Author's note: English is not my mother language and I am my own Beta. Please be indulgent on any mistakes that would have found their way through the text.
Chapter 2: In slow motion
The dark-haired man's eyes fluttered open as a well-known ringtone troubled his dreams. Instead of shooting up in bed like all normal day-working people would have done, he calmly stretched an arm to get the cell phone lying on the drawer. He was so used to these late night calls that he didn't even check the ID. It could only be JJ, the face of the team, who had been awoken in emergency because a child was missing or another murder committed.
"JJ, I hope this really is an emergency. We have not been getting much sleep in the last days…"
As someone cleared his – or her, for that matter – voice on the other end of the line, Hotch became a little more self-conscious, and straightened up in bed.
"Agent Hotchner, I am very sorry to wake you up. This is Erin Strauss."
This couldn't be good, thought the exhausted man, using his free hand to turn on the bedside lamp and getting rid of the blankets in which he had been wrapped in.
"What's wrong?" he simply asked. If it had been a new case, JJ would have called. For Erin Strauss to be on duty in the middle of the night meant either that it was a personal matter – which he hoped not, given the lack of sympathy he had for this woman – or that a member of his team was injured – which he hoped even less.
"I was just informed by local police that two dead bodies were found at SSA Prentiss' apartment, less than an hour ago."
Hotch, who was now very much awake and already hurrying to his closet for some fresh clothes, held his breath.
"Is she…?"
"We don't know for sure. The description says that there was a woman and a man. Both stabbed."
A shiver ran down Aaron Hotchner's spine. He was trying unsuccessfully to put on his pants one-handedly, and the shaking through his fingers did not help.
"I'm on my way."
"I take it you have the address. Please keep the matter quiet until a proper identification has been done." Strauss sounded human, for once, although her choice of words still was unfortunate.
"Have you called Emily's mother?" Hotch asked, rubbing his forehead as we was trying to gather the strength not to fall on his knees, in the middle of his bedroom, which would undoubtedly be heard by the Department Chief.
"Not yet. I thought you would want to go first." For once, he was really glad for her delicacy. In the time when she had suspended him and taken his place in the field, Erin Strauss could not have missed the strong bond uniting the team members, who had grown to become a real family. If there was bad news to be announced – which Hotch could not even think of, or he would start to cry – he was in the best position to tell the others, as well as Emily's parents.
"Alright, thank you for letting me know."
"Keep me in the loop, please." She insisted on the last word before hanging up the phone. Strauss was the one to recruit Emily Prentiss, and she had grown quite fond of the younger brunette, despite their hen fight over Hotch's abilities to lead the BAU.
Aaron Hotchner stood still for a few seconds, in the middle of his bedroom, one arm tucked into the sleeve of his T-shirt. He had to take a deep breath and make some arrangements, as the little six-years-old Jack could not be left on his own while his dad was gone. Thankfully, Haley's sister had moved in not far from them to be able to give Jack's father a hand in raising the little Hotchner. He dialed the number he now knew by heart and immediately reassured his step-sister, who had gotten panicked at the sound of the phone ringing at four in the morning. After assuring her that Jack and himself were alright, he explained the situation and waited ten minutes for her to come over, still in her pajamas, to look after Jack.
When Hotch stopped the car in front of Emily's apartment building, which he had visited on seldom occasions, two ambulances were already parked near the main entrance, along with several police cars. The man shoved his badge at the next officer.
"Good morning. I am SSA Hotchner, this is one of my agents' apartment. Can you tell me what happened while we go up?"
The uniform nodded and led the way inside the apartment building.
"A neighbor called around two thirty to tell that she had heard rustling and fighting next door. When we arrived, we found two dead bodies: a younger woman, brunette, and a man in his forties, both stabbed to death." After he had heard brunette, Hotch had lost the meaning of the conversation. As though on autopilot, he followed the inspector to the fourth floor, remembering too well how he had come here previously to make sure his agent was getting home safely.
The place was swarming with policemen and CSI agents. As they penetrated in the apartment, Hotch immediately spotted two forms on the ground, who had both been covered to preserve what little was left of their dignity. Walking to the smaller silhouette, he hesitated for a moment, oblivious to the rest of the world. His hands were shaking and face had gone pale, so that the Medical Examiner, who had come to state the time of death, looked up to the man.
"Are you here to identify the victims?" Hotch snapped out of his nightmare at the sound of the man's voice.
"Yes. Can you show me the woman?"
