a/n: I receive an email every time I get a review, and I get the emails on my phone. I'd only received, like, 4 review emails, and I was a little bummed. Then I stopped by to read the story over (you have to know where you've been to know where you're going), and I had 12 reviews! I was very excited. Thanks, everyone, for all your kind and supportive words!

There seem to be quite a few phone calls in this story; that's normally something I avoid as much as possible, because I find them horribly boring to read. I've tried to keep these short and, as much as possible, interesting.

Oh, I realized I posted an older version of chapter 3. It's not a huge deal, but if you want to, go and re-read it. All the major things are the same; it's just got a bit more flourish to it. :)

Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta chiroho. Your services are invaluable!

Chapter 4: The Town

True madness takes or leaves us in the wood
halfway through all our lives.
-Neil Gaiman, "Going Wodwo"

As soon as the detectives were gone, Hotch checked his watch and picked up the phone. It was getting late, but he figured she would still be in. Sure enough, after two rings a crisp voice answered. "Jennifer Jareau, District Ranger."

He cleared his throat, feeling strangely nervous. "Ms. Jareau, hello. It's Chief Hotchner from Walter's Gap."

There was a small, amused silence. Then, "Of course, Chief Hotchner. How are you?"

"I'm well. Yourself?"

"Tired. It's been a long day. What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you—"

"No, it's no bother. I didn't mean—"

"Oh, well, no, I didn't—" He cleared his throat again; felt like an idiot. "Let me start over. Do you remember that film crew from last year? It was led by David Rossi; they were investigating the local legends and folklore."

"I don't think I could forget. Have you found anything new? Since the camera, I mean."

He had called her when the hikers found the camera; they'd debated launching a new search, but had decided against it since the group had been missing almost a year. "No, nothing new. I just wanted to let you know there's a pair of PIs down from Chicago. They've been hired by David Rossi's daughter, and they'll probably come see you before they leave town."

He heard her long, thoughtful exhalation. "Are they planning to go into the woods?"

"Yes, definitely. I couldn't dissuade them, even though they're perhaps even less prepared for it than Dr. Rossi and his crew." He fiddled with a pen on his desk and imagined the look on her pretty face: her delicate features would be set in a small frown, and she might even be chewing her lip – something she only did when she was really annoyed or perplexed.

"Have they seen the footage?"

"No," he assured her, "at least not what we have here. I believe Dr. Rossi's daughter had a portion of it, so I'm sure she gave them that much."

"They've come all the way from Chicago? A year later? This is strange, Hotch."

He'd forgotten that she'd started calling him that during the search last year. His mouth flicked upward in a brief smile before he focused again. "If they do go in – not if, but when – when they go in, we should go with them."

He could hear her drumming her fingertips against the desk. "I agree. We don't need two more big-city missings. How about I call you after I speak with them? Hopefully I can nail down their plans more definitely, and we can figure out the best approach together."

"That sounds good. I look forward to speaking with you, Ms. Jareau."

"Me, too. Oh, and Hotch? Call me J.J."

He grinned. "J.J., of course. Have a great night."

"You, too. Goodnight."

He returned the phone to its cradle. Attempted to do some paperwork. Clicked the pen in his hand again and again. Giving up after only ten minutes, he rose from his desk and headed toward the evidence room. He didn't know why, but he had to see that footage again. Maybe he had to reassure himself that he hadn't imagined things the first time, or was misremembering now.

He knew eventually Morgan and Prentiss would ask about seeing it, and he wasn't sure what he was going to tell them. The case was still officially open, so he could claim it was evidence in an on-going investigation. They would see right through that feeble excuse, though, and he didn't really have anything else to offer them.

Sighing, Hotch plugged the memory card into his laptop and wondered what the hell he was going to do about Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan.

"Meatloaf—? You're seriously going to eat that? It's loaf. Made from meat." Prentiss stared at her partner's steaming pile of gravy-smothered food with an expression that perfectly mingled horror, fascination, and disbelief.

