ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 ❜

chapter no. 043!

❪ 𝚃𝚆 ⠀⠀ : ⠀⠀𝚂𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴, 𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃
𝚂𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙰𝙻 𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽,  𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙲-
𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵  𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳,
𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂  𝙾𝙵   𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳 𝙰𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙴,
𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃,  𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝚅𝙸𝙰
𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷⠀&⠀𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶. ❫

❝ I'M DYING. ❞
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

﹙ MAY 1ST, 2016 ﹚

     "ARE WE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS?" Spencer asked, pushing his feet forward in an effort to keep up with Hotch and Morgan. An hour had passed and the team had just met back at the bureau. Cruz was already waiting on one of the two jets on standby.

     Rossi raised a brow from behind him. He was the only one out of the men who weren't in a rush. The jets weren't going to go anywhere without them. "About what?"

     The three men ignored his question, inching closer to the planes.

     "Hotch, come on," Spencer pleaded, desperate for the man to change his mind.

     Letting a breath out through his nose, Hotch pressed his lips together. "Reid, my answer was no an hour ago and it's "no" now," he answered, leaving no room for argument in his tone. However, the doctor wasn't going to settle for that, and they all knew it.

     "Kid, this is always your Achilles heel," Morgan spoke up, casting him a knowing look over his shoulder.

     Spencer's eyebrows pinched together, and his lips turned downwards. A part of him was offended, but he wasn't quite sure what at. "My "Achilles heel"? What the hell's that mean?!" he exclaimed; the pitch of his voice had raised significantly.

     "When you're emotional, you only see what's right in front of you," Hotch explained, coming to a standstill once they arrived a couple of hundred feet away from the jets.

     JJ and Tara shared a glance before wordlessly agreeing to go ahead and board the first jet. Blake did the same but got on the second since she, Hotch, and Rossi were headed for Canada. None of them wanted to be present for this debate.

     Spencer's jaw slackened and his head reeled back. "I'm not emotional! And I can see just fine," he protested, but deep down, he knew that wasn't entirely true.

     After Cruz had announced that Spencer would be going to Fairbank rather than Ontario, it took the doctor a moment to realize where he was headed. And once he did, he was not happy.

     Sure, Cara could be in Fairbank, Arizona. Sure, the Gates of Hell were located there and they were operating under the assumption that she was too, but something in his gut was now telling him otherwise. So, he pushed back against the order and had been met with a big, fat "no" from Hotch and Cruz.

     "Reid, you are going to Fairbank. End of discussion." Hotch ordered sharply, staring him down. Most people would squirm under that infamous cold glare of his, but not his team, not Spencer, and not now.

     "But—"

     "End of discussion."

     Spencer shut his mouth, eyebrows pulled together tightly. Part of him wanted to get on that second plane regardless, but he didn't want to be taken off the case or left in Quantico. So without acknowledging Hotch, he silently walked around him and toward the first jet, fuming.

     Turning his attention to Morgan, Hotch cleared his throat. "I want you and Cruz to keep an eye on him. If Valentine is there and it's not the outcome we're hoping for, he could spiral. His behavioral reactions have already escalated. It's important he doesn't do anything he might regret."

     Morgan nodded, understanding what was being asked of him. "You got it."

────

﹙ MAY 2ND, 2016 ﹚

     THE HOLLOW METAL CHAIR SCREECHED AS IT WAS YANKED BACK, AND OWEN SÁNCHEZ WAS SHOVED INTO IT. A bored and rather vexed expression painted his face. Apparently, he was as eager to see the BAU as they were to see him.

     Outside the two-way glass stood Rossi, Hotch, and Blake. They'd arrived less than two hours ago and were ready to get started. Following the conversation with the ex-trafficker, they would be meeting with Captain Marvinhill in Vancouver.

     "I bet he had to rearrange his entire schedule to fit us in," Rossi remarked, catching onto the deep and dark circles resting under Owen's eyes. The man appeared as if he hadn't slept in months. His hair was unruly and had grown out past his chin.

     Hotch merely glanced at Rossi, passing him a file. "Hopefully he'll give us some answers this time," he said, observing the ex-traffickers body language. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and there were no physical signs of stress or anxiety.

     The prison guards exited the private visitor's room, holding the door open for Hotch and Rossi to walk through.

     "Good luck," Blake gave the two a half-smile. They sent her a nod.

     The three had discussed on the flight what the focus points were for today's interrogation— Cara and her backstory. Owen Sánchez was their best shot at learning more about the blonde. The more they knew, the better off they were.

     With a slam, the door shut behind Hotch and Rossi as they walked in and toward the table in the center of the room.

     "Sánchez, we need to ask you some questions about Cara Valentine," Hotch didn't have a single emotion displayed as he spoke, sitting down.

     Owen rolled his eyes. They were back to doing this again. Great. Clearly, nothing had changed.

     The single file in Rossi's hands landed on the table with a nonexistent thud as he took a seat. "That, right there, is everything we know and have about the woman you love." He gestured to the manila folder that contained approximately ten sheets of paper.

     It wasn't a lie. Once they removed all the case details and connections to the Red Scorpions, they had virtually nothing on Caralyn Valentine.

     The tips of the ex-leader's ears raised and both agents took note. Ear raising was a common physical sign for people who were naturally aggressive and on guard. "That's pathetic," he said, tempted to scoff.

     "We'd have more if you're willing to cooperate," Rossi reasoned.

