The New Agent: Secrets

Chapter Three (Edited)

I hate hospitals with a passion. There's something about the overwhelming scent of death that makes me jittery. The high I'd gotten from my run is gone. The rush of adrenaline from the attack is gone. I am left with a numb ache in the bit of my stomach. All I want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep for a week. That's not going to happen. Not for a little while at least.

I glare at the crumpled hospital gown wadded in the corner. The nurses had insisted I wear it. Protocol. It's one I'm used to. That doesn't mean I do it without a fair amount of grumbling. It's really not necessary. I know the wounds will scar. But, as I told the officer, I'd had worse. It's not as if the blade had done any major damage. Not that I would've remembered if it had. Hence the tests.

My skin still crawls. I know they saw the scars on my back...the remnants of cigarette burns that litter my biceps. Of course, none showed beneath regular clothes. They'd been exceptionally careful of that. No scars, no bruises that would draw the attention of others.

I remember the softened expression of the female doctor as she gently prods as to what caused those scars. Too bad for her that I don't crack that easily. I don't reply, falling into my natural reflex of silence. Eventually, she gives up. Assured i'm not going to suddenly bleed to dead, she left me to my own devices.

A shudder runs up my spine. I jam my earbuds back into my ears, turning the music on full blast, as I turn my back to the door and continue dressing. I slip my shirt over my head, wincing as the cotton brushes across the stitched wounds. Only one or two were deep enough for stitches. They'd used dissolvable ones so, luckily, I won't have to come back to have them removed.

"Thank God for small miracles."

An ear bud pops loose. I utter a very unladylike curse. As I bend to retrieve it, I hear a knock at the door. I hesitate. I doubt it's the doctor or any of the nurses. My discharge papers lay spread across the small cot in the middle of the road. It's probably one of the BAU. They're the ones that had insisted I get checked out. So, it stands to reason that they would follow.

Well, best to get it over with now. I clear my throat, "Come in."

The door swivels open. Jason Gideon enters first. Aaron Hotchner follows. Gideon shows no emotion. Hotchner does his best but I don't miss the flicker of guilt that passes his face before he shuts it down. I lift an eyebrow. Now, what could Aaron Hotchner be having guilt about?

"The doctor says your injuries are minor."

With a snort, I roll my eyes, "I could've told you that."

Sitting on the cot, I jam my foot into one of my running sneakers. My stomach is still in knots. My fingers refuse to cooperate, stumbling over the laces as I struggle to tie them. They're both staring at me. Which makes it worse. The lack of sleep is really starting to get to me.

"Need some help?" Gideon offers.

I shoot him a glare but I don't reply. It's probably best I don't. I might say something I regret. . The tips of my fingers have gone numb. It's not the first time this has happened. And it's probably not going to be the last.

"Miss Hurtz. The man you encountered in the alley...his name is Alvin Hempshire. We've been chasing him for two years. We were starting to doubt we've ever catch him, " Gideon continues.

I'm still bent over, struggling with lacing my sneakers. I don't miss the relief in his voice. But, as he continues, I pick up on the tone change. "You're his type. Petite, red headed."

I pause at that. Derek had mentioned on the ride over that the man had murdered twelve women prior to his attack on me. But there's something in the way he says this last part that makes me look up. Both men are staring at me.