Chapter 5

Darryl Wheaton sat alone on his worn leather sofa with a glass of Jack Daniels in one hand, and the half-filled bottle on the coffee table. The television had been on, and broadcasting the late night news, but he hadn't been paying attention. He continued to stare at the screen and took a large gulp of the whiskey, letting it burn on its way down his throat.

What did I do? he thought to himself staring at the newscaster on the screen. What did I do? I'm so sorry, AM. I never thought…I didn't have a choice. It was either you or her. I just couldn't…Oh God. Wheaton downed the rest of the whiskey and quickly poured another. He raised the glass to down it, when a picture of Hotch appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Wheaton quickly grabbed the remote beside him and turned up the volume. He paled as he listened to the newscaster.

'An FBI agent was found beaten and left for dead in an alleyway earlier tonight. The agent, who's identity is being kept confidential pending notification of next-of-kin, has been taken to an area hospital. He is reported to be in extremely serious condition following surgery. The motive seems to be robbery as his wallet and watch were missing. Police have so far been unable to question the agent, but hope to soon. There are no suspects at this time.'

With the bile rising in his throat, Wheaton put the tumbler down carelessly, its contents sloshing over the edge of the glass and onto the table. Wheaton didn't care or notice. He jumped to his feet, and bolted for the bathroom where he raised the lid of the toilet, and emptied the contents of his stomach. When nothing more came out except dry heaves, he flushed the toilet before turning on the cold water faucet of the sink. He cupped his hands together under the water, and rinsed his mouth. Finished, he splashed cold water on his face before looking into the mirror above and studied his reflection. The image looking back at him filled him with loathing and disgust. AM is still alive. He isn't dead. Thank God. Wheaton shook his head before staring at his reflection again. You should have just told him the truth. He ran a hand over his hair. You know why you didn't tell him, you coward. You promised. It was him or her. He wanted him and you promised. But he's still alive and that wasn't part of the plan. He wanted me to…but I couldn't. Oh God! Wheaton hung his head and let the tears fall unashamedly. He believed he had signed her death warrant.

An exhausted David Rossi walked through the door of his home. He tossed the keys to his vehicle in the dish on the table beside the door, and made a beeline to his liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of his best twelve year old Scotch. Into a tumbler, he poured three fingers of Scotch, and downed the contents in one gulp. He quickly poured himself a refill and took a sip. It wouldn't do to get drunk. He needed to stay sober. But he was angry. Even if he drank everything in the house, it wouldn't be enough to get drunk. Rossi made his way to the sofa, picked up the remote, and turned on the television, wanting to catch the news. The first thing was a report by local news about an FBI agent found lying in an alley, the victim of a robbery. He swallowed a large gulp of Scotch at the photo of Aaron in the upper right hand corner of the screen. At least Aaron's name had been withheld awaiting notification of next-of-kin. Thank God for small favors. Not that it'll make a difference to anybody who sees the news. Rossi made a mental note to have JJ speak with the press in the morning to try and limit the coverage the story is sure to receive. He took another gulp of his drink and sat down in his recliner facing the television.

At least Hotch is safe for now. Patrick sent a security team to the hospital consisting of four of his best men. Rossi quickly explained that Agent Hotchner, though alive, was still in danger from an Unsub and needed round-the-clock protection until the bastard is either captured or dead. He made sure to leave out the details of Hotch's injuries especially the sexual assault. Before he left for home, Rossi assigned two agents outside his friend's room, and the other two inside on either side of the door. He also insisted that no unauthorized personnel be allowed into Hotch's room except for himself and members of the team, the doctor in charge, and Detective Moeller. If anybody else needed access, Rossi promised to update them at once. After the four agents shook hands with the legendary profiler and author, Rossi turned and left the agents to their assigned task.

Rossi took another gulp of his drink as his mind went over what the team discussed earlier in the hospital. But out of everything, three things bothered him the most. The first being Aaron is still alive. Why would this rapist leave his victim alive? What is the logic or reason behind it? Was it done purposely, or did he get interrupted before he had been able to kill Aaron? And if the latter, will he come after him again to kill him? Rossi smiled knowing that path to Aaron had been cut off by limiting all contact with the injured agent. But it still needed to be considered.

Second, did the bastard have a partner? Rossi agreed a partner had not been figured into their original profile in Milwaukee. And as Emily suggested, they might have to toss out their original profile and begin again, but this time, figuring a partner into the equation. And if he did, how did he figure into things.

