the needle tears a hole
that old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
Nine Inch Nails, "Hurt"
Night was falling fast over Anastasia State Park. Beneath the hammock forest shadows lurked in dark, liquid pools. The dunes muffled sound, but the coquina rock quarry echoed with night noises. The park had been cleared of visitors, and now only the team and local PD remained, combing the lightless corners and flat, empty expanses of stygian water.
"Did you talk to them at all after they left the station?" Gideon said to a guilt-ridden Hotch.
"No; EJ was going to check in after they hit the first dumpsite. I didn't hear from her, but I figured they were still investigating. They're good agents, Gideon; I trusted them." A sliver of moon was just beginning to rise, but it offered scant illumination, and Hotch scanned the murky park with hooded, brooding eyes.
"No one blames you, Hotch. Spencer needed a chance to apologize, and it was better for him to do that somewhere neutral. It was a good plan," Gideon said.
Hotch shook his head, refusing the comfort his former mentor was offering. "We know the UNSUB abducts young couples from the park. I sent Reid and EJ here knowing they were fighting, that they might not be as focused or as careful as they should be. I put them at risk, and now…"
"Hotch, man, you can beat yourself up over it later. Right now we have to concentrate on finding them. They're good agents, like you said, even if the kid has been a little off lately. They know the UNSUB's game, and they can outsmart him and stay alive. Now it's our job to take advantage of the time they're gonna buy us," Morgan said.
Hotch opened his mouth to reply, but the ringing of his phone forestalled him. "Garcia," he told them as he glanced at the caller ID. "Garcia, you're on speaker."
"Give us what you got, baby girl," Morgan said, the lightness of his words belied by the somber tone of his voice.
"I'm guessing you haven't found Reid or Jack," she said by way of greeting.
The three men shared a grim glance. "Not yet, sweetheart, but we haven't finished looking," Morgan said.
They heard her take a deep, gasping breath. "Okay. Okay. I'm just trying not to think about…" She trailed off, and they heard a little squeak.
"It's all right, baby, we know," Morgan said. "Just tell us what you've found."
"I checked missing persons like you asked," she said, voice sounding a little steadier. "I only got one hit, but I think it's a good one. Last spring Amanda George and Jamal Warren dropped off the radar mid-semester. Jamal resurfaces about two weeks later, but there's no sign anywhere of Amanda."
"Were they a couple?" Gideon said.
"Honestly, sir, I have no way of knowing. There were no newspaper articles or anything else about it. They were both C to B students with few extracurricular activities. I can tell you they had Chemistry together the semester they disappeared."
"Hhmm," Hotch said, "quite a bit different from his current victimology. Where is Jamal Warren now?"
"He's living just north of Jacksonville. He works for a construction company, and other than the employment record and driver's license, there's not much information about him."
"All right, Garcia, thanks. Call us if you find anything else," Gideon said.
"We'll talk to you soon, baby girl," Morgan promised before Hotch snapped the phone closed.
"Let's keep looking here for now," Hotch said. "Tomorrow we'll head north to talk to Jamal Warren. I want to know what he knows about our UNSUB."
"What if it's just coincidence?" Morgan said. "It was a year ago."
"Maybe he prefers to hunt in the spring," Gideon said. "The weather's changing, people are coming back to the park. It's not too hot. It's a good time to people watch."
"I don't think it's coincidence," Hotch said. "He probably started just watching, enjoying the cracks he noticed in seemingly solid relationships. At some point he came up with the idea of observing them more closely, in an environment of his choosing. He started slowly, and gradually he escalated to Amanda and Jamal. He let Jamal live like he promised, but it was a let-down."
"Next time he decided to kill them both," Gideon said. "More satisfying, and fewer witnesses."
Morgan's jaw clenched. He looked away, brows furrowed. "What if he doesn't wait for them?"
"He'll wait," Gideon said. "Not forever. But he'll wait."
"Agents!" It was Detective Rodriguez hurrying towards them, JJ following at a near run. "We found something," he said.
"Take us," Gideon said, and the three men set off after them at a jogging clip. They topped a small dune to find a clearing with one of the wooden restroom shacks. Gideon frowned and hurried to follow Rodriguez and JJ into the men's room.
"I think he must've gotten sloppy," the detective said. He pointed toward the hypodermic needle lying guilelessly in the middle of the bathroom floor.