     In response, Owen leaned back in his chair and kept his lips sealed shut. Not a soul moved nor made a sound. It wasn't until four minutes and fourteen seconds of utter stillness had passed by that Hotch'd had enough. The resting stare of Owen's bored, dark-brown eyes on them was increasingly irritating.

     "How'd you like to spend solitary at a different prison?" Hotch had to force the words out of his mouth.

     On the way to Canada, he, Rossi, and Blake had theorized that Owen wouldn't answer any of their questions unless there was something in it for him. Last time around, Hotch, Cruz, and Captain Marvinhill had been unwilling to give him what he wanted, but things had changed. It'd been officially two years since Cara Valentine went missing, and they were desperate to find her. So, if giving Owen the only thing he wanted was the price they had to pay to find the blonde, then so be it. Luckily, Marvinhill begrudgingly agreed to transfer Owen to another prison.

     The corners of Owen's lips quirked upward into a smirk. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Either you're desperate or running out of places to look. Which is it?"

     A sheet of paper was slapped on the table and slid across so the dark-haired man could read it. His eyes scanned over the ink-printed words. This was legit.

     "What do you know about Valentine's mother?" Hotch eyed the man in front of him, cutting straight to the point.

     "Cara."

     Hotch's eyebrows fell into a jagged line. "I'm sorry?"

     With that same bored expression, Owen cleared his throat. Fair was fair. They gave him what he wanted, now it was his turn. "Her name is Cara." If he was going to discuss the woman he loved and her disappearance, he wasn't going to refer to her by her last name. In his eyes, she deserved more respect than that, even if he hadn't been willing to help them last time.

     "What do you know about Cara's mother?" Rossi re-phrased the question, folding his hands together on the table.

     Owen looked him up and down. "What's it to you?"

     "The more we know about her familial past, the better chance we'll have of finding her," Hotch stated, keeping his stance impassive.

     Owen scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

     "And why's that?" Rossi questioned, raising a brow.

     "Cara's mother died during childbirth. Cara was born almost two months before she was initially due." Owen explained, reaching up with cuffed hands to brush some hair out of his face.

     Hotch narrowed his gaze. "Do you know her name?"

     The space was filled with silence as Owen wracked his brain in an attempt to recall the name. Creases broke along his forehead in thought. It'd been a very long time since he'd thought about Cara's mother.

     "Do you?" Rossi echoed, leaning forward in his seat.

     Finally remembering her name, Owen sighed quietly. "Rosan Pelletier."

     "How much did Ross Valentine tell Cara about her mother?" Hotch asked.

     Owen shrugged casually. "That's it." At this, Hotch and Rossi shared looks of incredulity. "As far as I know, Ross didn't tell her anything but a name and that her favorite musician was Patsy Cline."

     That sounded familiar.

     "Patsy Cline?" Rossi double-checked.

     "Yes, Patsy Cline. Are you deaf?" The Italian man gave him a harsh glare. "Cara would listen to her records on repeat and hum the songs to herself whenever she felt uneasy. It gave her a sense of comfort."

     Toward the end of Cara's time at the BAU, Rossi had caught her humming to herself on multiple occasions. At the time, he couldn't pinpoint the familiar tune, but perhaps it was the melody to a Patsy Cline song.

     "Did Cara have a favorite song?" Rossi watched as the man across from him answered without a second thought.

     "Walkin' After Midnight."

     Ah, yes. His suspicions were correct.

     "What was Cara's relationship like with her father?" Hotch spoke, moving the conversation along.

     Owen replied without hesitation again. "Unstable." His answer almost seemed robotic.

     Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate on that?"

     Sucking in his cheeks, Owen glanced at the transfer paper. Fair was fair. "Ross did his best to provide as good of a life as possible," he said, shrugging. "He loved Cara with everything he had, but that doesn't mean he was a great father. Let alone decent. During most of her childhood, Cara witnessed Ross struggle with a cocaine and Krokodil addiction, and to keep the Red Scorpions out of her life. He never wanted her involved with them, but his addiction and job followed him home every day. By the time she was seven, she was taking care of him and raising herself.

     "She threw away the drugs several times to stop him from using, but that only resulted in him verbally berating her. He never touched her but did psychologically abuse her at a young age. She'd deny it if you asked her, but it's the truth. All she wanted was for him to be okay, but he didn't understand that back then. It wasn't until the year two-thousand that Cara forced Ross to sober up and get clean. He'd overdosed and she and a friend had been the ones to find him. She'd had enough and didn't give him a choice. At the time, their relationship had been damaged beyond repair but she didn't care. While she helped him, they began to rebuild their relationship. It was going well, and then Surrey Six happened. He was arrested and put in prison."

     Tilting his head to the right, Rossi processed the information they were given. "Did she ever visit him?"

     Owen shook his head. "Le had ordered Arthur that Cara wasn't to visit Ross until she proved that she could be as ruthless as the rest of us and make a five-million-dollar drug sale. Once she did that, she'd be allowed to visit him in prison, but it never happened."

     "How come?" Hotch furrowed his brows.

     "The deal was called off," Owen said stiffly.

     From what the two men could tell, they had inadvertently found a sore spot.

     Rossi's chin upturned. "By who?"

     There was a pause of silence.

     "Me. There was an incident, and I called it off."

     "What kind of incident?" From what Hotch could deduce, an altercation had likely taken place between him and Cara.

     Owen did his best to remain stoic. "I interfered and almost blew her cover."

     "Why?" Hotch pressed.

     "Why what?"

     "Why'd you almost blow her cover?"

