Follows along with episode 3x14 - Damaged
Chester Hardwick.
Just the name on the paper sent chills down my spine. Almost fifteen years ago I'd watched one of the most terrifying modern-day serial killers get arrested, and in twelve hours, I'd be at his prison to interview him on death row.
Hotch, being the overprotective man he was, had insisted dozens of times I didn't need to go. Me, being the stubborn student I was, couldn't pass up what might be a once-in-a-career opportunity. Getting to question Chester wasn't just a chance to tick off a few requirements for my profiling classes (although, truth be told, it was a big bonus), but it'd also help us build up the knowledge base for future profilers.
The Criminal Personality Research Project was one of the many ways the BAU gathered the tactics, knowledge, and tricks used for profiling. The more knowledge and understanding of serial killers that we gathered, the better the team – and future members – could become.
So, if that meant being a little uncomfortable for a few hours, so be it.
That's what I kept in mind as Hotch slid picture after picture across the table of the jet. Each one that passed seemed to look more and more like me. Brunette, most with brown or hazel eyes, many dressed in flouncy skirts and heels. Essentially, twenty-three different shades of Aria, it seemed.
"His last victim was Sheila O'Neil, and that's who I'd like to focus on," Hotch told Spencer and I, jarring me out of my thoughts. At Sheila's picture, for just a heartbeat I swore it was me. Blinking quickly, I tore my eyes away and gave my mind a break. When I looked back, thankfully a different face was staring up at me.
Spencer, at my side, caught the movement but he didn't say anything. Normally, I knew he'd be offering up facts about the victim, or just telling me some facts about airplanes that would take my mind off what I didn't want to focus on. His silence just made me feel a little worse. Ever since Chula Vista, Spencer hadn't been himself. He was still kind, and sweet, and ever the gentleman with me, but he'd withdrawn.
He'd hardly given me any facts over the last week, he hadn't spoken a lick of Italian or Russian, and hadn't even asked for a ride to work. According to Morgan, on the last case I'd had to skip out on, he'd barely read two books the entire time. Normally, the scruffy genius knocked out ten in a day. The only thing that'd been consistent was his obsession with sugary coffee; he was up to at least three cups a day, that I saw.
Penelope, Emily, and JJ all told me I didn't need to be as worried as I was, that this was just another side of Spencer, this is how he was… I couldn't let it go. Because that's not how Spencer was. Not with me. Not saying I was special to him (regardless of the fact that, up until recently, I'd convinced myself I was…), but he was different with me. He didn't have up all the walls, he didn't shy away or hide himself from me.
Right now, unfortunately, wasn't the time to get into all this. I hadn't noticed Hotch had asked me a question until he prompted a little more firmly, "Aria?"
My eyes snapped to him and I blinked quickly, trying to recall if I'd caught any of what he'd been saying. Nope, nothing. He didn't look annoyed at my distractedness, though. He gave me a small smile and repeated,
"I asked if you had anything you wanted to add to the profile we went over in Quantico."
Ah, right. My assignment for the interview. We were building up Chester's past and I'd been tasked with using my almost-completed psych degree to come up with some theories behind the 'why' of his M.O.
"I've got a few things I'm still fleshing out," I prefaced, pulling out my trusty profiling notebook and flipping through to what I'd spent all week scribbling about. "The one thing that really stuck out to me were Chester's parents."
Hotch propped his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin as he studied me. "Why is that? We don't know much about them."
"No," I agreed, now pulling out a file from the box on the floor. Yeah, Chester Hardwick had an entire box of papers. "But, I read over the interviews you and Gideon did with his mother, just after he was first arrested. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but I know Gideon had theories that there might've been more contributing to her mental illness. I think he was right. From what I read on the report you did, I mean, I can't fully diagnose, but it seems pretty likely she was an undifferentiated schizophrenic."
Hotch had been nodding along as I spoke – smiling a bit at the mention of his and Gideon's work – and when I finished the smile grew a bit more. He went to give me his own opinions, but it was Spencer that spoke up first.
"My mother is schizophrenic," he told me, absolutely blindsiding me with that little fact and giving me no time to recover. "I would agree with that assumption. She certainly displays a lot of the mannerisms that coincide with a diagnosis, and it would've had a serious impact on Chester's overall development. I take it that's where this is going."
"Uh, yeah," I managed, staring up at him for a moment before my thoughts gathered again. Pushing his revelation aside – for now – I flipped through my notebook and paused on the next bit I'd worked out. "Pairing all of that with his father's PTSD, it's safe to say that their psychological disorders weighed heavily on Chester. Not only did he have to watch them fight their own mental battles every day, they were abusive to him, and probably to each other. Violence became a natural expression of love for Chester."
"It's what was at the heart of his killings," Hotch concluded, and I nodded eagerly, pleased he was on the same brainwave I was. "That's a very solid theory. Keep expanding on that, and come up with a couple of questions for us to ask him tomorrow in relation to it."
To Hotch's surprise, I flipped to the next page, turned my notebook around, and slid it across to him. "I've got a few already." Pleased smile on his face, Hotch began to skim what I'd come up with. As he did, I asked idly, "by we, you mean you and Spencer, don't you?"
