I have a feeling the next couple of reviews will be in caps lock. Just know, this hurt me to write so... *run away and calls over shoulder* don't kill me.
Cudos to Nicole for beta-ing.
The Reed Ranch was a rundown wooden house with a sagging roof and a broken front window. The grass spanning the front was brown and out back she could see the top of a red, surprisingly well-kept barn. It was odd that a person might take better care of their garage than their home and it was something Emma pondered as she dawdled up to the house alongside Henry.
The young man had eyed her the entire trip and she knew exactly what he wanted to know: what was going on between her and Killian. It obviously hadn't gone unnoticed; her subtle attempt to avoid being alone with him by enlisting Henry's assistance in this lead. She grimaced just thinking about the look David had levelled her with – it screamed admonishment and she just knew he would be giving her another 'talk' on the way back to Quantico.
They approached the porch and scaled the creaky stairs warily, termites a formidable option given the state of the house. When they reached the door Emma knocked four times and waited.
"So – what was that back there?" Henry's voice whispered inconspicuously. The blonde turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
"Seriously? An hour-long car trip and now is when you decide you want to talk?"
He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for her to respond. Emma sighed and faced the door as she answered.
"Maybe I just wanted to spend some quality time with you," she said sarcastically, which only earned her a scoff from the young man behind her. She imagined he was about to reply when the door suddenly opened and Emma quickly put on a polite smile to greet the man at the threshold. He had dark blonde hair that nearly covered his eyes and stubble that was bordering on scruff. His green eyes scanned her form warily, his silhouette blocking any view inside the dilapidated house.
"Hi, Mr Reed?" Emma asked.
His eyes were almost doe-like with their innocence and he nodded, "Yeah?"
"We're from the FBI – I'm Agent Swan, this is Agent Simmons," she said, pointing behind her to where Henry pulled out his identification to affirm what she'd said. Anthony nodded a vague response, acknowledging their credentials but unmoving in his position in the doorway.
"Can we come in?" Henry inquired lightly.
The man looked inside for a moment and turned back to Henry with an apologetic look on his soft face, "I'm sorry. I don't let anyone in the house." It wasn't completely uncommon for people to be distrusting – even of the authorities, so Emma and Henry nodded understandingly.
"You witnessed something a few months ago that might be very helpful to us," she began, smiling hopefully at him – a technique that typically softened up people she was interrogating and made them more malleable for her questions. However, Anthony's face scrunched up slightly in confusion, his eyebrows rising infinitesimally.
"I did?"
"You saw someone go over a wall into a yard and called the police?" she queried. Again, however, the man appeared confused.
"Me?"
She frowned, "You didn't?"
He looked genuinely remorseful and shrugged half-heartedly, "Sorry."
The lack of definitive answers made it impossible for Emma to get an absolute read on him and she cocked her head to the side inquisitively. She could feel Henry shift his weight uncomfortably behind her.
"There's a report on file that lists you as calling nine-one-one… you were walking a dog?" Emma said, trying to prompt a sudden recollection in the man standing before them. He still appeared at a loss but the blonde felt something whisper deceit in the recesses of her mind. She crooked an eyebrow as she waited for him to respond and when he finally did, he smiled feebly.
"No, that's wrong – I don't have any dogs."
Lie.
Emma kept her expression unfazed as she pursed her lips and looked behind her at Henry. The young man was already pivoting on his heel to leave and the blonde nodded in the direction of Anthony who was slowly backing away from the door.
"Well, sorry to bother you," she said and he returned the exchange before shutting the door. Henry was already down the porch steps when Emma leaped down them lithely and jogged quickly to him, grasping his arm and turning him around.
"He lied."
"What?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up in evident misunderstanding.
"He lied about not having dogs – and he never gave me a definitive answer about whether he called or not, though he acted like he didn't," she replied, looking back at the neglected old house with barely narrowed eyes, "I mean, why bother calling the police in the first place if you were just going to pretend you didn't?" Emma rotated back to face Henry whose eyes were focused on the ground, his mouth slackening – a sign that generally meant he'd come up with some form of explanation.
His mouth moved silently and he eventually met Emma's blue eyes in the dark night air.
"To gauge the response time," he said, scratching the crown of his head in thought, "if you wanted to kill somebody but you were going to call the police first, what would you need to know?"
Emma nodded and answered, "How long it takes them to get there."
Before she could say another word, Henry was jogging around the side of the house, past the front porch. With a muttered curse, she followed him, already drawing her weapon as they edged along the side of the house.
"Henry, wait!" she whispered harshly, following lightly over the dead grass.
Henry stopped in front of a window and peered inside, giving Emma the time to catch up to him. But just as she did, the kid straightened in shock and the blonde only just glimpsed through the window as Anthony Reed sprinted out of the room the window looked into. From the glance, Emma could see almost a dozen computer screens, each displaying different rooms – some with people, some empty.
A grip on her arm made her spin around to face the young agent, "Em, he's the un-sub!" he said urgently. There was creaking noise followed by a loud smack of wood against wood that made them both jump. Henry took off towards the back of the house and Emma followed him easily, just in time to watch as Reed sprinted headlong towards the red barn. He pulled the large door open roughly and slammed it shut behind him.
The two agents ran through the night towards the barn and stopped to kneel by the corner.