      The two agents waited with bated breath for an explanation, but Owen kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to re-live that humiliating night over again by telling them. In hindsight, it wasn't one of his finest moments. Truthfully, a lot of the private moments he shared with Cara after the Surrey Six weren't his finest.

     "Let's go back to discussing her familial past," he suggested. "What else do you want to know?"

     The blatant dodging of the question raised a red flag, but Hotch let it go. Owen and Cara's romantic relationship wasn't why they were there. It was relevant, but not crucial to the investigation. "Other than her father, who else did Cara interact with as a child?" he asked next.

     "Hennessy Lu and Kirk Farell, but rarely. She only ever saw them once or twice. Although Ross and Hennessy were engaged, they preferred to live separately."

     "Anyone else?" Rossi glanced at the Unit Chief, waiting for Michael Le's name to enter the conversation. However, it didn't. At least not willingly.

     "No." Owen lied; his chest leaned forward and his left foot tapped quietly on the floor. "It's like I said, Ross wanted to keep her out of the Red Scorpions, and that included bringing members around. Even if those members were his fiancé and his fiancé's son. Cara was extremely isolated as a child."

     Lie.

     Cara had once told the BAU team what Owen Sánchez's two tells were when he was lying, and he just exhibited them.

     "Everybody has natural tells that indicate they're lying, such as body movement, eye contact, posture, breathing pattern, and sometimes even the way they word certain phrases or sentences. Owen only has two tells: his chest leans forward and his left foot taps slowly."

     Well, if he wasn't going to pony up the truth, they were just going to have to go for it.

     Rossi cut straight to it. "What about Michael Le?"

     For a moment, his breath hitched. Neither agent in front of him saw his slip-up, and he blinked. "What about him?"

     "What was their relationship like?" Hotch glowered at Owen when he didn't reply. "Sánchez."

     "I think that's enough questions for today," Owen said stiffly, standing up. Talking about Michael Le and Cara's relationship in detail was almost a death sentence. Especially if he found out.

     Hotch followed his movement, pushing up from the table. "We're not done here."

     Waving to the guards outside, Owen scoffed. "I think we are."

     Holding his hand out, the Unit Chief silently signaled for the guards to stop. "Le is holding the woman you once loved captive and is doing God knows what to her," he stated, watching as the guards retreated. "We've been searching for two years and nothing. You didn't tell us anything the last time we were here, but I'm not taking silence as an answer again. Now, sit your ass down. You will be giving us answers today."

     The two were in a staring match, each of them daring the other to break it first. Jaws clenched and eyes narrowed, they remained unmoving.

     Darting his line of sight between them, Rossi made the decision to be the mediator. "Sánchez, sit. Please," he added, pointing at the metal chair. It took a minute, but the long-haired man eventually sat back down. Hotch mimicked his movement. "What was their relationship like?"

     Face hard, Owen replied, "Disgusting."

     "Enough with the one-word responses," Rossi retorted, growing frustrated. "Answer the question."

     Owen inhaled sharply. "Le was infatuated with her, okay?" he breathed, feeling a small, but hidden weight being lifted off his chest. "He had been ever since the moment he laid eyes on her."

     Rossi shook his head. "We're gonna need more than that."

     More?

     "If any part of you cares for Cara, you'll set aside your ego and help us. If not, you can forget about transferring." Hotch threatened, grabbing the piece of paper.

     Owen's life almost flashed before his eyes and he held his breath. Of course, he cared for Cara, but he needed to look out for himself. At that thought, another one crept into his mind, counteracting it. But what if he could help find her? Do one last good thing for her in an attempt to make up for some of the bad?

     After all, he knew everything; he knew more than anyone. He was the only person she ever confided in when it came to the reigning leader.

     "Ross introduced Cara to Le when she was eleven," he began reluctantly, lowering his voice. It felt like if he spoke too loud, someone would hear him and an invisible bullet would be put between his eyes. "He told her to call him "Uncle Michael." She was excited— she thought she was making a new friend." Hotch and Rossi listened intently. "He'd play games with her and allow her to talk without being interrupted or yelled at. He'd bring her gifts. He did everything possible to earn her and Ross's complete trust, and it worked.

     "Eventually, Ross allowed Le to stay at the house with her while he was gone. One day, he snuck into her room while Ross was out and raped her. He threatened to kill her and Ross if she told anybody. He continued to take advantage of her until Ross caught him at their house. Cara was sixteen. The other leaders found out, and things got ugly. Le had crossed an unspoken line and after that, he never laid a hand on Cara again."

     Hotch did not trust what he was hearing. "The other Founding Fathers got upset about what he did?"

     "Some pretty shit men created the Red Scorpions, but they had boundaries. Family was off-limits." Owen said.

     "During the Surrey Six trials, four of the gang's regulations were revealed. One of them was that Red Scorpion members come before family, money, and all aspects of life. If that's the case, how is family off-limits?" Hotch asked, surveilling his body language for signs of deception.

     A smug smile tugged at his lips. "Someone did their homework." Owen mused, earning himself another glare. "Family is off-limits when it comes to sexual encounters with children of members. Again, some pretty shit men created the Red Scorpions, but they had boundaries."

     Rossi side-eyed him. He almost didn't believe it either, but he wasn't lying. "Where did she stay after Le was caught?"

     "At her house with Ross and I," Owen answered.

     "You lived with them?" Hotch raised a brow.

     He shrugged as if it were obvious. "She was my best friend, and I loved her. This was before we dated. What she needed at that time was support and for someone to help her with Ross. I volunteered and she said yes."

