TITLE: Hidden in a Memory

AUTHOR: The Chronicler

Red and blue lights flickered on top of the sheriff's car, lightening the morning with a rotation of color.

Agent Derek Morgan squinted at the bright light. "Looked like they called in the big guns." he teased, always amused by the backwoods sheriff's big scenes.

Agent Hotch was not amused. Of course his phone had rung at three o'clock on a cold February Monday morning, waking up his baby girl, just to tell him nothing more than that he needed to be at a crime sight.

He was irritated.

Mad even.

Everything but amused.

They had been called to the side of a country road. Beside the road was a forest gully, and at the bottom of the gully was an old, abandon shack where the local law had centered their attentions. And on the porch of the shack, in nothing more than pajama pants and a wet t-shirt, was somebody they did not expect to see.

"Reid?" Hotch mumbled, confused at seeing the youngest of their team out here. He had thought he had been the only one called. Morgan was only here because he had called him.

Hey, Reid, buddy!" Morgan greeted, waving his hand as he started down the rough trail. "What the hell you doing out here?"

But the agent didn't look up. Didn't even acknowledged their presence.

"Derek." Hotch called to his friend, slowing him down. Beyond recognizing their team mate, he also noticed the condition of their team mate.

And now he knew why he had been called.

Morgan glanced back at him. He paused when he saw the concerned look. Turning back to their young doctor, he too took in his condition.

The boy's feet were bare, his toes starting to turn a blue color. His exposed legs up to his shins, were scratched and bruised. His arms wee, likewise, scratched and bruised, his wrists rubbed raw. His fingertips were red, a couple even bloody. His hair was disheveled, as if he had just gotten out of bed. The knees of his pant legs were stained red, as well as a few splatters on his t-shirt. His arms were wrapped around himself, his teeth chattering.

The sheriff stood just to one side of the kid, giving directions to a couple of his deputies when he spotted the two FBI agents. Waving his men away to do whatever it was they had to do, he nodded up to the men. "Agent Hotch?"

"Sheriff Jackson." Hotch confirmed as he stepped pass Morgan and lead the way down.

Jackson tilted his head. "This your kid?" he wanted to know right off the bat.

Hotch frowned, not at all happy with his kid being referred to as a kid by anyone other than one of his other kids. Still, the business at hand was… "Yes, he is." He stopped in front of the sheriff, allowing Morgan to move on to deal with Reid. "What's going on here?" he wanted to know.

"That's what we would like to know." the sheriff admitted.

Morgan had moved to stand in front of Reid. "Hey, buddy." he greeted again, this time more cautious. When there was no response, he set a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Reid?"

Reid jumped, scooting aside, his head coming up so quickly, Morgan could hear his neck pop. Big eyes stared up at him, wide and frightened.

"Woe!" Morgan quickly held his hands up. "Easy, man. It's just me."

Reid look him up and down slowly, before, finally, relaxing just enough that the shivering returned. He dropped his eyes in that timid expression he seemed to have when he worried he had done something wrong.

Morgan glanced back at Hotch, concerned and confused.

In turn, Hotch looked at the sheriff again. "Why is he here? Why isn't he on his way to the hospital?"

Sheriff Jackson huffed. "I got myself a shack covered in blood, a kid in his pj.s sporting an FBI id who barely said a word since we found him, knee deep in snow and mud and blood… I'm dealing with things as they come!" He waved a hand in the air. "Called you, didn't I!"

Morgan ground his teeth. Pulling his own coat off he started to swing it around Reid's shoulders.

The boy flinched, but didn't move away while the man settled the warm coat around him. Curiously, he looked up at him again, watching him as if wondering why he had done what he had.

Deciding he had no more information for them, Hotch turned away from the sheriff and to his men. "Reid, what happened here?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

Reid didn't look at him, his eyes still locked on Morgan.

Morgan sighed. "Kid's in shock or something." He snapped his fingers beside his head. "Come on, buddy. Talk to me."

