Escalation
Chapter 3
Separation

"Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves – regret for the past and fear of the future" Fulton Oursler

Hotch lay in the trunk of the car, his own blood becoming a sticky mess in his hair and on the floor. He tried to feel for his cell phone in his pocket; he couldn't remember the UnSubs taking it, but it wasn't there. He must have lost it in the crash.

His left foot was throbbing agonisingly, but he had a feeling that this was nothing compared with what he was up against. If these men were the ones that had abducted and allowed to die three other men, possibly four, then he needed to keep his wits about him.

He shifted in the limited space, trying to find a less painful position. The boot of the car smelled of old blood and body fluids, and he guessed that he was not the first man to be shut in here.

He tried to move round so that he could reach his foot. He knew it was still bleeding; he could feel the growing puddle, and he wanted to bandage it somehow, but it was useless. He had no choice other than to lay still and wait for them to release him.

But release him to what?

-0-0-0-

When the dawn broke the next morning, the sun shone onto Reid's blood smeared face, and he opened his eyes slowly. He tried to remember what had happened. He remembered the tree in the road, and the van pushing the car over the edge of the road, but other than that, nothing.

Hotch had been driving. He tirned his head carefully, but Hotch had gone. Hopefully to get help.

But why not use the cells? Maybe there was no service out here, although they were not that far from town.

The airbag had gone down and he was able to move. He could see his cell phone on the floor. Presumably he had dropped it during the accident, but he couldn't move enough to retrieve it. Hotch'e phone he could see in the foot well. He tried to reach it but it was too far away.

He pushed against his door, and it opened with a metallic creak. His feet were caught in the foot well, and he couldn't get out of the car. He turned in his seat and looked back up the embankment. There was a van crushed against the SUV but he could see beyond that to the road.

Or at least in the direction of the road. There were trees and bushes between the car and the road, and he doubted if the SUV could be seen from up there.

He hoped Hotch would be able to get some help. He looked again into the foot well where Hotch's cell phone lay tantalisingly. There was quite a lot of blood there too, so Hotch had been hurt.

He had a sudden nasty thought that it had been late evening when they had set out for their assignation, and now it was dawn. Surely Hotch had got help by now.

Unless he had collapsed somewhere out there alone and bleeding out!

'Hotch!'

He listened carefully for any answer, but there was none.

Suddenly Hotch's cell phone vibrated and rang on the floor of the car. He tried desperately to reach it. It continued ringing for a minute, then stopped. Then his own rang, but he couldn't get to it.

All around him birds were singing bringing in a fresh new day – a day that bode badly for Reid.

-0-0-0-

'I've tried both cells but there's no reply to either.' Emily said. 'I let them ring until I got voice mail.'

Rossi was pacing. 'Where the hell are they?' he said. 'Something must have happened to them for them to not be answering their cells.'

'They said nothing to me either.' Morgan said. 'It must be connected to the case otherwise they wouldn't have left.'

'So where would they go in the night without telling us?'

'Did anything seem wrong last night, did any body notice?'

Detective Abrams came over to the desk.

'An informant called Agent Hotchner last night. I was just wondering if he got anything useful.'

The three agents stared at him.

'When last night?' Rossi asked.

'At about nine thirty.' he answered. 'I don't know any details of the call except the informant asked for Agent Hotchner by name.'

'So Hotch and Reid went to meet this informant. Do you know where?' Morgan asked.

'Like I said, I don't know any details of the assignation.' Abrams said, getting annoyed. Morgan stood up.

'Two of our agents are missing, and that phone call is our only lead. Now what can you tell us?'

Rossi put his hand gently on Morgan's arm.

'This is getting us no where.' he said sagely. 'Use that energy on Curtis. I'll investigate the phone call. Emily, go with him.'

Emily and Morgan left to talk to Curtis again. Rossi pulled a chair out for Abrams.

'Anything, anything at all.'

Abrams put his head in his hands. 'There was nothing special about it, except that Hotchner was asked for by name. Straight after the call, he called someone else on his cell.'

'I'll get Penelope to pull up Hotch's phone records. This could be the answer we need.'

-0-0-0-

The fumes and smell in the boot of the car was starting to make Hotch feel sick when the car stopped. He felt the car move as the two men got out and opened the lid. The sun was coming up, and Hotch looked around, hoping to recognise where he was.

He realised it had been a few hours he had been in the trunk of the car. Time had been impossible to count shut up in that tiny space. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun. He moved stiffly to try to get out, but he couldn't. His hands and feet tingled uncomfortably as the blood reached them again.