     "Why did she stay at the house?" Rossi inquired.

     "Ross and I wanted to stay at my place instead, but she refused. She stated that she wanted to face her demons head-on and learn to live with what happened to her." Owen could recall that conversation he'd had with Cara like it was yesterday. He could still remember how skeptical he felt about staying in the house but was simultaneously proud of her.

     Fair enough. Rossi drummed his fingers against the table. "And how'd that go?"

     Again, he shrugged. "Good. Ross got clean. Cara worked through her trauma."

     "What was Le's behavior like with her?" Hotch asked. A visibly confused expression clouded Owen's features. He didn't quite understand what he was asking. "Was he affectionate? Or dominant? Did that change as she got older? How would he speak to her?"

     A sick sensation swirled in his chest as Owen flashed back to an image of Le hugging and feeling Cara up one night at the Valentine house. It was shortly after Ross had overdosed and Le hadn't known Owen was at the house.

     "From the ages of eleven to twelve, he would talk to her in a soft tone. Like she would break if his tone was too sharp. He never raised his voice at her. It was all part of his charade to earn her trust. Then, once she was initiated into the gang, that changed. He wasn't as gentle or pampering. He was dominant and controlling. He would scream and yell, and throw things if she pissed him off. If she didn't listen to him, he would punish her. Whether that was sexually or verbally. He no longer walked on eggshells because he had what he wanted: Cara as a Red Scorpion and his personal, secret sex toy. He scared her into submission and silence.

     "There were times when they were alone where he was affectionate and behaved as if they were in a committed relationship. Cara never reciprocated any of it; she'd go along with it at times when she was scared, but that's all. He controlled a lot of what she did and who she got to hang out with."

     Rossi noticed how a slightly bitter edge crept into the last sentence. "Le wasn't a fan of you, huh?"

     Owen couldn't help but chuckle. "Isn't. He placed a bounty on my head, old man."

     Before Rossi could retaliate and hit him with a rude remark, Hotch stepped in. "Since he dislikes you so much, how'd you get to be one of the leaders?"

     "It was a group decision made by the Founding Fathers. They knew Le didn't like me, but they didn't care. I'm more than good at my job. Nobody would disagree with that. When they got arrested, they needed capable leaders. Kirk, Joseph, and I fit that bill." Owen replied.

     "How did you and Cara meet, mop-head?" Rossi gave him a sarcastic smile when the ex-trafficker glowered at the nickname. The distaste they had for one another was mutual.

     "Her and I met at one of our stash houses. She was fourteen and I was sixteen. I was on my way out and she was there to pick up something Le needed," Owen's gaze lingered on the Italian man before it fluttered back to Hotch. "I helped her get what she was looking for and we exchanged names. Shirzad was there and told Le about our interaction. From then on, Le kept an eye on me. He didn't like how Cara and I became friends over time."

     Hotch nodded. There was that controlling aspect yet again. It was becoming more clear how crucial having control was to Michael Le.

     "Speaking of Shirzad," Rossi started. "He visited you in twenty-fourteen. You've never told us what the pair of you discussed."

     A soft chuckle echoed from his lips and Owen's brows flickered upward. "That's right. I'm surprised you remember that," he retorted, taking another jab at the man's age. It was just too easy taunting him.

     "Listen here, fuckhead—" Rossi'd had enough of the comments, and a daring gleam shone in his eyes.

     Quickly intervening, Hotch held a hand up in an attempt to silence him. "Rossi—"

     It didn't work.

     "I've had enough of your snide comments and condescending microexpressions. None of us want to be here longer than we have to be. Every minute we waste on you could be a minute spent trying to find Cara. So just answer the questions and we can part ways and never have to see each other again. How's that sound?"

     A blank stare reflected back at him and Rossi heaved a sigh, taking the silence as compliance.

     Out of the two agents, the Unit Chief was holding his own considerably better. Even if he was as equally frustrated as his partner. It was getting more difficult to do so, but the interrogation would be wrapping up soon.

     "What did Shirzad talk about when he visited you, Sánchez?" Hotch looked at him expectantly.

     Inhaling deeply, the long-haired man leaned back into his chair. What he was about to tell them was going to sound like a lie; he knew it was something they didn't want to hear, but it was the God-honest truth. In the past, he'd played up what Shirzad had said to him, but that was only to see if he could use it as leverage. Now, it was worth nothing.

     "The visit didn't even last five minutes," he said plainly. "I didn't say or tell him anything. I didn't talk once; I was too taken off-guard to react until he'd left. I knew the son of a bitch was alive, but the nerve he had to walk into this prison..."

     Rolling his eyes, Rossi motioned for him to get to the point.

     "Thus saying, from her side the fatal Key, sad instrument of all our woe, she took; and towards the Gate rouling her bestial train, forthwith the huge high up drew, which but her self not all the powers could once have mov'd. Then in the key-hole turns th' intricate , and every bolt and bar of massie Iron or sollid rock with ease unfast'ns: on a sudden op'n flie, th' infernal dores, and on thir grate harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook of she op'nd, but to shut excel'd her power.

     "The Gates wide op'n stood, that with extended wings a Bannerd Host under spread Ensigns marching might pass through with Horse and Chariots rankt in loose array. So wide they stood, and like a Furnace mouth cast forth redounding smoak and ruddy flame. Before thir eyes in sudden view appear the secrets of the hoarie deep, a dark illimitable ocean without bound, where length, breadth, highth, and time and place are lost. Where eldest Night and Ancestors of Nature, hold amidst the noise of endless Warrs, and by confusion stand."

