THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE. Thick black smoke poured into the already gloomy sky, alerting us to that disheartening fact miles away from the large warehouse that we tracked our unsub to. This completely changes things. The plan was to camp in front of the building, wait for backup, and try to negotiate for the life of the child he held captive. But now seeing the thick orange flames of the fire already quickly spreading, that is no longer an option.

"Aaron stand down!" SSA Charter- the squad leader commands as I reach to open the door before our vehicles can make a complete stop in front of the building. Its as if he could sense my train of thought, remembering all of the times I've gone against his orders in the past. "Wait for backup."

I need to obey his order. I can't afford another write up, but my gut is telling me I need to go into that building. Something about this case is gnawing at me. Persisting like an itch that won't go away. It has taken six years and twelve dead kids to track this man down. And this is how it ends? With another dead child.

No.

No. It can't end that way. She may still be alive. She may be trapped. My eyes find the small Polaroid stapled to the back of one of the team-members case binder. Bright and large rounded eyes, paired with a nervous dimpled half-smile sparked a burning in my chest.

"He is armed, dangerous, and unpredictable. Now he is cornered by the FBI." I don't dare look away from the building. "Do you really think that little girl will still be alive if we wait for backup?"

"You know as well as I, that she had a low chance of survival. Now with the state of the warehouse-- I'm not sending in my men to a compromising situation for a corpse." Charter says stiffly, affirming in his mind the child is dead, and risking our lives to confirm it would be a fools errand. "Stand down, that's an order." He narrows his eyes at me, testing me.

I don't need him in my ear reminding me of the nearly impossible likelihood of the child being alive, I'm not oblivious to reality. I know she is likely dead already, having been Jeffery Ottos' final victim before the fire was set, or perhaps she succumbed to the smoke and flames. My jaw clicks with the force of my grinding teeth as I glance at the little hopeful face on the Polaroid, taken on the first day of Kindergarten and the only photo the FBI and all its resources were able to find of the child. And that solidified my resolve. Either way I cannot let this be her final resting place. No I'm coming out of there with her. A corpse or not.

I quickly exit the vehicle before anyone could stop me. Ignoring the faint protests and yells of the team and supervisor. "She's burning to death and you just want to stand here?!" The familiar voice and a car door slamming closed lifted any concerns about disobeying orders that I had. Knowing my partner was on my side, which rarely happens, brought back the confidence a man needs when running into a burning building.

With both of our weapons drawn, my unit partner Davis breaks down one of the side doors.

"Clear."

"Lets start at the eastern side, priority locating the girl. Shoot to incapacitate if you come across Ottos. Bail if the smoke becomes to difficult to handle. Cover me." I order, stepping in behind him.

"Yes sir." He says sarcastically.

I send him a pointed look not appreciating his sarcasm, before we begin to make our way through the building. The warehouse is nothing special. It's easy to see why he chose this place. In the middle of nowhere, access to internet, no one around to hear the haunting sounds of the children's screams. He could easily stow away with them for months without anyone batting an eye.

Tucked in the back of the building is a metal staircase that will give us access to the second floor. I send a quick glance over my shoulder at Davis, his eyes are already bloodshot and watering down his cheeks, and his breathing is harsh and uneven.

"I'm heading up." I tell him as I press a rag to my nose and mouth. Far behind us I can hear the rest of the squad finally making their way into the building. Backup must have arrived. Or SSA Charter finally grew some balls. "Finish securing the basement."

He opens his mouth to protest, but a fit of coughs takes him over.

I raise my weapon before ascending the staircase, being careful not to come in contact with the hot metal handrail. The smoke is far thicker on the second floor, making it that much more difficult to breathe. I crouch down, trying my best to stay as low as possible while at the same time remaining in a position that won't put me at a disadvantage. The second floor is much smaller, three rooms with their doors missing instead of an open area, basically a loft nearly a fourth the size of the ground level. The flames however, are much more concentrated up here.

This must be where the fire originated.

