Here we are, folks. Chapter 8 is here. I alternated listening to Korn: Coming Undone and Slipknot: Snuff constantly while writing this chapter! As always, reviews critiquing my sentence structure, mechanics and especially characterization and believability are desperately needed so I can win the contest. I will publicly thank my reviewers on and on my profile page upon completion of this story (unless you tell me not to)!
Reid knocked softly three times on Hotch's apartment door. The dread he felt was already beginning to turn to panic, and Reid wondered why he was reacting in such a way to a simple visit to his boss and friend.
Could it be because this was no simple visit? Reid tried to tell himself that he was only coming to check on Hotch, that this had nothing to do with the fact that Hotch fit the profile of an unsub who beats/chokes his victims to death. Reid did not actually believe that Hotch was the unsub.
Reid did not actually believe that Hotch could possibly be their unsub.
No. Reid knew that Hotch could not possibly be the DC Phantom.
In the three seconds between Reid knocking and Hotch answering, Reid completely re-evaluated the situation. He came to the conclusion once and for all that Aaron Hotchner…
The Hotch that answered the door was barely recognizable. His hair was uncombed leaving several strands to fall over his forehead and his eyes were bloodshot. His was wearing the shirt, tie, and slacks of a suit and shoes to match, but Reid could see the jacket haphazardly slung over the back of a chair, and the tie was untied hanging loosely around his neck. The shirt itself was wrinkled and un-tucked. He had a bottle of Scotch in one hand and the other was scraped and bleeding, already beginning to bruise.
In short, Hotch looked like absolute hell.
"Whadoyou want, Reid?"
Knowing that Hotch's slurred grumble was all he was going to get as far as a greeting went, Reid cleared his throat and glanced at the floor nervously before forcing himself to initiate eye contact. "Can I, um…do you mind if I come in?"
Hotch swung the door fully open and stepped aside, thus indicating the closest thing to a yes that he intended to offer his visiting friend.
But was he visiting as a friend, Hotch wondered, or was he here to talk about the case that he had stupidly called Morgan and JJ about? Hotch watched as Reid entered the apartment and looked around, no doubt profiling the surroundings and thus profiling him. It didn't matter much to Hotch, not at the moment, anyway, even if there was an unwritten rule in the BAU about profilers not profiling each other. How many times had that rule been broken? Several. But weather or not Reid was profiling him at the moment was insignificant compared to what else was on Hotch's mind; the reason he had become angry at Reid's visit in the first place: Had the profile lead them to him? If so, is that why Reid was here now, and why would he come alone? Did the others even know he was here? If so, were they on their way. But if not, then why wouldn't he tell them?
These questions and many more were interrupted in Hotch's racing mind when Reid spoke. His voice was timid and caring, not what Hotch would have expected from someone who thought he was alone with a serial killer.
"Hotch, what happened here? Are you okay?" Upon asking those questions, another concern came to mind. "And where's Jack."
The disheveled agent sighed, releasing a very slight amount of tension. "Punched a wall," he answered simply. "Jack's with Jess."
"That's good. I mean, that Jack is with Jessica, not that you punched a wall, which I can clearly tell that you have done judging from your bleeding, swollen hand, not to mention the gaping hole," Reid did his best not to sound sarcastic but was worried that it was not working. He really did have to tread lightly this time. Stepping on one of Morgan's nerves, he had learned, was quite easily fixed with a sincere apology and a smile. Angering Hotch in his current state, he feared, could prove lethal.
Especially if his suspicions were correct.
Reid continued with little hesitation. "I know what physically happened, but…why Hotch?"
"Your..." Hotch's face curled into a snarl "…unsub. They named him, Reid." He clenched his injured hand into a fist and suddenly yelled, "They named him!"
Reid flinched but continued his line of questioning. "That's what I don't understand! Why are you so irate over the media naming this unsub? JJ was right, it's not the worst that has ever happened and you aren't even on the case. What is it about this particular case, Hotch; this particular unsub?"
Hotch threw his half-full bottle of Scotch against the nearest wall, shattering the glass and further frightening Reid.
"Names make them famous!" Hotch screamed. "They go down in history, they autograph mug shots, as many fans as they have they might as well be fucking rock stars for christ's sake!" Hotch was beginning to breath heavily as he collapsed sitting on the couch.
This confirmed it, Reid thought. Reid knew without a doubt what it was about this particular unsub.