"I like meatloaf, Prentiss. My momma made the best meatloaf when I was growing up. Didn't you eat it as a kid?"

She offered him a sour smile. "My mother was too busy looking for either her next boyfriend or her next fix, depending. No one made meatloaf at Chez Prentiss."

"Now's your chance to make up for it. Come on, Prentiss, it's good." He loaded his fork with meat and potatoes and moved it toward her with an absurd buzzing noise. "Open up, Emily! Yum yum!"

"You're ridiculous," she said with a snort. "I'll stick to my salad, thanks."

He eyed her plate with skepticism. "I don't know how you live off that rabbit food."

"It's actually pretty decent. Fresh, like maybe they grow it around here."

His eyes widened. "Gosh, you mean like in the ground? Who woulda thunk…?"

She rolled her eyes and speared a tomato; popped it into her mouth to smother a laugh. "So what did you think of the famous Aaron Hotchner?" she asked after swallowing.

"He seemed pretty solid."

She was amazed to note that he'd already cleared half the plate. "You think?" she said.

"You didn't?" he asked, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth to fix her with a puzzled stare.

"I don't know." Her eyes were unfocused and she toyed absently with her knife as she considered. "It's not that I don't trust him; I just feel like there're pieces of the story he's not telling us."

"Hhhmm," he said around a huge bite. He washed it down with a big gulp of sweet tea, then, "We should ask him about that extra footage tomorrow. Rossi's daughter said the cops kept most of it."

"It's evidence, you know; he may not show it to us."

Morgan waved that away. "Technically it is, yeah, but it seems like Hotchner basically considers the case closed. They're dead, the end."

"And yet here we are, ready to risk life and limb and fucking Big Foot to find what, Morgan? Maybe, if we're extremely lucky, a few bones?"

He lowered the roll he'd been devouring; sighed. "I don't know what we're gonna find, Prentiss, if anything. I just know there's something not right about this whole thing, and I wanna figure out what."

She studied him across the table for a long, silent moment. They'd been partners eight years, and she'd always trusted him; had followed his hunches and his 'feelings,' and found he was usually right. At the moment, though, her gut and his weren't in very close agreement, and she wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. "We should talk to some of the locals," she finally said with a wave around the restaurant that encompassed the whole town. "Hotchner said everyone knows the legends, and everyone has a story."

"It might be the best way to figure out what Rossi was chasing," he agreed.

"If it's Big Foot, you're in deep shit, buddy."

"Skunk ape, Prentiss; skunk ape. Try to acclimate."

She pinned him with a death glare and reached across to steal the last roll. "Acclimate this," she offered with a sweet smile and a rude gesture.

He laughed, and they spent the rest of the meal discussing the case with their usual friendly, affectionate bickering.

Somewhere in Walter's Gap, a small, sweaty man was bent over a telephone. It took him three tries to dial the right number, and the voice on the other end made him shake so hard he almost fumbled the phone in his slick hands. "It's me," he said on a gulp.

"I can read the Caller ID. What do you want?"

"Look, we maybe got trouble. There's some people—"

"Private investigators. From Chicago. Yes, I know. Is that the reason you're calling me?"

"Well, I just…I thought…"

"There's your mistake. It isn't your job to think. There's nothing left for them to find, is there?"

"No. No, there ain't, I just—"

"Enough. If you did your job as you claim to have done, then we don't have a problem. Do we have a problem?"

"I guess…no, I guess we don't."

"Good. Don't call me again."

The call disconnected with a sharp click, and the man wiped his damp forehead with a blue kerchief. "God damn! God damn, what the hell I got myself into?" he asked the universe at large. Still shaking and sweating like a jonesing addict, he tucked the phone back into his pocket, mopped his face again, and tried to forget the whole fucked up mess.

Well that was ominous. Tune in next time to see some more of what idyllic little Walter's Gap is hiding!

Also, reviews make me smile big time.