Here we go. The next chapter ya'll been waiting for. Read, enjoy and use that little old review button. So few reviews are making me feel a tad unloved. Make me happier. :)
It was a beautiful evening. The nighttime sky was clear of clouds, allowing an unimpeded view of the stars twinkling in their full glory. The summer moon bathe the waters of the river Seine with its gentle light as it wound its way through the City of Light. Sounds were muted, occasionally broken by the horns of the barges that chugged their ways slowly up and down the river. It was a perfect night for lovers to take a romantic stroll before sharing a kiss under a moonlit tree.
All of this was lost on the woman walking down the boulevard with an air of casualness about her, canvas tote bag slung over the left shoulder, right hand buried deep in the pocket of the light weight coat. Though she gave off the appearance of someone without a care in the world. Inside, she was tense and alert, dark brown eyes constantly scanning the shadows, alleyways, and nooks for hidden dangers. She studied the faces and body language of the people she passed, nodding or smiling only when they did it first. If anything seemed off, she would unobtrusively move to one side, giving them a wide berth. She never looked behind her but listened closely for any sounds: footsteps, coughs, or ragged breathing that could mean she was being followed.
Emily breathed a sigh of relief when her apartment came into view. She stepped into the shadows of the building across from it, eyes studying the area around the entrance for any figures lurking in the darkness. Spotting none, she gripped the gun hidden in her pocket tighter, hurried across the street, and unlocking the door to slide inside the dingy vestibule.
Once in, she pulled out the gun and held it close to her leg for ease of use and to hide it from sight in case she ran into any of her neighbors on the way up. She knew they already called her the 'odd woman in 4A' but she didn't want to become the 'gun toting crazy woman in 4A'. That would draw to much attention, which she definitely did not want. She would then be forced to move and she didn't have the energy to do so. Hell, she barely had the energy to get through each long, empty day.
Slowly Emily made her way up the stairs, setting each foot down cautiously on the worn treads to avoid making any noise. It had taken her over two weeks to memorize all the creaks, squeaks, and groans of each individual step. Now she was able to float up the stairs like a ghost to surprise any of Doyle's henchmen who might be lurking on any of the three landings. Luckily Emily didn't encounter anyone and was soon standing in front of her apartment door on the fourth floor.
She slipped the canvas tote off her shoulder, wincing as the motion tugged on the still healing stab wound. Five months later and it still hurt whenever she moved in certain ways. Emily welcomed the pain because it proved she was still alive and dreaded the day when she no longer felt it for it would mean she was truly dead inside. Dead in the grave back in Virginia and dead in the soul here in Paris. One hell of a non-life she was leading.
Setting the bag down on the floor, she pulled out her keys to open the multiple locks on the door. After taking a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she raised the Glock up to shoulder height, grabbed the knob with her left hand, flung open the door, and burst into her narrow hallway. Now, with both hands wrapped comfortably around the gun, she quickly cleared her crappy two room apartment or as she often called it 'her own personal corner of hell'. It took a minute to peer into the tiny closet, the cramp bathroom, the small bedroom, and the kitchen/living room. Satisfied that the apartment was empty, Emily retrieved her bag from the corridor, locked the door, and dropped the metal bar across the threshold. Then she checked that each window was still locked and the glass figurines were still in place on the sashes. Only then did she feel safe even though that lasted for a fleeting moment.
Sighing to herself, she moved to the kitchen table and dropped the tote bag on it with a dull thud.
As she pulled out a chair, she placed the gun down next to the bag but kept it well within reach. Her stomach rumbled as she removed the take out meal and a bottle of water. Taking off the cover, Emily dug into her dinner but after ten bites her appetite deserted her and she pushed the plate away. The doctor had told her, no, order her to eat more to bring her weight up. She knew she had to but right now the mere thought of food made her nauseous.
Grabbing the water bottle and gun Emily moved over to the chair by the window. Setting down the gun on the side table she twisted off the cap and took a small sip while staring outside at the moonlit boulevard. This was where she spent most of time during the day watching as life passed her by and at night when she couldn't sleep, which most of the time the whole night, wondering what had happened to strong, confident woman she once knew as herself. Now she was this paranoid woman who jumped at her own shadow, who rarely ventured out of her apartment except to get supplies and whose constant companion was her Glock. She ate, slept and even showered with the damn thing.