Hotch was this particular unsub. Hotch was undoubtedly the DC Phantom.
Burying his head in his hands, he began to try to steady his breath. "They aren't stars." Reid could barely understand the muffled words, but could tell that his friend (and he was still a friend) was actually crying. "They destroy lives; destroy families. A name only serves to immortalize them." The tears were obvious on his face when Hotch looked up. He stared straight ahead, empty emption on his face, but what his face lacked his voice made up for. "The names get them the attention; the fans; the fame. Fucking household names like Strangler, Ripper, Stalker, Phantom," Hotch bit out the last word and looked directly at Reid with murder in his eyes, "Reaper."
"Hotch," Reid's voice cracked slightly. "I know -"
Hotch cocked an eyebrow and his eyes opened up completely, giving Reid a brief glimpse at the Hotch he knew. "Did you know that some idiot made a Facebook fan page for the son-of-a-bitch?"
Reid slowly and cautiously approached Hotch as if the man on the couch was a cornered animal that could attack at any moment. "I know, Hotch."
"You know?" there was Hotch replied was not angry, but questioning with a hint of sarcasm. He scoffed and shook his head. "Morgan was right, you really do think you know everything."
"No, no Hotch," Reid tried to sound comforting while he knelt down on the floor beside Hotch and looked up at him, trying to ketch his eyes, which Hotch silently insisted on averting. "I defiantly do not know everything. But there is something I do know because the team profiled the unsub. He's a remorseful killer. We all know that remorseful killers," Reid paused and tentatively placed his hand on Hotch's knee, "they don't want to be celebrities and they don't want to be monsters either. They may not realize it but they want to get caught. They want to get caught so they can stop killing because they want so badly to stop but they can't."
When Hotch finally met Reid's gaze, it was clear to both of them that he understood what Reid was really trying to say.
Hotch seemed calm now. The calm frightened Reid more than anything, because he knew he was in the eye of the storm. "Reid, I…I can't…I can't do this Reid."
"I know that saying it makes it real; I know you don't want it to be real, but it has to be real. I've been an addict, Hotch, and I know that if you don't admit it's real than it will never end."
"What do you want from me," Hotch asked desperately.
Reid replied simply, "I want you to confess to murdering five people."
Hotch nodded. In an interview room he knew he would have gotten defensive, but here in the comfort of his own living room with an "interrogator" who was as non threatening as possible, he felt that he could finally let it go, finally end this madness.
But what would he tell Jack? Daddy had to go away again, but this time for a very long time? He could never crush is son by telling him that instead of chasing bad guys, daddy was the bad guy. He would have to think of something; he was sure his team would help him, if only for Jack's sake.
And that's when Hotch new that, for Jack's sake, he had to tell Reid what he already knew; what he had so bravely come over knowing. Three simple words. I killed them.
I. Killed. Them.
I.
Killed.
Them.
Hotch did not break eye contact with Reid when he confessed.
"I killed them."
Reid had was so terrified of what might happen next that he had to physically struggle to breathe. He was sure he resembled something between a kicked puppy and a dear about to be hit by a truck. "Okay, he said with a voice so timid and quiet it might not have even been a word. "That's all I needed to –"
"Okay!" and just like that Hotch was angry again, and for the first time it occurred to Reid that he might not make it out of the building alive. "I just confessed to five murders, and you're saying 'okay'?"
Just then, Reid's phone chimed the tone announcing that he had received a text message.
"Don't answer that!" Hotch commanded.
"It's just a text," Reid defended and slowly reached into his pocket.
"I said don't –"
"It's Morgan," Reid interrupted, something that he was immediately aware that he should not have done. "Morgan is my supervisor, my boss. I can't not answer him." He usually would not have used a double negative, but his mind was racing too fast for even the genius to worry about proper grammar. All ha cared about was affectively communicating with his former unit chief so that they could both make it out of the situation alive and well.
Hotch did not reply, and Reid took that as permission to at least read the message.
"Are they coming?" Hotch growled.
Reid nodded weakly as he read Morgan's text message.
"Thought bout what u said, sorry I got mad u. W/ Rossi on the way 2 talk 2 Hotch. Where r u?"
As fast as he could, Reid typed three words and had barely enough time to press "send" before Hotch rushed over, grabbed Reid's phone and hurled it across the room, where it smashed against the wall and broke.
"It's him. Hurry.
Oh, funny thing, George Foyet really does have a Facebook fan page, I checked!
