Chapter 3
Four days passed for the team like successive nightmares, one after the other. They worked, they followed leads, they searched, but they came up with nothing. No matter what they did, who they talked to, or where they went, there was no sign of Hotch.
They often missed meals. If not for their handler, they would have continued until they'd faded away to nothing. As it was, Officer Thomas was kept busy bringing them food, encouraging them to eat, bringing them coffee, and making sure they slept. He put his foot down when he went into the conference room one morning and found them all collapsed in chairs and he sent them back to the hotel that evening, saying that they wouldn't be allowed back into the station until they had at least eight hours of sleep and a good meal under their belts.
"We don't have time for that," Morgan protested as Officer Thomas took a file away from him.
"You haven't had time for that since you got here, and now, you're going to make time," he answered. "None of you are any good to your boss if you keel over from overwork."
Officer Thomas slammed the files in his hands down on the table and startled Reid awake so badly that he toppled to the floor. Their genius lay on the floor, breathing hard and looking stunned. "Have we found Hotch?"
A snicker from Morgan and then it was a lost cause. Everyone started laughing, even Reid.
"Oh, for all the times not to be recording!" Rossi lamented, wiping tears from his eyes. "We'd have won on AFV, no problem!"
"Yeah, we could use the money to give all of us awesome vacations," JJ said. "A month or so off and we'd all be much more the thing."
"Don't let us dream of what we can't have," Emily groaned. "Seriously."
"Once we get Hotch back, we could demand some time off," Reid suggested as he picked himself up and righted his chair. "We'd have bargaining power."
"We have to find him first," Morgan said pointedly, reaching for the files.
"Nope!" Officer Thomas said, clapping a hand down on top of them. "I'm gonna say now what I said before, you all need rest and food."
"I was just asleep," Reid complained.
"I could always get the rest of the station in here," Officer Thomas said thoughtfully. "How would it look if you guys were carried out of here and back to your hotel?"
Quantico would not be happy. JJ fixed him with a glare. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
The look on his face made them all give in. Someone (it sounded like Morgan) muttered, "Jerk," but Officer Thomas overlooked it and arranged transportation for the tired FBI agents. Once they were back at their hotel rooms all of them dug open their bags, intent on reading over some more files…
"That guy's good," Reid said just as he heard disbelieving complaints coming from his coworkers' rooms as they all discovered their empty bags. Reid sighed and dropped his own empty bag before crawling into bed. He would think up a suitable revenge in the morning for Officer Thomas. He might have to crush him...or go nuclear.
The curtains snapped back on their rods and sunlight flooded Reid's room. He flinched, squinted at the light, and pulled the blankets over his head with a groan. "What time is it?"
"It's time to rise and face the day, Doctor Sleepyhead!" Penelope said brightly with a smile. "Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!"
Reid jackknifed into a sitting position and looked at their tech analyst. "Penelope? What are you doing here?"
"As it looked like this would be an extended case, the higher-ups gave me permission to join you all and bring supplies-I stopped by everyone's places and picked up clothes and other sundries that are bound to make you happy, and since they love me so much, they've extended our line of credit so we can get other things we need."
Reid swung himself out of bed and made it to his feet. "I can't believe they did that. Every time we mention something to do with money we always get a lecture about wasteful spending."
"I pointed out the benefits to them of having all of you well-rested, well-clothed, well-fed, and all of that, and also pointed out that if you're all in good health with good morale, you'll work that much better. Plus, I reminded them that the potential for embarrassment over an FBI agent's kidnapping by the unsub we're searching for could really give the agency a bad name in some quarters, so they agreed to bring out the big guns in the form of one super-cute analyst and a whole lotta moola." She stopped and looked at his feet. "Reid, you're supposed to take your shoes off when you get into bed."
"Mmmnnh. How did you get into my room?"
"I sweet-talked the front desk," she answered, handing him a to-go cup of coffee. "Everyone else is getting ready, so chop-chop! We're leaving in ten!"
Reid drank his coffee, washed, changed clothes, and joined them all in the lobby in eight minutes. Their car was ready for them and they headed off to the station, where a few staffers they recognized from headquarters was setting up a workstation for Penelope in an unused room.
"Breakfast should be on the table in the conference room, so go eat and then find this guy!" Penelope urged them as soon as they walked into the station. "I'll be at my spot, doing what I do best!"
Officer Thomas was looking very impressed as they all walked in. "That's some girl."
"Yep," Morgan said proudly.
Thomas was still gazing in the direction in which Penelope had gone. "Is she...do you know if anyone...?"
Morgan fixed Officer Thomas with a look. "You're interested in our baby girl?"
Officer Thomas froze. "I'm gonna go see if there's any coffee."
