Authoress Notes: Inspired by the film 'The Hitcher'.
Title: Hitchhiker
By: Clonksholic
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Any original characters belong to me. I gain no profit from writing this, and do so solely to entertain.
Warning: Not recommended for ages under 18. INCLUDES VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. POSSIBLE REFERENCES TO RAPE. Note the rating and warning dear readers; if such subject matter makes you uncomfortable, don't read it.
Summary: When Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss pick up a hitchhiker on a rural road on the way back from a case in New Mexico, a generous act turns into a fight for their lives.
MESSAGE TO MY READERS: Much thanks to those who reviewed It's great to know that the story's being read by many so far. Hope this chapter's just as, if not more, enjoyable than the last.
Hitchhiker
Chapter 2
Agent Hotchner was jerked into consciousness.
He only remembered his situation once he realised the stiffness in his shoulders and back was now not only due to the fall from the previous case but the way they had been bound. He guessed it had been for a while now. The adrenaline in his bloodstream had long worn off, and he found himself unconsciously biting his lip to keep refrain from verbally expressing the pain that was throbbing in his foot, as if someone was deliberating aggravating the wound by stabbing a burning hot fire poker through it, over and over again.
At the very least, the pounding in his head seemed to have lessened, and he found himself holding his breath in order to concentrate on what was happening in the front seat of the…
He was no longer in the SUV.
He felt a pained shout torn from his dry throat as a sharp object was slammed into his stomach from what seemed to be out of nowhere. He breathed in short gasps, his eyes now set into his trademark glare despite the pain.
He could take it. He knew he been through worse.
Much worse.
He could take more than this.
Prentiss.
The moment he lifted his head, he found it being knocked back against a hard fist.
Warm liquid trickled down his face to his chin and he tasted blood in his mouth as the sharp objects broke through his cheek. Hotch put his tongue to his cheek, drawing it back quickly when he felt the cut begin to sting, from both the inside his mouth and out. The keys of the SUV jangled as John dropped them by his feet. The tips of it were stained with his blood.
He felt the man's breath on his face as he leaned down, crouching to his eye level.
'Right there, boss. The keys are right there. For you. All you have to do is just reach out.'
A deep chuckle.
'But you can't,' John's voice dropped to a sinister whisper. 'Can you now?'
Hotch lifted his infalliable glare to meet John's gaze. He doubted he had even given them his real name. He saw amusement dancing in his eyes, and a hint of triumph.
'Where is Agent Prentiss.' Hotch's trained eyes caught sight of the almost unperceivable flinch of John's right brow.
The corner of John's mouth flicked up into a satisfied smirk.
'It's always different when it's someone you know.'
The first photo that sat as the case file opened. The familiar brunette looked back, her smile now only tangible in her photo.
He pushed the thought away.
'Where is she?'
John grinned at Hotch's glare. 'Don't you worry,' he said. 'I can assure you; I've done everything I can to make her feel…comfortable.'
Hotch's glare followed John's gaze as he straightened up. 'And besides, why should you care? It's not like you're the one sleeping with her; right?' He released an amused laugh.
John's laugh faltered at Hotch's unwavering glare. He feigned an exaggeratedly contemplative expression. 'So you really do want to know...'
Aaron watched as John slowly raised his arm to the ceiling, held slightly at an angle.
'Watch,' John said, watching Hotch's face with a subtly joyous expression on his face.
'Look over there.'
Hotch's gaze instinctively followed where the man's finger was pointing. He felt his insides jolt at what he saw.
.
.
.
'So.'
She heard the scraping of the chair against a concrete floor as John pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, coming close so that his knees touched hers.
'Let's get to know each other.'
Emily jerked herself from her chair, forceful enough to rattle the chair she had been cuffed to. She allowed herself to feel a smidgen of triumph as John stepped back slightly, startled, but not in time to avoid his knees from being slammed by her own.
'You're gonna have to do much better than that,' John said, his voice faltering slightly on the first word. He refused to lean down and rub his knees; the impact had been quite painful.
'Scared?' Emily challenged, her glare steadfast.
