When the Levee Breaks

Do not protect yourself by a fence, but rather by your friends.

Czech Proverb

THREE

Between the seven victims, almost fourteen hours of video footage had been recorded.

'That's not much, considering he had some of them for more than two weeks.' Rossi pulled a chair over to one of the laptops, video ready to start. 'Almost as if he's whetting our appetites. Wants to make us beg for the good stuff.'

'We haven't even watched the footage yet,' pointed out Hotch, adjusting his headphones. Since the explosion, his hearing had slowly been on the mend. Still, too loud, and he could damage his ears permanently.

Rossi took note of this. 'You could have had Morgan watch the footage. Or Prentiss. Hell, even JJ could have. We can't function properly as a team if you lose your hearing.'

'It's fine, Dave.'

'They don't need mothering.' Rossi easily picked up on what was left unsaid. Hotch may have been enigmatic at times, but Rossi had long since learned to read the younger man's behaviour.

At that moment JJ entered with one of the Ridgeview Detectives. The conference room's whiteboard had been spirited away by someone, and finding it had been detective work in itself.

'One of the IT guys had it,' explained Detective Mitch Walters. 'He was trying to show the front desk folks why it's not a good idea to keep personal data on the hard-drives.' Hotch nodded, and took the opportunity to begin watching the footage. Rossi soon followed suit.

Morgan's knuckles rapped on an immaculately painted front door. Everything about the house was immaculate, really. No toys in the yard, grass neatly trimmed, garden perpendicular to the footpath. It was almost depressing to realise that however perfect it looked on the outside, the occupants themselves were irreparably damaged.

'Hello?' The door opened a crack, and a wary eye peered out. The security chain was fastened shut, in spite of the fact that it was only 4 in the afternoon.

'SSA Morgan, this is SSA Prentiss. We're with the FBI.' They had chosen to conduct the interviews together. While it would take longer, it was more thorough, and it wasn't as though they had anything else to do that night.

The security chain unfastened, and the door opened fully. The wary eye became a wary woman. She looked exhausted, which was understandable. No-one could ever really sleep again after what had happened.

'Mrs. Bay?' The wary woman nodded. 'We're investigating your husband's kidnapping – would we be able to come in?'

Mrs. Bay nodded almost reluctantly, stepping back to allow them inside. Inside was just as perfect as outside; neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bay had properly left the house in quite a while, and the surplus of time had quite obviously been spent ensuring that every single corner of the house was dust free.

She offered them tea, or coffee, or water, or biscuits, or anything else that they might desire, all in a rambling sentence that seemed to go on forever.

'I'm fine, thank you,' smiled Prentiss. Morgan similarly declined.

'I understand you've told the local police about the ordeal, ma'am, but we need to hear it from you again.'

Mrs. Bay nodded glumly, and grasped at Morgan's proffered hand. If she hadn't, then it seemed likely that she might have gotten up to start cleaning in the middle of their conversation.

'It was almost four months ago. Bert – my husband – he was taking out the trash, and then...gone. I didn't even hear anything. At first I thought he might have stormed off – we'd been arguing a bit earlier that night, but I thought he had cooled down. I called his office – that's where he goes when he's feeling angry. I think all the work calms him down. He wasn't there. I called again the next morning, and his secretary – Shelley – told me she hadn't seen him in a week, but she'd been on leave, so that wasn't unusual. And then I called the barber's, because he'd been considering cutting his hair, but he wasn't there. I called his sister – she lives a few miles away with her son – but she hadn't seen him either. I called a few more people – I have a list here somewhere – but none of them had seen Bert.'

'Is that when you called the police?'

'Yes – I told them that he wouldn't just run off like this, that something must have happened. They wrote down everything I said, and they promised they'd get back to me. Two weeks later, and they still weren't any closer to finding him. Then suddenly I see Bert walking – stumbling up the front path – I'd been trimming the hedges that morning, and I still hadn't raked up the debris, so he got it all over his feet. I called an ambulance, and I called the police, and they came, and they took Bert to hospital, and they said that he'd been tortured, and I told them I didn't want to know the details, and a week later I brought Bert back home with me, but he hasn't really been the same since. He lies in bed all day. Not talking, not doing anything. He just lies there. He was fired, too. They can't do anything with a lawyer that doesn't come in to work. I've been keeping us afloat on my salary, but I only work three days a week, and I have to take care of Bert, so it's tough.' She grasped Morgan's hand a little tighter.

'Would it be okay if we talked to Bert?' asked Prentiss cautiously. To really get some insight into their unsub, they needed to talk to the victims, not just the families.

Mrs. Bay nodded. 'He's upstairs – third bedroom on the left. I've kept the curtains open, because I think he likes the afternoon sun. It makes him feel safer. The people at the hospital told me he wasn't a danger to anyone else, so I could keep him here. Otherwise I'd have to have him in an institution, and I don't think he would have liked that.'

'I'll stay with Mrs. Bay,' Morgan responded to Prentiss's questioning glance.

'Please, call me Sarah.' Prentiss heard as she transcended the staircase. 'My great-aunt's name was Sarah, but my mother li...' The voice trailed into dulled sounds, muffled by distance. It was quieter upstairs. A strange sense of emptiness that could not even be punctured by Bert's presence.

The door of the third bedroom on the left was wide open. Sun shone through the windows, making the large, bright room seem even larger and brighter. Bert – the sole occupant of the bed – did not seem to mind. He lay there, stared at the ceiling, an empty gaze on his face.

'Mr. Bay?' called Prentiss. He did not seem to stir. 'Bert?' she tried.

She walked up to the bed, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. 'Bert? My name is Emily. I'm with the FBI.'

He had processed at least a little bit of the last sentence. His name, perhaps, and maybe hers. He looked up at her.

'Has he taken you too? Is he making you see things? Do you feel the cold?'

'Yes,' she told him, trying to encourage him to keep talking.

'He makes me see my wife. I see her, and I...I know it's not her. It's him, trying to hurt me even more. Don't give into it. Everything will be okay. It'll be okay.' He broke off, and went back to staring at the ceiling. Disconnected from the world around him.

Prentiss looked down at Bert, but did not smile. 'Everything will be okay,' she repeated, though she wasn't really sure if she believed it.

Edit for A/N: To that concerned reviewer (and other concerned readers), yes, Reid will be coming in at one point, but I'm not quite sure when. To explain, I didn't want to make his psychological issues too paramount, so I'll bring him in at a point where everyone is so on edge that he'll just fit right in. Be reassured in the fact that I am not doing this to punish Reid. I love Reid, I just don't need him right now.