Henry turned to Emma, his breath a little shallow from the adrenaline pumping through his body, "He's in there. Call David."
The blonde shook her head, "No signal – we're in the middle of nowhere, Henry."
"Damn it," he mumbled irascibly, pulling out his gun and holding it down towards the dirt, "What do you want to do?"
Emma shrugged, trying to weigh their options appropriately and finding it hard to do so. She felt a small part of her mind whisper treacherously that if she'd taken Killian instead, she'd have no problem deciding and that even if she did, he would know what to do. It wasn't that she had a problem with the kid – but it was a lot easier to take a risk when your partner was someone like Killian.
Evidently, Henry decided for her, standing up and walking towards the back of the barn before she could protest.
"You stay here – I'll go around back. David knows we're here and he'll come looking for us. We'll just wait him out," he explained diplomatically, shrugging before jogging around the corner and out of Emma's sight. She sighed and shook her head, locking her eyes onto the barn door and listening intently for any signs of someone approaching.
"Emma!" Henry called lightly, his voice just reaching her, "Emma, he's gone out back!"
The blonde rolled her eyes in exasperation and began to turn around when there was a large squeaking noise. Emma pivoted rapidly on the spot, automatically aiming her gun only to find the barn door had swung open.
Stomach churning, adrenaline pumping, she walked carefully towards the large entrance.
There was no light inside the barn, the only area visible the rectangular patch of light cast about by the house's porch. Blackness coated the edges of the barn and she could hear the ominous whine of rusted metal swaying in the night breeze.
Her gun held aloft, Emma scrutinized the shadows in vain, walking ever so slightly forward into the barn.
She stepped further in and could just make out metal chains hanging from some wooden structure to her right, the feint tinkling causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin. She shivered involuntarily and mentally shook herself; she'd seen and dealt with a lot of heinous things in her life – a dark barn wasn't about to get the best of her.
Emma realised with a self-effacing exhale of mixed relief and embarrassment that she had a small torch in her pocket. Maintaining her gun's position with her right hand, she reached into her back pocket with her left and pulled the cylindrical device out in front of her.
As it clicked on, a beam of white light shot forward and illuminated the weathered red panels of the back wall of the barn.
She took another step forward and there was the sickening sound of her boot landing in something thick and sticky. Emma's eyes flitted down, followed by the torch light, to where her shoe had landed in a copious puddle of blood. But it wasn't simply a puddle, it was a long stream.
Identifying this, Emma swallowed and followed the line of blood with the torch to where it ended at a red-soaked mattress. There was something unidentifiable atop the crimson bed and the blonde had to force herself to swallow again as she just barely recognized what appeared to be the ravaged flesh of a head, torso and limbs. Bile rose up in her throat, but the gag reflex was shut down when she heard something.
Suddenly, there was a growling sound.
Emma's head immediately snapped up, shining the torch in the direction of the noise and stumbling when it landed on a large black dog – its feral eyes locked onto hers as it pulled back its lips to reveal pink-stained teeth. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself to deal with the canine when there was another snarl to her right.
The torch revealed another black dog and a low grumble indicated a third to its left.
She took a marginal step back, her mind racing and heart beating painfully against her ribcage.
Their growls deepened and Emma stopped moving backwards, desperately trying to calm her breathing so as to think logically about the situation. Before she could even begin to arrange her thoughts, there was a loud bark and she could hear them running at her. She moved backwards, locking her sights onto the closest one and firing one, twice, three times, until she heard a strangled whimper.
But the other two were still rushing at her and she only managed to shoot the left one before the other lunged up at her.
Emma just narrowly dodged it, pivoting rapidly to engage it as it came at her again; teeth bared and claws scrambling. She walked backwards again as it stayed on the spot, hackles raised and lip curled back. It lowered its head, its glowing white eyes locked on Emma's as she moved away slowly.
She was aiming up her shot when her foot hit something soft and she tumbled backwards, a bloodcurdling scream tearing its way out of her chest. As she landed on her back, she dropped her gun and her left arm landed in a puddle of blood, coating it in the sticky substance. The dog barked piercingly and she could hear its rapid approach.
Emma pushed herself backwards, scrambling around for her gun frantically as she heard the angry animal closing in.
Her fingers searched the dirt around her, paying no mind when they came up wet.
The dog could only have been two meters away when she felt her fingertips brush something metal. Emma reached for it without thought, snatching at the firearm and pulling it up in front of her. She didn't have time to aim as she fired off another three shots in the general direction of the snarling.
There was another high-pitched keen and then silence as a limp body thudded to the ground.
She could still feel herself trembling and Emma continued to shove herself backwards until she hit the back wall of the barn, her arm scarping violently against the splintered wood. She sat up against it and tried to slow her shallow breathing, clenching her trembling fists and concentrating on the sound of her pulse pumping erratically.
Her eyes stayed locked on the front of the barn and she gripped the gun tightly in her hands, ready to aim and fire again if need be.
Emma didn't know how long she was there, sitting up against the back wall of the barn with her gun aimed at the door, ready for another onslaught. It felt like seconds but was surely longer; she didn't even register the sound of the sirens in the distance growing louder, or the car tires grinding against the dirt as they came to an abrupt halt. She didn't even hear the mass of black-clad agents approaching the barn.
It wasn't until there was a cluster of people entering the barn that she stood up of her own volition, gun at the ready as their flashlights blinded her.