Reid's eyes snapped to his fingers, then back at his face. His brow wrinkled. "I know you?" he whispered.

Again Morgan glanced at Hotch. Then looked back. "Yea, man. It's me, Derek Morgan. I'm your buddy. Your pal."

"You are?" Reid asked, tilting his head to one side as if processing that information. "May I ask you something?"

Morgan nodded. "Yea. Sure. Anything."

Reid looked at Hotch, licking his lips, then back at Morgan. "Do you know who I am?"

Morgan's jaw dropped.

Hotch turned on the sheriff. "Hospital! Now!" he snapped.

---

J.J. practically had to jog to keep up with Gideon. It was not the ideal way she liked to read a file. "Turned out that the blood on the floor of the shack was not human blood, but animal. Quite a bit, too."

"We're all animals." Gideon pointed out, though it had absolutely nothing to do with what was on his mind. Taking long strides down the hospital hall, he barely listened to the girl who struggled to keep up.

JJ decided not to elaborate on that little comment. Instead, she continued with the report. "No carcasses were found at the site." She flipped the page. "Shack was abandon some fifteen years ago, occasionally used by the local teenagers. Chased a bum out a few months ago, but otherwise…"

"Hotch!" Gideon called as they turned a corner a spotted the agent standing in front of an observation window, talking with a doctor. "Where is he?" he wanted to know right then and there.

Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head at the window. "He's resting right now." he assured, though it wasn't much of an assurance. After all, with all the behavioral whats'-up in the man's head, Gideon would be the first to point out that….

"Resting?" The older agent, stepped up to the window a gazed in. "What about alright? Fine? Safe and sound?" His gray eyes instantly locked on his protégée with in the room beyond the observation window. At once he knew why the other agent didn't use any of those words: alright, fine….

Reid sat on a hospital bed, wearing hospital garb. His knees were pulled to his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. His arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, his chin resting on his knees. White bandages were wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His exposed skin was almost shiny and white, very pale even for him. At his feet, folded across the bed, was the same coat Morgan had wrapped around his shoulders only two hours earlier. His eyes were locked on the nurse that worked at the foot of the bed, preparing a syringe to take some blood.

Standing in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, looking over protective, was Morgan. Every few twitches, and the FBI agent would speak softly to Reid, catching the boy's attention again, and, for a moment, calming him.

"Gideon." Hotch called his attention. "He doesn't know who he is. Or who any of us are."

Gideon frowned, looking at the man. "Amnesia?" he wondered. "How?"

Hotch shrugged and nodded to the doctor who waited patiently on the other side of Gideon. "We were about to find out." he pointed out. "Dr. Wesslim."

Instantly, Gideon's head snapped about, his sharp eyes slamming into the doctor. "Amnesia?" he repeated, making sure she was aware of the fact that that question had been asked and needed to be answered. "How?"

Dr. Wesslim shook her head. "As of yet, we have found no head trauma. Numerous bruises, minor cuts and scrapes up and down his arms and legs like he crawled through thistles or something of the like… but, no, nothing that would cause amnesia."

Gideon looked back at the boy in the room. "Then why…"

"His eyes are dilated." the doctor continued. "He has shivers. Both his arms show several needle pricks."

Gideon looked at her again. "He was drugged?"

"That would be my guess."

"Guess?" JJ put in. "What do you mean guess? You're the doctor. Shouldn't you know by now?"

Dr. Wesslim shrugged. "He's been very…. skittish about allowing us to touch him which makes a theral examination problematic at best. He is right out terrified of needles which makes taking a blood test without hurting him or destroying what little trust there is…"

"Not likely." Gideon finished for her. One more time, he turned to watch his young agent as he watched the nurse slowly, cautiously approach him, speaking soft words of encouragement. "What is he doing?" he wanted to know, pointing at the nurse.

The nurse had finished prepping his syringe and had nodded to another, bigger, burly nurse. The two were closing in on their patient.