     In unison, Hotch and Rossi blinked. Neither had understood a single word. The language being used was seventeenth-century English carved into religious similes and metaphors. All they knew was that what they'd just heard was likely from Paradise Lost.

     "And you remembered all of that two years later?" Rossi asked in disbelief.

     Part of Owen was inclined to make another passive-aggressive comment, but he restrained himself. He wanted this to be over with and to get moving to a new prison. "It's from Book Two of Paradise Lost. Of course, I remember it."

     Hotch tilted his head to the side an inch. "What's it mean?"

     "Those lines are essentially the narrator describing the opening of Hell's gates by Sin. Satan is leaving Limbo and entering Hell. That's the simplest way I can put it." Owen said, not bothering to break it down in-depth for them. "Shirzad recited that to me and then left."

     "That's it? That's the only thing he said?" the Unit Chief was taken aback.

     Owen nodded. "Yes."

     Glancing at each other, similar thoughts ran through Hotch and Rossi's minds. Shirzad had told Sánchez that the first circle of Hell was over and that the second was or would be beginning. Just as how Cara had warned Spencer the night she disappeared that Limbo was coming to a close, and Hell was coming.

     It was as clear as crystal. Cara Valentine's disappearance was what kicked off the second circle of Hell. Today's interrogation certified that.

     And that meant all that was left after the second circle was the aftermath. Either they found Cara alive or they found her dead, and what came after that would likely signify the end.

────

     IT HAD BEEN A LONG DAY. From landing in Ontario at five in the morning, driving to the prison and talking with Owen, getting back on the jet and flying six hours to Vancouver, meeting with Marvinhill at the police department, driving to their hotel to call it a night, and now receiving the fateful phone call from Derek Morgan. It'd been a very long day by the time Hotch answered his phone. The team in Arizona had found an abandoned house located across the San Pedro River— the Gates of Hell.

     Rossi excused himself from the conversation, knocking on the door to the adjoining hotel room. It took a second, but Blake eventually answered, standing there in leggings and one of her husband's sweatshirts. A curious expression painted her face. With a jerk of Rossi's head, he silently motioned for her to enter the room.

     The three were staying at the same Fairmont Hotel that they'd been in years ago with Cara during the initial Red Scorpions case.

     "Hotch, it's not looking good here, man." Morgan's voice echoed through the line.

     "What's going on?" Hotch asked, glancing at Rossi and Blake's approaching figures. He put the phone on speaker and held it out in front of him.

     "Cara was here, but she's long gone. Her clothes from the June second and November twenty-second, twenty-fourteen, videos are here." JJ paused before adding, "So is Ross Valentine's corpse."

     It was safe to assume that the other half of the team had the call on speaker too.

     Blake's eyebrows rose exceedingly high. Interesting... "So that was him in the video. The Founding Fathers actually killed him."

     Morgan hummed. "Yeah, and he's gotten pretty crunchy."

     "Other than that, though, we got nothing. No prints, no traces of DNA that don't match Ross or Cara. There's blood and bodily fluids, but they're dried up and belong to the Valentines." JJ stated solemnly.

     A sinking weight rested on Rossi's chest. Dammit. "Any signs of a struggle?"

     "Take your pick," Tara said, entering the conversation. "We got dried blood everywhere, broken furniture, cracks in walls, doors hanging off their hinges, bullet holes, and fingernail marks lining some of the floors and walls. Whatever happened here wasn't good."

     Hotch stopped himself from frowning, maintaining his composure. "The Founding Fathers must've moved her to a new location sometime between November of twenty-fourteen and October of twenty-fifteen. In the DVD footage, the next clip following November had Cara in what could have been the location in Fairbank."

     "If I had to guess, I'd say sometime right after November." JJ theorized, and everyone could detect a layer of exhaustion in her tone. All of them were getting tired. This case had consumed their lives for two years and all they wanted was to find their missing friend. "Everything here looks like it hasn't been touched in at least over a year."

     Suddenly, it dawned on Rossi that two people were missing from the conversation. "How's the kid?" he asked, but he was met with a discomfiting silence.

     Standing a bit taller, Blake tilted her head to the side. "Where's Cruz?"

     Tara was the first to reply. "Cruz had to take Reid out to get some air."

     Blake unconsciously grimaced at the very thought of what Spencer's reaction was to seeing Ross Valentine's body. Evidently, it wasn't good.

     "I think the sight of Ross's body was too much for him. It..." JJ's breath hitched in her throat, and she quickly cleared it. "It's a lot easier to picture Cara dead now that he's seen him dead."

     A frown settled on his lips. "He punched a wall, didn't he?" Rossi guessed, sharing a knowing look with Hotch. Spencer's go-to physical reaction lately had become punching, and it wasn't hard to miss.

     "Yeah." JJ and Tara muttered in unison.

     Morgan couldn't help but mention, "He also shattered a window and broke a chair."

     Eyes widening, Blake folded her arms over her chest. Her friend and colleague was suffering from the unknown of where Cara was being held, and it was destroying him. Spencer Reid wasn't a violent or aggressive being, but this case was slowly turning him into someone he wasn't.

     "Once everything's processed and wrapped up, I want all of you here in Vancouver," Hotch announced, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants. He'd address Spencer's behavior later. "After talking with Sánchez, I think the odds of Valentine being kept somewhere in Canada are much higher. I think Arizona's a dead end."

