Chapter 7
(Flashback part 2 Emily POV)
Emily stared at the paperwork surrounding her. She was tired and this seemed to be a waste of time. Why did she decide to stay late? She understood why they had to fill out the files she couldn't just capture and sometimes shoot serial killers and then not say how she caught them and why she shot them. But did they have to make it so boring and long?
She leaned back in her chair and looked at the clock at 6:43 pm. What she would have given to be at home soaking in a bubble bath watching Once Upon A Time. Or DC Legends of Tomorrow or really anything from the Arrowverse. Maybe she could even rewatch Merlin or Galavant so she could refresh her memory and talk more about them with Reid. Well, she would pretty much watch anything right now as long as there was action.
How many bullets were discharged from your gun?
She read, turning back to her paper. 4 bullets.
What made you discharge your gun?
The knife he was about to slit across 7-year-old Lyra Johnson's throat. She had watched the seven-year-old silently crying as she was roughly dragged around in front of 42-year-old Richard Baker. The seemingly average man. A bank clerk. WIth an ex-wife and a dead daughter. Except this man had a body count of 12. And had kidnapped 13 different kids. Killing blonde girls who looked like the daughter who was run off the road.
She began working through the papers. Question after question. Page after page. File after file. Until she was finally done.
Hotch had left an hour ago to get Jack and she was the last person on her team there. At 7:04 pm on a cool winter evening, the sun was already down and with the moon lighting, the sky outside Emily began putting her supplies away getting ready to leave.
She grabbed her purse, walking with her heels silent on the carpet. The paperwork had worn her out but tomorrow she would be relaxing with a mug of hot chocolate. She walked past Reid's desk, her foot pushing a fallen pencil from Reid's desk. She stooped down, picking it up and dropping it on his desk, noticing a dark stain on the edge.
She peered at it, blood. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT SHIT SHIT. He was not ok. This was not an accidental incident, this was a purposeful cut. Fuck herself for not listening to her brain how could she be so stupid.
It was so obvious. All the signs had been there and she chose to ignore them. To pretend everything was fine. Nothing was fine. No one was fine. Goodbye. The words echoed in her brain. He said goodbye. It didn't mean anything. I'm not listening to you this time, brain I can't risk it.
She had to find him. Where did he live? How did she never notice that no one on the team had ever been to his house? Would he even be home?
She searched his desk. Opening up the drawers scanning through the few documents filling them searching for an address. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING! What to do.
Hotch had personal paperwork on everyone. He would know. She could call him and ask. He would have questions. He would ask how she profiled him when no one else could. Reid would not appreciate it. The team would bombard him with questions making everything worse.
She couldn't call Hotch, but Hotch's office had the paperwork. At least she hoped it did. It wasn't locked and this was an emergency. She walked up the stairs. Glancing behind her before quickly pulling open the door and sliding through promptly shutting the door as soon as she could. She stepped softly to Hotch's desk rifling through Hotch's desk. She opened and shut drawers scanned through the top of Hotch's desk. She searched the filing cabinets next to Hotch's desk before finding the team paperwork.
She flipped past Morgans, Garcia's, and her own until she located Reids. She scanned through the file looking for his current address.
14 Northern Street, Jackson Arms Apartment 2C. That was 10 minutes away. It wouldn't be hard to get there. She ran out of Hotch's office, file in hand down the stairs into the bullpen. She walked slowly out of the building not wanting to be stopped by the building's security.
She boarded her car and turned the key in the ignition. Her (insert some kind of convertible) turned on and she stepped on the gas, driving out of the parking garage as fast as she dared onto the road. She made the 10-minute drive 7.
She knocked on the locked door waiting for someone to unlock the apartment's foyer door. A first-floor resident came out of their room looking annoyed.
He unlocked the door. "What are you doing here?"
She flashed her FBI badge and ran to the map of the apartments. Finding apartment 2C on the third floor, she rushed up the stairs and down the hallway to apartment 2C.
She looked at the slightly open door. Why is his door open?! He wouldn't leave it open unless he didn't plan on ever coming back. You're overthinking it. You're imagining this whole thing, you're practically crazy. NO. She wasn't imagining this, she stormed into the apartment.
"Reid. Reid, where are you?" She shouted into an empty living room and dining room.
She ran into the bedroom. She checked under the bed, in the closet. Nothing.
The bathroom door was closed. That's never a good sign. The bathroom door was locked. Even worse. "Reid! Reid opens this door right now! Reid now! Please." she was about to break into pieces.
Instead, she inspected the lock. It was a classic pin tumbler. She searched her purse for a slim piece of metal. FInding a safety pin she grabbed her phone turning on the flashlight.
Peering into the lock hole she slid the slim part of the safety pin in trying to push back all the pins in the lock. After struggling momentarily she slid the safety pin out of the lock. She grabbed the handle of the door and pushed the door open.