Chapter 2
The black SUV hummed along the dark and desolate country highway, carrying its passengers towards an uncertain destination. Inside, JJ stared out the window at the passing trees, her thoughts swirling like the autumn leaves caught in the vehicle's wake. Beside her, Rossi drummed his fingers on the the steering wheel, a staccato beat that mirrored the tension thrumming through the confined space.
"Do you think it has something to do with his mother?" Rossi mused, breaking the heavy silence. "How is Fran?"
JJ's gaze remained fixed on the blurred landscape. "Maybe," she placated, her voice distant, as if she were reaching for an answer that lay just beyond her grasp.
In the backseat, Reid shifted, his keen eyes observing the subtle interplay between his colleagues. "Guys, I think he's sick," he ventured, his words measured and precise.
JJ turned, her brow furrowed. "Why?"
"He was in the lavatory for a long time," Reid pointed out, his tone suggesting a deeper meaning lurking beneath the surface observation.
"Spence... I don't think—" JJ began, but Rossi cut her off with a childish grin.
"You're definitely onto something there, kid. You only spend that much time in the bathroom when you've got the trots."
JJ shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "You're both so immature."
The conversation lulled, each agent retreating into their own thoughts as the miles stretched on. The unspoken hung heavy in the air, a palpable presence that seemed to fill the spaces between them. Ever since Emily's supposed death, they had all become overly observant of one another, attuned to the slightest changes in behavior or demeanor. No one wanted to endure such a devastating deception again.
As the SUV pulled up to the grandmother's house, the agents climbed out, gathering on the sidewalk like leaves scattered by the wind. Derek and Hotch emerged from the other vehicle, their faces etched with the weight of the case at hand.
Hotch approached Derek, his steps measured and purposeful. "Should I be concerned about whatever's going on with you?" he asked, his voice low and intense.
Derek shook his head, a weak attempt at deflection. "There's nothing, man—"
"I'm not asking about it," Hotch interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I'm telling you, whatever it is, put it aside. I need you present and focused. Is that understood?"
A beat of silence passed, the air heavy with unspoken implications. Cases involving children always heightened the tension, the stakes seeming impossibly high. In this line of work, there was no room for distraction or personal entanglements.
"Yeah," Derek finally replied, his nod unconvincing, his tone flat and distant.
Hotch studied him for a moment longer, searching for the truth behind the mask, but Derek remained inscrutable. With a final appraising look, Hotch turned away, his focus shifting to the task at hand.
The team huddled on the sidewalk, their faces etched with determination and apprehension. A Monroe police sergeant approached, his eyes weary from the long hours spent searching for the missing children. Hotch stepped forward, his presence commanding attention as he introduced himself and his team.
"Thanks for coming."
"Of course."
"We've got local law enforcement combing the woods nearby," the sergeant explained, his voice strained with exhaustion. "And we've officers knocking on doors throughout the neighborhood and a few volunteer search groups around town."
Hotch nodded, his mind already processing the information, calculating the best course of action. He turned to his team, his gaze sweeping over each of them, assessing their readiness.
"JJ, Derek, I want you to look through the children's bedrooms. See if you can find anything that might give us a lead. Emily and I will speak with the grandmother. Rossi, Reid, talk to the neighbors. See if anyone saw or heard anything unusual."
As the team moved towards the house, JJ couldn't help but glance at Derek, a flicker of understanding passing between them. She knew the weight of secrets, the burden of knowledge that could shatter lives and reshape realities. In that moment, she felt the threads of their shared history pulling taut, binding them together in a web of unspoken truths and unresolved questions.
The house loomed before them, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, its windows reflecting back the faces of the agents as they stepped across the threshold, ready to confront the unknown.
As the team dispersed, Emily and Hotch navigated the path towards the house, each step echoing the gravity of their mission. The bungalow stood on a quiet street, its pale yellow exterior blending into the surrounding landscape. The windows were framed with white shutters, and a small porch adorned the entrance with a swing swaying gently in the night breeze.