Unconsciously, she loosened and then retightened the cap on the bottle over and over as she thought about her friends she had left behind. Were they still grieving for her or had they moved on and forgotten about her? Had Jack started soccer? Was Reid still having headaches? Did JJ still hate her job at the State Department? Had Seaver finished her training with the team? Was Morgan still beating himself up for not getting to her in time even when he really did? Emily didn't have any answers to her questions and she never would. While they lived their lives, she merely existed which was what she deserved for shattering their trust in her.
"I'm better off dead," she said aloud to the empty room. A sharp pain from her ulcer seconded the motion.
Realizing she was about to sink into a deep morose that would have her pacing all night, she tried to focus on something to cheer her up. Tonight was online Scrabble with JJ. Emily was never so thankful when she had found the note in the envelope listing the website and JJ's user name. Those games with her friend kept her sane.
Emily looked at her watch and grimaced. It was seven o'clock here, which meant it was only two o'clock in Washington. JJ usually didn't sign on until after nine when Henry went to bed so she had seven long and lonely hours to kill. Playing Scrabble at two in the morning wasn't hard for her since she hardy slept longer than three hours before the nightmares came to haunt her. She would then spend the rest of the night pacing, catching catnaps here and there during the day. Occasionally she could go for several days without sleep until exhaustion caught up with her and send her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"What to do? What to do?" she asked herself gazing around the sad apartment.
She briefly contemplated reading a book but decided against it, citing lack of concentration. Her eyes fell on the laptop resting on the side table. That would work, she decided. Might as well as surf the Internet while she waited. Maybe she would get lucky and JJ would sign on early.
Flipping the laptop open, she waited patiently for it to boot up. Quickly she logged in and clicked on her list of favorite sites. The first one she always looked at was the website for one of the local news channels in Washington, D.C.. She may not live there anymore but she like to keep up to date on the current events. It made her feel like she was still somewhat connected to her old life.
Emily scanned the top stories from the noon newscast, finding nothing of interest. They were the same old stories: murders, robberies, and some political scandal. She was about to close the window when she saw the Amber Alert. It always tore at her heartstrings whenever a child was reported missing. This one appeared to be a six-year-old boy missing from the National Zoo by the name of….
Emily rocked back in shock as the name 'Jack Hotchner' jumped off the screen at her.
"Jack?" she said in disbelief. "That can't be true." She quickly read the description, her stomach tightening into knots with each word.
In stunned silence she stared at the screen, desperately trying to wrap her mind around it.
How could that adorable boy go missing? She thought. Hotch would have drummed into his son's head the dangers of talking to strangers and going with them.
"Hotch!" she uttered, covering her mouth with her hand. "He must be frantic. I have to do something."
Forgetting where she was, Emily jumped to her feet, shrugging on her coat as she hurried to the door. The urgency that overwhelmed her made her fingers clumsy, causing her to struggle with the locks. Just as she was about to throw open the door and rush blindly into the corridor, reality caught up with her. She was thousand of miles away and there wasn't a damn thing she could do.
Breathing hard from her mad dash to the door, she felt the despair of helplessness washing over her.
"God Damn It!" she roared and lashed out, driving her right fist into the solid oak door. Pain radiated down her arm in steady bursts.
"Shit!" she swore, cradling her injured hand. She looked down to see blood seeping from the broken skin on the already bruising knuckles. Carefully Emily flexed her fingers grimacing at the pain but was relieved that she could move them. Hopefully the hand was just bruised and not broken.
Slowly she made her way back to the kitchen table and sank into the chair. Picking up a napkin, she gently wrapped it around the bleeding knuckles. She lost track of how much time she spent watching the makeshift bandage slowly turn red.
She was totally frustrated that she couldn't help find Jack and that she didn't have enough information on the search. The Amber Alert gave her the basics but she needed more, like where in the zoo he went missing, who saw him last and what was being done to find him.
Emily's eyes lit up when she when she figured out where to find it. Pulling over the tote bag, she dug around inside until she found her emergency cell phone. Flipping it open, she gazed at the glowing numbers suddenly feeling very nervous.
Taking a deep breath, she muttered, "Get a grip, Emily. Just do it," and punched in the familiar number.