" The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth. "

— Dean Koontz

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

15.2 ; CAROLINE.

IN AN HOUR, SPENCER Reid learned more about his best friend than he had in a whole year. He discovered in high school she had been a cheerleader, the president of the student body council, and a very successful member of the debate team. These were the things he wanted to know about her. These were the things he chose to focus on.

However, the things he had to learn about her, the things that the whole team had to learn, became trapped inside his head. No matter how hard he tried to block out every horrific detail, it still lingered. The more he read, the more he found himself fighting off nausea.

And holed up in Hotch's office was the woman in the center of the horrifying two weeks the Hale family had endured. She had been there for an hour now. Spencer had been tempted to check on her more than once, but he highly doubted she'd want to talk to him right now.

The sound of Elle sighing pulled him out of thoughts. He glanced up from the file in front of him, noticing how the woman rubbed her temples in small, tight circles.

"I don't get it," she commented, tapping a finger against her file. "How did this guy manage to control a family of six?"

Across from her, Morgan shrugged. "Most likely told the kids if you cry, mommy and daddy die. Told the parents if you fight back, the kids die."

"Yeah, but Christopher Hale was a seasoned Navy Admiral and his son was an athletic Navy prospect," she said. "It would be hard to control them, don't you think?"

"Mr. Hale was the first to die," JJ observed. "Maybe the unsub wanted to eliminate the biggest threat?"

"The unsub waited three hours after breaking into the house," Spencer said, shaking his head. "By that time, the family had been separated and locked into different rooms."

"But the way he was killed also bothers out at me." Elle laid a picture of Caroline's father on the table, his throat slashed. "The mother and the boy had been shot. But Mr. Hale has his throat cut. According to the M.E. report, the unsub didn't cut all the way through. His death was slow and painful."

The young doctor stared down at the crime scene photo. Mr. Hale's empty green eyes stared back at him.

"Hatred for the father," Gideon noted as he adjusted his glasses. "He wanted him to suffer."

"The rest of the kills had been quick and efficient," Hotch said slowly as he looked over at Elle. "His control over the family and lack of hesitation over killing means he's done this before."

She nodded. "Exactly. I think we should be looking for other families."

The unit chief reached over the table and hit the intercom button. As the static cut on, he said, "Garcia."

The tech analyst's voice buzzed through the system, "Sir?"

"I need you to look for family murders between 1990 and 2000."

"Okay, give me a minute." There was a brief silence over the line before Garcia's voice came back, "Oh, you guys scare me sometimes."

Derek frowned. "What is it, baby girl?"

"Between 1990 and 2000, there were six other families killed during a home invasion," she informed them. "No connections were ever made because each family was killed in a different state."

"Do the families have anything in common?" Elle asked.

"Not that I can—" He heard the tech analyst's sharp intake of breath. "Oh."

Spencer stood out of his chair and hovered over the microphone, his heart pounding. "What is it, Garcia?"

"Each family had a blonde-haired and blue-eyed teenage daughter."

The young doctor's heart began to pound inside his chest. He sunk back down in his chair as his chest seized. He wasn't sure he was breathing anymore.

"Was there any sexual assault with the girls?" Hotch questioned.

Garcia let out a soft sigh. "No, there wasn't."

Morgan rested back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. "So those families were trial runs for the one he really wanted—Caroline."

He balled his fists on his lap, his knuckles turning white. His fingers crackled and popped as he clenched his fists. The longer he squeezed, the more he gradually felt his hands going numb.

"Thanks, Garcia. Keep looking for any more connections," Hotch told the tech analyst.

"I will. Watch over my girl for me. Peace out, crimefighters."

The phone clicked as the line cut out. Once the tech analyst was no longer listening, Gideon picked up the crime scene photo of Caroline's younger brother, his lifeless body face-down, as he murmured, "He's obsessed with her. Everything he has done has been to get closer. Killing those families were to build his confidence."