The doctor also turned to look. "Kevin is attempting to get the blood test we so very badly need if we are to discover just how we can help…"

"Not that way!" Gideon snapped, suddenly pushing pass her and hurrying for the door leading into the room. He practically kicked the door in, sending it swinging open to slam into the wall behind it.

Morgan spun about, ready to defend little Reid, but stopped when he saw it was Gideon.

Reid leaped right off the bed, stumbling back until he hit the wall. His eyes instantly focused on the floor, his bangs falling over his brow. One arm wrapped tightly around his middle, the other braced on the first, his fingers coming up to his mouth, tapping his lips nervously.

Nurse Kevin and his cohort only gave Gideon a glance before changing directions and following Reid, cornering him.

"Hey!" Morgan snapped at them when he realized what was happening. "Back off, man!"

Gideon was already across the room. Grabbing Nurse Kevin's shoulder, he yanked him away from his youngest agent, snatching the syringe as he did. "Not this way!" he said again, shoving the nurse even further away and toward the door.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dr. Wesslim demanded as she followed Agent Hotchner into the room.

JJ grabbed her arm from behind, keeping her from interfering with what ever her fellow agents were doing in the room.

Instantly Hotch pointed a finger at the second nurse who, seeing his partner manhandled, was coming at Gideon from behind. "Stay right there!" he warned.

The nurse froze, glancing about at the FBI agents, realizing that that was it. There was no protesting, no dealing with the situation. These men were serious. And he was outnumbered.

With a sigh, he raised his hands in a sign of surrender. "Hey, guys, we were just gonna do a blood test. Gotta be done if we're gonna help the kid." he tried.

"Not that way." Hotch repeated. With a flick of his wrist, he directed the nurse toward the door.

Yanking her arm free from JJ, the doctor stepped aside, letting her nurses out. "Agent Hotchner!" she continued to protest. "This is still my patient!"

"He's my agent!" Gideon reminded her. "And no one is going to back him into a corner!"

"Give us a moment, doctor." Hotch quickly intervened, turning to the doctor. He took the edge of the door and motioned that he was gonna close it. "JJ would you please discuss our… "

JJ nodded, taking the hint. "Yes. There may be some media inquiries." Again taking the doctor's arm and leading her out, she asked "Now, we need to know what you will say if the media asks you about Dr. Reid." She glanced back over her shoulder at the men as she lead Wesslim away.

Hotch closed the door, then turned to throw a glare at Gideon.

"We let them do that…" Gideon started to explain.

"And whatever trust there was would be gone." Hotch agreed. "Just, on occasion, would you mind warning me?"

"Woe, woe, buddy." Morgan was soothing the more than a little agitated Reid. He slowly approached the boy, his hands held out, offering him the safety Reid had almost felt before.

Reid was pacing along the wall, his shoulder never leaving contact. His teeth were working on his finger tips, his eyes locked on the floor, doing everything possible to avoid looking at anything that remotely resembled human.

Morgan stepped in front of him, stopping his pacing. "Hey, Reid, it's alright, buddy." he tried to assure.

Reid skidded to a halt before slamming into the bigger agent's chest. He started to back up along the wall. "Alright?" he hissed. "Nothing is alright."

Gideon spun about to look at Reid, startled by the sharp anger in his tone. Rarely had he ever known Reid to get angry. And he just might be the one person in the world who knew him best. "Morgan, give him some space."

Morgan hesitated, glancing back at their team leader. But, bowing to his expertise, he backed away to stand beside Hotch. Shaking his head, he apologized to the other agent. "Wasn't paying attention to the nurses. Was watchin' Reid. I never thought they'd pull some crap like that."

Hotch nodded once. "It's alright." he assured. Leaning closer, dropping his voice to a whisper that only Morgan could hear, he explained "Gives us the hero position."

Morgan glanced at him sharply. "Hero position? You wanna play Reid!"

Hotch didn't bother to answer. Morgan would understand if he just took a moment to think about it.

"Reid?" Gideon called gently.