Though he kept his head tilted down, Hotch's eyes flicked up to me briefly. Again, though, it was the man beside me that offered an answer.
"You're nearly identical to Chester's victims. You match his M.O., and it will already be risky to simply have you in the same room as him," Spencer explained matter-of-factly. His point-blank statements sent an automatic shiver down my spine. "He's been in isolation for several years, and it will already be extremely stimulating for him to be interviewed by the FBI, let alone by someone who looks like his preferred victim."
For a couple moments, I truly had nothing to say. Spencer, of course, was right. And I hated that he was. I couldn't deny the fear that was slowly creeping into my mind, or the paranoia that something would go wrong tomorrow. Some of our regular interviews didn't go as planned. Heck, the interrogation with Jonny McHale had been a disaster, come to think about it. The man had broken out of the cuffs bolting him to the table. It was a lucky thing there were half a dozen agents in the room, and that Jonny wasn't a particularly vicious killer.
If Chester broke out of his restraints with just the three of us, with me in his reach… I was trying really hard to keep those thoughts out of my head.
"Reid's correct," Hotch told me. Yeah, trust me, I knew that. He always was. "I agreed to bring you along because I know how useful this experience will be with your training, but I'm still not happy about it. I'd like you to leave the talking to us, and focus on studying our interview process, and building onto your psychological evaluation."
The natural instinct to argue was almost overwhelming, but I swallowed it down and just gave him an agreeing nod. "Aye aye, Captain Hotch."
Giving me a mildly amused glance, he slid my notebook back and looked between Spencer and I. "We'll be landing in about half an hour, and then driving to the hotel just a mile or so from the prison. It'll be a late night, and we have an early morning, so take the time right now to finish up what you can."
At that, Spencer was up out of his seat and heading for what was at least the second cup of coffee just on our flight alone. Something was bugging him, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't me. Now I was beginning to worry I'd somehow come off insensitive when I'd brought up Chester's mom being schizophrenic. Had I made it seem like that's what was the root of Chester's evil? Had Spencer taken it as an unintentional slight to his mom?
With how he'd walked off just now, I was worried he had. Hotch had already settled into his own paperwork, so I slipped out of the seat and hurried down the aisle after the sullen doctor. If I'd messed something up or upset him, I had to fix it.
At first I didn't think Spencer realized I was there. When I paused at his side, watching him fix his coffee, he didn't look up. But after pouring his drink, he shuffled to the side and made room for me, saying,
"I'm sorry, let me get out of your way."
My heart twisted just a bit more at his casual tone. He wasn't genuinely talking with me, it was more just an automatic answer. Though I did step closer, I didn't reach for a cup. "You're not in my way. I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were alright."
He was quiet for another couple moments, like he was processing what I'd said. When he sat the coffee pot down, he turned to frown at me. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've just seemed a little quiet today. And the last few days. I just wanted to check on you."
Spencer bobbed his head, took a sip of his coffee, and simply told me, "I'm alright. Thanks for checking."
Ouch, that hurt. The basic response and the tone he used felt more like a dismissal than a genuine answer. It at least proved my theory: something was definitely wrong. He'd never acted like this with me. Even when we'd first met, he'd never just told me something to brush me off.
I was pleased to say that I knew Spencer well enough to know he wouldn't take well to prying. If he said he was fine, just like Hotch, it meant he didn't want to talk about what was really bothering him. So, instead, I tried to switch gears.
"I'm sorry if what I said earlier came off as insensitive," I began, which got his brows furrowing and prompted me to explain a little further. "I had no idea your mom was schizophrenic, and I didn't mean to imply –"
"It's alright," he interrupted, another very un-Spencer-like move. Yeah, he constantly spoke over other people, but it was always unintentional. It was just when he got carried away rambling on about some random fact, not to get me to stop talking.
Alright, two strikes in the conversation department. Come on, I could still save this! I gave him a quick nod, and then tried to segue a little more. I asked him the first thing that'd come to mind, and only after I asked it did I realize how selfish it seemed.
"Why didn't you tell me she was?"
I knew that was strike three before Spencer even spoke, and I wished I could take back my words instantly. Why didn't you tell me… how rude was that? What obligation did Spencer have to say anything to me about his mom? I'd expected a sharp reply just like that, but what he said hit me even deeper.
"Because I didn't want you looking at me like that."
All my thoughts came to a halt and I stared up at him, uncomprehending for several moments. Finally managing a couple blinks, I furrowed my brow and asked him softly, "like what?"
"Like you pity me."
My heart fell into my stomach. His words struck me hard, right at my core, and I was at a complete loss for words. Guilt and embarrassment crept over me and I folded my hands to my chest, stepping aside to let Spencer pass wordlessly back to his seat.
Is that what I'd been doing? I… maybe? I hadn't meant to, but I knew too well that my expressions sometimes had a mind of their own. The faces I accidentally pulled before I could stop myself got me into trouble countless times; had it just happened again?
