I'm posting this before doing replies for the last chapter as I'll be including an extra special something to those that have been reviewing lots. I'll reply and send a little extra scene at some point between today and tomorrow. I'm just about to go out now with the in-laws for a meal, hence the delay.

Thank you for the reviews for Chapter Five – they were very encouraging! Please keep it up!!!!

Thank you to Chiroho for the beta.

Where the Blue of the Night

"If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees."

- Kahlil Gibran

Chapter Six

November 11th

Silence brought no comfort or kindness. The stone grey walls gave away no secrets, and shared no warmth. She shivered, trying to push away memories of a warm bed, a warm home, and steeled resolve within herself, bracing for a long night.

This was a form of torture. She knew he had planned it carefully, knowing what would most upset her. The small room, the bound hands, the enclosed space. It reminded her of North Mamon, and the three girls who'd been kept locked in a basement, having to chose which one lived. That choice wasn't necessary here; she just had to decide on her actions without knowing their consequences.

Her fingers were numb with the cold and lack of movement. If she could loosen the ties and break free, she could sit and wait for him when he entered, catch him off guard, off balance and somehow get past him. But then she wouldn't know where she was, or how to get back home - or to the BAU.

Yet she couldn't be reliant on him as she was now. It had been nearly twenty four hours since he'd taken her, captured her like a butterfly in a net, then doused her with a poison that had prevented any memories of the journey.

She pulled at the ropes that tied her to the chair. They bound like an attacking snake around her wrists. Then suddenly she stopped; reclaiming sanity. Craning her neck, she looked at the tie on her right hand. If she could manipulate the rope to gain some slack, she could eventually free her hand. And once her right hand was free, she could untie herself.

As long as he didn't come back.

Cold sweat fell across her forehead, her hair clinging to her face. She didn't notice, intent on freeing herself. She hadn't eaten for over a day, and couldn't remember the last time she'd had a drink. The pain in her kidneys was now sharp, the familiar signs of an infection clear. How much time had passed since she had begun her task she didn't know; time no longer seemed relevant. And then there was a fierce pull, before the slackness of release. One hand was free.

November 4th

It was just another chapter in a story that already had quite a few chapters, or at least that was how David Rossi tried to think of it. He'd been on the planet long enough to be accepting of what life threw at him, rather than begrudging of the challenges that were placed in his way. Only tonight life's latest meant that he would be staying at Morgan's apartment, in a spare room, with decor that was far too modern for him, instead of being back in Calverville Point with Jolene, as had been the plan.

When – not if – he got to spend ten minutes alone with whoever had decided it was a good idea to de-window the front of his house, spoil the next few days, and generally make a menace of themselves, he'd make sure they developed better ideas about what fun actually was.

As it was, he was now in his car on his way to see a man about a dog; at least that was what he was doing as far as anyone outside of the BAU was concerned. Geoff Thompson lived about twenty minutes drive from Quantico, but his need for secrecy and sense of paranoia now meant that Rossi was driving forty miles to a remote cabin that Thompson owned.

Even though the weather was dull and wet, the scenery was still something to be grateful for once he'd gotten out of the city and was seeing a different set of trees than the ones in Quantico. Trees and fields lined the side of the roads, which were quiet, and he was able to drive above the legal limit. The life of a small boy was at stake here; if his disappearance was connected with Evangeline Dwyer's and the other two children, then Rossi guessed they had another eleven days in which to find him. No more.

He had his own suspicions about the boy's disappearance, and would have put half his bank balance on there being some sort of withholding of information, probably at the insistence of the father. And that would be this afternoon's task; to alleviate that blockage in whatever way he could.

A sign came up a little too quickly, and Rossi took a sharp left turn that would have made Reid turn green, had he been in the car. For the next mile and a half, Rossi ran through the information he had given Agent Boyd about any aspects of his life which might have given someone motive to harm him and the rest of the team. It had taken a while, probably longer than anyone else would spend in their confession.

There hadn't been any sins that triggered a possible motive, for him anyway. Boyd and his buddy may have other ideas. He'd met enough psychos to know when one wanted to cause harm to him personally, or even the rest of the team. There was the chance that they were being targeted because of Prentiss, and her mother being who she was. Threats had been made against her in the past, although not for a long time since her parents' roles were now less prominent.

A fox sprinted across the road causing Rossi to brake; the deceleration allowing him to notice the cabin in the distance. He focused his thoughts on what he knew of the Alfie Fletcher case so far, and the profile of his biological father that he had prepared in his head.

An BMW X5 sat next to the cabin, the shiny alloy wheels catching the faint midday sun. Tinted windows showed a driver who valued his privacy, but who also liked the curiosity that it created about who exactly was inside.

