"The only thing we have to fear on this planet is man."
-Carl Gustav Jung
Morgan's voice was muffled but loud on the other side of Spencer's door, screaming for Reid to get up. Spencer stumbled out of bed, still a bit groggy from the night before. After he had waited around at Angie's hotel, he assumed she had changed her mind and ditched him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been stood up by a woman, but it didn't change the fact that it stung. He grabbed a bottle of wine on the way home and finished off half of it before he fell asleep. Looking at the clock, he realized he was an hour late.
"I'm coming," he called, pulling on a fresh shirt and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look less messy. As he opened the door, he expected to see Morgan's face frozen and irritated, but instead his eyes were wide and his lips pressed together. "Look I know I'm late, I'm sorry…"
"It's not that," Morgan said gruffly. "We can't find Angie."
Spencer was dumbstruck. His thoughts flashed back to the night before, looking at all the signs that something was wrong. Angie would never have ditched him like that, he just knew it. He let his paranoia get the best of him, and he felt responsible. "She's not in her hotel room?"
"No," Morgan shook his head, ushering Spencer out of the room. "Gibbs sent Tony to wake her up a few hours ago, and she wasn't there. She isn't answering her cell phone."
"Have Garcia try and trace it."
"NCIS already called one of their agents back in DC to do that. It's turned off."
&&&&
Wherever they were, it wasn't what somebody would expect as the home of a serial killer. The walls were not dingy and made of cement. The floors were crème colored, and the furniture was modern and attractive. It would have been beautiful if not for the fact that Angie was tied up in a chair.
Across from her sat a Hispanic man. He was lanky and thin with bad skin and a large nose. His eyes were wide and bulging, but full of emotion. "I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again, occasionally reaching out to touch her face. He stopped when she nearly bit off a finger. "You left me no choice."
Angie tugged at her restraints, at least hoping to knock the chair over. Unfortunately it seemed to be nailed to the floor, and her wrists were beginning to bleed from the ropes tearing into her skin. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but knew it must have been several hours, because the sun outside was beginning to set again. There were windows in the room with curtains, but she could see enough through them to see that there were no houses opposite the one she was in. She feared she was somewhere remote.
"What the hell do you want?" She seethed at him, wincing in pain each time she attempted to lunge forward out of the chair.
He simply watched her from a few feet away, a small smile on his face. He watched her the way someone watches a loved one, his eyes lit up, his smile subtle and caring. And though he didn't say much, he said enough for Angie to know he was the man behind all the killings. She just couldn't figure out why he had taken her, instead of attacking her in a park like he did the others.
She tried to imagine what Spencer would say in that situation. His voice chimed in her head, saying the Unsub changed his routine because they were on to him. By then, Angie didn't even care. She just wanted to beat the man until each and every bone in his body was broken.
"You seem to be feeling better now," he said softly, tilting his head to one side. "I'm glad I found you."
"Suck it."
His eyebrows knit together, his mouth pursing slightly. "Virginia, what's gotten in to you?"
Angie blinked, confused. Looking around the room, she noticed pictures on the walls. Most of them were of the strange man and a woman, blonde with tanned skin and full lips. Angie relaxed a bit, not because she felt more comfortable, but because she realized if she was going to get out alive, she was going to have to play along.
"Honey…" She didn't know his name, and hoped giving him a pet name would cover up that fact. "Bring me that picture." She nodded at a picture sitting on the mantle of the fireplace a few feet from her.
He stood up and brought it over to her. "I loved this day. It was when we went to Puerto Rico to visit my parents."
The man in the picture was the same as the man in the room, but a few years younger. His face was fuller, and he appeared much healthier. The woman was the strangest part of the picture. She looked a lot like the murdered women, but most of all, she looked like Angie. It wasn't just an uncanny resemblance, either. It was as if someone cloned her. Things were beginning to piece together for Angie.
"Yes, yes, I remember. I've… uh… I've missed you." Her hands were freezing, her breath sharp against her throat. "Now… I need you to tell me about those girls."
He became silent, placing the picture back in its place. "They were imposters. They ran in your parks and they dressed up like you because they're jealous. But they weren't you. I saw them and when they weren't you, I got mad. Nobody can be you but you!"
&&&&
Gibbs stared down his nose, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, at Spencer. "Why in the world did you let her go home alone?"
Spencer felt responsible for all of this, but had not yet told everybody why he was going to meet Angie at her hotel room, though he suspected they already knew. "I didn't know she hadn't come in a car. She was going to meet me at her hotel. When she didn't show I figured she just…"
"You figured what?"
"…That she had stood me up."
