𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 | 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 (2)

Chapter 26

*This chapter is slightly longer than normal so I hope you don't mind.
Feel free to comment whatever comes to your mind bc it makes me happy <3
HAPPY READING <3

...

I awoke with a violent jolt, sitting bolt upright in bed. I clawed at my neck, gasping and choking for air. I expected my fingers to close around a noose  —something— to explain the strangling sensation. But there was nothing there. No cold hands throttling me with ferocious determination. No chain. No rope. It was all in my mind. Except that wasn't entirely true; a sickeningly stagnant feeling knotted in my stomach as I recognised the same feeling I had felt the day Daniel shot himself. Of course, I hadn't understood what it was then and I wasn't sure I understood it now. All I knew was that something was wrong. Something bad.

Peeling the sheets from my clammy skin, I clambered out of bed. I was filled with the strange sensation that I was wading through thick water, with led-lined limbs. But it felt more like I was drowning —sinking with every step. I was in such a frantic haze that I barely registered the floor under my feet as I made my way to Spencer's room. I quickly deduced that River wasn't there. But that hadn't seemed abnormal at the time —she came and went as she pleased. I stumbled over to the bed, reaching to grab Spencer's shoulders. My fingers dug into his skin unintentionally hard in my panic. I shook him. Desperately.

"What?" he gasped, waking in the same panicked manner that I had done.

...

In the car, I drummed my fingers anxiously against the dashboard, bouncing my knees in nervous anticipation. Spencer had offered to drive me and, not trusting my newfound tremor or my anxious state of mind, I had gratefully accepted. He was talking to me now, telling me that it was anxiety. I had just forgotten to breathe, he said, smiling with fond sadness. Initially, he hadn't wanted to take me. He had wanted to stop, and to focus on my breath. He told me it was just panic. Maybe. But it meant something. Something bad. I just wasn't sure exactly how bad.

Somehow I knew he wouldn't answer but I kept calling Hotch anyway. Spencer tried to attribute Hotch's silence to the fact that it was 3:40 am. But Hotch was an incredibly light sleeper. We had always joked that he merely closed his eyes while his mind was wide awake. So, the more I called and the more he didn't answer, the more I panicked.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

I did what I often did when I felt helpless: I prayed. It was a selfish trait of mine. My faith was fickle; I only called on God when I desperately needed something. But I wanted so badly for this feeling to just be the product of paranoia that I didn't see the harm in trying. I prayed that I would see them tonight. If I could just see them —see that they were breathing— then everything would be okay.

As we pulled up to the house, the familiar crunch of gravel filled me with a cruel sense of hope. My house. I wanted to be relieved by the familiar sight of his car in the driveway or the window illuminated by the landing light we kept on in case the children woke in the night. But, as I hurriedly scrambled out of the car, there was a certain stillness to the house that filled me with a quiet dread. I could feel the emptiness, leaking through the walls and penetrating the air.

My fears were confirmed when Spencer and I both noticed that the front door was ajar. Working at the BAU, we had attended enough crime scenes to know that what awaited us was ugly. Hotch, having seen the worst of humanity, always double-checked the locks on the door. He would never leave it open.

"Spencer," I whimpered, trying and failing not to imagine the worst.

"I see it," he acknowledged, taking great effort to keep his tone fixed and calm, "You need to prepare yourself, Adeline."