A/N: There is torture in this chapter, and some people may consider it extremely graphic.

Chapter 17

Hotch had loss track of time after Armitage had left him alone in the room. After ten years, he had forgotten the man completely, believing him either dead or in jail. That had been a grievous error on his part. Hotch had nobody to blame but himself for failing to consider the blocked lettering on Morgan's envelope might be connected with Armitage. How had he forgotten Jason Armitage after what the man had done to him ten years earlier? Hotch was lucky the last time that his team found him before the house fire claimed him. But would he be as lucky this time? He prayed that the team would find him soon. He figured by now Morgan had to realize he was missing and would alert the others. And if Hotch knew Morgan, the man was blaming himself. Also, Hotch prayed that JJ was all right. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the door open. Turning his head, he saw Armitage walk into the room.

"I told you I'd be back in an hour, Aaron. Did you miss me?" Armitage sneered as he ran a hand over Hotch's dark hair in a caring manner. Hotch jerked his head away and glared at his captor.

"Take your damn hands off me!" Hotch hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't touch me!"

Armitage chuckled sarcastically. "You're hardly in a position to tell me what to do, Aaron. But precious time is being wasted. It's time to have fun. How about it? You ready to entertain me?"

"Why don't you just kill me now and have done with it? That is your intention, isn't it?"

"Killing you now isn't as enjoyable as making you suffer first. I want to hear you scream in agony. And you will before I'm done with you, trust me. And believe me when I say I'm going to take my time with you before I kill you."

Hotch was determined not to show any fear. "You might kill me, but my team will…" He never got to finish as Armitage reached out and clutched Hotch by the throat and squeezed, making breathing difficult. Hotch began to gasp for air. Armitage brought his face close to Hotch enabling his hot breath on the man's face.

"Your team will find you after I'm done with you!" Armitage sneered. "That is, they will find both halves of you. Then again, if you piss me off too much, I might just stray from the norm and leave you in pieces for your team to find. You'll look like a jigsaw puzzle. I'm tired of talking." He released his hold and Hotch coughed repeatedly and took deep breaths trying to get air into his lungs again. As he did so, Armitage turned and walked over to the aluminum table. He grabbed the crowbar and with a smirk, walked back to Hotch. Armitage grinned as he raised the crowbar and brought it down with all his might on Hotch's left knee. The agent screamed as the sound of bone breaking was heard.

Morgan looked at the sketch the police artist had come up with based on JJ's description.

"Is this the guy?" Morgan asked the blond showing her the sketch.

JJ took the sketch from Morgan and studied it carefully. Her head still hurt, but the aspirin she took lessened the pounding a little bit to make the pain more manageable. She made a clicking sound with her mouth and looked at Morgan. "It could be him. But my vision was so fuzzy I can't be sure. And I need to be. Hotch's life is on the line." Little did JJ realize that she had met the man before when she and Emily interviewed him. Only difference was that he wore a disguise when they met with him.

Morgan took the sketch back from JJ. "What does your gut tell you?"

JJ took in and let out a deep breath. "Derek, you're asking me to guess. I can't do that because if I guess wrong, Hotch will be the one to pay for it."

"I'm not asking you to guess. We always trusted your instincts about people and things. All I'm asking is to trust your gut now."

JJ took the sketch and studied it again. "This is the man I saw take Hotch." She handed it back to Morgan who got to his feet.

"We need to hold a press conference as-soon-as-possible and release this sketch to the public. Somebody had to have seen this guy."

"I can do it," JJ said.

Morgan studied JJ carefully. He could tell she still wasn't one hundred per cent, but her eyes looked a little bit better than earlier. "I can get Prentiss to do it," he explained. "I want you to get some rest."

JJ let out a deep breath. "Derek, I can handle this. I can. I'll be all right." To prove her point, the blond slowly got to her feet. She fought hard not to let the dizziness overtake her again, but even she knew Morgan had seen her sway a bit. But JJ righted herself without help. She smiled. "I'm fine. Besides, if I can't deal with a headache, then I don't need to be in the field. I'll contact the media and set up the press conference for two hours from now. Will that be soon enough?"