The young agent spun away from the sound of his voice, sliding along the wall, before spinning about again, his eyes always on the floor, nibbling on his finger tips.

Carefully, Gideon sat on the edge of the bed, being sure not to make any big movements. "Reid." he said again, his voice strong and commanding, knowing that, even if Reid didn't remember him, responding was part of his nature. "Look at me."

Sure as rain, hazel eyes flicked up, catching a glimpse of the man, before hiding away behind bangs once more.

Gideon smiled, the littlest bit of a glance enough to fill him with triumph. "Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid., FBI's Behavior Analysis Unit. You are a profiler." he spoke as if reading from a file. Not that he would need a file. He knew Reid.

He had found him.

Discovered him even.

Counseled him in where to aim his studies.

Brought him to the FBI BAU.

He didn't need a file to tell Reid who he was.

He knew it by heart.

Knew him by heart.

Again the hazel eyes glanced up at him. They narrowed.

Gideon dipped his head slightly, trying to look up into those eyes. "You are twenty-four years old. You have three doctorates. You're favorite color is green."

Reid's head shook. "Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.

"Because…" Gideon flashed his famous half smile. "I want you to know that we really do know you. That we really are your friends."

Reid looked pass Gideon to Morgan, remembering the offered coat. Then quickly dropped his eyes again. "I… I don't remember." He leaned his head against the wall. "800-223-2365." he mumbled.

"What's that?" the older agent asked. "A phone number?"

"Czechoslovak Air Lines, East Coast." Reid answered. "220.46 pounds equals 100 Kg. American Woman's shoe size 9 equals that of a British size7 ½. Mars is the Roman name for Aries, the god of war."

"Reid?" Gideon interrupted the rambling.

The boy looked up at him. "Why do I know all that stuff, but I don't know who I am?"

Again the older agent smiled that half smile of his. "Because you are a very smart young man."

Reid's head tilted. "You…. You're Dr. Jason Gideon." he breathed.

Gideon straightened. "You remember?"

Reid quickly shook his head. "No… yes… An article in Washington Post, 1992. You profiled a kidnapper, saved a little girl." He squeezed his eyes closed, reaching up to rub his knuckles in his temple, swaying slightly.

Gideon reached out a hand, almost instinctively, to offer support. "Reid?"

He jerked away from the offered hand, slamming his elbow back against the wall. "Don't!" Reid snapped. "Don't do that!" He threw a glare at Gideon. "I don't remember you! I don't remember me! I don't remember anything!" He was suddenly yelling, frustration, confusion, fear, the damn pounding in his head, the fast beating of his heart all becoming too much. "What happened to me?" he demanded.

Gideon's offered hand remained stretched out toward him. "That's what I'd like to find out." he explained calmly. "But you need to trust me. You need to let us do our job, gather evidence, investigate. You need to help us."

Reid's shoulders slumped. "But I don't remember anything." he practically wined. "How can I help?"

"Let me take some blood." The syringe appeared in Gideon's hand.

Reid's eyes went big, locking on the evil contraption. He shook his head, panic rising up in his chest. Arms crossing, his hands rubbed over the needle marks that already tattooed his skin.

:"Reid!" Gideon quickly commanded. "Reid look at me!"

The hazel eyes snapped up again.

"I will not touch you if you do not want me to. But, the only way you or I are going to find out what happened, what is wrong with your memory, is if we take a blood test." He held out his empty hand. "You need to make a decision right here and right now. Do you want to know? Or do you want to go on not knowing anything about you, your friends, your life…?"

Reid closed his eyes again, his bottom limp trembling. But he took a deep breath, set his jaw, and, finally, slowly as if forcing his body to obey, laid his arm in Gideon's grasp.

Gideon smiled, his fingers gently wrapping around the offered arm. He knew it took a lot of strength, a lot of bravery, and, maybe, just a shadow of a memory for Reid to surrender to him.

Even when his memory was intact, it took a great deal for the kid to trust anyone. And, when he did, it was never anyone other than his team mates.

