An Imitation of a Light - Part Seven
Aug. 22nd, 2011 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weaselettAn Imitation of a Light
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: violence, unpleasant deaths (again), mention of suicide and some foul language. (I think ‘disturbing imagery’ should possibly have been a warning almost from the outset of this fic).
“Yates?” Rossi asked, already asking himself how he hadn’t seen it. If he was honest, it had been because he hadn’t been looking.
“His wife and kid, they died a month before the first victim was admitted to the hospital,” Garcia explained in a rush, “he was on the list I sent you guys, but so were so many others, I should have seen it sooner….”
“We didn’t see it either.” Morgan said, and Garcia fell silent.
“I thought it might be Sumner.” Prentiss admitted, crossing her arms across her stomach.
“Because of the limp?” Reid asked, and Prentiss nodded. Rossi hadn’t noticed the detective limping, but he hadn’t been at the latest crime scene with them.
“Wait, do you think..” JJ trailed off, pointing at her lower jaw, and Rossi felt his jaw clench. Yates’ bruised jaw, and the way the man had been favouring his right side. The latest victim had had bruising to her legs, more consistent with fighting back than being beaten.
“It’s possible.” Rossi said, and JJ paled a little, before she visibly pulled herself together. They didn’t have time to fall apart, or feel guilty for not seeing it. They had just given a profile, in front of their unsub, that had very likely struck home.
Rossi had to give Yates one thing, he was a damn good actor, the way he’d acted during the profile; but then so many murderers were.
“Garcia,” Prentiss’s shoulders were tense, and Rossi could tell that she was forcing herself to focus. “Yates is going after the person he blames for the death of his wife and kid; is there anything in the records that might help us figure out who that is?”
“No, they couldn’t trace them, every lead was a dead end, the case is still open…”
“But they aren’t really working it anymore.” Morgan finished. “They ran out of leads, other cases took priority.”
Reid tossed a newspaper onto the table, and Rossi could see the headline, he winced, “It’s reported as a ‘tragic accident’.”
“Garcia, do you have Yates’ home address?” Rossi asked, “Can you tell if the house has a basement?”
“He’s listed as living in an apartment, but it’s a one bed so,” there was a short pause, “he moved out of the family house, which has a basement, a month after the funeral.”
“Baby girl, we’re going to need…” Morgan started, but Garcia cut him off.
“It’s on its way to you now.” Garcia said.
“Thanks Garcia.” Rossi said automatically, turning to find JJ already on the phone to the Sheriff, her free hand pressed over her other ear. Morgan grabbed his coat, and Reid adjusted his holster, just a little.
“Just bring him home safe.” Garcia ordered, and Rossi smiled. It was a pretty smile.
“We will kiddo.” Rossi wouldn’t accept any other outcome.
-
Hotch wondered, absently, as he watched blood drip from the tops of the dead man’s fingers, how long it took blood to cool, then congeal. He was sure Reid would know. Hotch blinked, frowned, then rolled onto his back, wondering how long he had been staring at the body.
It seemed like it had been a long time, but he knew that his sense of time was shot. Between the drugs and lack of any changing features in the basement itself, there had been no way to keep track. All he knew was how many times Yates had entered the basement, and how many victims he had killed since taking Hotch captive.
Something had changed, between Sophie and the man, something had changed. Yates had seemed more rushed, less calm. Hotch wondered how long it would be before the detective came back with his next victim. Hotch was sure that the victim would be the one; the one all of the others had been the leading up to.
Hotch closed his eyes, than opened them again, unnerved. Once he closed his eyes, there was nothing, just darkness and his thoughts. Hotch stared up at the ceiling, frowning. In all the time he had been in the basement, the ceiling was the one constant. The rest of the room had changed, furniture moving around a little, various stains being added to the ones that already existed when Hotch had first woken.
Hotch didn’t notice the smell anymore, though he knew it had to be worse. He wasn’t sure about anything else. He couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold, couldn’t even say how badly he had been injured; all he knew was that Yates had kicked him more than once, and solidly enough to shift his position on the floor each time. There was also the grey cast to the side of his right hand, though he couldn’t remember when that had happened.
It seemed like it had been weeks since he’d been stepping out of the borrowed SUV, his phone in hand. His phone, he wondered if his team had found it, or his watch. He frowned, it wasn’t likely, Yates would have thrown them away. Or maybe, they were upstairs in the house Hotch was almost certain was above him.
Hotch sighed, shaking his head, that wouldn’t fit with Yates’ MO, keeping his victim’s things would allow the killings to be tied to him. That wasn’t what Yates wanted.
Hotch blinked, turning his head towards the door. He couldn’t hear anything, but he could feel something, for the first time since the man in the chair had died, Hotch could feel something.
-
There was an actual white picket fence around Yates’ front yard, though the paint was being to peel, and the lawn was overgrown. At some point, JJ thought idly, it must have been a beautiful house.
JJ stayed with Reid, hanging back by the cars as Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss and a small contingent of the locals approached the house. Morgan peeled off with the majority of the locals, heading around the back of the house while Rossi, Prentiss, Innes, and Duncan took the front.
JJ chewed on her bottom lip. She couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had taken root in the pit of her stomach. All she could think was, ‘how did Yates’ family die?’ Garcia hadn’t said. JJ glanced at Reid, remembering the newspaper.
“Spence?”
Reid blinked, then flicked a glance in her direction, eyebrows raised.
“How did Yates’ wife and kid die?” JJ asked, bracing herself. It had to be something common, not a serial killer, or freak accident. Something people would overlook, that they would move past so easily. Normally, in her experience, the police would stop at nothing to catch someone who had killed the family of one of their own, but Yates’ family had gone un-avenged.
“In a car accident. The car was stolen, and the prints they found weren’t in the system.” Reid answered, his attention still on the others as they stormed the house. JJ heard the familiar thud of a door being kicked in, but she wasn’t watching. She was looking for Yates’ car.
According to the locals, no one knew where he was. Yates had left the profile briefing, then vanished. He had been using his own car, so they couldn’t track him; it was old, so Garcia couldn’t even hack the GPS. The locals had sent out a BOLO, asking for anyone who saw the car not to approach, as the driver could be dangerous, and to report it to the police.