Rossi knocked on the door and called out to Mr. Thompson, seeing movement through the window. The man who answered looked older than in the pictures Google had provided; dark hair was peppered with grey, and whatever skin products he was using hadn't been doing their job.

"Agent Rossi?" he said, holding open the door.

Rossi flashed his badge and stepped in, taking note of his surroundings. "Mr Thompson. We spoke on the phone." The cabin was furnished smartly though without any feminine touches. The sofas were of black leather, the slight covering of dust of the arms showing how little the cabin was used at this time of year. The head of a stag was mounted on wall; Mr. Thompson making his masculinity as prominent as he could, and a state of the art sound system was discreetly displayed in a corner near a well stocked drinks cabinet. "May I sit?"

Geoff Thompson nodded, sitting on the chair that was perpendicular to the sofa.

"I need to go through some details with you if we're to make any progress into finding out who has your son. I understand some of these questions may be difficult for you; however, I need you to answer them as honestly as you can. Time is of the essence here, as I am sure you are aware." Rossi looked at Thompson's face to gage his reaction. None came.

"I don't have a close bond with Alfie," he said. "Myself and Juliet decided it would be best that way."

Agent Rossi nodded. "I understand what you're saying, Mr Thompson, but my questions aren't really to do with your bond with your son. I need to know various details about your private life; your enemies and potential enemies and anything unusual that you may have noticed in the past few days."

Thompson avoided eye contact. "Then let's get started. I'm sure we both have things to do. I don't see how I could have any useful information for you, Agent Rossi, if no one knows that Alfie is mine."

Rossi wondered whether his naivety was falsified or whether he really was that stupid. He had known politicians and would-be politicians before who thought themselves untouchable. "It's highly unlikely that no one knows, Mr Thompson, however careful you've been. How long have you been seeing Ms. Butler?"

"Five years," Thompson said, seeming bored already. "It's never been a love affair; just one that's serviced our needs. Juliet doesn't want to be married – she likes to create the persona of an independent female. I give her the best of both worlds."

Rossi could think of a few names he would give Thompson. "How did you meet?"

"At a dinner organized by the company she was working for at the time. I was a guest. If you want the finer details we ended up fucking in the disabled toilets before the main course was served. My wife was in Canada with her mother at the time," Thompson said, toying with an empty whisky dram that had been left on the coffee table.

Rossi raised his eyebrows. He could assume that colleagues of both parties had noticed something. Any help that Juliet Butler employed in her home would also be aware of her relationship, as would neighbours, or anyone watching. "Mr Thompson, are you involved in any disputes at the moment that would cause someone to try to hurt you personally?"

"I'm in politics, Agent Rossi. Yes, of course I am. But if you want someone who has a major grievance, look at what Juliet's been up to recently. She sure has been Ms. Controversial," he said, standing up and making his way over to the drinks cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "Want some?"

Rossi shook his head. "No thanks – I have to drive." He paused, letting Thompson feel as if he had control. "Do you not care that your little boy has been abducted?"

"You think I'm some kind of heartless bastard?"

"I don't know. I've only just met you. But you don't seem too concerned about finding him. Do you know something that makes you believe he isn't in danger of being harmed?" Rossi kept his manner calm.

Thompson shrugged. "I guess I think some funny group have got him because of what Ju's up to."

"You're certain of that?" Rossi said.

There was a nod as Thompson took a sip of the Scotch. "Pretty much. I mean kids from affluent areas don't get snatched by paedophiles do they? It's the kids who are left unattended by parents who should have been neutered at birth who are taken, isn't it?"

Rossi shook his head. "Any child is at risk. Paedophiles can be notoriously clever in how they take a child. They will watch them for days or weeks or months before taking them. You remember the abduction and murder of Evangeline Dwyer, don't you?" Thompson nodded. "She lived just two miles away from Alfie. In an affluent area, to very wealthy parents. Money does not make a child immune."

Thompson now looked slightly greyer as he stared into his scotch. "You think that's what's happened to Alfie?"

"I don't know," Rossi said, keeping his voice low and quiet, hoping to create a sense of tension and worry within Thompson. "Maybe. We don't have enough information, and we're starting this investigation three days late. Usually, when a child goes missing, we act as soon as we are informed. Your secrecy could have compromised Alfie's life." His words were harsh, exactly as he intended.

"But I can't risk my relationship with Juliet becoming public knowledge," Thompson said. "And it probably is one of those nut jobs she's antagonised. I'll write down a list of people that I think might seek to harm me in some way, Agent Rossi. However, I think you'll find that it's a waste of your time. This isn't anything to do with me."

