*Many thanks to anyone who reviewed! Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I hope everyone likes this chapter. It's from another chapter that was super long, so I cut it into two.*
"Are they on their way?" Hotch demanded furiously, taking the final steps to board the jet. He pulled the phone away from his mouth to call to the other team members. "Morgan! Hurry up! Everyone else is on the plane!"
"Yes, sir, they're on their way," Garcia said from the other end of the line, her voice trembling. "I c-called them immediately—"
"Call me back as soon as you get any news," Hotch snapped. He turned around. "MORGAN!"
"I'm coming," his colleague hurried up the stairs. "Look, Hotch," Morgan said hesitantly, "I know it feels like we should just drop everything and leave, but—"
"We're going back," Hotch snapped, leaving little room for argument. "This is the next crime scene. This is where he is."
Morgan held up his hands. "Alright, fair enough," he said, as the plane began to take off. "But Hotch, we don't know if he's there, and we're already—"
"Oh, he's there," Hotch snapped. "And he's not getting away, this time." He had told Garcia to set up roadblocks.
The team sat in silence for fifteen minutes, waiting for a phone call. Eventually, Hotch got impatient and called Garcia.
"Any news?" Hotch demanded.
"No, sir," Garcia said; it sounded like she was desperately trying to keep her voice from quavering.
Hotch hung up.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
"Damnit, Garcia," Hotch said, when he called her again.
"I—I called the hospital, but no one has checked in yet; they sent an ambulance down there but no news yet, sir—I—I'm heading there myself now, sir—"
"Call me when you get there," Hotch snapped, irritated at the lack of response.
The intensity in the room was tangible. Another twenty minutes passed.
"It only takes ten minutes to drive to the fucking house," Hotch spat, furious. Rossi and Prentiss just stared at him; they had been silent the entire time. Morgan got to his feet and started pacing.
Hotch called Garcia again.
She didn't answer.
"You've got to be kidding me," Hotch muttered. He called her again.
No answer.
"Morgan," Hotch said, "Do you have the hospital's number?"
Morgan nodded. He dialed it and handed the phone to Hotch.
"Jefferson Hospital, can I help you?"
"Hello," Hotch said, "This is Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. About an hour ago, our technical analyst called and requested that an ambulance be sent to the LaMontagne Household. Has that ambulance returned?"
There was a pause. "Oh," the voice said, "Yes, it returned approximately fifteen minutes ago."
Hotch frowned. "Why did it take so long? Were the people alright?"
There was a slight pause. "Did you have a personal relationship with the victims, Agent Hotchner?"
Hotch frowned. "Um, I—yes, a woman on my team, and her husband and child."
There was another pause. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, Agent Hotchner," the voice said, and Hotch felt a feeling of horror and nausea well up deep inside of his stomach, "The victims were dead on arrival. The EMT's could not help them."
Hotch didn't speak. The rest of his teammates were staring at him.
"Are you sure?" he demanded suddenly, surprised by how aggressive he sounded.
The voice sounded surprised. "Yes, Agent Hotchner, of course." There was a pause. "I'm very sorry."
"Al…alright." He closed the phone.
None of them spoke. They knew already; he didn't have to say anything.
They sat in silence until the plane landed. Hotch mutely gestured for Rossi to follow him into the car; they needed to go to the crime scene.
"Morgan, Prentiss," Hotch muttered, "You…you just stay here, and…and wait for any more news." There wasn't really anything to do at headquarters; but Hotch didn't want the two agents to have to live with the images of their dead friends.
The two agents nodded; they both knew better than to disobey Hotch at this point.
When Hotch got into the car, his hands were shaking. He tried to take a deep breath; it didn't help in calming him down.
"Aaron," Rossi said, gently, from the passenger seat, "Why don't you let me drive?"
Hotch ignored him and started the car. Neither of them spoke until they arrived at the LaMontagne house.
Police had already started to arrive; the ambulance had already left. Hotch stepped out of the car, and flashed his badge at the police officers and CSI teams, causing them to back away from him. Rossi followed not far behind.