JJ only hoped that people listened. She eyed the driveway; a car had been there recently, though how recently she couldn’t tell. “They didn’t have any suspects?”
JJ saw Reid shake his head out of the corner of her eye, “They thought the driver had to have been drunk, but that was as far as they got. He left some blood behind, but no one turned up in the emergency room with injuries consistent with the impact.”
JJ frowned, “So they got DNA and fingerprints from the scene?”
Reid nodded again, “But there were no matching records, and they couldn’t get permission to collect DNA samples from any of the known local drunks.”
Rossi reappeared from the house, looking grim as he motioned for them to join him. Morgan reported that they had found the entrance to the basement, and his team were about to enter it. The smell, he reported, suggested they were in the right place.
JJ hoped, prayed, as she followed Reid across the lawn, that they weren’t too late. That Morgan wouldn’t find Hotch’s body waiting for him in the basement.
“Garcia was right.” Rossi said, leading them inside. Dust covered most of the exposed surfaces, though there were footprints everywhere, along with the odd scuff mark. It was like Yates had abandoned the house for long enough for the dust to start to gather, then changed his mind; he had just never bothered to clean.
Rossi lead them through to the dining room, where Prentiss was stood over the table, gloved hands sorting through a pile of watches and jewellery. Rossi silently pointed to the far end of the table, where two holstered guns sat, along with a familiar badge.
“We’ve got a body.” Morgan reported grimly, and JJ felt Reid stiffen beside her, even as Rossi tensed, clenching his hands into fists, “But it isn’t Hotch.”
Rossi flinched, turning away from the table and heading back out of the house. JJ watched him go, knowing that he would be joining Morgan in the basement. If the body wasn’t Hotch, that left two possible scenarios.
Either Yates had moved Hotch, taken him somewhere else, or Hotch was already dead and they just hadn’t found his body yet.
JJ moved closer to the table, pulling a glove from her own pocket, and covering her hand with it. She flipped the badge wallet open, remembering a time when it had held a blood stained picture of Hotch’s family. Now, there was nothing but Hotch’s credentials.
-
Hotch stared at the dried blood that caked his hands, ducking his head to shade his eyes from the bright sunlight. It had been a shock, the sunlight on his skin after so long with nothing by the meagre light of the single bulb.
His eyes had watered and the nausea had returned, almost overriding the emotions that had been ruling him since Yates had stepped into the basement. It would all be over soon; it would end soon enough.
Hotch flexed his hands, watching as a few flakes of blood dropped off. He wondered how many days it had been, since the first layer had formed. Since he had held Laura’s hand as she died.
Hotch was alone in the truck, his hands tied together with thick rope, the end of hanging over into the front seat. His wrists were raw, but it didn’t hurt; Hotch couldn’t even tell how tight the rope was. There were other people, so many other people, all around him; happy, sad, disappointed, mad, lusting, so many emotions, and none of them his.
Hotch almost couldn’t remember what it was like to feel his own emotions.
The door opened, and Hotch blinked blearily up at Yates, who stared down at him for a long moment before grabbing the rope and using it to haul Hotch out of the truck. Hotch stumbled, trying to figure out how to walk without feeling his feet; Yates didn’t give him time to adjust.
Yates tugged him along, and fresh blood started covering the old. Hotch could just make out the stains on the rope. There were people close by, Hotch was certain, but he couldn’t see them, all he could see was the concrete lot and the parked cars.
Yates lead Hotch to a car in the far corner of the lot, then shoved him in through the open back door, into the foot well. Hotch groaned, suddenly aware of pain in his head. It was a struggle to breathe, his ribs burning with every inhale and exhale. Hotch forced his eyes open, rolling sideways off the body that was shifting beneath his own, just as Yates climbed into the driver’s seat.
Hotch could feel Yates’ anticipation, combined with the other man’s pain, and he knew that this was the man who Yates had been working towards. The man that Yates really wanted to punish.
Hotch just couldn’t understand why he was still alive. There was no reason for him to still be alive, it didn’t make sense. Unless, unless there was a part that Yates wanted Hotch to play, in what was the most important part of Yates’ plan; its conclusion.
-
The coroner and crime scene techs were just arriving as Rossi gathered his team and the locals on the front lawn of the Yates family home. There were questions that needed answering, and they needed answering then.
“We need to work out where Yates is headed.” Rossi said, eyeing the various police officers, and the two deputies, “To do that, we need you to tell us everything you know about the guy.”
“He’s an ass.” Detective Gregory, Yates’ one time partner, said, “He’s always been a ass, but he’s been worse since Mary died.”
“You knew his wife?” JJ asked, and Gregory nodded, along with two of the other officers.
“She used to organise things, little charity events, barbeques in the summer. She worked just as much as Yates, but she always made an effort.” Gregory shook his head, “It never seemed right, that we couldn’t catch the guy who killed her and Danny; Danielle, their daughter. She was twelve.”
“Was there somewhere special to them?” Reid asked, and Rossi watched as Gregory shrugged.
“Not that I know of, but you met the guy, Yates isn’t exactly a big talker.”
“What about Mary?” Rossi asked, trying a new tack. Gregory had clearly known and liked Mrs Yates, “Did she ever mention anywhere?”
Gregory shook his head, “No, not even when their anniversaries rolled around. They were the type that considered a romantic dinner at home the best celebration possible.”
“Where did it happen?” Morgan asked, and Gregory turned to him, raising any eyebrow.
“Where did what happen?”
Rossi caught on, remembering what they’d found with the other victims. They were all killed close to the scene of their crime, it made sense to consider that Yates would do the same again for the man who had killed his family; if that was who Yates was after.
“Where were did Mary and Danielle die?” Rossi asked, his voice harsh. Sometimes, people answered quicker if you yelled at them.
Gregory frowned, looking a little stunned, “You think he’s going to kill the guy there?”
“He likes dumping his victims close to where they committed their crimes, and we’ve seen him kill one of his victims close to where they committed their crime.” Reid said, and Rossi could see he was thinking of how Milton had died. “He has been reflecting his victim’s crimes in the way he kills them. His family died in a car accident, that’s how he will kill the man who he thinks killed them.”