"Like Alfie isn't anything to do with you?" Rossi said, unable to keep the distaste from his tone now.

Thompson laughed quietly. "Alfie's Juliet's, not mine. I don't even know that he is mine anyway. Anyway, I'd appreciate some time alone. You have my number, and cell reception here's good. Please call me if you have any news." He stood up, Rossi taking his cue to stand too. "And I would appreciate the complete discretion of both yourself and your team in this, Agent Rossi, or you might find your past coming back to haunt you."

Rossi nodded, making his way to the door. "I'll be in touch, Mr Thompson," he said, not offering him his hand. "You watch out for those old ghosts too."

He walked down the pathway, back to his car, the scenery suddenly seeming more wintered than golden, and he wondered whether it was to do with the presence of the man inside.

The house was shielded by a large wrought iron fence and dense shrubbery. The gates were electric, opened by a code or through someone in the house granting access. Security was good, but Emily had seen better levels breached in the past. There was nothing here that suggested only an insider could have taken the boy.

Emily pressed the button to gain access, explaining her identity to the woman who answered. She'd parked on the road, a little down from the house, wanting the opportunity to get a feel for the area on foot. People thought their homes were secure, that their children were protected, but they had seen too many times that this wasn't the case. If someone wanted to break in, they would. All it took was planning; a few weeks of surveillance, watching, noticing routines, and it could easily be done.

The driveway had recently been re-paved, a pattern imprinted concrete that looked expensive. The garden around it was carefully manicured; bushes and shrubs were kept tidy, the flowers and plants giving colour, but no sense of personality. Emily had already gotten the feel for the type of woman that lived here; busy with appearances to keep up, and probably with a sense of guilt for having a career and a child.

The front door was already open; a woman standing there waiting, her hands in pockets and an exhausted expression on her face. Emily knew from the brief research she had been doing that this was Juliet Butler, although she was a shadow of the woman that had been portrayed in the photos Emily had seen. Her skin had a greyish hue, her face was drawn and her cheekbones too prominent. She gave a half hearted smile as Emily showed her badge, a brief gesture of her hand beckoning Emily into the house.

As she expected, it was decorated to a high standard, though like the garden it lacked any individuality. The owner's personality was absent from the beige furnishings and cream sofa; the red curtains that hung at the window providing a warmth in colour that could not be felt. Emily shivered, although it didn't feel that cold.

"Shall we go into the kitchen?" Ms. Fletcher said, clearly having noticed the shiver. "I've just been making bread so it's fairly warm in there." The statement surprised Emily; she would never have expected this woman to make her own bread, but the smell of it, and the flash of flour on her jeans proved her words.

"That would be good," she said, following Ms. Fletcher through the living room into a large dine-in kitchen. Remnants of her baking lay on the counters, yet to be tidied away. "You didn't strike me as a woman who would make her own bread," Emily said, deciding that honesty would be the best way forward here.

Ms. Fletcher shook her head. "I guess I'm not, really. It's a comfort thing. My mom used to make bread when I was sick from school, so it reminds me of being taken care of." There was another watery smile. "I've made four different types – started at four this morning. Couldn't sleep." She sat down on one of the breakfast stools next to Emily. "Ask me what you need to know."

Emily nodded, understanding the necessity for directness. "Why has it taken so long for you to report your son's abduction?"

There was a sigh and blurred eyes looked away. "We can't risk the public finding out about Geoff's affair with me. We also thought he'd be back by now."

"Do you think you know who has taken him?" Emily said, perturbed by the lack of panic. It was almost as if she had given up.

Ms. Fletcher shook her head. "I know Geoff is certain that it's someone from an anti-stem cell research group called Relight Your Conscience. I've been receiving hate mail from one particular member for about nine months, and he has made direct threats against me."

Emily felt a slight weight lift off her shoulders. This could be a viable suspect, and hopefully one who would do no harm to Alfie. "Do you still have the correspondence?" she said.

The other woman looked at the floor and gave a wry smile. "No," she said. "I knew I should have kept it, but it made me so angry each time I received a letter I would throw it into the fire – send it to hell, I suppose. You could have used those letters to see if he was capable of following through on those threats, couldn't you?"

Emily gave a quick nod; there was no point in lying. "What's his name – the person sending these letters?"

"It's not a man," Ms. Fletcher looked up. "It's a woman. Jennifer Keeley. She lives four blocks away on Charing Avenue. The private investigator we employed did a thorough check on her. He said she has been away in Dallas for the past ten days as there's a right to life demonstration going on there."

