Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Warning: Disturbing imagery.
The Hunt is Afoot
"Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter." - Ernest Hemingway (1899 - 1961), "On the Blue Water," Esquire, April 1936
It is so cold here. Why is it so cold? He felt numb and his entire body shook with every breath. He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees, wincing in pain; still he couldn't manage to dredge up some warmth for himself. Rocking back and forth in the small, confined space he hid in, Reid bit back the tears that threatened to fall.
He could sense, more than feel, Aiken beside him and wondered if the kid thought he was weak. He had failed him, failed them both. He was supposed to help Aiken, bring him to safety. Instead, they were both huddling in a small cave, hiding from the monster who had killed his family and was bent on killing them.
Reid knew that when he had suggested to Aiken that they wait for a while and head back toward the gas station he would never make it there on his own; his body was far too damaged. He also feared that the man who was responsible for their current confinement would be back once he failed to find them further in the woods. There was no doubt in his fevered mind that they would be discovered and deep down, in a part of himself that he would rather not acknowledge, he wished that it would happen soon and that it would all be over. Resting his head on his knees, Reid let his eyes close, waiting for the inevitable, praying for the courage to face the end like a man. Like Morgan or Hotch would.
A small hand reached out for his own, startling Reid from his morbid reverie. Strange how much comfort that touch brought to him, a reminder that there was still so much that had to be done before he could give in to his urge to quit. Though every part of his body screamed in protest at the movement, he reached over and pulled Aiken closer to himself, knowing that it would bring warmth to both of them. Knowing that it was probably the only thing he could do at the moment; that and pray.
Rossi looked at the prone form of Billy Johnson. Nice, clean head wound. Strange how little blood there was; bullet must've lodged in his brain. Odd that his shirt had been taken, nothing else appeared to be missing. There was a picture of the kid taped to one of the cupboards above the register. His arm was around a beautiful blonde girl. Both were smiling, upon closer inspection Rossi saw bright tears in her eyes and a glinting ring on her finger. They were both leaning on what appeared to be the same red truck that sat abandoned outside. He searched the dead man's pockets almost apologetically. No keys. He next searched the area around the register and the counter behind the register for a set of keys that might go with the red truck outside. The keys were missing. Why was the truck still here? If the killer had taken the keys to the vehicle, why hadn't he used it to make a getaway? He had also left Reid's SUV alone. Could Reid have been forced to this gas station by the same man who had killed the clerk?
Rossi walked out to where the officers waited, noting that Prentiss had arrived. He waved her over from where she stood by Reid's deserted SUV in the misting rain. Observing the lines of tension around her eyes, he rested a consoling hand on her shoulder.
"That's Reid's SUV," Prentiss remarked, "is Reid in the store?"
"No, he's not. He could still be with Hotch and the others," Rossi led her under the protection of the awning.
"What happened?" Prentiss looked beyond him into the deceivingly, over cheerful light of the gas station.
"Clerk's dead. Shot point-blank in the head after his shirt was removed, so it is likely that he was prompted to take the shirt off. The keys to his truck are missing as well," Rossi ran a hand through his hair.
"What about the blood in the SUV?" Prentiss jutted her chin toward the discarded vehicle.
"Not sure," Rossi shook his head, "what we've got is Reid's SUV abandoned at the scene of a crime with no sign of Reid anywhere."
"You don't think," Prentiss looked sharply into Rossi's eyes.
"No, I don't think Reid did this, but at the moment we have little evidence to show otherwise," weariness coated his voice.
"What do you think happened?"
"I think that whoever did this has Reid and possibly Aiken Randall and that we need to find them soon," Rossi speculated.
"What makes you think that?"
"Not sure, just gut feeling," Rossi rubbed a hand over his face.
"Hey Peters!" Carter called over to his partner who hadn't moved from his position under the awning, though the rain had slowed considerably.
"What? Can't find the bathroom?" Peters asked in wary amusement.
"No, I mean, yes I found the bathroom, but I got footprints back here!" He called from the other side of the building, "Looks like three sets of prints, one smaller than the other two. They look pretty fresh and I think they lead to the woods out back."
"Hold on Carter, I'll be right there," no longer bored, Peters rounded the building with a spring to his step just as the coroner pulled into the lot. Rossi and Prentiss followed with flashlights in hand.
