Previous part of Filthy.
***
"You're not supposed to be here." He stared with an incredulous expression at the intruder whose face was only inches away from his own.
"I wanted to see you so badly, to hear your voice, taste your skin..."
"You're supposed to be in prison." He tried to back away but for some reason his legs wouldn't move.
"Don't say that, Matt. I was a victim just like you."
"No, no. Y...you enjoyed it...you..."
"I did." One more step forward. "And so did you."
"What about him?" Detective Jacobs asked, his finger indicating at a young man on the screen.
"No, he's really short. Look at the others around him. They're all taller," Prentiss said.
JJ nodded her agreement. "He also seems a bit too old to fit the profile."
After the press conference the female agents and the head detective had started to examine the video footage from the night clubs where the victims had been last seen. They were searching for potential suspects in the crowd.
The dark haired profiler was about to change the tape when Jacobs suddenly called: "Wait! Wait a second!" He leaned forward and looked closely at the screen.
"This guy," he exclaimed, aiming his index finger at one of the visitors in the club who stood slightly away from the other people. He was tall and very slim, his long hair tucked behind his ears. And he wore a sweater vest.
JJ and Prentiss exchanged alert glances behind the policeman's back.
"He fits your description perfectly!" the detective announced excitedly.
"Uhm, I'm not sure...," the media liaison replied hesitantly, staring at her colleague with a pleading expression.
Do something, Emily...
The female profiler cleared her throat. "Yeah, according to the profile the Unsub is 25 to 35 years old. He appears to be younger."
Jacobs looked doubtfully first at Prentiss, then back at the screen. "You can't tell for sure," he finally decided. "I'll check him out."
JJ felt her heart skip a beat. "Wait, we..."
But the detective had already left the room.
The blond agent turned to face her older teammate. "What do we do now? It won't take long until he figures out Reid's identity," she said quietly, careful not to raise her voice – despite her inner turmoil.
Prentiss was at a loss. "It was just a matter of time, I guess." She sighed. "We should call Hotch."
The team leader was already on his way to the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. He'd promised to visit Reid in the evening to see how his youngest team member was getting along in the hospital. And Hotch wasn't alone. Morgan had insisted on accompanying his boss. Their genius would need all the support he could get, the younger profiler had reasoned.
At first, the unit chief hadn't been very fond of the idea to take his colleague along. However, Reid was mad at Hotch for hospitalizing him anyways. Perhaps, the senior profiler mused, Morgan's casual attitude would help the young doctor to handle the situation. Perhaps Reid would respond better to a more coequal person than to his superior.
Silently the two profilers drove towards their destination – Morgan at the wheel, Hotch in the passenger seat. The unit chief could almost feel his subordinate's brain working. The younger man had kept quiet until now but Hotch knew it wouldn't last much longer.
"You know Reid didn't kill these people, right?" Morgan suddenly blurted.
Hotch smiled weakly. There we go.
"He fits the profile," he countered wearily.
Morgan glanced briefly at his boss. "Come on, Hotch. It's Reid we're talking about here. The kid wouldn't harm a fly." He drew a deep breath and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. "Besides, the blood we found was his. That should count for something."
The team leader groaned inwardly. What was he supposed to say? Of course, he didn't think Reid had something to do with the case. At least he didn't want to think so.
"Sure, it counts for something, Morgan. But it doesn't prove anything. He was still in the area when the murders happened. He matches the description. He has a motive. Think about it. If we didn't know him..." Hotch stopped briefly to gather his thoughts. "He would already be sitting in an interrogation room."
"Granted," Morgan replied through gritted teeth. "But the thing is, Hotch, we do know him. And I refuse to believe that he would hurt someone willingly. Not in a billion years."
The older man stared briefly at his team member, and then turned his head to look out of the window.
"I hope you're right," he said slowly. "Let's just see how he's doing in the clinic."
"I don't want that." A breathless whimper.
A warm hand touching the side of his neck ever so lightly; fingers caressing the soft skin, stroking gently over the pulsating artery.
"Yes, you do." A firm low voice.
Now lips where the fingers had been. Kissing the sensitive spot just below the ear. Strong hands gripping bony shoulders.
"I know you want it." A statement. Again, no doubt resonating in the words.
A final whisper: "Please, don't..."
Morgan was just looking for a parking place in front of the sanatorium when Hotch's cell phone rang.
"Prentiss? What is it?" the team leader asked.
He listened, his face becoming gloomier with each second passing. Morgan had parked his car and turned off the engine, watching his boss' expression with an uneasy feeling in his gut.