As the blanket was lifted, Hotch hesitated between crying and laughing. Punching something or screaming out his frustration would have done as well, for that matter.
"This is not her." He whispered, brushing a tired hand over his hair and turning to the policeman. "This is not her."
"So you confirm that this is not Emily Prentiss?"
"She's far too young. It's not her. Excuse me a moment, I have some questions for you but I just need to check something first."
Hotch passed by the CSU agents taking fingerprints on the doorknob and kitchen counter, and walked out in the corridor to take a deep breath. He simultaneously grabbed his cell phone, now very happy that he hadn't called anyone of the team. He wouldn't advise what he had just gone through to anyone else.
"Hello, you've reached Emily Prentiss. You know what you have to do…" The man shut angrily the phone, trying to keep control over his worry, which was growing once again. Day or night, Emily would always be reachable on her cell. Plus, he was positive she had gone straight home after the long day they had had.
Hotch turned around to return in the apartment. Now that his worst fear had been somewhat calmed down, he could take in all the tiny details he hadn't paid attention to before. The door had not been forced, which meant that Emily had come in of her own free will. The first body, that of the girl, was lying a few feet from the main door, well in sight to anyone who would come in. The corpse of the man, on the hand, was a mess: he was lying on his stomach, from what Hotch could see when the medical examiner lifted the blanket, was clutching the rest of a glass in his hand and had a torn T-shirt. Everything hinted to a fight, and Hotch didn't know whether to feel relief or concern: Emily had been alive long enough to put up a fight, but she could also be bleeding to death somewhere… He shook these thoughts off his mind, as the inspector approached him.
"Did you manage to contact your agent?"
"No, it went straight to voice mail. Can you fill me in on the details?"
"Well, the legist says the girl died of a clean stab wound about five hours ago, around the same time as the man. The latter has cuts and bruises all over his arms and face. Someone apparently fought him before stabbing him."
"Could it be self-defense?" The medical examiner stood up to join the two men.
"The fingerprints will tell us whether it was the same person who killed both victims. But you are right, it looks like self-defense. The woman was killed methodically, whereas he was victim of a single knife wound, harsh and not premeditated."
Hotch had remained silent, taking in the scene in front of him.
"Who is leading the case?"
"Homicide." Of course, there was no reason yet that the case would be federal. But hell, it was Emily Prentiss they were talking about. An FBI agent who, as far as he knew, had gone missing in the course of the night. There was no way that he would let this slip out of his fingers.
"Garcia?" Although his mind was racing a hundred miles an hour, he tried to soften his voice so as not to startle the sleepy analyst.
"Hotch?"
"Are you near a computer?"
"Boss man, my loyal companions are always near me… But, with all due respect, you should check your watch before calling."
"I know it's late…"
"Early, rather."
"Garcia!" The word slipped off his tongue before he could suppress the annoyed tone, causing the analyst to hold her breath in expectation.
"Sorry." He quickly added in a much softer tone. "I need you to do me a favor without telling anyone."
"Shoot, boss man." On the other end of the line, Hotch could already hear the blonde fighting with her blankets, walking, then pressing a few buttons to get her material to life.
"I need you to track Emily's cell phone. It's out at the moment, can you still do it?"
"Well, technically, no. I can trace it back to the last time it was used, and put up an alert to triangulate the device as soon as she switches it on." Despite the banality of her declaration – she spent her life tracking people and electronic devies – there seemed to be hesitation on the blonde's side. "Is something wrong with Emily?" she added.
Hotch suppressed a sigh. This is exactly why he didn't want the news to spread through the team for now – he couldn't waste any more minute dealing with the worry and questions to would undoubtedly arise.
"Garcia, you keep this to yourself until the morning. Emily went missing."
"Oh God. Where are you?"
"At Emily's apartment. Two dead bodies were found."
"Oh God."
"Garcia, calm down." No, he really couldn't deal with the wave of panic overwhelming his colleague right now. He had to focus.
"Sorry. Hotch?"
"Yeah?" he answered absentmindedly, still watching the policemen, both uniform and civil, swarming around the living room where he had last stood telling his agent to sleep and forget about another gruesome case.
"Are we working the case?"
"Not really. It's the homicide department, nothing federal."
"Okay. Take. Pictures." She pronounced with exaggeration so as to make her point. "Of the victims. The apartment. You know these people, they are going to shut you out of the case."
He couldn't believe how cold-headed Garcia had remained. Sometimes he would forget that she too was an agent, aware of all the little jurisdictional fights. "Got it." He said and shut the phone.
