Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Mirage

"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true." – James Branch Cabell (The Silver Stallion; 1926)

As Savannah cradled the head of a bleeding Morgan in her lap, keeping pressure on his wound, she heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. Her heart nearly leapt into her throat as she imagined the person who had shot Morgan stalking his way to them to finish off the unconscious man. Desperate, Savannah attempted in vain to rouse him. Panic gripped her heart when the sound of a loud voice barked out harsh words that were drowned out by thunder. What had the madman shouted? She couldn't make the words out as the loud clap of thunder, the pounding of her heart, and the buffeting rain rendered her partially deaf. Her eyes raked the ground for anything she could use as a makeshift weapon, knowing that whatever she found would provide poor protection at best.

Shakily grasping a thick wooden stick that had been tossed to the ground during the rainstorm, she prepared to use it as a bayonet. Releasing the pressure she had kept on Morgan's wound; her eyes were drawn to a small silver object lying next to Morgan. Loosening her grip on the branch, Savannah hesitantly reached for Morgan's revolver. The cumbersome steal felt cold in her hands and though she was not new to the feel of a firearm, she had never held one with the intent to use it on another human being.

Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat and attempting to steady her nerves, she gently eased Morgan's head to the ground, tensing when he let out a soft moan. She held her breath in anticipation, silently hoping that he would awake and relieve her, but unsteadily let it out again when he remained unaware. Crouching so that the bulk of her body was hidden by the trunk of the car, she slowly crept forward into a position in which she would easily be able to see the approaching figure and aim a shot at him without him being able to get a good shot at her.

Placing both hands around the butt of the gun and holding her arms out in front of her, she peeked around the car and fired off a shot that went wide of her mark, but caused the approaching man to drop to the ground, his weapon held ready to fire off his own shot. Pulling back so that she was fully behind the vehicle, she took several shallow breaths, panic eating away at her.

Hotch approached the white vehicle, increasingly aware of how little cover he had and how hard it was to see with the rain coming down in sheets around him. Not knowing where Morgan, Savannah, and Reid were also had him nervous. He knew that with the rain, visibility was at a minimum and worried that he might mistakenly shoot one of them.

The gunshot that split the air had him dropping to the ground. Cursing at the lack of back-up and protection, he checked himself for any wounds, grasped his weapon in both hands and prepared to return fire. Looking around for some sort of place of refuge, he discovered that his own vehicle was nearby and inched his way toward it in the mud.

Another shot rang out, hitting the mud a foot away from his face; covering him in the dark liquid. Shit! That was too close. Rising half-way to his feet, he ran to the SUV for cover, slipping and sliding over the muddy surface, as another bullet ripped the ground at his heels. Who the hell was shooting at him?

Careening, he landed hard on his injured limb sending pain up his left side. Temporarily out of breath, he pulled himself the rest of the way so that he was partially covered by the tire of the SUV. Raising his gun, he took hasty aim and fired off a shot toward his shooter who hid behind the white coupe. Smiling in grim satisfaction, he prayed that he had not just hit one of his own agents or Savannah and that it wasn't one of them who had been shooting at him.

Savannah's forehead beaded with perspiration and her hands shook as she attempted to steady her breathing. She no longer felt the stinging cold of the rain that continued to pelt her exposed skin. Gulping in air, she felt that her lungs would soon explode. Her head pounded and she just wanted to close her eyes and give into the blissful darkness that beckoned her. Instead, she whipped around the corner of the trunk and fired off another shot at the man who was now crawling toward them on his belly, hoping that it would slow his progress or stop him entirely.

A sudden, panicked thought overtook her, What if the approaching figure was Reid or Hotch? What had she just done? Oh God, what if she was shooting at someone who could help? What had he been saying when the clap of thunder drowned out his voice? Surely Reid or Hotch would've identified themselves by now. Was that what the thunder had drowned out? Oh God, what should she do?

