Let Go of the Fear

Emily had read about sensory-deprivation chambers as a way to meditate better, think clearer. The side effect, she was finding, was that you went a tad nuts doing zilch. But people probably hadn't tried a chamber with a serial killer waiting for you to suffocate, either.

She had no idea of the time, since her watch had been taken. But she could hear him scoffing above her.

"Aren't you dead yet, bitch?"

The vent leading up to the rest of the house was beside the bed. He was yelling into it.

"Aren't you dead yet, bitch?"

Just concentrate on breathing, on the air left in the room. She didn't even try to answer. That might take too much air.

"You'll die eventually. They all do."

Hotch would be coming. Hotch would pin the man to the floor. Morgan would kick down the door and let in cleaner, fresher air. It would be okay.

"All of them. All the other bitches like you. Choking on their air and then falling asleep. When they knew they'd die they screamed. It was so much nicer then you. Cold bitch."

If she wasn't trying to keep enough air, she could talk back, learn more, push him further until he snapped into her hands.

Wait and breathe. Wait and breathe.