     "Why? What'd he say?" Morgan questioned.

     "Valentine's history with the Founding Fathers, particularly Le, began here. This is their home turf. This is where everything started. If they're done with hiding and want to be free, and also want to be in control of the narrative, this is the perfect place for it." Blake explained, quoting the most recent poem.

     Before anyone could protest, Hotch spoke. "We'll discuss it more once you're here. Have Cruz text me when the team's on the way."

     The trio couldn't see the others, but they could picture them nodding at the order.

     "Will do," Morgan said. "Keep us posted."

────

﹙ MAY 3RD, 2016 ﹚

     THE PARALYZING COLD FROM THE FLOOR FELT SMOOTH AND CALMING AGAINST HER SKIN AS SHE LAY ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF HER BODY. Deep-blue eyes focused on the dark red pool spilling out from her nose, arms, and torso. The room was dark and still. Only the sound of shallow breaths could be heard.

     It was uncertain how long she'd been lying there since the Founding Fathers had abandoned her. Time had been merely a figment of her imagination. Five hours could have passed or five weeks, and she would believe either.

     A lump rose in her throat, itching at her airways and she coughed, eyes drooping wearily. Something tumbled from her lips and trailed down her jaw, smearing her iridescent skin. It was warm and eventually added to the pool of blood around her.

     She could feel whatever leftover drugs there were in her system working their way through, wreaking havoc. A cold sweat had broken along her forehead and her skin was clammy. Her head was pounding and her mind was confused, spiraling as it failed to focus on anything. She knew she was dying, she knew that, but she couldn't remember how she'd gotten on the floor.

     Konaam Shirzad had pumped her full of drugs and then did something, but she couldn't remember... Maybe he'd been the one to stab her through the belly button... Johnston had taken his knife and carved long lines across her arms... Le told her that their time together was coming to a close and that they'd reunite when the time was right... The Founding Fathers left her... Johnston had been the first to go... And Hennessy...

     Coughing again, this time more harshly, blood splattered on the concrete. She almost grimaced as the pain across her chest and torso returned. It felt like someone was tightening a vise around her lungs and skull as the pounding intensified. In some sick way, it felt nice because at least she knew she was cognitive enough to recognize and feel pain.

     From somewhere in the distance, she heard something rumble but ignored it. The rumbling had been a consistent sound for months now. It was nothing new and symbolized nothing. Despite how loud she'd managed to scream and cry, nobody had heard her. They weren't ever going to be able to, that was the whole point of why she was being kept underground. Close enough to society for her to hopelessly hope that someone would save her, but far away to remind her that no matter what, she belonged to them.

     Blinking, an involuntary shield of tears clouded her vision. All around her, strange shadows of varying colors crept toward her slowly, before quickly retreating. She was losing her grip on reality.

     "Starlight." A familiar voice hushed, and her eyes flickered up for a second.

     "Dad," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut as Ross Valentine suddenly sat beside her. Oh, she was certainly dying now. Her eyes lazily followed his movement when she re-opened them, but they couldn't focus.

     Ross smiled sadly at her. "Hey, Starlight."

     Her heart stuttered for a moment. "I-I'm dead, aren't I?"

     With a tilt of his head, he examined the black and blue face staring at him expectantly. "Why do you say that?" he asked, reaching over and tucking her hair behind her ears.

     "Because you're dead, yet I can see you."

     A chuckle left his lips. "You're not dead, Cara."

     Cara's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't..." she coughed, turning her head toward the ground as she hacked up more blood, "f-follow."

     "You don't need to understand," Ross reassured her, "you just need to listen. You gotta keep holding out. This isn't going to last much longer."

     Those last seven words made her almost laugh. Of course, this wasn't going to last much longer. She was losing her grip on reality and hallucinating, clearly, but she wasn't stupid.

     "I know it isn't. I'm bleeding out. I..." she almost wheezed, feeling something catch in her throat. A shallow cough echoed and more blood pooled against the side of her head that was resting on the ground. "H-Hennessy... Johnston left... Shirzad and Le... I'm... alone."

     Ross frowned. "They're coming back for you."

     An identical frown spread across her face. She was confused. Who was he talking about? Le had made it clear that they were leaving her behind for an indefinite amount of time.

     Recognizing her perplexity, he clarified, "The team."

     It took a moment for her to process what he'd said, for she didn't believe him. A steely gaze reflected back at him, and she spat out a mouthful of blood. "No."

     Those two letters were spoken with such conviction and venom that he flinched. "I need you to hold out a little longer," he urged her, understanding that any semblance of hope was likely to fall on deaf ears. After all this time, she was going to refuse ever believing she was going to be found. He hesitantly added, "You need to fight for yourself."

     Cara couldn't help the scratchy laugh that came out of her mouth, along with a seeping flood of blood. Her dead father's words were comical. "I might be halfway dead, but I still know a losing battle when I see one," she croaked, coughing so hard she rolled onto her back.

     "The Cara Valentine I know would never give up hope."

     Another chortled laugh left her crimson-coated lips, and she shook her head from side to side. "God, you're funny," she breathed, not bothered by the metallic taste that would not escape her.

     "I'm not being funny."

     "Yeah, you kind of are," she argued, coughing for the umpteenth time. "The Cara Valentine you knew was a twenty-three-year-old woman fighting a drug addiction that her father couldn't," she gasped, using what strength she had to talk. "She was being trained in trafficking, marksmanship, knife throwing, and infiltration and taught about the world of narcotics and sex. S-She was a dealer during the day and a sex slave at night to her father's best friend. The only hope she had was in herself to be the best female drug trafficker in the Red Scorpions and outlive all the bastards who made her life a living hell. But that hope was taken away."