"You do that. But if you're really interested in her, and you end up breaking her heart, you'll have the whole team to deal with, not to mention the fact that she can get into any computer and any system anywhere. Just think about it."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
Morgan headed into their temporary headquarters and grinned.
"How many people have you scared away from Penelope?" Emily asked once Morgan had taken a seat.
"Hey, if the guy still chats her up after all that, then he's probably worth it."
With that, they turned their attention to the information they had at hand. It wasn't enough. They batted around the same theories for close to four hours before they had to admit that it wasn't working.
"We need more information," Reid complained, rubbing his forehead.
"Likes to take care of other people," JJ said thoughtfully. "Takes victims that are themselves some kind of caretakers..."
Rossi nodded. "Well, Hotch certainly cares for his team."
All of them sat and thought about it. Their minds continued in tight little circles that made no progress. It was like driving on a closed highway with no off-ramp, you just covered the same ground that you covered over and over again.
The clatter of high heels on linoleum brought them out of their thoughts. "Oh, my gosh! It's big! I have something! It's incredible! It's on my monitor! Come see!"
They were out of their chairs in less than a second and rushing down the hall behind Penelope. She burst into her workspace at a run and pointed at the monitor. "Look at that!"
"Security camera footage?" Emily said, staring at the poor-quality video.
"There weren't any security cameras around the scene, but there were some in other places," Penelope explained, cueing the footage up and pressing play. "Watch."
The video was grainy, but they could clearly see a white van. A decal on the side declared "Odd Jobs & Sundry, Inc." and two men could be seen in the front of the van. The driver's face couldn't be seen, but the passenger was asleep. He was in a baggy white coverall, a white cap was on his head, but on the footage...
"Is that Hotch?" Reid gasped.
Penelope isolated the frame, enlarged it, and cleaned it up. "Hotch!"
"How better to hide something than in plain sight?" Rossi sighed. "Nobody would look twice at a vehicle that looks like it belongs on the street and is going somewhere to do something. No one would look twice at the people in the van. People would look for someone hidden in the back of a van, but not out in the front seat. If the person looks like he belongs in that seat, they won't even notice him."
"He put Hotch in a coverall and cap to make him look like he belonged there, too," Morgan said thoughtfully. "That means this guy's extremely organized and planned ahead."
"Detail-oriented," JJ said, deep in thoughts of her own. "He planned every single thing...so, he would have to be in a profession that requires a lot of attention to detail and advance planning."
Morgan gave a bleak chuckle. "Okay. Looks like we've got a tag on the guy. You know the one thing he didn't plan for?"
"What?" Reid asked.
"Hotch."
It had been four days of absolute hell for Hotch. He could not tell what to expect from this guy. For one thing, his face was always covered. There were precious little facial non-verbal tells he could expect. A tilt of his head, a nod, his hands, the way he carried himself...the guy was an expert at hiding what he was feeling. His voice was always pleasant and kind, but there were times when Aaron could tell that...something...was off. Just what it was or what it might mean for him was still a mystery, but he could tell that there was something more going on than what his captor was allowing him to see.
His kidnapper did not bother to wake him up. According to him, Hotch had slept the rest the first day and all that night. He woke up the following morning to the words, "Good morning, Aaron. Are you hungry?" and his nightmare began.
The man was nothing but kind and it was freaking Aaron out in the worst way. He'd seen unsubs be kind before, but this...was a whole other level of crazy. It seemed as if the man's whole purpose was just to do nice things for his captive, which was nuts. There had to be another purpose to this, but Hotch couldn't figure it out.
The first day he was fully conscious was the most difficult. Waking up like that, seeing a man in a ski mask when you were still half-asleep, and then hearing the man offer you breakfast like it was nothing...Aaron still didn't have a word for the feeling he had when that happened. Weirded-out might come close, but there was still a little kernel of panic floating around in there somewhere.
Since he was so hungry he felt a little weak, Aaron agreed to breakfast with little hesitation. He needed food.
"Why don't you go ahead and wash up while I get it ready?" his captor suggested. "Twenty minutes."
Hotch nodded. He had to go the bathroom and after a few days of not showering, no doubt he needed a wash. He felt his skin crawling with the need for soap and hot water. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Clothes had been left out for him on a shelf just inside the bathroom door (when had his kidnapper done that? He didn't want to think about it.) and towels, a washcloth, and bath products had been left for him on the rim of the bathtub. He took the fastest shower of his life, shaved using the safety razor and shaving gel he found on the sink, brushed his teeth, and dressed.