"Alright. Don't intervene, Prentiss," the senior profiler ordered. "There's nothing we can do right now. I'll deal with Jacobs when I'm back." With that he hung up and climbed out of the SUV.
A confused Morgan followed him on his way to the entry of the large building.
"What's wrong?" the younger man asked, trying to catch up with his superior who paced quickly through the parking lot.
"Jacobs saw Reid on the video record. He thinks he might be the Unsub and has started to investigate already."
Morgan's eyes widened. "God, Hotch, that's..."
"Look," the senior profiler interrupted and stopped short, facing his subordinate. "I will take care of this later. I don't want Reid to worry about the investigation. So calm down, Morgan, or wait in the car." And he moved on towards the entrance.
The younger man swallowed. Since waiting in the car was out of the question, he inhaled deeply, clenched and unclenched his fists several times and pushed the thoughts about the case back into a far corner of his mind. Hotch was right, he noted inwardly. There was no need to alert Reid. The kid could do without more bad news.
Dr. Emerson was awaiting the two profilers at the check-in desk in the entrance hall of the clinic. Hotch had called him earlier to inform him about the time of their arrival. Both men had agreed that the psychologist should be on hand during the visit. After all, no-one could predict how Reid would react to the person who had brought him to the hospital.
The trio went upstairs to Reid's room.
"I think we made some progress today," Emerson said as they arrived on the second floor. "He realized that he needs help to deal with his issues."
"That's a good thing," Morgan stated.
"It is," the doctor agreed. "I'm worried about his physical condition, though. I'm afraid he has developed an eating disorder. He's very weak."
"But you can help him here, right?" The younger profiler looked expectantly at the psychologist.
Emerson nodded. "I'm optimistic in that regard. Basically, it's just a symptom of his distressed emotional state. We can keep a close eye on him here and hopefully prevent him from going down that self-destructive road any further."
The three men then arrived at Reid's room. Dr. Emerson knocked once. No reply. He opened the door and peered cautiously inside. No patient to be seen.
The psychologist motioned Hotch and Morgan to come in. They looked around. Not many places to go in the little room.
The sound of running water from the inside of the bathroom.
"Seems like he's taking a shower," Morgan stated the obvious.
The door to the bath was half-open. Which was odd. After all, Reid had always been known as a very private person – even before Vegas.
Emerson knocked firmly against the door. "Spencer?" he called loud enough to be heard despite the splashing sound of the water. "Are you alright in there?"
Waiting.
No reaction.
The doctor knocked again. To no avail.
"Spencer, I'm coming in now," Emerson said quietly. Although invading his patient's private space was the last thing he wanted to do, he still had to make sure Reid was alright. He knew the young man was in an unstable state of mind and tended to self-harming behavior. Therefore, the psychologist couldn't just stand outside and wait.
"Wait here," he murmured in Hotch's and Morgan's direction and stepped decisively into the bathroom.
What Emerson saw then wasn't quite what he'd expected.
Reid sat half-dressed on the bottom of the shower cabin with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around his legs. He had his forehead rested on his knees and seemed to be oblivious to the cold water that was hailing down on him.
With a deep frown on his face, Emerson approached the younger man who didn't appear to notice that another person had entered the room.
The psychologist leaned forward into the stall to turn off the water, trying not to get too wet himself. He crouched down in front of his soaked patient. Reid was only wearing his boxer shorts and a shirt with the buttons undone.
"Spencer, look at me, please," he said in a gentle yet firm tone of voice.
Slowly, very, very slowly, Reid lifted his head. He stared at the man before him with huge, frightened eyes.
Emerson was appalled by that look. Sheer terror was clearly written in the young agent's face.
"What happened, Spencer?"
Reid's eyes darted through the room. When he was sure that no-one else was there, he focused on the psychologist.
"He was here," Reid whispered and tightened the grip around his legs - an attempt to make himself smaller. Maybe he could just become invisible.
"Who was here?" Emerson inquired. He had no idea what was going on. Their session in the afternoon had gone quite well and now...this.
In a nervous gesture, the young profiler shoved some wet strands of hair out of his face.
"Jase. He...he..." But no more words wanted to come through his mouth. Instead Reid lowered his head again to hide away from the world.
Jase?
Dr. Emerson couldn't recall the name. He would have to ask the other profilers about that. For the moment, there were more urgent things to do.
The psychologist moved to the ajar door. He opened it just enough to have a look at the two agents outside. "Spencer needs dry clothes," he said calmly, motioning to the wardrobe.
Morgan nodded and grabbed a shirt, sweatpants, underwear and socks from the small pile of clothes Reid had brought to the hospital.
