Hotch had been left alone for the remainder of the day. Either the cell he was confined to was extremely well soundproofed or there wasn't anyone else in the area because he couldn't hear anything and there was no response when he called out. By standing on his cot and craning his neck, he could see what appeared to be an impossibly blue sky outside, but that was all he could see. Again and again, he checked the manacle around his ankle and the chain fastening him to the cot (which was securely bolted to the floor) but, with no tools, he couldn't figure how to escape from them. And, reluctantly, he had cleaned up the food he had so angrily consigned to the floor. All the time, he could still smell the warm tropical air tinged with salt.
He guessed it was early evening when the door to his cell opened and his jailer (Number 415 he reminded himself) walked in carrying a cloth-covered tray of what appeared to be food. Hotch noted that the man again carefully stayed just out of his reach.
"See you decided to make yourself at home, 751," he commented dryly as he looked around the cell.
"Seems I am going to be here for a while," Hotch observed. "Makes no sense to live like an animal. Will I be getting clean clothes anytime soon?"
"All in good time," was the reply. "And, that also depends on whether you cooperate. For right now, I would suggest you quietly eat your supper and get some rest." He placed the cloth-covered tray on the floor and pushed it towards Hotch.
"Just don't get any ideas," he warned the agent as he left, carefully locking the door behind him.
Gingerly, Hotch took the cover off the tray and looked at his evening meal. There was some homemade bread with butter, rice topped what appeared to be chicken, some fresh cooked green beans, and a small bowl of fresh fruit (mangos, he thought).
Taking a deep breath, he picked up the fork which had been provided (cheap plastic, he noted, not to be used as a weapon) and took a tentative bite. It wasn't bad, he realized - Actually, it was quite tasty. Hungrily, he began eating.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
The next morning Hotch woke to the sun coming in through his small window. He was surprised when he realized that he had gotten a good night's sleep as he had expected to lay awake all night on the bare mattress with no covers. Apparently, wherever he was it didn't get particularly chilly during the night. He added that fact to his ever expanding profile of his captors and his location. He did wonder whether there has been something in his food to induce sleep, but quickly dismissed that idea as he wasn't experiencing any of the lethargy or headaches usually associated with a drug of that type.
After getting up from his cot, Hotch quickly finished his morning absolutions and then began his usual morning fitness routine consisting of sit-ups, push-ups, and crunches, among other exercises. Just because he was being held captive didn't mean that he could get out of shape he reasoned. He needed to be ready for anything his captors threw at him. He was still on the floor completing his last set of crunches when he heard the door to his cell being unlocked.
When 415 walked through the door carrying a try of food, he smiled at Hotch. "Eat up, 751," he told the agent as he set the tray on the floor and pushed it over to him. "You're going to be having a visitor in a little while."
"Anyone I know?" Hotch asked sarcastically.
"Not yet," was the reply. "But, I suspect you two will eventually become very good friends." As he left the cell, he again carefully locked the door behind himself.
When he took the cover off the tray, Hotch found homemade biscuits with butter accompanied by scrambled eggs with onion and green peppers mixed in, and a small bowl of fresh fruit (guava, he thought). It appeared that everything he was being fed was grown locally, indicating that he was in an agrarian area, he noted as he began eating.