"No," Gideon said. "He wanted us to find this."
"Is that blood?" Hotch said, kneeling to examine the small, rusty droplets scattered across the tile.
"Looks like it," Morgan said. He ran a hand over his head a few times and tried to focus. "Okay, so Reid comes in here to use the restroom." He stood in front of the sink. "He's washing his hands, looking down, not up at the mirror where he'd see a reflection. The UNSUB comes up behind him and sticks him."
"Jack's waiting outside," Gideon said. "The UNSUB runs out, posing as a concerned Good Samaritan."
"EJ follows him back in here," Hotch said. He rose and moved to the door. "She sees Reid passed out on the floor, so she kneels down next to him." He crouched, facing the back wall just as Jackson had done a few hours earlier.
"The UNSUB comes up behind her and knocks her out," Morgan said as he swung an imaginary club at Hotch's head.
"The blood splatters as she falls," Hotch said. "Detective, how far are we from the nearest parking area?"
"Half mile, give or take," he said. "There's no way he carried them that far in the middle of the day. Someone would have seen him."
Morgan peered out the open restroom door, his face creased with thought. "Maybe not," he said.
"What are you thinking?" Hotch said as he moved to join him.
"Are ranger vehicles allowed back here?" he asked Rodriguez.
"Yeah, they can go anywhere besides on the dunes or in the nesting areas."
Morgan raised his brows at Hotch. "If he's a ranger or a volunteer, he'd have access to the SUVs they drive. He could've parked right here."
"Jack would've seen the car while she waited for Reid," Gideon said. "She would've been on the lookout for a ranger."
"Maybe he parked a bit further off, then went back and got it," Hotch said.
JJ, who had been tense-faced and silent up to this point, pulled a park map out of her back pocket and spread it open. "Easy enough to find out," she said. "Reid marked off all the places where vehicles can park, including official areas. I thought it might come in handy tonight."
Hotch's mouth lifted in an appreciative smile. "Good work, JJ." He pointed a blunt finger at an area marked in red for official parking only. "It's just up the trail," he said. "Reid and EJ wouldn't have gotten that far yet, so they wouldn't have seen anyone parked there."
"Perfect spot for an ambush," Gideon said. "And an UNSUB smart enough not to tip his hand by letting Reid and Jack see the car."
"You think he knows they're Feds?" Morgan said.
"If he didn't when he picked them, he surely did once he abducted them," JJ said. "Badges, guns. Their shoes, their clothes. He's familiar with the park, so he would know they weren't regular hikers."
"He knew when he chose them," Hotch said. "It's probably why."
"A bigger challenge," Gideon said. "Higher profile victims than he's ever gone after before."
"Another change from his usual victimology: he had to know they aren't romantically involved," Morgan said.
"He's expanding his repertoire. Another sign of escalation."
"Tell Garcia to get us a list of all park rangers and volunteers, anyone who would have access to those SUVs. Also find out if they have any sort of sign out system when someone takes one. I want names. We need to start narrowing down our list, because if we don't find this guy soon…"
Hotch left the thought unfinished, but none of them needed to hear it: if they didn't find him soon, they might be standing in this same park looking down at a shallow grave that held Reid and Jackson.
The night around them felt impenetrably dark, and their lost teammates seemed further away than ever.
Jackson had managed to doze off despite the cold, hard cement she was forced to lie on; sheer exhaustion eventually won over comfort. Something had woken her, though, some noise in the cell. At first she was afraid it was the UNSUB, returned, but a quick glance told her that she and Reid were alone. The sound, she realized, was coming from Reid: small whimpers, accompanied by chattering teeth. Her brow creased, and she moved closer.
"Spencer, this is no time to bite my head off. Are you okay?"
Sweating, shuddering, he managed to shake his head. "I don't think so," he gasped. How long had they been here? Surely not a full day, surely only a few hours…. He had hoped they'd be out of here before withdrawal started in earnest, but he should have known better. He'd been hiding it from her—the pain, the chills—but now he felt like he'd been racked (not that he'd ever been racked, but the excruciating pain in every joint was probably pretty similar…), and he couldn't control the tremors. Nausea came in waves, and the sweat poured off of him.
Jackson looked around the cell, searching for something she could use to cover him. Of course there was nothing. "Hey!" she called. "Hey, guy! He's sick. We need some help in here. I know you can hear me, and I know it doesn't do you any good if he's sick."