Gregory shook his head, “Jesus.”
“Where?” Rossi repeated, managing to hold himself back from shaking the detective. They didn’t have time to waste.
Gregory started heading towards the cars, “It’s faster to show you, and it’s not far from here.”
“Don’t use your lights and siren unless you have to, we don’t want him to know we’re coming.” Rossi ordered, raising his voice so that the other locals could hear. The last thing they needed was to lose Yates, or to force him to act before he planned to.
“I’ll stay here.” JJ said, “I’ll let you know if they find anything.”
Rossi nodded, reaching out to pat her on the arm, “We’ll let you know when we find him.”
Morgan and Prentiss were already headed to their SUV, Morgan pulling his keys from his pocket. Rossi motioned for Reid to follow him to the other SUV, his own keys in hand.
Wherever it was they were going, Rossi hoped it was someone public enough that Yates’ wouldn’t risk making his kill in daylight.
He didn’t want to consider the alternative or what it could mean for Hotch.
-
The drive was a relatively short one, or so it seemed to Hotch as he lay across the back seat of the car, trying to avoid rolling onto the man lying in the foot well. From what little Hotch could make out of the man, he was young, more of a kid than a man, and of medium build. Blood matted the short blond hair.
Yates had used his preferred method of abduction it seemed.
Hotch wasn’t surprised when, a few moments after the car had pulled to a halt, Yates pulled him roughly from the car, not seeming to care whether Hotch stayed on his feet or not. Hotch fell to his knees, just barely managing to roll onto his side rather than land face first on the gravel road.
Hotch could feel Yates’ anger, the hate that he felt for the man in the foot well, and he looked up, watching as Yates bodily dragged the kid from the vehicle. Catching a sight of the kid’s face, Hotch couldn’t help but think it didn’t look like the face of someone to have inspired a killing spree, not that they ever did.
Very few people looked like monsters until people knew what they were. It was just nicer to think they did.
Hotch frowned, wondering at how he was already thinking of the kid, the terrified, half conscious kid, as guilty, when he had no idea whether he was or not. All he had was how Yates’ felt; something that would be meaningless in a court of law.
Hotch watched as Yates dragged the kid down the gravel road, stopping a good distance away, and pushing the kid to the ground. Hotch flinched, feeling the impact, his ankle burning along with his ribs, and the constant throbbing pain at the back of his skull.
Yates kicked the kid once, hard in the stomach, and Hotch curled up, the agony overriding the anger. By the time it had started to fade, Yates was hauling Hotch to his feet. Hotch blinked, struggling weakly as Yates took hold of the rope again.
Hotch stumbled along behind as Yates pulled him up the road, and onto the verge parallel to the kid. Yates tied the rope around the trunk of a tree, then kicked Hotch’s legs out from under him.
Hotch was dimly aware of the breath leaving his body as his body impacted with the ground, but he didn’t feel it. Yates’ anger, the anticipation of what was to come, was stronger than even the kid’s pain as he lay panting in the road.
Hotch listened as Yates walked back to the car, fighting back the emotion, struggling to think. He heard a car door slam, and the sound of an engine starting, and Hotch forced himself to move, struggling onto his knees, turning so that he was facing the road. He knew he needed to more, to do something before Yates did whatever he was planning to do. And he needed to do it fast.
Yates gunned the engine, and Hotch stilled, unable to force rationale thought beyond the raw emotions. This was it, that was what Yates’ emotions were telling Hotch, this was the moment; at the same time, Hotch felt a wave of uncertainty, confusion and dread, then realisation quickly followed by pure, unadulterated terror. It all came in a flood, each emotion merging into the next in the split second it took the awareness of what was about to happen to hit the kid.
Hotch blinked, sluggishly thinking that the last thing he wanted was to still be facing the road. He did not want to watch what he knew, distantly, was coming; what he could do nothing to stop. Yates gunned the engine again, wheels churned up gravel and the kid desperately tried to move, cutting up his hands and knees in the process.
The thought had come too late for Hotch to react in time.
-
Morgan pulled in behind the two squad cars that were blocking the car, cutting the engine and shoving his door open at the same time. None of the police on scene had noticed their arrival, and for a moment, Morgan considered calling them out for it; that was until he saw the track beyond the cars.
Morgan froze, one hand on the hood of the closest squad car to hold himself steady, staring. He was dimly aware of Prentiss beside him, her hands covering her mouth as she turned away. Two of the first responders were throwing up on the verge next to them.
They were too late, again. Yates had been and gone, leaving more carnage in his wake.
Morgan forced himself to move forward, to look at the body, or what was left of it, as Rossi and Reid joined Prentiss. The locals all hung back, none of them wanting to take too close a look at the scene. The smell, of blood and other less pleasant, rarer seen, things was strong, even back by the squad cars. As Morgan walked forward, the smell was stronger still, but he forced himself to ignore it.
The body lay a good ten metres from where the bloody trail began, barely any skin left on it. Scraps of white cloth were visible, along with bits of denim. A few sorry clumps of blond hair were still in the scalp, but there was nothing else about the body that could be used to ID it on sight. Morgan didn’t even think they would be able to use dental records.
But it wasn’t Hotch, and as cold as Morgan knew it made him, that was enough for him.
He turned, looking away from the body for the first time since he had stepped up to the squad cars, taking in the rest of the scene. He frowned, moving towards the verge, there was something on the grass.
Morgan knew he was contaminating the scene, as careful as he was being not to step on anything, he still shouldn’t have been there. He should have waited, but he knew time was a major factor. The coroner and crime scenes techs would still be at Yates’ house, busy with that scene.
There wasn’t time to wait for them.
Morgan crouched down, eying the grass; there was blood, not much, but it wasn’t from the victim. There was a small pool on the grass, and a smear across the bark of the tree. There were other marks, but nothing he recognised as being caused by anything in particular.
Morgan glanced back at the blood on the road, before he eyed the blood pool again. It definitely wasn’t from the victim. Standing, Morgan looked around, searching for any sign of where the person who had left the blood had gone.
