47AN: Yes, yet another story dealing with Foyet. Though the first chapter feature's mostly Hotch, I expect future chapters to feature a lot more of Reid, and probably some of the rest of the team. I've tried my best to capture "Foyet" but he can be a tricky man to write. Future chapters may have a higher rating due to psychological and physiological torture. As another disclaimer, I started working on this story after reading fan fiction until 4:30 in the morning and waking up a few hours later with lines of narration running through my head. I apologizes if this entire effort turns out to be a rambling review. Please read & review.
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds nor the Characters.
"Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice" - Anton Chekhov
George Foyet sat in his car, staring pointedly at the entrance to the building in front of him. It had been two months since he paid Aaron Hotchner a home visit and so far his search for the Agent Hotchner's ex-wife and kid had come up empty. Foyet had been growing bored, not with Hotch but with the entire tedious business of searching, waiting and running. From his source in the FBI, it was also clear that Hotch wasn't falling apart quite as Foyet desired, despite his efforts to make it appear otherwise. It was clear to the killer that Hotch's demotion and Agent Morgan's subsequent promotion to acting unit chief was an act to make the agent appear more broken, more vulnerable than he actually was. Foyet figured it was time to pay Aaron Hotchner another visit.
Despite the fact that the money for counter-surveillance had run out a few weeks prior, Agent Hotchner was still well guarded. Rossi and Morgan, along with a few other Agents who owed the team favors, were rotating shifts watching Hotch's apartment whenever the team was in town. However it hadn't taken Foyet long to muster his resources and devise an alternative. Once his plan was in motion Foyet strongly suspected Agent Hotchner would fall willingly into his hands.
So Foyet sat in his car, watching and waiting. His patience was finally rewarded when a taxi cab pulled up and a familiar figure on crutches maneuvered himself out of the back seat and headed for the front door.
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After reading the familiar case files for what felt like the thousandth time, Hotch decided it was time to get up and stretch his legs for a second. He knew the details of the case were forever seared in his memory and idly pondered if this was how Reid felt every day. Wandering over to the window of his office, Hotch found his eyes scanning the bullpen below. He knew Morgan and Rossi were both ensconced in their respective offices but his quick scan revealed that Prentiss and Reid had yet to put in an appearance. Although Reid usually called if he was going to be even a second late, the absences were not overly concerning. Both Agents frequently road the metro to work together and a delay on the tracks could easily leave them without cell service.
Hotch quickly dismissed the matter as he heard a knock on the door. Someone from the mailroom, he didn't recognize the young man, handed the agent a bundle of mail before continuing on his rounds. Hotch flipped through the stack half-heartedly until he came across a generic envelope with nothing but the words "Aaron Hotchner" written in bold script on the front. His suspicions aroused, he donned a pair of latex gloves from his desk before slipping the envelope from the pile. Treading carefully to avoid destroying any evidence, Hotch opened the envelope and slipped out the single sheet of tri-folded paper inside. Unfolding the page, Hotch saw instantly that the letter contained only a single line of text. "Are you missing something?". Hand drawn at the bottom of the page was the Reaper's symbol , the eye of providence.
Hotch's breath hitched in his throat as fear dilated his pupils. He instantly pulled out his phone and dialed the number of the U.S. Marshall who had taken on the task of protecting his family. Though the Marshall was a friend, they had agreed that phone contact between them should be limited to emergencies. In Hotch's eyes, this constituted an emergency.
Sam Kassmeyer picked up just after the third ring and listened intently as Hotch explained the situation. As soon as he finished, Kassmeyer promised to check on Hotch's family immediately and call back when he had more information. After hanging up with the marshal Hotch locked the door to his office, a clear sign he didn't want to be disturbed, and sat down to await the call.
After what seemed like an agonizingly long hour, Kassmeyer called back. "I checked on your family. All security measures are still in place and they are both safe and sound." Hotch breathed a sigh of relief at the man's words and the two talked for several more minutes before hanging up.
His phone call done, Hotch sat down at his desk and read the sentence again, puzzling its meaning. The question itself seemed to imply the Reaper had already taken something but clearly that something wasn't Hotch's family. Hotch frowned as he absently checked that his gun and badge were still in place. He knew Foyet had already taken the page from his address book and he couldn't think of anything else symbolic enough for the killer.