Silence, like the world holding its breath.
"Hey!" she cried again, louder, as she beat both hands against the cell door. "Listen to me! I know you're there!"
"It's okay, Jack," Reid said. "I'll be fine. Don't provoke him."
"You need help, Spencer. He'll come; he doesn't want one of us dying without the other's help." She sat down next to him and pulled his thin, shaking body against hers. He put up token resistance, but not enough to stop her. "Hush," she murmured. "You need to keep warm, and it appears the hotel is currently out of blankets."
"Don't read me," he said in a small, strident voice.
"I won't," she said. "Just try to rest. I'd sing you a lullaby or something, but that would probably just make you feel worse."
"Your voice…can't be…any worse…than mine," he managed between clacking teeth.
She smiled and smoothed the hair back off his damp forehead. "Don't believe it, kiddo."
"You know you're…only like…a year older than…me…right?"
"It's more a term of endearment than an actual statement on your age. Don't try to talk anymore; I'm afraid you'll bite your tongue off." She was only half-joking; his teeth were chattering so hard she worried they might break. She held him tighter and tried not to think about the cause behind his sudden illness.
Eventually they both must have slept, because it seemed like only an eye-blink later the door was swinging open on silent hinges. "Spencer, wake up," she whispered into his hair, shaking him. He stirred and she carefully lowered him to the floor before getting to her feet. "He's sick," she told the man. "He needs medicine."
The man smiled, a dark, chilling grin that sent a bolt of fear straight through her. "He's not sick, exactly, but I did bring medicine."
Reid wasn't sure if he were more relieved or more horrified by the sight of his kit in the man's hand. It would end the pain, but then Jack would know. Did that even matter at this point? They'd been kidnapped. It was his fault. He'd spent the past few months treating her like shit to hide his habit, and his habit had gotten them into this mess. It was as good a time as any to come clean.
So to speak.
The man tossed the small bag to Jackson, and she fumbled to catch it. "Open it," he told her. "Ask him why he's shaking like a leaf and sweating like a pig. Ask him what he was doing in that bathroom, and why it was so easy for me to get a jump on him, big FBI man that he is."
She stared down at the bag and tried to keep her face blank. It was true, then, everything she'd worried about, everything she'd feared. He'd gone into that bathroom to get high, and the man had taken advantage of his drug-induced fog—
She cut off that line of thought before it could really get started. No blame games. She'd already said it, and she had meant it.
"Ask him!" the man said.
Jackson looked down at her partner. Back at the man. Carefully, deliberately, not taking her eyes off their captor, she knelt and set the bag on the floor by Reid's elbow. "No," said. "If he wants to explain himself to me, he can. Otherwise, it's his business."
"His business got you into this mess, little fed."
"No," she repeated. "You picked us the moment you set eyes on us. You would've had us one way or another."
He sneered. "You keep telling yourself that." As before he slammed the door behind him on the way out. She jumped at the sound, even though she'd known it was coming.
Silence filled their small cell like a dark, living thing.
"Jack," Reid said. He wanted her to turn around, to look at him. He'd been avoiding her attention, running from it, but now he just wanted one glimpse at her face.
"No," she said for the third time. "No, Spencer. I told him I wasn't going to ask, and I'm not. You do what you have to do, because I need you here. I can't do this alone. If what's in that bag will bring you back to me, then use it."
There was the sound of a zipper, then the tinkle of glass. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the thought…at his sigh of relief, she slowly turned around. The needle was still in his arm. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and the familiar, finely-made face was smooth, calm; blissful.
She shuddered. "You're a drug addict, Spencer," she said in a soft, still voice.
His eyes opened. He pulled the needle out, wiped it with an alcohol swab, and stowed it back in the kit. When everything was arranged again, he zipped it closed. He wouldn't raise his head to meet her accusing gaze. "You don't understand," he said at last. "Tobias—"
"I know," she said. "He gave you the drugs. We all saw. I know that, and I know how hard it is to come back from an experience like yours. But, Spencer, you made a choice. You're the one who kept using. Addicts don't get excuses."