The air was thick with anticipation as they approached the entrance. Once inside, they encountered a cluster of elderly women assembled in the cozy living room. It was a comfortable space decorated with plush furniture and faded floral wallpaper. The room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across the walls, and a subtle scent of lavender lingered in the air. The women's faces were etched with lines of worry and confusion, their eyes searching for answers amidst the uncertainty that surrounded them. The atmosphere was tense, a palpable mix of fear and hope hanging in the balance.
"Darla," a female officer called out, and an elderly woman rose to her feet, her short white hair framing her face, her cream-colored blouse and navy corduroy pants a contrast to the somber atmosphere.
"Ma'am, we're from the FBI," Hotch said, his voice calm and reassuring.
Darla nodded, her eyes glazed with shock. "They told me you were coming," she said, her words distant and disconnected.
Hotch shook her hand, his grip firm and steady. "Agent Hotchner, ma'am. These are agents Prentiss, Morgan, and Jareau. We'd like to ask you some questions while agents Morgan and Jareau take a look at the children's rooms. Would that be okay?"
Darla hesitated, confusion clouding her features. "The children's rooms? They were outside," she said, her tone defensive, as if the very idea of searching the house was an accusation.
JJ stepped forward, her voice gentle and understanding. "We know, but sometimes there is evidence that leads us to a suspect from past interactions, gifts, or notes. It also gives us a better sense of who your grandchildren are."
Darla considered this for a moment, her eyes searching JJ's face for any sign of deception. Finally, she nodded. "Okay," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Emily glanced at Hotch, a silent communication passing between them. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" she asked, her tone soft yet insistent.
"This way," Darla said, leading Emily and Hotch towards the kitchen, the weight of their questions hanging in the air like a gathering storm.
As they walked, Emily couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, a nagging suspicion that there was more to this case than met the eye. She glanced at Hotch, wondering if he felt it too, the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the sense that they were on the cusp of something deeper, something that would test them all in ways they had never been tested before.
In the kitchen, the trio settled around the worn wooden table, the silence broken only by the ticking of an old clock on the wall. Darla's hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together, her eyes darting between the agents, a mixture of fear and confusion etched into the lines of her face.
Emily leaned forward, her voice gentle yet probing. "Mrs. Duvall, we understand how difficult this must be would you mind starting over. Like Hotchner said, we need you to walk us through what happened today, could you starting from the beginning again."
Darla nodded, her gaze distant as she began to recount the events. "A friend came over around 11... she lost her husband last July, so I try my best to keep her busy. We made pies." Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "She left around 3, I cleaned up, then I needed to lie down. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, it was near 5."
As Darla struggled to gather her thoughts, Emily rose from the table, her movements purposeful yet understated. She found the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stovetop, the simple act a gesture of comfort in the midst of the chaos.
Hotch's voice was steady, his eyes never leaving Darla's face. "When was the last time you saw Benjamin and Robyn?"
As Darla struggled to gather her thoughts, Emily rose from the table, her movements purposeful yet understated. She found the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stovetop, the simple act a gesture of comfort in the midst of the chaos.
Emily's gaze drifted from the bubbling kettle on the stove to the window on her right, overlooking the front yard. The street was littered with police vehicles, their flashing lights casting an eerie glow against the fading daylight. In her peripheral vision, she could see Hotch patiently questioning Darla about her grandchildren's attire that day. Emily's heart clenched as a media van pulled up outside, knowing that soon, Darla would have to face their probing questions. As relentless as law enforcement could be, they were nothing compared to the insatiable curiosity of the media and public.
A sharp note of frustration in Darla's voice drew Emily back to reality. The elderly woman was struggling to recall what Benjamin and Robyn had been wearing, her voice rising in pitch as she grappled with her memory. Understanding washed over Emily like a wave; she knew all too well how guilt could gnaw at one's mind when it felt like you'd failed those you were meant to protect.
Darla's voice pierced the fog of Emily's thoughts like an unexpected alarm and she returns to the table.
