Chapter Text
Racine, Wisconsin. 20 August 2010.
04:00. 66 hours remain.
Rough fingertips moved against her soft lower back, tracing slow patterns along her spine. Hot breath skated across her skin between bruising kisses placed along her exposed neck. Long fingers intertwined in her silky black hair, yanking her head back to expose more of her pale jaw. Her toned muscles flexed, tugging against the rope above her head, eliciting a small chuckle from the man before her. Emily's slender form arched as his other hand slid down beneath her ass, one still entangled in her long hair. Her long legs struggled to find real estate against the man, trying to relieve the weight of her own body below her tired arms.
"Worthless FBI slut." the man hissed against her, backing away from the agent and allowing the full weight of her form to drop back towards the floor, her toes just barely grazing the damp concrete. Emily yelped against the fabric in her mouth as her shoulders screamed in pain, threatening to leave their sockets. Her brown eyes desperately blinked back tears, determined not to show her pain.
"You bitches are all the same, you know? Desperate, worthless, begging for a man to serve. But don't worry, darlin'. You'll have plenty of time to fulfill your purpose." he was taunting her, wandering slowly to the table by the door, decorated with a variety of items she couldn't quite make out. Leaning against the door, he lifted a knife from the table and began toying it in his hands, his eyes skimming over the helpless brunette before him as she struggled in vain. His latest catch. She hung by her wrists in the center of the dank room, pieces of her dark shirt scattered around her feet. Her pale alabaster skin contrasted against the dark grey walls, dark green sludge oozing from seams between the cinderblocks. Light trickled down from a grate above her head, casting a gentle spotlight on her partially clothed body from its position nearly 50 feet above them.
"Tell ya what, darlin'. I'ma give you a bit of a welcome gift. Why don't you tell me how you want to serve me first? I'll let ya pick. Hell, we got plenty a time." he crossed the room quickly, his dirty hand ripping the cloth from her mouth to allow her to respond.
"Fuck you." she spat, eyes fixed in a glare on her captor. His grey eyes met hers in a battle of will. Slowly, a sick smile spread across his face.
"I'ma give you one last chance to reconsider that, bitch." as the words slipped from his mouth, the cold metal of his blade pressed into the dip of her ribcage, slicing through the remaining fabric of her shirt and drawing a small line of blood down towards her bellybutton. She cried out at the pain, trying desperately to bite it back but unable to think straight.
"O-Okay, okay. I'll do whatever. Please." she whimpered, tugging desperately at the bonds around her wrists as the weight of her body increased the pain in her abdomen.
"You're really gonna waste this opportunity, ain't ya darlin'? What a shame. Somethin' tells me yer gonna regret leavin' it up to me..." he drawled, walking slowly behind the shaking woman. Emily cringed as she felt his body press against her back, his long bony fingers roaming over her taut stomach and over the new injury, her blood covering his hands. She turned her head into her bicep, fighting back bile rising in her throat as his hands moved to grip her through the thin fabric of her bra, leaving smeared bloodied handprints over her pale body. After a moment, Emily heaved a sign of relief as his hands left her body and the pressure of him disappeared from behind her. He moved quickly towards the door and disappeared through it, the heavy metal slamming behind him. The moment she heard the familiar click of the lock, she allowed the sobs to break out of her body. Hot tears melted down her cheeks and her body shook, further straining her already screaming muscles. She quickly sniffled and wiped her face against her exposed arms as she heard his heavy footsteps return only a few minutes later. He returned with a large cracked mirror, which he rested against the wall in front of her before slamming the heavy metal door closed. Emily caught sight of her reflection and immediately looked away, sickened by what she saw. Her pale torso was exposed, smeared red with her own blood. Blackened bruises spread across her arms and neck. Mascara streaked down her face. Her slim body contorted and stretched onto her toes to relieve the pain in her shoulders, which bulged from her form in an unnatural way.
"See, all I really want is a nice home-cooked meal, darlin'. But we gotta break ya in before yer allowed upstairs, make sure ya ain't gonna run away. So yer gonna watch. Gonna see yerself for what ya are. Gonna learn what yer meant to be. And if ya look away, that there scratch ain't gonna be even half yer worry. Understand?" Emily nodded in defeat, focusing on stabilizing her ragged breathing. The Unsub resumed his place behind her, one hand going to her neck while the other reached for the button of her jeans. Emily whimpered, keeping her eyes on the concrete floor in front of her.
"Eyes forward!" the man roared, sinking his teeth into the back of her shoulder as he jerked her head in the direction of the mirror. Emily begrudgingly met the man's eyes in the contorted reflection as silent tears defeated her and slipped down her face.