There was a faint trail, a few drops of blood, leading from the pool into the road, what looked like drags marks, which stopped abruptly. Morgan winced; they stopped next to the main blood pool. Whoever had been bleeding, they had been dragged into the car that had killed the victim.
Morgan gave the smaller blood pool one last glance before he made his way back to the squad cars, where the others were waiting.
“It’s not Hotch.” Morgan said, and Reid’s shoulders slumped, just a little.
“Any sign of him?” Rossi asked, and Morgan nodded.
“It looks like Yates dumped him on the verge, drove over the victim, then reversed and loaded Hotch back into the car.” Morgan said, glancing at Gregory and Innes who had joined the others, their expressions grim.
“Yates stole the car that killed his family from lockup.” Innes said, and Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the body then back at her. It was a new, though not surprising, touch; killing with the weapon used in the original crime.
“What makes you think he made Hotch watch?” Rossi asked, ignoring the locals in favour of Morgan.
“There’s blood on the verge, and drag marks.” Morgan said, “The question is, where is Yates taking Hotch now?”
“People are going to notice the car,” Prenitss nodded towards the body, “it had to be covered in blood after that.”
“I don’t think Yates cares anymore,” Morgan said, thinking of all the things Yates hadn’t done with this victim. There was no newspaper, no care taken not to be caught. “He’s done.”
“You think he’ll kill himself.” Gregory said, picking up on what they weren’t saying, “What does that mean for your guy?”
Rossi shook his head, “Hotch shouldn’t even still be alive, it doesn’t fit with Yates’ MO.”
They were all silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
“The question is,” Prentiss said, “where has Yates gone? He has to know he can’t go home, to the house or the apartment; he’s not going to hand himself in. Where is there left to go? Why didn’t he just end it here?”
“There’s something else he needs to do.” Reid said.
“What?” Innes asked, “You said that this was what he was working up to, killing the bastard that killed his family. What else could he need to do besides blow his brains out?”
“Hotch.” Rossi answered. “He took Hotch for a reason, something he hadn’t planned. That’s the only thing it could be.”
Morgan pulled his phone out of its holster, dialling Garcia’s number automatically. She picked up after the first ring.
-
Everything seemed muffled, that was what Hotch thought, staring up at a different ceiling. He could remember, vaguely, the car ride from the track to where they were; the smell of blood so strong, the absence of fear or anger.
It was almost like Yates wasn’t feeling anything at all, as though murdering the kid who had killed his family had destroyed the man’s ability to feel, but there was something there, teasing at the edge of Hotch’s awareness.
There was a carpet underneath Hotch, the floor softer than it had been in the basement, and there was a breeze. Turning his head a little Hotch saw the patio door, murky with grime, stood open onto the overgrown garden. He frowned, staring at the tree that stood in the centre of the garden; he didn’t know where he was or why he was still alive.
Hotch shifted his weight, his frown deepening when his body seemed unwilling to follow his commands. The drugs weren’t as oppressive as they had been before; it didn’t make sense that he couldn’t seem to move.
Hotch blinked, turning his head at the sound of a round being chambered. He found himself staring into Yates’ eyes, his brain finally giving a name to the emotion that had been teasing at the edge of his awareness. It was grief, only now anger seemed to be creeping back in, along with despair.
Yates’ hadn’t gotten the peace from killing that he had expected, or at least Hotch thought that was it. There was something else though, in the way that Yates was staring at him, fingers flexing around the butt of the gun.
Hotch just couldn’t think what it was.
-
It had to be a place that had meaning, for both Hotch and Yates, they had decided, but there hadn’t been any connection between the two, not that they had found initially.
As they had stood, less than 100 metres from the body of Yates’ last victim, Garcia had managed to find them one. Prentiss checked the directions again, directing Morgan down a road, watching as their blinking light on the GPS edged closer to the one that marked their destination, willing Morgan to drive faster.
Yates had re-enacted his family’s last moments, in the same place, with the same car, then he’d dumped it, moving on. They had spotted the car, battered and stained from its most recent use, in the car park of a motel as they’d passed. A call had come over dispatch, reporting a car having been stolen from the same lot.
Hotch was the only one of Yates’ victims unaccounted for, and he was Yates’ victim; Garcia had told them, after giving them the address, that traces of Hotch’s blood had been found on Laura Henrickson’s body. They just had to hope that Yates hadn’t killed him.
That this time, they weren’t too late; weren’t a step behind.
As Morgan turned the last sharp corner before their destination, Prentiss considered what Hotch’s blood on Henrickson’s body meant. Either Hotch had been with her when she’d died or he’d been somewhere close by; odds were, based on what little Morgan had told them about the basement, Hotch had seen the deaths all four of Yates’ most recent victims.
Hotch was the sole witness to what Yates had done. That didn’t mean that Yates would kill him; after all, Yates had nothing left to lose, had apparently completed his quest for vengeance; the only problem was Hotch.
Or at least, it had been, until Garcia had worked her magic, finally making the connection between Hotch and their unsub.
The car that Yates had stolen sat on the curb, outside the house, doors open, looking eerily like the car that Hotch had used to reach his own home during the final hour of Foyet’s life. Prentiss shook her head, refusing to allow the two cases to overlap; refusing to let her mind compare the two cases.
Prentiss was the first out of the car, pulling her gun and moving into the lead, knowing Morgan would be behind her. She heard the others pull up behind them, but she kept moving, heading around the house.
The front door was shut, covered by a wooden board, the nails glinting in the late afternoon light.
Prentiss kept her pace steady, ducking the branches that overhung the path down the side of the house, holding her gun steady. Rounding the corner, she raised it, catching sight of the open patio door. There was blood on the door frame.
Prentiss stopped, just short of the door, turning to meet Morgan’s gaze. He nodded, and they moved together, guns up, one either side of the door, looking into the house.
Hotch knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, pale and covered in blood. He was shaking, his attention fixed on Yates, who was pointing his gun at Hotch’s head. Prentiss glanced to her side as Rossi and Reid appeared, closely followed by Innes and Gregory, who hung back out of sight.
Yates looked up at them then, his eyes cold, unfeeling. “You took longer than I expected.”
