A/N: Sorry it's taking so long in between chapters; school stared up again, and ex-boyfriends popped back up, and homework and work. I'm going to finish this I promise. we're getting close to the end now, and I really hope you guys don't hate me after this chapter. Please review?

BRTxoxo


Hotch and Gideon stared across the table at Sweeny Todd. He wore five day old clothes, and his face-usually handsome, allowing him to gain the trust of the women he'd violated-was scarred from Katrina and Taryn's fight with him. He watched them with narrowed eyes. Hotch found them to be unnerving.

His name was Isaac Johansson. He was tall with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and well built. His eerie blue eyes were starkly contrasted by his ebony hair that sat in a mop atop his head. His facial features had once been handsome, attractive, charming even with a straight nose and square jaw. The man's skin was slightly tanned, and his hands were now scarred much like his face. How he'd managed to avoid getting blood all over Katrina's apartment and under Taryn's nails was beyond the forensics team. His nose was now slightly crooked where Morgan had accidentally tackled the serial killer to the ground a tad bit too hard, and chafes on his wrists where the handcuffs had been tightened a little bit too much. Almost six days ago, Hotch had received the call from this man, and had been so emotionally compromised he'd driven two hours down to look at Katrina's apartment, trying not to think about the guilt that resonated in his heart and to connect the pieces of this puzzle that had so far been elusive.

There he'd met June, who had led the team to Isaac Johansson's arrest on trespassing and stalking charges. It had been a Tuesday, just after dark, when the last of the twilight rays had been dispersing, making it hard to see. Morgan, Elle, and a few other police had been staked out around the complex while Hotch and Gideon watched from June's apartment windows. No one had seen him approach, he'd seemed to materialize out of the dusk and at June's confirmation, Morgan took the man down without a second thought.

And yet here they were, still waiting for him to open his mouth and disclose the whereabouts of Katrina and Reid. It had been all too easy to convict him of the other murders around the country-in fact he'd gladly admitted to them all and refused to call a lawyer or have one appointed to him.

He was a man that worked for a shipping company, a small postal service that made special deliveries in person. Isaac was a man that traveled nationwide, and when he found a customer matching Taryn's features, he pounced. This he admitted, describing in great detail and pride. He'd confessed to everything, including the abduction of Katrina and Reid, right up the shot he'd fired over the phone-but he would not, under any circumstances tell who he shot or where they were.

Isaac watched them with his discomforting blue eyes from across the table.

When he had been brought to the station, Elle had tried to question him, but he taunted her with smirks and sarcastic remarks until she snapped, slamming her fists on the table and nearly snarling at him to cooperate. JJ, Elle, Garcia and Morgan hadn't moved from the station at all that week, opting to sleep in the lounge in case he decided to talk. While JJ and Elle had shared one couch, Morgan and Garcia had shared another, and even though Hotch and Gideon had suspected more than just a platonic bond between them, if a little erratic at times, they couldn't find it in themselves to care at the moment. Gideon had sent Morgan out almost an hour ago to get them breakfast-they couldn't live off of stale coffee and frozen dinners for much longer and everyone was becoming irritated.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Elle stood in the doorway, her body rigid from restraint. "Gideon, Garcia wants to see you."

The elder agent pushed himself from his seat and followed her out the door.

The seconds ticked by before Aaron finally spoke. "Alright, here's how it goes. We've got you on trespassing, stalking, murder, from the third to the first degree, abduction, and assault of a federal agent. We can hold you for as long as we like. You've already admitted to these crimes, so the trial is going to fly by. Obviously our attempts at threaten you aren't working, and we won't try torture because there's no point. Even if you don't tell us where my agent and Katrina are, you will be going to prison for multiple life sentences. Now listen closely because I won't be telling you again. I am going to do everything in my power, if not beyond that, to make sure that you do not get the death sentence."

"Why Agent Hotchner, how very merciful of you. But unfortunately you do know that one of them is dead."

Aaron smirked mirthlessly, and his voice was dangerously low. "Oh believe me, you won't be thinking that by the time you're in there. It doesn't matter what the inmates are in there for: murder, theft, fraud, avoiding the military, whatever, if they find out that you were a serial rapist-which they will-they will make your life a living hell. They don't look too kindly on rape. I'm not looking to make you a deal, because even if you do tell us what we want to know, I will make sure that you get nothing less than three life sentences. There will be no death penalty for you-you don't deserve that."

Isaac opened his mouth to reply, but Gideon entered the room breathlessly. "Hotch."

The tall agent left the suspect behind and followed Gideon into the lounge where everyone else was huddled around Garcia and her laptop.

"What is it?"

"I've been trying to trace his call, and I've finally gotten a few digits and an area radius of twelve miles in six different areas of the country. Four of them were here in Virginia, around Katrina's apartment complex. For the past two days Morgan and I were going over satellite images of the areas and we came across this." Garcia turned her laptop around to face Aaron.

On it was images of a house in the middle of nowhere, about an hour or so away from Katrina's apartment complex, an hour and a half away from where they were now, with one man and one truck moving around the residence. At the top of one of the photos was the address, and to the right of the screen was information about the house-including a picture of the owner. The mug-shot of Isaac Johansson was laid on the table next to the computer, and Aaron straightened his back to look directly at the team.

"Gideon, get a team from the local police prepped and a forensics team. JJ, get a hold of the paramedics to follow us down and the coroner. Elle and Morgan, the cars ready. Meet in the parking lot in thirty minutes ready to go."

It had been Garcia who had called Kate about the phone call from Sweeny Todd-they figured it would be easier coming from someone Daniel knew and trusted instead of someone he'd spent two weeks with-and she hadn't heard from them since. With this new development, she called them once more, telling Kate that she should standby in case something else happened, and that there was a good chance that it would.

. . .

The fluorescent lights inside the ambulance were blinding, even more so as the light bounced off the chrome cabinets like lens flares. Each bump in the road felt like a gunshot. The sirens were deafening. Consciousness and unconsciousness seemed to be fighting each other and neither seemed to have an advantage or disadvantage over the other.

Is this a dream? God please don't let this be a dream. Please let this all be over.

The ambulance screeched to a halt and the back doors flew open. The jolt of the gurney being pulled out and the wheels being locked in place seemed to be numbed. The paramedics and nurses moved in slow motion, their movement written on the background and then fading away. Their voices sounded far away and echoed.

Inside the hospital the lights and pristine white color scheme was too bright compared to the 10 watt light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the dingy basement.

Please let this nightmare be over… God please let it all be over. Please. Please… please…

Three hours later, the whir and beeps of oxygen tanks and heart monitors faded into existence.

Katrina opened her heavy eyes and took in her surroundings, which included a tall man in a rumpled suit with jet black hair and a stern face that was lined with years of pain, resting on his chest, until he heard the occupant of the bed stirring and trying to speak. His dark eyes settled on her face.

"Spencer…" she whispered out in a choke. "Where is Spencer?"