"When I fed them lunch, around 12:30," she began, her voice laced with a heavy burden, "then I sent them outside." Each word seemed to carry the weight of her guilt, a confession of what she believed were her failings as a grandmother.
"Where do they play? In the yard?" Emily inquired, trying to coax more details from the weary woman.
"Sometimes they do, but they prefer the playground at the school," Darla replied, her eyes clouded with concern. "Benji's usually reliable; he tells me before they head out, but now... I just can't remember if he did today." Darla's fingers nervously tapped against her leg as she struggled to recall the morning's events.
Emily exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Hotch, the unspoken understanding between them underscoring the urgency of the situation. The hours between lunch and now formed a glaring gap in their timeline, a void they couldn't afford to ignore. Emily knew they had to act fast, to focus on what could still be salvaged.
"Is it unusual to go long periods without seeing your grandchildren?" Emily asked gently, her tone probing yet sensitive.
Darla hesitated, her eyes dropping to the floor as if searching for answers in the worn carpet. The weight of perceived judgment pressed heavily upon her. "I may not check on them often enough," she admitted, her voice a mere whisper, barely rising above the hum of the refrigerator. "But you have to understand, my own kids grew up in the 60s. It was a different time then. I guess I forget that things have changed so much..." Her voice trailed off, a mixture of nostalgia and regret etched into her expression.
Emily reached out, her hand resting gently on Darla's arm. "This is not your fault," she said, her voice firm yet compassionate.
"They might have just wandered away and gotten lost in the woods," Darla proposed.
"That's possible," Emily agreed.
But even as the words left her lips, Emily knew that the chances of the children being found in the woods were slim. The area was small, the search thorough. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to extinguish the flicker of hope that still burned in Darla's eyes.
"It's possible. We don't know what happened." The words tasted bitter on her tongue, ringing hollow even to her own ears. Uncertainty was their constant companion in this line of work, an unseen specter lurking in every shadow.
Darla nodded, clinging to that gossamer thread of possibility as if it were a lifeline. "How long have the children been living with you?" Emily asked, her voice soft, probing.
"About a year now," Darla explained, her gaze distant, lost in memories both cherished and painful. "Carla went to God in 2008 and Marshall needed the help when he was working and I needed a hand maintaining this house."
Another heavy glance ricocheted between Emily and Hotch, a silent communication honed by years of working side by side, of staring into the abyss and willing the light to return. Darla wasn't getting her facts straight, it was becoming harder to trust her statement. The shrill whistle of the kettle shattered the moment, jolting them back to the present.
As the kettle began to whistle, Emily rose from the table once more, her movements mechanical as she removed it from the heat and began to search for mugs and tea bags. It was a small act of normalcy in a world that had been turned upside down, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there were still moments of grace to be found.
But as she opened the cupboard, her eyes fell upon a lancing device and test strips, the sight sending a chill down her spine. "Does someone in the household have diabetes?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
The color drained from Darla's face, her eyes wide with a new kind of fear. "Benji does," she whispered, the words hanging in the air like a death knell.
In that moment, Emily knew that their investigation had taken a turn, that the stakes had been raised in a way that none of them could have anticipated. And as she met Hotch's gaze across the table, she saw the same realization reflected back at her, the same grim determination to see this through to the end, no matter the cost.
JJ crouched down in Benjamin's closet, her fingers rifling through a box of his belongings as she spoke aloud, her voice soft and contemplative. "The room is tidy and he keeps his own schedule, he's responsible. I would bet that both the father and grandmother rely on him heavily. He's mature."
She stood up, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced gaze, taking in every detail, every clue that might lead them to the missing children. Her footsteps were soft as she made her way over to the boy's desk, a pile of notebooks catching her eye. She opened one, flipping through the pages of artwork with a gentle reverence, a sense of respect for the child whose innermost thoughts and feelings were laid bare before her.
"There are notebooks filled with drawings," she murmured, almost to herself. "There's a softness to his style, suggesting he's sensitive and thoughtful..."