"The letter, the two girls with similar appearance, the word Ivy carved into their stomachs," Elle muttered as she shook her head. "He even killed the two victims six hours apart to symbolize what he believes to be their six-year anniversary."

Spencer paused at Elle's choice of words, slowly unclenching his fists. The unsub has been stalking Caroline for years. He was obsessive and most likely that obsession has taken over most of his life. If the unsub was celebrating an anniversary with Caroline then everything he has been doing now has to focus around her.

"He's trying to tell her something," Spencer murmured.

Hotch's head snapped over to him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What?"

"Everything he's done so far has been to get Caroline's attention. The murders were to get her to listen. So he gave her the letter—" The young doctor shifted through the evidence piled on top of the table, his hands shaking. He held up a piece of paper pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "He gave her this letter to communicate."

"Alright, so he tells her he's back?" Derek huffed out a breath. "Well, message received."

"No, it's more than that," Spencer insisted. He smoothed the paper out as he read the scrawled words. "In the letter, he says 'May death do us part'."

JJ frowned as she said, "That sounds like a wedding vow."

"Chris's wedding is in a couple of days," Elle said slowly as a bit of horror seeped into her voice.

Gideon leaned back in his chair as he said, "He's going to be there at the wedding. A true family reunion."

A blanket of silence fell over the room as they all exchanged worried glances. The realization Spencer had made came with a feeling of horror sinking into his stomach like a heavy stone in a lake. The thick, heavy silence permeated the room for another minute before Derek's voice cut through it.

"We have to tell Caroline."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

May 19th, 2000

Aaron Hotchner heard the soft patter of rain falling outside of the SUV as it winded down the Virginia backroads. He watched the grey clouds roll across the dark sky as raindrops began to collect on the window, his head resting limply against the leather headrest. The file in his lap had been momentarily forgotten in exchange for a moment of quiet peace.

"Aaron." The profiler glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Jason Gideon watching him, his face lined with weariness. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," he replied with a half-shake of his head. "It's nothing."

"It's something. Tell me."

He opened the file on his lap carefully, and his eyes fell on the family photo clipped to the front page. A happy, normal family forever changed. He exhaled a soft breath.

"This family," he murmured into the quiet of the car. "What happened to them, to the girl..."

"We're just coming in for a consultation," the older profile replied. "We might not get the case."

"I know that."

Gideon must have heard the apprehension in his voice because he sighed from the driver's seat. "In some ways, we are damned by what we know. This job can eat you alive if you let it, Aaron." His hands imperceptibly tightened on the steering wheel. "We have to find a way to do this job without letting it destroy us in the process."

And in there lies the question, Aaron thought to himself. How is he supposed to do that with everything they see? With what they're about to see?

Gideon eventually pulled into a small, quiet neighborhood. Victorian-style houses sat on both sides of the street with thickets of trees in between each lot.  With the trees providing cover and the distance between the houses making it hard to hear the screams, it was a good location for a serial killer. At the end of the quiet street sat a lone house—most likely the oldest in the neighboorhood.

Against the grey storm sky, the house looked depressing and empty. It was a brown Victorian with a domed slate roof and antique windows. No lights were on. If he didn't see the police cars camped in the front yard, he would have thought the place was abandoned.

Once Gideon parked the SUV at the base of the sloping driveway, Aaron stepped out of the car, dropping his head to avoid the soft rainfall. The two men were approached by an older cop whose face seemed to be permanently etched into a frown. Gideon shook hands with the man.

"Sheriff Manning," he greeted. "I'm SSA Gideon and my colleague, Agent Hotchner."

Aaron returned the sheriff's firm handshake. His hands were calloused and rough like he worked a lot with his hands.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," the sheriff said. "When I saw inside the house, I knew..." He cleared his throat as he tugged at his jacket collar in discomfort."I knew I had to call somebody."

Gideon glanced up at the house. "Where's the surviving family?"

