The Photographer

MARRIOTT COURTYARD HOTEL
Richmond, VA

JJ threw the go-bag Morgan and Reid had brought to her on her bed haphazardly. She was fighting to hide just how sore she was, but knew the effort was pointless amongst the experienced profilers who kept her company. Emily hadn’t asked her if she was ok, most likely picking up on her annoyance after Morgan had nearly interrogated her about the extent of her pain. He didn’t want her to aggravate her injuries by returning to the field before the doctors gave her clearance, but quickly dropped the subject when she pointed out his broken arm. Reid had laughed, pointing out her victory as one of the reasons why she was such a great media liaison. She knew how to get people to shut up.

She knew the team was in the boys’ room looking over the suspect list, but she really needed to shower and relax for a few minutes. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion and she needed a moment to clear her mind and catch up. JJ slowly peeled her clothes off her ivory skin before slinking into the shower, letting the steamy water massage her stress away. She wanted to talk to Will and hear Henry’s jubilant giggles more than anything, but she didn’t have the energy to explain everything that had transpired to her Cajun love. She would just force herself to wait until the case was over.

The fluffy, white hotel towel was gently on her bruises as the blond agent tied it around her body. Now that she was covered up, she began to dig into her go-bag before pulling out a pair of black slacks and a crystal blue button up shirt. JJ had multiple outfits in her go-bag to ensure a professional appearance during her press conferences, so she had more options than the rest of the team usually did. Before she could make it back into the bathroom, the unfamiliar jingling of a cell phone ringtone filled her empty room. She pulled her slacks and bra on before answering the foreign phone. “Hello?”

-- “Hello, Agent Jareau. Don’t even think about going to see your team just yet.”

JJ froze as the familiar digitized voice came over the phone. “What do you want?”

-- “Checking to see how your search for me is going.”

She put the phone on speaker and pulled her shirt over her head, staring at the phone screen to make sure it didn’t disconnect. “Now why would you do that?” Her voice was full of venom.

-- “Because poor Aaron is losing faith in his team. We wouldn’t want that, now would we? You’re looking at narcissistic, left-handed, law enforcement figures, right? So, basically Hotch, just not quite as pathetic.”

“You bastard!” Her voice was a growl as his sick laughter began.

-- “Go run to your team. I don’t think Hotch is going to be speaking any discernable words in about five minutes. So, if you want to talk to him, you’d better hurry.”

JJ ran across the hall, opening Morgan and Reid’s room with her spare key. Silence fell over the team as they saw the desperation in her eyes. “Hotch? You there?” Her voice trembled as the entire team’s attention shifted on the phone she had placed at the center of the table.

-- “JJ?”

A deep, haggard voice now spoke to the team. They recognized the deep tone, but the fatigue present in their superior’s voice was something completely foreign to them. While the team was overwhelmed with joy at the opportunity to speak with Hotch, their hearts broke at the amount of pain he was in, evident in his voice.

-- “Are you all there right now?”

Emily piped up, her smooth voice cracking in the slightest. “Yea, Hotch, we’re all here. Working on the case.” They heard a tired sigh from the missing agent, followed by a weak cough.

-- “What do you have? Go over the suspect list. Maybe I can help you eliminate some of them.”

Derek stifled a laugh at his boss’ persistence despite his horrible predicament. “Well, we’ve narrowed our UnSub down to law enforcement. Autopsy indicates he’s left-handed, deduced from the cuts we fou–“ He stopped immediately. Hotch knew what hand the UnSub used, the fucker had already cut the man up. The Unit Chief didn’t acknowledge what Morgan said, moving on as if unfazed.

-- “This UnSub is definitely in his early to mid forties… no distinguishable marks that I’ve seen, but he’s ambidextrous. Don’t rule someone out due to handedness. He’s also tech savvy. Between the videos and the hyperacusis he’s induced, I’d say he’s substantially experienced. He’s smart, so instead of looking at the last people you eliminated, look at the people you eliminated the second time through the suspect list. He would do something to turn suspicions away from him after a second look.”

He was silent for several moments before breaking into another violent coughing fit, which only served to further weaken his voice.

“Aaron, rest. We’ll find this son of a bitch.” Dave’s voice was calm, hiding his worry with an art he had practiced from years of dealing with these types of situations.

-- “No… there’s one thing I need…”

He began to cough again, feeling his voice threatening to fail him.

-- “Jack and Jessica… are they safe?”

“Yes, Hotch. Nothing will to happen to them. Jack said he’s going to help you work on the case.” Reid’s young voice carried to the phone softly. He was almost afraid to talk to Hotch now that he had been given dilaudid. What if the drug was nothing to the Unit Chief? What if he now thought Reid was pathetic for not being able to resist such a feeble temptation? He had to push those thoughts aside. He couldn’t help Hotch if he was second guessing himself.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile at what Reid had told him. Jack and Jessica were going to be ok. It wouldn’t matter what happened to him if something happened to his son.