"Clear." I mutter to no one in particular as I check the first room. Nothing but a worn mattress on the floor and a few dozen empty pizza boxes that have already begun to catch fire.

My breathing has become shallow, even with the damp rag preventing more smoke from my lungs.

"Base level clear." A voice on my mic says.

"FBI!" I announce in a surprised hoarse voice when I came to the last room. Raising my gun, and squinting my eyes to get a better look at the figure I came across. It's far too small to be our unsub.

No. This is a child.

"Nicolette?" My heart beats quickly with adrenaline as I call out her name. The room is completely engulfed in flames. The fire licking up the walls and ceiling, smoke smearing the air making it near impossible to breathe. Her back is turned to me so I can't see her face. Even from here I can see the dried blood, and the burns forming on her pale skin. "Nicolette! I-I need you to come towards me."

But she dosent move.

She is just standing there.

"It's Hotchner. One child found. Requesting medical assistance." I speak to the others in the squad through my mic despite the raw condition of my throat as I try to get closer to her.

"Negative. Medical assistance has been called and is now posted outside." A response comes through. "Get out immediately."

"Nic-" part of the ceiling crumbles, falling in a blaze not far from her. Heat immediately hit me like a wave, the surge causing me to instinctually pull back as sparks seared the exposed skin of my hands. I can't even imagine pain of being any closer. Quickly I clutch the rag closer to my face and force myself to take a few steps forward. Almost there. I almost can reach her.

Only as I get near her I can see what she is staring at.

Jeffery Ottos.

Or more specifically— his corpse.

The small girl is petrified. Standing completely still even as the walls burned around us, close enough to burn and blister her skin. Even through the thick haze of smoke I can see her large sunken eyes trained on the corpse at her feet, unable to look away as the flames consumes the flesh off of its bones.

I have to force myself to turn, trying to keep from vomiting on the crime scene. Already feeling sick and light headed from the smoke, there is no need to add on to it by staring at such a gruesome scene.

"Get out of the building, agent. Now."

"Sweetie." I lay a hand on her shoulder and gently pull her back from Ottos dead body. "We need to get you out of here." I pick her up as gently as I possibly can, and quickly rush us both out the door. I sigh in relief once I get to the staircase. It isn't far to get out of here. I can hear her little heart beating so fast and her labored breathing as she wrapped her arms around my neck. She is struggling with the smoke. It is nearly impossible to see now that smoke has caked every part of the building, so thick and warm I can't see a foot in front of me. My eyes burn and sweat beads on my head from the heat of the flames.

I need to get us out of here.

"This way!" A hand suddenly clasps my shoulder. Davis. He must have come in after me. He grips onto my arm and leads us over to the door.

As soon as we are out of the building paramedics swarm us, leading us to the ambulances that are stationed at the end of the drive. One of the EMT's try to take the girl from me, but her little grip is locked tight around my neck.

"Sweetie... I-I need.. I need you to go with the doctor okay? They are going to help you." I say with a smoke filled voice, eyes were watering profusely, red and puffy from the smoke and the intense heat.

She doesn't let go, her grip doesn't even falter.

"She is in shock." The EMT finally says, after a few failed attempts of coaxing her off of me. "You can accompany her in the ambulance?" They offer, not knowing what else to do in the situation. Its not like they can get a crowbar and pry her off of me. At least not without knowing her condition first.

Feeling the heavy weight of eyes on me, I turn meeting the gaze of SSA Charter, just in time to catch his glare of disapproval aimed directly at me.

I disobeyed his direct orders— Again.

"Nicolette, I need you to let go of me, okay? I'll be with you the whole time, but we need to go in the ambulance, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetie?" She doesn't speak. But she did loosen her grip, allowing me to lower her onto the gurney. She immediately gripped onto my hand, her body quivering as her nails dug painfully into my skin.