-
Part Eight
Written for
cm_bigbang See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: violence, unpleasant deaths (again), mention of suicide and some foul language. (I think ‘disturbing imagery’ should possibly have been a warning almost from the outset of this fic).
“Yates?” Rossi asked, already asking himself how he hadn’t seen it. If he was honest, it had been because he hadn’t been looking.
“His wife and kid, they died a month before the first victim was admitted to the hospital,” Garcia explained in a rush, “he was on the list I sent you guys, but so were so many others, I should have seen it sooner….”
“We didn’t see it either.” Morgan said, and Garcia fell silent.
“I thought it might be Sumner.” Prentiss admitted, crossing her arms across her stomach.
“Because of the limp?” Reid asked, and Prentiss nodded. Rossi hadn’t noticed the detective limping, but he hadn’t been at the latest crime scene with them.
“Wait, do you think..” JJ trailed off, pointing at her lower jaw, and Rossi felt his jaw clench. Yates’ bruised jaw, and the way the man had been favouring his right side. The latest victim had had bruising to her legs, more consistent with fighting back than being beaten.
“It’s possible.” Rossi said, and JJ paled a little, before she visibly pulled herself together. They didn’t have time to fall apart, or feel guilty for not seeing it. They had just given a profile, in front of their unsub, that had very likely struck home.
Rossi had to give Yates one thing, he was a damn good actor, the way he’d acted during the profile; but then so many murderers were.
“Garcia,” Prentiss’s shoulders were tense, and Rossi could tell that she was forcing herself to focus. “Yates is going after the person he blames for the death of his wife and kid; is there anything in the records that might help us figure out who that is?”
“No, they couldn’t trace them, every lead was a dead end, the case is still open…”
“But they aren’t really working it anymore.” Morgan finished. “They ran out of leads, other cases took priority.”
Reid tossed a newspaper onto the table, and Rossi could see the headline, he winced, “It’s reported as a ‘tragic accident’.”
“Garcia, do you have Yates’ home address?” Rossi asked, “Can you tell if the house has a basement?”
“He’s listed as living in an apartment, but it’s a one bed so,” there was a short pause, “he moved out of the family house, which has a basement, a month after the funeral.”
“Baby girl, we’re going to need…” Morgan started, but Garcia cut him off.
“It’s on its way to you now.” Garcia said.
“Thanks Garcia.” Rossi said automatically, turning to find JJ already on the phone to the Sheriff, her free hand pressed over her other ear. Morgan grabbed his coat, and Reid adjusted his holster, just a little.
“Just bring him home safe.” Garcia ordered, and Rossi smiled. It was a pretty smile.
“We will kiddo.” Rossi wouldn’t accept any other outcome.
-
Hotch wondered, absently, as he watched blood drip from the tops of the dead man’s fingers, how long it took blood to cool, then congeal. He was sure Reid would know. Hotch blinked, frowned, then rolled onto his back, wondering how long he had been staring at the body.
It seemed like it had been a long time, but he knew that his sense of time was shot. Between the drugs and lack of any changing features in the basement itself, there had been no way to keep track. All he knew was how many times Yates had entered the basement, and how many victims he had killed since taking Hotch captive.
Something had changed, between Sophie and the man, something had changed. Yates had seemed more rushed, less calm. Hotch wondered how long it would be before the detective came back with his next victim. Hotch was sure that the victim would be the one; the one all of the others had been the leading up to.
Hotch closed his eyes, than opened them again, unnerved. Once he closed his eyes, there was nothing, just darkness and his thoughts. Hotch stared up at the ceiling, frowning. In all the time he had been in the basement, the ceiling was the one constant. The rest of the room had changed, furniture moving around a little, various stains being added to the ones that already existed when Hotch had first woken.
Hotch didn’t notice the smell anymore, though he knew it had to be worse. He wasn’t sure about anything else. He couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold, couldn’t even say how badly he had been injured; all he knew was that Yates had kicked him more than once, and solidly enough to shift his position on the floor each time. There was also the grey cast to the side of his right hand, though he couldn’t remember when that had happened.
It seemed like it had been weeks since he’d been stepping out of the borrowed SUV, his phone in hand. His phone, he wondered if his team had found it, or his watch. He frowned, it wasn’t likely, Yates would have thrown them away. Or maybe, they were upstairs in the house Hotch was almost certain was above him.
Hotch sighed, shaking his head, that wouldn’t fit with Yates’ MO, keeping his victim’s things would allow the killings to be tied to him. That wasn’t what Yates wanted.
Hotch blinked, turning his head towards the door. He couldn’t hear anything, but he could feel something, for the first time since the man in the chair had died, Hotch could feel something.
-
There was an actual white picket fence around Yates’ front yard, though the paint was being to peel, and the lawn was overgrown. At some point, JJ thought idly, it must have been a beautiful house.
JJ stayed with Reid, hanging back by the cars as Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss and a small contingent of the locals approached the house. Morgan peeled off with the majority of the locals, heading around the back of the house while Rossi, Prentiss, Innes, and Duncan took the front.
JJ chewed on her bottom lip. She couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had taken root in the pit of her stomach. All she could think was, ‘how did Yates’ family die?’ Garcia hadn’t said. JJ glanced at Reid, remembering the newspaper.
“Spence?”
Reid blinked, then flicked a glance in her direction, eyebrows raised.
“How did Yates’ wife and kid die?” JJ asked, bracing herself. It had to be something common, not a serial killer, or freak accident. Something people would overlook, that they would move past so easily. Normally, in her experience, the police would stop at nothing to catch someone who had killed the family of one of their own, but Yates’ family had gone un-avenged.
“In a car accident. The car was stolen, and the prints they found weren’t in the system.” Reid answered, his attention still on the others as they stormed the house. JJ heard the familiar thud of a door being kicked in, but she wasn’t watching. She was looking for Yates’ car.
According to the locals, no one knew where he was. Yates had left the profile briefing, then vanished. He had been using his own car, so they couldn’t track him; it was old, so Garcia couldn’t even hack the GPS. The locals had sent out a BOLO, asking for anyone who saw the car not to approach, as the driver could be dangerous, and to report it to the police.
