Criminal Minds 1. Chapter 1

**Authoress Notes:** Inspired by the film 'The Hitcher'.

**Title:** Hitchhiker

**By:** Clonksholic

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Any original characters belong to me. I gain no profit from writing this, and do so solely to entertain.

**Warning: Not recommended for ages under 18. Includes violence and sexual reference. Note the rating of the fanfic people. If stuff like that makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. **

**Summary: **When Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss pick up a hitchhiker on a rural road on the way back from a case in New Mexico, a generous act turns into a fight for their lives.

**Hitchhiker**

**Chapter 1**

'_Put the knife down, Boris.'_

_The unsub grinned and met the male agent's piercing gaze. _

'_Any reason why I should?' _

_The girl in his hands whimpered, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Boris' hand tightened around her neck._

'_I've got several murder charges,' Boris continued, the corner of his mouth flicking up into a smirk. 'Plus the rape of seven, four of them –' He lifted the knife and pressed it against the girl's cheek, drawing blood. '– twelve year old girls. Just like this one here.' _

_Boris flicked his gaze up at the two agents who had their guns aimed at him._

'_One more makes no difference.'_

'_No! –'_

_The knife slid through her throat, the swipe as smooth as silk. _

_Her body crumpled, eyes widening, the fear within them disappearing as her life drained away. _

_The two bullets that were fired almost at the same time as the knife slit her throat missed the man by only half an inch as he threw himself backwards, smashing through the large window behind him. _

_It was then that Hotch forgot to think; his body reacted, and he jumped after him. _

_He heard Emily yell his name, and realised why when he noticed the ground was miles below him. _

_He braced himself for the fall._

_._

_._

_._

It had been a long and hard case.

The victims had all been killed, the guy relentless as he ran from him and Prentiss, after having performed his final kill before them in a mocking manner. And now he felt as if the pain in his neck and back from having wrestled the unsub through and down a glass attic window had all been for nothing despite having caught the guy. It was always harder to feel as if they had made a difference when none of the victims had been saved.

The team had split to take these two cases, and it seemed as it at least Morgan's part of the case had gone well; a child returned to their parents once again.

Some battles were lost with less than others in this line of occupation; Aaron Hotchner knew, but it was a fact that he found hard to come to terms with especially when a case had ended as badly as this one had.

But what could you do.

Aaron Hotchner sighed and leaned back further in his chair, brow furrowed in frustration. His eyes were closed in an attempt to shut out the nagging sense of dissatisfaction in his head. His neck seemed too tight so he loosened his tie in an attempt to ease its dull ache. He removed his blazer and tossed it into the back seat in a frustrated manner, his face crinkling in pain as his back and neck protested at the sudden movement.

The repetitive soft humming of the engine slowly lulled him into emotional numbness, of which he took comfort in. The drumming of the rain on the roof became more rapid and loud, and he heard the soft click of the windscreen wipers as Emily turned them on.

The road was dark, the high beam headlights the only clear sources of brightness that lit their way.

Emily gained a glimpse of the road sign that indicated that they still had around three hours to drive. She wasn't sure if Hotch planned on stopping by a motel on the way to sit out the rain, but she was beginning to find the idea appealing.

She decided to voice it, aware that her boss most likely would not answer until some time later. 'Do you think we should stop by the next motel?' The rain filled the silence and made her voice less awkward.

Hotch exhaled deeply and gave a nod. 'Yeah, that would be good.'

'I'll let Morgan know,' her sentence was cut short when she brought her cell phone from her pocket and realised that there was no reception.

'It's illegal to talk on your cell while driving.'

The corner of Emily's lips flicked up in an amused grin. 'Well, you can't arrest me on apparent intention. I also don't think you have enough for an official arrest, Hotch.'

She threw the cell phone onto his lap, prompting his eyes to flick open.

'No reception.'

She grinned and glanced into the rear view mirror. 'Saved by the bell.'

'Or the lack there of,' Hotch murmured, a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaned back into his chair.

Emily's soft laugh faded into a sudden silence as she paused, squinting into the darkness.

'What the hell?'

Hotch jerked up in his seat, refraining from a moan as his neck and back complained at his actions. He leant forward, squinting into the darkness as he tried to make out what Emily had seen.

A large dark shadow loomed ahead beside what looked to be an upturned car. 'What the...'

'Pull over,' Hotch instructed.

The SUV slowed to a stop a few metres from the figure, who now began hobbling in their direction with what seemed to be heavy steps.

'I want you to stay here,' Hotch said, cutting off Emily's words as she tried to protest.

'But –'

'Keep the ignition on.'

Before Emily could respond, Hotch slammed the door and headed towards the other vehicle in quick steps, feeling Emily's unwavering sharp gaze on his back.

The rain was heavy as it had sounded, soaking through his shirt he moment he closed the car door. It was only then he remembered he had taken his blazer off.

'You alright?' He called out hoarsely, attempting to shout through the rain.

He ran up towards the figure when he saw half of it fall to the ground, realizing that it had been two men, one being supported by the other.

'Please help me, sir,' the man called out, struggling to hold the other figure up. 'We crashed- and my friend-my friend wouldn't move!'

Hotch ran towards them in brisk steps, and assisted the man in lifting the friend to his feet. He repressed a groan as the weight suddenly intensified the pain in his neck, and struggled to ignore the pain in his back. He heard a chilling moan from the man beside him.

They might be too late.

'Get him to the car, we'll try for the nearest hospital,' Hotch shouted. The man nodded frantically, and they both dragged the man as gently as possible back to where the SUV stood.

Emily acted fast, unlocking the SUV doors immediately as the three men approached. Hotch opened one of the back doors, allowing the man into the SUV and placing his friend in the middle part of the seat. He then took the seat next to them in the back seat, motioning for Emily to drive the moment he shut the door.

'How's he doing?' The man asked, watching as Hotch felt for the friend's pulse with worried eyes.

Hotch side glanced at the rear view mirror, catching Emily's questioning gaze.

'I don't know. Would you happen to know how far the nearest hospital is?' He asked.

The man shook his head. His hands were shaking as he reached up to run it through his wet hair. 'Tom and I were travelling, we've never been down this way before.'

'Right,' Hotch gave a nod. He took the blazer and placed it over the friend, who was now silent and breathing softly. He only realised when the warmth began to make him aware of the dampness of his shirt that Emily had turned the heater on.

'What are your names?' Emily asked, glancing into the rearview mirror.

'This is Tom O'Connell,' the man replied, his expression softening. 'I'm John Dooley. Thanks so much for stopping…I didn't know what else I could do. We sat in the car for a while and –'

'It'll be okay,' Emily assured.

'Thank you,' John said again. Hotch watched as the man's gaze lingered for a bit too long on the female agent's face reflected in the rear view mirror. He surveyed the man's hands, which had stopped shaking. He watched in interest as the shaking picked up as suddenly as it had stopped, and upon averting his gaze he noticed that John had been aware of his gaze.

John offered a smile. 'Problem, sir?'

Hotch did not answer, but quietly unlocked his seatbelt when the man looked away.

The rain began to drum heavier onto the roof of the car, filling the silence that could have been awkward otherwise.

'So where are you guys from?' John spoke up once more.

'Virginia,' Hotch replied. He glanced into his cell phone quietly, only to find John craning his neck to see what Hotch had in his hand.

'Any luck on the reception yet?'

Hotch met his gaze, his glare in position. 'It's back,' he replied quietly.