10:00. 60 hours remain.
Morgan paced the floor of the small conference room of the local police station, hands firmly gripping both sides of his head.
'So based on his MO, we have 72 hours to find him before -" Reid began before Morgan abruptly cut him off.
"Before nothing! We have 72 hours to get her back," he commanded, looping the room for the umpteenth time.
“Technically, we’d be down to 60-something hours now, assuming Prentiss was taken sometime around the time she returned to the hotel. She went up to her room at 9, so we should assume the clock started sometime around then.” Rossi corrected quietly, swirling the coffee in his hand anxiously.
"Okay, settle down. We have to handle this like we would anyone else. Letting our personal investment get in the way isn't going to do Prentiss any good. Let's go over what we know. JJ?" Hotch's calm voice from the door settled heavily atop the agents. Gripping the papers tightly in her hands, JJ took a deep breath before speaking:
"The Unsub is a sadistic narcissist who believes his status as a white male puts him above others. He abducted four women from seemingly random locations, all matching similar appearances. White women, brunette, slim build. Allison Demarcus was a 30-year-old attorney passing through on business. Jessica Marks was a local investment banker. She would have turned 32 next week. Sienna Lewis, aged 38, was unemployed - she'd just moved here, but had previously worked as a nurse practitioner in Montana. And... Emily." her voice wavered on the last word as she white-knuckled the case file she held, crunching it beneath her small hands.
"Demarcus, Marks, and Lewis were all found in Sweetwater River with a cinder block tied to their ankle. Each victim showed signs of severe physical and sexual assault, starvation, and ligature marks, but, despite having massive internal injuries, their official cause of death was drowning. His victims were alive when their bodies were tossed into the river." Reid finished, looking anxiously between the other members of his team.
"Alright, so what do we know about Prentiss?" Hotch prompted, nodding to Rossi.
"SSA Emily Prentiss was abducted from her hotel between 9 pm and 10 pm last night -- Garcia is combing security footage as we speak. She arrived back at the hotel with myself and JJ before going up to her room. We'd all agreed to discuss theories over a drink an hour later, but Prentiss never showed. The Unsub is getting bolder. Demarcus was abducted from a gas station, Marks from a park before sunrise, and Lewis from a grocery store parking lot. Those mundane locations... and now the Unsub is entering a hotel crawling with security cameras and federal agents?"
"This isn't random. This is targeted." JJ bit at her lip nervously, absentmindedly trying to smooth the paperwork in her hands.
"H-He, uh... the Unsub might have seen her in the background of news footage or JJ's press conference? B-Based on his victim type, he could have seen her as the ultimate target and-" Reid stammered, anxiously fidgeting with the pen in his hands. The shrill sound of Garcia's incoming call cut the young genius off from the rest of his anxious tangent.
"Talk to me, baby girl." Morgan pressed the speaker on the landline in the center of the table, settling down into his seat between Reid and Rossi.
"Okay, so I ran all of the security footage from inside and outside the hotel. Emily returned to her room at 8:57 pm, but, get this. She turns right back around and leaves, 7 minutes later at 9:03. It’s hard to tell from the angle whether or not she’s armed, but she changed out of her work clothes. I’ve got her getting on the elevator, but then nothing. No Emily in any of the other footage. There are no gaps in the footage, nothing was erased, it's like she just... poof!" Garcia, voice panicky, could be heard typing as she rambled off her findings.
"And there's no sight of her on outdoor cameras?" Hotch rubbed his forehead in exhaustion, disappointment in Garcia's information clear on his face.
"Nada, nothing!" Garcia's fingers continued their methodic tapping in the background. Everyone was silent, anxious glances being passed between them.
"Wait, Garcia, could you look at surveillance of cars parked in the lot? How many cars left the hotel lot between 9 and 11?" Reid bolted up from his seat, reaching for a dry-erase marker JJ was fidgeting with.
"Ummm... four. Footage shows one family, two solo men, and one woman. The placement of the cameras doesn't show any of their faces, but the woman doesn’t match Emily’s height and build. License plate photos are on their way as we speak!"
"Alright. Reid and Rossi, head to the hotel and search Emily's room again. Try to figure out what prompted her back out of her room. JJ and Morgan, I want every inch of that hotel searched, top to bottom. They could be hiding out there. Garcia, I need you to pull the names of all hotel employees and run them against the other victims. Check whose work schedule rules them out as a potential Unsub based on the times of prior victims." Hotch nodded at his team's anxious faces, trying to provide some level of assurance.
“Hope is the last thing a person does before they are defeated.” - Henry Rollins