A/N: Have been feeling a bit under the weather. Between sinuses acting up, depression setting in, and my muse still on hiatus, I had a problem getting this chapter done. But here it is.
Chapter 13
Morgan and Rossi waited outside the building on Mayfern Avenue, until three squad cars, sirens and headlights off, pulled up outside the building. After the two agents updated the uniforms of what was to take place, and that they themselves were taking the lead, they all entered the building. Morgan checked the row of mailboxes installed in the wall near the front door.
"He's in apartment 252," Morgan told the others.
Rossi, weapon drawn and held in front of him, nodded and led the way up the stairs with the others following, their weapons drawn as well. When they reached the second floor, both agents glanced at the apartment numbers until they found apartment 252. Not hearing anything, Rossi pressed his ear against the door.
"There's a television on inside," he told Morgan in a low voice. Both agents weren't certain Darryl Wheaton was their man. But if he was, they couldn't take any chances and he might be armed. Rossi glanced around and noticed all the others were ready. He gestured for the officers to position themselves on opposite sides of the door, then nodded at Morgan. With all his strength, Morgan lifted his leg, and delivered a blow to the door, sending it flying open and partially off its hinges. He, Rossi, and the uniforms, burst into the room as a startled Darryl Wheaton bolted upright on the sofa only to find men with guns pointed at him.
"Who are you?" Wheaton asked nervously. "What do you want? If it's money, I haven't got a lot but you can have…"
"Darryl Wheaton?" Morgan asked with knitted eyebrows and hard eyes, ignoring the man's questions.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Wheaton slowly got to his feet, his eyes never wavering. "What do you want from me?" His eyes shifted between the two agents.
"FBI," Rossi replied glaring at the man.
Wheaton swallowed nervously knowing right away why they were in his apartment. He watched Morgan and Rossi advance into the room.
"You have to understand…" he began with a shaky voice.
"Shut up!" Morgan hissed. "Put your hands behind your head." Wheaton hesitated. He had to make them understand he had no choice. "I said put your hands behind your head you son of a bitch!" Morgan repeated. Wheaton, sensing the agent wouldn't hesitate to shoot him from the expression on his face, did as ordered. While Rossi held his weapon on the man, Morgan quickly approached him while removing his handcuffs from the back of his belt. "You're under arrest for the assault of a federal agent." He read Wheaton his rights as he cuffed the man's hands behind his back. He then shoved the man toward two of the uniforms. "Get 'im the hell outta here!" he hissed.
Rossi put away his weapon, and removed a pair of light blue Latex gloves from his pocket as did Morgan. The older man looked at the remaining six officers. "Tear this place apart," he demanded. "Check for anything that connects him to the sexual assaults, and the attack on a federal agent. I want the noose around this guy's neck nice and tight."
As the other officers began their search of the apartment, the first thing Morgan noticed on the table beside the telephone, was a framed 8x10 color photo. It was of a smiling Wheaton holding a smiling little blond-haired girl who had her arms wrapped around the man's neck. He picked it up and stared at the photo.
"Hey, Rossi, check this out," he remarked. The older man walked over and stared at the photo.
"That must be Wheaton's daughter, Alana," the older man commented. "Garcia said Wheaton's wife died after giving birth."
"So where is his daughter, Rossi?" asked Morgan looking at the older man. He sat the picture frame back on the table. "I'm gonna check upstairs," he informed the older man before he headed for the staircase. Rossi remained downstairs with the other officers.
Once upstairs, Morgan first came to a bedroom he at once recognized as belonging to Wheaton. The bed was unmade and the room looked messy. As he began his search, he found another framed photo. But this one was of a smiling little girl cuddling a brown teddy bear. It was the same little girl from the other photo. Morgan quickly looked around the room, and searched every drawer, closet, and beneath the bed without finding anything except another framed photo. It showed Wheaton in a tux, and a woman in a wedding gown, stuck in his night table drawer hidden beneath several items. The woman was smiling, had golden yellow hair and bright green eyes. She looked radiant as she smiled for the photographer. Morgan guessed this must have been Alana's mother, Cynthia Hagan, and Wheaton on their wedding day. With a grim expression, Morgan put the frame back where he found it, and closed the drawer. He continued his search. Once he finished, he left the bedroom and walked across the hall to another bedroom. There was no mistaking it as a child's room.
The walls were painted light pink with decals of angels and billowy clouds decorating the walls. The ceiling, woodwork, and window frame were painted white. The bed was unmade, with a dark pink bedspread with matching sheets and pillow cases. The child obviously loved pink. There were toys scattered on the floor, and children's books in a white bookcase against the far wall near the window with its red lace curtains. There was a white child's vanity with a red toy telephone, and a red comb and brush on it. There were also empty spray perfume bottles on the vanity. Morgan chuckled as he imagined the little girl probably pretending she was a 'grown up' instead of a child. To an outsider, everything appeared perfectly normal. But to Morgan, the room seemed empty; as if nobody had been in the room for days. As he looked around, his eyes narrowed when he noticed something, and approached the vanity and then one nightstand. He ran gloved fingers over each, and was dismayed to discover dust on his fingers.