And finally, what persuaded Aaron to leave the office when the last time Rossi saw him, the man had been buried in paperwork? Rossi understood Hotch being a workaholic. In other words, the man wouldn't leave the office until he had signed his name to the last file in his inbox. And Jack was with his aunt for the weekend, so he knew Hotch was planning on staying late. So how did he end up in an alley several miles from home? Rossi hoped Garcia and JJ would find the answer to that question in the morning. Rossi rubbed his tired eyes and let out a deep breath. He finished his drink and got to his feet. He switched off the television and sat his tumbler down on the liquor cabinet. "The empty glass can wait until morning," he told himself. Right now he needed to sleep to clear his head.

Someone was going to pay dearly. And Rossi hoped when they caught this guy, he would be able to control himself. Hotch was like his own son, and he was damned if he'd let whoever hurt him get away with it. He headed upstairs to his bedroom, thoughts of what he would do to this bastard in his head.

Wheaton still felt sick after leaving the bathroom, and it wasn't from all the drinking he did on an empty stomach. He walked back into the living room, collapsed onto the sofa in a sitting position, and massaged his forehead. He grabbed the remote, and switched channels until he found one giving the box scores of the baseball games. He needed something to hopefully distract him right now. Unfortunately it didn't seem to work. All he kept seeing was Hotch laying on the ground, battered, bruised, bloody, and being violently assaulted sexually. And as much as he tried to block it from his mind, he had been unable to erase the image. The image of that man thrusting into his friend's body repeatedly and roughly. The look of satisfaction on his face sickened him.

And to make matters worse, the bastard followed by having oral sex with Aaron. And again with a look of total satisfaction. But then the bastard ordered him to take a turn. Wheaton didn't want to, and he refused. But the man's reminder of the consequences changed his mind. Another wave of nausea hit him as he recalled violating his friend's body over and over, hearing him whimper from the pain. The man then ordered him to have oral sex with Hotch against his will. He didn't want to do it. But he had no say in the matter. The consequences of refusing too great. So he did what he had been told.

If anything, right now Wheaton hated himself for having taken part in the violation of his friend. Also, the man had lied to him. He had been told to make sure he got Agent Hotchner to meet him at the bar, and the Rohypnol put in his drink. All Wheaton understood about Rohypnol, was that was a date rape drug. But what he didn't understand was why Hotchner needed to be drugged. Had it been to make Hotch susceptible to the assault? That's when the man told him he had seen Hotchner in Milwaukee and knew then he wanted him, and intended to have him.

Wheaton had been horrified. He didn't understand what that meant exactly. He had to have Aaron? But once it the man explained what he wanted, Wheaton refused. There was no way he would do what this man wanted. That's when the man informed him, somewhat deviously, that he had no choice and would help him get Hotchner. If he didn't, the consequences would be disastrous. When he asked for an explanation as to what he meant, the man showed him. It was his choice. Hotchner or her. To Wheaton, the choice had been clear. He agreed, reluctantly, that he would help this bastard, and deliver Aaron Hotchner to him.

Wheaton was brought out of his fog by his telephone. He wasn't in the mood to speak with anybody, and afraid as to who it might be. Reluctantly, he approached the phone, checked the caller ID, and saw 'UNKNOWN NAME, UNKNOWN NUMBER.' He knew right away who was calling. He bit his lower lip, picked up the receiver, and pressed it to his ear.

"Hel…hello?" he asked with a shaky voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat when he heard breathing on the other end. "Is any…anybody there?"

"You lied to me," the voice on the other end responded coldly. "You told me he was dead and I believed you. You lied!"

"I…I didn't…I didn't lie. I thought…I really thought he was dead."

The silence on the other end sent a chill down Wheaton's spine.

"Need I remind you of our agreement?"

"I lived up to our agreement. You asked me to deliver Aaron to you and I did. You ordered me to…to have sex with him and…and I did, even though I didn't want to do it. I did it because you left me no choice. I kept my promise. Now let her go. Please!"

There was laughter on the other end. "I will decide when you've fulfilled your promise to me and not you. Hotchner is still alive. I want you to finish him."

"Wha…what are you saying?"

"I want you to kill him, Darryl."

"But that isn't necessary," Wheaton didn't care if he sounded as if he was pleading. "You said so yourself. The Rohypnol erases memory. He won't remember anything about the attack or who's responsible. There's no need to kill him."

"Are you threatening to disobey me? Need I remind you of the consequences of doing that?"

Wheaton massaged his forehead. "No. Please don't hurt her. She's only ten years old," he begged.

"If you want her to reach eleven, you'll do as I tell you." The silence on the other end scared him. "I don't like children, Darryl, but I'll make an exception if need be to get what I want."

"No! Don't you touch her!"

"Then you will do as you're told when you're told. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Wheaton closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He now had a fierce headache pounding behind his eyes. He let out a deep breath and opened his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to kill Aaron Hotchner. And I expect the job to be done correctly this time if you understand my meaning."