Okay, I had to make this right. I didn't want Spencer thinking I pitied him, because I didn't. When I turned back to follow him, though, my heart fell a little further. He'd scooped up his things and grabbed his bag, and he'd moved to sit a couple rows back from where we'd been gathered.
He wanted to be left alone. Or, more accurately, it seemed he wanted me to leave him alone. Tears crept into my eyes and I took another couple moments at the back of the jet to push my rising emotions back down.
It was just exhaustion. That's all it was. We were all just over tired and at the end of a long day. Spencer and Hotch had just gotten back from a case and I'd had a full day of classes, followed by therapy that ran late. Then, we left Quantico late thanks to weather delays, and now we still had at least another ninety minutes before we'd get to the hotel.
So, instead of letting myself dwell on the fact Spencer didn't want to talk to me – let alone even sit by me – I put myself back into my notebook. We'd get some rest, get this interview over with, and then I could fix whatever had started breaking in Chula Vista.
No sooner had I fallen asleep than I was being startled awake by the buzzing of my phone. Instantly on red-alert, I shot up and threw my hand out, patting around for the noise culprit while simultaneously sweeping the hotel room to be sure the sound that had woken me wasn't actually from a killer.
Once I realized that no, I wasn't about to be murdered in the Motel 6, I let out a shaky breath and managed to find my phone on the bedside table. Penelope's name flashed on my screen, just below the time.
7:37am.
We'd gotten in late, and because I'd been just a little paranoid about being killed in a shady motel (I had my internship to thank for that perfectly rational fear) I'd had a hard time falling asleep. At least managed to scrape together a solid three hours of sleep. Awesome. Groaning, I flopped back onto the bed and stifled a yawn as I answered my best friend with a weary,
"H'lo?"
"Aria ohmygosh I need you! I am having a nervous breakdown! You need – I need you here, like ASAP, because I'm about to lose my mind!"
Yep, that was my best friend alright. Stifling the snort of amusement, I draped an arm over my face and gently reminded her, "well, seeing as I'm in Connecticut, I don't think that's gonna happen right now." She gave a huge AWWW and I heard her actually collapse onto her couch. "Why? What's got you panicked before 8am?"
"Oh, just my entire life caving in around me," she whined, and instantly I told her,
"I'm gonna need more than that."
With Penelope, life-caving events could be anything from ALDI's being out of her favorite ice cream to literally panicking about impending apocalypses. Apparently, we were overdue for a world-wide catastrophe, and it was something she spent way too much time thinking about.
"So, last night, Kevin came over," she began. Though I was thankful this wasn't another conspiracy theory about Mayans predicting the end of the world, I couldn't help but point out,
"He's been over a lot for someone you insist you're not dating," I pointed out, getting a scoff from my best friend. "What? He's been by like, every night for the last two weeks."
"We're just – we're friends with benefits," she argued; I rolled my eyes. "Anyways, so, we were showering together -"
"Penny, c'mon, it's not even noon and you're already getting too spicy for me."
"Oh shut up," she teased as I stifled my snickering. "So, there was this crazy knocking on my door, right? I get out and lo and behold, guess who was there?"
Okay, curiosity pushed my exhaustion aside, and I asked quickly, "who?"
"David Rossi."
With a gasp, I busted out laughing, dropping my phone to my pillow as I clapped a hand over my mouth, not wanting to wake Spencer and Hotch in the room beside me. Penelope immediately chastised me but I couldn't help it. Oh my god.
"Rossi was at your house? Oh no, don't tell me –"
"Kevin came out of the shower," she groaned, and I laughed even harder. "Barely covered in a towel. And all of us were just like, standing there, staring at – Aria quit laughing!"
"I'm sorry –" I snorted, burying my face in my hands, trying to compose myself. "I just – oh god. That's terrible, I know, but Rossi saw Kevin Lynch in a towel –"
Penelope pouted on the other end, whining out, "Aria, it's not funny! I'm gonna lose my job! I'm going to – he'll arrest me! For… for something, I don't know what exactly, but he'll -"
"Pen, no," I snickered, wiping the tears from my eyes and shaking my head. "Look. Rossi was like the whole reason the rules were invented, okay? He's not gonna care. Like, at all. It was after hours, in your own home, and he can't even really prove that anything was happening."
"But what if he tells Hotch, or-or Strauss, or –" she cut off, and I heard Emily's familiar voice on the other end.
"Tell Emi hi!" I chirped; Penelope snorted, but passed along my greeting. I heard Emily call hi, Aria! on the other end and grinned to myself, stifling another yawn. After a few moments of muffled discussion, my best friend sighed,
"My brilliant mind is needed elsewhere, apparently. Thanks for letting me panic with you. And if I get fired, please adopt me and take full financial responsibility –"
"Penelope, you're not getting fired. Besides, you're the one who has to support me."
There was a pause, and then Penelope sighed, "okay. We'll argue about that later. Be safe today, okay?"
"I will be, I promise," I told her, smiling hearing her blow me a kiss through the phone. "Love you, Penny G."
"Love you more, honeybee."