He looked up then, his expression raw and beseeching. "Jack, please—"
"No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to look at me like that." She spun away, struggling to breathe. Her hands shook. She clenched them into tight, hard little fists. "I trusted you," she finally managed. "You're my partner and my friend, and I trusted you to keep me safe. You held my life in your hands over and over in the last three months." She raked tense, rigid fingers through her short dark hair. "You were getting high when you were supposed to have my back. You could have gotten us both killed."
"Turn around. Please."
"I can't!" she said. "I can't look at you right now."
But she turned anyway, and the look of hurt and betrayal in her eyes made him flinch.
"It's not even that. It is that, but that's only part of it, because I know—how addiction can be. I know how easy it is to lose yourself in something rather than face all that pain. Chasing that little bit of numbness because sometimes it's the only thing that gets you through the day. Any sort of high is a bonus you don't even count on or look for."
She spoke like she knew from personal experience. There was so much about her past he didn't know. She drank, sometimes, but never in excess. She avoided any form of mood-altering drugs (including strong pain medication) because they made her lose control of her ability. What sort of addiction did she mean?
"I don't understand," he said.
She dropped to her knees next to him, wincing as she hit the concrete. "I'm your friend, Spencer. Or I thought I was. I tried so hard—and you just pushed me away. I could have helped you. Not just with the drugs, but with all of it."
"It was beyond the point of talking, Jack. They had me meet with a shrink before I could return to the field."
"That's not what I mean." She started to chew the inside of her lip like she did when thinking, but the split in it stopped her. Instead she held out a hesitant hand. "Can I show you?"
He studied her face, but his brain was muddled and slow. He had no idea what she was talking about. Finally he nodded. "Okay."
She took a deep breath and rested a hand on his forearm. "Close your eyes," she said.
He did, expecting…he didn't know what. But after a few moments he felt…different. Calmer, even through the drugs. The Dilauded soothed the rough edges, but it didn't take them away. Whatever she was doing was different.
He drew in a sharp breath and his eyes flew open. "Jack, what the hell?" The memories of Hankel weren't gone, but they seemed more distant. Less barbed. He could picture Tobias' face without that stabbing ache at the center of his chest.
"I told you," she said. "I could have helped."
"I had no idea—that's not mind reading."
"No. It's something else. They were developing it when—" She broke off and pushed to her feet. "It's part of why I had to leave. I was afraid of where they would take it. They had so many plans for me," she said, and he could hear the edge of tears in her voice.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's not something I advertise. I didn't want you to be more scared of me than you already were. Not only can I read your mind, but I can…influence it. Nudge it here or there. It's horrific."
"No!" He grabbed her ankle—the only part of her he could reach—and squeezed. "No. They would have tried to make it horrific. You wouldn't let them." He looked up at her. "There's nothing you could do that would qualify as horrific, Elliot."
She gave him a sad, tired smile. "Oh, boy genius. You don't know me as well as you think you do." She pulled from his grasp and moved to the other side of the cell. Slid down the wall to sit with her back to it and her legs crossed in front of her.
"I know that—" He swallowed around a dry, dry throat. "I know that I should have trusted you. I should have told you."
"Yes," she said.
"You would've helped me, ability or no ability."
"Yes," she repeated, finally meeting his eyes across the cell, "I would have. Instead I watched you, and I worried, and I didn't say anything to Hotch or Gideon."
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have put you in that position."
"And yet you did." She said it quietly, without any of her previous acrimony. Still the words burned.
Before he could form a suitable reply (perhaps another apology?), there was a metallic scraping at the door. Their heads pivoted toward the noise simultaneously, and they watched as a tray was slid through the small opening and into their cell.
Frowning, wondering, Jackson rose. What she saw made her go cold.
"What is it?" he said, shakily gaining his feet and coming to join her.
"A gun," she said, "and a note."
"I won't be back until you've used this," he read.
"There's only one bullet," she said after checking the revolver's cylinder. "I guess he expects us to be better shots than the previous victims."
They both stared at the weapon in her hand. Blood-shot hazel eyes met fear-widened green ones.
"Now what?" he breathed.
"Now we wait."
initially Jack was a lot angrier about the drugs part of it than she is here. yeah, I know, she's still pretty pissed, but it's more about the betrayal of trust than actual drug addiction. something to explore more in the future, mayhaps. also: I like both the NIN and Johnny Cash versions of "Hurt," and usually it's the latter that's playing in my head when I think of the song, but it is technically a NIN song, so...they get the credit.