Aaron resisted the urge to flinch. He had only been with the unit for a few months now and, so far, he had been doing a pretty good job of keeping a clear head. But now, he was having a hard time understanding how his colleague acted so unfazed.

The sheriff nodded his head towards the ambulance at the base of the house. "The oldest son, the ten-year-old, and the baby are in the ambulance getting checked over for any injuries. Besides shell-shock and malnutrition, they seem to be unharmed. The girl, uh...suffered the brunt of the injuries, it seems."

"Is she still in the house?" Aaron asked, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. The chilly, biting wind had started to whip at his face as the distant sound of thunder rolled in the sky. A storm was brewing.

Sheriff Manning nodded, his expression somber. "She won't leave. Every time we try, she freaks out. We can't get close enough to grab her."

"Mind if we try?" Gideon asked.

The sheriff sighed as he gestured to the house. "Be my guest. Good luck to y'all."

The profilers made their way through the house, their feet creaking under the wooden floorboards as they ascended the stairs. Aaron avoided looking at the body bagged at the foot of the stairs. Given the size of the bag, he assumed it was the father. For a brief moment, he wondered if they had moved the child yet. He dismissed the thought once he realized what he was doing and cleared his head.

The door to the parents' room was wide open. Standing in the doorway was an EMT, his face weary and strained. Gideon flashed him his badge as he asked, "How is she?"

"I can't get close enough to really tell, but I'm thinking at least a couple of broken ribs and a sprained ankle. Not to mention the cuts and burns," the EMT replied, shaking his head. "The longer we wait, the chance of infection increases."

"I understand," the older profiler replied. "Can we speak to her?"

The EMT shrugged and then stepped out of their way. "She hasn't said a word since I got here, but you're welcome to try."

Neither profiler responded to the EMT's comment. Aaron mimicked Gideon's careful footsteps as he entered the bedroom, not making a sound. He allowed himself to note his surroundings for a brief moment. The king bed rested against the furthest wall from the door with two dark wooden nightstands on each side. A chest of drawers was set close to the large window that faced the driveway. Flashing red and blue lights reflected in the room.

And in the very center of the room was Caroline Hale cradling her mother's dead body. Olivia Hale's face was leeched of any color, eyes closed, but she looked oddly peaceful despite the large bullet hole under her chin. A white tarp covered the lower half of her body, but it was pointless. It was already saturated with blood and had started pooling onto the floor.

However, the young girl was the main focus of his attention. Her hair was matted with dried blood, almost turning her blonde hair brown. Her clothes were torn and covered in blood—the blood of her parents, little brother, and her own. Her face was splotchy and caked in blood as well except for the tear tracks that left streaks of white skin visible through the dried blood. Her fingers trembled as she held her mother's hand.

Gideon slowly kneeled in front of her, careful not to make any sudden movements. It didn't matter anyway because the girl flinched, starting to hug her mother's limp body closer to her like a shield.

"Do you know who we are?" Gideon asked her, his voice gentle and soft. Aaron paused behind him. He hadn't heard his colleague use that tone of voice ever. It was the voice of honey and butter melting on warm bread. It was reassuring and warm and comforting.

The young girl's eyes darted up to stare at him. Now that she was finally looking up, Aaron could see her crystal blue eyes shining through the blood and gore on her face. But those disarming blue eyes were wild. Scared.

"I'm SSA Jason Gideon." The profiler pointed at Aaron standing behind him. "SSA Aaron Hotchner. We're with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

She made a low sound in the back of her throat as she shrunk even further back from him. He couldn't tell if it was a whimper, a growl, or a scoff. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. Gideon held his hands up in a defensive manner, his palms facing her.

"We need to get you to the hospital," Gideon said, his voice still soft and soothing. The girl said nothing in response to him as she stared down at her mother's blood-spattered face. Aaron watched as the girl's trembling hand covered her mother's head from his colleague, almost as if she was shielding her from them.

Aaron rested a hand on Jason's shoulder. The older profiler glanced up at him, his face wearing a deep frown. He said to his friend, "Let me try."

