When the Levee Breaks

Pain makes man think. Thought makes man wise. Wisdom makes life endurable.

John Patrick

SEVENTEEN

Hotch had decided that 8am was an appropriate time to start questioning witnesses. So at 7.45, he, Rossi and Reid left the police station in separate vehicles, each with a list of people to talk to. Morgan had all but begged Hotch to let him tag along, but Hotch had adamantly refused.

'I'll be in enough trouble for bringing Reid back four days early.' Of course, it wasn't just his job that he was afraid of. Morgan was taking the ordeal hard – harder than the rest of them – and it wasn't surprising.

There was little to do at the police station. For lack of anything else to do, Morgan, JJ and Garcia attempted to narrow down the suspect list through trial and error.

'Take out anyone who isn't in the trace radius,' commanded Morgan, with a little more discourtesy than he usually showed Garcia. The technical analyst didn't seem to notice as she tapped at the laptop keyboard.

'Take out anyone who isn't a white male, between 25 and 35, and living alone.' Tap tap.

'Okay, now take out all those who are in occupations of some authority.' Tap tap.

'Marital status,' pointed out JJ.

'Okay, take out all the ones who are married or are living with someone.' Tap tap.

'Now cross reference that list with the witness list.' Tap tap.

'Bupkis.'

So they went back to the beginning, and tried another search parameter. It was a process that continued well into the afternoon.

Hotch badged his way into the first place of employment on the list. Reid had taken the list of victims, and Rossi had once again returned to Steven Carmichaels' apartment building. A tired-looking secretary looked at the badge with admiration.

'You're Bert Bay's secretary?'

'Was,' she corrected. 'Now that Bert's gone all loopy I've been running errands all over the office. This is the first time in days that I've had to just...sit.' She seemed relieved at the distraction.

'Have you been questioned before regarding Bert's disappearance?' asked Hotch, frowning. After Steven Carmichael's death, they had neglected to follow up on the previous seven victims. This name came up on the list not as someone who Emily had previously questioned, but as someone that should have been questioned but hadn't been. It was his own ineptitude that he was frowning at.

'By the local detectives, sure. I couldn't tell them much; I'd been off sick for a week. Flu, you know?' Hotch nodded.

'They had some temp guy come in. Matt, something, I think. They questioned him too.'

'Bert was a good boss?'

'Yeah, I guess. He could be a little weird if you didn't know him that well. He comes on a little strong, you know? A hell of a lot better than most people I've worked for, though, I can tell you that.'

Hotch nodded again. There was nothing more for him to ask here. He had a long list of people to get through, and he didn't know how long Emily could hold out.

When she first regained consciousness, she thought he had stopped the torture. Even a ten minute break she would have been grateful of. After a second, though, she felt the drop of water strike her forehead. She almost found it intriguing; of all the vast types of torture he could have chosen, he chose this one. Traditionally, it was not particularly painful, but instead designed to send the victim insane.

Though she hadn't experienced this type of torture before, she could see how it would become unbearable after a while. It was strange though, that the unsub would rely on a rather passive technique – one that he didn't seem to be controlling. She thought he might have been asleep again – that she had been unconscious longer than she'd thought. Her ribs were aching, and if she glanced down, she could see that they were bruised heavily at best, broken at worst. She knew if she tried to move, the pain would only increase.

He might have been at work, she rationalised. It was certainly the more desirable option, though neither was particularly heart-warming. At least, then, she knew that she had only been unconscious for a few hours at most.

She closed her eyes and cringed, as the next drop of water struck her in the forehead.

A/N: Okay. Well, I realised this chapter that I'd completely forgotten to have them question the workplaces, so I wrote it off as something else for Hotch to feel guilty about rather than my own shortcomings. We're building up to an ultimatum, and I'm thinking about a sequel, albeit one of a very different tone. Tell me what you think. Peace out, tfm.