Emily felt the weight sink back down, a little heavier this time. "Ms. Fletcher, has anything unusual caught your attention over the past few months? Anyone hanging around outside occasionally? Any cars you don't recognise that have been parked on the street from time to time?"

Ms. Fletcher thought for a moment. "There's nothing that I've noticed, but you might be best speaking to Janine – she's Alfie's nanny. I'm away a lot with my job, and I often have work to do at night, so I employ someone to help. She's very good with him, and he adores her." Emily could see the justification going on inside her head, trying to make herself believe that she wasn't a bad mother; and Emily certainly wasn't going to judge her on what she did.

"I would like to speak with her once we're finished," Emily said. "Tell me about Alfie. What does he like doing? What sort of child is he?"

Juliet Fletcher brushed tears away before they had the chance to fall. "He's a sweet boy – but every mother would say that, wouldn't they? He's quiet and shy, not good with strangers. He likes animals and playing by himself. He invents games, and has an imaginary friend called Ronny, who he says has a dog called Humphrey. He's bright, but not a genius child – his milestones came at the right times, not before. He forms strong bonds with people he likes, and is upset when he has to leave them. He adores Janine, and even though I am away a lot, especially at the moment, he's always over the moon to see me. He never sulks when I have to go to work, but he always says that he can't wait for me to get home. I guess he's accepting of it now." She looked up at Emily. "You probably think I'm a terrible mother; but I do the best for him that I can. I'm not good at making up games and playing let's pretend, but Jan is. When I'm here, I do make time for him when I don't answer my phone or check emails, and we might go out somewhere for the day. I wonder if I should try to clone myself and then I can do everything – ironic given my line of work."

Emily could think of another woman who would like that possibility too. JJ was in a similar position with Henry, but she had Will to be there, and JJ's decision to keep working the job she loved had resulted in a closer bond between son and father than usually expected. A bond that Hotch wished he had with Jack. "I think a lot of women feel that way," Emily said. "When did Alfie start to mention his imaginary friend?"

"About seven months ago," Ms. Fletcher said after some thought. "We started getting some garbled sentences about Ronny, and every so often he mentions him – usually when he's been playing outside in the yard."

"Has Alfie mentioned anything that struck you as unusual?" Emily said, wondering if Rossi was getting as much information from Alfie's father.

"No," Ms. Fletcher said, shaking her head. "Nothing that I can remember."

Emily gave her a soft smile. "I need to ask you some things about your relationship with Geoff Thompson, and his involvement with Alfie. What is your relationship like?" The question was purposely open. She would ask specific questions when she had more background, and she wanted to see what Juliet Fletcher offered without prompting.

"We see each other maybe twice every three weeks. He'll come over here for an evening, or if his wife's away, he may stay for a night. He leaves early so as not to be seen, and sometimes he'll park at a hotel or managed parking lot and I'll pick him up from there. It stops suspicion from rising," she said, her foot tapping silently on the metal bar at the bottom of the stool.

Emily could tell there was some reluctance to share a great deal, and she could understand why. Juliet had become accustomed to secrecy, and it would take a great deal of persuasion to break that down. "What do you get from your relationship?"

"What do you mean?" Ms. Fletcher said. "Isn't it obvious what I get from it?" She was on the defensive immediately, protective, and Emily could see the insecurities she had about Geoff Thompson.

"Different relationships serve different purposes, Ms. Fletcher. A man who is married will still have a relationship with his wife even if he is having an affair. A woman may be involved with two different men at the same time, but each will provide her with something different," Emily said. She'd taken this explanatory role on purpose; Juliet Fletcher was an intelligent woman and would be more likely to confide and disclose information if she understood why she was giving it.

Ms. Fletcher nodded. "Agent Prentiss; please understand that I am not your average woman. I don't want a man around full time to be a wife to. Occasionally, however, I do want a man's company. Geoff is available just enough; he's attractive, intelligent, and leaves before breakfast. That's the nature of our relationship – good company without any strings."

"Isn't your son a connection that makes it more than that?" Emily said, wanting to get a handle on Thompson's relationship with his son from her perspective.

She rested her head in a hand, pulling slightly at the chestnut hair. "No. I got pregnant on purpose, and no, I didn't discuss it with Geoff. I wanted a child, and he seemed like a good biological father. We agreed early on that he would give me some support financially, but Alfie wouldn't know who his father was, and he'd keep his distance. He asks about him occasionally, but I think he doesn't let himself think about Alfie that much. It sounds harsh, but it does work." Her face creased, and a look of pain crossed her face. "I just want him back. I just want whoever has him to give him back to me. He'll be so frightened without me or Janine."