After hanging up, I really contemplated going back to sleep. We didn't have to be at the prison until 9, and we were just minutes away. I was so tired… If I'd laid in bed any longer, honestly, I would've passed out again. But then Penelope sent me a frantic text about how losing her job would make the impending end of the world a lot harder to handle, and my thoughts of sleep disappeared.
Count on my best friend to keep me on my toes from four hundred miles away.
Being the naïve soul I was, I'd assumed that sleep would put everyone in a better mood, and that today would've been better than yesterday. So far, I was 0-and-2 on that. In the few hours we'd been apart, both men with me had just gotten grumpier and quieter.
Hotch, for reasons unknown, was out for blood. He tore into the hotel receptionist while we were checking out, and now he was beating me out on the aggressive driving front. Spencer was somehow more morose and withdrawn than he'd been just a couple hours ago.
Between the two of them, this was shaping up to be a chaotically stressful day. And that was without the serial killer we'd be dealing with soon. Or, at least, hopefully soon. The guards at the prison had other ideas and no regard for keeping schedules.
"We have a very important, time-sensitive interview to conduct," Hotch snapped at the guard, who was giving him a blank, unconcerned stare. "The screening is unnecessary, and it'll delay us by at least an hour –"
"Well, I don't see the pre-approval to bypass the screening. Unless we have that accommodation, everyone that comes by to speak with an inmate has to go through the same process, sir –"
"It's Agent Hotchner."
Yikes, pulling out the official titles… this wasn't shaping up well. I checked my phone for the time; just past eleven A.M. We'd been sent to the wrong prison, and trying to get across town in the midday traffic had held us up longer than we'd wanted. Our already-short time with Chester was whittling down dangerously low. After a brief back-and-forth, Hotch finally accepted that we'd need to do the full screening, and the guard let us into the lobby to wait.
Once the guard had gone off to get things ready, I subtly tugged Hotch aside. Instantly, the irritation was gone and fatherly concern settled over his face. Before I could say anything he started, "if you're having second thoughts, you can take the car and find somewhere to wait –"
"No. I'm fine," I only partially lied. I was just uneasy, okay? I felt like anyone who was about to sit down with a serial killer would be, so that didn't matter right now. "The real question is, are you okay?"
Micro expressions weren't a specialty of mine, but reading Aaron Hotchner's face certainly was. In a heartbeat, a flicker of genuine sadness surfaced, and just as quickly he shoved it down. "I'm alright. Why do you ask?"
"Well, that totally unconvincing answer aside, you're much more surly than normal."
Hotch's frown deepened. "I'm not surly."
"Alright, lie number two. You wanna go for a solid three, or will you tell me what's wrong?" I asked, raising a brow. Hotch pressed his lips together.
"Nothing's wrong."
"Three strikes," I tsk'd, shaking my head. "And in such little time. It's impressive, honestly."
Before he could get on me for being a smartass – or before I could press him more – the guards finally arrived to lead us back. We dropped off our guns and went through the security check, and by the time the debriefing was done, it was nearing 2:30.
By now, Hotch was just a few degrees away from hitting a full-on seething boil. Whether it was the tedious security measures, the grumpy guards, or the fact we were running out of time with Chester, I really couldn't say. At any rate, he was just about ready to rip someone in half by the time we got to the Warden's office. Even his silent pacing behind us radiated his irritation.
Spencer and I had settled in the chairs in front of the desk, both picking at the knickknacks in front of us. He'd barely said five words to me today, and honestly I'd been purposefully quiet with him too. The thought of saying the wrong thing and pushing him further away from me had been at the front of my mind.
Now, though, I just wanted to talk to him. I watched him pluck up a snow globe, spinning it slowly between his slim fingers as he stared down at it with an unreadable expression. Again, another reminder that he wasn't fully okay.
"Tell me something about those," I asked him after a couple moments. When Spencer looked over at my request, seeming a little confused, I pointed to the toy in his hand. As expected, instead of lighting up and launching into a whirlwind of facts, he simply told me,
"Most snow globes contain ethylene glycol, which keeps them from freezing in colder temperatures."
My heart tightened at his dismissive answer. The last time he'd been so succinct with me had been back during my first couple of weeks with the team. Back before he was one of my closest friends, before I'd gotten him to trust me and to believe I wanted him to be himself around me.
Chula Vista had pushed Spencer back into his shell, and I'd be pulling him right back out.
"That's antifreeze, right?" I asked, reaching out for the globe. He nodded, letting me take it, watching as I swished it around. Trying to bite back my giggles, I asked with the straightest face I could muster, "so, I shouldn't drink snow globe water?"
Hotch stopped his pacing and looked down at me in mild alarm. "I would certainly hope that's not the only reason you wouldn't."
"Probably not," I admitted; Spencer snatched the globe back almost instantly and I turned to look at him. "What?! I mean I'm not gonna crack one open with lunch or anything. I'm just saying, it looks good."
And, for some reason, that was what drew out the Spencer Reid I'd been missing. He sat the globe aside and, for the first time in way too long, his eyes brightened and he sat up a little straighter. It felt like the tension from last night, and the heaviness from the last few days slid off his shoulders as he reported eagerly,
"That actually makes sense. It's very similar to what we call 'cute aggression', which is the urge to squeeze or bite things we see as 'adorable'."