It took Gideon only a breath to get the blood sample, and, he proudly noted, not a flinch, It had been a long time since he had wielded a syringe, and that was usually injecting, not taking. It was good to know he still had what it takes.

Glancing back, he handed the syringe to the waiting Hotch who quickly headed out of the room to find the doctor.

Though blood draw finished, Gideon didn't release the arm, nor did Reid pull back. So he took advantage of the moment of trust to get a better look at the marks on his agent's arms.

The scratches and scrapes that Dr. Wesslim had spoken of were tiny, inch long marks, red where the flesh was cut, slightly blue around the edges. Each one was straight and uniformed, exactly like the others.

"Morgan," Gideon called over his shoulder. "Does this look like thistle to you?"

Reid's eyes snapped open again. He glanced sharply from Gideon to the now approaching Morgan and back again.

Morgan leaned over Gideon's shoulder. "No." he said slowly. "Is… it a pattern?"

The older agent looked up at Reid and held out his free hand. "Reid, may I see you other arm?"

Reid hesitated, again glancing from one man to another. His fingers flexed nervously, his foot tapping full of a drug induced energy. But, finally, taking a shaky breath, he obliged, slowly unwrapping his other arm from around his middle, and holding it out beside the first.

Gideon stiffened. "Alpha and omega." he breathed. "Beginning and end."

Morgan's eyes flared with sudden anger. "Someone carved on his arms?" he demanded, though he was seeing the answer right there in front of him. "Tortured him?"

Gideon shook his head. "Too light, too precise. This wasn't done to cause pain." His eyes raised to take in the boy before him. "They were sending us a message."

Reid blinked, head tilting to one side, curious for a moment. But, being uncomfortable so close to men he just couldn't remember, he started to pull back again, back up against the wall.

Gideon let him go, knowing that holding him would only do harm. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he stood and turned toward Morgan. "Find J.J. I want pictures of his arms, legs, and any other marks on his body analyzed. Find out what else there is."

"He's trying to prove how smart he is." Reid mumbled.

The two men looked back at him. "What do you mean?" Gideon asked when the boy offered no more.

Reid glanced up at them, then quickly down. His fingers rubbed at the marks as if trying to make them go away. "He wants to show everyone how smart he is." He shrugged. "He thinks he's smart 'cause he knows things like alpha and omega, but, truth, a school child knows alpha and omega." He looked up at Gideon. "Like using big words to impress the people he keeps close. Like stealing a car when stealing a bike is no longer impressive. Like taking on us…. .you…" His voice faded away as he realized he wasn't sure who whoever would be taking on. Hell, he still didn't know who "us" or "you" or even "me" was! Again his eyes dropped, his bangs falling over his face.

Gideon watched him a moment before saying to Morgan. "That's the start of our profile."

"Gideon…. He doesn't even know who he is." Morgan reminded him.

"He doesn't need to know who he is to profile an unsub." Gideon reached out and took Reid's hands, stopping his fidgeting fingers from working on the cuts, making them worse.

Reid jerked away, but not far, his eyes coming up to meet the older agent's. If his mind wasn't so clouded, his memories lost in a thick, cold fog, he could almost recognized the gentle and caring expression, the worry in those eyes. The warmth the older man offered was almost familiar, like a favorite blanket or sweater, protecting him from the elements.

Damn it hurt how close to familiar he was, yet the memory so far out of reach.

Reid caught his lower lip between his teeth for a breath, before admitting out of the blue "I think I'm gonna throw up." Spinning away, he hurriedly stumbled to the sink down the wall and emptied what little contents were in his stomach down the drain.

Gideon closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest, and sighed. "Morgan, tell Hotch to take Elle and check out Reid's apartment. And…" He paused as Reid heaved again. "Let Dr. Wesslim know her patient needs her."

Wincing with sympathy, Morgan nodded once and hurried from the room.

