair and left the classroom, closing the door behind him.

Derek let out a loud exhale. "Holy shit," he said. "I wasn't expecting that. I need to call Garcia." He looked over at Alex. "Eidetic memory. Like a photographic memory?"

"He was reciting the conversation word for word from memory," Alex said. "That child is brilliant."

"Wasn't he the kid we got warned about? The bratty troublemaker?"

"That's not how I would describe him," Alex said.

"No, not at all," Derek said. "Sweet kid. A little shy. Talks like an adult." He got up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call Garcia before the next kid comes in."

Alex fiddled with the audio recorder. He was right, but there was something else happening, something under the surface. Something was wrong. She just wasn't sure what it was, or if there was anything she could do about it.

JJ pressed her fingertips to her temples, the sounds of the police station blurring in her ears. It had been twenty-one hours since Riley Jenkins was last seen. They were almost at the twenty-four hour mark. Once they passed that, they might not find Riley Jenkins alive.

Rossi sat down beside her with a styrofoam cup of coffee. "Heard back from Penelope yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said. "I know she's been talking a lot with Morgan about what the little boy at the school told them. They've got the artist working with him now, trying to get a good picture. Once we have that we can move forward with the press conference."

Rossi was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. JJ watched him, waiting patiently. "I don't think Michaels intended on taking Riley," he said at last. "I think the other child was his main target, and Riley was a consolation prize."

JJ linked her fingers together and leaned her elbows on the table. "You don't think he was targeting both of them?" she said.

"That's a possibility," he said. "But something about this doesn't seem right to me. If Michaels had been truly targeting Riley Jenkins, his parents would have known something. At least that there was a stranger talking to their child in the park. They keep insisting that they don't know anyone would possibly want to harm him, and they don't know who Gary Michaels."

"Maybe they'll recognize the artist's sketch," JJ suggested.

"Maybe," Rossi echoed, but he didn't seem sure.

JJ's phone rang; she answered the call and switched it to speakerphone. "Hey, Garcia," she said. "Rossi's here with me. Do you have anything?"

"Well, I started off looking in the general area, and then gradually widened my search," Penelope said. "And I am disheartened to inform you that the only Gary Michaels in the area is an hour and a half away from the park, and he just celebrated his ninety-eighth birthday."

"So probably not our unsub," Rossi said.

"It would be tremendously unlikely," Penelope said.

JJ sighed. "He probably gave the boys a fake name," she said.

"Garcia, can you sort through sex offender registries?" Rossi asked.

"I mean, I can, but I certainly don't want to."

"Look for male offenders targeting boys between seven and ten years old," Rossi said. "If our unsub was willing to escalate to kidnapping, he's probably gotten in trouble before with more minor incidents. That way when we've got a sketch, we can compare it to photos in the registry."

"I'll do it and get back to you as soon as I can," Penelope said, and the call ended abruptly.

JJ smoothed her hair back. "Do you think we're going to find Riley before it's too late?" she asked.

"Honestly...I'm not sure," Rossi said. "This is an odd case. I feel like there's something we're missing. Something that isn't working."

JJ nodded. "I'll call Derek, see if there's any headway on the sketch," she said. "And maybe they can take Riley's friend to the park, see if there's anything else he can remember."

"Blake. Take a look at this," Derek said. He held out the completed sketch, and Alex blinked in surprise.

"Did I do okay?" Spencer asked anxiously, twisting around in his chair.

"You did an excellent job," Alex said. "You gave so many details, I'm impressed." She tilted it so he could see. "Do you think it looks like him?"

Spencer nodded, a shadow falling over his face. "It does," he said.

The younger teacher peeked into the room. "Spencer, sweetie, are you doing okay?" she asked. "Recess is starting, I wanted to check on you."

"Yeah, he's good to go," Derek said. He patted Spencer on the shoulder. "Go on and play, little man. We'll see you after school, okay?"

"Okay," Spencer echoed. He scooted down from the chair and slipped out to the hallway, but he didn't seem to be excited about the prospect of recess.

"I'll be right back, I'm gonna send this to Garcia and the rest of the team," Derek said.