Instinctively, she should have shot. But when she heard the familiar voices urging her to lower the gun, a feeling of relief washed over her like a cool shower. Emma peered into the bright flashlights until they were lowered enough for her to make out Phillip and Killian's concerned faces.
They stared at her with eyes full of worry and she let the weapon drop from her grip as her eyes flitted down to the bodies of the dogs, to where a small pool of blood had seeped from their fatal wounds.
"I had to," she murmured weakly, "I had no choice – they came at me… they tore that person apart, there's barely anything left."
The two men walked towards her warily, exchanging glances as they neared her. Killian was the first to reach her and he tucked his gun away before gently grabbing her right arm and turning her towards him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, eyes raking down her left arm covered in dried blood. She didn't respond and looked over to the person's mangled body on the mattress. He used his other hand to tilt her chin towards him, the piercing blue holding her gaze carefully.
He reiterated his question, "Emma, are you hurt?"
She shook her head and he scrutinized her one more time for good measure.
"Anthony Reed is our un-sub," she said, meeting both their eyes.
Phillip nodded, "We know."
Emma's eyes drifted to the mattress and something akin to revulsion skittered up her spine at the grisly image.
"They tore that person apart, I could barely tell –"
"Emma," Phillip said firmly, barely drawing her attention again. Evidently, she'd missed what he'd said because she'd been caught up in her own horrific observations. Emma turned to him with a vague stare and she heard Killian's voice beside her.
"Emma, look at me," he said calmly, searching her eyes and maintaining her stare, "Where's Henry?" he asked slowly, enunciating every word distinctly. If it weren't for her still hazy mind, Emma might have glared at him for such sheer condescension. But something else seemed to snap her to attention – the fog that clouded her thoughts clearing as though she'd cracked open a window.
"We split up and he went out back," she said, watching as Phillip nodded and turned to the back door of the barn. Three of the officers accompanied him out and Killian moved to stand beside Emma, placing his hand on her back and gently leading her out of the barn. She stumbled ever-so-slightly near the body of one of the dogs and his other hand gripped her upper arm firmly for support.
She concentrated on the heat of his palm as they made their way out of the dark barn, towards the ambulance van already waiting and ready.
Killian let her sit down on the back of the ambulance and obligingly backed away to give the paramedic some space. But she could still feel his eyes on her as her arm was wiped of the blood and she was checked for bite marks. When none were found but the long scrap caused by the barn's panelling the paramedic produced a bottle of disinfectant and a small cotton pad, wiping it along the scratch and prompting Emma to hiss at the burning pain.
From her spot at the ambulance van, Emma could see as Phillip approached Killian with a grim look. He said something she couldn't hear and walked back the way he'd came, the latter of the two rubbing his forehead anxiously. When a bandage had been applied to her upper arm, the paramedic took out a small torch and shined it in both of her eyes.
The blonde waited patiently for the paramedic to complete his check-up but was told to wait a moment while he checked something else.
Emma tapped her foot on the dirt irritably, her eyes tracing the brown specks of grass while she waited. She was surprised when she looked up to find Killian had moved closer with his arms folded across his broad chest.
"What's Phillip worried about?" she asked, scrutinizing him. He took a deep breath and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip nervously.
"We can't find Henry. He followed Reed into the cornfield and it looks like somebody got dragged."
8888
Once, when Emma was twelve, she'd broken her arm – and for once the injury hadn't been the result of enraging her foster parents with her 'rebellious' habits. She'd been riding her bike; more accurately, she'd been trying to ride the rusting device she'd adopted from the very back of the garage. It squeaked with every revolution of the pedals and the bell was broken. The blue paint was chipped and faded and the handles didn't have black rubber comforters.
Nevertheless, as a child she'd seized any opportunity to get out of the flawless family façade. Looking back, Emma believed that even if she hadn't found the bike, she'd have found something to preoccupy her from her life.
It was after school one day and she'd been riding the beloved, albeit broken down, bike. The asphalt road was bumpy and it took considerable effort in some areas to keep the bike from skidding to the ground. She reached the street corner that led to her house, already dreading the inevitable verbal assault she would receive for loitering around the streets so late in the afternoon.
So caught up in her own head, she didn't realize the front wheel of her bike heading towards a large black rock disguised by the ebony road.
As it hit the rock, the bike swung around and Emma lost her grip. She tried to break and lurched forward at an awkward angle. Her natural instincts were to shield herself or break her fall and thus her arms automatically stretched out in front of her.
There was a painful crunch as she landed on the road and an audible cracking sound that didn't come from the bike tumbling to the ground. There was a long moment, before she began screaming and crying for help, where she held her breath and the world was eerily silent. Her muscles were temporarily numb, her nerve endings muted as the moment extended before lighting in agonizing fire.
Emma never thought she'd feel that numbness again; the ominous feeling of silence before a hurricane of pain tore you to shreds.
But she did as she stared down at the handwritten book in her hands – Anthony Reed's diary. She'd read the page beneath her fingers four times and the words were still failing to make sense. Phillip flicked through a photo album and Killian sat opposite Emma, reading through another of the diaries.
She could hear as someone entered the house, the door creaking open and then banging shut.