He left the bathroom with some trepidation, wishing he already knew what to expect. He'd heard statements from all of the other victims, but they fell rather short once someone found himself in the same situation. None of them had mentioned the confusion he felt every minute or the worry...they'd mentioned anxiety at first and then gradually relaxing when nothing bad happened, and Aaron hoped that the pattern would hold for him as well, but for now, the worry was just about killing him.
"I hope you're hungry," the kidnapper said as soon as he spotted Aaron. "It's been a while since you ate."
And whose fault is that? Aaron wondered to himself.
His captor walked around to where the slot was in the wall and slid a breakfast tray through it. It slid easily into place at the table and Aaron sat down. There was a plate with a cheese omelet, two thin slices of ham, grilled mushrooms, and fruit salad. There was a glass of water and sweet mercy of all mercifulness, there was coffee. Aaron started with the water before moving on to the coffee (how the heck did this guy know how he took his coffee?) and then dug in. One bite of the omelet and he had to pause to marvel at the taste. He finished the bite and swallowed. "Are you a professional chef?"
"I get that question all the time." Aaron could hear the smile in the man's voice.
"If you aren't, you should be. This is very good."
"I'm glad you like it."
After breakfast, Aaron asked if they could talk.
"We can always talk," his captor promised. "Fire away."
"What am I allowed to do?"
"Pretty much anything you like," he promised. "You can watch television, movies, play music, read, exercise...you're here to relax, Aaron. Later, when I'm sure I can trust you, we'll do some things together."
"And would there be any penalties if I tried to escape?"
"An extra week."
Hotch stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
Aaron nearly threw himself at the fence in rage. "How is that fair? You've kidnapped me, I'm going to lose three months of my life-not to mention three months of my son's life!-and if I try to leave, you're going to tack an extra week on?"
"I won't as long as you don't try to leave ahead of time," the kidnapper pointed out.
"I still don't like the fact that I've been kidnapped."
"No one does."
"Then why do you do it?"
His captor shrugged. "Any other questions?"
Aaron thought about it. "What if you're not here and there's an emergency?"
"There are fail-safes in place. If there were an emergency, the locks would unlock and you would be able to get out of the building safely."
Aaron looked thoughtfully at the gate. "Could I see how it works?"
"If the building catches fire, I'll be happy to show you," the man said, sounding as if he were smiling. "That was clever, Aaron."
Hotch shrugged. "I had to try." Then an awful thought occurred to him. "That doesn't count as an attempt, does it?"
Later, Hotch reflected that that had to be the first time he'd ever made a kidnapper laugh so hard. He was glad when the man said that no, it didn't count as an escape attempt, but it was a little hard to hear him because of how much he was laughing. Aaron surprised himself because he actually could feel himself smiling in response. It was all too easy to forget that this man was his kidnapper instead of just another human being.
A personable kidnapper. Would wonders never cease? Idly he wondered just how many kidnappers ended up being liked by their captives. If Reid were there, he would probably have some nice little statistic to offer, most likely about Stockholm Syndrome.
The kidnapper went on to say that there would be times when he would have to leave Aaron by himself for a little while and that he would pick up anything that Aaron would like while he was out. He had to go out that afternoon, so was there anything he'd like?
"A newspaper," Aaron answered immediately. If there were any information about the kidnapper in the paper, he wanted to read it.
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Nothing comes to mind."
"All right. Why don't you look around your quarters for a while? I have something to take care of in another room. I'll be monitoring you to be sure you're all right."
Hotch did not find that reassuring, but he did wander about and look at things. It had to be one of the most effective ways to hold someone prisoner, keep them comfortable while allowing the captor full access to the victim, and keep the captive from attacking the captor that he'd ever seen. If the captive stood facing the gate, then to the right and behind him there was a floor to ceiling brick wall, forming a backwards L. Across the open space of the L was floor to ceiling wire fencing and the gate that would allow the kidnapper to come in if necessary. The large space was divided up by screens, but his captor could always see where he was since all of the screens were only partial screens. Anyone outside the gate would have to look at either the bottom or top of the screens to see his feet or head. There was nowhere to hide but the bathroom.
He found the cameras easily enough. They were attached to the ceiling in several places and all out of his reach. Even if he stood on the table, he would still be unable to reach them. Perhaps if he stacked a chair on top of the table? No, any countermeasures like that should wait until his kidnapper was out of the building and preferably across town.
His captor had thought of plenty of things to keep him busy and amused. He found a cabinet full of board games, sketchbooks and pencils, and a Kindle. It was not able to connect to the Internet but there were plenty of games and books stored on it. There was also a cabinet filled with DVDs and CDs, and there was an entertainment center. There were two tall bookshelves bolted to the wall and stuffed with books and a smaller shelf in the bedroom area. They were filled with classic novels, contemporary thrillers and bestsellers, popular nonfiction works, comic collections, puzzle books, and plenty of other books that looked interesting. Whoever his captor was, he had a wide taste in literature.