Hotch stood up and began pacing about his office until a commotion in the bullpen caught his eye. Emily, having evidently arrive while he was occupied, seemed to be arguing with Morgan over something. He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. Despite Morgan acting as Unit Chief, there were still some matters that called for the senior agent's experienced touch.
Unlocking his door, Hotch stepped outside and made his way down to the main floor of the bullpen where the two agents were arguing.
"I told you he wasn't at his apartment when I went to pick him up this morning, and he wasn't on the metro either. I tried knocking but there was no answer and his cell phone's been turned off." insisted Emily. Though the brunette appeared completely calm, the experienced profiler detected concern in the tone of her voice.
"So the kid had a late night and slept in. How was he when you dropped him last night?" replied Morgan.
As experienced as she was at hiding her emotions, Emily couldn't keep the guilty look off her face. "I don't know, I got him a cab."
It was evident the two were discussing the still-absent Reid. Morgan was trying hard to fill Hotch's shoes so it was no surprise that he wasn't jumping to conclusions and ordering someone to go check on the young man.
Suddenly Hotch paled as the words from the Reaper's letters flashed in his mind. "Are you missing something. Are you missing something. Are you missing something." Not something... but someone.
"Morgan," he said tightly. Both agent's jumped when Hotch spoke, neither of them having seen him approach during the heated discussion. "I really think you should send someone to check on Reid."
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Hotch returned to his office as Morgan and Prentiss went to check Reid's apartment. Morgan had a key to the young man's dwelling in case of emergencies so hopefully Reid wouldn't have to replace his door if it turned out Hotch was wrong.
Sitting as his desk he noticed a new e-mail from an unknown sender awaiting attention in his inbox. With slight apprehension Hotch clicked on the e-mail and a message popped up on his screen.
Hello 'Hotch',
By now I'm sure you got my letter. You may have even noticed one of your agents hasn't shown up for work today. This time let me be blunt: I have Dr. Reid. Go to 141 East Layton Street, sit on the bench and await further instructions. I'm a nice guy. Follow instructions and I'll let the good doctor go. Tell anyone and the kid dies.
- The Reaper
By the time Hotch finished reading the message he was mortified. The same man who sadistically stabbed Hotch 9 times now had his youngest agent. Though there was always the chance that the Reaper was bluffing, Hotch somehow knew he wasn't. He also knew what Morgan and Prentiss would find at the apartment: nothing.
He briefly considered calling Garcia to track the origins of the message but decided against it. They knew from their work on the case that Foyet was skilled with computers so chances are the e-mail itself would only lead to a dead-end. The warning not to tell anyone also had him concerned, and tracing the e-mail just wasn't worth Reid's life.
He was going to have to do this and he was going to have to do it alone.
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Reid blinked sluggishly as he woke in an unfamiliar place. As his cramped shoulders burned he attempted to reposition them only to realize his arms were bound behind him by metal handcuffs. With that realization, memories of the night before came flooding into his awareness.
Reid had taken a cab home from the metro station since Emily had plans. When it had stopped in front of his building it had taken Reid several awkward minutes to get his body out of the back seat after paying the fare. To make matters worse the driver offered no assistance and Reid was uncomfortable asking for help. So he struggled along in silence and eventually made it into the building and up the stairs. While attempting to open his front door he had dropped his keys and bending down to pick them up had been a challenging feat. It took the injured man a couple of minutes to retrieve the keys and he figured the unknown assailant must have used his distraction to sneak up on him since as soon as he pushed the door open someone slammed into him from behind, toppling the crippled agent forward. He had instinctively stepped down with his other foot in a failed attempt to stabilize himself, sending jolts of pain through his injured knee. Face down on the floor, in pain and near darkness, Reid hadn't even seen the blow coming. A burst of pain from some sort of solid object followed by darkness.
Coming back to reality, Reid tried to assess his mental state. Aside from a slight pounding in his temples he didn't seem to be suffering any negative side effects from the blow. Satisfied that his head wasn't too badly injured, Reid turned his attention to his next problem: Who had attacked him in his apartment and why.