     "Cara..."

     She shook her head again, growing dizzy as the lightbulb above her swung around in circles. "No," she said more sternly this time, squinting up at the dim light. If she narrowed her eyes just enough, she could see a full outline of the bulb. It looked pretty. "D-Don't say my name like that."

     Ross furrowed his brows, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Strands coated with blood left behind streaks of red on her face. "Like what?"

     "Like you know what I've been through and are aware of my tolerance of bullshit," Cara hissed, forcing herself to glance at him. "I can take a lot of crap, in many different forms, but I won't tolerate being belittled or coaxed by you. I'm dying. Plain and simple. Having hallucinations of you giving me comic book speeches about the power of hope does not change that."

     An uneasy force fell over the two; silence filled the air. Neither knew what to say, and Cara preferred to keep it that way. She was in too much pain to be bothered arguing with a figment of her demented imagination.

     "I see Konaam's vocal coaching has helped some," Ross eventually commented, watching as his daughter was still staring at the ceiling.

     Cara blinked as flashes of her time spent with Konaam Shirzad blinded her. She didn't want to think about that. Clearing her throat, she asked something that had been living in the back of her mind for years.

     "Why didn't you or Owen tell me? Why didn't you care enough to be honest with me?"

     No further words needed to be utilized to explain what she was referencing.

     "Was my father in on all of this?" Cara eventually asked, biting down on her lip. She was scared of the answer. Months ago, she predicted that he could have known about all of this, but she wasn't positive. Now, she could find out if she was right or not.

     Owen hesitated. "He only knew that he was going to be framed for the Founding Fathers' death by us. That's it."

     "How?" she questioned, her hand falling from her cheek. She was right... Son of a bitch. "How did he know?"

     "I told him," the man on the other end of the phone uttered. "Over the years, I've kept him updated on everything the Scorpions did and everything that concerned you."

     Her eyes stung and she didn't know why. All she knew was that she was upset. "For how long?" she choked out.

     "Since the night of the Surrey Six."

     Those seven words were what crushed her and her jaw dropped. "The night you became a leader was the night that you became a mole..." she whispered, primarily to herself.

     This entire time... and he never told her. Neither did her father.

     Even after everything she'd endured, she still remembered particular moments of the past that she refused to let go of. She and Owen's phone call was included in that.

     "Cara, it was because we care that we didn't tell you," Ross explained, stroking her cheek.

     She flinched away, whimpering at the spark of pain that lit up her spine as she abruptly moved. Through strained breath, she whispered, "I deserved to know."

     Shaking his head in disagreement, he sighed. "Sometimes not knowing something can save you. In your case, it did. If you knew, Arthur would have done away with you long ago." He rested a hand on her shoulder.

     "And what would be so wrong with that?" The question left her before she could stop it. Yes, it was a dark question, but it was the truth. It was her truth. What would have been so wrong with her knowing and dying? It wasn't like she'd been living for much at the time, anyway. Even now, she wasn't living for much. She had nothing to look forward to or to achieve. She was trapped.

     Ross paled at the underlying message. "What's so wrong with that is that you wouldn't have made it to the age of thirty-two and found the life you deserve."

     Cara coughed, her head lolling to the side. "Yes," she croaked, feeling blood creeping up her throat again, "because being held hostage, tortured, raped, and starved is the life I deserve."

     "I'm talking about the life you began with the F.B.I. and Spencer Reid, kiddo."

     The mention of Spencer Reid was enough to break through the haze she was falling in and capture her full attention.

     It had been a while since she had sent a coded message to the team or Spencer while the Founding Fathers recorded themselves torturing her. She knew that they were filming her and likely intended to send the footage to the BAU. So, she did her best to try and tell them where she was being held without tipping off the Founding Fathers. Given how much time had passed, and she assumed it was a lot, she had guessed that the team either hadn't seen any of the videos, hadn't picked up on the coded message she was giving, or weren't searching for her. These three possibilities weighed heavily on her. Each of them was as likely as the next.

     The cold hand of despair clawed at her heart and she forced away the tears pooling up. If the team was even looking for her, they were going to be too late if they ever found her. She could feel the life quite literally leaving her as she was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Not to mention she was hallucinating a dead man and coughing so severely she was bleeding.

     Cara Valentine was going to die under the building that had proclaimed her father a murderer.

     "Save your strength, Starlight," Ross murmured, noticing the faraway gleam in her eyes. The pounding in her head had increased and she was slowly dissociating. She was no longer registering what he was saying. "Fight."

     His hand was on her shoulder until it wasn't. The false sense of warmth he'd been providing vanished. He vanished.

     The world faded to a dark blur and Cara could feel the cold of metal encircling her wrists and ankles. Flickering her gaze up, her vision adjusted as she took in how she was no longer lying on the floor. Rather, she hung mid-air with her hands and feet cuffed together and attached to two sets of chains, each of which was restraining her from being able to make any sort of movement.

     A flood of memories rushed back at her and she could remember that before Le left, he picked her off the floor and strung her up, ignoring how she was bleeding out, kissing both of her cheeks. Then, he left, bidding a farewell and reminder that they'd reunite when the time was right. Everything after that had been a fairytale.