---

Elle took the steps two at a time to catch up with Hotch. "Car's still in its spot. Dry underneath. Between yesterday's rain and this morning's snow…"

"it hasn't moved in the last two days… at least." Hotch held the fire door open his fellow agent. "Which, considering he does not go out on his own, does not give us a whole lot."

"Except that, how far out he was found, bare foot, in the snow… he didn't walk there." Elle pointed out.

Stopping in front of the door at the end of the hall, Hotch glanced back at her. "He did not walk." he agreed. "Someone took him." Unlocking the door, he started to push it open.

Suddenly it was pulled open from inside.

Instantly, both agents reached for their weapons, but stopped just short of actually drawing.

A beautiful young woman stood before them in the doorway. Thick, soft, wavy auburn hair floated about her shoulders, striking green eyes twinkled at them, perfect red lips formed the most perfect pout. Her lightly tanned skin was smooth and flawless, her nails polished. Everything about her right down to the sweat pants and tank top were right off the cover of just about any style magazine.

"Oh." she squeaked, jumping at the appearance of the agents. "Um…. Can I help you?" she asked.

Hotch raised one eye brow. "yes." he answered. He drew his badge quicker than he could of drawn his gun. "FBI. Special Agent Hotchner. This is Special Agent Greenaway."

The woman's eyes widen with recognition. "You work with Spencer." She jabbed out a hand. "I'm Abby." she offered with a bright smile as if they should recognize her name as easily as she recognized theirs. When they didn't seem to know her, her smile wavered. Tilting her head to the next door down, she explained "Next door neighbor. I take care of Galen when Spencer is out of town."

"Galen?" Elle repeated. Last time she hear, Reid was tripping over the thought of maybe, one day, possibly asking a girl out. Now he has a model house sitting? And house sitting who?

Abby's smile regained its strength when she shrugged one shoulder. "Yea. Galen. Can't expect the little guy to look after himself now, can we?" Then she frowned, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "And, hey, just where is Spencer anyhow? I mean, I found Galen out all by himself the other night and he wasn't home so I took Galen in myself and he didn't even leave water down!" She shook her head. "I know he gets distracted, but, come on, a little baby kitten needs his belly full."

"Galen is a kitten?"

Again the perfect smile returned. "The cutest bundle of hyper fur you ever did see."

Hotch interrupted with "You have a key to Reid's apartment?"

The woman nodded. "Sure." She shrugged. "I mean, you guys are headin' out at the drop of a hat, he usually can't wait around for me to get home, so…"

"Elle…"

Elle held her hand out to the woman. "Abby, would you be willing to sit down with me and answer some questions?"

Abby shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" She paused, seemingly to become aware of the agents' seriousness for the first time. "Is…. Is something wrong? Is Spencer alright?"

"Can we use your apartment?" Elle continued, leading the woman down the hall.

The neighbor out of the way, Hotch slipped his sun glasses off and cautiously stepped into Reid's apartment.

It was larger than he had expected, taking up the entire end of the building, windows on three sides. The door opened up into a large living area with little furniture. In the right far corner was a small baby grand piano, stacked high with books. In the lower right corner was a long couch, a small TV stand sitting in front of it. Running along the wall was a thin staircase leading to the loft bedroom. The far left corner was a tiny dining room table, sporting several books, a laptop, and a tipped over coffee mug. The kitchen was in the lower left corner, complete with a wall oven, fancy and polished range sitting in the middle of a marble island, and a breakfast bar with three stools. Every where, there were stacks of books, files, pencils, note pads… all the usual signs of one over educated Dr. Spencer Reid.

Hotch stood just inside to door, letting his eyes slowly , carefully, inspect the room, searching for a sign, any sign, that something was wrong. He had to smile, looking about at the scattered books. Anyone else's home, for the exception of, perhaps, Gideon, and Hotch would of classed the place as ransacked.

Of course the kitchen was spotless. Maybe never even used. Though there was a pair of Chinese take out boxes on the marble island.

