Chapter 3

"Just spoke to Abby Jone's coworkers at Denny's," Prentiss briefed, "she said Abby was going to be a little late because she was getting her car fixed."

"That's the same thing that Clarissa Rogers did," Morgan said, "what about our male vics?"

"Uh, Ronald Townsend was going to local auto shops to sell auto parts and Frank Rogan went to buy a car."

"That's a pretty big purchase," Prentiss noted.

"Garcia," Hotch said, "I need you to track local auto repair shops near Denny's and the elementary school." Garcia was typing away at the speed of thought.

"There are three auto shops in this neighborhood, but there's one across from Denny's and it's called Arnold's Auto Repair..and geez, would you look at that? All of our victims went there just before they were reported missing!"

"Garcia, who's the owner?"

"The owner is...oh no... oh NO!"

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch barked.

"The owner is Nate Arnold, brother of Karl Arnold!"

"The Fox?!" Rossi asked incredulously.

"Yeah, he's had multiple arrests for assault, battery, weapons charges, and when he was fourteen he got caught setting a cat on fire! But he never did any jail time. Damn state said he was too young," Garcia ranted bitterly.

"What are the chances? Two pyschopaths in the same family?" Reid asked.

"He gets off on watching his victims disintegrate to death," Rossi said, "I'll be. This is a first. And we've all had firsts."

"Garcia, do we have an address?" Hotch asked.

"Sending you his home address and his work address now."

"Let's go!"

Nathan Arnold gloated as Abby Jones disintegrated before his eyes. Ugly whore he thought.

"You're all ugly whores," he muttered out loud. He went to his videocamera. The FBI was going to be storming any minute.

"Just watch and see," he said. He saw Agent Hotcher take the back of the house. This was going to be fun. It's all for Karl he thought. As Hotch made his way back behind the wooded section, he radioed Morgan.

"Hey, Morgan, I got something- OH!" he yelled as he was knocked to the ground.

"Hotch?" Morgan asked, "HOTCH?!"

He must've been out for thirty minutes Nathan Arnold thought. When the stoic Unit Chief came to, he was strapped to a chair.

"Agent Hotchner?" Nathan gloated, "you remember me?"

"Nathan...Arnold," Hotch whispered, "you're just as sick as your brother." Arnold slapped him.

"Now, now, let's play nice. Remember, I decide if you live or die. Just like George Foyet, remember?" Hotch shot up.

"Foyet...killled...Haley," the agent muttered, "and when my team finds you, they'll kill you too.

"Not quite," Arnold grinned, "take a walk with me."

"I can't. I'm strapped down."

"I can take care of that." He yanked the agent upright. As Hotch walked around the basement, he tried to get a feel for the enviornement. Chemicals. He smelled chemicals. He tried to get the smell out of his mind,

"Why do you do this?" Hotch asked, "don't you have enough power already?"

"Because it's fun," Arnold said, "you can never have too much power. I've always thought old Karl did it wrong anyway. Sulfuric acid burns away this evidence. They can't tell anything."

"We found the victims," Hotch said.

"It's fun to listen to them scream. To watch them die. To watch them burn. Old Karl would've loved this. I tried to teach him a thing or to, but he never listened."

"They will find you," Hotch growled.

"Oh, I don't think they'll find you." In a flash, Hotch was down to the ground and Arnold was gone.

"AHHH!" He screamed as his face burned up, "AHHH!"

"We go in NOW!" Morgan exclaimed. There stood the Unit Chief huched over to the floor screaming in agony.

"We need a medic—NOW!" Morgan exclaimed, "MOVE!" Prentiss went chasing Nathan Arnold.

"AHH!" Hotch screamed again as red engulfed his face and hands. The team could only look on in horror.

"Where's that medic?!" Rossi all but yelled. Just then, the ambulance came. Hotch, the ever composed Unit Chief was crying out in pain, and there was nothing the team could do.