"That'll be fine. There's a couch in the back room. After the press conference, I want you to rest. If somebody recognizes this guy, we'll have to move fast."

JJ nodded and slowly took the sketch from Morgan and taking her time, slowly started to leave the back room. As she stood in the open doorway, she looked back at her friend. "Just do me one favor, Derek."

"What do you need?"

"Just stay close to me at the news conference."

Morgan smiled. "You got it."

Armitage stood beside the table on which Aaron Hotchner was restrained with a smirk on his face. Tears rolled down from the corners of Hotch's eyes from the severe pain in his knee, and the redness of the skin overlaying the knee joint. Not only would Hotch have serious bruising where he had been struck, but his knee was immensely tender and the area had looked swollen. He suspected his kneecap was either out of place or broken.

"Your knee looks terribly painful, Aaron," Armitage grinned. "I hope it's broken." With an amused grin, he placed his palm on the injured knee and pressed hard on it. Hotch gritted his teeth from the pain and hissed. Armitage removed his hand and smirked. "With luck I broke it. But it doesn't matter really." He walked back to the table and lay down the crowbar. He took his time looking over his toys before he picked up a steak knife and a cane. With an amused look at his captive, he walked back to Hotch and placed the cane on the table near the man's injured knee. He held up the steak knife. "I guess you're wondering what I'm going to do with this? Well, let me demonstrate for you."

That said, the man brought the knife close to Hotch's face. The agent turned his face away from Armitage despite exposing his right cheek to him. Angry, Armitage gripped Hotch's jaw and jerked his face toward him and held it in place. Hotch found himself looking upward again. He closed his eyes as the blade sliced down his left cheek just under his eye to his jaw, leaving a trail of red in it's wake. Then, Armitage repeated the procedure with Hotch's right cheek. The cuts, though not terribly deep, did bleed. When Armitage finished, he stood back to admire his artistry. He had carved his initials into both of Hotch's cheeks. Then he viciously backhanded Hotch across the face, followed by an open-palm slap on his opposite cheek. The blood from the cuts smeared across Hotch's cheeks.

The cuts were painful, but the slaps on both cheeks made the pain worse. Hotch gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound. He couldn't tell which hurt more, his face or his knee. He tasted blood in his mouth and realized he had bitten the inside of his cheek, the pain was so bad. But Hotch promised himself no matter how much more pain he endured, he would not give Armitage the satisfaction he was looking for by hearing him scream. Hotch silently cursed himself for crying out when the man struck his knee with the crowbar. He blamed it on the fact that he hadn't had time to prepare himself for the blow before it came. To help himself, he turned his thoughts to Jack, knowing he'd be able to take anything as long as he kept his mind on his son. Thinking of Jack brought him an inner peace that outweighed any physical pain he suffered.

No sooner had he let out a deep breath, than a sharp blow struck the bottom of one foot causing him to hiss through gritted teeth. The pain came again as another blow landed on the bottom of his other foot. Hotch hadn't even realized the man had grabbed the cane. Armitage was performing bastinado, or what was better known as foot whipping with the cane. After repeated blows to the bottoms of both feet, Hotch had a burning sensation in both feet as the nerve endings reacted to the blows. After a few minutes the whipping stopped, but Hotch's feet were on fire. The pain radiated throughout his entire body. He was glad he was tied down because he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand. Right now Hotch's entire body was a mass of pain. He hurt everywhere, and believed there was more to come before Armitage decided to put him out of his misery. Think of Jack. Keep your mind on Jack. Think of your son. Hotch let out a deep breath as thoughts of his little boy overrode the agony his body suffered. Seconds later, the whipping of his feet began again, and continued until something trickled down his feet. Hotch suspected it was blood.