Gideon didn't protest as he stood up, moving as slowly as he had before, and stepped out of his way. Once he had gotten up, Aaron sunk down to the floor as slowly as his colleague had before him and sat in front of the young girl. She didn't seem to notice his presence.

"I'm sorry about your mom," Aaron spoke into the quiet room. He tried to mimic Gideon's voice from earlier, something that was soft and soothing, but it sounded weak and flat to his ears.

The girl slowly twisted her head to look at him. He watched as her eyes darted wildly around his face, observing him. Her gaze settled on the gun holstered to his hip. Hesitation and fear flashed across her face.

"Hey," he murmured as he slowly reached for his gun. The girl stiffened as he unholstered it but gradually began to relax as he pushed it across the room. "We're not going to hurt you or your mom, okay?"

Her head tilted slightly, her startling blue eyes meeting his. He felt rooted to the floor under her gaze.

"Caroline," he murmured softly, so softly he could barely hear himself. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

A soft gasp escaped her lips. He saw the tears forming in her eyes as she whispered, "That's the first time someone has said my name. Caroline," she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. "Caroline."

He remained completely still, almost like a statue. Her voice was weak and raspy, but she spoke. She has spoken to him. He didn't want to push her too far, but the look of uncertainty on her face shook him.

"Your name is Caroline," he told her again.

Slowly, she began to shake her head. "No. He called me Ivy."

Aaron swallowed at the fear in her voice, the way it trembled. In a way, it sounded fragile like it was going to break. He wanted to hug her but knew that any sudden movement might scare her back into her coma-like state. This time a bit louder, he said, "Your name is Caroline Hale. You're here. You're alive."

"Caroline," she breathed as the tears began to fall on her face, clearing away a little more of the blood. Her eyes met his again, her lips trembling. "Do you know what I did?"

He couldn't stop himself from looking at the tarp covering the mother's lower half. He replied, "I do. But you had no choice. It's not your fault."

With trembling hands, Caroline carefully smoothed back the dark blonde hair from her mother's face. The tears began to fall more steadily as she choked out, "I don't want to leave her."

"I know. But you have to go to the hospital."

She sucked in a shaky breath as her face became tear-soaked. "I—I can't leave her here. I don't want him to hurt her."

Slowly, Aaron reached over a rested his hand over hers. Her blue eyes shone through the tears as she looked at him, terrified.

"Caroline, I promise you that he can't hurt her," he whispered. "And he won't hurt you ever again."

"I'm scared," she cried as her hands shook under his touch. "I don't think I can do this."

"You can," he said as his grip tightened on her hands. "I won't leave you to do it alone either."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

Caroline's heart hammered wildly in her chest as she rested back on the couch in Hotch's office. Since this morning, everything had started to feel foreign to her. Her hands didn't feel like hers and she couldn't control the thoughts that were flying a million miles a minute in her head. She could barely even recognize her own voice as she whispered, "Are you positive?"

Hotch grimaced. "Not completely, but we believe it's likely."

She placed her head in her hands as she let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. Her chest expanded and she felt the momentary relief before the weight of guilt crashed down on her.

"The wedding is tomorrow," she said into her hands. "What am I supposed to tell Chris and Rebecca? They can't have the ceremony with..." She took a deep breath as she lifted her head out of her hands, shaking her head as she steeled her resolve. "They're going to have to cancel everything."

Gideon stepped out of the corner of the room, clearing his throat. "That may not be necessary," he said as he calmly slipped his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "We've spoken to Christopher."

She balled her hands into fists. "What?"

"We told him the plan and he wants to do it."

She shot up from the couch as she whirled on her supervisor. "You talked to my brother behind my back? What the hell, Gideon?"

"Caroline, I understand you're worried, but—"

"But nothing!" She snapped at him. "We are not risking people's lives to catch him. End of story."

"It's not your choice."

She craned her head to glare at Hotch now as she bit back, "Like hell it is."