There were too many lights; too many lights and hushed voices and eyes following him inside; Hotch just felt numb. He wanted them to leave.
He stopped at the door. He stared at the doorknob for a moment, then grabbed it and pulled it open. He walked in.
There was blood everywhere. The walls, the floor, the furniture; they were all painted with blood. Hotch's eyes landed on Will first; he was slumped back against the couch, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Then his gaze moved to the blond woman on the floor.
Hotch heard Rossi made a horrified noise from behind him, and turn away; but Hotch couldn't turn away. His eyes remained fixed on JJ; she was on her side, her arm hanging strangely across her chest, her neck twisting upwards; her mouth was open in a scream, but Hotch couldn't see the rest of her face because it was obscured by blood. Suddenly, Hotch had a violent flash of Haley enter his mind; finally, he closed his eyes.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, thinking it was Rossi; but it was one of the policemen. Rossi appeared to have gone back outside.
"She was shot five times," he said somberly, "Although CSI thinks she was dead after the first. The guy was only shot once."
Hotch forced himself to swallow. "Where's Henry?" he asked, his voice harsh.
"Who?" the police officer asked.
"H…Henry. The child."
The officer frowned, then turned towards him. "What child?"
Hotch frowned. "You didn't find a child?"
The police officer shook his head. "No, sir. Just these two victims."
"There was no little boy here?"
The officer was staring at him strangely. "These were the only ones the EMT's found. Is there another victim…?" The officer trailed off as Hotch started away, down the hallway. That was when he remembered Reid's words.
I couldn't finish.
"Henry?" Hotch shouted. "Henry!" He sprinted down the hallway to the boy's room; it was empty. "Henry! Henry!"
He could hear Rossi's voice; then the officer, saying, "He's lost his mind or something." Rossi was beside him in a second.
"You think he's in here?" Rossi asked, a trace of disgust and horror creeping into his voice.
"Not just that," Hotch muttered, "I think he's still alive."
He ran throughout the house, Rossi struggling to keep up, calling Henry's name. "He's here, he's still here, I know he is," Hotch repeated, over and over. The tears that had been kept at bay now budded up in his eyes and began running down his face.
"Aaron," Rossi said sympathetically, "I don't think he's still…"
"It's locked!" Hotch was speaking of a closet that he had just stopped at. "Someone locked it, Dave!"
There was a pause. "Henry?" Hotch called.
There was no answer.
"Should we get someone to break it down?" Rossi asked.
Hotch shook his head, wiping the irritating tears off of his face. "No," he said, "If he's in there, it'll hurt him. Here—" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paperclip; he inserted it into the lock and began to turn, expertly picking the lock. Rossi just watched in astonishment.
Finally, the lock clicked open; Hotch froze for a second, then grabbed the doorknob, wrenching it open.
A small, blond boy was curled up in the corner. He wasn't moving.
"Henry?" Hotch whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, the boy stirred. He opened his eyes and let out a yawn; then looked at the man in front of him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Hello, Henry," Hotch said, tears of relief now streaming down his face, "My name is Aaron Hotchner. Are you alright?"
Henry smiled. Then he spoke. "Spencer said you'd find me, mister Hotchner."
Hotch froze. "He…he what?"
"He said you'd find me. Keep me safe. Like…an angel." A blissful look of contentment formed the young boy's face.
Hotch reached down and picked him up. "Let's go, Henry," he said quietly. He carried the young boy out the back door and away from the house, with Rossi following several feet behind. He set the young boy in the back seat of his car.
"We're taking him to this hospital," Hotch called to the police, "Just to have him checked out." He turned to Rossi. "Dave, why don't you drive? I'll sit back here with him." As they pulled out, Hotch heard the police chief yelling at the other officers for not realizing that there had been a young boy locked in the closet.
When Hotch glanced over at Henry again, he had fallen back to sleep.
*Review please, oh and everyone have a merry Christmas! : )*