A/N: Please excuse any use of foul words in this chapter.

Chapter 26

Aaron Hotchner stared at the ceiling, his mind a jumbled mass of confused thoughts. He had been staring at the ceiling tiles since Dave Rossi had left his room.

'We spoke with Darryl, Aaron. He's admitted to taking part in the sexual assault on you, and to strangling you.'

Hotch turned his head to the side and stared out of the far window. Dave is wrong about Darryl. He wouldn't do that to me. But he realized if he was totally honest with himself, he didn't know what to think or how to feel.

'There was DNA from two men found. Swabs were taken from both and sent for testing. One result matched that of Darryl Wheaton.'

Dave's wrong. I know he's wrong. Darryl wouldn't do what Dave said. I know him.

He turned back toward the door when he heard it open, and spotted a hospital attendant holding a tray of food standing in the doorway.

"Agent Hotchner?" the young man seemed nervous as he stared at the FBI agent. Even with his bruised, battered, and swollen face, Hotch's stare was still formidable. "I brought you something to eat."

"You can take it away. I'm not hungry," Hotch told him harshly.

"But you need to eat, sir."

"I said I'm not hungry. Now take it away," he demanded rudely.

"But, sir…"

"What part of I'm not hungry don't you understand? Or are you so incapable of understanding what I'm saying? Now get out!" He didn't care how he sounded right now, nor did he intend to apologize for it. He just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

If the attendant was nervous earlier, he was now terrified by the agent's expression. He sat the tray on the portable tray and moved it close enough so that the patient can reach it. Afterward, he stepped backward until he reached the door. As he stood in the open doorway, he stared at Hotch.

"I left your tray in case you change your mind," he explained and left the room.

Alone now, Hotch lashed out an arm and brushed the tray and its contents off the portable tray, scattering the contents onto the floor. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and turned his head away from the door.

Dave's wrong! Darryl wouldn't do that to me! He wouldn't! He wouldn't do something so abominable to me! He just wouldn't!

The door opened again and a nurse stepped inside the doorway. She sighed at the mess on the floor. She then turned her stare to the back of Hotch's head.

"Agent Hotchner, I will have somebody clean this mess up, and then bring you another tray."

"Don't bother. I don't want anything."

"Agent Hotchner…" the nurse began, exasperated.

"Get out!" Hotch repeated with contempt.

The nurse harrumphed and stormed out the room leaving Hotch alone. She would have a janitor come and clean up the mess and then speak with Doctor Correa.

He turned his face so he could look at the ceiling again, Hotch closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

'I'm sorry, Aaron, but you need to face the fact that Darryl Wheaton took part in sexually assaulting you, and leaving you for dead in that alleyway.'

"You're wrong, Dave," Hotch said in a shaky whisper to the open air. "You're wrong."

But in the deep recesses of the mass confusion which occupied his mind, was a tiny voice he found himself unable to ignore. A tiny voice asking Hotch if he was sure of Wheaton's innocence, or was he trying to convince himself of the man's innocence.

Just then the door opened, and a janitor with a mop and bucket entered the room and went about cleaning up the mess. He sat the tray on top of the portable tray to get it out of the way. He glanced occasionally at the man lying in the bed who didn't appear to be paying him any attention. But he ignored the dark-haired man and finished cleaning up the mess. He had no idea what was troubling the man. But it was none of his business, not being a doctor. Still, the man's expression showed him to be troubled about something which was much better left up to professionals. Once finished his task, he left the room again leaving Hotch alone with his thoughts.

Why am I questioning Darryl's involvement when I know he didn't do this? Why?

Before Hotch could have another thought, the door opened again, and Doctor Correa walked in this time carrying a food tray. Hotch glanced at the man and sighed. His scowl did not have the desired effect on the doctor.

"Agent Hotchner…"the doctor began as he sat the tray down and moved it where the agent could easily reach it. "…I brought you another breakfast tray. I trust I need not worry about you throwing this one on the floor. Also, you and I need to have a talk."

"Why?" Hotch asked, disinterested.

"Because I am in charge of your care and I don't like it when my patients refuse to follow my instructions. Also, you will not leave this hospital until I feel you are well enough. And by refusing to eat is one sure way to show me you're not well enough for me to even consider eventually releasing you." He noticed the agent's stare. "And you trying to scare me with your stare won't work. I've had more difficult patients than you try and fail."

"I don't need a lecture," Hotch stated. "And unless you want me to lose it, then I suggest you get the hell out of here and leave me alone."

Correa chuckled. This man, despite his condition, was showing flashes of feistiness which he was glad to see. He would need it if he were to get well.

"I'll leave, Agent Hotchner, but I'll return a bit later. And I want to see all this food eaten. If you refuse, then I'll have no choice but to have a feeding tube installed."

Hotch stared at the man. "You wouldn't dare."

Correa smirked. "Try me and find out."

