Hotch had never seen Morgan move so fast in his life, and he had watched him tackle at least a dozen unsubs.
They were mostly quiet, staring at the photo on the viewing screen, and then Garcia had screamed. Everyone was startled into a moment of inaction but Derek was out of his seat and through the door before anyone else even understood what had happened.
They caught up with Morgan quickly. He was standing stock-still in the doorway of Garcia's office and Hotch, the last to leave the table, couldn't see past the others to discern what was going on. Garcia had stopped screaming but she was sobbing now, her wails soft and agonizing.
Why wasn't Morgan comforting her?
And then someone shifted and past their shoulder Hotch saw the computer screens and he felt something in his chest plummet. It was Reid.
On every monitor was projected the same feed, and the realist in him hoped that it was live, because that would mean that whoever had Reid hadn't killed him yet. The father in him, however, was aching. Reid was so small. Young. And that he should have to go through the same horror twice...
The sense of deja vu was striking. His hair was a little shorter now, but it was matted with blood, just like last time. He was bound, just like last time. And he was terrified, just like last time. It was this last that worried Hotch the most, though. Reid looked scared, but there was something else in his expression, something that all of them could see in high-definition. It was almost like apathy, something dark and tired and more frightening than the crimson painting half of his face. It looked to Hotch like resignation.
"State your name," someone said, just off screen.
"Spencer Reid."
Suddenly, without warning, a fist snaked past the camera and Reid swayed from where he hung, his head lowered, his body trembling. Garcia cried out and it was Prentiss, not Morgan, who moved to comfort her.
"Your name," the man said, and now they could all see him on the camera. He was tall- over 6 feet, and solidly built. Caucasian. Unremarkable and, thus far, unidentifiable.
"Spencer Geoffrey Reid," he amended, and his voice had taken on the higher octave which the team had grown to recognize as a sign of fear or anxiety. "A-After Chaucer. My mom-"
"Tell me your name!" His captor was shouting and Reid turned his face away, cringing, and Hotch caught a glimpse of Morgan's knuckles branded white against the doorframe. "I know who you are, so tell me your name!"
His body was between the camera and Reid now but they could hear the chains overhead rattling desperately. Just as suddenly, his anger seemed to abate. He stepped back, still on-screen, only now he turned to face the monitors. Behind him, Reid was deadly silent.
"Is he dead? Oh, God, is he dead?" Garcia was moaning into her hands and Hotch stared at the screen, not daring even to blink, watching the thin chest for movement. He noticed that Reid, as usual, had worn a themed sweater vest; the red Valentines patch by his collar was lurid, mocking.
"I know what you are, all of you," Michael said, now so close to the camera that he had to bend down to stay in the frame. "You caught Raphael by surprise, and destroyed him. But not me." He was smiling, a tight and morbid grin. "'Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness.' And when I know your names, I will cast you out. One by one. Starting with the one that killed Raphael."
Just below the stupid, gaudy embroidered heart, there was a movement so slight it might have been a trick of the light, or a draft. But it happened again a few moments later.
"He's alive," Hotch said, and his words sounded cold and calculating to his own ears even though his eyes were burning.
"Yeah, but for how long?" Morgan finally spoke, and Garcia turned back to look at him. Her mascara was a mess and the vibrant pink of her lipstick was pulled down as her chin began to quiver.
"Derek-"
He punched the doorframe suddenly, violently, and everyone jumped as the adjacent wall reverberated. "Fuck!"
And then he was gone, charging down the hallway, and Prentiss ran out after him. JJ knelt next to Garcia, grabbing one of her hands.
"He's going to be okay," she said, and she forced a smile.
"Why didn't he call me?" Garcia's head tilted, like a child, and her face crumpled as she lapsed back into tears. "Why..?"
As JJ hugged Garcia, trying her best to console the analyst, Rossi turned to Hotch. Normally so amiable, he now looked drained and old.
"Who's Raphael?"