She trailed off, realizing that Derek hadn't responded to her observations. With a furrowed brow, she made her way into Robyn's room, the notebook still clutched in her hand. She stopped short in the doorway, watching as Derek slowly rifled through a toy bin at the end of the bed, his movements almost mechanical, his eyes unfocused.
"Are you even listening?" JJ asked, her voice startling him out of his reverie.
Derek stood up, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Sorry," he apologized, shaking his head. "You have no idea how badly I do not want to be here."
JJ stepped into the room, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Why? What's going on with you?"
Derek lowered his gaze, a war raging behind his eyes as he contemplated what to say. He walked over to the bedroom door, pausing for a moment to listen to the voices of Hotch and Emily echoing down the hall as they questioned Darla. Satisfied that they were occupied, he closed the door, leaving it open just an inch.
"Remember the night that I came to see you, while Emily was... away?" he asked, his voice low and hesitant, his eyes flashing up to meet JJ's at the end of his sentence.
"Yes," JJ responded, tilting her head slowly, her brow arched. "You know, I never said a word. Not to Emily, not to anyone."
"I know, that's not what I'm gettin' at," Derek said, his words tinged with a hint of frustration. "It'd be easier if you had said something honestly."
JJ frowned, confusion etched across her features. She had no idea what Derek was trying to say, what secret he had been keeping locked away inside himself all this time.
"Derek, what's going on?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his confession. "She's Emily's, Robyn is. We're looking for Emily's girl."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and momentous. JJ felt a shock of recognition, a sense of understanding dawning on her even as her mind struggled to process the implications of what Derek had just said. She knew, deep down, that he was telling the truth. But a part of her still couldn't believe it, couldn't fathom the idea that Emily had a child, a daughter, that none of them had known about.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Derek met her gaze, his eyes dark and haunted. "Would I say something if I wasn't?"
JJ's eyes widened as she shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. The gravity of the situation settled upon her like a suffocating blanket. "You have to tell her," she said, her voice urgent. Then, in the next breath, she added, "And you need to tell Hotch."
Derek's expression twisted with a mixture of guilt and apprehension. "I can handle Hotch, but can you talk to Prentiss? I think it might be better coming from you."
"No way," JJ said, shaking her head vehemently. "No, you got yourself into this mess when you started digging into her past." Her words carried a sharp edge, a reminder of the consequences that came with uncovering secrets long buried.
"She's gonna kill me," Derek said, his voice heavy with resignation.
"Oh yeah," JJ agreed, her tone laced with a bitter humor. "She's going to kill you, and then she's going to die internally. Jesus Christ, Derek, did you—"
A knock at the door silenced them both, their heads snapping towards the sound in unison. The door swung open, revealing Emily's familiar face. "Are you guys done here? We're heading to the station. We've got a problem," she said, her words weighted with urgency.
JJ stumbled over her response, caught off guard by Emily's sudden appearance. "Yeah… uh, give us a minute. We'll meet you at the car." She forced a smile, trying to mask the pressure building inside her with each passing second that Emily stood before them.
Emily's gaze flickered between them, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but she nodded in agreement before turning to leave. As the door clicked shut behind her, JJ released a shaky breath, turning back to Derek with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"You knew when you got on the plane, didn't you? Before we even left, you had a chance to stop the inevitable shitstorm that's about to rain down on all of us, and you didn't. Come on, Derek, come on," she said, her words laced with disappointment and frustration.
JJ started towards the door, but Derek remained rooted in place. She stopped, turning back to wait for him, her frustration seeping into her voice. "Are you coming?"
"I don't know how to fix this," Derek confessed, his words heavy with the weight of his guilt and uncertainty.
A silence stretched between them, a chasm filled with the unspoken realization that neither of them knew how to tell their friend that they had not only found the child she had given up but that this child was now their latest victim.
JJ sighed, her anger dissipating as she saw the genuine concern etched into Derek's features. "Let's just find her. We'll figure the rest out when Robyn is safe," she said, her voice softer, tinged with understanding. She couldn't be mad at him, not when she could see how desperately he had been trying to protect Emily from the very truth that now threatened to shatter her world.
Thanks for reading!