The graying Marine unfolded his arms and leaned forward, placing his hands on the chair arms. His face was only inches from the FBI agent in front of him. Hotchner could tell things weren't going to end well if he didn't intervene now. "Agent Gibbs, there was no way he could have known she didn't have her car."
Morgan leaned against the table behind Spencer, hoping his presence behind his friend would make Gibbs go easy. Obviously that wasn't the case. "Why was she out by herself anyway? She knows it isn't safe."
"Are you saying it's her fault?" Tony stared down Agent Morgan, his friendly face hardened into a grim caricature of his normal self.
"Of course not. It just seems strange she'd go out by herself."
Spencer rubbed his eyes, seeing spots behind the lids that were so tightly pressed against his eyes. "She must have felt it was okay, since it wasn't raining. How are we so sure it was him that took her, anyway? Nothing about her vanishing fits the profile."
&&&&
Exhausted, Angie had fallen asleep in the chair, slumped forward with her hair in her face. The man still wouldn't untie her, and slept on the couch so she couldn't get away. She tried negotiating with him, saying things like she wouldn't leave because she loves him, and holding her there was pointless. He wasn't buying any of it, despite his comments about trusting her.
Her wrists woke her up every now and then. She never realized how torn up skin could get from rope. The only times her hands were held behind her back were when she asked for it, and those restraints were soft and furry.
Her skin seared every time she moved, forcing her awake like a vengeful alarm clock. She ground her teeth together, trying to find the best position to sit that was comfortable enough so she wouldn't move. The plan was failing miserably.
"Samuel," she whined (she had learned his name a few hours earlier), "the ropes really hurt." She was disgusted at herself for speaking to him like she was okay, like she didn't mind being there.
Samuel squirmed in his spot, but did not respond. He had grown immune to her pleas to be let go, each time pulling the painful rope bit. Nothing worked.
"Come on. Wake up. What do I have to do to get you to untie me?"
He exhaled sharply and sat up, his face red and lined with the pattern of the couch on one side. His eyes were large and sympathetic, but sparkling with insanity. They were terrifying, sending shivers down Angie's body. She wanted to leave. She wanted Gibbs and Tony to come smashing through the door, guns ready. Gibbs could be unpleasant sometimes, and maybe he was a bit skeptical of probies from time to time (or maybe it was the lawyer thing, she couldn't tell), but he was a great man. Tony as well. He was womanizing and frustrating, but he had a good heart.
Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to burst free. Everything made her so angry. She was exhausted, but in pain, and couldn't help feeling like she was going to die soon. There was no way she could keep up the charade forever, and even if she could, she had no idea what he was going to do to her. He was a serial killer, unpredictable.
He wouldn't be unpredictable to Spencer, she thought. He would be able to predict his every move. Angie closed her eyes, forcing back tears. Forget Gibbs and Tony, or McGee and Ziva back in DC. Thinking of Spencer was even more painful. She hadn't known him for very long, but there was just something about him. They clicked. It was strange. She laughed inwardly at all those times her friends had come to her about men they had met. They all said that something had clicked between them and some guy. She always laughed and told them they were being naïve, and there was no such thing as love at first site. If it wasn't for her parents, she wasn't sure she would have believed in love at all, having never experienced it for herself. But Spencer…
"Are you crying?" Samuel quickly rushed to her side, wiping away a stray tear that had slid down her cheek.
"It's the stupid rope," she insisted. "It hurts."
He smiled gently and kissed her cheek. She had to force down the lump of disgust that built up in her at the feeling of his lips on her cheek. "You never were good at taking much pain, my dove. I'll let you go, but you have to promise not to leave me again."
"I promise!"
His eyes narrowed a bit, but he obliged and cut the rope with a knife he pulled from the drawer next to the sofa. His distrust of her had not yet waned, as he returned himself to his seat and pulled a gun from between the cushions. Angie had planned on running for it, but at the site of the tiny killing machine, she quickly changed her mind.
Samuel leaned back and shut his eyes, the gun clutched in one hand. Angie rubbed at her wrists, glad to see she wasn't bleeding anymore. Not that she had been bleeding too much. There were dark bruises, molded around her wrists in the shape of the rope.
Her eyes scoped the room in the dim light, hoping to spot something she had not seen before. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed her jacket on the floor. Her cell phone had been in it, and she prayed to god it was still there. Silently, she turned in her chair and reached as far as she could, grabbing the hem of one sleeve and slowly dragging it towards her. Frantically she searched through the pockets, but he must have removed the phone. She tossed it back, frustrated by the few options she had.
Angie slumped over, holding back sobs. She was beginning to lose hope. Chances were he'd turned off her phone, and if her team was looking for her, they would be hard pressed to find her.