Hotch frowned. Stepping over, he took a closer look at the take out boxes. Un-open, the sticker still intact over the flaps. A rather rancid smell rose up from the boxes, noting that they had been sitting out for sometime.

On the counter beside the food, was Reid's cell phone. It was sitting open as if some one had started to make a call, but, changing his mind at the last minute, just tossed it aside.

On the floor in the kitchen was a cat food bag. A bottom corner had been clawed open, spilling out a handful of tiny green, yellow, and brown bits out on the floor.

On the end of the breakfast bar was a plastic place mat with two, small bowls sitting on it. One was damp, a few drops of water puddled at its deepest spot. The other was dusted with cat food crumbs.

"Anything?"

Hotch glanced back as Elle stepped into the apartment. Folding his sun glasses up and sliding them into his breast pocket, he looked down at the to-go boxes again. "He hasn't been here for a few couple of days." he observed.

Elle nodded as she wandered the living area. "That's what Abby said." She paused in front of the piano. "Reid's also a musician?" she asked, raising an eye brow at the lead agent.

Hotch smiled slightly. "Would you be surprised?"

The woman also smiled. "Are you ever not surprised with how much he crams into that head of his?" She turned and looked up the stair. "Checked the bedroom yet?"

Hotch shook his head. With one last look around the kitchen, he turned and headed up the stairs. "Don't touch the wall. Might be finger prints." he advised when Elle followed.

The bedroom loft was slender but long. Most of it was taken up by a large desk adorned with a computer and even more books. The double bed was pressed up into the corner beside the bathroom. A dresser and wardrobe sat against the rail on the other side of the bathroom door from the bed.

"Hotch." Elle warned. "The dresser."

Hotch was already looking at the open drawer, an empty gun holster on the floor directly below. A small hand mirror also laid on the floor, pushed off the dresser corner at some time.

"Where's the gun?" Elle wondered, glancing about.

"Computer's still on." Hotch observed, pointing to the green light beside the power button. "Check it out. Maybe he was working on something."

Elle nodded once as she headed for the desk. Already having rubber gloves in place, she tapped the cordless mouse.

Instantly the screen came alive.

Elle leaned over the back of the chair. "Looks like he was checking his e-mail." Another click of the mouse. "Mostly spam…. A couple of Please contact' from a Yahoo group."

"What's the name?" Hotch wondered as he opened the door and glanced about the bathroom. Seeing nothing of interest, he returned to searching the bedroom.

"Umm…. Called the Brainy University." Elle pulled the chair back.

A startled yowl came from the seat of the chair.

"Damn!" Elle involuntarily cried, hopping back.

"What?" Hotch spun about, ready to defend her.

But Elle grinned sheepishly. Reaching down, she scooped up a small, gray kitten with huge green eyes, and cradled him in her arms.

Hotch smiled, relaxing. "Galen, I presumed." Then he frowned. "Abby was supposed to be taking care of him, wasn't she?"

Elle nodded. "Maybe she takes care of him here. Just stopping in a couple of times."

"Then why was the food and water bowls empty?"

Elle looked at him, also frowning now.

"Is she in her apartment?" Hotch asked, turning and starting for the stairs.

"I left her at her door. Told her to wait there for us." Elle answered, setting the kitten down on the chair again and following Hotch.

They hurried down the stairs and out the front door.

"Which door?" Hotch asked, pausing to wait for Elle.

She stepped pass him and knocked on the third door down. "Abby?" She tried the door knob.

It was locked.

Hotch stepped to the side of the door, indicating that Elle should do the same thing. He reached out and knocked on the door, calling out "FBI. Open the door!"

There was a click.

The door opened just a crack.

A young man peered out. "Yes, sir?" he asked cautiously.

Elle and Hotch exchanged glances, before Elle asked "Sir, is Abby available?"

"Abby?" the man asked.

"Damn it!" Hotch cursed, spinning about and stomping back to Reid's apartment.

With a groan, Elle flipped open her cell phone and started dialing.