He handed them over to the doctor who took them wordlessly and disappeared into the bathroom again.
The profilers stood and watched the door being closed again. They didn't talk.
It seemed to take en eternity until Emerson and a very pale looking, but dry Reid appeared in the door frame.
"Reid? What's going on man?" Morgan asked immediately.
His younger colleague didn't reply. He kept his head down, careful not to look at anyone.
Emerson led his patient to the bed and let him sit down, lifting his free hand to shush the visitors. Reid hadn't said a word during the whole un- and re-dressing procedure. The psychologist had been aware of the young man's discomfort and fear. He figured that an interrogation was not exactly what his patient needed right now.
"Aaron, can I talk to you in my office for a second?" Emerson asked quietly.
The unit chief nodded his agreement. "Morgan, stay here with him," he ordered and left the room with the psychologist.
Somewhat dumbfounded, Morgan watched his boss and the shrink disappear. He turned around to look at his surrogate kid brother who sat miserably at the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands.
"Do you mind?" he asked and motioned to the place beside Reid. He felt like sitting down now and there were no other seats in the room.
The younger man merely shrugged. Heaving a sigh, Morgan slumped down next to his team member, unsure of what to say or do next.
It was then that Reid lifted his head and looked at his older colleague with a desperate and strangely pleading expression on his face. As if asking for...what? Understanding? Compassion? Comfort?
For a brief moment, Hotch's warning that Reid couldn't deal with physical closeness flashed through Morgan's mind.
But then again...
"Ah, to heck with it," he mumbled and put his right arm around the younger man's shoulder, pulling him close.
Reid let it happen. He couldn't struggle anymore. With his head against his teammate's strong shoulder, he closed his eyes and rested a bit. Just for the time being.
***
Wordlessly, Hotch closed the door of Emerson's office. He turned around to look at his old friend who had already taken a seat behind the desk.
The psychologist gestured Hotch to sit down as well. Both men were wearing very serious expressions.
In an automatic motion, the senior profiler smoothed the front of his jacket with his hands before slowly lowering himself onto the chair on the other side of the desk.
"So what happened?" he asked straight away, wondering what had gone on in the small bathroom.
Emerson interlaced his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.
"Who is Jase?"
Hotch blinked once. He cleared his throat. "What?"
"Jase," the psychologist repeated. "According to Spencer a person named Jase has paid him a visit."
The profiler needed a few seconds to take in the bit of information he had just been handed. "That's impossible," he said very quietly. It was barely more than a whisper.
"Who is he?" Emerson pressed, somewhat alarmed by the sudden paleness of his friend's face.
"That's not...I mean..."
"Aaron."
Hotch rubbed his eyes. Of course, he knew who Jase was. Not only from the interrogation with Stuart, but also from the video footage. He'd seen the young man's work. He'd seen what the guy had done to Reid. Very, very dark memories were associated with that name. Memories Hotch wanted to push away as far as possible.
"Aaron?" The psychologist leaned slightly over his desk, trying to make eye contact with the other man. "What is it?"
Finally Hotch looked up and met Emerson's gaze.
"Jase was...one of Tristan Stuart's employees," he started very hesitantly. "I told you about Stuart, I think? Reid's captor."
The psychologist nodded reassuringly. "So what did this Jase have to do with Reid?"
Hotch swallowed. He couldn't say it. No way.
When the unit chief made no attempt to reply, Emerson spoke again.
"Aaron, I know this is hard for you." He sighed. "But as his superior you have to face the facts. If you can't even say these things, how can you expect him to accept what happened to him and talk about it?"
Hotch nodded weakly. He knew Gerald was right. If he wanted to help Reid he had to overcome his own feelings of guilt and failure.
He drew a deep breath. "Jase was one of Reid's abusers. He did...things to him."
"Okay," Emerson said. He decided to leave it there. He didn't need all the details. "So is there any possibility that he could have come here?"
Hotch thought about it a minute. He didn't know what exactly had happened to Stuart's staff members. He was sure most of them were in prison.
"I don't think so," he concluded. "But we have to be sure. I'll check it out."
"Good," the older man said with a slight smile. "Spencer was very upset. I suggest we give him a sedative for the night."
The profiler shook his head, not to dismiss the idea, but at the thought of Reid's reaction. Certainly the young agent would be feeling like he was taking a further step down into his own personal hell – not to mention his recently overcome, half secret drug issue.
"Do you really think this is necessary?"
Emerson rose from his armchair. "He needs to rest, Aaron." And as if reading Hotch's mind: "We're not talking about psychotropic drugs here. Only a mild sedative so he can find some sleep."