The voices of two people drifted into the room and became louder as they approached. She had the two cadences marked before they even entered the room: it was David and Ruby. Their tech analyst had been flown in the moment they learned of Henry's abduction. She was all too eager to be with the team and Emma found herself thankful for the brunette's company.
As Ruby entered, her hair tied up in a high ponytail, the staple heels replaced with sensible kitten heeled Mary-Janes, Emma looked up and shut the book in her hands, earmarking the page first.
"Welcome to our nightmare," she greeted Ruby morosely.
David pointed to the room with the multitude of computer screens, "His computers are an extension of his brain – I need you to dissect them for me," he ordered. Ruby nodded ardently, her eyes flickering to each of the harried agents and landing on Emma. She gave her a small sympathetic smile just as Killian caught the crook of her elbow and pulled her lightly towards the other room.
"Come on," he urged, "I'll get you set up."
As they exited the room, David faced Phillip and Emma again, "So nothing new since I left?"
The blonde propped her elbow on the edge of the table and let the side of her head fall into her hand. She blew out a deep breath and glanced down at the diary she'd been reading.
"Well, the good thing is that he documented basically every second of his life. Bad news is – we're still un-piling," she said.
David looked around the room and his eyes landed on her, "Come on – we'll check out his bedroom." Emma nodded and pushed herself away from the table before standing up. She still felt shaky, the fatigue settling deep in her bones. From the moment Killian had told her about Henry's status she'd been unable to rest throughout the night. Even when David demanded she take a rest she had outright refused and continued working. Apparently, the look in her eyes had been enough to make the Unit Chief back down, his superiority momentarily trumped by Emma's temperament.
As she followed him into the room, the purifying sunlight slanting in through the ratty curtains, Emma found herself studying the piles of junk lining the room. She flicked briefly though each one until she landed at a small mound of papers on his bedside table.
She picked up the first thing on the pile, a piece of brown paper that had been folded over and flattened it out. It was a list of numbers and, judging by the titles, they were for narcotics anonymous groups. Emma turned to where David was studying the floral wallpaper and held the small sheet aloft.
"Hey, I've got a list of narcotics anonymous groups," she turned the page over. There was a name and number scribbled almost unintelligibly, "There's also a name and number on the back."
"Try it," he said absentmindedly and she walked closer to him to see what he was doing. His finger traced a strange line up the wall to where it curved off. The wallpaper appeared to be loose and David fingered the small triangular edge idly before both their eyes landed on something beneath it. There was feint grey handwriting.
Emma sidled up to the Unit Chief, watching as he pulled back the fraying edge with a satisfying 'schlick.' The surface beneath it was a dull yellow; but it was the continuous writing that made them both gasp. The elegant cursive ran in uniform lines across the wall. David read the lines as his fingertips ghosted over the foreign dialect.
Honora patrem tuum.
"Honour thy father."
Non furtum facies.
"Thou shalt not steal."
Facies: Non adulterabis.
"Thou shalt not commit adultery."
Emma's head spun, "Is that Latin?" she frowned at the wall and David nodded in reply. They both started when Killian's voice came from outside the house.
"Hey guys! I think I found something!" he called and David and Emma were both snapped immediately to attention, jogging from the room and out of the house. They followed his voice to the side of the structure, near the window that Henry had looked in through. The edge of the house was surrounded by piles of hay, heaped up in a way that masked anything that might lie on the ground beneath. Killian was kicking away some of the hay as they moved towards him, his foot hitting wood when he stumbled slightly. There appeared to be a wooden cellar underneath the house. When the majority of the hay was clear, Killian stood in front of the two wooden flaps, preparing to open them and descend into the basement.
As they closed in on him, drawing their own weapons, he opened one of the latches and called out, "Anthony Reed, FBI." Dead leaves on the ground were swept up by the wind and fell down onto the stairs leading into the dark crevice.
Killian turned to David for instruction, and the latter nodded for him to proceed.
He took the first step down, his flashlight turned on. Emma followed behind them and was relieved when her partner found a light switch and decided to flick it. Light bulbs overhead illuminated the small space and the blonde shivered at the decided drop in temperature. The source of which, she saw, was the large ice blocks lining the walls.
She almost didn't notice the slumped over figure sitting down against the wall to her left.
Killian was the first to turn, his cerualean eyes landing firmly on the man and walking closer.
"Anthony Reed, FBI," he repeated loudly, his flashlight still locked onto the person's head. The three of them moved towards him and the smell that wafted into Emma's nostrils made her gag. She lowered her gun to shield her nose with her arm.
David and Killian let their weapons drift down as well as the former kneeled in front of the hunched figure. Now closer, Emma could see the purplish tint to his skin and the deep red – almost black – bullet wound in Owen Reed's – Anthony's father's – forehead.
8888
It was late afternoon when Officer Ford's squad car pulled up and Emma almost launched herself from her seat when she heard the vehicle's engine cut out. She'd been reading the un-sub's diaries all day and the scrawled handwriting had started meshing into endless lines, incapable of being processed by her numbed brain. She set the weathered book face-down, keeping her place and calmly pushing away from the table.
Killian set down the diary he was reading too and followed Emma out of the house. They had reached the front porch when Officer Ford stepped out of his car. Emma and Killian descended the small staircase to meet him halfway and the former was immediately begging for information.
"Did they find anything?" she asked, unable to stop the desperate lilt to her tone.