Rossi stared at his cell phone after speaking with the CSI units. There was a frown on his face. He had been told most of the prints found in room 631 were from Mr. and Mrs. Andover. But there was good and bad news about an unidentifiable thumbprint found on the middle desk drawer. The good news was that a fingerprint had been found which didn't belong to the Andovers. But the bad news was that the print was so smudged it couldn't be used in a search with AFIS. (1)

Also, a search of room 430 resulted in no unidentified fingerprints found at all. Rossi shook his head as he put his cell back in his pocket. This guy was a ghost. They were having no luck finding anything on him. But thanks to a cognitive interview, they had a bit more than they had earlier. They now knew the man Wheaton had met with had either a rash or birthmark on his right hand. Added to that they had the make and model of the UnSub's vehicle. He decided to see if Garcia had any luck searching for the UnSub's vehicle, and the rash or birthmark on the right hand. Reaching the tech analyst's office, Rossi knocked on her door.

"Enter and be prepared to be bedazzled," said a cheery voice from the other side.

Rossi opened the door to see Garcia turn around in her chair to face him. "How can I be of service, my Italian God in charge of us mortals?"

Rossi allowed the corners of his mouth to turn upward. Garcia always had a way of brightening his day when things were bad. And today was one of those times.

"Tell me you found something? Anything?" he asked as he stood in front of the woman.

Penelope, turning her chair around, faced the middle of the three computer screens in front of her. She pointed to what was on the screen as Rossi looked closer, and with hands on knees, peered over her shoulder.

"I checked with the DMV as JJ asked me. But let me say there has to be a better way to narrow down this list. There were over one thousand owners of silver Suburbans in the state between 2009 and 2010. Do we have anything outstanding about this mode of transportation? Anything to help find this dirt bag?"

Rossi let out a deep breath. "I can have Morgan and JJ try interviewing Wheaton further focusing on the vehicle alone and see if he can remember anything more about it. How about the birthmark between the pinky and ring fingers? Anything?"

"There, Acting Mon Capitan, I had better luck." She typed rapidly and brought up another screen. "I found something on that rash or birthmark JJ told me about when she called. I can tell you plenty, but the good Doctor Reid can, I'm sure, tell you more than I. So here goes. What I can tell you is I found something called either Klippel-Trenaumay Syndrome, or Sturge-Weber Syndrome. It's a Port-Wine colored birthmark which often grows darker in color."

"Uh-huh. And does our Mister Hemminger have this condition?"

"I checked his medical records, sir, and I'm afraid not. He's clean as a whistle I'm afraid. And as far as I could check the mysterious Mr. Blackman's medical history, he doesn't either. But I did find someone who does have that condition."

"Who?" Rossi asked turning toward her.

"You've met him before, Mon Acting Capitan," Garcia turned her head toward Rossi. "It's my liege's former caregiver. Doctor Adam Caswell."

Rossi grinding of his lower jaw was so hard, Garcia feared the man would break his jaw at any moment. His face darkened.

"It isn't enough that he let slip to Hotch that he had Rohypnol in his system which made Hotch realize he had been sexually assaulted. But he might be responsible for what happened to him."

Garcia watched the older man get to his feet. She looked up at him. "What are you gonna do, sir?"

"Rossi cracked his knuckles loudly. "I think I'm gonna have a little talk with Doctor Caswell."

"You think he's responsible for what happened to Hotch?"

"It's too soon to even speculate, kitten. But if he is, losing his medical license will be a minor thing compared to everything else." He started toward the door.

"Uh, sir?"

Rossi turned. "What is it, Garcia?"

"I'm not sure yet, sir," she said turning back to her keyboard and began typing furiously. "But I may have a lead on our elusive Mister Blackman."

Rossi made his way back to the tech analyst's station. He put one hand on the back of her chair, the other on the table. He stared at the screen in front of him.

"What did you find?" he asked, his interest again peaked.

She pointed to something on the screen. "You see this picture here?"

"Yeah. Who is he?"

"This is Aasim Abdullah aka Desmond Blackman. His older brother is Aariz Abdullah also known as…and can I have a standing ovation, please…Coral James Blackman."

The older man looked into Garcia's face with admiration. "He changed his name?"

"It seems that our Mr. Blackman, after he was expelled from Georgetown, traveled throughout the country, hitchhiking the entire time. That was why I couldn't find him. He never stayed anywhere where he had to register, and lived off the grid so to speak."

"So how'd you find him?"

"Ah, that was the tricky part. I found out Blackman had gotten himself arrested for possession of meth in Detroit, Michigan. He was sentenced to 7 years and ordered to pay a five thousand dollar fine. After he was released, I again lost track of him. But I then discovered he had a younger brother, Desmond, who lived in Detroit, who ended up paying his fine for him. I shortly afterward found out Desmond had converted to Islam and changed his name to Aasim Abdullah. Six months later, he convinced his older brother, Coral James, to convert and he changed his name to Aariz Abdullah. He has lived an exemplary life since he's been released. Not even a traffic ticket. His younger brother is clean as a whistle too. Never served a day in jail, not even while growing up, sir. The reason I couldn't locate him earlier is because I wasn't looking for him under his Islamic name."