Reluctantly Hotch nodded his approval. "If you deem it the best."
Detective Samuel Jacobs ran like hell through the police station.
"Where are the agents?" he called to one of the officers in the guardhouse.
The younger policeman looked at his boss with a slightly dense expression.
"Where are they?" Jacobs almost shouted as he repeated his question.
The officer pointed with a trembling hand to another room.
The detective stormed instantly into said office where JJ and Prentiss were still analyzing the witness' reports – despite the late hour of day.
"What the hell are you playing at?" Jacobs blurted into the surprised women's faces.
Prentiss was the first to react to the unexpected invasion. "Excuse me?"
Forcefully the policeman dumped the file he'd been carrying on the desk. "The guy on the video. He's a colleague of yours!"
The female agents glanced inconspicuously down at the paper. Reid's picture was clearly visibly affixed to the front page. Apparently, Jacob's research had been successful.
"Well?" the detective exclaimed, pressing for an answer.
"There's no need to shout," JJ managed to get out, trying to put on her winning smile. "I'm sure we can find a way to..."
"Oh, I've already found a way," Jacobs cut her short. "You will get this agent here immediately."
JJ wanted to say something soothing in return, but Prentiss kept her silent by placing her hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," the dark haired profiler replied in her most reasoning tone.
Jacob's face turned into an even darker shade of red than before. "What does that mean? Why not?"
Prentiss bit her lip. "It's, uhm, complicated. We should really wait for Agent Hotchner. He will explain."
The head detective looked around. "Where the heck is he anyway?"
After what seemed like ages the door to Reid's hospital room opened. The young profiler instantly tensed up and pulled away from Morgan's comforting shoulder.
Hotch stepped into the room – alone. He looked very serious, almost...angry.
Reid didn't like that expression. He watched his superior closing the door and turning around, crossing his arms before his chest. Hotch simply kept staring at him, making the younger agent become more and more uncomfortable.
"Where...where is Gerald?" Reid asked very quietly. He didn't feel like talking at all, but it was better than bearing the oppressive silence that had engulfed the room before.
"Not here," Hotch replied curtly. Coldly.
Reid didn't like that tone of voice. It wasn't like Hotch. His brain tried feverishly to assess the situation. Had he done something wrong?
What's going on?
Suddenly he felt a movement beside him. He looked and saw Morgan getting up and joining his boss at the entrance. Now both men stood there, glaring.
"What...?" Reid wanted to ask why they were acting so strange, but didn't get far.
"I heard Jase was here," Hotch stated. "I hope you were having fun."
The young profiler stared at his superior with wide eyes. "Wh...what?"
"Jase, the whore. Did you ask him to come here? Did you pay him for his service?" Hotch unfolded his arms and took a step closer to his subordinate. The senior profiler didn't blink. Not even once.
Reid was speechless. He couldn't understand why Hotch was talking to him like that.
What did I do?
"Spill it, pretty boy," Morgan interjected. "What did he do? Did he jerk you off, give you head or did he just fuck..."
"No!" Reid screamed. "I...I didn't..."
"What?" Hotch asked. And there was pure malice in his voice. "Stop stuttering, kid!"
Reid stood up, looking at his boss with a pleading expression. "Y...you know I...I didn't want it." He was close to tears now, but managed to keep them back. For now.
"Oh, come on, Reid!" Morgan exclaimed. "We know you enjoyed every single moment with him."
The younger man pressed his palms tightly against his ears. He couldn't stand the verbal onslaught any longer. So he just covered his ears and started mumbling "no, no, no, no, no..."
"We saw it, remember," Morgan continued mercilessly.
"No, no, no, no, no..." Endless muttering.
"Yes, Reid. Hotch and I, we saw what he did to you and what you did to him. And we could see in high quality how you got off over and over and over..."
"NO!" A scream.
And suddenly everything was gone. Almost. It was dark and silent and only a single shadow was there next to Reid's bed.
The young profiler sat upright in his bed, breathing heavily. His pajama was stuck to his skin, cold sweat covering his whole body. Reid wiped some beads of sweat off his forehead and shoved wet strands of hair out of his face.
His eyes were fixated on the unmoving shadow beside him. So very close.
"Matt?" A gentle, painfully familiar voice.
Reid froze. No. Not again. He's not real. He can't be.
"You had a bad dream, Matt. It's okay now."
"What are you doing here?" the young agent whispered.
A painfully familiar hand reaching out, touching his cheek ever so lightly. Caressing. "I came to get you out of here," Jase said in a quiet, assuring tone.