To the agent, this wasn't normal. Why would Wheaton leave his daughter's room in this condition? He recalled visiting Hotch's home several times, and Jack's room was spotless and dust free. Was it possible the man's daughter didn't live with him full-time? Morgan walked to the door of the bedroom and opened it.
"Hey, Rossi!" he yelled. A few minutes later, the older agent appeared in the doorway of the room.
"Find something?" Rossi asked curiously eying Morgan. He followed the black agent into the room.
"I'm not sure."
"What d'ya mean?"
Morgan held up the fingers he ran over the furniture. "This. There's dust on the vanity and one nightstand. It's as if nobody's been in this room for a while."
"And that makes no sense as Wheaton has a child. He would keep this room spotless."
"Exactly." Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. "Rossi, Wheaton's parents are dead. Could his daughter live with his late wife's family, and only visit him instead of living with him full-time?"
Rossi pulled out his cell and scrolled down until he found Garcia's name. He pressed speed dial. "One way to find out."
"Office of the all-knowing and powerful oracle of knowledge," Garcia answered. "Speak and be dazzled, mere mortal."
"Garcia. Rossi. I'm gonna put you on speaker."
"Yes, my Italian Love-God. How might the oracle be of service?"
Morgan found himself grinning and shaking his head at the tech analyst maintaining her bubbly attitude despite the situation.
"Look up Cynthia Hagan, Darryl Wheaton's late wife. Find out if she has any surviving family members, and if any of them got full custody of Wheaton's daughter. I'll hold."
"Your wish is my command, oh acting fearless leader." Garcia's fingers typed furiously. "Oh, before I forget, my raven-haired beauty, and my junior G-man called. They arrested the bartender who drugged my liege, and are on their way back here with him as we speak."
"Good. Has he admitted anything?" the older man asked.
"All they would say is that he admitted he put the Rohypnol in Hotch's drink. Ah, here we are. Cynthia Hagan has one older sister living in Milwaukee, and a younger brother in Tuscan, Arizona. Neither have custody of little Alana. It seems both of Cynthia's parents were admitted to a hospice care facility in Milwaukee because of advanced Alzheimers. Oh…"
"What is it, kitten?"
"Cynthia's mother passed away from Alzheimer complications earlier this year. Her father is still alive, but his prognosis is extremely poor and he no longer recognizes any visitors who come to see him."
"What about Wheaton, Garcia?" asked Morgan. "We know his parents are both deceased. After his wife's death, did any of his relatives fight for and gain custody of his daughter?"
"Un momento, my dark knight in shining armor." Garcia's fingers raced over her keyboard again. "Based on my exemplary powers of research, my delicious chocolate God, Darryl retained full custody after his wife's death, and Alana lives with him."
"Thanks, Garcia," Rossi said.
"Hey, mama…" Morgan called out.
"Yes, my Chocolate Thunder."
"Is JJ still there?"
"Yes, my buttercup is here. Do you want to speak with her?"
"Yes I would, Goddess."
"What do you need, Derek?" JJ interrupted.
"I need you to contact Cynthia Hagan's sister and brother by telephone. See what they can tell you about Darryl Wheaton and his relationship with their sister. Also, try and find out if Wheaton's daughter is maybe visiting one of them."
"What's going on?" JJ asked, suddenly concerned.
"Rossi and I are in Wheaton's apartment. His daughter isn't here, and the furniture in her room has dust on it," Morgan explained. "It's like she hasn't been here for a while."
"You think he might have harmed his daughter?" the media liaison asked.
"We're not sure. He might just be a sloppy housekeeper," Morgan added.
"How much should I tell them?"
"Don't tell them about his arrest," Rossi interjected. "Just find out what you can and get back to us."
"Consider it done," JJ replied.
"Do you need me anymore, my Italian love-God?"
"I know who to call if I do," Rossi teased.
"It better be me," Garcia chuckled. "I will hurt you if I find out you're using another tech analyst behind my back."
"Heaven forbid, sweetness. There's only one Miss Penelope Garcia."
"And don't you forget it, oh dark God of mine. Garcia out."
Rossi chuckled as he put his cell back in his inner jacket pocket. "I'm glad she likes us," he smirked. "I'd hate to see what she'd do to somebody she hated."
Morgan smiled. "Or was mad at, Rossi. Believe me, I know," he joked.