Officer Ford shoved his hands in the pockets of his police jacket, "The coroner put Owen Reed's death at approximately six months ago." Killian chewed his bottom lip in thought before looking around them, realization dawning on his face.
"That must have been the stressor," he said.
The man in front of them frowned, his face resembling crumpled bed-sheets, "Stressor?"
Emma subdued the urge to insist he concisely divulge any other information, her patience wearing thin despite the lack of actual time lost. She was finding it awfully hard to think straight and bit down on her lip as Killian explained.
"His father's death is probably what set him off – what we need to do is focus on that time period, see what was going on in his life and maybe we can get a key to where he's hiding out," he said. Officer Ford nodded in understanding and was silent, evidently sucked dry of the little information he had. Emma held her tongue and whipped around, wasting no time with pleasantries as she marched back to the house. Killian's footfalls were loud enough that she could hear him more than feel his presence as he sidled up to her.
"You realise he's trying to help?" he commented lightly.
Emma didn't look at him but her gaze narrowed, "Not if he's wasting our time."
She felt his hand grasp her upper arm and she stopped to face him, eyes alight with a mixture of contradicting emotions. He scrutinized her heavily for a long moment, something akin to concern blinking in the icy blue depths before being snuffed out as she ripped her arm away.
"Don't snap at me," he said softly.
"I'm not – but we don't have all day to explain BAU terminology to half-wits while Henry's still God-knows-where with that fucking psycho!" she replied in a harsh whisper, not wanting her teammates in the next room to overhear.
The silence was stifling as they held each other's stare, until finally a look of understanding and resignation clicked in her partner's eyes.
"Have you checked out that name and number you found in Reed's room yet?" he asked, the change of topic his way of throwing out a life boat in the stormy sea that was their friendship. Emma thankfully grabbed a hold of it, shaking her head in return. The blonde had yet to check out the owner of the details, too consumed by translating the ramblings of Anthony Reed to spare a second thought since that morning.
"Well, how about you and Phillip go check it out?" he suggested, looking to the door that led to the next room, "It'd probably do you some good to get away from here for an hour or two."
To her great dismay, Emma found herself agreeing with him, nodding feebly and pushing her hair behind her ears. She didn't meet his eyes again as she stepped around him and into the other room, instantly seeking out the British member of their team. He was looking around the room when she entered; his glasses perched on his nose.
"Phillip," she called, requesting his attention and motioning outside when he looked up, "Want to come check out a lead?"
He nodded, taking off his spectacles and folding them as he walked towards her. As he did, Killian passed through the door, his chest brushing up against her back marginally as he slid through and resumed his previous position at the table. He didn't look up once as she left with Phillip.
8888
Michael Caldwell lived in a house similar to Anthony Reed's. But, where the paint on the latters' wooden panels was chipping, the former's appeared recently painted and where Reed's front porch was cluttered by an assortment of boxes and paper, Caldwell's deck was relatively clear of junk – save for a dirtied old rocking chair that Emma would bet had once been burdened by termites.
She eyed the house as it came into view, the car moving at a slow pace up the long dirt driveway. Phillip was driving and he too seemed to be sizing up the house. Although, his purpose was likely less tedious than hers, he was presumably making notes about the personality of the inhabitant based on the state of the house. From around the side of the house a man appeared with an axe in hand. He cocked his head to the side when he saw them and dropped the large object, leaning against the house and wiping his hands.
Phillip and Emma shared an apprehensive look before stopping the car and stepping out.
The man walked up to them, his eyes squinted shut against the afternoon sun.
"How can I help ya?" he asked brightly, shading his eyes with his palm so he could take a good look at them both. When the blonde scanned over his figure, she felt herself relax. There were wood chips clinging to his sun-faded jeans and the way he spoke and carried himself screamed self-deprecation.
She glanced at her teammate next to her and was unsurprised to see he had apparently made the same observations.
Phillip extended his hand with a warm smile, "I'm Agent Perrault and this is Agent Swan. We're from the FBI and we were wondering if we could speak to Michael Caldwell?"
The man smiled and returned the friendly gesture, "I'm him. What d'ya need?"
"We'd just like to ask you a few questions," Emma replied succinctly. Mr Caldwell chuckled and scratched the top of his head, mussing the long stringy grey hair that rested there.
"I don't remember having committed any crimes recently," he commented light-heartedly, clearing attempting to make a joke. Phillip chortled under his breath as Emma remained stoic, unmoved by the man's clear effort to break the ice. She would feel bad for making him uncomfortable if she weren't so consumed with keeping her emotions categorically in check.
Phillip gave Emma a look before talking to Mr Caldwell, "Do you remember this?" He pulled out the brown piece of paper that the blonde had handed him in the car and placed it in the calloused palm of the man in front of them. Mr Caldwell unfolded it and smiled ruefully.
"Anthony Reed… I haven't thought about that boy in about ten years," he said nostalgically, giving it back to Phillip.
"Are the two of you in a program together?" Emma asked, cocking her head to the side.
He shook his head, "No, but we were. That right there is ten years old," he replied, pointing a dirt-stained finger at the page Phillip was folding into his back pocket again.
"Okay," Emma said slowly, "so you were in a program together?"
He shrugged, "I think he should be the one to tell ya, but yeah I was his sponsor – small town, we all get lumped together. I was just a drunk but Anthony? He was somethin' else."