JJ only hoped that people listened. She eyed the driveway; a car had been there recently, though how recently she couldn’t tell. “They didn’t have any suspects?”
JJ saw Reid shake his head out of the corner of her eye, “They thought the driver had to have been drunk, but that was as far as they got. He left some blood behind, but no one turned up in the emergency room with injuries consistent with the impact.”
JJ frowned, “So they got DNA and fingerprints from the scene?”
Reid nodded again, “But there were no matching records, and they couldn’t get permission to collect DNA samples from any of the known local drunks.”
Rossi reappeared from the house, looking grim as he motioned for them to join him. Morgan reported that they had found the entrance to the basement, and his team were about to enter it. The smell, he reported, suggested they were in the right place.
JJ hoped, prayed, as she followed Reid across the lawn, that they weren’t too late. That Morgan wouldn’t find Hotch’s body waiting for him in the basement.
“Garcia was right.” Rossi said, leading them inside. Dust covered most of the exposed surfaces, though there were footprints everywhere, along with the odd scuff mark. It was like Yates had abandoned the house for long enough for the dust to start to gather, then changed his mind; he had just never bothered to clean.
Rossi lead them through to the dining room, where Prentiss was stood over the table, gloved hands sorting through a pile of watches and jewellery. Rossi silently pointed to the far end of the table, where two holstered guns sat, along with a familiar badge.
“We’ve got a body.” Morgan reported grimly, and JJ felt Reid stiffen beside her, even as Rossi tensed, clenching his hands into fists, “But it isn’t Hotch.”
Rossi flinched, turning away from the table and heading back out of the house. JJ watched him go, knowing that he would be joining Morgan in the basement. If the body wasn’t Hotch, that left two possible scenarios.
Either Yates had moved Hotch, taken him somewhere else, or Hotch was already dead and they just hadn’t found his body yet.
JJ moved closer to the table, pulling a glove from her own pocket, and covering her hand with it. She flipped the badge wallet open, remembering a time when it had held a blood stained picture of Hotch’s family. Now, there was nothing but Hotch’s credentials.
-
Hotch stared at the dried blood that caked his hands, ducking his head to shade his eyes from the bright sunlight. It had been a shock, the sunlight on his skin after so long with nothing by the meagre light of the single bulb.
His eyes had watered and the nausea had returned, almost overriding the emotions that had been ruling him since Yates had stepped into the basement. It would all be over soon; it would end soon enough.
Hotch flexed his hands, watching as a few flakes of blood dropped off. He wondered how many days it had been, since the first layer had formed. Since he had held Laura’s hand as she died.
Hotch was alone in the truck, his hands tied together with thick rope, the end of hanging over into the front seat. His wrists were raw, but it didn’t hurt; Hotch couldn’t even tell how tight the rope was. There were other people, so many other people, all around him; happy, sad, disappointed, mad, lusting, so many emotions, and none of them his.
Hotch almost couldn’t remember what it was like to feel his own emotions.
The door opened, and Hotch blinked blearily up at Yates, who stared down at him for a long moment before grabbing the rope and using it to haul Hotch out of the truck. Hotch stumbled, trying to figure out how to walk without feeling his feet; Yates didn’t give him time to adjust.
Yates tugged him along, and fresh blood started covering the old. Hotch could just make out the stains on the rope. There were people close by, Hotch was certain, but he couldn’t see them, all he could see was the concrete lot and the parked cars.
Yates lead Hotch to a car in the far corner of the lot, then shoved him in through the open back door, into the foot well. Hotch groaned, suddenly aware of pain in his head. It was a struggle to breathe, his ribs burning with every inhale and exhale. Hotch forced his eyes open, rolling sideways off the body that was shifting beneath his own, just as Yates climbed into the driver’s seat.
Hotch could feel Yates’ anticipation, combined with the other man’s pain, and he knew that this was the man who Yates had been working towards. The man that Yates really wanted to punish.
Hotch just couldn’t understand why he was still alive. There was no reason for him to still be alive, it didn’t make sense. Unless, unless there was a part that Yates wanted Hotch to play, in what was the most important part of Yates’ plan; its conclusion.
-
The coroner and crime scene techs were just arriving as Rossi gathered his team and the locals on the front lawn of the Yates family home. There were questions that needed answering, and they needed answering then.
“We need to work out where Yates is headed.” Rossi said, eyeing the various police officers, and the two deputies, “To do that, we need you to tell us everything you know about the guy.”
“He’s an ass.” Detective Gregory, Yates’ one time partner, said, “He’s always been a ass, but he’s been worse since Mary died.”
“You knew his wife?” JJ asked, and Gregory nodded, along with two of the other officers.
“She used to organise things, little charity events, barbeques in the summer. She worked just as much as Yates, but she always made an effort.” Gregory shook his head, “It never seemed right, that we couldn’t catch the guy who killed her and Danny; Danielle, their daughter. She was twelve.”
“Was there somewhere special to them?” Reid asked, and Rossi watched as Gregory shrugged.
“Not that I know of, but you met the guy, Yates isn’t exactly a big talker.”
“What about Mary?” Rossi asked, trying a new tack. Gregory had clearly known and liked Mrs Yates, “Did she ever mention anywhere?”
Gregory shook his head, “No, not even when their anniversaries rolled around. They were the type that considered a romantic dinner at home the best celebration possible.”
“Where did it happen?” Morgan asked, and Gregory turned to him, raising any eyebrow.
“Where did what happen?”
Rossi caught on, remembering what they’d found with the other victims. They were all killed close to the scene of their crime, it made sense to consider that Yates would do the same again for the man who had killed his family; if that was who Yates was after.
“Where were did Mary and Danielle die?” Rossi asked, his voice harsh. Sometimes, people answered quicker if you yelled at them.
Gregory frowned, looking a little stunned, “You think he’s going to kill the guy there?”
“He likes dumping his victims close to where they committed their crimes, and we’ve seen him kill one of his victims close to where they committed their crime.” Reid said, and Rossi could see he was thinking of how Milton had died. “He has been reflecting his victim’s crimes in the way he kills them. His family died in a car accident, that’s how he will kill the man who he thinks killed them.”
