Let Go of the Time

He hadn't come for her, and she had no idea if it had been hours or days since she had been put in the tiny room.

If she survived she would have severe claustrophobia, she decided.

The air hadn't begun to stifle her yet.

Hopefully, the team was working the case. Hotch would've gone to Rossi to get rid of Strauss, if she knew either of them at all.

She had heard the unsub once. He had bee listening at the trapdoor. She didn't move or make a sound. For all appearances she was catatonic.

And he had spoken, so softly she wasn't sure if it was to her, but once the sounds coalesced she knew it was.

Two words.

Breathe, bitch.

She began to translate that into every language she knew so she didn't have to think about the airless box she was in. Then she started on other phrases, so that she didn't move.

Moving was what he wanted. Sooner or later, he'd have to open that door to get it. If her muscles weren't too set up she could make a run for it. But there would be new air, at least.