It looked like Samuel had fallen back asleep. A large bruise was forming on his cheek, where Angie assumed she had hit in when he drugged her on the street. She wanted to pounce on him again and give him a few more, but he had the upper hand in the situation, what with the gun and all. She felt so stupid for not having left in her car, or even her gun.
An hour or so passed, Angie's mind blank. She had been pushing away all thoughts, hoping to make her mind blank enough not to feel anything. Occasionally it worked, and she sat there, numb to everything, but eventually she would be brought painfully back to reality. Each time, her eyes would fill with tears, the skin around her eyes burning and red.
She noticed a drawer in the coffee table slightly open. Earlier she had seen it, but at the time she had been bound, and it didn't look like anything important. But now, it held all her hope. Attempting to be quiet, she stood up and shuffled forward. Her fingers gripped the drawer and pulled a little at a time. Her heart almost exploded when she saw the familiar government-issue cell phone, sitting next to a pen. Frantically she grabbed both, hiding the pen and phone in her bra. She returned to her seat and reached under her shirt, mechanically flipping the phone open and pressing the "off" button until it turned on.
&&&&
McGee sat at his desk, eyes staring at the computer screen in front of him. He was so angry that he wasn't with Gibbs and Tony, especially now that Angie had gone missing. He felt like he wasn't doing any good sitting in DC, going over papers that he knew wouldn't help. Ziva apparently felt the same way, but instead of sitting still, opted to let off some steam at the NCIS gym.
Suddenly, his computer beeped. A small red dot appeared on a map and zoomed in. The computer wiz's heart jumped as Angie's cell phone turned on. Hysterically, he picked up his cell and dialed Gibbs' number, almost screaming into the phone when his boss answered.
"Calm down, McGee," Gibbs commanded. "Repeat."
"Angie's cell phone turned on."
"Address, NOW!"
"She's at 5378 Rochester Street in Chesapeake."
"Good work, McGee," Gibbs replied before the line went dead.
&&&&
Angie felt a lot calmer now that she had her phone. Her captor had still not awoken from his slumber, but she knew it would be just a matter of time. She hoped her team would arrive before he did, partly because she couldn't wait to see the expression on his face when a group of NCIS and FBI agents busted through the door with guns.
Samuel yawned and sat up, looking over at her with a cheesy smile on his face. She couldn't muster up the ability to smile back.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked, standing and making his way over to her. He pushed a strand of hair out of her face, but made sure the gun was still visible to her in his hand.
"Not particularly."
"That's too bad. Tonight we'll sleep in my bed. I just had to make sure you wouldn't leave me again."
"Hmph. And why would I ever do that?" Her tone was sarcastic. She was getting cocky.
His eyes darkened at her words. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
Angie realized she sounded too confidant. She let the fact that she'd turned on her phone blur her judgment. Samuel turned violent, lifting the hand with the gun and slapping her across the face with it. She screamed out in pain, falling to the floor hard. She felt blood gushing from her nose, and her lip was busted open from biting down on it as she fell. Despite the pain, she refused to cry. She'd done enough of that during the night.
Ferocious and with little remorse, Samuel dropped down next to her and wiped away some of the blood. "Don't ever get sarcastic with me," he said through his teeth, holding her face.
Before she could fight him off, he was on top of her, his eyes disturbing. She couldn't believe how quickly he snapped. Though she'd never call him a nice guy, he had been somewhat civilized before. Now the monster in him was rearing its ugly head. She attempted to fight him off, but he was too heavy.
He forced her shirt over her head. She frantically tried to keep it on, more for the fact that she didn't want him to find her cell phone. Her efforts were in vain; it did not take him long to find the small device. He cried out in anger, slapping her across the face again. She struggled to breath, as her nose was still bleeding and blood was seeping down her throat.
She struggled against him and managed to knee him between the legs. He fell over, writing in pain, giving her enough of a chance to run towards the door. Grabbing the doorknob, she turned it, only to realize it was locked. She heard the loud and familiar noise of a gun being fired, followed closely the stinging pain of a bullet grazing her arm. She didn't have time to try and unlock the door, instead diving behind the couch. She heard him get up from the floor.
Swiftly she popped up and sped towards the entrance to the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room for something to use. She grabbed the first thing she thought useful, a large frying pan, and rushed through the closest door to her. It led into a small bathroom, a single window looking outside. She closed the door behind her and tried to open the window, but it was locked, just like the front door. Momentarily she thought of turning around and finding somewhere else to go, but logic told her all the other windows would probably be locked, too. Since there really wasn't any other option, she brought the pan crashing into the glass. It cracked, but did not break.
She brought the pan up to swing again, but the cool feeling of a gun barrel against the back of her head stopped her.