'So you guys married or something?' John asked again. His voice was calmer, quieter now.

Hotch glanced into the rear view mirror, and realised that Emily also had noticed the change in his voice.

'Just work colleagues,' Hotch said.

John smirked, nodding in a condescending manner as he side glanced at Hotch. 'I'm guessing you're her boss?'

'Yes,' Emily replied curtly. 'He is.'

John's grin widened, and he gave an amused chuckle.

'So how long have you two been fucking?' His comment was casual, as if he had just asked about the weather.

Hotch watched as Emily stiffened in her seat, her knuckles tightening over the steering wheel.

John gave a soft chuckle. 'I don't blame you, if I had a subordinate like that, screw manners and protocol. Be fucking her brains out every chance I got.' He reached out towards the front seat, fingers curled as if to touch Emily's hair, when Hotch's hand shot out to intercept it, tightening menacingly.

John smirked, his hand still outstretched, meeting Hotch's glare. His gaze was challenging, mocking as he continued. 'Don't tell me you haven't been tempted, _**boss**_.'

He leaned in slowly, and when he spoke next his voice had turned soft.

'Don't tell me you have never wanted to show someone that you're in charge; watch as they squirm beneath you as you do whatever – you – _**want**_ with them.'

Watching the interaction behind her from the rear view mirror, Emily slowly lifted her left hand from the steering wheel and lowered it to her waist, where she removed her glock from its case as quietly as possible and held it beside her lap.

'Is that what you did to Tom.' Hotch's voice had lowered to an intimidating growl.

'No,' John replied, his expression suddenly changing from amused to dangerous. His eyes flashed, his glare narrowing like those of a predator who had just spotted his prey.

'It's what I did to his wife.'

In the next second, Hotch felt pain shoot up his wrist as John twisted it, slamming his other hand against Hotch's head to smash it against the window. Intense pain shot up his neck and travelled down his back as if someone had shoved an ice cube down his shirt collar, causing him to hiss. As the impact induced a cloudiness to glaze over his mind, fusing into the pain in his neck, he heard the click of Emily's gun followed by a loud **'Show me your hands!'** He felt a rough jolt as the SUV came to a sudden stop with a loud skid.

A metal nozzle of a gun pressed underneath his eye near his cheek. His head felt groggy, the pain in his neck and back now throbbing to match the thumping of his heart. He fumbled for his gun beside him, cursing inwardly when he felt John grab his hand and twist it once more, this time behind his back. His wrist was pressed further into the throbbing spinal area, and he felt his body stiffen in pain. He heard John speak in a menacing voice. 'Put the gun down or I'll pop your boss's eye out.'

'Not if I do it first.' He heard Emily say. Her voice was cold, the tone she saved on the suspects she apprehended within the interrogation rooms. He could almost see her piercing glare as her face would have shifted into an infallible expression. 'Hands off or I'll put a bullet through your head.'

Hotch cursed as a sharp twist forced a soft groan from his lips. _Shit._

'Put the gun down and drop it at my feet.' John's voice came again. 'I'm waiting.'

'Is this how you did it to Tom?'

Hotch's gaze swiveled to Emily, who spoke who's gaze and gun did not falter at John's threats.

'You put the gun to his wife's neck first. You made him stop his car. It's how you intimidated him, isn't it? Not big enough of a man to take two people on at the same time, are you John.'

Hotch managed to suppress the next groan that threatened to sound as John pressed his arm further against his back. Little did he realise his focus on it would make the subsequent events more bearable.

Searing pain pierced through his foot following the sound of a firing gun. He heard himself yell in response, eyes instinctively swiveling towards the wound.

Pain seemed to tear away at him from all sides, overwhelming his senses.

'If you know what I did then you know I can do much worse than this.'

John stared down the gun, locking gazes with Emily, who did not budge.

'Shut up and give me your gun. You wouldn't want to hurt your boss any further, would you now?'

'That's in your hands now, isn't it.' Emily said coldly.

'No,' John said, chuckling softly. 'It all depends on you.'

.

.

.

'So this is why you never begged,' John remarked smugly as he opened the wallet he had taken from Aaron's pocket.

'FBI eh?' John met Aaron's glare through the rear view mirror. 'Is that why you weren't afraid, boss? You spend all your days catching guys like me, is that it?'

It had taken John less than a minute to get Emily to bind Aaron's wrists at gunpoint after having taken her glock, working quickly to exploit Aaron's incapacitated state. He then took his place in the seat next to her, keeping his head turned slightly to keep an eye on both Emily and Aaron.

John placed the nose of Emily's glock against her temple experimentally, running it through her hair. He watched as it failed to draw any emotional reaction from the female agent. Her expression remained emotionless as she kept her gaze on the road before her.

'So where do you keep _your_ badge?' John asked, moving his head deliberately near hers, as if to obscure her vision.

She could feel his breath against her neck as he closed the distance between them.

'Don't tell me,' he said softly.

She felt herself stiffen slightly as his hand brushed against the collar of her blouse, coming to rest right above her chest, the tips of his fingers grazing the edge of her bra strap. She felt his hand go lower, a soft popping noise sounding as he jerked the top part of her blouse.

'It's more fun that way.'

The SUV lurched forward forcefully, propelling John against the windscreen and causing it to crack as Emily slammed her foot down on the breaks. The SUV skidded roughly, the sound resonating above the heavy rain. Almost at the same time Emily jerked the door beside her open, ignoring the onslaught of rain as she reached out towards the gun held in John's hand.

Only to find it wasn't there.

_Shit._

Her eyes frantically scanned the floor of the car, then pushed herself out, and jerked the back door of the SUV open.

Rain was in her eyes, her mouth as she shouted Hotch's name, opening the back door to the SUV.

'Hotch you okay?'

She spotted his large figure on the floor of the SUV, the force of her sudden break having flung him from the seats, him being particularly vulnerable in his bound and injured state. The bindings around his wrists were already worn and thin, evidence of Hotch's silent struggles to free his hands while John had been speaking.

He wasn't responding.

'Hotch?'

She glanced at John, who still seemed unconscious as he lay slumped across the two front seats.

She reached down and fumbled for the glock 17 she knew her supervisor kept at his ankle. Just as she felt the smooth plastic of the weapon, she heard a click sound by her head.

'Looking for this?'

The familiar voice growled.

She turned her head and found herself staring down into the barrel of her glock.

'I've got two guns and you've got none. What's it you're gonna do?'

In the next second she realised she had two choices.

Run.

Run and leave Hotch, hope that John followed her and left Hotch alone.

Though the chances of that were unlikely.

She opted for the second option.

Play along.

'You win,' she said softly, raising her hands as if to surrender.

She knew that he would not knock her out. Not yet, at least. He was strong, but he was also meticulous; he would not risk having two people in the car with the risk of one of them freeing themselves once either of them regained consciousness. Him driving would mean he would be unable to keep an eye on them. He was narcissistic but certainly not stupid; she was sure he would not take that risk and that he would tread with caution, at least insofar as he needed her to drive.

Besides, she derived that he would gain more excitement from being able to taunt her as Hotch was incapacitated and was made to watch from the back. It would provide him the sense of power he craves.

'Get into the car.'

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.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Authoress Notes:** Inspired by the film 'The Hitcher'.

**Title:** Hitchhiker

**By:** Clonksholic

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Any original characters belong to me. I gain no profit from writing this, and do so solely to entertain.