"Dr. Reid! Aiken! Come out, come out wherever you are!" Hardy called out in a sing-song voice, hands cupped around his mouth. He had been walking for a half an hour now and had lost all trace of the two. The rain was no longer drumming relentlessly on his flesh, but was now more of a steady drip-drop from the leaves of the trees that surrounded him. He felt clean, refreshed, revived, and more alive than he had felt in a long time. Yes, he had been angry with Dr. Reid and the Aiken brat for eluding him for so long, but as he licked at the blood that hadn't quite dried on his hands, he smiled, relishing the coppery taste, imagining what Dr. Reid would taste like.
Grinning in sweet anticipation, he stopped and sniffed the air. His uncle had taught him how to distinguish the almost sticky scent of fear from the earthy scents of the forest. He walked in a circle, his nose high in the air, taking in the smell of the dirt and rain. Dr. Reid and Aiken had not been this way; he turned to head back toward the gas station. He would use the skills his uncle had passed onto him during their hunting trips to ferret them out. Then Dr. Reid and Aiken would know what it meant to disobey him. They would learn from their mistake and he would revel in their pain. Mastering his senses, he crouched low to the ground, stalking his prey.
"Spencer," Aiken's soft voice trembled with the cold.
"Y..yes Aiken," Reid's voice cracked.
"Are you scared?" Reid felt Aiken shifting so that his head was upturned, presumably to look into his eyes, though it was too dark to do so.
Unsure how to answer, Reid asked, "Are you scared?" An ardent nod, followed by a breathtaking squeeze around his aching ribs was the only answer he got.
"Shhh…it'll be okay," Reid comforted, awkwardly patting Aiken's back and pulling him even closer so they were veritably leeching strength and heat from each other. After a moment's pause, Reid answered truthfully, "Yeah, I'm scared, but did you know that the bravest of men are not immune to fear. I believe it was Eddie Rickenbacker, who said, Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared." Reid blinked in the dark, astonished. Where the hell had that come from?
"Who's Eddie Rickenbacker?" Aiken asked quietly.
"He was a racecar driver and became a pilot in World War I," Reid answered automatically, having heard a fellow classmate's report on the World War I flying Ace in high school and remembering it word-for-word.
"Cool," Aiken whispered, imagining what it would be like to drive a racecar or fly a fighter jet.
"He also survived a plane crash on the Pacific Ocean, living on a raft without food or water for twenty-two days," Reid closed his heavy eyelids.
"Really?" Aiken's fear had receded to the back of his mind where it was just a shadow threatening to overtake and swallow him. It wasn't completely gone, but it no longer overpowered him. Curiosity momentarily reigned in his fatigued brain as he imagined the downed pilot (picturing him looking much like Spencer) and himself stranded in the vast expanse of the ocean.
"Spencer?" Aiken's tired voice was muffled by the fabric of the agent's shirt.
"Hmm?" Reid felt sleep pulling at him. As though it had hands, it beckoned him away from the cold of the cave, away from the fear of discovery, away from the disjointed memories that plagued his overtaxed mind, and away from the danger that crept closer with each baited breath.
"I think I'm gonna be racecar driver or pilot someday or maybe an FBI agent like you," his words trailed off as sleep claimed him.
"What do you think?" Prentiss pointed the beam of her flashlight on the smallest of the footprints they had been following.
"Looks like these two," Rossi pointed toward a smaller footprint matched with a bigger one, "walked together and those bigger ones," he pointed at another set of footprints which neatly crisscrossed the others, sometimes trampling them completely, "came after."
"So, we got three people on foot, one of them a child," Prentiss clarified.
"That's what it looks like," Rossi nodded as his eyes scanned the ground for more footprints, "also looks like the pair were not walking at an even pace. One might possibly be injured or they could've been on the run, but the other set of footprints," here he paused, "look like they were deliberately placed. Almost like the one was pursuing the other two."
"We've got a dead gas station clerk, a missing child, Reid's SUV minus Reid, and three sets of footprints headed toward the woods. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Prentiss looked at Rossi.
"I'm thinking we're going to need a few more men to search the woods," Rossi stood from where he had been squatting next to a pair of footprints.
"The coroner and homicide team's here, we could help you search the woods," Peters jerked a thumb toward Carter and himself, eager to do something now that there was something to do. When he saw the reluctance on Prentiss and Rossi's faces, he stepped forward, "Given the weather that we've had and the amount of cleanup that will be involved, we're probably all you're gonna get."