Alex cleared her throat. "Miss Fairchild, do you mind if I ask you a question?" she said.

"Oh, no, of course," she said, her eyes wide. "Is it about Riley?"

"No, not exactly, I was just wondering…" Alex started to say. She shifted her weight. "The other teacher warned us that Spencer was going to be a handful. What are your thoughts?"

Miss Fairchild sighed heavily. "Oh, that boy," she said. "There's something going on with that child, but I have no idea what's wrong with him."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, Deborah's right, he does cry a lot," she admitted. "But that's not too uncommon with this age group. And he's younger than most of his classmates, he just turned nine last month."

"Really?" Alex said.

"He skipped...second grade, I think? It was before he moved here," Miss Fairchild said. "I'm not exactly sure. But he gets a little sassy with Deborah because he's bored and frustrated, he's the smartest child in his class and he's not being challenged. And I know he asks to go to the nurse a lot, he always has a stomachache or headache. But I think it's genuine."

Alex frowned. "Does he stay home sick from school often?" she asked.

"No, the opposite. He's always here," she said. Miss Fairchild glanced out into the hallway, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. "Spencer is in the school's free lunch program. I've never met his parents, but I don't think he's well cared for at home. I mean, in general this is a lower-income area for the most part, but there's something just...not right."

"Has anyone called social services?"

The young teacher sighed. "I've been tempted," she said. "It should be Deborah, since he's in her class, but she won't. I keep thinking I should call myself, but I don't want to overstep my bounds. She might be right, I'm a new teacher and I'm not used to how things work like she is."

Alex bit her lip. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sure we'll be talking to Spencer's parents later. I'll let you know if there are any concerns."

The teacher smiled gratefully and walked away. Alex leaned against the doorway. Her suspicions seemed to be confirmed, but it didn't make her feel any better.

Three-thirty in the afternoon. Twenty-four hours since Riley was last seen.

A light rain had started to fall, threatening to turn to sleet in the gray late afternoon sky. Emily pushed her damp hair away from her face. The park was quiet now, but a couple of stragglers lingered at the yellow caution tape, still trying to get a good look at what they were doing.

Hotch caught up to her. "Alex and Derek are on their way over with the kid," he said. "And JJ and Rossi are starting the press conference with the parents."

"We hit twenty-four hours, Hotch," Emily said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you think we're going to find him?"

"I'm not sure," Hotch said. "We've got a profile and we've got a face, but we don't have a name."

A black SUV pulled up to the curb and parked. "They're here," Emily said.

"Hopefully he can help us fill in more gaps," Hotch said.

Alex and Derek got out of the front seats of the SUV; Derek opened the backseat door and helped the boy down to the ground. He slipped a little on the wet grass as they walked into the park and Alex took him by the hand.

"How's it going out here?" Derek asked, squinting at them in the gray drizzle.

"Just waiting for you guys," Emily said. She looked down at the child holding tight to Alex's hand. "Hi, buddy. You're Spencer?"

He nodded. Despite the sharp chill in the air he wore a ratty hooded sweatshirt from a Las Vegas casino instead of a coat, and his shorts left his thin legs bare. "Spencer, this is Emily, and this is Hotch," Alex said. "They're some of the other members of our team."

Hotch crouched down in front of Spencer, his usually solemn expression softening. "It's nice to meet you, Spencer," he said. "Can you walk around with me for a little bit? We just want to see if there's anything else you remember."

Spencer nodded again, but he seemed reluctant. "I'll go with you," Alex promised. "I'm sure you remember just about anything, but it'll help Hotch if he can hear you explain what happened."

"Okay," he said.

He walked away with Hotch and Alex, still holding onto her hand. "How's it been going out here," Derek asked.

"Not great," Emily said. "I can't remember the last time we had to dig through a case with this little to go on. Hopefully JJ's press conference with the parents can get us somewhere." She stuck her hands in her back pockets. "How's it been going with the kid?"

"He was the last person to see Riley alive," Derek said. "And he's brilliant. Talks like a little adult. If it wasn't for him and his memory, we wouldn't have anything of the information that we have right now."