Reid made a halfhearted attempt to push the soothing hand away. "What do you mean? I can't just..."
Now a slender finger on his lips, shushing him. "Yes you can. They drugged you, Matt. They're gonna lock you up here forever. You have to leave while you still can."
"But, Hotch..."
"Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag. They will never respect you again." Running his fingers through Reid's hair.
The profiler wanted to pull away from the touch, away from this person. But more than anything else he wanted to get away from the hospital.
"I don't know where to go," he said sadly.
A smile spread on Jase's face. Skilled fingers started to help Reid to take off his pajama. "I will take care of you. Come with me. It's time."
***
It was in the middle of the night and Aaron Hotchner was tired beyond belief. However, sleep seemed to be something he wasn't going to get anytime soon. Before the team leader would be able to even think about going to bed, he had to explain some very complicated things to Detective Samuel Jacobs.
"What do you mean by 'you dealt with the problem'?" the still very upset and equally tired policeman asked. "Your agent should sit in an interrogation room as we speak!"
Hotch lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Normally I would agree," he said in the most reasonable tone he managed at that time of day – or rather night. "But as I told you already, Dr. Reid is ill and needs medical attention. He..."
"We have three dead men!" Jacobs interrupted harshly. His face had turned into an unhealthy dark shade of red. "I don't care about your agent's well-being!"
The BAU chief pressed his lips together. From the back of the room, JJ and Prentiss could almost see the inner battle their boss was fighting; how he was trying to maintain his composure.
"Look," Hotch began quietly. "I know you're under a huge amount of pressure both from your colleagues and the public. And believe me: I want to solve this case as much as you do." He looked the detective straight in the eye to underline the sincerity of the statement. "I can assure you that Agent Reid won't go anywhere. He's in the clinic under the watch of capable psychologists and staff."
In contrast to most other people, Samuel Jacobs was able to hold the team leader's intense stare. For a very long minute, he just looked at Hotch as if to assess the other man's credibility. Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion. His eyes narrowed, but kept focused on the senior profiler's face.
"I want to hear your opinion," he said slowly, never breaking the eye contact to Hotch. "Tell me the truth. Do you think Spencer Reid is the killer?"
The former prosecutor didn't hesitate, not even for a split second. "No."
They were watching him. He could feel their gazes boring into his back. Apart from the disturbingly colorful lights that were coming from the various clubs and bars, it was a deep dark night. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he know where he was. He had no idea what he was doing in this dubious street that was crowded with even more dubious looking people.
He felt dizzy, but kept walking. He didn't dare to stop, just wanted to get out of this shady quarter as soon as possible. Once in a while he lifted his head slightly and glanced up to make sure he wouldn't run into someone – or something. It seemed all so very familiar...
"What are we doing here? I don't wanna be here," he said with a hushed voice.
Warm fingers touched lightly his own icy cold hand. "Not much longer, Matt. We're almost there."
Morgan was once again walking down the dimly lit corridor of the BAU headquarters. It was late and most agents had gone home to their families.
When he and Hotch had returned from their visit at the hospital, they'd split up. The team leader had gone to the police office in DC to talk to Jacobs. Hotch had told his younger colleague to go back to the headquarters and see how Garcia was doing; if she had made any progress with her research.
As Morgan walked towards her tiny office, he thought about his meeting with Reid. The kid had never looked that frightened before. Or, well, perhaps once. Images of the young doctor's ordeal with Tobias Hankel flashed through Morgan's mind. The profiler still found it rather annoying that he hadn't gotten the chance to put the bastard's head on a stick, as he had promised. Reid had actually beaten him to it. The genius had proven that he possessed lots of guts back then on the forsaken cemetery. And Morgan was sure some of that strength was still left in Reid. It had to be.
Kid will make it.
He pushed the door to Garcia's office open. "Hey baby doll," he greeted his favorite tech girl.
The blond woman didn't turn around, but kept her gaze fixated on the screen of her computer. "Hey," she replied absent-mindedly.
Morgan stepped close behind her chair and stared into the screen as well. Unfortunately, the colorful windows and blinking numbers didn't make much sense to him.
"What are you doing?" he asked after a while.
Garcia let her fingers run over the keyboard. "Checking something for the boss man."
Suddenly a new window appeared on the screen and caught her attention. "Oh," she murmured and quickly dialed a number on the phone.
The profiler behind her was at a loss. "What? What is it?" Morgan asked impatiently. However, the tech girl was already talking to the person on the phone.
"Sir," she began. "I have the information you wanted. It's...odd."
Jacobs, Prentiss and JJ watched anxiously how Hotch's facial expression became more serious with each second passing during the phone call.
