Chapter Ten – Hell With A Ship

Author's Note: Emily's dream is based off of two episodes: Valhalla (6x17) and Lauren (6x18). The name of the flower wasn't mentioned, but when I compared pictures it looked pretty close to the iris, so I went with it.

"Lauren Reynolds is dead… dead… dead… dead."

The last word seemed to echo on and on, getting softer yet no less distinct. Emily's eyes snapped open and she bolted upright in a panic. It took her a few moments to realize where she was. When she did, her blood ran cold.

A field of purple irises.

She knew these flowers, could pick out their fragrance anywhere. As far as she could see in every direction they grew without end. There was no escape. Just as there was no escape from him.

"I am Valhalla."

At the sound of the male voice the flowers began changing. Emily noticed the shift in the distance. The flowers seemed to rise up, swelling like a wave, only to crash back down as dark, swirling water. The effect rippled inward, coming toward her at a frightening pace. Within moments she was completely engulfed in water.

Emily struggled against the crushing force of the waves, scrambling until she pulled her head above water. She choked and gasped for air as she fought to stay afloat. As she pushed her wet, stringy hair out of her eyes she saw a ship coming toward her. It was wooden with a curled front end. The single large sail was bright green with a black shamrock adorning it. Only the image wasn't just a four leaf clover. The end of the stem was shaped as a "V." If the symbol wasn't enough, the gold letters along the ship's side that gleamed despite the lack of sunlight answered everything.

Valhalla.

As the ship drew up alongside her, Emily realized it wasn't unoccupied. The entire side of the ship was lined with people looking down at her. All of them wore plain, white, expressionless masks. It made her feel incredibly uneasy. Her uneasiness spiked when she suddenly found a gold chain wrapped around her. The gimmel ring she could never forget rested against her chest.

In an instant the ship was gone, and Emily found that she was unable to move.

0~0~0~0

Hotch heard the pained whimper and turned toward Emily. It had been quiet enough that the others wouldn't have heard it. They couldn't see how tense she was either. While her heart rate remained relatively normal, Hotch knew she was scared. Emily Prentiss didn't scare easily.

He watched her closely, worried. Would she be able to make her way back from this again? Probably, but she didn't deserve to relive this again and suffer through the recovery once more.

0~0~0~0

Her hands were cuffed behind her back, her ankles tied to the legs of a chair. As she shifted, trying to test the restraints, she winced in pain. She'd been shot twice in the chest, and vest or not, it hurt like hell. Instead of moving she glanced around. The room seemed to be in a warehouse, the walls made of cinderblock and brick. It was cold and dark, but worse of all foreboding.

The sudden weight on her shoulders made her heart stutter and her breath catch in her throat. She hadn't heard Doyle enter.

"Hello, Emily," he murmured gently as he ran his thumb over her cheek.

Emily shuddered and tried to pull away. It was no good though. She could do nothing to protect herself from him. As quickly as the hands were there, they were gone. She craned her neck around, desperate to figure out where he was. A sudden buzzing filled the room. While it was familiar, she couldn't quite place it. When Doyle walked back around to stand in front of her with that bone chilling smile of his, Emily didn't care what the sound was anymore.

"I thought you should have a little more ink. Only… I don't use ink."

As he'd said that he'd started unbuttoning her shirt and brushing both parts aside to reveal her chest. She forced herself to stay still even though the only thing she really wanted to do was scream and fight to get away. Emily tried to tell him she didn't want it, that she could be whoever he wanted her to be, but she couldn't say a word.

His fingers touched the left side of her chest and immediately red hot pain shot through her. It was like Ian had touched her with nearly molten metal and not his hand. She screamed.

When Doyle took his hand away, Emily's head dropped down. The pain was making her nauseous, but worse yet was the smell of burned flesh. She didn't want to open her eyes and see what he had done. There was no doubt what she would find. A four leaf clover, leaves coming together in little swirls, with a "V" at the end of the stem. His mark. The mark of Valhalla.

0~0~0~0

Everyone jumped when Emily's heart monitor went from soft, slow beats to a sudden blaring, rapid-fire pace. She'd almost curled in on herself. Even her hands were clenched, and if her nails were longer, they would have been digging bloody gouges into her palms.

"Emily…" Morgan whispered, pained for his friend.

"She'll make it through," Olivia assured. "She'll survive it, and you'll be there for her when she wakes up."

Morgan glanced at Olivia, his face clearly showing what he was feeling. Emily was hurting, and he hated it. Before he had a chance to ask how she knew that, Olivia spoke up.

"Trust me. You know that she's strong. Believe in her."

How this woman was able to ease his fears so easily and put things in perspective again he didn't know. She didn't even know them, yet he knew she was right. A tiny bit of tension drained from Morgan. The only thing he could do for Emily now was wait and be ready to help her later.

0~0~0~0

"Ian, no! This is just between the two of us. They have nothing to do with this!"

Emily couldn't help panicking as she stared at the image hovering in midair like an invisible television. Rossi and Seaver were standing directly in a sniper's crosshairs, and they had no idea they were even in danger. Doyle could kill both of them in an instant. She heard the muffled pft of the rifle and the image went out.

She lurched forward uselessly, but froze when she felt the cold metal of Doyle's gun pressed to her forehead. This was it. He was going to kill her.

"Game's over, love. Time for your last confession."

Once more she was standing over Declan in this same room. His tiny, angelic face stared up at her, his curly blond hair in disarray. He was gagged and terrified as he sat in the corner of the very same warehouse Emily had been in seconds before. Terrified of the woman that was holding a gun at him. Terrified of Emily.

The impact of a hand against her face shattered the image and sent Emily reeling. She'd only just regained her balance when Doyle caught her again and slammed her into the wall. With her hands still cuffed, Emily couldn't really fight back. She tried, but it did no good. Doyle had the upper hand, and the hits kept coming.

A few more punches and she was on the ground. Before she could even consider getting up, Doyle's foot collided with her ribs. Emily groaned and tried to roll away, but Doyle continued to find his target. Finally she managed to dart to the side and sent him sprawling.

Before he even had a chance to come at her again, Emily started pounding him with a thick, wooden stake she'd grabbed when it had been within reach. Each time it impacted with Doyle she felt it reverberating up her hands. It felt good. Really good.

Until suddenly the pain wasn't in her hands but in her stomach.

Emily's hands loosened, and she stared down at the stake sticking out of her gut, her mouth agape. She had no idea how Doyle had turned it on her like that. The pain was excruciating, and she could barely think as she stumbled away and collapsed onto her back.

Everything went dark until she spotted a bright light darting back and forth a short distance away. Then another one. And another.

"You are not alone! We are in that dark place with you waving flashlights and calling your name!"

Emily couldn't help the tug of a smile at Garcia's disembodied words.

"Emily!"

Morgan was suddenly at her side, kneeling next to her and looking frantic. He had no reason to be. Emily knew she was bleeding badly, but that was okay. She was just so tired. Morgan grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him.

"Stay with me, baby."

He was trying to help, but he didn't understand. Emily squeezed his hand gently before answering him.

"Let me go."

"No, Emily!"

Emily drifted into darkness just as she heard the sirens. It stayed that way for a little while, the darkness behind her eyelids, before it changed. This darkness was deeper and more complete. There was no light, no sound, just a cold inky blackness devoid of feeling, hope, and life.