Desiderium: longing for something that has been lost

Chapter 19

"we can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light" --- plato 

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Las Vegas

February 20, 2008

4:37 p.m

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Rossi had seen his fair share of impossibly bad situations. Hell, Vietnam had shown him things he'd truly never forgotten. But as he stared down at his phone, the sounds of crashing echoing eerily from the speaker, he decided that this case was one for the books. 

The phone was emitting a long monotonous beep now, and the slightly annoying sound shook him from his daze. Oh, god. He called them back with one hand, the other calling out any and all available first responding units in the immediate area. The tone went immediately to dial, and he swore running his hand through his hair. He tried Morgan's number and breathed in a steading breath when his phone too, went straight to voicemail. 

"Hey, Rossi I managed to keep Hotch's shooting in the media for the main part at bay..." JJ's voice trailed part as she took in her usually collected colleagues manner. "What's wrong." 

"We have a situation." He turned to her, and swallowed down the rising nausea. "I need you to contact Emily and conference her in, this is serious, tell her if Hotch is awake and alert to join in. I need all the power we have right now." 

JJ nodded and pulled out her phone. "Hey Em, yeah Rossi's here too, something's happened. No I don't know. Listen, is Hotch awake? Ok. Alright." She looked over at him and nodded. "Alright, we're all in, Rossi?"

He breathed in. "Alright, after this mornings debacle I made the decision to move the kid to a safe house, so Morgan and Garcia both moved him to one of the houses the bureau has set up near here. I thought it made sense, the hotel was compromised, and I foresaw another attack soon. What I didn't factor in that everything that's happened, the distraction onto you Hotch, the shooting, was a tactic to move him from the hotel in the first place." He massaged his forehead. "It's a classic trick." 

"Hindsight is twenty twenty Dave, no use fine picking the what if's." Hotch's voice filtered through the speaker. JJ grimaced, he sounded tired and weak. "So what you're saying is, you've lost contact with both Morgan and Garcia and our only lead?"

He frowned at the phone. "I'm having all units go to their last known call-in, I'm hoping they'll find something."

"What exactly happened?"

"Sounded like a car crash, Garcia said they were being tailed and it must have accelerated quickly from there." 

A  long sigh came from the speaker. "Alright, I need people down there as soon as possible. There's going to be some sort of scene, and I want evidence. I want someone to be on the look for ..."  He paused thinking, "Did they happen to mention the type of car?"

"Yeah, white SUV, large, no easily identifiable features though."

"Alright, Rossi you head to the site, JJ I want you to keep all eyes open for any recent cars that have been reported with major damage to their bumper, either in some impound or by some bystander. Get this out on the news."  There was a beat of silence. "Have the police gotten there yet?"

Rossi put his other phone to his ear. "They're pulling up now."

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Awareness flickered back in flashes of color and spikes of pain, and Morgan was suddenly aware of a pressure mounting on his leg. Groaning in pain, he blinked blearily and raised his head off the air bag. Through his shattered vision, he could barely make out Garcia in the seat next to him, her head lolling on the seat. Straining in his seat, he pushed against the wrecked seat and reached out towards her, his heart hammering in his chest. 

His fingers brushed against her neck, and he let out a sigh of relief when he felt her pulse. Remembering that he had been driving both Garcia and Spencer, he painfully forced himself around to find him. 

He was tangled in his seatbelt, and his head rested against the crumpled seat, and while there was blood, Morgan breathed a sigh of relief and with shaky hands, began searching for a way out. His desperate pulling at the seatbelt was interrupted by glass shattering. A blurry figure moved into his line of sight, and chuckled softly.

"Well, hello there agent Morgan." He reached in and grabbed him by the shoulder forcing him back into the seat. Morgan let out a harsh breath, and moved one hand up to alleviate some of the crushing pressure. "Here's what's going to happen. You, tech girl, and Spencer, are all going to come with me, anyone so much as decides to move a finger without me saying so?" He produced a gun and pressed it into his chest. "You first there, G-man." 

The gun pressed into his chest harder and his vision blurred violently. The figure leaned in and pulled him out roughly.  The sudden change in equilibrium caused him to stumble and lean against the side of the car, vomiting violently. Sounds of more glass breaking behind him, spurred his pain riddled brain into action. He lurched around, fist spinning out. His fist glanced off the figure's back, and he startled with a laugh. 

"Agent Morgan, I underestimated you." He eyed Morgan up and down. Morgan huffed, very aware of a trail of blood snaking down from his forehead. "But, let's put that to rest now."

He darted to the side. Morgan blinked and stumbled forward, his vison tunneling on getting his compatriots out of the wrecked car. 

He reached the shattered windows, and stretched his hand inside. He could almost touch Garcia's blond hair, almost reach Spencer's still blanket draped body. 

"M' so sorry." He mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

A branch cracked behind him, and then he remembered. He wasn't alone. A soft sigh escaped his lips as a sharp pain burst on the back of his head. 

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When Rossi first joined the Marine Corps back in the year 1973, to fight in Vietnam, he was young and fresh faced, oblivious to the various forms of trauma that waited him in just a few weeks. 

He lost the soft-eyed, golden Mama's boy within hours of touching down and quickly picked up a rough, sarcastic exterior to cover up a shell shocked interior. 

If Rossi were to have told anyone about those days, he'd proudly say that they don't affect him, that he's fine, he's moved on to bigger and better things. 

He lies of course. They all lie. 

He sees the reflection of his comrades in the eyes of his teammates. 

And heart pounding, and hands shaking, Rossi wonders if he wouldn't be able to save them too. 

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It was quiet, the officer, Rossi had chosen to drive with keeping a respectful silence out of commiseration of fallen colleagues. Rossi was eternally thankful. He was hoping that he'd see all of them sitting on the side of the road, legs stretched out, just waiting.

"Yeah, sorry about that."  one of them would say, Morgan no doubt. "Misunderstanding, lost our signal, and  we lost the SUV too." They'd all share a good laugh, and breath a sigh of relief and head back together, and whole, and safe. 

Rossi wasn't an optimist. He was a realist. 

As the sedan rolled to a stop, he squeezed his eyes shut. Sooner or later, he would have to find out the truth, but this limbo between the god-awful truth and ignorance was better than taking that next step out. 

The officer gave him a pitying look, and clapped him on the shoulder. 

He forced his eyes open, and followed him out. 

The scene was lit up with red and blue lights, and several emergency vehicles were parked precariously on the side of the road. 

It was their lack of urgency that confirmed what Rossi already knew, somehow. They were gone. And he had once again failed.