"Both Chris and Rebecca agree this might be the best chance to catch him. I'm sorry, Caroline, but it's the only viable lead we have right now."

Her knees felt weak. "Wh—what about those families? There were no leads with them?"

She felt sick to her stomach even thinking about those six families that had been slaughtered. All from different states and different ways of living life. None of them had deserved death. Her heart broke for each and every one of them because she knew what the last moments of their life had felt like.

Desperate. Sad. Terrified.

She knew because she had been through it. Their deaths had been her fault somehow and she was using them for leverage. She hated herself for it, but she was desperate.

The unit chief shook his head. "Nothing traceable. This is the only option we have if we want to catch him."

She fell back on the couch as her knees gave out from underneath her. She let out a puff of air as her back hit the cushions, her head throbbing. When Gideon saw the look on her face, he said, "We'll have agents everywhere. It's going to be okay."

"Nothing about this is okay," she muttered. "We're using what should be the happiest day of my brother's life as bait for our family's killer."

"Maybe that's true," Hotch amended. "But if he's there, we'll be ready and we'll catch him. He won't have a chance to hurt anyone."

She ran her hand through her hair, sighing. "You hope he won't."

A knock on Hotch's door interrupted whatever else the unit chief was about to say. Morgan appeared in the doorway as he opened the door halfway. He nodded to Gideon and Hotch.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but we're ready for the cognitive interview."

Everyone glanced over at Caroline. She sighed softly before she asked, "Already?"

Morgan gave her a small, sad smile. "Yeah, kid. Interrogation room 1 is open."

When Hotch had first briefed her on what they found, Morgan had mentioned the idea of doing a cognitive interview with Caroline in order to see if any new details would appear. At first, she immediately rejected the idea. Reliving her nightmare in front of her colleagues and friends was a nightmare to her in and of itself.

But then she thought of those families and those two girls that were killed because of her. It wasn't just about her. Those people deserved justice just like Charlie and her parents do. If she had to relive what happened to her a million times, she'd do it if it meant her team could catch the man who ruined her life.

"Right." She stood up from the couch, straightening her clothes as she did so. She swallowed before facing her colleague. "Let's do this then."

He held out a hand to stop her. She paused a few feet from the door as she looked to Derek. His face was drawn now, more concerned than anything.

"You don't have to do this, Care," he told her.

She forced out a weak laugh. It sounded pathetic and strained, even to her ears.

"Yeah, I do," she said. A loose breath escaped her lips as she gestured to the door. "Lead the way, Eyebrows."

It was a very weak attempt to lighten the mood, but Derek chuckled at it all the same. She was grateful for the smile he sent her way. He rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly.

"I will be with you in there," he told her. "At any moment, if you want to stop, we'll stop."

She nodded, a slimmer of relief passing through her. It was a small comfort to know that she had an escape if things got to be too much. She patted Derek's hand reassuringly before shrugging it off her shoulder.

The walk to the interrogation room seemed to take hours rather than minutes. She knew that Hotch, Gideon, and Derek were behind her, but she couldn't have felt more alone. Her heart hammered wildly against her chest. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides in an attempt to try and hide the shaking of her fingers. Her legs felt like jello when she saw the metal door across the hall. Her stomach rolled as a wave of nausea hit her.

She froze a foot from the door. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. She couldn't even muster the energy to glance back.

"The team and I are going to be in the next room watching," Hotch told her. "You won't do this alone."

Despite herself, a small smile tugged at the corner of Caroline's lips. "Promise?"

She heard Hotch let out a breathless, dry laugh. He squeezed her shoulder as he said, "I promise."

She swallowed and took a deep long breath. She felt the cool metal of the door handle under her touch and she slowly wrapped her fingers around the handle, her head throbbing.

It was now or never.