**Warning:**** Not recommended for ages under 18. INCLUDES VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. POSSIBLE REFERENCES TO RAPE. Note the rating and warning dear readers; if such subject matter makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. **

**Summary: **When Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss pick up a hitchhiker on a rural road on the way back from a case in New Mexico, a generous act turns into a fight for their lives.

**MESSAGE TO MY READERS****: Much thanks to those who reviewed **** It's great to know that the story's being read by many so far. Hope this chapter's just as, if not more, enjoyable than the last. **

**Hitchhiker**

**Chapter 2**

Agent Hotchner was jerked into consciousness.

He only remembered his situation once he realised the stiffness in his shoulders and back was now not only due to the fall from the previous case but the way they had been bound. He guessed it had been for a while now. The adrenaline in his bloodstream had long worn off, and he found himself unconsciously biting his lip to keep refrain from verbally expressing the pain that was throbbing in his foot, as if someone was deliberating aggravating the wound by stabbing a burning hot fire poker through it, over and over again.

At the very least, the pounding in his head seemed to have lessened, and he found himself holding his breath in order to concentrate on what was happening in the front seat of the…

_He was no longer in the SUV. _

He felt a pained shout torn from his dry throat as a sharp object was slammed into his stomach from what seemed to be out of nowhere. He breathed in short gasps, his eyes now set into his trademark glare despite the pain.

He could take it. He knew he been through worse.

Much worse.

He could take more than this.

_Prentiss. _

The moment he lifted his head, he found it being knocked back against a hard fist.

Warm liquid trickled down his face to his chin and he tasted blood in his mouth as the sharp objects broke through his cheek. Hotch put his tongue to his cheek, drawing it back quickly when he felt the cut begin to sting, from both the inside his mouth and out. The keys of the SUV jangled as John dropped them by his feet. The tips of it were stained with his blood.

He felt the man's breath on his face as he leaned down, crouching to his eye level.

'Right there, boss. The keys are right there. For you. All you have to do is just reach out.'

A deep chuckle.

'But you can't,' John's voice dropped to a sinister whisper. 'Can you now?'

Hotch lifted his infalliable glare to meet John's gaze. He doubted he had even given them his real name. He saw amusement dancing in his eyes, and a hint of triumph.

'Where is Agent Prentiss.' Hotch's trained eyes caught sight of the almost unperceivable flinch of John's right brow.

The corner of John's mouth flicked up into a satisfied smirk.

'_It's always different when it's someone you know.'_

_The first photo that sat as the case file opened. The familiar brunette looked back, her smile now only tangible in her photo._

He pushed the thought away.

'_**Where**_ is she?'

John grinned at Hotch's glare. 'Don't you worry,' he said. 'I can assure you; I've done everything I can to make her feel…**comfortable**.'

Hotch's glare followed John's gaze as he straightened up. 'And besides, why should you care? It's not like you're the one sleeping with her; right?' He released an amused laugh.

John's laugh faltered at Hotch's unwavering glare. He feigned an exaggeratedly contemplative expression. 'So you really do want to know...'

Aaron watched as John slowly raised his arm to the ceiling, held slightly at an angle.

'Watch,' John said, watching Hotch's face with a subtly joyous expression on his face.

'Look over there.'

Hotch's gaze instinctively followed where the man's finger was pointing. He felt his insides jolt at what he saw.

.

.

.

'_So.'_

_She heard the scraping of the chair against a concrete floor as John pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, coming close so that his knees touched hers._

'_Let's get to know each other.' _

_Emily jerked herself from her chair, forceful enough to rattle the chair she had been cuffed to. She allowed herself to feel a smidgen of triumph as John stepped back slightly, startled, but not in time to avoid his knees from being slammed by her own. _

'_You're gonna have to do much better than that,' John said, his voice faltering slightly on the first word. He refused to lean down and rub his knees; the impact had been quite painful. _

'_Scared?' Emily challenged, her glare steadfast. _

'_On the contrary,' John's voice was soft and dangerous as he suddenly swooped down, closing the distance between them and grabbing her hair in his fingers to force her head up towards his. 'You should be the one who's scared.'_

_John smirked at her defiant expression. 'I can see why you and your boss get along. You both get the same look on your face.' _

'_You better not have laid a finger on him –'_

'_Oh how sweet,' John said mockingly, stroking away a strand of hair from her face. _

'_How about you identify yourself; we know you're not John Dooley,' Emily said callously, jerking her face away to avoid his touch. 'Can't even use your own name, can you? You have to hide behind a façade, the way you've been doing your whole life, in hopes that being someone else would earn you recognition.' _

'_Oh really?' She watched John's face carefully, sure that she had seen a slight shift in his smug expression. 'You think you know so much about me.'_

'_More than you do, I'm sure,' Emily pushed further._

'_What if my names are just a ruse?' John said, his smirk now completely restored. 'What if they serve no other purpose. Giving them a false name makes me trustworthy.'_

'_You kill all your victims within a few hours after your initial contact; you invade their lives as a complete stranger, with no research on the next victims that come your way. You have no reason to give a false identity, as they won't be alive by the time you're finished with them, nor do you have the knowledge to give one that's familiar to them, and yet you still do.' Emily said. 'And if you failed to notice,' she went to add as John suddenly lapsed into silence at her words, 'you struggled to provide a reason as to why you use a fake identity. You simply said; it makes you trustworthy. But you don't mention why; you just know that it's how it makes you feel.'_

_She saw hesitation and delivered the next blow. 'Makes you feel strong, doesn't it.' _

'_Hm,' John chuckled softly, looking down his nose at her. 'You spin a lot of wild theories, Agent. Shame that the false names I use merely only do serve as a ruse. Shame really; you're one hell of a story teller.'_

_John grinned, tightening his grip on her hair. 'As for __**my**__ name, now that really doesn't matter.' He forced her closer, smirking at the way she tried to jerk free from his grasp._

_His voice lowered to a whisper, and she felt a chill run down her spine. 'As long as I know what to call you when I __**do**__ you tonight.' _

_He buried his face into her neck, miming the actions of a lover. Emily gave another sharp jerk, managing to successfully force herself away – but only for a tiny second before he forced her back. She could hear the beating of her heart as she felt his breath on her neck. She felt him smile against her skin. _

_She a heard a rough tearing sound and inhaled sharply as he slashed down her blouse with a knife. She felt a tiny trickle of blood run down from just above her breasts and down towards her stomach, producing a tickling sensation, as if someone was running the tip of their finger down her body. _

'_Well then, Agent Prentiss. Let's play.'_

_._

_._

_._

The office was quiet by the time the team arrived.

Morgan glanced towards their supervisor's office, expecting the lights to be on and blinds open. Only darkness lay beyond what he could see of the room.

'Hotch and Prentiss aren't back yet?' He asked, looking back at the team, eyebrow raised.

'Well they are driving down from New Mexico,' JJ said. 'Hotch suffered a bit of a fall so maybe they've been held up checking if everything's alright.'

'Or they've already gone home,' chirped Garcia, who had joined them for their case. 'Which, speaking of, is where I'll be, beloved crime fighters.'

'Our baby girl needs her beauty sleep?' Derek commented with a grin, earning himself a sassy smile from the tech analyst.

'We should all turn in for the night,' Dave said, heading up to his own office to drop his ready bag off. 'Fresh for tomorrow.' He turned to JJ questioningly.

