Three

Haley coughed awake and reached for her agonizingly sore throat. Their captors had punched her there after she kicked one in the groin. Then she had felt a hand on her shoulder and that was the end of that. He must've hit a pressure point. She rolled over onto her back, every inch of her body sore, not really caring to count how many bruises she had. She saw wooden rafters and a single light bulb that seemed on its last effort to work hung from the ceiling, waving. Their captors had just left. They had just been there. What did they do? Where was Spencer?

She pushed herself through the pain into an upright position, leaning against the earthen wall of what she concluded was a cellar. She strained her neck to look around a little, scanning first to the right, then to the left. There.

He was flat down on the floor like she had been, silent, still. Oh God…

She crawled over to her brother, not sure if she could endure the pain in her knees if she stood, to check for vital signs. His cast was still intact, so the bone would heal okay… if he was still… which he had to be. Haley reached him and checked for a pulse, finally finding a strong one in his temple, pumping oxygen to that big brain of his. He was probably dreaming.

She decided it was best not to wake him up and rolled over on the floor next to him, unable to hold herself up on all fours much longer.

Haley stared blankly up at the ceiling, eyes shifting from that stupid, swinging light bulb to the blackout curtains on the narrow windows, then to her brother that could very well be in a coma. She shivered, the air outside had started to get colder at night, and moisture collected in the cellar would be ten times colder. She cuddled up next to Spencer, hoping to keep him warm as well as herself, wishing of all things that she could cry.

But she was so, so beyond that.

--

"We were warned," Morgan said. "I didn't believe it, I thought… I thought they were acting bigger than they were."

"This only confirms our suspicions of a cult, or a gang," Emily said. "Morgan, you didn't do this, I promise," she rubbed his shoulder.

"The second sunrise, Prentiss!" Morgan shouted more to himself than the other agent. "Two days, today!"

"Garcia, run another background check on the victims," Hotch said hopelessly.

"Hotch, baby, I've already run like, three scans on the databases… Hold on one second, I've got another idea," she beamed as the sound of her fingers clacking on the keys of one of her laptops filled the room, breaking up the tension like static. Two minutes passed and she came up from her screen with a smile on her face. "Well, I have a connection between the victims."

"You do?" Morgan beamed at her. "How'd you find it, baby?"

"Myspace," she grinned. "Katrina Perkins, age 28, late girlfriend of Joel Longfoot; Maia Burwell, age 24, late girlfriend of Harrison Chepi; Olsen Young, age 25, late boyfriend of Renee Niabi; and Chelsea Smith, age 24, late girlfriend of Joshua Blueknife. I ran the names of their survivors through US Database and all four of their names turned up in a Mississippian group celebrating their Native American heritage based here in Natchez."

"Myspace," JJ sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wow."

"It worked, didn't it?" Penelope raised her eyebrows in satisfaction. "We've got a connection."

"We need to get their addresses," Emily said, stiffening.

"I'll go with you," Hotch looked at her trustingly with traces of a smile feinting on his lips. He began to slide his jacket on and walk out the door to one of the SUV's outside as Emily grabbed the address list.

"Hotch, we'll split them," Rossi called after the agent, grabbing a second address list. "Come on, Morgan, we're searching for our genius."

--

Spencer woke up to see Haley next to him, then he felt the ache of his throat. What the hell did that guy do to him? "Hales?" he nudged her.

She woke up screaming and flailing and he put a hand over her mouth until she recognized him. "Spence!" she whispered in relief. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be," he said, looking her up and down with worry dripping from his gaze. She was bruised from head to toe, particularly around the neck and knees. What had they done to her? "Haley… are…?"

"Yeah, it hurts like a mother," she laid down again, her arms aching her. "They must've taken a pipe to me or something while I was down, you know? I'll be fine. If I don't look at it, I'll be fine. Is it really that bad?"

"Do you really want me to tell you?"

"No."

"Then I won't." He continued scanning her. "How long've we been down here?"

"I don't know. They took my watch. You can't see the sun with the blackout curtains either." She sighed and put her head down on the compacted earthen floor. "We'll be fine. The team will find us," she muttered more to console herself than anyone else.

"Yeah," Spencer nodded, no longer looking at her but at the iron door that barred their way up the stairs. He pulled Haley closer to him and started rubbing the back of her head. He heard a few sharp clicks and Haley wrenched away from him to turn around and look.

He sat up and realized he had no crutches. No way to stand and protect his little sister and he cursed himself for being so damn helpless all the time.

The knob began to turn.

Haley looked alertly at the door, staring it down as if to ward whoever was behind it away. Spencer could tell she was hurting all over. Her shoulders and neck were so bruised they were almost black, and her face had a few good knocks on it as well. Still she looked toughly at the door.

A man entered the room. He was tall, probably about six foot four, and looked to be about two hundred pounds. His jet black hair was almost navy against his tan skin. His liquid brown eyes glared at the siblings. "We warned you," he said in a low voice. No accent at all, if anything, a slight southern drawl. "We warned you not to get involved."

Haley said nothing.

"I knew you could read it. You told your friends, your brother, and you still didn't leave," he growled. "You didn't need to be involved." That was directed at Spencer, the FBI agent, the major power. Then he looked lustily at Haley. "And now you're gonna pay."

He shuffled over and grabbed Haley by the hair, lifting her up to her knees and grabbing her shoulder. He bent down so he was on her level and licked her cheek. "You're gonna watch." He glared at Spencer.

Oh, God, no.

"You could have asked the mayor if you wanted us off the mound. We didn't mean anything by it!" she whimpered. "Just… I know you have your mind set on this… but… not in front of him…" A tear streamed down her cheek. She hated herself for being so weak, but she could hardly move, and she had resolved to the fact that yes, she was about to be raped.

"That's a big request from such a little girl," he snarled at her. He looked at her some more. "He doesn't have to watch… this time."

Reid knew better than to shout at him. He knew better than to break his leg again by trying to fight the brutish man that held his sister now. He was hopelessly helpless as he looked into Haley's eyes.

"Let him," she said, not bothering to disguise the fear leaking through her voice. She was looking dead at Spencer. The worst part was that she was totally understanding as the brute dragged her behind a shelf of jellies. She knew exactly why her big brother couldn't come to the rescue and she accepted it.

Spencer could do nothing but cover his ears, close his eyes, and scream to drown out those of Haley.