'On the contrary,' John's voice was soft and dangerous as he suddenly swooped down, closing the distance between them and grabbing her hair in his fingers to force her head up towards his. 'You should be the one who's scared.'
John smirked at her defiant expression. 'I can see why you and your boss get along. You both get the same look on your face.'
'You better not have laid a finger on him –'
'Oh how sweet,' John said mockingly, stroking away a strand of hair from her face.
'How about you identify yourself; we know you're not John Dooley,' Emily said callously, jerking her face away to avoid his touch. 'Can't even use your own name, can you? You have to hide behind a façade, the way you've been doing your whole life, in hopes that being someone else would earn you recognition.'
'Oh really?' She watched John's face carefully, sure that she had seen a slight shift in his smug expression. 'You think you know so much about me.'
'More than you do, I'm sure,' Emily pushed further.
'What if my names are just a ruse?' John said, his smirk now completely restored. 'What if they serve no other purpose. Giving them a false name makes me trustworthy.'
'You kill all your victims within a few hours after your initial contact; you invade their lives as a complete stranger, with no research on the next victims that come your way. You have no reason to give a false identity, as they won't be alive by the time you're finished with them, nor do you have the knowledge to give one that's familiar to them, and yet you still do.' Emily said. 'And if you failed to notice,' she went to add as John suddenly lapsed into silence at her words, 'you struggled to provide a reason as to why you use a fake identity. You simply said; it makes you trustworthy. But you don't mention why; you just know that it's how it makes you feel.'
She saw hesitation and delivered the next blow. 'Makes you feel strong, doesn't it.'
'Hm,' John chuckled softly, looking down his nose at her. 'You spin a lot of wild theories, Agent. Shame that the false names I use merely only do serve as a ruse. Shame really; you're one hell of a story teller.'
John grinned, tightening his grip on her hair. 'As for my name, now that really doesn't matter.' He forced her closer, smirking at the way she tried to jerk free from his grasp.
His voice lowered to a whisper, and she felt a chill run down her spine. 'As long as I know what to call you when I do you tonight.'
He buried his face into her neck, miming the actions of a lover. Emily gave another sharp jerk, managing to successfully force herself away – but only for a tiny second before he forced her back. She could hear the beating of her heart as she felt his breath on her neck. She felt him smile against her skin.
She a heard a rough tearing sound and inhaled sharply as he slashed down her blouse with a knife. She felt a tiny trickle of blood run down from just above her breasts and down towards her stomach, producing a tickling sensation, as if someone was running the tip of their finger down her body.
'Well then, Agent Prentiss. Let's play.'
.
.
.
The office was quiet by the time the team arrived.
Morgan glanced towards their supervisor's office, expecting the lights to be on and blinds open. Only darkness lay beyond what he could see of the room.
'Hotch and Prentiss aren't back yet?' He asked, looking back at the team, eyebrow raised.
'Well they are driving down from New Mexico,' JJ said. 'Hotch suffered a bit of a fall so maybe they've been held up checking if everything's alright.'
'Or they've already gone home,' chirped Garcia, who had joined them for their case. 'Which, speaking of, is where I'll be, beloved crime fighters.'
'Our baby girl needs her beauty sleep?' Derek commented with a grin, earning himself a sassy smile from the tech analyst.
'We should all turn in for the night,' Dave said, heading up to his own office to drop his ready bag off. 'Fresh for tomorrow.' He turned to JJ questioningly.
JJ nodded. 'We have another early start tomorrow –' She gave Morgan a joking look. 'So no one better be late.'
Morgan grinned cheekily, waving it away. 'Me? Late? Never.'
'I rather think she meant for you to take it easy tonight,' Reid piped up enthusiastically, after having finished adjusting his satchel.
'Yeah kid, I got that,' Morgan replied, giving him a gentle shove on his shoulder. 'You get some rest too, huh?'
The sound of the vacuum began as the cleaners began their work in the office. Each of the team members said their good byes and forwarded out, each destined for their own cosy destinations.
