An hour passed.
Two.
Almost as disturbing as Reid’s ‘absence’ was Hotch’s reaction. The Unit Chief refused to move. Nor would he allow the damaged agent to be taken away. A doctor was summoned from the town’s only hospital. After an all too brief examination, he pronounced Agent Reid catatonic. It wasn’t precisely correct, but he’d never seen anything like this before and it was the most accurate approximation of a diagnosis he could give without additional neurological testing.
But Hotch wouldn’t let go. Reid remained sitting upright in his chair. His leader remained in his, facing him, inches separating the two.
The worst moment for Hotch was when the doctor closed Reid’s unblinking eyes with a gentle hand. It was a gesture reserved for the dead. Rossi watched Hotch’s own eyes brim with tears and decided it was time to step in.
“Aaron, there’s nothing more we can do here.” Silence. “Let them take Reid where they can try to help him.” Nothing.
Rossi knelt beside the Unit Chief. Laying a hand along one side of his face, he turned his head, forcing him to look away from Reid and confront different, entirely present eyes. “Aaron, remember why we’re here. There are still bodies out there. Five, if what…Reid…told you is true. We need to regroup. You need rest. We all do. Then we can start fresh, okay?”
“No. Rossi, he told me. He warned me he was all alone and might get lost and I…I let him do this anyway. I’m not leaving him. I can’t.”
Morgan stepped up as Rossi nodded at him. “Derek, take Hotch out.”
“C’mon, man.” Morgan slipped his hands under Hotch’s arms and lifted him. It took a little effort. Not because Hotch resisted, but because he simply didn’t help. Morgan maneuvered him around his chair and pulled him toward the door, but that was as far as he got.
With a sudden display of strength and determination, Hotch tore free, eluding Morgan’s grip.
“No! Wait. There’s something. Something I’m supposed to do. Can’t explain. I need a minute. Just a minute more.” The looks exchanged among the rest of the team spoke silent volumes. They were sure their boss needed something, but it wasn’t a minute. Morgan gathered himself for another try. What Hotch did next stopped him in his tracks. It stopped all of them.
With desperate speed, Hotch started to unbutton his shirt. Frustrated at his own clumsiness, he finally tore the garment open, struggling free of it. Belatedly, he undid his tie. He consigned tie, shirt and undershirt to a pile on the floor. Hovering in the doorway, Garcia was as rapt as the others, unable to attribute a logical motive to their leader’s actions.
“Oh my God. Hotch’s getting naked!” She slapped a hand over her mouth, recalling the particulars of the one sentence she’d been ordered never to utter again. She needn’t have worried. Hotch didn’t hear any of the gasps or concerned confusion around him.
Bare-chested, he sat before Reid, grabbed the younger agent’s limp hand and held it against his skin, keeping it in place by covering it with his own. Directly over his heart.
“Come on, Reid.” He gritted the words out, verging on a growl. “You said I couldn’t follow you. So you have to find me, Reid. Find me. Please. Find me.”
Only Rossi had been present when Reid had demonstrated his ability by placing a hand over Hotch’s heart, but it was Prentiss who acted first. Following some instinct that defied explanation, she knelt beside Hotch. She looked from one to the other; from a blank face with no expression to one of the most intensely tragic ones she’d ever seen on anyone, let alone her stoic, self-contained boss.
Prentiss placed her hand on top of Hotch’s. She closed her eyes and joined her plea to his. “Find him, Reid. Find us.”
In turn, Morgan, J.J. and Garcia joined the huddle and added their hands. Rossi was last, he placed one hand on top of the stack. The other held onto Hotch’s shoulder, keeping him steady against the pressure applied to his chest.
Rossi watched Hotch’s eyes drift shut, tears spilling over freely now.
xxxxxxx
Reid was in hell. Not the hell of Christianity. Not a place of brimstone and remorse, of pitchforks and flames. This hell was laced with laughter. It reveled in degradation, humiliation and torture. It wished the subjects of its fancy wouldn’t die; it wanted them to live forever so it could play with them longer. Play with them again and again. And it dragged Reid with it every step of the way.
Reid tried to hide, to curl into himself and disappear, but he didn’t know how. No matter what he did, the laughter found him. It forced him to watch what it did. To smell and feel some of its favorite things.
After a while, Reid realized something. He was lost, but the thing surrounding him wasn’t aware of his presence. It was doing what it always did. He was just a spectator along for the ride. He felt a little safer. Being unnoticed meant he wouldn’t be targeted. But he couldn’t turn off the things it was making him experience.
He was terrified and the fear opened his mind even wider. It let the beast and its sickness usurp him ever more completely. It was a vicious cycle; the more frightened he became, the more open he felt. At last the twisted laughter was joined by a gibbering wail. Reid recognized it as his own. It crescendoed and grew and grew until he thought he’d go deaf with the pain.
It was chanting what it liked best about its teenaged victims. Fear, fear, fear, fear… The mantra turned into a vortex that pulled Reid under. He was drowning in the texture of it. He didn’t know how much more he could take before his sanity floated away within the fear, fear, fear, f-fear, f-f-fear,…f…f…f… FIND ME! It tore through his brain with blinding heat. FIND ME! It was screaming and painful. He was being torn to pieces by opposing forces. FIND ME! He wanted to turn it off, to make it stop pulling at him. It was like trying to get free from quicksand. God, it hurt to look away from the dark laughter. Everything hurt. No matter what he did, it would hurt…so…much…FIND ME! Reid knew he would disintegrate if he didn’t make one of them stop…Stop…STOP! He gathered what power he had and threw himself, his mind, his soul, in a desperate attack… and…
xxxxxxx
…with a guttural scream, Reid tore out from under the team’s stacked hands and away from Hotch’s chest. Before anyone could react with more than startled stares, he turned to the side and vomited.
Garcia and J.J. were closest. Both jumped away. But when Hotch leaned over and followed suit, Garcia wasn’t fast enough. What little was in the Unit Chief’s stomach landed on her sequin-encrusted, platform pumps. Everyone stepped back. Except Rossi; he stood behind Hotch, hands on his shoulders, holding him upright and staring at Reid.
Both seated men were breathing heavily. Both looked ill, complexions tinged with green.
“Reid?” Hotch gasped, wiping his mouth and leaning forward against the pressure of Rossi’s grip.
“You did it.” Reid swayed in his chair. Morgan moved in, taking his shoulders, mirroring Rossi’s hold on Hotch. “You brought me back. Hotch, you had my back. I didn’t think you could, but you did it…you did it…” The young doctor bent forward. What started as a chuckle, morphed into sobbing.
The team exchanged glances, unsure of what had transpired. Knowing only that something eerie had ghosted its way into their lives.
Rossi nodded at Morgan. “Let’s get them both somewhere where they can rest.”
But when Reid was pulled to his feet, he thrashed his way free.
“NO! No, we can’t leave.” He turned to his leader, swaying, catching himself, using Morgan’s ready arm for support.
“I know where they are, Hotch. I can see them. I can find them. But we have to go now. NOW! Before it fades.”
Hotch struggled to his feet. He dug car keys from his pocket and extended them toward Reid. “You’re sure you can find them?”
Reid grabbed the keys and staggered toward the door. “With my eyes closed.”
The others sincerely hoped he wouldn’t drive that way.