"What was Reed's drug of choice?" Phillip inquired.
"Dilaudid."
Emma looked up with a frown, "Drug store heroin?"
Michael nodded, "He used to cut it with a psychedelic." The man paused and shook his head regretfully, scratching the back of his neck, "That boy was looking to get as far away from reality as possible. Addicts don't get excuses but… if anyone ever needed to be self-medicated, it was him."
"Why's that?" Phillip asked.
"You know anything about his Dad?" he countered with a dark look. Emma recalled their conversation earlier that day where they'd discussed the older man's death. Anthony Reed had a gun on the property that looked like it corresponded to that which was used on Owen Reed.
"We think Anthony may have murdered his father," Emma replied.
To their surprise, the dark look evaporated – replaced by satisfaction and unmasked delight. He smirked slightly and chuckled, "Good for him." Evidently, Emma and Phillip's combined expressions of confusion registered with Mr Caldwell because he continued speaking.
"Anthony's momma ran off with another man when he was seven – made his dad go section eight. Owen started preaching about crazy shit, apocalypse and doom. He beat Anthony silly, he even burned a cross into the poor boys forehead when he was ten. And if Anthony wore a hat, he'd beat him more."
Emma found herself inadvertently sympathizing with him, having suffered similar abuse in the foster system. She hated empathizing with a man who had killed three people but she had no control over the emotion flooding her brain. Every cell within her wanted to deny the way her considerations softened with this new information, so she ignored it and concentrated on situation before her.
"Does he have anyone he could turn to if he was on the run?" she asked, moving some hair out of her eyes.
"As far as I know, he never left home," he replied genuinely, eyeing them both apologetically. Emma turned to leave and Phillip stayed rooted to the spot, nodding as a means of gratitude and goodbye. She jumped into the car, putting on her seatbelt and pulling out her phone to text David the update. The driver's side door opened and Phillip sat down and started the car.
They drove back down the road and Emma put her phone away, all the while feeling the agent beside her glance every so often at her. When they reached the main road, a large stretch of asphalt that would take them all the way to the Reed Ranch, she turned to look at him.
"What's on your mind Phillip?" she asked dryly, bypassing the subtleties of preamble.
He glanced at her again and took a deep breath, almost as though he were readying himself, "How are you feeling?"
She frowned, her lip pulling into a tight line, "Um… fine? Why?"
"I'm the psychological expert on the team – I thought it might be prudent for me to check up on you since you suffered what many would consider a traumatic experience last night," he explained calmly, looking at her again. Emma rolled her eyes and looked out the window, shaking her head despite the cacophony in her head at the mention of the barn.
Flashes of the dogs running at her, trying to maul her, launching at her; the lump of flesh that had once been a woman; the darkness and silence that closed in around her when her shots had all been fired. Like a silent and rapid motion picture behind her lids as she blinked.
"I'm fine – we deal with this sort of stuff all the time," she lied.
Phillip raised an eyebrow to nothing in particular, keeping his eyes on the road, "Emma, this is Henry. This isn't just another case."
For some reason, the way he said it – almost accusing – set her teeth on edge. She turned to him with uncharacteristic sharpness (or at least, it was unusual for her to display animosity towards him).
"You don't think I know that?" she hissed angrily, her eyes widening in disbelief.
He shook his head desperately, "No, no! Emma… I just – you're under a lot of stress right now. I'm just making sure you're dealing with is okay. It's what friends do."
Emma leaned back into her seat, shaking her head and sighing. She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, realizing her mistake in antagonizing Phillip. This was the same guy who'd asked permission to hug her on her birthday because he knew she was unaccustomed to physical displays of emotion, the same guy who had cried on his first case where children had been killed, the same guy who had timidly asked her if she would mind driving him home when his car had broken down in their first week as teammates.
Phillip wasn't her enemy and he wasn't intentionally prying. He was just being Phillip.
She turned her head to look at him, guilt knotting in her abdomen as she observed his hurt expression.
"Sorry Phillip… but I am okay. I just really want to get to Henry," Emma murmured.
Phillip smiled half-heartedly, "We all do."
8888
When they re-entered the room where they'd set up a makeshift HQ, Emma walked straight towards the pin-board, tacking the list of narcotics anonymous numbers to it. Everyone had shifted around, David was standing at the head of the small dining table rifling through pictures and Killian and Ruby were absent – most likely in the allocated tech headquarters. David looked up when they entered and set down the photographs in his hands.
"Any luck with the lead?" he asked.
Phillip nodded, "It was Anthony's narcotics anonymous sponsor. He didn't give us any idea where Henry is being held but we did learn that he had a serious drug problem that was likely a result of severe abuse at the hands of his father."
"Drug of choice – Dilaudid," Emma pitched in, turning around once she'd successfully placed the sheet on the pin board.
David nodded solemnly, folding his arms across his chest, "Well that would explain the psychotic fracture that caused him to split his personalities in two. Judging by his diary entries, he was a singular unit up until his father became ill and demanded Anthony kill him. Unable to handle the contradictions with his morals, his mind split into two personalities to deal with it; Anthony and Gabriel the archangel."
"So he did kill his father?" the blonde clarified.
"Yes, he wrote it in his diary."