Is that why you always look delicious to me? I thought to myself.
"What was that?" Spencer asked, cocking his head to the side as he stared down at me.
Had… oh my god, had I just said that out loud!? Aria, seriously!? Oh my god! Here I was worried Penelope would give away my crush, and now I'd just essentially told Spencer I wanted to bite him because he was cute. Weird AND embarrassing. Way to go.
"Um, what?" I feigned, trying to figure out what he'd heard. Smooth. Spencer furrowed his brows at my dodgy answer and elaborated,
"You were asking why something looked delicious, but I didn't quite catch –"
Hotch's ringing phone nearly got me to jump out of my chair, which in turn made Spencer give a start. Saved by the ringtone! He thankfully stopped his question and I nearly melted into my chair as Hotch answered the call.
"Yeah JJ… What?... No, it's just… it's a personal matter..."
Spencer and I glanced back to him, but the look from our boss had us turning right back around. We met each other's eyes; he gave me an oops face and I returned with a quick, agreeing smile. The snow globe talk had seemed to put me back into Spencer's comfort zone, and honestly I had no words to describe how relieved I was to just share a secret smile with him again.
"Everything okay?" I asked Hotch, tipping my head back to look up at him as he hung up and came to stand with Spencer and I. The look he gave me told me to drop it and instead he segued with,
"Yes, it's fine. You have your notes, correct?"
"Sure do," I told him, accepting his subject-change as I tugged my notebook out and patted the cover. He gave a curt nod and said,
"Very good. Remember, today I want you focusing on the techniques Reid and I display, and the methods you've learned in class, but also -"
"How I'd apply them in my own way. I can't just copy what I see, I need to make it my own and adapt it to my own style," I finished, parroting back what he'd been repeating to me the whole week. Hotch stared down at me, an unreadable expression on his face, and I felt my confidence start to falter just a bit. I knew he really hadn't been happy with bringing me... "I'll behave. I'll let you and Spencer do the talking, and I won't get in the way –"
"No, it's not that. It's just – it's fine."
Wow, just as unconvincing as the last few times he'd said that today. Thankfully, Spencer was on my side with this. Giddiness at being on Spencer's side pushed aside, I shared a quick glance with the scruffy man at my side.
"We can do this interview another time," Spencer offered; Hotch instantly shook his head.
"He's scheduled to be executed next week, and this will be very beneficial for Aria's training."
"I can take the lead," he tried again, and now Hotch shot him a look to drop it as the door opened. He mouthed sorry to our boss and I gave him a reassuring smile. Hotch clearly wasn't having a good day, and whatever the call from JJ had been about had just made it worse. Which, undoubtedly, meant it had been about Haley.
"Agent Hotchner?" a short, skinny man in a suit asked, shutting the door behind him. Hotch confirmed and shook the man's hand. As he stepped forward, Spencer and I got to our feet. "You must be Dr. Reid –" Spencer held up a hand in greeting and the man turned to me. "And Miss DiMaggio." We shook hands as I gave him a warm smile. "I'm Abner Merriam, assistant warden. You're in to see our infamous inmate Hardwick?"
"We are. He agreed to meet with us for our Criminal Personality Research Project," I confirmed with a nod as Spencer added,
"It'll be a fascinating case to study and write up."
"I've read some of your studies in police journals," Mr. Merriam told him. My heart skipped a beat seeing an honest, surprised smile come over Spencer's face. I liked seeing him recognized and appreciated for his work, and it didn't happen often enough. "Serial killers are a sort of hobby of mine. Chester's the only one I've met in person, but I bet you've met quite a few -"
As Spencer took a breath, ready to launch off into what would undoubtedly be a wild discussion, Hotch cleared his throat.
"Sir, we'd very much like to get started as soon as we can, as we're already running behind schedule."
The Warden nodded, realizing he'd gone off-task. As he turned to fish out some keys from the desk, I glanced up to Hotch, who had a dark scowl settled over his face. I nudged him with my elbow and gave him a comforting smile. Though the scowl lightened a bit, it didn't go away.
"Now, we don't really have an interrogation facility, but I do have a small room you could use. You're not armed, are you?" he asked, glancing at the three of us. Spencer and I shook our heads as Hotch bit out,
"We secured our weapons before we came inside. It's not our first time in a prison."
Mr. Merriam, seeming unphased by Hotch's sharp attitude, chuckled and agreed, "no, no. I supposed that's true." As he passed by to open the door, his clapped his hand onto Hotch's shoulder and gave a playful squeeze. Hotch's lips twitched in irritation and before he could snap, I reached out and gave his hand a subtle squeeze.
Whatever JJ had called for was really getting to him.
Thankfully, he gave my hand a squeeze in return before he pulled away. Oblivious to the tension, Mr. Merriam continued on, "I'll admit, I was surprised to hear Chester reached out to your team."
"And why's that?" Hotch growled; I elbowed him again.
Mr. Merriam paused and looked back at us, as he said, "Chester Hardwick? He doesn't really talk. Not to anyone. Hasn't spoken about his crimes to anyone in all these years."