Derek looked back momentarily, hesitating at the door. He took another glance at Hotch's office, then took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a familiar number.
'This is Agent Hotchner, please leave a message.'
Derek couldn't stop a grin from coming to his lips. 'Sleep well my man.'
.
.
.
A large long mirror had been hung from the ceiling, tilted so that anyone sitting in Hotch's position could watch every single thing that could occur in the other room.
'I can see you. You can see me,' John mocked softly, running his fingers behind Hotch's neck as a gesture of dominance. 'And we, we can see her, can't we.'
The mirror revealed a reflection of a woman who was bound to a metal panel, blonde hair sprawled around her face that had been mauled beyond recognition. Bloodied surgical instruments that lay on a metal table matched the several mutilations that littered the woman's body. Blood had dripped to the ground, and from the dark stains on the floor Hotch could see that she had not been this man's first victim.
That would be Emily soon enough.
Several other utensils filled the room, on the walls, on several other tables, some rusty and some appearing almost brand new. Each was stained with brown and dark red however; John obviously spared no creativity when it came to his works. Two heartbeat monitor screens were beside the metal bed, several pieces of wire connected to the body, and the other pieces of wire for the second machine were currently unattached.
Hotch guessed they were for multiple victims.
'You like what you see; Agent Hotchner?' John whispered in his ear, his voice disturbingly proud.
'The room was all me. And the girl; she was something. She was all me too.'
A sinister grin. John's voice dropped another notch.
'Wouldn't you like to watch your subordinate on that table. She can see you too you know. She will see you; watching. Every. Single. Thing.'
An agonized howl was torn from John's lips as Hotch slammed his head into John's nose.
Hotch felt the world twist as it fell backwards at the movement of his body, knocking the air from his lungs as he slammed to the ground. His hands, bound behind him, dug into his back, causing pain to shoot through his entire body once more, immobilizing him.
John's heavy footsteps approached him, and Hotch found himself looking up at the man. Blood fell in small drops on his face as it dripped down from John's chin as it streamed heavily from one of his nostrils.
'You son of a bitch.' John's tone was dangerous, and Hotch sat silently and waited for the next blow.
'You have no idea what I can do to you. And do to her,' John threatened, voice deep and heavy with rage. His eyes were wide, pupils a dot in the center his revealed eye whites, giving him a psychotic appearance.
John approached another step closer, his psychotic gaze fixed on Hotch's unwavering glare. A metal soled heel slammed down on Hotch's injured foot, ripping a pained cry from him.
A satisfied, maniacal laughter sounded as John continued to slam his foot down in a rhythm over the agent's, as if in a trance. The thumping of the impact echoed through the room.
Over and over again.
It felt as if his foot was on fire.
And again.
He felt and heard a sickening crack, pain exacerbated as his something occurred in his ankle.
And again.
Blood flowed once more from Hotch's foot, his ankle now twisted into a distorted shape.
Hotch's figure was slumped across the chair as John grabbed the chair and returned it to its upright position. The rough jolt caused Hotch to moan.
The pain would not stop.
His gaze swiveled to his foot, and noticed a tiny fragment of white poking out from underneath the sleeves of his pants. The bone had broken through the skin.
Oh god the pain.
Hotch glared up at the man, his head slightly tilted to the side. He wasn't down just yet.
The light from the room behind him cast John's shadow across Hotch figure, making him appear vulnerable.
'I'm going to take my time with her; and you will watch. Everything. And when your eyes meet and you realise you can't help her; do me a favour.'
John's face, now dark from his shadow, leaned closer, his voice barely above a gleeful whisper.
'Scream for help.'
.
.
.
Several miles away, a jeep stopped beside an upturned grey car.
A man with a cowboy hat on his head stepped out, his boots kicking up the dirt from the dusty concrete road. He glanced at the setting sun in the distance, then approached the grey car, stooping down to the windows to look inside.
There, he fell back on his hands as he found himself face to face with a woman's face, bloody sockets glaring back at him in place of eyes.
He scrambled back to his jeep, grabbed the satellite phone from his backpack, then dialed the emergency number.
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