Just then, Officer Ford entered the small room. And, as per usual, his face was set in a mask of grim anticipation. Emma was going to hang a bell around his neck soon so they would be able to hear whenever bad news was coming.
"Well this could be some bad news," he said, making Emma scoff silently at the irony considering her prior thoughts, "A computer store was robbed in the middle of the night closer to the suburbs. The thief got away with four laptops – external hard drives – and a satellite."
"If its Anthony, it puts him right back in business," Phillip said morosely, rubbing his brow.
They all exchanged an exasperated look and Emma pulled out a chair at the table to sit down when Killian's voice, frantic and worried, rang loud and clear from the room next-door.
"Guys! Guys!" he called, his footsteps echoing as he clearly moved towards the door, "Get in here!" He appeared in the archway, the look of concern in his eyes making the blonde's chest turn to stone as a heavy weight slipped into the pits of her stomach. They stood up, all but running into the room and staring at the screen.
And as Emma made her way to stand behind Ruby's chair, she felt her heart seize up and stop beating.
Every single one of the dozen computer monitors set up before them displayed the same live stream. It was a dark room, neglected wooden floorboards and walls – it looked like an abandoned shed. But there was nothing unique, no feature that could be exploited for a location. But that wasn't the element of the frame that made Emma's mind stop buzzing and her eyes widen in horror.
Tied to a chair in the center of the rundown wooden room, head lolling forwards in exhaustion, bruises littering the exposed skin, eyes fluttering lightly in semi-consciousness, was Henry.
"Oh my god," Ruby murmured, disturbed.
"He's been beaten," Phillip observed grimly, studying the image on the screen.
Emma stood in shocked silence for a moment before she forced herself to think rationally. She turned to Ruby, her expression obviously manic – but she was far too disturbed by the matter at hand to care that she was broadcasting her emotions.
"Can you track the video?" she asked.
Ruby met Emma's gaze regretfully, "He's only streaming this video to his home computer."
David's brows drew together and his eyes hardened, "This is for us. He knows we're here."
Killian growled, shaking his head as fire flashed in his eyes, "I want this guy's head on a bloody stick."
"Why can't you track it?" Emma asked again, her eyes darting between each of the screens and the exact same image on each one. Ruby shook her head, typing erratically at the keyboard.
"He's rerouting to a different IP address every thirty seconds – I can't track him."
Suddenly, there was a deep voice coming from the video – somewhere behind the camera that was out of sight. Henry looked up at the sound, his eyes landing on the man. Emma felt herself grimace when she saw Henry flinch at the sound of the voice – she didn't want to know why.
"You can really see inside men's minds?" the voice said, "See these vermin? Choose one to die and I'll let you choose one to live."
On the screen, the young agent shook his head softly, a barely audible "No," escaping his lips.
"I thought you wanted to be some kind of saviour," the voice roared, the back of a man coming into view on the left of the screen.
Henry's eyes stayed on the man as he spoke, his voice broken and cracked, "You're a sadist who's had a psychotic break. You won't stop killing and your word's not true." There was a pregnant pause before the man stepped closer again, his full silhouette blocking Henry from view. He pointed to the camera and began walking around the back of the chair.
"The other heathens are watching," he said and Henry's eyes instantaneously flickered up to the camera. Emma's breath caught in her throat, feeling as though the young agent were staring right at her. He let his gaze drop back to the floor as who could only be Gabriel strode back around to stand before him.
"Choose a person to die and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved," he said.
There was another pause before Henry looked up at Gabriel, chin held defiantly despite the obvious fear he felt. Always such a brave kid.
"I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave the remains behind like a poacher," he said, glancing at the camera twice. Emma watched the screen intently, wishing just this once that Henry wasn't so pure of heart, that he wasn't so defiant and stubborn. She didn't care that choosing would mean an inevitable death, in that moment she wanted him to co-operate – she wanted him to survive.
There was a growl from the monitor as Gabriel lent down and grasped Henry's shoulders, jerking him roughly up off the chair and hissing into his terrified face, "You really seen in my mind boy? Than you should see I'm not a liar!"
Henry's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Emma's throat dried up at the look on his face.
"Choose one to live and one to die – or else they'll all die." He dropped Henry back into the chair with a resounding crack, and the young agent winced. Again; silence except for the sound of Henry's deep breathing.
And then, "No."
Emma watched as Gabriel's arm rose up and fell, striking him in the face so he nearly fell off the chair. Ruby gasped, her hand moving to cover her mouth as Killian growled a deep primal sound. Henry pulled himself back up and the man delivered another blow, making him cry out in pain as he keeled over on the seat. Emma felt as though with each strike she was being stabbed in the abdomen, the knife twisting with each pained breath of their youngest agent.
Gabriel raised his hand to strike again and faltered, lowering it and jerking out Henry's arm. He saw something there and spat in disgust.
"You're pitiful, just like Anthony." He let go of Henry's arm and paced towards the camera, eyes glowering with animal rage. Emma felt fear well up in her chest, expanding so that she felt like she might burst as Gabriel pivoted and walked angrily back to Henry.
"This ends now. Confess your sins."
Henry retracted into the chair, his face betraying the terror he felt. When silence met Gabriel's demand, he struck the young man once. He coughed and spat something onto the floor – and Emma blanched when she realised what it was: blood.
"Confess!" Gabriel roared, hitting him again.