"I understand," he said evenly and added: "Thank you, Garcia", before ending the call.
"What is it?" Prentiss asked instantly, as her boss put the cell phone back into his pocket.
Hotch opened his mouth to reply, however, the cop who stormed into the office right then kept him from speaking.
"Another murder!" the young policeman almost shouted into the room and left as suddenly as he had arrived.
Detective Jacobs and the profilers needed a second to comprehend the news. At once they seemed to understand the message and ran hastily out of the room, following the other cop.
"Wait, wait!" He tried to pull his hand away from the other man's firm grip around his wrist, but the tiredness and the general weakness of his physical shape made it impossible for him to escape. So he tried desperately to keep up the fast pace through the dark streets of DC.
He felt himself being dragged along places he'd never seen before, yet they seemed oddly familiar. Almost, as if he'd been there in a former life - before everything had been so screwed up.
Finally, the strong hand led him into a small dark alley. No street lamps. No people. Only the two of them, standing close, listening to each other's breaths.
"What have you done? You killed him," he whispered. His heart was beating too fast in his chest, his breathing was too shallow; he could feel sweat running down his back.
Jase pressed him softly against the wall and moved his mouth close to his ear. "I did what I had to do. There are too many of them." And his voice sounded angelic and devilish at the same time. "He wanted to use you, Matt. Like all the others. Use you and throw you away afterwards. Like trash. We can't let that happen anymore."
He could feel the other man's hot breath on his skin, on his neck. Then on his own mouth...
Suddenly the sound of sirens from a distance. Approaching.
"They're coming," Jase stated calmly, sad resignation in his voice.
His heartbeat quickened even more. Oh no...
The other man's warm hand took hold of his, handing him something.
"No, I don't want it," he said quickly, panic rising inside him.
"Use it," Jase demanded firmly. "Defend yourself, Matt. Don't let anyone ever hurt you again. They are not your friends. They will hurt you eventually."
He shook his head violently, but tightened his grip around the knife - the same knife that had stuck into the fat guy's stomach only a few minutes ago. The murder weapon.
Jase placed both hands on his bony shoulders. "Fight them with your life, Matt. I have to go now."
And the panic was complete. "What? No, please, don't leave me alone here!"
No reply. Instead warm lips making contact with his own so very lightly – too lightly to be called a kiss. Only one last touch to say goodbye.
And Jase was gone.
He listened to the foot steps fading and to the sirens approaching. And he sank down on his heels, leaning back against the cold wall, waiting for the next attack to come. The knife in his hand...
Hotch sat in the police car next to Samuel Jacobs who was driving like a maniac through the city.
"We almost got the bastard," the detective growled.
"Where did your man loose track of him?" the senior profiler asked evenly.
"A couple of streets from the crime scene. It was too dark. Henderson couldn't see him anymore," Jacobs said excitedly.
"Apparently, the killer was there by foot. There's a good chance he's still in the near vicinity," Hotch replied.
"And we have a vague idea how he looks like," Prentiss added from the backseat. JJ had stayed at the police station to co-ordinate the mission, but Morgan was on his way from the BAU headquarters already.
"We have to find the guy," Jacobs muttered and stepped on the gas a bit more as Hotch's cell started to ring again.
"Hotchner," he answered the call curtly as usual.
"Aaron, it's me, Gerald."
A sense of foreboding made the team leader's heartbeat skip a beat. He really could do without more bad news.
"What is it?"
"We have a problem here," the psychologist said earnestly. "A nurse called me. She was doing her thirty-minute round and wanted to check up on Spencer but didn't find him in his room."
Hotch threw a brief glance at Jacobs and turned his head towards the window in a futile attempt to keep the conversation secret.
"What? When did she notice?"
"About three hours ago. We searched the hospital and the park for him. I thought that maybe he's just wandering around a bit," Emerson said in an apologetic tone. "We looked everywhere but Spencer isn't here anymore."
"I don't understand," the senior profiler countered sharply. "How could you just let him go?"
A sigh on the other side. "The St. Lousianne's is not a prison, Aaron. I'm sorry."
Hotch ended the call without another word.
He could practically feel Jacobs' looks at him. He groaned silently. He would have to tell him anyway, so he might as well inform the officer before they arrived at the crime scene.
"My agent has left the clinic."
A bitter laugh escaped the detective's lips. "What a coincidence!"
The sounds of the sirens seemed to come from all directions now. Hasty footsteps getting closer, excited voices getting louder.
Then the flashlights came. Light spots everywhere around him, even from above.
A helicopter?
Oh God.
Realization: They are here.