────

     ALEX BLAKE'S EYES HAD NOT LEFT THE POEM. There was something there that gave clues to either the Founding Father's next steps or Cara Valentine's location, and she was hellbent on figuring it out. A sheet of paper was next to her on the table with scribbles of possibilities, but she had nothing concrete yet.

     Out of the conference room, Hotch watched the woman closely. It wasn't hard to tell that the poem had been itching at her. Linguistics was her specialty, and she was disturbed by how little her knowledge benefitted the case. She wanted to feel of use and the poem was her way of doing just that.

     "Blake still reading?" Rossi asked, holding out a steaming cup of coffee toward the Unit Chief.

     Hotch took his cup wordlessly and gave him a nod of thanks, to which he returned. "She's determined to find something."

     Snorting quietly, Rossi hummed. "Aren't we all?"

     Floating his gaze around the Vancouver police precinct, he stifled a sigh. "Cruz texted. He and the others should be here within an hour or so. Garcia will be arriving tonight."

     "Good. We need to decide what our next move will be. Marvinhill's got officers revisiting Castaway's Mansion, the Pink Dolphin, and the abandoned apartment complex where Cara was arrested. Garcia's contacted Ucluelet PD and officers there are checking out Leone's old apartment at the Oaks-Rose. We should know soon if they find anything." The Italian man informed him.

     Nodding, Hotch slid a hand into his pocket. "Dave, I'm worried," he confessed, lowering his voice.

     Nothing else needed to be said. Rossi knew what he meant by that, and he was worried too. The more time that passed, the more likely it was that they weren't going to find their loved one alive. They were approaching the end of the line.

     "Yeah, me too," he admitted.

     Then, without warning, the energy in the room changed. Every officer in the precinct stopped what they were doing and drew out their guns, positioning themselves to face the entrance. People clicked off the safety, ready to fire if needed.

     "Sir, put the gun down."

     Reacting on instinct, Hotch and Rossi placed their cups of coffee down on the nearest desk. They swiftly withdrew their weapons and aimed them toward the front sliding glass doors. There, holding a gun to his head, stood Stephen Leone. He wore the grin of a madman.

     "Sir, stand down!"

     Leone locked eyes with Rossi first, tilting his chin as he sized the man up. He swept his gaze to Hotch next, eyeing the man in charge. This was going to be easier than he thought.

     A blur of movement behind the duo caught his attention and he watched as Alex Blake emerged from the conference room. She'd managed to hear the commotion in time to join. Lips pressed together, she met his expression with a firm one. She pointed her weapon at him, prepared to shoot if she had to.

     "Stephen Leone," Hotch called, causing the ex-trafficker to glance at him. "Drop your weapon. Now."

     If this took a turn for the worse and Leone didn't cooperate, everybody was screwed. It was too crowded in the precinct. Nobody could get an angle on him without putting others in jeopardy.

     "Leone, put the gun down," Rossi ordered, narrowing his gaze on the man.

     Stephen Leone met his eyes with tearful ones.

     "I know how this is going to end, and so do you," Hotch spoke loud and clear. "So put the gun down." Every part of him was hoping Leone would listen and be a way for them to find Cara, but he knew that wasn't likely.

     "You're the one in control here," Rossi added, trying to appeal to him. "You write the ending. Your choice. Not the Founding Fathers. You don't have to do what it is they're telling you to."

     A scoff left the man's lips, and he shook his head. "The best minds of the F.B.I., my ass," he said; his voice was much deeper in person as compared to on video. "I gave you the poems, her blood, and the DVD. Johnston hand-delivered the riddle right to her doorstep and you still haven't found her!"

     Hotch's jaw tightened at the implicit mention of Cara Valentine and he raised his gun an inch higher.

     "Since we've been wrong so many times, maybe you can be the one to lead us to where she is," Blake suggested, keeping her voice calm and steady.

     "It's too late," Leone gripped his gun tighter and pressed the barrel to his temple. Everyone tensed. "Your mistakes have been a toxin." The three agents inhaled sharply at the direct reference to the latest poem. "Think twice. Go back to that day." Before anyone could react or stop him, he clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger.

     The bullet from the gun went straight through his head and into the nearest wall. A stark crimson liquid scattered across the walls and the nearby police officers. A heavy thud echoed in the dead silent precinct as Stephen Leone's lifeless body hit the floor.

     Their best potential lead at finding Cara was dead. Killed off by his own hand.

     Squeezing his eyes shut, Hotch let out a shaky breath. Curse words were resting on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to let them slip out.

      Blake lowered her gun before glancing over at Rossi. "One among us five will let you move ahead, while another will, unfortunately, drop dead," she recited solemnly. A deep sense of defeat resided in her chest.

     Rossi's eyebrows raised and he flashed his line of sight back to the inanimate lump on the carpet. "Drop dead," he muttered, shaking his head.

     Elements of the poem were beginning to come to fruition.

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act two:      𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹      ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC    2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the forty-third chapter!

     not fairbank being another misdirect and leone unaliving himself... to be fair, though, leone deserved to die a long time ago.

     the end is near, my friends! i think everyone is going to be deeply satisfied with the next chapter. it's all been building up to this and i can't wait!

     also, a shoutout to owen for cooperating and giving hotch + rossi more insight into cara's past. everything he said will come back eventually! i like his character a lot more than i'd like... don't worry, we'll see owen again. sooner than you think.

     QUESTION: what are some things you'd like to see happen before this book ends? (nobody panic! we still have 17 chapters and an epilogue to go! i'm just curious.)

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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