The wind was beginning to pick up and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. "Does that kid not have a coat?" Emily said. "He's got to be freezing out here."

Derek's mouth settled in a firm line. "I asked the same question, but apparently that's all he's got," he said. "Blake was saying that something was up with him, and I think she's right. You know, we tried to call his mom to ask permission to take him out here. He said she was at work and she wouldn't mind if we took him."

"That is strange," she said. "He's...what, eight? Same age as Jack, and I can't imagine Hotch letting him run around on his own."

"Spencer just turned nine apparently," Derek said. "Just real small for his age."

Emily watched Hotch and Alex walk with Spencer across the park. "Hopefully he can help us find Riley," she said. "You know we hit twenty-four hours. If we find him, he probably won't be alive."

"There's nothing in the profile that indicates the unsub would be likely to kill him," Derek said. "I think we've got more time."

"God, I hope so," Emily said.

By the time Hotch was done interviewing the kid, the sun was starting to set, and Spencer's hoodie was soaked through, but he was still holding onto Alex's hand. "Thanks for your help, Spencer," Hotch said. "You did a lot today. You did a great job."

Spencer's little face was pale and pinched in the waning light, his damp hair curling and tangled. "I did?" he said.

"You did, you were so helpful," Alex reassured him.

"Come on, we'll give you a ride home," Hotch said. "I'd like to talk to your parents too."

Spencer shook his head. "My mom works really really late," he said. "And I don't live very far. I can walk home."

"Are you sure? It's still raining," Derek said. "It's no problem, kid, we can take you home."

"No, no, it's okay, I walk home every day," Spencer said. "Thank you, for, um. For everything."

He started to pull away from them, but Hotch reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. "If anything happens or changes, please call us," he said. "We might come see you at school again too. Okay?"

Spencer nodded. "Thank you," he said. He slipped his hand out of Alex's grip and ducked under the yellow caution tape.

"Let's check in with JJ and Rossi," Hotch said. "We need to know how the press conference went."

Emily started to follow, but Alex was standing still, watching Spencer disappear down the sidewalk. "Blake, you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," she said absently. "I'm fine."

If there was any evidence left in the park, the rain had washed it away for sure. The skies had opened up, drenching them in earnest with icy cold rain. The yellow caution tape flapped in the window, threatening to blow away.

"Hotch, come on," Emily called from the SUV.

"Coming," he called back. He couldn't help but feel that he'd missed something, something important, but he crossed towards the SUV.

He almost missed his phone ringing. He dug it out of his pocket and frowned at the unknown number on the screen. "Aaron Hotchner," he said tersely.

"I found...I found him. I found him."

Hotch frowned. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Spencer. Spencer Reid. I f-found-"

His voice was high pitched and frantic, almost a scream. "Spencer, who did you find?" Hotch demanded. "Did you find Riley?"

"I think he's dead!"

Hotch waved Derek and Emily over from the car as he switched the phone over to speaker. "Okay, Spencer, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me where you are," he said.

"Corner of...corner of Fifth and Weston, I'm at a payphone, and I...I...he's dead. Riley's dead!"

"Where's your mom? Is she still working?" Hotch asked. "Are you by yourself?"

"I'm by the payphone, it's the only-"

His voice cut off sharply. The rest of the team listened to the call in shocked silence. "Spencer, what's wrong?" Hotch asked. "Where's your mom? Do you have anyone with you?"

"No, I'm by myself," he whispered. "But I can see him watching me."

"Who's watching you, Spencer?" Hotch asked.

"Gary Michaels."

Hotch gritted his teeth. "I need you to find someplace safe," he said. "Go into a store where there's people, or find a hiding place. We'll come find you, okay? We'll find you and Riley."

"But I'm-"

And the line went dead.

Hotch gripped the phone tighter. "Spencer?" he said. "Are you okay? Are you safe?"

No answer.

Author's Notes:

on one hand: yay, Spencer and Alex finally met!

on the other hand: FUCK FUCK FUCK

I'm so sorry.