His fingers tightened around the knife.
Defend yourself.
They are my friends. They will help me.
They will hurt you.
I haven't done anything.
Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag.
No.
"Reid!"
Hotch?
"Reid, put the knife down!"
Why is he shouting at me?
"Put it down now!" Another voice.
He tried to look up, but was blinded by the spotlights. He lifted his arm to block the light from his eyes.
They must have interpreted that as a threatening gesture.
Someone was on him now, pushing him down to the ground.
Oh God, not again. Please.
The unknown voice yelled at him. "Spencer Reid, you are under arrest."
***
JJ stood alone behind the glass barrier that separated her from her youngest colleague she'd always considered a little brother. The media liaison had been left behind at the police station while Jacobs and the rest of the team had been looking for the Unsub.
With wide eyes JJ had watched how the head detective and a few other officers had led a cuffed Reid through the entrance of the building and straight into the interrogation room.
In shock, the blond agent had called Hotch to find out what was going on. The team leader, however, had merely told her to stay calm and wait for him. He'd said there was something he needed to take care of first.
You better hurry, Hotch, JJ thought when she noticed the satisfied smirk on Jacobs' face as he pursued the inquiry.
'Pathetic' was the only word that came to Samuel Jacobs' mind at the sight that presented itself in front of him.
The policeman stood with his hands placed on the table, looking down at the young man they'd just caught only a few hundred meters away from the crime scene with a bloodied knife in his hands. For the detective, there was no doubt anymore that this was the killer he'd been looking for. Jacobs had been doing his job for too many years to let himself be blinded by the pitiful appearance of the skinny kid who was sitting there with his hands restrained to the chair. All he needed was a confession.
"Alright, let's start with something simple," the detective began. "Agent Hotchner told me that you were in the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. That's an one hour drive. How did you get into the city tonight?"
Reid glanced briefly up at the much older man on the other side of table before dropping his gaze down to his lap again. His brain tried feverishly to assess the situation. However, the sedative they'd given him back at the hospital was still clouding his mind. All Reid knew was that he didn't want to talk to the policeman. He didn't want to be here. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong. Why would they keep him here? And where was Hotch? The profiler was pretty sure that his team members had been there when he'd been arrested. He couldn't understand why no-one was here to help him now.
"Difficult question?" Jacobs asked sarcastically. "OK, here's another one: Why did you kill those people? Did you know them? Or did you just stab the first one who had the bad luck of crossing your way?"
The young doctor wanted to wrap his arms around his torso, but the cuffs didn't permit that. He wanted to draw his knees tightly to his chest, to curl up and make himself as small as possible, but he couldn't. Instead he had to sit in the brightly lit interrogation room, faced with a clearly hostile police officer who kept asking questions Reid didn't know the answers to.
When the silence in the small white room became too much to bear, the young profiler finally decided to speak.
"I...I want to talk to Aaron Hotchner," he said slowly and very quietly.
Jacobs snorted. That was not what he wanted to hear at all. Actually, he was glad that the BAU-chief wasn't around at the moment. It seemed more likely to get the kid to spill the beans without a senior profiler covering his back.
"Your boss isn't here. It's only me and I asked you a question," the detective announced more forcefully. "Why did you kill those men?"
Reid knew he shouldn't avoid making eye contact with his interrogator. He was aware that keeping one's gaze down could easily be interpreted as a sign of guilt, but he just couldn't bring himself to lift his head and look the detective in the eye.
Jacobs leaned forward. "Well?" he urged when there was still no reply.
For a second the young profiler forgot that he was cuffed to the chair and made an attempt to tuck his hair behind his ears. He could move his hands only a tiny bit, but it was enough to annoy the policeman further.
"Keep your hands down," he called loudly and leaned even more over the table. "You better co-operate, kid. If you tell me everything it might reduce your jail sentence." Jacobs added in a very low dangerous tone: "Do you have any idea what happens to people like you in prison?"
Reid swallowed and finally lifted his head a bit to look at the man whose face was way too close to his own.
"P...people like me?" he asked, cursing himself for stuttering. Until now, he hadn't even thought about the possibility to be locked up in prison. The idea alone was enough to make him feel sick – again.
"Yeah," the detective shot back. "People like you. FBI agents. Not very popular with their inmates."
Reid looked at him with wide eyes. He knew he needed to talk to Hotch immediately.
Jacobs smiled. "Pretty boys on the other hand..."
It was then that the door to the interrogation room was forcefully opened.
"That is enough," Hotch said firmly, taking in the scene before him. He watched the policeman stepping back from the table, an annoyed expression on his face. He didn't appear to be overly happy about the senior profiler's arrival.