"Wish Hotch and Morgan were here. Have you heard anything?" Prentiss asked the officer.
"No ma'am," Peters looked toward the woods, "coroner estimated the time of death at just over an hour ago. That means the killer has at least an hour lead on us. Don't mean to step on any toes or anything, but I think the more time we spend here waiting, the further away that psycho is getting. We could lose him completely. Billy was a good kid; I want to be able to look his father in the eyes and tell him that we at least caught the bastard who murdered him."
"It's not that simple," Rossi looked the officer in the eyes, gauging him, "we have three sets of prints here, one is a child's and the other could possibly be Dr. Reid's."
"Okay, I get it, don't go in half-cocked. I'd rather take the bastard alive anyway," Peters replied, a half-smile in place.
"Okay, I'll take the lead, Prentiss you head in that direction, keep me in your line of vision," Rossi pointed to his left, Prentiss nodded, "you two follow us. If anyone spots anything, signal to the others. We don't know what our unsub looks like and it will be hard to distinguish who is and who is not a potential threat in the dark. In addition, we have a potential hostage situation and our unsub is armed and dangerous. If he is cornered, he will not hesitate to shoot. It also looks like he is tracking the other two. If he becomes aware of our pursuit, he may hurt the others," if he hasn't already. Rossi took the lead and they followed the muddy footprints into the woods. Darkness gathered around them as they left the comfort of the lit gas station and entered the woods.
Losing track of the footprints, Rossi pooled them together, "Okay, looks like we head in the path of least resistance as someone on the run would most likely not be thinking of anything but escape. Keep your eyes and ears open. Anyone sees or hears anything, let the others know." Prentiss, Peters, and Carter nodded silently as they moved into the densely wooded forest, eyes and ears strained for even the slightest sense of movement. Muscles taut, nerves on fire, they embarked on their pursuit of the killer.
Reid awoke with a start, banging his head painfully on the roof of the small cave, Ouch! Shit! He rubbed at his head with a numb hand, looking around blearily for the familiar red numbers of his alarm clock, fully expecting them to be glaring 2:30 am at him. Temporarily disoriented, he swallowed the dryness in his throat wondering why his room was so dark and frigid and why he was sitting up, rather than lying down in his bed. What was he clinging to? He hadn't had a teddy bear in years. Was he actually in bed with someone? The sweat and heat emanating from the person next to him sent shivers down his spine as his body tried, but failed to compensate for the lack of heat on the other side of his body which was stiff and frozen.
Something had awakened him. He had heard footsteps, soft, searching, and drawing nearer. They had entered his dreams. He was running through a maze of glass. Running, and getting nowhere. His lungs were burning and his side ached. He was sweating and yet shivering with chills. He had to get out before the monster got him, but he couldn't. Every time he thought he was out of the maze; he would be at another dead end, the glass deceptively transparent, showing him the promise of freedom, but denying it at the same time. The breath of the monster that chased him, ever on the back of his neck, though he couldn't see its face, he could hear it taunting him, "…time to come out and play. I want to have some fun…" The fun it promised left him shivering violently. He was ahead of it, though it plodded along behind him, steadily matching him step-for-step. SNAP! The sound broke into his dream, dragging him from the crystalline walls, shattering them with another SNAP and he was awake…to face the real nightmare.
Another loud SNAP and Reid was finally back to reality. He became aware of several things at once: the source of heat was Aiken who had also been awakened by the sound, he was in a cave, not at home, and the monster from his nightmare was a man whose heavy breathing could be heard just outside of their hiding place. His heart stopped beating as panic took hold and squeezed the breath from him. Bright stars, tiny pinpricks of light, flashed beneath his eyelids. He was dizzy, sweat peppered his clammy skin, and he silently gulped in life giving air as his heart beat and then skipped and then beat again, the sound of it thundering in his ears.
The night sounds of the forest encompassed Rossi. An owl on the hunt hooted nearby as it swooped in for the kill, talons ripping into the tender flesh of an unlucky rabbit. Their trek through the woods was going at a snail's pace and he was bone weary, yet unwilling, unable to quit. A young boy and Dr. Reid needed assistance, that is if they are still alive, a voice sounding too much like his own interrupted his thoughts, mocking him. They are alive, he shot back as he made his way through the thick trees, stumbling over the roots.