And before the reality of what she was doing could hit her, she opened the door.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

It took all of three seconds for Caroline to regret her decision. Once she had sat at the metal table across from Derek in the cold interrogation room, her fear hit her like a bag of bricks dropped from a roof. She found herself staring at the door, her legs bouncing up and down in an erratic rhythm.

"Care, are you ready?"

She tore her gaze away from the door and met Morgan's concerned look. She blew a puff of air through her nose as she rubbed her clammy palms against the fabric of her slacks.

"Yeah, I—I'm ready."

He looked unconvinced but took her word for it anyway. He leaned towards her, his elbows resting on top of the table. She found it hard to look into his eyes, but she did it anyway.

"Now, I want you to take and deep breath and close your eyes."

Hesitantly, she followed his instructions. Her breath sounded short and weak as she sighed into the room. She gently shut her eyes and kept them closed.

"Good," Morgan praised. "Take a moment to go back to the morning of your sixteenth birthday. Take notice of your surroundings—the smells and the sounds. You woke up and headed down to the kitchen for breakfast, right?"

As she listened to her colleague's deep, reassuring voice, the picture started to materialize in front of her. She was sitting at her old oak kitchen table in her mother's old kitchen. Se remembered the flowery wallpaper and white-washed cabinets. She ran her hand across the table and felt the grooves and divots in the wood. She shivered. It felt so real.

Derek's disembodied voice asked her, "Is anyone there with you?"

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Once she removed her hands from her face, her family appeared in the kitchen. She let out a weak gasp.

"Yeah, my family is," she said slowly as she looked around the kitchen. "My dad is drinking his daily cup of coffee by the sink and Chris is with him. He's—he's showing him a piece of paper. I can't make out what it is."

"That's okay. What about the rest of your family?"

She glanced down at the twins sitting beside her at the table and her heart stopped. Caitlin was half-asleep in her chair and Charlie was reading a book. She couldn't make out the cover because she was too busy marveling at his face.

As if in a daze, her hand stretched out and ruffled his sandy blonde hair. Her little brother looked up from his book and stuck his tongue out at her. He looked just as she remembered—the same bright green eyes, slightly chubby cheeks, and short blonde hair spiked up to look just like his older brother's. Tears pricked in her eyes.

It's just a memory, she reminded herself. He's not real. This isn't real.

"The twins are at the kitchen table and—" She paused and searched the room. She stopped when she saw who she was searching for. "My...my mom's at the stove."

"What's your mom doing?"

Caroline watched her mother slide pancakes off the frying pan onto a plate, being careful of her heavily pregnant belly. Beside the plate was a bowl of freshly cut bananas and a bottle of chocolate sauce. The room smelled like bacon and eggs. "She's fixing breakfast," she said, as her mother turned to her, smiling. "She's making my favorite: chocolate-banana pancakes. She always made us our favorite breakfast on the morning of our birthday."

"Good, that's really good." Derek's voice started to sound faint and small, like a voice in the back of her head. "You're all there together. What happens next?"

The sound of the doorbell ringing causes her to snap her head up. Her family all looks in the direction of the foyer. Caitlin's head snapped up from the table, finally awake. The bright red imprints from the wood were on her forehead and cheek. Chris laughed at her.

"Someone's at the door," she whispered.

In the middle of placing the bananas on the pancakes, her mother frowned as she checked the digital clock on the stove. She glanced towards her father and asked, "It's seven in the morning. The mail can't be here that early, can it?"

"Who got the door?"

Her father shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the mailman is ahead of schedule."

Charlie jumped up from his seat, resting his book face-down on the table. "I'll get it," he announced with a smile before taking off down the hall.

"It was Charlie," she said, her voice shaky. "He always liked answering the door."

"Okay. What happened once he answered it?"

As she watched her youngest brother disappear down the hall, her heart began to pound faster, so fast it started to hurt her chest. She gripped onto the table, her nails digging into the wood. She wanted to scream at him to come back, to stay with her.

Don't answer the door. Don't answer it.

"Caroline?"