Hotch led us out after the assistant warden, and I fell into step next to Spencer as he grabbed the box of Chester's files. Apprehension shivered down my spine, the lingering fear at what we were about to do creeping back into my mind. Why had Chester decided now that he wanted to talk with the FBI?
As I let the concerning possibilities start to run through my mind, I followed Hotch and Mr. Merriam into the room. It was essentially just a small, cement square with a plastic table, a few chairs, and two small, barred windows. This was nothing like what we had in Quantico… hell, the setup in California with Jonny had been way more secure, and he'd snapped those cuffs like a twig…
"The door will of course be locked from the outside," Mr. Merriam explained, and reached up to point to a small button beside it. "And this sounds audibly, as well as triggers flashing lights to signal the guards when you're finished."
Locked inside a tiny room that wasn't built for interrogations, with a serial killer, totally unarmed. I suppressed a shiver and took a settling breath.
Spencer had joined me at my side again, stepping up to the table to set down the box as he asked softly, "are you okay?"
There went those butterflies, running rampant, totally not caring about the place or the situation at hand. Only made worse because it was the first time since Chula Vista that he'd spoken so gently to me. I gave him a quick nod as I started helping him pull the files out, dismissing, "yeah, yeah. I'm just… a little cold."
Well, that was as convincing as Hotch had been earlier. Spencer seemed to understand, thankfully, because though he nodded in acceptance of my answer, he promised,
"Hotch and I are in here with you. I know it's going to be difficult for you to be in here with Chester, but you won't be alone."
His sweet words settled over the panic that I was trying to keep pushed down, and I turned to smile up at him. I'd wanted to say something back, but suddenly Mr. Merriam was directly behind me, looking down over my shoulder.
"Are these the crime scene photos?" he asked excitedly, taking one of the files from my hand and beginning to flip through it.
"Uh, yeah, some of them," I said uncertainly, and then caught the look of absolute exasperation on Hotch's face as he watched it happen. Uh-oh.
Mr. Merriam gave a heavy sigh, pausing on one particularly gruesome photo of a victim. "God… I knew what he did, of course, but I, you know… I never saw the victims like this. Twenty-three people –"
Hotch had them out of his hands before I even noticed he'd come over to us. He instantly began laying them out like I'd planned to as he said curtly,
"Paying attention to the photos will put an importance on them. We want him to do that with whatever he feels is important."
I slowly inched back around the table to stand at Spencer's side. "Is it just me, or is Hotch two seconds from punching him in the face?"
A smile played over his lips – not that I'd been staring at them – and he looked down to catch my eye in agreement. I went to tease a little more when the jingle of keys and cuffs behind us stopped me.
Chester was here.
I turned as the door open and backed up on instinct as Chester was led inside. Up until that very moment, I hadn't fully accepted the scenario I was walking into. Now, though, the realization was starting to dawn on me. As I shifted back a little more I bumped into Spencer's arm. He rested a subtle hand on my back to steady me and I leaned into his touch just a hint.
Immediately, Chester's eyes settled on me, and the hint of a smirk played over his lips. Fear sparked in my chest so powerfully it took my breath away; I fought to keep my face completely calm. His eyes swept over me briefly before he met my gaze once again, not looking away until one of the guards escorting him asked,
"Chains left on, right?"
Chester turned to stare Hotch down. Neither man blinked, neither even moved. Chester was feeling out Hotch's dominance, and Hotch wasn't backing down at all. Finally, Spencer cleared his throat and nodded, beginning to say, "yeah, that's probably a good -"
"No, that won't be necessary."
Everyone – Chester included – stared at Hotch as his words sunk in. He was kidding, right? He had to be kidding. Unchaining a psychopathic serial killer that was locked in the room with us? While we were unarmed?
"It won't?" I asked Hotch, trying to convey all of my please tell me I heard you wrong thoughts to him since he hadn't looked away from the man he was staring down.
"No. We're just going to talk, right Chester?" Hotch asked coolly. Chester held his stare for another few moments before he gave a slow smile.
"Of course."
As the chains came off, I inched even closer to Spencer. The hand on my back gently nudged me forward towards a chair, and I sank down slowly. At the movement, Chester turned his attention back to me. His hard, blue eyes fixed me to my seat, and it took all my inner strength to calmly look away and grab my notebook.
Thankfully, Spencer settled into the chair next to me and began sorting through the files. I focused on the steady flick of his wrist and the shff of the papers as I fought to calm my erratic nerves. I was safe with Spencer and Hotch. Regardless of the fact that Chester Hardwick was ten feet away, uncuffed, staring me down… I would be safe here with them.
"Sit down," Hotch ordered again. Chester, ignoring the demand, turned and made for the windows along the wall. Spencer stifled a sigh as I rubbed wearily at my aching temples. We'd been at this for over two hours, and so far we'd hardly gotten anywhere.
We'd gone over all our questions and had gotten either silence or lies in return. As frazzled as Spencer and I were, it was nothing compared to how agitated Hotch was. I couldn't think of any time I'd seen him this upset, and with each moment that passed without progress, he just got worse.