Now that she is safely placed on a gurney I can fully see her condition. Far from the innocently smiling girl in the Polaroid. Her large optimistic eyes are now sunken and blood shot. Her right leg and arm is very badly burned to the point the paramedics cover them for the ride to the hospital, not wanting to traumatize her with seeing the state of the flesh. Her bottom lip is split open, and she has angry red marks on her wrists. She is extremely skinny. Too skinny. The chubby rose dusted cheeks sporting an awkward half-smile now are nothing but sharp cheekbones smudged in bruises and blood. Her hair is singed, no longer the delicate ringlets tied in pigtails with pink ribbon for picture-day. Bruises of all stages of healing decorate most of her body. Black, brown, purple, and yellow bruise-marks littering her skin, contrasting with the ghostlike paleness from not having seen the sun in months.

If it wasn't for the vice-like grip she has on my hand I wouldn't be able to tell her apart from a corpse.
••••

The little girl is now stable. It took sixteen hours to get her to this point.

She was rushed into surgery almost immediately after we arrived to the hospital, the medics called to get the surgical room prepped while we were still on the way. Not wanting to waste any time after discovering she had a bullet wound in her shoulder blade. But once they got her into surgery she needed staples to stop a gash in the side of her head, and she had multiple internal injuries that needed to be addressed. She survived the surgery. But the smoke really took its toll on her lungs and vocal-cords, she frequently stopped breathing throughout the surgeries. Her doctor just informed me that she should be okay for now, they will keep her for the forcible future, but she should wake up soon.

I made my way to her room as soon as I heard that, I just have a feeling I need to be there when she wakes up.

Nicolette is laying in the hospital bed. Her dark hair shaved probably due to the staples they had to put in, and clean white bandages are wrapped around her head, shoulder, arm and leg. Oxygen tubes barley fit on her face, the nurses having to use a piece of tape to her cheek so it won't fall out of her nose. An IV is settled into the crook of her burn free arm. I pull up a chair beside her, and wrap my large hand around her small one.

Despite the five blankets on her bed she feels so cold. Ice settling into her skin as her body fights to heal from the torture she just went through, not having enough spared energy to give her any kind of warmth. Her face is drained of all color, and even asleep she looks exhausted.

A child shouldn't look like this. She is so strong.

Our unsub, Jeffery Ottos had her for three months.

According to his M.O. he would demand a ransom to the children's families, and attempt to 'sell' them on the certain human trafficking forums on the dark web. He would collect the ransom, and the lump sum of money for the auction online and never follow through with his end of either deal. He would never give the child back, or give them to the paying party. Thank goodness for the later, but that wasn't out of the kindness of his heart, no, his motive wasn't entirely financially based. He would abuse the children he took. Exploiting them for himself, and if he decided he wanted more money, for photos to sell. His M.O. states that he kept a child for around four to six months before deciding they were a liability and killing them, or perhaps he had sucked the life out of the child so much so that he was no longer profiting off keeping them.

Jeffery Ottos had successfully killed twelve others, yet she managed to survive.

Suddenly the heart monitor begins beeping rapidly. She has woken up, panicked, and is hyperventilating.

"It's okay!" I sit up in my chair, squeezing her hand in attempts to comfort her. "You're safe now. I'm right here." Her wide green eyes bore into me sharp and cold like the metal of a knife, her hand tightly gripping mine and slowly she begins to calm down. "My name is Aaron, by the way. Aaron Hotchner." I tell her after a full five minutes of her silently staring at me. It's honestly a little unnerving, I don't think I've seen her blink.

She doesn't respond. It's not like I had expected her to. But the realization makes me notice how I have yet to hear her speak, she hasn't said anything she hasn't even screamed. Not on the ambulance, not in the hospital, and not now.

Before I could try to speak to her again, the door swings open loudly banging against the wall as SSA Charter bursts through the room. Nicolette jumped, her eyes going wide and her breath and heartbeat speeding up as she dug her nails into my hand.

"Sir!" I give him a look of disbelief as I try to get her to calm down. "It's okay, it's okay. He's a good guy. He is my boss. We work for the FBI. See this? It's my badge, that means we are the good guys. We will protect you. It's okay."