"But agents might be guarding him."

"Not my problem. But, something you just said does give me a wonderful idea."

"What?" Wheaton asked. "Hasn't what you've done to him already been enough."

There was a chuckle. "You forget, Darryl. I wasn't the only one who enjoyed Aaron Hotchner's body. If I remember correctly, you were an eager participant as well."

Wheaton's temper rose. "I hated every minute of it. But then you didn't exactly leave me much choice now, did you?"

"True. But you did seem to me to be enjoying yourself once you got started. Am I right?"

"You bastard! Why the hell are you calling me? What do you want?"

"What I want is for you to arrange for the two of us to be alone in Agent Hotchner's hospital room."

"Why? What do you plan on doing?"

"It would be exhilarating to have Agent Hotchner's body again, and under the FBI's very nose. It would be so exciting to stick it to the Feds. Of course you will take part if you understand what's good for you. I want to experience him again. I so liked how he responded the last time. Afterward, I intend to rip him open. And remember, I won't hesitate to pull the trigger while doing so if you try anything. After that, you will manually strangle him."

"Me?" Wheaton grimaced recalling having to watch the man sodomize Hotchner with his own weapon. He was just grateful the man didn't discharge the weapon while using it, even though the man had threatened to pull the trigger. "Why me? And how…how do you propose he be kept quiet during another attack?"

"You will kill him as you should have the last time. As for how to keep him quiet, that's for you to figure out, Darryl. Believe me when I say Agent Hotchner's last memory will be of his friend violating him in the worse possible way. Afterwards, he'll be dead and won't be able to tell a soul. But I do not intend to be patient. Disappoint me again, and little Alana will suffer for it. I'll be in touch." The phone went dead.

Wheaton hung up his telephone. What was he going to do to save Alana? He couldn't go to the local police. And he couldn't go to the FBI. Not after what he had done to one of their own. Wheaton ran both hands down his face. He was trapped with no way out. He should have told the man to go to hell. But Alana was only ten. Everything was such a mess, and he regretted having ever met this bastard. In fact, this bastard was the reason he contacted Hotchner. To help him get himself and his child out of this mess. He had planned to tell Hotch everything, and pray his friend could help him save Alana. But somehow the man discovered his betrayal. That was when he informed him he'd have a chance to make amends. Wheaton had been curious but afraid at the same time. So against his better judgment, he asked what it was he could do. What he heard next changed his entire life.

The man wanted Aaron Hotchner. He had seen the man in Milwaukee and knew he had to have him. That's when Wheaton realized who it was he was talking to having read the papers about the rapes. He told the man he was crazy and to leave him alone, to leave Hotch alone. He cringed as he recalled the man's next words to him.

"You will bring Agent Hotchner to me, or Alana will pay the price."

It was at that moment he knew he had no choice. He couldn't let his daughter pay for his mistake. He had been ordered to convince Hotch to meet him at the Serendipity bar. Once there, Rohypnol would be administered. Then he was to bring the agent to him at a specified location. Wheaton hung his head. This nightmare was never going to end.

"I'm so sorry for everything, AM," he muttered.

Derek Morgan had been trying to sleep since he arrived back home from the hospital. Unfortunately, he tossed and turned half the night while his anger grew. Giving up, he threw back the covers, but lay staring at the ceiling, careful not to disturb his dog, Clooney, stretched out on the foot of the bed. He glanced at the alarm clock on the night table. It was three a.m. in the morning, and he figured he wouldn't get anymore sleep tonight. He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed wearing only his boxer shorts. Morgan ran both hands down his face before getting to his feet in the darkened room, illuminated only by the pale shaft of moonlight coming through the pale curtains. He noticed Clooney lift his head to give him a look, as if annoyed at being disturbed by his owner getting out of bed. The dog yawned, lay his head down, and went back to sleep, use to his owner's quirks and weird hours. He maneuvered his way into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out the plastic gallon container of milk. He took a long drink right from the container. After putting the container back in the fridge, Morgan decided to take a shower hoping it would help with his anger.

Morgan walked into the bathroom, and turned on his shower until the water got as hot as he could stand it. He removed his boxers, put them in the dirty clothes hamper, and stepped into the shower. He stood there for a few minutes with one hand leaning against the shower wall, letting the hot water run over his body. After ten minutes of standing there, he found himself recalling the phone call from Rossi about Hotch. He couldn't imagine the horror and pain his boss must have gone through while being assaulted. And being an alpha male, Morgan worried how Hotch would recover from being raped and sodomized. Would he see himself as weak and no longer capable to lead? Or would he consider himself damaged goods, and pull away from his friends and family who both loved and respected him?