Emily put a hand on Ms. Fletcher's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Why didn't you contact the police sooner? There was no need to say who Alfie's father was."

Ms. Fletcher looked up at her and shook her head. "Geoff was here the night Alfie was taken. I'd have to tell the police that. Geoff's paranoid about someone finding out about us, and then selling the information to the media. It would ruin his career and his marriage."

"There's no question of him leaving his wife anyway?" Emily said.

"None. He doesn't want to. They were childhood sweethearts and he's very fond of her. She's a good wife. I could never be a 'good wife' and I wouldn't want to. Besides, he has an image of a family man, and yes, you may think it's all a facade, but he needs it to do his job," she said, with a defensive note in her tone again.

Emily didn't question Ms. Fletcher's opinion. It's wasn't why she was here. "There's no chance that his wife knows about you and Alfie, is there?"

There was a shrug. "She must know Geoff's having an affair," she said. "She isn't stupid, and if you're thinking she may be implicated in Alfie's disappearance I think you're wasting your time."

"It's still a possibility," Emily said. "Finding out a secret as huge as Alfie could cause someone to do something that they wouldn't otherwise come close to considering. We'll have to investigate that line, but we will do it discreetly so that Mrs. Thompson isn't aware of it."

"You'll interview her?" There was fear there now.

"No," Emily said. "We can use other means to track her recent movements." And by that she was thinking of Garcia. Emily doubted that Geoff Thompson's wife had anything to do with the disappearance; there were other ways for a wife to take revenge, but as no suspects were standing out every possibility would need to be pursued. "Can I see Alfie's room?"

Ms. Fletcher nodded, standing up. "It's this way. You're sure this will be kept quiet?" she said as Emily followed her through the lounge and into the hallway.

"We can't guarantee anything, Ms. Fletcher. Our priority is to get Alfie back safe. But we will our utmost to be discreet," Emily said, noticing the hardwood flooring. "Is this new?" She gestured to her feet.

"Yes, it was done about two months ago," Ms Fletcher said, walking slowly up the stairs as if she had little energy left to spare.

"While I have a look in Alfie's room, I'd like you to write down the names of any companies or workmen you've employed in the past year to do work on your house," Emily said. "And anyone who comes here on a regular basis such as a gardener or pool boy."

Ms. Fletcher bit her lips together, standing at the top of the stairs. "You think it may be a paedophile, or stranger who's taken him?" she said. "Not someone seeking revenge on me?"

"We don't know," Emily said. "We have to look at everything."

"Oh God," she said, crumbling to the floor. "We thought it was Jennifer Keeley, and that she'd taken him as a protest. That's why Geoff said we didn't need to rush bringing you in. It was only when we found out that she'd been away... oh God, he could be dead..."

Emily crouched down next to her. "We are going to find Alfie," Emily said. "You need to be strong. Where's Janine? She may be able to help you list people who have been in the house." She tried to focus her, to pull her out of the mire she was tumbling into.

"She's probably in her room, down the corridor," she said, pointing towards the other side of the house.

"I go get her," Emily said, the heel of her boot sinking noiselessly into soft carpet. It was going to be another long day.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," Martha Moore said to her husband who was watching TV with his feet up. "Don't forget, it's your turn to fill the dishwasher."

He turned around and gave her the same smile she'd fallen in love with just a few years before. She'd never thought she'd remarry, not after how she'd been treated by Kelvin. She'd thought she was done with men as soon as her divorce had come through, but then she'd met John. He was kind and considerate; he worked hard and appreciated the little things she did for him. Why his first wife had left him, she didn't understand. Maybe she was now together with Kelvin – they would deserve each other.

"You cooked, so I guess that's only fair," he said, switching off the TV. "I do need to run out after dinner though. I told Keith I'd stop in and give him directions on how to get to that new fishing tackle shop, and you know how he is – I'll have explain it at least three times."

Martha laughed and he followed her into the kitchen, opening the cabinet in the dresser and pulling out the placemats. It was the little things like that she appreciated. "You're not going to go fishing with him?" she said, turning off the over. "I'm seeing my mother tomorrow, and I can't see you wanting to come. She's discovered the joy of knitting."

He gave her another smile. "Well, if it's okay with you I might tell Keith that so he needn't worry with how to find the shop. We can leave early, get the tackle and have a day's fishing. You never know, I might bring you something back for dinner." He came up to her, wrapping his arms around her still slim waist.

She giggled softly, leaning back into him. "My very own caveman," Martha said, inhaling his scent. "I could find that quite an aphrodisiac!"

He rubbed her shoulders and stepped away, taking out the silverware and beginning to set the table. She smiled again, not quite believing her luck.

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Sarah x