Prentiss watched JJ closely as the blond prepared for the press conference. The raven-haired woman picked up the sketch and studied it carefully. JJ looked up and saw Emily's dark eyes narrow and her eyebrows knit together.

"What's wrong, Em?" she asked.

Prentiss made a clucking sound and shook her head. "I'm not sure. There's something about this sketch. For some reason this guy seems familiar, but I'm not sure." She lay the sketch on the table and looked at the blond. "How are you doing, JJ? Are you sure you're going to be all right to do this press conference?"

JJ rubbed her forehead and let out a deep breath. Although her headache had lessened, her head still ached. "I have to be, Em. Hotch is counting on me. I can't let a mild concussion get in the way." Emily squeezed her friend's shoulder and left her to her job.

Prentiss sat at the table with Reid, Rossi, and Morgan. Reid and Morgan were reviewing all information they had on Ronald Brandt which wasn't much. She observed the expression on Rossi's face. There was no hiding the fear, worry, and the concern the older man had for their Unit Chief. Rossi was rubbing his forehead while staring at a spot on the table. Prentiss touched the older man's arm which made Rossi turn to her.

"We're going to find him, Rossi," she said. "You have to believe that."

A faint smile appeared on Rossi's face. "I know," he replied. "I only pray he's alive when we do."

"Hotch will do whatever he has to to survive until we find him."

He took in and let out a deep breath. "I know. But for the first time, Emily, I have to admit I'm scared. Brandt has been escalating since we've been here. And considering the condition in which we've found the others victims, I don't even want to think about what Hotch is going through right now."

Morgan looked up from his reading and looked at the older man, well aware of the father/son relationship they shared. But Morgan was well aware of the possibility that they might not find Hotch alive. And if that was the case, Morgan would never forgive himself. He would never forgive himself for letting Hotch go outside alone to find JJ. He already blamed himself for Hotch being abducted. And would for whatever torture his Unit Chief endured. He suddenly noticed Rossi watching him.

"I know what you're thinking, Derek," Rossi began. "It's not your fault."

Morgan shook his head. "Yes it is, Rossi. I should have gone with Hotch when he went outside to search for JJ. Instead, I let him go by himself."

Rossi looked at Morgan directly. "Derek, you can't blame yourself for what happened. Aaron understood the risk when he went outside by himself. My guess is he would have argued against you going out with him or instead of him. Don't forget, you were the one who received the letter from Brandt. Do you really think he would have allowed you outside knowing there was a possibility this bastard was laying in wait for you?"

"I know you're right," Morgan explained. "But it doesn't make me feel any better. Truth of the matter is, Hotch should be here instead of me."

"I agree with Rossi," Reid admitted looking up and at Morgan. "We'll find Hotch and get him back."

"But in what condition will he be in when we do?" asked Morgan. "The longer he's with Brandt, the more torture he's being subjected to, Reid. If we somehow find him alive, he might not be the same Hotch we know." The young genius licked his lips.

"I understand it's hard," Reid admitted quietly. "But we have to think positively."

"Reid's right," Prentiss agreed. "We can't give up hope. Hotch would never give up hope if one of us had been taken by Brandt."

Morgan opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when the door to the conference room opened, and Detective Parsons appeared in the doorway. He had been told what happened and felt badly for the agents. He understood how worried they were about their missing leader, and they had good reason to be, considering in what condition the other victims were found. He shared their pain because despite them being FBI agents, they were brothers-in-arms when it came down to it. And when one of them suffered, all of them suffered. It was like an unspoken code between all law enforcement officers whether they be street cops, detectives, or FBI agents. What affected one, affected them all. Parsons had respected the dark-haired man as he not only liked him, but was envious of the love Hotchner's team apparently had for him. In the few days the agents had been here, he found they were unlike any team he had ever met. They were more like a family as opposed to six separate individuals.

"Can we help you, Detective?" asked Morgan, looking over at the man standing in the doorway.