Then she heard her mother shriek in horror, then the sound of glass breaking. Caroline's head whipped in her direction. She saw why her mother was so scared.

"He's here," Caroline said as her breath started to pick up.

Standing in the kitchen doorway was a man in a black ski mask with a gun pointed to her little brother's temple. Tears started to roll down his little cheeks and she wanted to scream. Beside her, Caitlin's small frame began to tremble. Her father and brother stood by the sink, their muscles tensed up with adrenaline. Her father's eyed the knife rack a few feet from him.

However, the intruder seemed to know his line of thought. "Move and your son dies," he barked.

"You're safe, Caroline." The voice speaking to her didn't sound real anymore like it was just in her head. "I'm right here. It's not real."

Something warm pressed down on her hand. She glanced down but saw nothing there.

It's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real it's not real.

"Please, he's just a child," her mother spoke calmly, so calmly she couldn't understand it.

"Sit down and shut up!" The man's voice didn't even sound human. His voice was gravely and thick, almost like he was growling from deep in his throat.

"What did he do next?"

Caroline watched the scene unfold in front of her, completely helpless. "He chained my dad to a chair in the living room once he tied all of us up in the kitchen."

"Chains? Did your family have chains in the house?"

She frowned. "No, we didn't."

"So he brought them. Does he have a bag with him?"

She struggled against the blanket of terror, forcing herself to focus. She could partially see into the living room. His father was struggling against the metal, the chains rattling as he moved. The masked man laughed at him as he fought. She swallowed back the tear threatening to overflow as she continued to focus on the living room.

Then she saw it.

"Yes, there's a black bag by his feet," she said quickly.

"He brought everything he would need with him. He planned this and knew what he would need," the voice mused. "What happened next?"

She watched helplessly as he yanked Chris by his shoulders, shoving towards the stairs. Her mother started to plead, but she could barely hear her over the roaring in her ears. "He's starting to separate us," she said.

She tugged against the rope knotted on her wrists. Just as she remembered, it was bound so tightly that she could barely move. She was trapped.

The man came down for their mother next. Before he dragged her up the stairs, she wheeled on her heels, facing her eldest daughter. Her blues eyes were bright like a flame, eerily so that it sent a thrill down Caroline's back. She thought she might say something but before she could open her mouth, their captor clamped a hand over her mouth and yanked her up the stairs.

Beside her, Caitlin and Charlie began to sob, big fat tears rolling down their cheeks. Caroline struggled against the rope, wanting to hug them, but she couldn't reach them.

"It's going to be okay," she told her little brother and sister. "Just do what he says and stick together. We're going to be okay."

"I'm scared!" Caitlin cried. Her eyes were turning bloodshot from her tears. "I want momma."

I'm scared, too, Caroline wanted to tell her but she couldn't speak. Couldn't move or think or even breath. Finally, when the captor had come to take her little brother and sister upstairs and left her sitting all alone at the dining table, everything was starting to feel all too real. Not a nightmare or a memory. Reality.

She heard the sound of his footsteps creaking down the stairs. She began to quiver in fear.

"Caroline," a voice said, its tone urgent. Worried. "Caroline, what's going on?"

"He's coming," she breathed out. "He's going to kill my father."

She felt his hands in her hair, running his fingers through it. She shut her eyes and started to count backward from 5. In the brief time she had been to counseling, her therapist had taught her counting to break out of nightmares, to distinguish what is real and what isn't. When she opens her eyes, she's going to be in the interrogation room with Morgan and everything would be fine.

5.

He cut the rope off her wrists. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked her out of the chair, forcing her to walk forwards. She squeezed her eyes even tighter than before.

4.

He flung her on the couch. She could hear her father's gasping pants through the cloth tied around his mouth. She curled into herself.

3.

There was a scuffling sound. The sound of her father taking a deep breath stirred something inside her. He had taken off his gag.

"Caroline, I love you. I love you so much sweetheart," she heard her father say. Tears started to roll down her face but she kept her eyes closed.

2.