"Do you have an address for him, kitten?"

Garcia handed Rossi a slip of paper on which she had written down the physical address of Coral James and Desmond Blackman. "Your wish is my command, oh leader of mine," she replied with a smile. Rossi took the paper and kissed the top of Garcia's head.

"You are a Technological Wonder, Penelope," he said with a smile.

"Was there ever any doubt?" She smiled back.

Rossi grinned crookedly. "I'll get back to you as soon as we find something to narrow down the search for the vehicle."

"Meanwhile, my Italian God, I shall keep trying to narrow down the search of the vehicle in question on my own using the limitations I have until you do."

"Thanks, Penelope."

Garcia didn't reply but waved at Rossi while her attention was on her computer screen. Rossi left her office and after closing the door behind him, stood silently outside the door. He stared at the address on the paper Garcia had given him. Somebody would have to fly to Detroit and talk with Coral James Blackman.

Jason Hemminger rode in the elevator to the sixth floor once he had returned to the FBI building. He thought about the phone call he had received from Emily Prentiss while he was at the hospital where Hotch was a patient. They wanted him to come in for questioning. He had a pretty good idea as to why, but decided to play dumb, and ask. The woman had told him it had to do with his relationship with Agent Hotchner. Hemminger smirked at the woman's choice of words. My relationship with Hotchner. There is no relationship! Just the pain I'm gonna cause him before he goes to hell where he belongs for letting my father die!

He buried his anger and put on a calm mask when the elevator reached its destination. He mentally readied himself. These were profilers, and he had to be careful to hide his true feelings in their presence. Hearing the ding, he straightened his posture and threw back his shoulders as the doors hissed open. He found himself face-to-face with one of the most beautiful brunettes he had ever seen. From what he recalled about Hotchner's team, he suspected this stunning creature had to be Emily Prentiss.

"Agent Prentiss?" he asked with a charming smile as he stepped out of the elevator and held out a hand. "I'm Jason Hemminger in case you don't remember me from earlier." Prentiss shook his hand but kept her face neutral. "We met in Agent Hotchner's hospital room."

"I remember," Emily replied. "Come with me please." She released his hand, turned, and walked in the direction of the conference room where Reid was waiting for them. Hemminger followed her keeping a few steps behind her, his eyes watching her ass as she walked.

"How's Agent Hotchner doing? Any better I hope?"

"He's fine," was all the woman replied, careful not to release any information. She felt his eyes on her.

"Glad to hear it. Hope he's soon back on his feet again. But I suspect that's gonna be awhile. He was worked over pretty good from what I remember."

"Hotch is tough and a fighter," she explained without turning. "He'll bounce back from this."

He followed Emily up the stairs to the catwalk once they had passed through the Plexiglas doors and into the BAU. Hemminger couldn't resist glancing around the bullpen with envy. I should have been here. I deserved to be here. But that bastard Hotchner rejected me. As if killing my father wasn't bad enough, he's determined to keep me from having my rightful place in the BAU. He ground his lower jaw. I hate you more than you'll ever know for everything you've done to me and my late mother. And you will pay! If it's the last thing I do!

"So is what I hear about Hotchner true? he asked innocently.

"Depends on what you heard."

"I hear he's a cold fish, and a hard ass to work for. So, is it true?"

"No. He only seems that way to those who don't know him. But he's a good man, a great boss, and the best at his profession," Prentiss replied as they reached the catwalk. "He's also held in extremely high esteem by his peers and bosses."

Maybe, he thought to himself. But I bet he'll never be the same after having somebody's cock shoved up his ass. The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement, but he quickly hid it not wanting Prentiss to see it. But what he didn't realize was that she already had. She had seen his reflection in the Plexiglas windows of Rossi's office as they continued on their way to the conference room. She fought hard to suppress her building anger at this asshole.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly walked into Prentiss as she pushed open the door to the conference room. Once inside, Hemminger spotted a young skinny kid with wavy long brown hair, looking up at him with hazel eyes from where he sat at the round table. He still thought it amazing that this kid who resembled a few of the geeks he had met in school as a kid, was an agent. "This is Doctor Spencer Reid," Prentiss introduced the younger man as she herself took a seat beside him.

"Doctor Reid." Hemminger's eyes widened. This kid's a doctor and an agent? I find this somewhat hard to believe. But he knew it was true as he was familiar with Doctor Spencer Reid and his exemplary credentials and accomplishments.

"Have a seat, Agent Hemminger." Prentiss motioned to the seat directly across from her and Reid. Hemminger pulled out the chair motioned to by the brunette, and took a seat. He faced them with a confused expression on his face, and hands clasped on top of the table. He glanced between the two agents before facing Emily.

"You said you wanted to speak with me, Agent Prentiss?" he asked.

Emily's dark eyes were cold and harsh. "Yes. Now why don't you start by telling us about your dislike of Agent Hotchner?"

(1) AFIS stands for Automated Fingerprint Identification System.