JJ nodded. 'We have another early start tomorrow –' She gave Morgan a joking look. 'So no one better be late.'

Morgan grinned cheekily, waving it away. 'Me? Late? Never.'

'I rather think she meant for you to take it easy tonight,' Reid piped up enthusiastically, after having finished adjusting his satchel.

'Yeah kid, I got that,' Morgan replied, giving him a gentle shove on his shoulder. 'You get some rest too, huh?'

The sound of the vacuum began as the cleaners began their work in the office. Each of the team members said their good byes and forwarded out, each destined for their own cosy destinations.

Derek looked back momentarily, hesitating at the door. He took another glance at Hotch's office, then took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a familiar number.

'_This is Agent Hotchner, please leave a message.'_

Derek couldn't stop a grin from coming to his lips. 'Sleep well my man.'

.

.

.

A large long mirror had been hung from the ceiling, tilted so that anyone sitting in Hotch's position could watch every single thing that could occur in the other room.

'I can see you. You can see me,' John mocked softly, running his fingers behind Hotch's neck as a gesture of dominance. 'And we, we can see her, can't we.'

The mirror revealed a reflection of a woman who was bound to a metal panel, blonde hair sprawled around her face that had been mauled beyond recognition. Bloodied surgical instruments that lay on a metal table matched the several mutilations that littered the woman's body. Blood had dripped to the ground, and from the dark stains on the floor Hotch could see that she had not been this man's first victim.

That would be Emily soon enough.

Several other utensils filled the room, on the walls, on several other tables, some rusty and some appearing almost brand new. Each was stained with brown and dark red however; John obviously spared no creativity when it came to his works. Two heartbeat monitor screens were beside the metal bed, several pieces of wire connected to the body, and the other pieces of wire for the second machine were currently unattached.

Hotch guessed they were for multiple victims.

'You like what you see; Agent Hotchner?' John whispered in his ear, his voice disturbingly proud.

'The room was all me. And the girl; she was something. She was all me too.'

A sinister grin. John's voice dropped another notch.

'Wouldn't you like to watch your subordinate on that table. She can see you too you know. She will see you; watching. Every. Single. _**Thing.**_'

An agonized howl was torn from John's lips as Hotch slammed his head into John's nose.

Hotch felt the world twist as it fell backwards at the movement of his body, knocking the air from his lungs as he slammed to the ground. His hands, bound behind him, dug into his back, causing pain to shoot through his entire body once more, immobilizing him.

John's heavy footsteps approached him, and Hotch found himself looking up at the man. Blood fell in small drops on his face as it dripped down from John's chin as it streamed heavily from one of his nostrils.

'You son of a bitch.' John's tone was dangerous, and Hotch sat silently and waited for the next blow.

'You have no idea what I can do to you. And do to her,' John threatened, voice deep and heavy with rage. His eyes were wide, pupils a dot in the center his revealed eye whites, giving him a psychotic appearance.

John approached another step closer, his psychotic gaze fixed on Hotch's unwavering glare. A metal soled heel slammed down on Hotch's injured foot, ripping a pained cry from him.

A satisfied, maniacal laughter sounded as John continued to slam his foot down in a rhythm over the agent's, as if in a trance. The thumping of the impact echoed through the room.

Over and over again.

It felt as if his foot was on fire.

And again.

He felt and heard a sickening crack, pain exacerbated as his something occurred in his ankle.

And again.

Blood flowed once more from Hotch's foot, his ankle now twisted into a distorted shape.

Hotch's figure was slumped across the chair as John grabbed the chair and returned it to its upright position. The rough jolt caused Hotch to moan.

The pain would not stop.

His gaze swiveled to his foot, and noticed a tiny fragment of white poking out from underneath the sleeves of his pants. The bone had broken through the skin.

Oh god the pain.

Hotch glared up at the man, his head slightly tilted to the side. He wasn't down just yet.

The light from the room behind him cast John's shadow across Hotch figure, making him appear vulnerable.

'I'm going to take my time with her; and you will watch. Everything. And when your eyes meet and you realise you can't help her; do me a favour.'

John's face, now dark from his shadow, leaned closer, his voice barely above a gleeful whisper.

'Scream for help.'

.

.

.

Several miles away, a jeep stopped beside an upturned grey car.

A man with a cowboy hat on his head stepped out, his boots kicking up the dirt from the dusty concrete road. He glanced at the setting sun in the distance, then approached the grey car, stooping down to the windows to look inside.

There, he fell back on his hands as he found himself face to face with a woman's face, bloody sockets glaring back at him in place of eyes.

He scrambled back to his jeep, grabbed the satellite phone from his backpack, then dialed the emergency number.

**Please READ AND REVIEW! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Authoress Notes:** Inspired by the film 'The Hitcher'.

**Title:** Hitchhiker

**By:** Clonksholic

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Any original characters belong to me. I gain no profit from writing this, and do so solely to entertain.

**Warning:**** Not recommended for ages under 18. INCLUDES VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. POSSIBLE REFERENCES TO RAPE. Note the rating and warning dear readers; if such subject matter makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. **

**Summary: **When Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss pick up a hitchhiker on a rural road on the way back from a case in New Mexico, a generous act turns into a fight for their lives.

**MESSAGE TO MY READERS****: Much thanks to those who reviewed! :) It's great to know that the story's being read by many so far, not to mention extremely motivating. Hope this chapter's just as, if not more, enjoyable than the last. **

**Hitchhiker**

**Chapter 3**

Agent Emily Prentiss felt disoriented when she finally came to.

Her limbs felt numb; she felt as if she was unable to move them. Her head felt numb, she felt paralysed, as if all feeling and sensation had left her body.

Time had become something that was no longer existent; she felt blank, as if all had come to a stand still. Her sense of smell had finally become habituated to the stench of corpse that had surrounded the place, somewhere during her unconsciousness, and now it was gone as if it had never been there at all.

'_Smell's the weakest sense. You should get used to it soon enough.'_

'_It's the same as sound; give it enough time and your attention spotlight renders averts to a source of greater importance.' _

Reid's voice sounded distant, as if in a dream or a long tunnel.

The smell of death was hard to wash off. Her nose might have thought it harmless at its constant presence and rendered it something she didn't need to be aware of anymore, but she knew from experience that the stench clung to everything; fabric, the place, anything it had been on. Anyone who had worked with dead bodies for some time knew; there wasn't much that could successfully mask or remove the smell of a decomposing body. It soaked through everything it had been on, unable to be removed by bleach or water after some time into the decomposition. It was as if death had to make a mark on everything, targeting the sensory perception that would turn everyone away from where it had been present.

Her gaze trailed around the room lazily, searching for a window, a broken clock even, a familiar ticking, anything that could tell her something about the hour, about the minute, the second; tell her that time had not come to a stop.

'Prentiss.'

It felt as if she had been jerked from a dream, that feeling of falling that pulled you away from sleep.

'Hotch?'

She found herself staring into her supervisor's gaze, her eyes widening at the cut beside his cheek. She spotted the SUV keys, still by Hotch's feet and put two and two together.

'Did he cut through the cheek?'

Hotch ignored the question.

Emily tried a different approach. 'How long has it been?'

'Not long enough,' Hotch said, fatigue draining away his ability to mask his worry and fear.

'Hotch –'

'Emily.'

'Yeah,' she replied quickly, fear beginning to creep in at his use of her first name and as Hotch's gaze averted from hers and refused to meet hers again.

'Did you see the girl before you?'