Henry's voice broke, "I haven't done anything!" he insisted, looking up at his attacker with pleading eyes. "Anthony – Anthony please," he murmured.
Emma felt her heart break in two, especially when Gabriel loomed threateningly over Henry, "He can't help you! He's too weak!" Henry's strangled cry reverberated in the depths of Emma's bones and she felt herself begin to shake, her hands clenching tightly over the back of Ruby's chair.
"Confess!" he bellowed, so loud it almost echoed in the small room. Emma didn't have to hear his reply to know he'd refused, nor did she need to watch the screen to know what would come next. Gabriel's fist moved upwards this time, knocking Henry in the chin and sending the chair back. They all gasped when the furniture hit the floor, along with their teammate.
Suddenly, Henry's chest started to heave, his breath coming out irregularly as his body writhed on the ground. His mouth formed a large 'O' as he struggled for breath, the sound that escaped his throat making Emma's own breathing increase. Her eyes were glued to the screen, unable to look away as Henry began to have a fit. She gripped the back of the chair tighter, her gaze darting between the young agent and his captor looking down at him with disgust. Distantly, she registered a hand landing comfortingly on her shoulder but she had no attention to disperse.
Ruby's voice came from in front of her, hushed and frantic, "He's killing him."
Henry's body lifted up off the ground again, and then, with a resounding thud, his back hit the floor and he stopped moving. His eyes rolled back, his head shaking from side to side in tight feverish movements. And then he was still and Emma felt like the world had collapsed in on itself.
She watched as Gabriel left the room, slamming the door shut on his way out.
She didn't look away from Henry's motionless body, even as she felt the hand on her shoulder tighten and try to pull her back. In the chair in front of her, Ruby didn't move though judging by the sound of her breathing, she was on the verge of a panic attack.
The grip on her shoulder tightened again and was harsher when it pulled back and Emma still held onto the chair. She couldn't look away; she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.
"Emma," someone said to her left, drawing a morsel of her attention.
He would get up. He had to get up.
This time, when the grip on her arm tried to pull her back she jerked herself away sharply. And it was as though she'd jarred herself back to reality and it dawned on her that it wasn't Ruby who was hyperventilating – but her. Emma's breaths were quick and shallow and her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen.
She turned to her left and realized it had been Killian whose hand had landed on her shoulder and he put his hand on it again as she faced him.
"Emma, calm down – breathe," he instructed futilely.
Emma shook her head, attempting to enlist his suggestion but finding herself unable to force the air in and out with the mantra in her head that Henry could be dead. David was beside her partner, his concerned gaze flickering between her and the screen until eventually it stayed locked on the screen.
Emma followed his gaze, as did Killian and her heart picked up in pace when she saw what was there.
The man had re-entered the room and was now frantically applying CPR on Henry. The seconds ticked by and silence encased the room. It looked like Anthony had returned, having taken over from Gabriel with all his compassion and sympathy. He beat at Henry's chest periodically, blowing air into his lungs with what appeared to be a knowledgeable technique.
Anthony continued to work until, mercifully, as he moved his hands to repeat the pressing pattern, Henry's chest heaved of its own accord and he sucked in a deep breath, coughing and spluttering.
Emma nearly fell down with relief, only to remind herself that they weren't out of the woods yet – a fact that was reinforced when Anthony stood up and his posture changed dramatically. Gabriel was back.
"You came back to life," the man said impassively.
Henry coughed, "I was given CPR," he replied with great effort.
Gabriel shook his head.
"There are no accidents – how many people are on your team?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
Henry closed his eyes in thought, "Six."
Gabriel frowned, "There's supposed to be seven – but perhaps one of you was defeated… The seven angels who ride the seven trumpets –"
"He thinks we're the seven archangels," David said, momentarily drawing Emma's attention away from the muted ravings of the man on screen. Her eyes stayed on Henry's frail form, but she tuned into the conversation behind her.
"The seven angels of death," Phillip whispered.
Gabriel pushed Henry's chair back into position with him still on it, his head lolling forward tiredly. He grimaced in pain, rolling his shoulders ever-so-slightly and biting down on his lip.
"Tell me who you serve," Gabriel said in a commanding voice. Emma waited for Henry to respond, hoping desperately that he would understand what the un-sub was asking and answer correctly. He wasn't likely to get two second chances.
"I serve you," he murmured, lifting his head and watching Gabriel.
"Then choose one to die."
Henry's eyes widened and he recoiled, "What?"
"One of your team-members – choose one to die," he said, unforgiving and unrelenting.
Emma stiffened as the command resounded in her head – choose one to die. Henry – sweet, loving, naïve Henry – being told to select one of the people he cared about most for death. If he'd been determined before when Gabriel had demanded he choose a stranger, he was immovable now.
Henry's chin jutted out defiantly – you wouldn't know that he'd just escaped death by the skin of his teeth, "No."
Gabriel shook his head, "You said you weren't one of them."
"I lied."
"Tell me who dies," the man repeated, unperturbed by the young man's resolve.
"No."
Gabriel's arm moved behind him and with one fluid movement he produced a small firearm from his side. He loaded the revolver with one bullet and spun it, clicking it into place before lifting the gun to Henry's head. The safety clicked as Gabriel pulled it back, "Choose."
Probably don't even need to ask but... review?
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