Author's Note: Thanks for hanging in this far! Some details were definitely difficult to write, but important for the overall plot. This chapter is the last that includes any difficult trauma-description!
23 August.
2am.
0 hours remain.
"It's a shame the boy messed things up for you, sweetheart. You have a lot of potential." Finally, her attacker stepped away from her and she felt her bonds loosen.
Her throat raw from dehydration, Emily remained silent, her head slumping onto the blood-stained table beneath her.
"Now don't play dead, that's no fun." he muttered, lifting her limp form over his shoulder.
"Please, just kill me." she whispered, her heavy eyelids closing involuntarily.
"Soon, puppet. Soon." he carried her through the big heavy doorway, though her energy was too far depleted to even process where he was taking her.
Tires screeched into the parking lot of the hotel, federal and local law enforcement flooding in from each doorway. Hotch and Morgan raced down the nearest stairwell, their handcuffed informant leading the way. Turning into the laundry room, the young man pointed the sea of agents to one of the large washing machines, Nudging it to the side, a hardly noticeable disturbance in the wall gave way to a hallway.
"B-be careful!" the young man stammered, pulled back from the fray by JJ's firm grasp. Guns and flashlights drawn, the agents crept down the winding hallway and followed stairs at the end down two flights.
The long hallway at the bottom yielded three doors: one left, one right, and one at the far end. After a brief pause, the local deputies busted through the left door while Rossi led Reid through the door to the right. Morgan and Hotch exchanged a glance before slowly approaching the door at the end of the hall.
What they saw made both men sick: blood pooled around the center of the room, far more than anyone could have expected; a bloodied rope hung down from the ceiling, a drop of blood dripping to the floor every so often; a ball of blood-caked clothes discarded in the corner. Though by far the worst feature of the room was simple: it was empty. Both men exchanged a panicked look and retreated back down the hallway.
Rossi and Reid emerged, shaking their head in despair.
"What if it's..." Reid began, but Rossi's hand on his shoulder stopped him:
"It isn't. We'll find her."
Yelling and gunshots from their left drew their attention. Morgan was the first to react, barreling through the door with Hotch, Reid, and Rossi in tow. The room around them contrasted sharply against the cinder-block hall. Shag carpet covered the floor, littered with mismatched furniture, though the chaos coming from the next room caused their surroundings to blur. All except Reid rushed towards the end of the room, through the doorway, towards the source of the gunfire. Spencer stood frozen, eyes latched onto the carpet beneath their feet. The pristine white carpet was stained dark a few feet to his left. Timidly, he knelt and let his fingertips slide across the darkened material. It was dry, just a memory of something he was sure he didn't want to know. But his attention was quickly drawn by a single smaller droplet a couple feet away, red blood beginning to soak into the floor. His eyes followed the droplet, quickly spotting a second a few feet away. Swallowing hard, Spencer braced himself for what he both prayed and dreaded he would find. Slowly, he rose from his position and moved towards the far corner of the room, the trail leading to a small door, unnoticeable other than the trail guiding Spencer. With a clenched jaw, he grasped the small door handle, gun drawn, the sounds of conflict behind him all but forgotten. With a slight shake of his head, he opened the door, unprepared for what he found on the other side.
For a millisecond, it appeared a normal bathroom, and he was relieved. But then, he spotted her. She was hardly recognizable, but he'd know her anywhere. Emily Prentiss' limp form was slumped in the dirty bathtub, a tangle of lifeless limbs.
"Emily?!" he couldn't control the panic that wracked his voice as he rushed to her side, hand immediately searching her neck for a pulse, so faint he couldn't be sure it was there at all.
"Hotch! I've got her!" his voice rang out loud enough he could've sworn the walls vibrated with his terror, yet Emily remained unmoving. Carefully, he wrapped his awkward limbs around her form, cradling her head in the bend of his elbow. Lowering her to the floor gently, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her exposed and battered form.
"Reid?" his superior's voice from behind him snapped him out of the panicked state he'd entered, causing him to jump awkwardly.
"S-She needs help. I-I don't know if she's alive, I tried to find her pulse but I can't tell if it's hers or mine and she's hurt, I don't know what to do." the young man rambled uncontrollably, his eyes wide with fear.
"Okay, okay. Just breathe, Reid." Hotch slowly approached them, his fingertips pressing softly against her jugular. The brief moment of silence that followed felt like eternity.
"She's got a pulse. We need to get her out of here. Now." Hotch began to lift her, but Spencer immediately stopped him, his lanky arms wrapping around his friend:
"I've got her. I can do it."
Hotch watched silently, unsettled and unconfident in the small boy's ability to carry her. But Spencer surprised him, gently cradling the brunette's limp body against his chest, supporting her to reduce any further chance of trauma.
"Wait." Holding his hand up in pause, Hotch disappeared through the door briefly, speaking too quietly for Reid to hear. Hotch's reappearance in the doorway signaled time to go and he tightened his hold on the woman protectively before carrying her away from the hell she'd endured.
A/N: Per usual, lemme know your thoughts and how you think things should proceed!