Emily shook her head. Then she paused as she searched Hotch's face. 'This isn't his first, is it?'

'No.'

Emily finally looked around the room, silent as she studied its every nook and cranny. She tiled her head up, her gaze meeting the wall that separated her and Hotch. It was a simple wooden panel, something that they wouldn't have stood a chance against a good, solid kick. She realised that Hotch and her had not needed to raise their voice anything above their usual conversing tones, the room somehow allowing them to echo, so that they sounded as if they were right besides each other.

She wondered how loud it would get if someone screamed.

A sudden beep next to her ear caused her to jerk, the beeps suddenly becoming faster at her sudden movement. She twisted her head as far as she could, finally gaining a glimpse of where the sound was coming from.

A familiar dark monitor with glowing green lines met her gaze.

A heart beat monitor.

She breathed out, unsure why she felt a sudden sense of relief.

'Have you been in here the whole time?' Emily asked, twisting her wrists in their restraints.

Hotch gave a nod. 'He brought you in here I'd say about an hour ago.'\

She gazed up at the mirror above her once more, realizing that she could only see Hotch; but not herself.

'He's a sadist,' she said, testing out her legs and feet. They were restrained also.

She continued when Hotch's gaze met hers in acknowledgement.

'So why can't I see myself in the mirror?' She questioned, this time moving her entire body to check its condition. 'Often sexual sadists like him get off on psychologically torturing their victims.'

'Well playing with two people gives him the same release, if not more.' Hotch hypothesized. 'Even if the victim he is torturing may not be able to watch his actions, they're able to gauge with the partner in this room. It's still a form of psychological torture.'

Emily decided to finish off what Hotch refused to say. 'Because I'll only be able to gain an idea of what's going on by watching your reactions. I'll never know until it hits me; right?'

Hotch refused to answer but continued to meet her gaze, his expression familiar and infallible, the one that was present every single time he delivered a profile.

'Sometimes watching someone's reaction towards something that's happening to you is more grueling; that's why,' Emily continued. A corner of her lip cocked up in a half grin. 'Then it's lucky I'm stuck here with you, Mr. Drill Sergeant. Can't imagine what it could have been like with Reid; though suppose with him the torture might not be as bad as what his expressions would imply.'

A moment of silence ensued, the beeping of the heart monitor now on the outskirts of their attention.

'Hotch, can I ask you a favour?'

Hotch met her gaze, unsure of what to reply.

Emily took it as a yes. 'When he comes back –'

'_We'll get out of here,'_ he wished he could say. _'You'll be fine.' _He wished he could reassure; as each and every person who had sat in his position to watch a loved one or friend tortured would have naturally done so.

But in his line of occupation, from the corpse he had seen previously lying where Prentiss was now, from what they BOTH had seen and experienced, he knew it wasn't going to be okay.

'And whatever he does –'

He wouldn't betray his respect for his colleague and friend by lying with possible death knocking at their door; for he knew those words would not work. He knew he had to be realistic, no matter how insensitive it was.

'Whatever he says –'

He raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of her fear, but only just before it disappeared.

'Don't treat me like a victim.'

'I know,' he said, giving a firm nod. 'And when we get through this –'

_If._ The word 'when' blurted out, completely resilient to his careful wording. _Fuck._

'If.'

Hotch refused to break his gaze, a sudden sense of anger rushing through his veins as she repeated the words that had never left his mind.

'_**When**_ – we get through this,' Hotch tried again. 'Don't treat me like one either.'

.

.

.

_When a lion attacks a member of a herd, successfully bringing it down to its death, the others within the herd will often pay it no mind; those who had once bolted in fear of the lion now knowing it as safe enough to continue feeding, even if they stand only a mere few feet away from the predator and the prey that may have once ran alongside them._

_The fact that its death prolongs their life for another moment is all the information they need._

_._

_._

_._

'_**I…'**_

'_**you…'**_

'…_**your reactions'**_

'_**mine'**_

'…_**until it hits me'**_

'_**Even if the victim…'**_

'_**gauge with the partner in his room…'**_

_The moment he tried to distance himself, attempting to rely on the clinical jargon, no different to the other times they had delivered the profile; that's when he knew he was afraid. _

_That's when Hotch finally raised his head and looked into the face of fear, because he knew Emily already had and was meeting it head on. _

_Pronouns instead of second person; she had already accepted it and was ready for whatever it was that was coming with a great deal of bravery. _

_That's when he knew for sure; he was frightened of the fact that he was going to watch her. Watch as a friend, a colleague, all that was Emily lay in the other room was tortured, in some sick way they had once narrated as part of some unsub's profile. _

_The thought of it sent his stomach churning. _

_It wasn't just the fear. Hand in hand with the fright came a soft, dangerous feeling of relief, in the manner that the waves at the beach teasingly lap at the sand. _

_Relief that he wasn't in her position; that he was the one sitting in the chair instead, with a better chance of getting out alive. It was never overt; he would not let it get that far. However, it lingered, as subtle as the soft beeping of the heart monitor that he could see was attached to several parts of Emily's body, only to intensify when he realised the torture he would be spared from. _

_He wasn't sure what he was more frightened of; the pending doom or this unfamiliar side of him that was animalistic yet completely human. _

_After all, how really different were they in the end? _

_._

_._

_._

_**Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends. **_

_**- Shirley Maclaine**_

.

.

.

The glowing ball in FBI technical analyst Penelope Garcia's hand stopped moving about as her fingers tightened around its rubbery surface.

Her voice was strained as she struggled to find words, pushing down the fear that bubbled from within by repeating to herself that what she heard may not have meant anything.

As soon as her phone was replaced back onto the receiver, she jumped from her chair, turned on her heel and rushed from her office, leaving her computer screens blaring and the glowing ball she had thrown onto her chair rolling about temporarily until it came to a stop.

.

.

.

'It's one of the six tactics of manipulation,'

JJ smiled as she heard Reid's voice. Enthusiasm was forever in his favour.

'You'd think that creating a product that no one would buy would be counterintuitive, that it would adhere a larger cost than profit, but due to the contrast principle it increases the subjective value of the other products the company markets thus –'

Reid's enthusiastic speech was cut off by Morgan's question as they both walked into the room.

'Where's Hotch?'

JJ stopped in her tracks, her hand that had been placing the files down on the desk now frozen in mid action as if someone had hit the pause button.

'And Prentiss? She's never late.' Rossi added, his brows arched in a worried manner.

'They hadn't contacted me about anything,' JJ said, frowning as her expression turned pensive. 'Can you reach them on their cell?'

'I've already tried them both,' Derek said. 'It just keeps going to their voicemail.'

'I think we might have trouble.'

Penelope's panicked voice caused the team to turn towards her. She forwarded into the room, handing Rossi a note where she had written the details on.

'It's along one of the routes of New Mexico; where Hotch and Emily had driven through before their reception cut out. A man found an upturned car with a female victim inside. It turns out that it spiked a large investigation since the method of her torture and death matches that of a serial killer who's been off the grid since six years ago,' she said, tripping over her words as she spoke quickly. 'Just thought you should know since it's right on the route.'

'Wait, where Hotch and Prentiss had been –'

'I tracked their cells just in case after they told me they'd be driving,' she added at Rossi's question.

'You can't tell us anymore baby girl?' Derek said, his brows furrowing to change his approving look to one of concern.

'Reception cuts out for at least fifty miles,' Penelope said, shaking her head. 'There's no way of knowing exactly when they disappeared.'

