Unknown- A Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 48- Interrogation

Note to Readers: You can read a different perspective of the main scene in this chapter in my Criminal Minds One Shots book.  Please comment and vote! :)

I stared down at the table, my hands clasped in my lap.  It was freezing in here, but that was because in order to keep suspects on edge most interrogation rooms had climate control and were kept at a balmy sixty degrees.  Which would have been fine if I was wearing normal clothes, but I was still clad in the thin gray tank top and matching gray shorts that I had been put in while unconscious.

The other agent who had been undercover as a buyer had gotten killed in the crossfire when the place was raided because SWAT and the officers hadn't been informed of the presence of two other friendlies.  That's how far undercover we were, and that's why I was currently considered a suspect for accomplice to human trafficking and murder.

Because a few of the girls, including Sara in the cell next to mine, had also been caught in the crossfire from the men who had been selling us, one was found dead in her cage after committing suicide, and two other girls had gotten shot and were, to my best estimate, in ICU somewhere.  Though all the details were still a little fuzzy, I'm pretty sure I was the only one who had made it out unscathed.  If you didn't count the marks all over my arms and the blood crusted onto my bruised face, that is.

I glanced up when I spotted shadows moving behind the mirror--two-way mirror, obviously--on the wall across from me.  I squinted against the fluorescent lights glaring overhead as the door to the left of the mirror opened before turning my attention to a shockingly familiar figure walking in.

His face was partially obscured by his perpetually messy curly hair hanging over his eyes as he looked down at a file open in his hands.

"Hi, Reid," I said with a smirk, and he looked up, startled.

"You're our suspect?" he asked, shocked even after the double take.

"Apparently so," I said with a one-shouldered shrug, reaching up to fix the tank top strap that had just slipped down my shoulder.

He stared before dropping the file he was holding on the table and spinning on his heel, going back out the door.  I leaned forwards and picked up the file, opening it and glancing through it, trying to ignore the pounding that had steadily increased to the loud tempo of a bass drum since I had been put in here approximately five or six hours ago.  I couldn't quite tell, there were no windows and no clock.  

But I was also wondering what kind of strings fate was pulling that the team ended up working the exact case I was undercover on all the way in California.

The door opened again and Hotch came in, demanding, "McDowell, what is going on?"

I glanced up from the file and remarked simply, "I was undercover."

"You're on leave, you're not supposed to be in the field," he commanded sternly.

"Yeah," I replied in a duh voice. That must have been the most realistic cover story Strauss could come up with considering I hadn't seen any of them in over two weeks, minus the two times I'd met with Rossi and when I'd seen Reid.

"McDowell, don't make me interrogate you," Hotch threatened.

I sighed and gave in, tossing the file on the table and adjusting the annoying strap on my shirt again before explaining, "Since everyone knew I wasn't supposed to be in the field, it acted as a double alibi when I went undercover."

I stopped and rubbed my eyes, I was seeing spots now.  Hotch gave me a look, but I kept talking.

"I was the only...victim," I hesitated over the word, "who made it out alive because," I hardened my voice before it started wavering, "Because I was on display when the headquarters was raided."

God, my eyes were throbbing, and I impatiently rubbed them before adding, "I lasted longer than the rest of them," referring to not having been sold right away despite being put on display twice in the short amount of time I was there, "since I'm an agent."

White and black spots started waltzing across my vision, flashing and blurring out Hotch's face in front of me with each pound inside my head.  I groaned, it hurt, and pressed the heels of my palms to my eye sockets as if that could stop it.

"Do you have a headache?" Hotch suddenly asked me, sounding concerned.

"The lights just hurt my eyes," I dismissed, dropping my arms to my lap and resting my elbows on my hips.  My skin looked garishly pale in the fluorescent light, decorated with dark bruises, the black blood of scabbed over cuts, and deep red flaking skin from the burns.

Hotch glanced at my arms and I barely noticed I had nervously started bouncing my leg.  I hoped it was just the cold cause I had no reason to be nervous, I participated in interrogations all the time.  I wasn't usually the one being interrogated, though.

"They tortured you and the other girls?" he asked firmly.

I cast my gaze to the floor, away from my scarred arm, but didn't answer.  I assumed it was pretty obvious.

"McDowell, did they torture you?" he repeated loudly.

I hesitated, recalling the smell as smoke curled up from my own flesh, the singular bulb I had seen flashing above my head when I was thrown back to a dark damp room with an eerie shadowed figure.

I nodded silently and Hotch turned and left the room.  I heard him call JJ's name before the door shut, cancelling all sound.

I sighed and propped an elbow on the table, dropping my head in my hand, my hair falling partially in my face and blocking some of the agonizing light.  I just wanted to sleep, but a twinge deep in my stomach jerked the sleepiness away when I remembered that my stalker was still out there.  

And since the team had showed up here, my cover had essentially been blown.  Which means he could find me again, even if I was across the country.  For all we knew, he could also be across the country just waiting for his chance to nab me again and finish what he had started out to do.