Before he could ponder the question too much, the sound of a door opening shifted Reid's focus to his environment. He was currently seated up right in a hard wooden kitchen chair, the kind with armrests, in the center of what appeared to be an indescript makeshift room in an old warehouse. From his position Reid could see that the walls didn't come anywhere near the warehouse ceiling high above.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused the young doctor's attention to shift yet again. When his captor stepped out in front of him Reid's eyes widened in fear. The unknown assailant turned out to be none other than George Foyet, also known as the Boston Reaper.
A sadistic smile flashed across Foyet's face as he saw the fear in the young man's eyes. "Ah Dr. Reid, I see you remember me."
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Hotch glanced around wearily as he sat on the specified park bench. He had no doubt that someone was currently watching his every move, whether it was Foyet himself or a paid associate. Normally it would have been difficult to leave the BAU mid-day but Morgan and Prentiss were still at Reid's apartment while Rossi was holed up in his office finishing up several consults. With Reid gone as well there was nobody around to witness when he just got up and left.
Hotch was ripped from his contemplations as the sound of a cellphone ringing nearby split the silence of the morning. The chosen location was well off the beaten path, a quiet street that was completely deserted at this time of day. Hotch assumed that was why Foyet had chosen it as he got up to seek out the source of the noise.
He quickly spotted a generic pre-paid phone lying in the nearby bushes, not haphazardly but as if it had been carefully placed. Hotch sighed as he bent to pick up the phone. He had expected something of this sort but that didn't make it any easier.
"Hotchner"
"Oh Hotch, no need to be so formal. We're old friends after all." The voice of the Reaper was clear on the other end of the line.
"Where's Reid" he growled in response.
"Touchy, touchy, Hotch. All business and no pleasure. Have it your way. Leave your gun, badge and cell-phone on the park bench then take 50 steps forward towards the gazebo." The location of the meet was near the entrance of a small park that did indeed feature of a gazebo.
Sighing again Hotch complied with the demand, placing all of the items in a pile on the park bench. Phone still to his ear, Hotch turned towards the gazebo and began walking. He hadn't even covered half the distance when he felt a hand on his shoulder as the cold metal barrel of a gun pressed into the small of his back.
"Down on your knees," a voice whispered in his ear, the hand on his shoulder forcibly guiding him to the ground. Before Hotch knew it the phone was ripped out of his hand, his hands were cuffed behind him and a black hood descended over his head.
The Reaper himself came out of hiding at that moment and silently guided his associate towards a waiting vehicle. His associate kept his gun to Agent Hotchner's back as he frog marched him to the car. After the other man pushed Hotch into the back seat, Foyet paid him a wad of cash for his assistance and gave him the agent's things to dispose of. The payment complete, the two parted ways.
Foyet chuckled to himself as he covered the prone agent in a blanket. It was possible to buy any kind of help you needed for enough money. There were also plenty of people who held a grudge against the FBI and would gladly participate in abducting a fed for the right price.
After setting the childproof locks he slammed the back door shut and slid into the driver's seat.
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After what felt like hours of travel in complete darkness, Agent Hotchner heard the car door being opened. Silence had reigned for the entire trip as Hotch had no idea who was in the driver's seat. Whether it was Foyet or an associate, they would taking him to Reid and asking the wrong question could get them both killed.
He was roughly yanked out of the back seat of the car and led by the arm into some sort of building. After what seemed like a maze of twists and turns he was lead through an open door and pushed roughly into a wooden chair. He heard the door shut and a lock click home before the bag was ripped from his head.
He heard a small gasp before his vision adjusted to the light enough to see Reid similarly bound before him. He took heart in the fact that the young man appeared unharmed physically though fear was evident upon his face.
"Now Hotch, I thought my rules were clear enough. We found the GPS tracker sewn into your jacket. Now I'm afraid our friend here is going to have to pay for your disobedience." Foyet made a tsk tsk sound with his mouth as he said this last part.
Hotch grew cold at the man's words. He hadn't even realized they had checked him but that was beside the point. "You said if I came you would let him go." he said, his voice laced with accusation.
"You know Hotch you really are too trusting. I've changed my mind."
Hotch stared at Foyet as he met him eye-to-eye. From his mocking smile and the look in his eye it was clear to Hotch that he had been played. Foyet had never planned to let Reid go.
"I'd rather regret doing something than not doing something." - James Hetfield