-- “Thanks… keep working the case. Trust the profile. And above all else, trust yourselves and each other. You are a very capable team and I trust each of you with my life…”

His voice remained monotonous despite the scratchiness that had taken over. JJ felt the tears return to her eyes as his breaths evened out, indicating he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

-- “Don’t hang up yet.”

The digital voice returned, much to the chagrin of the team.

--“I’m glad you all got to have your heart-to-heart with Agent Hotchner, but as you can hear, the fun I’ve had with him has tuckered him out. Oh, and by the way, stop wasting your time trying to trace the call and checking security tapes. You won’t find me that way. Too many years of practice and just too plain good in general. I really do wish you the best of luck, though. I rather like Agent Hotchner. It would be a shame to have to kill him.”

The following click and dial tone indicated the phone call had ended. A sinking feeling settled into the pits of the team’s stomach as it settled with them just how badly Hotch was injured. After a few moments of recovering silence, the team set to working again to try to find the right UnSub. That’s when all five agent’s phones began to ring simultaneously, causing them all to freeze. They knew who was calling them before they answered. Each agent placed their phone on the table and put it on speaker. No one wanted to hold the phone against their ear.

-- “Don’t hang up, any of you, or he dies.”

They looked at each other worriedly, not daring to end the call.

---

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
Undisclosed City, VA

“Don’t hang up, any of you, or he dies.” The UnSub couldn’t help but smile at how ingenious he was. He grabbed Hotch’s hands and strapped them to metal plates, attaching the electrical wires to the edges. “Try not to scream, Hotch, your team is listening.” Aaron looked at him darkly, annoyed at being from his comfortable unconscious state. He knew the UnSub’s goal was to torture him physically and psychologically. He had to make sure he didn’t scream. He couldn’t make his team feel guiltier than they already did.

Hotch looked up at one of the microphones he knew had been transmitting his attacker’s voice. They needed to know. “This isn’t your fault.” Hotch’s scratchy voice was cut off abruptly as the electric current began to flow into his hands. He bit his lip to silence his screams, blood spilling down his chin.

In an attempt to get him to stop fighting, the UnSub drove his fist into his victim’s stomach, forcing his mouth open, screams tumbling out shortly after. Hotch threw his head back in pain as he continued to scream, no longer able to hold the shouts of agony back. The UnSub continued this for five more minutes, stopping as Hotch gasped for breath greedily. His voice was weak and cracking, barely audible to the team on the other end of the phone call. “I’m ok… I’ll be ok…” He had to try to reassure his team. They couldn’t lose faith or began doubting themselves.

“No, you won’t.” The UnSub brought a chisel to the base of Hotch’s left ring finger, looking at him menacingly. Hotch’s expression was unwaveringly disoriented as he realized what the UnSub was going to do. He was barely conscious as it was so his reactions were even more non-existent than usual. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him fear, even if the Photographer had already seen his anguish. With one sold strike, the Photographer brought a weighted hammer down on the chisel, separating Hotch’s finger from his hand. The cry of pain that passed Hotch’s lips was enough to make someone’s hair stand on end and the blood freeze in their veins.

The UnSub smiled sickly at his victim as he waved the digit back and forth in Hotch’s face. He pressed the bloody end of the finger to the man’s forehead, rubbing back and forth to leave a bloody trail. “Don’t worry, Hotch. First you drove your wife away, and then got her killed. You don’t need your wedding ring finger anymore.” Hotch forced himself to stop his shouts, moaning loudly in agony as the UnSub’s words hit him. It was his fault Haley was dead. If he had taken that transfer to the white collar crime unit– “No… it’s not… my fault…” The fatigue was even more apparent in his voice. “George Foyet was a… sick bastard… just like you… and just like him…” Hotch’s dark eyes locked with those of his attacker. “…I will kill you.”

Sick laughter filled the room, the echo making it multiply. “Me first, Agent Hotchner.” He walked out of the room, leaving Hotch to bleed in silence.

---

MARRIOTT COURTYARD HOTEL
Richmond, VA

-- “Me first, Agent Hotchner.”

The team listened to the disappearing footsteps and the tumbling of locks following just before the defeating sound of dial tone. Just like that, Hotch was gone.

JJ wrapped her shaking arms around a frozen Reid, his supervisor’s screams of pain freezing him where he stood. Morgan had punched a hole through the wall in anger. Emily sat still, expressionless while Rossi paced through the room methodically. They were dealing with possibly the most sadistic killer they had ever encountered, and that bastard had Hotch. Not only that, but they had been completely wrong about who they thought the UnSub was and were now back to the eighty person long list to try and find the Photographer.

“Reid, what did Hotch tell us about our UnSub?” Morgan’s stern voice shook the young doctor from his frozen state. He needed Spencer’s ability to recall the phone call perfectly. Spencer nodded warily before speaking. “He said our UnSub is ambidextrous, early to mid forties, and very tech savvy. He fits our profile, so, at least we know we aren’t too far off.” His words didn’t do much to comfort the team, as Reid knew they wouldn’t. His incessant need to state the facts became persistent in his nervousness. “So, who does that leave us with?” He looked at the desperate team, knowing from their looks it would be a long night.