"I just wanted to see if there's anything new on Agent Hotchner."

"Nothing yet," Morgan replied. "But we're gonna be holding a press conference in about an hour."

Parsons entered the room, closing the door. "Does that mean you have a suspect in mind?"

JJ picked up the sketch and held it out to Parsons. "This man. His name is Ronald Brandt. We believe he's our Unsub."

Parsons studied the sketch. "Doesn't look familiar."

"We have reason to believe he followed Clarissa Meadows out here from Reno, Nevada because he was stalking her," explained Rossi.

Parsons' eyes shifted to the older man. "Why was he stalking her?"

"Because she bore a striking resemblance to his late wife and he is suspected of her murder as well," Morgan continued. "After Clarissa Meadows and her family moved out here, he followed her here."

"And he was or is a surgeon, which means he has the ability needed to sever a body in half as was done to these victims," Reid added.

"Trouble is," JJ added. "We have no idea where he is. We've found very little on him and he's dropped off the grid since he's been out here."

"We suspect Brandt's intention was to get the BAU out here so he could kidnap Agent Hotchner. We also suspect that's why he killed as often as he could," Rossi explained, the pain clear on his face. "Once we were here, he had to hurry and kill Clarissa Meadows so he could get to Agent Hotchner."

Parsons swallowed the lump in his throat. "That means if he has Agent Hotchner…" He didn't finish his sentence.

Armitage picked up the remote control from the table and turned on the closed circuit television. The front entrance of his home appeared. He smiled and spoke while staring at the screen.

"This way I can see who is approaching my home," he told Hotch. "I wouldn't want us to be disturbed during our game." He looked at his prisoner. Hotch's injured knee starting to swell to twice it's normal size, and ugly bruising was forming. "That knee doesn't look too good, Aaron. But I have something that will take your mind off the pain."

The sadistic man bent down and picked up a medium-size cardboard box from the floor near the aluminum table, and carried it over to where Hotch was. He sat it on the floor beside the table. He stood up and grinned at Hotch who was barely conscious and in great pain. Hotch was unable to see what was in the box.

"From the size of that box, I suspect you're not going to give me any aspirin," Hotch said sarcastically.

Armitage grinned, amused. "Afraid not. But take my word for it, you will forget all about your knee and your face after this." He reached into the box, and stood up holding what resembled a modified version of an old-fashioned crank telephone. There were wires hanging from it and Armitage held two dry cell batteries in his other hand. He set everything down on the table near Hotch's left foot. "I can tell you are curious about this item. You'd be amazed what you can find on the internet these days. This is known, Aaron, as a Tucker telephone."(1)

Hotch watched as Armitage took one wire and wrapped it around the big toe of his left foot. He hissed in pain from his foot being touched because of the whipping. "Unfortunately, this can cause permanent organ damage and insanity. Should you survive, it can also damage or stop your heart completely, so I'll try and be careful. I wouldn't want you to die before time." He wrapped two wires around Hotch's testicles, and the last two around his penis. Oh God, no! Hotch thought to himself. Please! Don't do this! Somebody help me! Armitage smirked at Hotch who swallowed hard. He chuckled and turned the crank.

Hotch, who had promised himself he wouldn't, screamed in agony as the wires administered a jolt of electrical current to his genitals. The electricity traveled through his genitals, down his left leg, into his left foot, and out through his big toe as the 'grounded' wire was connected to his big toe. Hotch's entire body jerked violently, his reflexes forcing his butt high off the table; his genitalia waving like a bucking horse. Hotch felt like he was having a convulsion. Tears poured from his eyes and he bit his lower lip so hard it bled. After five minutes, Armitage cut off the current and looked at his prisoner. Fortunately for Hotch, he mercifully had passed out.

(1) The Tucker telephone was invented by Dr. A.E. Rollins, a 'resident physician' at Tucker State prison farm in Arkansas, in the 1960s. It was used to get confessions from inmates. The practice ended in the 1970s.