'Have we been invited in?' Reid asked, adjusting the satchel he had placed on the ground over his shoulder once more.

'Well I checked the registration plates of the car the man found, and it turns out she's not from the area and was passing through New Mexico. It's across jurisdictions,' Penelope answered.

'The jet's ready,' JJ said, already beginning to walk towards the door. 'We should get going.'

'Garcia, get us the files about this guy to our PDA,' Derek yelled over his shoulder as they rushed towards the jet. 'We need to know as much about this guy as we can.'

.

.

.

_One moment she was looking up at the mirror, looking around at the surroundings behind Hotch. _

_Then. The one second her eyes had grazed over Hotch's face, she caught a glimpse of fear on his expression._

_Her head and eyes swiveled to the figure who was suddenly standing beside her. _

_Then the world went dark and incredibly wet as an icy cold cloth was thrown over her face, tightening to a point she found it hard to breathe. Her head was jerked upwards and held there with great force. _

_Then came the assault of ice cold water._

_Filling her nose._

_Her mouth. When she felt the water enter her esophagus she knew it was cold enough to knock her unconscious if it were to reach her lungs. _

_She tightened her lips, her head instinctively shaking from side to side as it tried to avoid the onslaught of water that immediately induced her gag reflex. _

_Then, she took a breath, which was soon expelled as she choked on the continued stream of water that assaulted her nose and mouth. _

_Someone was taking both her lungs into her hands, and constricting them with every single breath that never gave her the air she needed. _

_Her ears were screaming, the rapid beeping of the heart monitor piercing her hearing. _

_Her heart beat. _

_She couldn't scream. _

_The moment she opened her mouth to do so the cloth, the water, it smothered her. _

_And another._

'_Can you hear yourself?'_

_She couldn't breathe._

_She reached out towards the surface, feeling her insides lurch as she struggled to resist breathing. But it came again, her lungs squeezing in response. _

_Her vision started to go white. _

_God please stop this._

'_Can you hear me?'_

_Someone. _

_Stop this._

_She heard herself cough, her lungs filling with air once more. Her body gave its last jerk then she let herself lay, breathing heavily as her vision began to return. _

_BeepBeepBeepBeep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep.  
_

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Beep._

_She felt his breath by her ear, his hand a source of heat on her neck. _

'_Can you hear it? Our heartbeats are in sync.'_

'_Fuck you.' _

_She heard his low chuckle, amused and dangerous. _

'_Did you hear your heart beat faster, Agent Prentiss? 'Cause I did. Sooner or later, the moment I come in, you'll see. You won't be able to stop it. You won't be able to stop your heart from screaming.'_

_._

_._

_._

**Please Read and Review! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Authoress Notes:** Inspired by the film 'The Hitcher'.

**Title:** Hitchhiker

**By:** Clonksholic

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Any original characters belong to me. I gain no profit from writing this, and do so solely to entertain.

**Warning:**** Not recommended for ages under 18. INCLUDES VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. POSSIBLE REFERENCES TO RAPE. Note the rating and warning dear readers; if such subject matter makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. **

**Summary: **When Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss pick up a hitchhiker on a rural road on the way back from a case in New Mexico, a generous act turns into a fight for their lives.

**MESSAGE TO MY READERS****: Apologies for my long hiatus. Had an extremely long and severe episode of writer's block. Reviews are not necessary but I do love reading them and they're a great source of motivation since it makes me aware that this story is reaching an audience. I do hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**I'd also like to sincerely thank those of you who have reviewed so far; they've been a pleasure to read and extremely motivating. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter! :)**

**Hitchhiker**

**Chapter 4**

_Step 1. Inhibit her senses. _

'_Prolonged sensory deprivation will eventually lead to submission. Take away her hearing so that all she hears is the drumming of her own heart in her ears. Seal her sight so that the darkness begins to sting and crowds in. Take away the freedom to feel anywhere but her exposed skin. Take away everything. So that all she can anticipate eventually is where you will be next. You will eventually be all that remains in her mind. You will dominate her senses, her thoughts.'_

Emily's eyes felt numb. The cloth around her face started to rub against the edge of her chin close to her neck, causing it to flare up and flush an irritated, inflamed shade of red. Emily's fingertips quivered.

She didn't know when it was coming next. With the blindfold having robbed her of her vision, her tactile senses were on full alert, crawling over her skin over and over again as it anticipated where the hot spear would fall next.

Here.

There.

Here.

She just didn't know when. Where-when –

A searing heat burned another wound into her chest as the instrument was placed on the skin once more, closer to the rim of her bra this time.

She should have been used to the pain by now.

She should have been and yet her skin still screamed for mercy, the waves of pain coursing through her body causing it to twist within its bounds in a futile attempt to escape from it, just to make it stop, make it stop and stop completely

A mixture of her heartbeat and Hotch calling her name became a muddle as the pain refused to disappear and her vision became white. The small burn somehow sent masses of army ants marching down every nerve of her body, as if someone had bore a hole into her skin and was twisting their finger in it maliciously.

Her hands found to the arms of the chair struggled, their desire to reach up to her hair and pull away the frustration of the ongoing pain unfulfilled by the wires that bound them to the wood.

Anything to stop the pain.

Anything.

Then everything came to a stand still as the heat in her chest rapidly diminished, leaving behind a dull, throbbing sensation that stung with each breath she took. Sweat rolled down her neck, aggravating a wound at the centre of her chest and causing it to sting.

She found herself breathing heavily, reality and vision slowly coming back to her like the fade in of a movie. She blinked, trying to ward off the darkness until she remembered the presence of the tight cloth around her face. Her sore throat told her that despite her efforts she had screamed without being aware of it during the ordeal. The cloth impaired her attempts to breathe deeply and at a slower pace.

The tap of a footstep was corresponded with the rapid beeping of the heart monitor.

_He was right behind her._

Her breath caught midway in her throat and she felt herself choke.

She closed her eyes, attempting to control her breathing. It was over for now –

She heard herself scream out of surprise more than the pain itself as the hot poker stabbed its way through skin and muscle in the soft area between her neck and shoulder, deeper than any of the other wounds present on her chest. Her nostrils once again filled with the stench of her own burning flesh.

Warm liquid trickled down her arm, causing it to jolt instinctively. In the same second it hit her conscious that the heat on her arm was not due to the pain but blood as it seeped from the new deep wound.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face and dropped down to her collar bone, as light as the pad of someone's finger, the sudden contact causing her whole body to jolt and strain against her restraints until she realised its harmless nature once again.

Her head shot to the side as a clang of metal sounded from behind her. Her chest rose up and down rapidly in small movements in fear that breathing loudly would invite another stab that would instigate the waves of pain and the smell of burning live human flesh.

Her fingers fumbled about clumsily to find the tips of the arms of the chair, and grasped them tightly in an attempt to ease the trembling.

She felt the warmth of her breath against the cloth moisten her lips. She blinked, attempting to clear the opaque darkness that swirled before her eyes, the familiarity of the vision throwing her back to the night before yesterday when she had stared at the dark ceiling while counting sheep to call upon slumber.

To think that had only been several hours ago.

_Her fingers delicately grasped at the handle of the mug, bringing it up to her lips where the hot brown coffee scalded the thin red skin. _

_She ran her tongue on the inner areas of her lips, feeling the texture turn from smooth to rough as the hot liquid aggravated the skin and caused it to immediately swell. _

Now all she felt on her tongue was the rough stiffness of the cloth smothering her face.