Morgan swore and slammed a fist against the shower wall. His anger had not abated. He ground his lower jaw, and snatched the bar of soap from the soap dish. He began to lather his body. All he thought about is what he'd do to this bastard once they found him. He would make the bastard sorry he even heard the name Aaron Hotchner.

"I promise you, Hotch," Morgan said as he scrubbed his body. "We will find this piece of shit and he will pay."

Emily Prentiss lay in her bed on her side, wide awake. Her cat, Sergio, lay snuggled against her, his owner stroking his soft black fur. Prentiss was envious of Sergio and his ability to sleep so soundly. He had no idea of what had happened hours ago. Or how stressed out his owner was. How can somebody do that to Hotch? It isn't right. Why do these things always seem to happen to you? You're a good man who doesn't deserve this. She let her mind wander to what Hotch might be like once he recovers from this assault. Would he be the same man he was? Or he be forever changed by it? Prentiss smiled when Sergio adjusted his position and purred. She liked to believe he was dreaming and continued to stroke his head and back.

"You're so lucky, Serge. All you have to do is eat, sleep, and poop. You don't have to worry about people torturing you, or looking to harm you."

We'll get 'im, Hotch. I promise you he will not get away with what he's done to you. And we'll help you get through this. You're not alone.

JJ lay curled up in her husband's arms as she lay awake in bed with her back against Will. She listened to Will LaMontagne's gentle snoring, and knew he was sleeping peacefully, and envied him. She recalled coming home and Will waiting up for her. He saw his wife in obvious distress and with wet eyes, and right away wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He asked her what the problem was. She somehow managed to get the entire story out before the floodgates opened. Will held her tighter and let his wife cry, as he fought to control his own emotions. He liked Aaron Hotchner very much, and was extremely angry something so abominable had happened to him.

First the divorce, she thought. Then Foyet attacking you in your apartment. Then listening to Haley being murdered over the phone. And now this? Why do these things keep happening to you, Hotch? Why? You're a good man and deserve to have a happy life. You didn't deserve what happened to you. Nobody does. But least of all you.

JJ felt Will's body shift against hers and she looked behind her to make sure he was still asleep. A small smile appeared on her face as she turned back again, and let her mind wander. She made a mental note to herself to contact the media once she arrived at work before anything else. Then she would try and gain the upper hand on what they released about Hotch's attack.

He won't get away with what he did, Hotch. I promise you. He won't get away with it. And we'll be here for you no matter how long it takes. You won't have to deal with this alone.

With a sigh, JJ glanced at her alarm clock and noticed it was after three in the morning. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes, hoping to get a few hours sleep before she had to be at the office. It was going to be a long day.

Garcia sat in front of her bedroom window staring out into the darkness. She had only a few hours of sleep before giving up completely, and parking her body beside the bedroom window. She found she wasn't really paying attention to those people walking the street. Her mind was on Hotch. As she thought about him, she wiped away the tears that continued to fall.

Why you, my liege? Why would somebody do this to you. You never hurt anybody in your entire life. And for somebody to do that…

Garcia's vision became blurred from the tears as she finally gave up wiping them away. They fell faster than she wiped them away so she just let them fall, and tolerated them dripping from her chin onto her chest. She let out a deep breath.

"Please, mon Capitan. You have to get better. And not just for us, but for mini-Hotch. Your son needs you. We need you. I will search under every rock, every stone, behind every tree, and look in every crevice. I will keep searching until I find the perverted bastard who did this to you. So don't you worry. We'll get him. You just get well and come back to us."

Spencer Reid lay beneath the duvet on his bed, staring at one of his bookcases. He was unable to sleep as he was sure the same was true of his teammates. Somebody had attacked their leader, their friend. And as Rossi told them once, an attack against one of them, was an attack against all of them. It was times like this that he hated having an eidetic memory. He remembered everything he had read on male rape and sodomy, and knew Hotch was in for a rough time. Also, he knew the statistics of men who were alpha males who fully recovered from an assault like Hotch's. He also hated knowing he had been right about the Rohypnol rapist. But Hotch would never have taken himself off a case once he found out he was a target. Reid grinned at the thought of Hotch removing himself from a case for his own protection. He wasn't a man to hide just because he was a target.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch. I mistook his inactivity for him having left town. Maybe if I had caught it earlier, I might have realized he was stalking you instead. And although I know it's not my fault, I feel responsible."

Reid turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He truly believed this time they would catch this bastard. I promise you, Hotch. We will get him. He will not get away again. I will not let you down again. And I give you my word I will do everything in my power to protect you should he come after you again.

A look of determination appeared on Reid's face as he snuggled further under the duvet. Determination that he would not fail. Failure was not acceptable.