Charter, stood by the end of the bed. Face blank, eyes showing no remorse shown for having scared a clearly traumatized young girl.

"Aaron. Outside, now." He ordered as a young woman entered the room, she introduced herself as a social worker.

Nicolettes eyes went wide again, and her grip tightened. I gave her a small reassuring smile, and squeezed her hand.

"Hey." Her gaze fell on me. "I'll be right back. This nice lady is going to sit with you for a bit." I gesture to the social worker. "But you see that window right there? I'm going to be right outside of it. You can still see me. And I'll be right back, okay?" She looked at the woman, who gave her a sweet smile, before shaking her head tightening her small grip on my hand. "Here, you can keep this okay? I'll be back for it. I swear." Her eyes train on my badge, before glancing back at the social worker. After a few beats her wavering fingers reach for my badge which makes me smile down at her. "Atta girl."

"Hotchner." With one last squeeze of her hand, I let go, and follow Charter out of the room.

"Was that really necessary?" I ask crossing my arms, annoyance shining clearly through my voice. "I know you're one for theatrics but that was uncalled for, you know she just went through--"

"I'm putting you on family duty, while Davis questions her." He interrupts me.

"But sir-"

"Hotchner. Don't even start with me today." He rubs his forehead with his hand before sighing. "I have enough going on without the headache of the foster family, and your insubordinate attitude. Don't be surprised if you get suspended or even worse when I report your performance this month. I've warned you, kid. You're never going to give the orders if you can even follow them."

"I- Yes sir." I sigh, he knows I want to move up in this organization, to help more, to do more. I guess that's not happening for a long time— if ever.

"I expect a full report on my desk by tomorrow morning." Giving a glance through the window I can see the young girl sitting up straighter on the bed so she can stare over at me, her hand tightly on my badge.

"Could I have the foster family speak with me out here? I don't think the girl will take it very well if I'm not in her sight. You should have seen her before the surgery." I think back to a few hours ago, she was very distraught when she was told I wouldn't be able to go into the operating room. Silent screams and shaking protests, straining to get out of the grip of the nurses, tears running down her face as she accidentally reopened some wounds in her struggle. They had to sedate her to get her to stop.

"Whatever. Just get it done."

I speak with the so called 'family'. It takes everything I have in me to have even a single ounce of professionalism with them. After what they did, they don't even deserve that.

Surprisingly our unsub Ottos was the one that brought her abduction to the police's attention- not her foster parents. Apparently Ottos was trying to get some ransom, and three weeks into having her he decided if the family wouldn't give him the money, the state would. And that was the mistake that brought us to his location. Sure it took two and a half more months but we did find him eventually.

But the foster family had known about her disappearance three weeks before we did.

Three whole weeks.

Had we known she was taken we would have linked her to Jeffery Ottos, and spent those three weeks finding her. We could have gotten her three weeks earlier. Three weeks where she wouldn't have to be tortured, abused, alone, and afraid. The foster family never reported her missing or paid the ransom. They were content in her becoming his thirteenth victim and collecting the checks they received from the government for taking her in as a foster child. There were clear evidence of abuse in the home. During our investigation we found out why they never reported her— Nicolette had run away.

I am given the pleasure of telling the couple that they were both being arrested for negligence, child abuse, and obstructing a federal investigation, while the the case into them is ongoing.

I couldn't help but notice a pair of big green eyes watching in awe as they both were escorted out in handcuffs.

"Come on, kid. Can you talk to us please?" I hear Davis ask as I enter the hospital room. He gave me a look and a shake of his head. He hadn't been successful in getting her to talk either.

"Nicolette, that man, cannot hurt you anymore." I say softly as I sat back down in the chair beside her, she immediately outstretched her hand with my badge. I took it from her gently, grabbing her little hand and giving her a smile. "And neither can Terry and Ana. They are going to prison, but we need your help to make sure they go away for a really long time. Can you help us?"

She glanced between me, Davis, and the social worker. You could see it in her eyes that she was thinking. Weighing her options.