"Open your eyes, Ivy," her captor whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear. "You don't want to miss this."

1.

She opened her eyes right in time to see the masked man slit her father's throat. Warm, thick blood splayed on her face as her father slumped over in his chair. His front was soaked in red.

Caroline began to scream.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

Her terrified screams tore through Spencer like a shard of glass. On the other side of the glass, Caroline curled and thrashed in the chair, her palms pressed against her ears like she was trying to block out the sound of her screaming. Derek desperately gripped at her shoulders, shaking her violently as if trying to wake her up from a bad dream. With eyes screwed shut, she continued to scream.

"What's happening?" Elle asked, her expression horrified as she watched the blonde girl trash away from Morgan again.

"She's stuck in her memories," Hotch said as he unholstered his gun. "I knew this was a bad idea."

JJ glanced at the unit chief, her eyes frantic. "She can't stay there. What do we do?"

"We're going to have to pull her out of it," Gideon said. He didn't tear his eyes from Caroline. He noticed how tightly his hands were coiled in front of the profiler.

Spencer turned to his mentor. He couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice as he asked, "What do I need to do?"

"You're doing nothing," Hotch ordered. "She's reliving the worst moment of her life and she's going into shock. She won't be in her right mind. She could hurt you."

"I don't care." The young doctor turned to his mentor once again, his hands clasped out in front of him like he was going to pray. "Please, Gideon. Tell me what to do."

His mentor gave a quick glance at the doctor's panicked face and the way his voice trembled—no, pleaded—to him. Spencer could barely think past the shaking of his hands, but he knew he had to help her. She wasn't going to let her do this alone. Not again.

Gideon seemed to realize that he wasn't backing down. He let out a short, drawn sigh before replying, "You need to get her back to reality. She's stuck in the past. Bring her to the present."

Before he could even say thank you, Caroline let out another blood-curdling scream.

It was the kind of scream that made his blood run cold. It pierced his brain and ignited some primal pathway inside. His pulse quickened as adrenaline surged through his veins. The blood drained from his face as his legs made the unconscious decision to move. To get to her.

Spencer burst the interrogation room. Derek whipped his head up, his arms wrapped around Caroline's small, trembling frame. He had never seen his friend look so concerned.

"Spencer, I—" Caroline let out another terrified scream and Morgan clutched her tighter to his chest. He gave the young doctor a pleading look. "I don't know what to do. Everything was fine and then..." He took a deep breath. "This is my fault. I'm sorry."

"You couldn't have known," Spencer told him as he knelt in front of Caroline thrashing in the chair. "Try to keep her still, okay?"

Derek nodded and secured his grip, holding her in place in the chair. Tremors went through her body, but she didn't move.

Spencer gripped her hand, squeezing as tight as he possibly could. "Caroline," he said. "Care, it's Spencer. I'm right here."

Her body still trembled, but the tremors grew less violent and harsh. He took her other hand from Derek's grasp and clutched it, rubbing the back of her hand in soft, circular motions with his thumb.

"I'm right here," he repeated. "I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, her tremors seemed to subside. Derek carefully released his restraint hold on her, taking a couple of steps away. She slumped forward in the chair and Spencer caught her before she could hit the floor. He gently sat her up in the chair and cupped her face in his hands. Her cheeks were wet from the tears, but he didn't care.

"You're with me," he whispered softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

Gently, her eyes opened. She glanced around cautiously as if to see where she was. Once she realized she was back, her blue eyes met his. Her lip trembled.

"Spencer," she whispered with her face still in his hands. Tears filled her eyes once again. They began to fall on his fingers. "I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything as he pulled her in for a hug, letting out a relieved sigh. Her arms wrapped around him, squeezing him as if to make sure he was real.

"I'm so sorry," she cried into his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

"It's okay," he said. "You're not alone anymore, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

And as his best friend cried in his arms, Spencer Reid vowed to never let Caroline Lucas go through life alone ever again.