Gregory shook his head, “Jesus.”
“Where?” Rossi repeated, managing to hold himself back from shaking the detective. They didn’t have time to waste.
Gregory started heading towards the cars, “It’s faster to show you, and it’s not far from here.”
“Don’t use your lights and siren unless you have to, we don’t want him to know we’re coming.” Rossi ordered, raising his voice so that the other locals could hear. The last thing they needed was to lose Yates, or to force him to act before he planned to.
“I’ll stay here.” JJ said, “I’ll let you know if they find anything.”
Rossi nodded, reaching out to pat her on the arm, “We’ll let you know when we find him.”
Morgan and Prentiss were already headed to their SUV, Morgan pulling his keys from his pocket. Rossi motioned for Reid to follow him to the other SUV, his own keys in hand.
Wherever it was they were going, Rossi hoped it was someone public enough that Yates’ wouldn’t risk making his kill in daylight.
He didn’t want to consider the alternative or what it could mean for Hotch.
-
The drive was a relatively short one, or so it seemed to Hotch as he lay across the back seat of the car, trying to avoid rolling onto the man lying in the foot well. From what little Hotch could make out of the man, he was young, more of a kid than a man, and of medium build. Blood matted the short blond hair.
Yates had used his preferred method of abduction it seemed.
Hotch wasn’t surprised when, a few moments after the car had pulled to a halt, Yates pulled him roughly from the car, not seeming to care whether Hotch stayed on his feet or not. Hotch fell to his knees, just barely managing to roll onto his side rather than land face first on the gravel road.
Hotch could feel Yates’ anger, the hate that he felt for the man in the foot well, and he looked up, watching as Yates bodily dragged the kid from the vehicle. Catching a sight of the kid’s face, Hotch couldn’t help but think it didn’t look like the face of someone to have inspired a killing spree, not that they ever did.
Very few people looked like monsters until people knew what they were. It was just nicer to think they did.
Hotch frowned, wondering at how he was already thinking of the kid, the terrified, half conscious kid, as guilty, when he had no idea whether he was or not. All he had was how Yates’ felt; something that would be meaningless in a court of law.
Hotch watched as Yates dragged the kid down the gravel road, stopping a good distance away, and pushing the kid to the ground. Hotch flinched, feeling the impact, his ankle burning along with his ribs, and the constant throbbing pain at the back of his skull.
Yates kicked the kid once, hard in the stomach, and Hotch curled up, the agony overriding the anger. By the time it had started to fade, Yates was hauling Hotch to his feet. Hotch blinked, struggling weakly as Yates took hold of the rope again.
Hotch stumbled along behind as Yates pulled him up the road, and onto the verge parallel to the kid. Yates tied the rope around the trunk of a tree, then kicked Hotch’s legs out from under him.
Hotch was dimly aware of the breath leaving his body as his body impacted with the ground, but he didn’t feel it. Yates’ anger, the anticipation of what was to come, was stronger than even the kid’s pain as he lay panting in the road.
Hotch listened as Yates walked back to the car, fighting back the emotion, struggling to think. He heard a car door slam, and the sound of an engine starting, and Hotch forced himself to move, struggling onto his knees, turning so that he was facing the road. He knew he needed to more, to do something before Yates did whatever he was planning to do. And he needed to do it fast.
Yates gunned the engine, and Hotch stilled, unable to force rationale thought beyond the raw emotions. This was it, that was what Yates’ emotions were telling Hotch, this was the moment; at the same time, Hotch felt a wave of uncertainty, confusion and dread, then realisation quickly followed by pure, unadulterated terror. It all came in a flood, each emotion merging into the next in the split second it took the awareness of what was about to happen to hit the kid.
Hotch blinked, sluggishly thinking that the last thing he wanted was to still be facing the road. He did not want to watch what he knew, distantly, was coming; what he could do nothing to stop. Yates gunned the engine again, wheels churned up gravel and the kid desperately tried to move, cutting up his hands and knees in the process.
The thought had come too late for Hotch to react in time.
-
Morgan pulled in behind the two squad cars that were blocking the car, cutting the engine and shoving his door open at the same time. None of the police on scene had noticed their arrival, and for a moment, Morgan considered calling them out for it; that was until he saw the track beyond the cars.
Morgan froze, one hand on the hood of the closest squad car to hold himself steady, staring. He was dimly aware of Prentiss beside him, her hands covering her mouth as she turned away. Two of the first responders were throwing up on the verge next to them.
They were too late, again. Yates had been and gone, leaving more carnage in his wake.
Morgan forced himself to move forward, to look at the body, or what was left of it, as Rossi and Reid joined Prentiss. The locals all hung back, none of them wanting to take too close a look at the scene. The smell, of blood and other less pleasant, rarer seen, things was strong, even back by the squad cars. As Morgan walked forward, the smell was stronger still, but he forced himself to ignore it.
The body lay a good ten metres from where the bloody trail began, barely any skin left on it. Scraps of white cloth were visible, along with bits of denim. A few sorry clumps of blond hair were still in the scalp, but there was nothing else about the body that could be used to ID it on sight. Morgan didn’t even think they would be able to use dental records.
But it wasn’t Hotch, and as cold as Morgan knew it made him, that was enough for him.
He turned, looking away from the body for the first time since he had stepped up to the squad cars, taking in the rest of the scene. He frowned, moving towards the verge, there was something on the grass.
Morgan knew he was contaminating the scene, as careful as he was being not to step on anything, he still shouldn’t have been there. He should have waited, but he knew time was a major factor. The coroner and crime scenes techs would still be at Yates’ house, busy with that scene.
There wasn’t time to wait for them.
Morgan crouched down, eying the grass; there was blood, not much, but it wasn’t from the victim. There was a small pool on the grass, and a smear across the bark of the tree. There were other marks, but nothing he recognised as being caused by anything in particular.
Morgan glanced back at the blood on the road, before he eyed the blood pool again. It definitely wasn’t from the victim. Standing, Morgan looked around, searching for any sign of where the person who had left the blood had gone.