Hesitantly she nodded.

I smiled thankfully at her. Davis repeated his earlier question. Her lips parted. A small croak escaping her raw throat. I squeezed her hand, encouraging her to try again. A silent try this time before her eyes squinted in pain and she began coughing.

"How about writing. Can you write?" I ask as I rub her back as her coughing fit continues. The doctor said her lungs would be weak for a while, perhaps they would never regain their strength, and her vocal cords would need time to heal.

I grab my note pad from my suit pocket, and give her a pen. She takes it in her hand and looks at Davis hesitantly, seemingly waiting for his questions.

"Let's start with some easy stuff, okay? What's your name? How old are you? What is your favorite color? Can you try to remember for me?"

I stifle a chuckle as I see Nicolettes expression, a bored look that drips with sarcasm that is no longer being suppressed due to the drugs she is on. Her eyes scream 'how dumb do you think I am?' A sigh escapes her as she begins to write her responses.

My name is Nicolette Lae Loxley. I am eight years old. My favorite color is green.

"Good, very good." He praises her after I read out her responses, his brows raising as he glances at the paper sharing my awe at how clear the response is. Most children their response would be one word answers even verbally, but she wrote in clear short sentences. She wrote her responses slowly, as if each letter was a struggle, but her penmanship was very impressive for a child. "Alright, now can you tell me what happened when you left your house that night?" Davis opts for a open ended question after seeing her comprehension.

Her hand shake, and she pushes the notebook towards me once she has finished.

I did not leave my house. I went to see mom and dad.

Her biological parents had died two years ago, a drunk driver drove them off the side of the road. Thankfully Nicolette wasn't in the car with them.

"You didn't leave your house?" I clear my throat, giving him a pointed look. He seemed to read my expression. "I'm sorry- the foster home. Did you run away from your foster home?"

Yes. They hurt me.

"How did they hurt you?"

She seemed to shut down at that question. Eyes staring far off in the distance, she shifts uncomfortably and sets the pen down besides her.

"No, no, no, its okay sweetie. You don't have to talk about that right now, okay?" I press the pen back into her hand, offering a saddened smile. We need to speed this process along, we don't have time to coax her into answering questions she can't handle. The drugs are already weighing her down, her blinks lasting a beat too long and her actions beginning to become sluggish.

I told someone once. It just got worse.

She writes extremely well for a eight year old who wasn't allowed to go to school for the past year.

"Can you tell me what you took with you from the foster home?" Davis tries, but I ask her a different question as I watch how long it took for the pen to touch the paper. We can ask that another day.

"How did Jeffery Ottos get to you?"

I was talking to stones. He hit me. Went in a car. Right. Straight twelve. Left. Straight two hundred and five. Stop. Left. Straight one thousand nine hundred and seventy three. Right. Straight one hundred and four. Stop. Left. Straight five.

She handed me the notepad after a few moments of writing. My brows furrowed as I read the last part. As I read it to Davis, he also gave me a confused look. She was at the cemetery talking to her parents gravestones, Ottos hit her over the head and placed her into the back of a car.

"Is that how many minutes it took to get to the place he kept you?" I asked after a long while of thought.

She nodded sleepily.

She counted how long each move of the car took. She knew where she was, and how far he had taken her. And she remembered it three months later.

"How did the fire start?" Davis asks.

I did it.

"How?"

The lighter. I stole it. I hid it. He hurt me to try to find it. But I waited. He left to get food. But he came back. Shot me.

Her hand touched the bandage on her shoulder, where the bullet went all the way through to the other side cutting clean through her shoulder blade. Tears fell down her cheeks as has she flipped the page to continue writing.

I pretended I was dead. He tried to put out the fire. set down the gun.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting more tears fall but not having the energy to wipe them.

I killed him.

Davis and I share a look of astonishment as she closes her eyes. This little girl had been though so much, she fought so hard for so long..

Now I know how she managed to survive a serial killer.

She outsmarted him.