*Thanks for reading! And I hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving!*
The stairs seemed to get in the way as Hotch stumbled down towards the parking lot; other employees were casting him strange looks. He sprinted out of the building, leapt into his car, and drove away at a pace that was well above the speed limit. He had only one thought on his mind; I'm too late.
He turned a corner; he felt a familiar rush, like the kind he had felt when he was racing to save Reid from Christopher Buchannan. Now, he needed to save Reid from himself.
He knew he was too late before he got to the apartment. And yet, he continued as if it wasn't; as if there were some sort of chance that Reid would still be there.
He bolted up the stairs, pushing past a disgruntled mother and her young child; he stopped in front of Reid's apartment, panting heavily. He fumbled in his pocket for the key; but when he put his hand on the doorknob, he realized that it was already open.
Carefully, hesitantly, he opened the door. He half-expected to see Reid sitting on the couch, reading a book; even though he knew that this notion was impossible.
The apartment was empty. He checked the bedroom and the kitchen—just to be sure. He returned to the living room and noticed that all of the books were gone from the bookshelves; someone had taken them.
Everything else was left as usual; the bed was unmade, clothes lying on the floor, even the milk had been left out. If not for the books or the unlocked door, Hotch would have almost expected Reid to still be living here.
That was when he saw it; there was a letter lying on the table. The envelope read, Hotch.
Anxiously, Hotch grabbed the letter and ripped it open. He had written five lines.
Hotch,
I knew that you would come here looking for me after our discussion last night.
I wanted to let you know that I appreciate your interest in the situation, but I am all set to resolve it.
Your interference in the resolution of the situation would not be appreciated.
I will not be returning to my apartment for some time. I have no more interest in working for the FBI.
Hotch flipped the letter over, looking for more; but that was all he had written. He ransacked the apartment; that couldn't be all he was leaving for him?
But it was.
His phone started ringing. He fumbled hurriedly with it, expecting it to be Morgan asking him where the hell he had gone.
It was Strauss.
He sighed. "Hello?" he asked, thinking that this was probably the last person on earth he wanted to talk with right now.
"Hello, Agent Hotchner. Dr. Reid sent me his resignation last night, as you are aware, but he has failed to turn in his badge and gun."
Hotch felt his blood slowly and congealing in his veins.
"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but could you please talk to Dr. Reid and tell him to turn them in to me immediately?"
Hotch cleared his throat, trying not to make his voice sound hoarse. "Of course. I'll talk to him," he said.
"Good," she replied, and the phone snapped shut.
Hotch sighed and dialed Reid's number; he knew it was useless, and that Reid wouldn't answer; but he had to do his job, after all.
That was when he heard a ringing in his apartment. Frowning, he walked over to Reid's bedroom, then started digging through the bed; the phone was buried in the covers, as Reid had been sleeping with it.
Either Reid had forgotten to bring his cell phone, or he didn't want to be tracked.
His gun and badge were nowhere to be seen. Hotch would have expected to find them with the letter.
Meanwhile, Morgan was sitting at his desk, reading the same line over and over. He had finished all of his paperwork; for once, this seemed like a curse instead of a blessing. He couldn't stop thinking of Hotch's face, staring blankly at the computer—him telling his team that Reid had left, and the looks on their faces—Reid sitting across from him on the plane, scribbling in a notebook…
"Morgan!"
Morgan started, glancing around nervously. It was JJ.
"We have a case," she said. "Is Hotch here?"
Morgan shook his head. "He left," he said.
"Call him, then get in here."
Obediently, Morgan took out his phone and dialed his boss' number. The line was busy.
"He's not answering, JJ," Morgan said, as he joined the rest of the team in the conference room.
JJ let out a sigh. She looked extremely irritated. "Fine," she snapped, "We'll start without him."
She put a picture up on the board. "This is St. Elizabeth's Sanitarium. It's located in Virginia. Around three o'clock this morning, the fire alarm went off and all of the lights went out. When the nurses tried to evacuate, they found that all of the doors had been locked. They started hearing gunshots, and so everyone went for cover. About ten minutes later, the lights came back on and the fire alarm stopped. They found that the doors were unlocked again, and three of the patients had been shot in the head."
They all stared.
"No one saw anything?" Prentiss asked incredulously.
"Do they have a visitor list?" Morgan demanded.
"I interviewed the nurses. They don't allow visitors at three in the morning," JJ replied.
"The fire alarm and locked doors would create a diversion," Rossi said, speaking for the first time, "The nurses would be so terrified that they were all going to burn to death that they would never have noticed anything suspicious."
"But if the doors were locked, how did the unsub get in?" Morgan asked.
"He must have already been in the building," Prentiss remarked. "Maybe through a window?"
"Security systems in these kinds of hospitals are focused on keeping patients from getting out; not for keeping others from getting in," Rossi said.
"It wouldn't have been too difficult to sneak in, then," Prentiss said, "There were only two nurses on duty. And some sanitariums systems that lock all of the doors for emergency situations, to keep patients from running into the streets. The unsub must have known that, and used it to his advantage."
Morgan glanced down as his cell phone started buzzing; Hotch was calling him back.
"Yeah, Hotch?" he asked, covering his other ear and leaving the room so as not to disrupt the discussion.
"Morgan, Reid left his cell phone here. And he hasn't turned in his gun and badge. I need to talk to you about something."
"Later, man," Morgan said, "We've got a case in Virginia."
He heard a long sigh from Hotch. "What is it?"
"Three patients from a 'St. Elizabeth's Sanitarium.' Shot in the head in the middle of the night. We think that the unsub used the lock systems and fire alarms as a diversionary tactic."
Hotch didn't say anything.
"Hello?" Morgan asked, glancing down at the phone to see if he'd hung up accidentally. He hadn't. "Hotch? You there?"
His boss' voice sounded very weak. "We're too late, Morgan," he whispered.
Morgan sighed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Our…our interference in the situation would not be appreciated."
"Hotch!" Morgan snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you? I know you're upset about Reid; I am too; but you've got to keep it together!"
There was another long silence. "Right," Hotch's voice sounded anxious, agitated, "You're right, Morgan, of course. Tell the team I'm on my way."
The line went dead. Morgan pocketed the phone, shaking his head, then returned to his team in the conference room.
It was going to be a long day.