There was a faint trail, a few drops of blood, leading from the pool into the road, what looked like drags marks, which stopped abruptly. Morgan winced; they stopped next to the main blood pool. Whoever had been bleeding, they had been dragged into the car that had killed the victim.
Morgan gave the smaller blood pool one last glance before he made his way back to the squad cars, where the others were waiting.
“It’s not Hotch.” Morgan said, and Reid’s shoulders slumped, just a little.
“Any sign of him?” Rossi asked, and Morgan nodded.
“It looks like Yates dumped him on the verge, drove over the victim, then reversed and loaded Hotch back into the car.” Morgan said, glancing at Gregory and Innes who had joined the others, their expressions grim.
“Yates stole the car that killed his family from lockup.” Innes said, and Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the body then back at her. It was a new, though not surprising, touch; killing with the weapon used in the original crime.
“What makes you think he made Hotch watch?” Rossi asked, ignoring the locals in favour of Morgan.
“There’s blood on the verge, and drag marks.” Morgan said, “The question is, where is Yates taking Hotch now?”
“People are going to notice the car,” Prenitss nodded towards the body, “it had to be covered in blood after that.”
“I don’t think Yates cares anymore,” Morgan said, thinking of all the things Yates hadn’t done with this victim. There was no newspaper, no care taken not to be caught. “He’s done.”
“You think he’ll kill himself.” Gregory said, picking up on what they weren’t saying, “What does that mean for your guy?”
Rossi shook his head, “Hotch shouldn’t even still be alive, it doesn’t fit with Yates’ MO.”
They were all silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
“The question is,” Prentiss said, “where has Yates gone? He has to know he can’t go home, to the house or the apartment; he’s not going to hand himself in. Where is there left to go? Why didn’t he just end it here?”
“There’s something else he needs to do.” Reid said.
“What?” Innes asked, “You said that this was what he was working up to, killing the bastard that killed his family. What else could he need to do besides blow his brains out?”
“Hotch.” Rossi answered. “He took Hotch for a reason, something he hadn’t planned. That’s the only thing it could be.”
Morgan pulled his phone out of its holster, dialling Garcia’s number automatically. She picked up after the first ring.
-
Everything seemed muffled, that was what Hotch thought, staring up at a different ceiling. He could remember, vaguely, the car ride from the track to where they were; the smell of blood so strong, the absence of fear or anger.
It was almost like Yates wasn’t feeling anything at all, as though murdering the kid who had killed his family had destroyed the man’s ability to feel, but there was something there, teasing at the edge of Hotch’s awareness.
There was a carpet underneath Hotch, the floor softer than it had been in the basement, and there was a breeze. Turning his head a little Hotch saw the patio door, murky with grime, stood open onto the overgrown garden. He frowned, staring at the tree that stood in the centre of the garden; he didn’t know where he was or why he was still alive.
Hotch shifted his weight, his frown deepening when his body seemed unwilling to follow his commands. The drugs weren’t as oppressive as they had been before; it didn’t make sense that he couldn’t seem to move.
Hotch blinked, turning his head at the sound of a round being chambered. He found himself staring into Yates’ eyes, his brain finally giving a name to the emotion that had been teasing at the edge of his awareness. It was grief, only now anger seemed to be creeping back in, along with despair.
Yates’ hadn’t gotten the peace from killing that he had expected, or at least Hotch thought that was it. There was something else though, in the way that Yates was staring at him, fingers flexing around the butt of the gun.
Hotch just couldn’t think what it was.
-
It had to be a place that had meaning, for both Hotch and Yates, they had decided, but there hadn’t been any connection between the two, not that they had found initially.
As they had stood, less than 100 metres from the body of Yates’ last victim, Garcia had managed to find them one. Prentiss checked the directions again, directing Morgan down a road, watching as their blinking light on the GPS edged closer to the one that marked their destination, willing Morgan to drive faster.
Yates had re-enacted his family’s last moments, in the same place, with the same car, then he’d dumped it, moving on. They had spotted the car, battered and stained from its most recent use, in the car park of a motel as they’d passed. A call had come over dispatch, reporting a car having been stolen from the same lot.
Hotch was the only one of Yates’ victims unaccounted for, and he was Yates’ victim; Garcia had told them, after giving them the address, that traces of Hotch’s blood had been found on Laura Henrickson’s body. They just had to hope that Yates hadn’t killed him.
That this time, they weren’t too late; weren’t a step behind.
As Morgan turned the last sharp corner before their destination, Prentiss considered what Hotch’s blood on Henrickson’s body meant. Either Hotch had been with her when she’d died or he’d been somewhere close by; odds were, based on what little Morgan had told them about the basement, Hotch had seen the deaths all four of Yates’ most recent victims.
Hotch was the sole witness to what Yates had done. That didn’t mean that Yates would kill him; after all, Yates had nothing left to lose, had apparently completed his quest for vengeance; the only problem was Hotch.
Or at least, it had been, until Garcia had worked her magic, finally making the connection between Hotch and their unsub.
The car that Yates had stolen sat on the curb, outside the house, doors open, looking eerily like the car that Hotch had used to reach his own home during the final hour of Foyet’s life. Prentiss shook her head, refusing to allow the two cases to overlap; refusing to let her mind compare the two cases.
Prentiss was the first out of the car, pulling her gun and moving into the lead, knowing Morgan would be behind her. She heard the others pull up behind them, but she kept moving, heading around the house.
The front door was shut, covered by a wooden board, the nails glinting in the late afternoon light.
Prentiss kept her pace steady, ducking the branches that overhung the path down the side of the house, holding her gun steady. Rounding the corner, she raised it, catching sight of the open patio door. There was blood on the door frame.
Prentiss stopped, just short of the door, turning to meet Morgan’s gaze. He nodded, and they moved together, guns up, one either side of the door, looking into the house.
Hotch knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, pale and covered in blood. He was shaking, his attention fixed on Yates, who was pointing his gun at Hotch’s head. Prentiss glanced to her side as Rossi and Reid appeared, closely followed by Innes and Gregory, who hung back out of sight.
Yates looked up at them then, his eyes cold, unfeeling. “You took longer than I expected.”
-
Part Eight
