A/N: Oh, we are so very close now.. Beta read by the Gublerific editor frog!
!! WARNING !! Character death in this chapter! If you don't like it, don't read it! And don't flame me! You have been warned!!
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Hotch's hands were shaking as he held the gun tightly. His entire reality was falling apart before his eyes. It was like he was caught in some deranged fantasy, concocted by some devious mind whose equal could only be found in the deepest part of the fiery pits of hell.
Wiping a tear of fright from his cheek, he followed his former colleague into the living room, where the first victim, Emily, had been claimed.
Gideon was also shaking. The events in this house, taking place only over the period of a few hours had shaken him to his very core. This was not what he had planned on happening when he went to sleep the night before. As he stopped in front of the barred window, he let out a deep sigh.
"What is going to happen now? I mean, is the house going to explode, or what? We're both here and neither of us is the killer."
He shook his head and wiped the forming beads of sweat from his brow.
"Wouldn't that defeat the purpouse of us being here, Gideon?" Hotch didn't even look at his former colleague as he spoke.
Gideon turned to him, a questioning look in his eyes. "What?"
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Hotch's voice trembled as he raised his eyes to meet those of his former friend and co-worker.
"Hotch, what are you talking about?" Hearing the tone of Hotch's voice, Gideon didn't want to believe it.
"I'm a profiler, Gideon. I'm not an idiot."
"Hotch, you can't possibly believe...?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore!" Hotch screamed through his tears. He leaned on the bloodied couch where Emily had died. Breathing deeply, he tried frantically to regain control of his mind; of the entire situation.
He failed miserably.
Raising the gun towards his former subordinate, a slightly desperate look came over his eyes. The barrel of the Glock darted around in front of him as he tried to get a clear aim at the man before him.
Gideon raised his hands in front of his head, still holding the Desert Eagle in his right one. "Hotch, please..."
"Be quiet and listen to me!" Still screaming, the superior moved around the couch on shaking legs. "Why, Gideon?"
"Hotch, I didn't..."
"Enough!"
Gideon saw his former colleague losing it; and losing it badly. It was understandable after all that had happened in this house. He knew he had to calm Hotch down.
I have to get the gun away from him.
"Hotch, listen to me. This is what they want. They want us to turn on each other!"
Hotch wiped away more tears from his eyes, still aiming his gun at the older man in front of him, who was still trying to prove himself innocent.
"'They'? Who are 'they', Gideon? Tell me." The tremble in his raging voice was unmistakable. "There is no 'they', is there?! It's just you!"
"No, Hotch, I had nothing to do with this! Look, the timer on the door can't be more than three hours from opening. We'll stay in here until it opens, and we'll walk out of here together!"
"No deal, Gideon. I don't trust you. I don't know if I can trust anyone anymore. I'm not sure if I can even trust myself! But I know I didn't do this and that only leaves you!"
"Hotch, don't you realize how ridiculous you sound?" Gideon tried to give a slight ironic smile to the enraged superior waving his weapon in front of him. "Why would I do this? Why would I kill everyone on my team?"
"It's not your team anymore, Gideon! It's my team! And they're all dead!"
Hotch felt hot, angry tears streaming down his face as he refused to let go of his gun. It was his only means of survival. He was scared, angry and frustrated, and he was taking it all out on the man in front of him. The one person that Hotch, in his confused and desperate state, believed to be responsible for all of this.
"Please, Hotch. You're playing right into their hands. Put the gun down and we'll wait together."
"You really think that'll work on me? Don't try getting into my head, Gideon, because believe me – there's not much there right now!"
"Hotch..."
"I have a son! I have a life! I can't die in this fucking house, I have to take care of my son! You are not going to kill me too!" Tears streamed from his eyes as he screamed at Gideon.
"Hotch, for God's sake!"
The superior advanced on his former colleague, still clenching his gun in his pale hand.
"Hotch..."
Gideon saw the desperation in Hotch's eyes and he rapidly approached him, and the older man let his arms drop, preparing for a very unwanted close combat.
"Hotch, stop!"
But Hotch didn't stop.
"Stop!"
As Hotch reached him, nearly coming chest to chest with the older man, he uncocked the gun.
"I can't let you kill me!"
One shot rang out, echoing through the silent house.
The look of shock on Hotch's face could only be compared to that of the shock written on Gideon's. The two men stood frozen for a moment, staring each other in the eyes.
Hotch took a few steps back. Looking down onto his chest, he saw a red stain of blood expanding on his t-shirt. Returning his eyes to those of the older man, he staggered back.
"Hotch... Oh, God. I'm sorry." Still holding the smoking Desert Eagle in his hand, Gideon looked on as his former superior backwards stumbled away from him.
Clutching his chest with one hand, Hotch raised the gun at Gideon and shakily pulled the trigger. Like the first time – it clicked. And again. And again. There were no bullets in the weapon. Falling back on the hard wood floor, the gun was knocked from his hand and slid across the floor.
The rattling breath leaving the dying superior's throat was enough to send Gideon into a fit of tears, and throwing the gun away, he threw himself on the floor beside the mortally wounded man.
"Hotch! Oh, my God, Hotch. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
Pressing his hands over the pulsating wound, Gideon frantically tried to save his dying friend. But it was no use.
Hotch's heart had already stopped beating, and his eyes had rolled back into his head. His lifeless body lay still on the floor under the desperate hands of Gideon.
As he realized Hotch couldn't be saved, he leaned over the dead body, bitterly crying over his own stupidity.
I should have seen it! I should have taken his gun when he began to crack! I should have let him shoot me! He has a son!
As Gideon lay crying on the floor, the deranged child's rhyme chimed through the room, only this time the voice was much closer, clearer and terrifyingly more familiar to the older man. His cries ceased as he heard the voice deliver its disturbed poetry. And this time, he knew exactly who was reading it.
Eight little agent, in a house were confined
Battling against a criminal mind
They met their fates in different ways
As they ran like rats in a maze
One agent was shot by a friend on the run
He fell into darkness, and then there was one...
The sound of a pair of clapping hands made Gideon jerk and spin around. The sight greeting him was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.
"Bravo, Gideon! I knew you'd make it to the end!"
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A/N again: BUM BUM BUM!! Who is there?! Who is behind all this!? I'm thinking about holding off on posting the final chapter, seeing I've already posted twice today..