The man started to run and Savannah once again fired at the moving target, watching horrified, as he crashed to the ground. What had she done? Had she just shot a man? What should she do now? Trembling with shock, cold, and fear, Savannah never heard the shot that tore through the muscles of her arm, causing her to drop the weapon she held tightly. Staring dumbly at the gun that had fallen from her grasp, Savannah reached for it and recoiled at the sight of blood that pooled from the small circular wound just below her right elbow.

Fascinated by how it seemed to pump out of the small hole with each heartbeat, Savannah watched the blood flow as though it were happening to someone else. Everything around her seemed to slow down. She could see each fat droplet of rain as it hit her and bounced off the surface of her skin as though it were all happening in slow motion. She moved so that her back was resting against the tire of the vehicle and closed her eyes as the world began to spin around her. Morgan, she should find Morgan and check up on him. He was bleeding. She needed to keep pressure on his wound. Though he was only a foot from her, it seemed as though he were several yards away when she opened her eyes.

Sluggishly, she made her way to the wounded man and placed his head in her lap once again, wondering at the red that had spread along her own arm and seemed to be dripping down in rivulets. How had Morgan's blood stained her own arm? She foggily wondered as she lost consciousness and slumped onto her side, blood dripping steadily from her arm, pooling with Morgan's.

"Garcia," Rossi's clipped voice cut through the line.

"Yes, Captain my captain," her chipper voice sang over the phone.

Ignoring her attempt at levity, Rossi spoke brusquely, "Have you heard anything from Morgan, Hotch, or Reid? They've been out for half a day looking for Aiken Randall and have not been answering any of our calls. All of the search teams have returned to headquarters, but they're still out. What can you tell me?"

Breathing in sharply, and frowning, Garcia's fingers sped across the keyboard of her computer, "They haven't called to check in?" She questioned.

"No, they haven't," Rossi sounded impatient, "I am wondering if they contacted you and if you can try contacting them."

"No, they haven't called me. I'm tracing their cells now and attempting to call using another line…hmmm….not getting through…let me try something else…no, I'm sorry Rossi, but it appears as though their cells are out of range…hold on, maybe I can track their cars…uhmmm….Reid's car is moving, but Morgan and Hotch's are….hold on….they're…" Garcia continued to work her magic on the BAU's computers.

"I think we know where Hotch and Morgan's vehicles are Garcia, they went to check out a farmhouse that Aiken and his brother used to play at. Where is Reid headed?" Rossi asked slightly puzzled at why Morgan and Hotch would remain at the search site and where they had sent Reid. Had something happened that required the young agent to return to headquarters without the others?

"Oh my God," Garcia's voice came out wavering, "Rossi, why would Reid be heading out of state? It looks like he is near the border to Alabama. Tell me you sent him there."

"Garcia, do you think you can get a satellite feed on the SUV?" Rossi asked.

"Already working on it…you've got to be kidding me…no way…" Garcia's voice became increasingly frustrated.

"What is it?"

"It looks like a storm is interfering with the feed. All I'm getting is fuzzy static," Garcia replied.

"Okay, give me the location of his vehicle," Rossi grabbed a legal pad and took a pen out of his pocket.

"He's just outside of Blakely on highway 52; he'll be in Alabama in less than a half an hour," Garcia responded as steadily as she could.

"Right, you keep trying to contact Reid, Hotch, and Morgan. I'll send some people out to Rubin County and to Blakely, though that is forty minutes away. And Garcia?"

"Yes?"

"Keep me informed if Reid heads in another direction."

"Will do," Garcia heard the sound of the dial tone before her voice hit the final 'o' sound. Worried, she attacked the keyboard of her computer with greater vehemence and willed Morgan to pick up his cell.

Gasping for breath in the driving rain, Hotch waited for another bullet to slice through the torrent, his heart nearly beating through his chest. When no further attack ensued, he cautiously peeked around the tire of the SUV, expecting to hear the roar of another gunshot. None came.

Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet using the body of the vehicle, he placed his gun in front of him and worked his way to the white coupe, swaying slightly with the pain and the lack of adrenaline that had fueled him when he was being shot at. When he drew nearer to the car, he could make out the shape of not one, but two bodies lying in the mud. One lay slightly atop the other. Neither was moving. Oh shit.

Hotch increased his pace, adrenaline rushing once more through his veins, and reached the coupe in a matter of seconds in spite of his injured leg. Oh my God what have I done? Savannah and Morgan lay twisted and bleeding. Kneeling next to the two he frantically searched for a pulse and was relieved when he found that Morgan appeared to have a rather steady pulse, though he did not awaken at his touch. Savannah, however, had an unsteady, racing pulse and blood continued to weep from her wound at an alarming rate. Taking his belt off, he tied it around her arm, just above the elbow, hoping to staunch the flow of blood. He also tore off a sleeve of his shirt and balled it up on the wound, putting pressure on it. Seeing that Morgan's wound also bled, though at a much slower rate in comparison to Savannah's he applied pressure on his wound as well, praying that some sort of help would arrive in time for all three of them.

"Prentiss," Rossi called from the conference room the team had taken over in their investigation of the string of murders.

"Yes?" She popped her head into the room.

"Would you round up a few of the local police officers and drive out to a farm owned by a Savannah Leigh? Hotch, Morgan, and Reid went there earlier this afternoon and haven't returned. They haven't called to check in and have not answered any of our calls. Garcia says that Hotch and Morgan's vehicles are in the same location, but Reid's is headed toward Alabama. I'm asking the sheriff for help in finding Dr. Reid," Rossi looked up at the brunette agent and saw concern etched on her features.

"Of course I'll go. Let me know when Reid is found," she called out as she rushed to gather a few officers to aid in her search for Morgan and Hotch, wondering why they hadn't come back or called yet. Had they found Aiken Randall? And why was Reid headed toward Alabama? She hoped that the young doctor was alright. The team would not be the same without him. Holstering her weapon, she walked into the call room and asked three officers to accompany her.

"What's happened miss?" Officer Burrows asked.

"A few of our agents may be in trouble. They aren't answering their cells and one of them is headed toward Alabama," she headed out the door of the police station, followed by the three officers.

"Well, there's bound to be no cell reception out near Savannah's place," Officer Cody offered, grimacing at the rain that was coming down.

"They should have been back by now," Prentiss insisted as she ran through the rain to her vehicle, waiting for the others to join her. Only Officer Cody did.

"I'd better take a patrol car, you know in case somethin' did happen, we can use the CB to contact the police station," Officer Burrows ducked into his own car, accompanied by Officer Lincoln.

"Not like we don't have our own CBs," Prentiss muttered, shuddering when she realized that Hotch, Morgan, and Reid had not attempted to make contact with them through their CBs.

Letting Officer Burrows take the lead, Prentiss followed. It was slow moving through the rain. She wondered how the others were doing in their attempt to locate Reid.

"Yes?" Rossi said tiredly in the phone. It had been a long day, some members of his team were missing and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Garcia had to say. He was sure that it couldn't be good news.

"Sir…Reid's SUV is at a gas station about eight miles outside of Blakely," Garcia answered with a touch of hope in her voice.

"I'll let the officers know. Thanks Garcia." Maybe things would turn out okay after all, he thought as he hung up the phone.

Hotch felt drained as the rush of energy that had overtaken him when he first spotted Morgan and Savannah fled. His eyelids grew heavy and his arms began to tremble. His own wound throbbed angrily and the rain continued to pour. He stubbornly refused to give into the urge to rest. He fought

the numbness that went from his shoulders to his fingertips, though it made it hard for him to know whether he was placing enough pressure on the wounds. He knew that if help did not arrive soon, he too would pass out and Morgan and Savannah could bleed to death. Oblivious to the red streak that ran down his thigh, he continued to place pressure on their wounds, swaying with the effort. He would never forgive himself if either of them died.