He felt hands on his wrists, pulling him out of the trunk. They dragged him over the edge and he fell onto the ground with a groan. His muscles screamed as he attempted to stand up. Using the car to pull against, he stood in front of his captors, favouring his right foot. Rope was wrapped tightly around his wrists and he was pulled along into an old house. There didn't appear to be houses close by. Hotch understood why. He stumbled forwards, trying not to put his weight on his left foot. He realised that no one had said anything. He broke the silence.

'Where is this place?'

His answer was a hard yank on the rope and he fell onto his knees in the dirt. His captors didn't wait for him to get up, and he was pulled along the ground and up some steps into what had once been a fine house, now a squalid hovel. Rubbish was strewn over the floor, and the cloying smell of decay was overpowering. Hotch gagged, trying to keep his face away from the filth as he was dragged through it. They came to a door and stopped pulling him, while they unlocked it. He stood on his feet again, taking his weight on his right foot.

The door creaked open to reveal a stone set of stairs going down into a darkened basement. They pulled him forwards and pushed him down the stairs.

-0-0-0-

As the sun moved across the sky, the space in the wrecked car got hotter and hotter. The last few weeks had been wet and drizzly, and Reid wished it still was. He was thirsty and desperately wanted a drink. Hotch still wasn't back with help, and he knew now that he wasn't coming back. Hotch had been right, it was a trap, but why had they taken Hotch? They could have killed them both lying here in the wreck, and made it look like an accident.

Then he remembered, these UnSubs didn't kill. They left people to die, but didn't kill them directly. Reid tried to understand why, but all he could think about was how thirsty he was and how his legs hurt.

Actually they didn't hurt as much as they had done. He realised that they were going numb as the blood couldn't reach them.

He tried to move them but the dash board was clamped across his thighs and he was trapped perfectly. He leaned back in the seat. He was sweating and his hair was soaked with blood and sweat, sticking to his face. He gripped his right thigh and pulled as hard as the pain would allow him. He felt flesh tear and blood run, and he leaned out of the car and threw up.

Ok, that wasn't going to work.

He called out for help, but his throat was so dry he doubted it could be heard up on the road.

He leaned back again and closed his eyes. He passed out in the heat as the sun reached its zenith.

-0-0-0-

Hotch had no way of saving himself as he fell down the steps into the darkness, and he hit his face on the concrete steps. When he was at the bottom, he panted for breath on the cold damp floor. When he felt he could move again, he turned into a sitting position and tried to see where he was.

He blinked as his eyes got used to the darkness, and he looked around.

The cellar had vaulted ceilings as if it had once been for wine storage. There were brick pillars holding up the ceiling, but other than that the place was empty. He got on his hands and knees and crawled to the opposite corner of the room where he could watch the steps and see if anyone came in. He pressed himself against the corner, wondering what was to come next. He thought it was possible he was being held as an exchange for Curtis. If that was so then they were wasting their time. There was never room for negotiation with terrorists, and although these UnSubs were not terrorists in the strict sense of the word, the rule still applied. There was to be no easy way out for him.

Reid. He cursed himself for bringing Reid with him. He didn't know if he was dead or alive. He hadn't seen him move after the crash, and how was anyone to find him? Garcia knew where they were going. He hoped Rossi would ask her. Then at least they would find Reid.

There could be clues in the van too – fingerprints and trace to lead the team to him. He thought that the van had been sent over the edge after the SUV, but he wasn't certain. He had been hurt in the crash and had a concussion at the time – he couldn't be certain of anything.

He heard the door opening, and saw the light of a torch as some men came down the steps towards him.

They didn't speak, they just came over to him and started hitting him. He had taken beatings before, but this was four men onto him, and his hands were tied. He managed to give two of them a good punch, but someone hit him on the side of the head with a club, and he fell to his knees. They beat him unconscious, and kicked him around the floor for a bit, then pulled him up and photographed his unconscious body.

Then they left him to lie in his own dirt.

-0-0-0-

The kid saw his chance at making some money here. A dead bloke in a car wreck. He wouldn't miss his stuff!

Trying not to touch the dead guy – he'd not seen one before, and didn't much like it – he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.

FBI. The dead guy was a Fed. He didn't have much money on him, but there were two cell phones on the floor of the wreck, and the Fed was carrying some credit cards that he could sell.

And he had a gun! He would get some good money for a gun.

He decided to keep the FBI ID and stick his own face on it. He could scare the crap out of people with that and really have some fun!

He shoved the wallet, ID and cell phones in his pocket and slid back down the embankment, already spending the money in his head.