His kidnapper returned to prepare lunch for him (loaded baked potato soup, French bread, and spinach salad) and chatted with him. Carefully, Hotch drew him out question by question, but he was unable to learn anything. The man wouldn't admit to what his job was, wouldn't tell Aaron just where they were, and seemed to enjoy keeping things behind his teeth.
It was frustrating in the extreme.
"Will you at least tell me your name?" Aaron sighed. "I can't keep calling you 'hey, you' all the time."
The kidnapper tilted his head and thought about it. "Alexander."
"Is that your real name?"
"It's what you can call me."
"Okay."
Alexander did go out that afternoon and was gone four hours. Hotch waited a half-hour before pulling a chair on top of the table and reaching for the nearest camera. It was still out of his reach and he spent most of the next hour moving the table and chair around and trying to reach the cameras. If he were just six inches taller, he would have been able to take them down. Feeling a little sore from all the stretching, Hotch put the furniture back into place and switched on the television. There was cable, so he spent a while channel-surfing. He stumbled across the noon news for Pacerton and he was delighted when there was a segment about the current kidnapping. The news station was able to confirm that a male victim had been taken, but they did not say that it had been one of the FBI agents who were supposed to be catching the kidnapper. Thank goodness for small mercies. Footage was shown of his team leaving their transport and heading inside Pacerton PD, but that was all.
Hotch felt an overwhelming sense of homesickness then. He wanted to be back where he belonged, with his team and working cases. All of his team had dark shadows under their eyes and looked exhausted, but they were still working on finding him. It was heartening. The best thing he could do for them was to hang in there until he could either find a way out or they could find him.
Alexander returned a few hours later. He was wearing his ski mask again, and he looked at Aaron and tilted his head. "Have fun climbing the furniture?"
"I wanted to look at the cameras more closely," Aaron said evenly, determined not to let it be a big deal.
"I see. Do you enjoy tinkering with things?"
"Honestly, it's not something I've ever thought about. It'd be something to do."
Alexander nodded. "Mm-hmm. I brought your paper." He walked around the enclosure and slid it through the slot onto the table. "If you want anything else, you just have to ask. Dinner will be in two hours."
"Thanks," Hotch said, picking up the paper. The New York Times. Not a local paper, then. Interesting. He sat down at the table and unfolded it, reading each article. There was not a single word in the paper about what was going on in Pacerton. Aaron couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. When he came to the crossword puzzle he grinned and found a pencil so he could work on it. He was puzzling through a clue when he heard, "Time for dinner, Aaron."
He came back to earth with a jolt. No, he couldn't believe it. He refused to believe that he'd gotten so involved in a crossword puzzle that he'd forgotten all about his kidnapper. Then again, given what he knew about people kept in captivity, their minds would find ways to relax and remove some of the pressure being held against their will forced on them. Ten to one, that was likely what had just happened to him. A survival mechanism, nothing more.
Dinner that night nearly made him drop to his knees in gratitude. He had a baked potato with sour cream and butter, green beans with bacon, and a steak that melted on the tongue and made his tastebuds sing. He moaned a little at the taste before he could stop himself.
"I think you like it," Alexander said from his seat outside of the enclosure. "Am I right?"
"I repeat what I said this morning," Hotch said, taking a sip of water. "You should be a chef."
"Thank you. That's very gratifying to hear."
After dinner Aaron tried to get Alexander to talk to him, but the man was an expert at dodging questions. Just when it looked like Aaron was about to corner him and make him finally give a piece of information away, Alexander got to his feet. "There was something I forgot to give you earlier. In fact, it was why I went out today."
Aaron didn't know what to make of that. "Okay."
Alexander left the room and returned a few minutes later, carrying two picture frames. He carried them around to the slot where he put the food trays and slid them through. "There. Like them?"
Hotch picked up the pictures and stared. One picture was a group picture of him and his team, all grinning at the camera. They'd been out somewhere together and the bartender had snapped a picture of them. The second was Jack's last school picture. He'd had smaller versions of each in his wallet. "How did you get these?"
"Your wallet. I took the originals today and had larger copies made so they could be framed. That way, you'll have pictures you can put in your bedroom."
It took Aaron a moment to realize that Alexander meant his bedroom in the enclosure. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
The psychedelic trip that had become his life continued. Each day, there were home-cooked meals, conversation with Alexander, and distracting himself when Alexander wasn't around. He began to feel tired a lot of the time simply due to the stress. Once a week had passed, he knew he had to do something.
He was going to make a break for it.