Aaron Hotchner had been in a restless sleep when he suddenly heard maniacal laughter. He whimpered and turned his head away from the door hoping it would go away. But the laughter continued. A hand suddenly touched his shoulder causing his body to tense, and he tried to move away from the touch. But the hand remained. It was only when the hand squeezed his shoulder that his eyes flew open, and his heart began racing, causing the heart monitor alarm to beep incessantly. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he bolted upright in his hospital bed, ignoring the pain. Despite the nasal cannula, Hotch found himself gasping to breathe. Terror-filled eyes scanned the room trying to locate who touched him. He totally ignored the two nurses hurrying into his room, reacting to the heart monitor alarm. Racing to his bedside, one nurse gently, but firmly, gripped Hotch by both shoulders and tried to ease his body back down on the bed. The other nurse, Cynthia, pressed a few buttons to stop the incessant beeping. But Hotch fought the nurse who was trying to hold him down on his back.
"Agent Hotchner, calm down," the nurse, whose name was Stacy, instructed. "You have to calm down or you're going to injure yourself further." She recognized the signs of a full-blown panic attack. "Agent Hotchner!"
"He touched me!" Hotch cried out fearfully. "He's here!"
"Agent Hotchner, nobody is here," Stacy explained keeping her voice calm. "You were dreaming."
"No! Don't let him hurt me again! Can't you see him?! I know he's here!" Hotch continued to struggle against being forced onto his back. Images of hands holding him down, tearing at his clothes, and rough hands running over his body flashed before his eyes. He began thrashing about on the bed. He tried to get away from the hands.
"Get Doctor Correa!" Stacy shouted to her colleague. "Hurry!"
Cynthia opened the door only to run into Doctor Correa who was about to enter. He had been alerted by the heart monitor alarm coming from Hotch's room. From the time he entered the room, it took only a few seconds to understand what was taking place. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a syringe, its sharp end covered. He removed the cover, cleared any air bubbles, and approached the head of the bed. There was terror in his patient's eyes as the doctor stood beside the bed with the syringe.
"Hold him down, nurse!" the doctor ordered as he jabbed the syringe into Hotch's forearm and pushed the plunger injecting the sedative into the vein. The drug began to take effect right away. Hotch started to quiet down and relax. Correa disposed of the now empty syringe in the hypodermic/syringe receptacle attached to the wall near the bed. The nurse holding Hotch down, gradually eased and released her hold on the man's shoulders as his breathing evened out, and a gentle snoring was heard.
Satisfied, Doctor Correa lifted each of Hotch's eyelids, checked his pupils, and found them dilated. With a sigh, he straightened and glanced at Stacy. "What happened?" he asked.
"I have no idea, Doctor," she replied. "Everything was fine, and then I suddenly heard the alarm for his heart monitor. When Cynthia and I got here, he was claiming somebody touched him and was in his room. But neither of us saw anybody."
Doctor Correa shook his head sadly, his lips forming a straight line. "Thanks to my colleague letting it slip about the date rape drug, Agent Hotchner must have had a nightmare about what happened to him." The doctor checked the other machines, and followed that by making notations on the chart hanging from a hook on the bed frame at the foot of the bed. He studied Stacy's face. "I want this patient kept sedated for the rest of the day. I don't want him becoming agitated again, and maybe having another panic attack or possibly a stroke. And he's to have no more visitors today. Tomorrow we'll see how he is."
"Yes, doctor," Stacy replied.
"I also want his vitals checked every hour and if there's the slightest change, I want to know about it stat."
"Yes, doctor," Stacy replied. She and Cynthia started tucking the sheet covering Hotch under the mattress on both sides at the same time.
Doctor Correa watched his nurses for a few seconds. "I have to phone Agent Rossi and update him on Agent Hotchner's condition as he has medical power-of-attorney. If you need me, I'll be in my office until six p.m. At that time, Doctor Mason will be on call and will handle Agent Hotchner's care. I'll update him after I make my calls."
"Yes, sir."
The doctor walked out of Hotch's room and toward the bank of elevators down the hall across from the nurses' desk. He pushed the 'up' button and waited for an elevator to open. He was not looking forward to making this particular phone call.
Now alone with their patient, Stacy and Cynthia finished tending to Hotch's needs. Cynthia shook her head sadly and spoke without looking at her colleague. "I feel so badly for him, Stacy," she said. "Doctor Correa mentioned a date rape drug. Was this poor man sexually assaulted?"
"He was," Stacy explained. "I assisted Doctor Caswell with Agent Hotchner's surgery. The poor man was also nearly beaten to death. I really hope they catch the animal who did this to him."
"I know what you mean," Cynthia replied opening the door. "Someone who would do that to another person doesn't deserve to breathe the same air decent people breathe." She walked out the door with Stacy behind her leaving Hotch alone. Both nurses were positive their patient would now sleep through the night.