Within her, emotions convulsed in violent waves; vulnerability tore at her from all directions. With each flinch her body made to each sound and presence of some sensation on her skin, where the pain she anticipated never arrived, teasing, she began to remember that she was not alone.

The comical image of her figure bound to a chair with each limb flailing at each sound and touch, and head jerking within its fabric prison in a futile fashion flashed before her uncontrollably as if watching a movie. Her cheeks flared up in humiliation, and she resisted the urge to shudder at the pathetic image she could not push away.

Hotch would have seen it all. Her screaming. Those clumsy, jerky movements like the futile twitching of a wounded animal as it attempts to escape despite its position within the jaws or gleeful glare of its predator.

Humiliation and shame clawed at her simultaneously with the flash of the same vision, returning with a stronger force each time she pushed it back and replaying like a stuck record.

She bit her lip, focusing on her breathing and relaxing her body. She prepared herself for the next round of assault. However this time she would not let them win. No one was going to hear her scream.

No one.

'_Do this, and she will belong to you, and you only.' _

_._

_._

_._

She was trembling, her shoulders shivering as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her. Hotch remembered similar signs on a girl who had been a victim of her father and uncle's sexual abuse five months ago. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

The moment the policeman had grabbed onto the Sally's arm to stop her punches and pull her away from the boy she had been beating on the floor, she had frozen abruptly as if someone had pressed the pause button on a remote that controlled her body, eyes wide open to expose the whites around her pupils and expression no longer one of contempt but petrified with fear. Her gaze was unmoving from the tight grip on her arm, unable to pull away but too frightened to move in the fear that it could instigate the violence she had been conditioned to expect.

Extreme vigilance.

During the interview she jerked at every sound, every muscle tensed instinctively as her body had adapted to the years of grooming and careful training with a hyper sensitive anxiety system. Her eyes would glaze over when she was asked about her parents, and her hand would tremble when asked to draw her house.

Emily's hands fumbled about within its bounds until it found the arms of the chair and grasped it tightly; a safety net, in a manner similar to a drowning man who had finally found something to hold onto.

He could see her head making small jerky movements, reflecting her desperate attempts to overcome the prolonged occlusion of her sense. And when the sound and smell of burning flesh filled the room once more, he wasn't sure whether she was aware of anything but the pain itself, magnified in the absence of the usual sensory information.

Her screams lingered in his ears, piercing as the design of the room amplified its volume and caused a ghostly echo. Each blow was followed by sounds of short bursts of breathing, a physiological reflection of her panic.

Then there was the incessant beeping of the heart monitor.

He just wished the bastard would shut it off. It wailed over and over again, whiney like the sound of a distant baby's cry in an empty apartment. The sound would come and go, as if he was slipping in and out of consciousness, the screams transforming into a soft, melancholy lullaby.

When his head dropped so that his chin touched his neck, he would see the puddle of dark brown below his foot had increased in size. Each time, his vision would blur and darkness would lull him into a possible escape, until screams and the beeping somehow amplified once more.

All he wanted to do was look away, place his hands over his ears and make the sound stop. His bound hands tightened against their restraints each time the series of beeps sped up, accompanied by a scream or the sound of singing flesh.

On the final blow the metallic scent of blood stung his nostrils, jolting him back to reality. His body responded with full alert to the familiar scent, eyes searching for signs of life in the female agent reflected in the mirror above him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her head lolling against her left shoulder in an attempt to escape the pain shooting through her right. With each trickle of blood Emily's arm jerked and her body was sent into a mode of panic, instigating then halting the pattern of rapid breathing and beeping as she became aware of the identity of the sensation trailing down her arm and chest.

Within the team, Prentiss had established herself to be the strong, stubborn, reliable character she was. She wasn't one to flinch in the presence of death, or the suspect with the unnerving stare. She would look them in the eyes, bulletproof as she asked the questions and drew from them answers that guided them to their next step.

Yet now, with her weapons taken from her and the heart monitor providing a window behind her tough façade; her resolve was slowly being eaten away. The rapid beeping shattered all the outwardly defenses she had so carefully set up as perfected throughout her time on the job.

It stripped her of her privacy; a weapon into the workings of her mind, translated through the uncontrollable physiological reactions of her body. It stripped her of her power; because even if her face, body and emotions were trained to not react to his touches, to be able to withstand all the forces that befell her body, the moment her heart started beating she would no longer be able to lie to herself, challenging her tenacity.

He knew how it would affect her.

'_I can do this.' 'He cannot break me.' _Each time she would rebuild the part of the walls that were broken, each instinctive flinch, every increase in the beeping of the heart monitor would contradict her mental resolve and tear it all down.

Then the cycle would repeat, each time making it harder and harder to stand back up.

But he knew it was only a matter of time before she broke. Stripped from both her dignity and the door into her mind wide open; there was only so much a person could take.

.

.

.

The plane was silent, no different from any other case. The atmosphere was what made it different. None of the team members were sure what they were walking into.

Rossi's heart felt heavy as he dumped the hot water into his cup of coffee.

His hand reached for the jar of sugar nearby, knowing that Emily's hands had once opened it too – then opted for none as he always did.

'So the first murder victims were found on the borders of Arizona, just on the outskirts of Pima County,' Penelope said. 'A total of seven young families and couples were targeted, all found by passing drivers approximately a day after their deaths.'

When Penelope paused at the next few details, finding it difficult to continue, JJ spoke up; 'The first couple that was murdered was the Lees; Gina suffered multiple lacerations, signs of violent sexual assault and prolonged physical torture and both her and her husband were killed by a single shot to the head from behind.'

'And the other six murders?' Derek prompted as Rossi sat down beside him, sipping the scalding coffee.

'They occurred approximately within three days of one another,' JJ continued. 'The second victims were the Williams, who their cousins say were returning from having visited them the day before they were murdered.'

'The MO matches the Lee's case. The only difference is that the Williams had a child; the ME says Bobbie was the first to be murdered by a shot to the head. His time of death is reported as approximately two days before his parents'.'

'So his target's on the couples only; the relationship between the man and the woman; he takes out the kid because he's insignificant to his needs,' Rossi evaluated.

'It looks as if the women were tortured outside the car,' Derek said, skimming down one of the sheets in the manilla folder. 'There were little to no traces of blood in the car asides from those that came from the final gunshot wounds; there should have been more considering the extent of their injuries.'

'If you have a look at the geographical locations these murders took place,' Reid piped up, hands gesticulating wildly all over the map he had drawn red circles on. 'You'll see that they all line up along the borders; the perfect place for a serial killer to be able to target vehicles that are passing by.'

'Isolated, a lot of these areas don't have reception,' JJ said.

'So how does he get their attention?' Rossi questioned. He finished the remainder of his coffee in a single gulp, savouring the scalding sensation as his throat protested at the sudden presence of the hot liquid.

'He could possibly ambush them from behind; using his own vehicle to target his random victims?' Derek speculated. 'A collision from behind would give him an excuse to approach them. Get close, threaten them with a weapon, then overpower them.'

'With the number of families and couples he's targeted; he would need an excuse that gets him much closer to them than that,' Rossi said. 'It needs to be much more personal.'

'Plus there were no damages observed on the victims' vehicles of that magnitude,' JJ added. 'Most of them were found in perfect condition.'