"I'd like this window open," Chester finally decided, pausing beneath one and tipping his head back. I could feel Hotch's jaw clenching from behind me. "I'll answer any question you have, but only if this window is open."
Curious, I looked back at Hotch. I could tell he was weighing the options: hold out and risk wasting our entire trip or give the psychopath a little control in the hopes of a few answers.
"Go ahead," he finally relented; Chester was moving to push it open immediately. Hotch's eyes flicked to Spencer and he prompted, "let's start again. Reid?"
His hand flitted out, searching for the case file buried under the others. I dug it out and passed it over, giving him an encouraging smile as he took a breath and flipped it open. Spencer cleared his throat and asked Chester,
"You were born April 4th, 1950 –"
"Does my birthdate really matter?" Chester interrupted again, like he'd been doing all afternoon. I could've sworn I heard a growl from Hotch. Spencer's lips pressed together, but Chester hadn't pushed all his buttons yet, and he calmly explained,
"It's customary for us to start at the beginning. We want to try to know as much as we can about your childhood."
"There's nothing to know. It was average," Chester dismissed, folding his hands behind him. He was trying to hide the instinctive tensing of his shoulders, but the movement didn't go unnoticed. Another lie. "I lived in a nice house on a quiet street. I ate cereal, I went to school, I watched cartoons –"
"I don't have time for this," Hotch snapped, getting a start out of me; I barely kept my pen from dropping to the table. Spencer and I shared a quick, bewildered glance as he kept going. "You didn't live in a nice house on a quiet street. You grew up in a series of projects in East Bridgeport, each one worse than the last. You spent your teenage years peeping into your female neighbors' windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance, and you set a hundred small fires for which you spent two years in juvenile detention."
In the silence that followed, I looked back at Hotch, and then over to Chester. Feeling my hesitation, Spencer nudged my arm and gave me a nod to speak up. I knew I wasn't supposed to speak, but at this point, maybe I could get some answers from him. What would it hurt?
"We've done extensive research, Mr. Hardwick, and we've talked to everyone you knew. Including your mother –"
"Good ole Jean?" Chester laughed, spinning around and instantly locking his powerful gaze onto me. My words cut off with a sharp breath and I fought to keep my face calm. "I bet she was a real treat to talk to, wasn't she?"
Before the panic of his burning gaze could take over, a warm hand settled on my knee beneath the table. Spencer gave a squeeze, helping sooth the terror churning in me. Focusing on his comforting touch, I took a breath and answered, "at this point, lying to us is useless, and not a very good use of time for you."
He smirked at me, having noticed the reaction he got out of me, but thankfully he turned back to the window. I all but melted into my seat as Spencer gave another squeeze. Hearing movement behind me, I looked back to check with Hotch. He had a burning fury in the gaze he had fixed on Chester's back.
The glare only intensified when Chester asked me,
"What's your name, doll?"
"I told you before, her name is Miss DiMaggio," Hotch began, and Chester held up a hand, still keeping his back to us.
"I wasn't asking you."
Spencer's hand on my knee thankfully didn't leave. It was the only thing keeping me from bolting to the door in a blind panic. When I didn't answer, Chester turned and settled his unnerving stare on me once again. "Well? Answer me, and I'll answer you."
"That isn't what you just agreed to," Hotch snapped, again on the verge of losing the little bit of cool he had left. If he did that, nothing would come from all we'd put into today. Besides, we'd already given him a little leverage, letting him open the window. He was expected to test the boundaries and my name was a harmless way to to keep him appeased. Despite my better judgement – and probably despite what Hotch was just about to say – I spoke up.
"Aria," I said quickly; Chester's smile widened. "I-I'm Aria."
"Miss Aria DiMaggio," he said slowly, enunciating each word and drawing out the vowels. He clicked his tongue and gave me a dark smile. "Very pretty. Well, Aria, what do you want to know, hm? Do you want me to tell you how my papa kicked me and Jean's ass every single day? Huh? That the kinda thing you wanna hear?"
"If it's true," I told him simply, willing myself to hold his gaze, to keep from caving under the pressure of his stare. Chester didn't speak for a few moments, studying me as he slowly folded his arms over his chest. He ran his tongue along his lower lip and then shrugged.
"You look awful young, awful new to all this, so let me give you some advice, doll. Nobody gives a damn about the truth."
As he went quiet, a thick silence settled over the room. There was a weight in his dismissive answer to me, a realization that Chester wasn't here to play twenty questions with the FBI. Again, I was brought back to the question I'd had since we'd shown up here: why had Chester decided to talk now?
"Temperature's dropping," he finally spoke, turning away from us and looking back up to the window. "It's that time of year, isn't it? Warm days, cold nights… what, we're at the end of winter, aren't we?
"Yeah," Spencer said, sharing a confused glance with me – then Hotch – before he turned to Chester. He was trying all he could to coax more information from the guy. "It'll be Spring soon –"
"But not for you." Hotch's harsh interjection got Chester back to face us again, and this time he took a step forward. It took all my self-restraint to keep from leaning away from him. He wasn't focused on me, though. He was focused on Hotch, just behind me, staring him down.