Darkness wrapped itself around Prentiss, but she pressed onward, following the flickering path that her flashlight made. The beam was far too short, didn't allow her to see far enough ahead. She was missing large portions of the forest because she couldn't see them. What if she walked right past Reid or the child, leaving them in the hands of a murderer? Shaking off her thoughts of doubt, she swept the flashlight back and forth along the path, peering closely into the shadows that lay just beyond where the light reached.
Peters had grown up hunting in woods like these since he was old enough to walk. He had gone out with his granddad, pop, and older brothers. They often left while it was still dark outside as it gave them an edge and allowed them to set up camp before the heat of daylight. He'd become an expert tracker and won various state competitions for hunting. He'd have to take his sons hunting soon, it would make Peg happy and he'd get to spend some time with the boys doing something he loved. Turning his attention back to his current jaunt in the woods, he smiled wryly; just another hunt only the prey might just shoot back this time. Sensing something, he crouched low to the ground and ran his hand along the damp earth, there it was, an indent, someone had turned off the 'path of least resistance'.
"Hey!" His shout was quiet, yet it carried to the others. Prentiss' flashlight illuminated him and he gestured in the direction that the print indicated their prey had taken. They changed directions, Rossi giving Peters the lead.
Carter had never enjoyed hunting, though his dad had insisted on taking him out every weekend during hunting season from the age of ten until he was finally able to say, "No," when he was eighteen. He didn't like the itchy feeling it gave him, the feeling that he was the one being hunted rather than the one doing the hunting. When Peters had offered up their services, he felt that itchy, creepy crawly feeling he had always gotten when his dad handed him the gun and they made their way into the woods. His mom had told him that it was empathy; his dad had thought that if he brought him out enough times his sensitive, girly son would become a man. It hadn't worked; he could never seem to enjoy the act of hunting. The act of shooting something and then stalking it through the woods until it was dead didn't appeal to him.
He had won medals as an all-star on the track team and had played varsity football, but it had never really made his dad proud of him. He had become a police officer, not to hunt down criminals and kill them, but to keep the peace as the officers of the past had done. He was a peace officer and did not relish the confrontation that could occur once they came face-to-face with the man who had killed his friend, Billy Johnson.
He followed the others, keeping his eyes focused on what lay ahead, though hyper aware of the dangers that could lie just out of sight. One thing his dad taught him that transcended hunting was, "Always be aware of your surroundings son. Anything can come at you, anytime, but if you keep an eye on things, if you stay alert, you can get the jump on it, whatever it is." Billy's killer would not be getting the jump on him today, no sir.
It had been slow going for Hardy, but he was in his element. His muscles were tense with the chase, sweat slick on his chest and arms. He sniffed again, tasting the brackish air at the back of his throat as he inhaled. The hair at the back of his neck bristled, he was close. Dr. Reid, Aiken, and he would soon be reunited; one big happy family. He stood, a twig snapping beneath the heel of his mud-covered boot, "Dr. Reid, can you hear me? I'm getting close. Time to come out and play. I want to have some fun. You can't hide forever."
Another branch snapped beneath his boot as he took a step forward and then another. He stood, listening to the sounds of the night, listening for something low and steady, like a heartbeat. His uncle had insisted that if you listened really carefully, you would be able to hear the beating of your quarry's heart. He willed his own breathing to match that of the air around him, felt himself become one with nature, and listened. There it was, a single, no a double heartbeat thundering in time to the thrill of the hunt, just as his uncle had said it would. The quarry, after all, would be fully aware of the pursuit and its heart would beat at a quicker pace than normal and would, if one listened carefully enough match the excitement that the hunter felt. Yes, Dr. Reid and Aiken were nearby and their hearts beat a steady rhythm that called out to him. He could tell that they too had become wary of the chase. He remembered one hunt in particular where a deer he and his uncle had shot put up a valiant fight, leading them through the woods in its attempt to escape their pursuit and live, but in the end it had welcomed death, begging them to take its life with its panicked eyes rolling around wildly in its head. It had been an honor to slit its throat, just like it would be an honor to unveil Dr. Reid and Aiken and show them that, though they had been worthy adversaries, he was better and stronger than they. He was so close he could taste their fear on the air.
He squatted low to the ground, placing his hand on a crudely made shelter, admiring its simplicity. It had fooled him the first time, but he had been back and had seen through it. He rested his hand on the pine branches and waited a breath as he listened and was rewarded for his patience when a diminutive whimper reached his ears. Smiling cruelly, he brushed away the branches of the hastily constructed asylum, victor of the hunt.