'Well the dates the victims were found are consecutive,' Reid suggested. 'It almost forms a perfect circle until the route changes back to New Mexico, it's like he's travelling in circles. The murder that occurs after the previous one is located in the borders of the county that is right beside the one where the earlier victims were found.'

'He's an opportunist,' Rossi said. 'He doesn't travel to his victims; his victims come to him.'

'Alright, so you're out there on the rural road, you know cars and people are scarce in number. The next town with a phone or supplies is miles away. If you're driving out there, what do you stop for?' Derek questioned, surveying each of his team mates.

'Someone or something in distress.' Rossi said, brow raising in awareness.

.

.

.

Sleep tugged at her eyelids. Sometimes her head would loll and drop, throwing her into a violent cycle of nightmares that jerked her awake into a state of semi-consciousness for a second before fatigue grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to the hellish depths of her unconscious again.

She shook her head in a futile effort to ward off sleep and escape the stench of her own blood and burnt flesh which flawed at her nostrils. When her lips parted to take a breath, she tasted blood. Flames and heat dried her mouth until the stench of rotting flesh stuck to the insides of her neck and began to smother her.

She felt herself choke, chest and back heaving as she attempted to dispel something, anything from her body to stop the sensation. It clawed its way out of her neck, pulling a sticky, brown trail behind it. She felt herself cough a final heave, and she saw her own throat as it ripped itself from the insides of her body and onto the floor in a bloody, sticky mess.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Scattered shards of red flooded her vision. Slowly, the blurriness eased, causing the shards to form and reveal a bunch of roses by her head. Light filtered in from the window on the wall to her other side, white curtains grazing the edge of the bed. She sighed deeply and heard the echo of her breath into the mask.

Her gaze focused on the sleeping figure behind the roses. He looked at peace, the gash on his cheek covered by white gauze. The light illuminated his face, erasing every scar and straightening every wrinkle.

Her fingers twitched, grabbing onto the soft white bed sheets and stroking them gently like a cat.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The floor beneath her feet came into focus as her vision finally began to obey her commands. Her head felt heavy as if someone had forced it into a metal vice and tightened it. Each movement of her neck tugged at the wounds on her chest, causing them to protest and drawing from her frustrated hisses of pain.

Her heartbeat had returned to normal.

For now.

She wasn't sure how long she had been out. She did not know what time it was. She cringed as she tugged at her wrists, having forgotten about the restraints, causing the ropes to rub against the sore, chaffed skin once more.

She glanced up at the mirror, eyes narrowing as she spotted the pool of dry blood near Hotch's foot. A slight bump protruded from the ankle part of his pants, and she realised that during the hour or so she had been separated from her supervisor prior to her ordeal, him and John must have engaged in a spar that ended worse on his end.

She watched as Hotch's chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm of sleep, no doubt having temporarily succumbed to his fatigue and injuries.

Emily took a deep breath and tugged at the ropes that bound her hands behind the chair, lips pressing together as she forced her right hand against the tight, rough texture of the thick rope. Her hands suddenly halted as the monitor sped up once more, the beeping incessant and annoying to her ears.

She breathed deeply and slowly once again, getting her heartbeat under control. Then, she slowly began to work at her wrists again, working slowly but meticulously and finding almost a rhythm between her breathing and pulling out her right wrist.

Her skin finally split open on one side of her wrist, causing her to hiss in pain. She bit her lip, attempting to ignore the pain and the increased beeping of her heart as she forced a final pull of her right wrist and held it there against the biting rope in frustration.

A soft rustle of clothing smashed through her concentration. Her gaze to shot up from her lap and frantically glanced around her; expecting the taunting gaze, expecting the rough hands – until she realised it had been Hotch shifting in his chair.

She looked up to the mirror just in time to catch her supervisor's gaze lingering on the burnt marks on her breasts. She suddenly felt exposed. Images of her pathetic figure jerking about in the chair flashed through her head once more, sending a chill of shame down her spine. Feeling vulnerable, she tilted her head slightly to hide behind her hair so that it fell around her neck and close to her chest.

Her cheeks threatened to flush as images and clips continued to flash across her mind.

'Is it really bad?' She asked, almost in a joking manner, trying to deflect the awkwardness and vulnerability that she felt with her supervisor's unbroken gaze.

Hotch did not answer, averted his focus to meet her gaze in the mirror.

She glanced at the man's foot, raising a brow questioningly.

'Does it hurt?'

'Does it hurt for you?'

She averted her gaze, managing a sheepish half-grin. 'Right.'

A moment of silence ensued between them, the heartbeat monitor the only sound that echoed through the room.

'Do you think they know yet?' Emily asked, the sentence trailing into a hiss as the wire finally cut into her wrist as she gave it another strong, sharp jerk.

'Leave the binds alone,' was Hotch's response. 'They've been adjusted for the width of our wrists; it's impossible to pull them out.'

Emily's movements came to a stop, and her gaze trailed to where Hotch's arms disappeared behind his chair. She wondered for how long he had struggled before realizing its futility.

'They would by now,' Hotch said. 'The bigger question is if they'll get here.'

_Or how they'll find us. In what state and where. _

Hotch dropped his gaze from the mirror, closing his eyes. Plagued by the waves of exhaustion, and the pain in his foot and back that slowly seemed to intensify with every minute that passed by as the adrenaline dropped from his bloodstream, he was finding it harder and harder to push away the images that appeared across his vision like the scenes of an incoming nightmare.

_The blonde hair that had stretched across the metal bed in all directions began to transform into a brown so dark it looked black, drenched in blood as it clawed out and stretched towards the edges of the tables as if searching for its way to escape. _

_The face of the blonde shifted into one that was too familiar that it disturbed him with how clear it was; the long black eyelashes lying against her cheeks, the pale skin that was once the colour of porcelain now the grey shade of a corpse at a morgue. Except she would never get the departure she deserved. _

.

.

.

_It was finally happening. _

_He watched as something in Emily snapped. Her struggles became more frenzied, aimless, the way a rabbit struggles within a man-made trap in the hopes that something will trigger its escape; futile struggles that one does when cornered and the instinct takes over logic as the mind is temporarily obliterated in an animalistic desire to run. _

_John roughly pushed her towards the metal platform where the blonde had once lain, the surface now spotless and the tell tale signs of death washed away with the blood. _

_Here, in this moment, their badges meant nothing. Their experiences meant nothing. His strength and status as the team's unit chief meant nothing, as his bound hands that would have once reached for his glock within a split second, be able to rip the man off the struggling figure with hardly any effort, were now useless. _

_Then, Emily was no longer Emily anymore. She was forced from his focus as his trained gaze scrutinized on John for patterns in his movements; something that could later become of use to apprehend him. _

_Unsub and victim. _

_That's all they were. Like he had been trained, like he had practiced up until this whole time. _

'_Hotch.' _

_But when his gaze snapped back to her at her voice, his subconscious resolve to distance himself faltered. _

_He saw fear, matching the one that weighed down his heart, and he saw Emily; her head forced against the metal platform, figure bent and wrists held behind her back. _

'_Don't watch – look away.'_

_But he couldn't. He had to hold her gaze, as if doing so would not keep the Emily from slipping away and be replaced by the same hollow gaze of the rape victims they had come in contact with so many times. _

_Not her. Not a member of his team. _

'_Please. I don't want anyone to see this.' _

'_Hold on,' he said, voice barely above a whisper. 'Please hold on.'_

_._

_._

_._

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