"No…" he said lowly, narrowing his eyes just a hint. "Not for me."
The two of them held each other's glare, unblinking, both coiled and ready to snap. Thankfully, Spencer cleared his throat and spoke up,
"Let's talk about the specifics of your last case again instead." He rifled through a few papers and then pulled out a file, asking, "why did you choose Sheila O'Neil?"
"You gotta show me a picture. I don't know their names," Chester told him. And though he looked away from Hotch, he turned to me instead of Spencer. This time, his gaze slid down my body, and then slowly came back to my face.
The moment he gave a satisfied smile, Hotch was at my side. He angled himself in front of me, drawing Chester's eyes back to him as he demanded, "is that what this is all about? Some chance to relive all of this?"
"Now, c'mon, Agent Hotchner. I thought you all wanted to hear the truth. And the truth is, they meant nothing to me. They were toys, a diversion, and from the moment I decided to kill them…" his eyes flicked to me for just a second, before going back to Hotch, "they were dead. They begged, they cried, they bargained, and it didn't matter. Because they didn't matter."
Chester shifted forward, closer to the table, though he hadn't looked away from Hotch. Now I did lean away, back up against Spencer's arm. Even the hand still on my knee wouldn't do much to keep me in my seat for much longer. My instincts were screaming at me to put as much distance between my myself and this unraveling psychopath as I could.
Hotch had shifted forward now, just feet from Chester, tensed like he was ready to start throwing hits. He was done playing games. When Chester's eyes strayed to me again, Hotch growled, "why did you ask us here, Chester?"
"I wanted to smell the air," he chuckled, shrugging and slowly backing for the wall, towards the window he'd opened. Spencer and I shared a puzzled glance as Hotch's temper finally reached it's boiling point.
"What?"
"They've got me on death watch," Chester explained, heaving a sigh as he looked up to the window. "24-hour-a-day isolation is what I'll be on until they take me to the death chamber. So, I wanted to smell the air one last time before I die. Thank you for giving me that."
And then, he turned and settled his cold gaze on me once more. This time, there was no hesitancy in his gaze, or even the hint of a smirk. There was a cold, calculated hunger in the look he fixed me with. It was enough to nearly pull a whimper out of me.
Hotch felt my alarm skyrocket, and now he'd finally had enough.
"We're done here. Let's pack it up," he snapped, turning away from Chester and stalking to the table. As relieved as I was to hear those words, I realized we really had just wasted a whole trip out here. Spencer realized it too, and though we both stood, he hesitated.
"Shouldn't we at least -" he tried; Hotch wasn't having it.
"No, no. We're done. Aria, hit the button," he ordered as Spencer started to gather the files now too. I was up instantly, nearly losing my balance with how bad my legs were shaking. Chester's eyes stayed on me as I skirted past the table and hurried to the door, hitting the buzzer hard.
It sounded, but the lock didn't click open.
"The door, Aria," Hotch repeated, glancing back at me. I hit the button again and even tried the door, but it didn't budge. No keys jingled on the other end, no guards came to let us out. Panic beginning to bubble under my skin as I met Hotch's gaze over my shoulder. Something was wrong.
"It's 5:17," Chester said slowly. My heart, previously hammering in my chest, skittered to a painful stop. As I turned back around, I realized he still hadn't looked away from me. Even with Hotch and Spencer just a few feet to his left, he was focused on me.
"Evening guard started at five o'clock. Guard staff's outside with the population. There won't be anyone to open that door for... at least 13 minutes," Chester revealed, taking a slow step in my direction.
We were trapped inside the room, unarmed, with a serial killer. An uncuffedserial killer, who was looking at me like I was his last meal. Hotch and Spencer were both back behind the table; there was nothing between Chester and I.
He realized it the same moment I did, and his cheshire smile grew impossibly wider. Still holding my gaze, unblinking again, he reached out and grabbed a piece of paper off the table. For the first time, his eyes left me so he could look over the picture in his hands.
Sheila O'Neil was beaten, bloodied, and mangled. She was also just over five foot, brunette, and a senior in college. She was dead, and she had died at the hands of the man holding her picture. At the hands of the man that took another step towards me.
"I'll give you one more truth, doll," Chester chuckled, holding up the photo between us as he met my eyes once again. "It took me less than five to do this."
Happy first Monday of 2021!
I hope you all had a great new year! Who else is super excited the holidays are finally over?! I hope your year is off to a good start, and if not, hopefully today's chapter will push you in the right direction! I know we skipped an episode, but it really didn't add too much to the story for Aria. Plus, this is one of my favorite episodes of S3 (y'all already know why) and I've been SO excited to put this one out there! How do we feel about Aria's talk with Spencer on the plane? What about Hotch and his super-short temper? And... how about Chester Hardwick? How do you think this is gonna play out for Aria? Let me know your thoughts!
Thank you for all the love and support, I can't tell you how much I love hearing from you guys! I'm so glad you're loving Aria and I can't wait for you to see what's about to go down in the next few chapters...
Have a beautiful week, everyone!