"I'm not done yet," Jacobs said sharply, throwing Hotch a stern look.
The team leader stepped closer towards the other man. "Yes you are," he replied calmly. "I want to speak with Dr. Reid in private, if you don't mind."
The detective let out a brief bark of laughter. "Oh, I do mind, Hotchner. You're not working this case anymore." Which was true, of course. As soon as Reid's involvement had leaked out, Hotch had gotten a phone call from Erin Strauss who'd told him to step away from the case immediately if he wanted to keep his badge.
The senior profiler was aware that his team had to retreat from the investigation – at least officially. Nothing, however, could have kept him from helping Reid.
"I am Dr. Reid's superior and – if necessary – his lawyer," Hotch said decisively. "He won't answer any more questions until I have talked to him. Now, if you would excuse us?" He indicated to the door.
For a couple of seconds Samuel Jacobs seemed to consider his options. He wanted nothing more than to continue with the interrogation to get a confession already. Unfortunately, Hotchner didn't leave him much of a choice. With an inward growl and his jaw set, the detective left the room.
Hotch waited until the door fell shut, then moved to the free chair, sitting down opposite to his subordinate who had remained silent during the older men's argument.
"How are you holding up?" the BAU chief asked quietly, trying to take in the younger man's condition. He looked ill somehow. Very pale and definitely tired.
Reid merely shrugged. It was hard enough to keep his eyes open. He preferred to keep his mouth shut.
"Reid, I know you're tired, but we need to talk about a few things."
The young doctor's eyes darted nervously from his boss, to the table, back to his boss, then to the floor. "Okay," he finally managed to get out.
Hotch nodded, relieved to see that Reid wouldn't shut him out completely.
"Why did you leave the clinic?" Trying not to sound angry. The team leader didn't feel anger towards Reid and he wanted to make that clear from the beginning.
"I just...I couldn't stay there, Hotch."
"Why not?"
The younger man hung his head, causing the long strands of hair to fall into his face like a curtain to shield him from the world. "I'm not crazy," he murmured.
Hotch sighed. "No-one said that. But you have to face your issues, Reid."
Silence.
Realizing that this wouldn't lead anywhere, the older man went on: "How did you get into the center of town? It's quite far from the hospital."
Hotch could hear his subordinate swallow hard. "Jase had a car."
"Jase?"
"Yeah, he...he wanted me to come with him," Reid explained meekly. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to mention Jase again, however, the young profiler was much too tired to think of a lie. He'd never been a gifted liar and right now didn't seem to be the best time to practice.
Hotch rubbed his forehead. The team leader was uncharacteristically uncertain of how to proceed with the conversation.
He settled for the truth as well. "I asked Garcia to do some research on Jase."
At this, Reid's head snapped up. "And?"
"His real name is Christian Sanders, 26 years old, from Pennsylvania," Hotch began his report. "After Vegas he's been institutionalized. Apparently, he has suffered a mental breakdown. Gerald is currently talking with his psychiatrist. We will know more soon."
The senior profiler paused a second to give Reid a chance to let the news sink in.
"Where...?" the younger man wanted to ask, but Hotch interrupted him.
"They brought him to a hospital near his hometown in Pennsylvania. But he isn't there anymore."
Heavy silence engulfed the sticky room. Both men were looking at each other, both fighting their own inner struggle.
It was Reid who finally whispered: "He's here."
"Maybe," Hotch replied equally quietly. "We have to find him, Reid."
"He killed that man," the younger profiler said, more to himself than to his superior.
"Did you see that?"
Reid nodded. "I tried...I...I couldn't...," he stopped mid-sentenced, almost as if he forgot what it was he wanted to say.
Hotch leaned forward a bit. "You what?"
The younger man shook his head lightly. He pulled at the restraints – hard enough to make them cut painfully into the already tender skin of his wrists. Damn, the urge to wrap his arms around himself was overwhelming.
"I couldn't think straight, Hotch," he admitted. "They...they drugged me." The last part was spoken in a whispered rush. It wasn't the same, Reid knew that, but still he found it hard to utter these words – considering his past and all...
"It was just a mild sedative," Hotch pointed out.
"I know that," Reid said, sounding a bit more agitated. "But it makes me all dizzy and slow and I can't...I don't know why I even went with him. He..he..."
"It's okay." Hotch lifted his hands in a soothing gesture.
"No, it's not okay!" the younger man retorted. "I hate him, Hotch!"
For three full seconds Reid looked his boss straight in the eye. He wanted to show him that he meant every word he had just uttered. But he couldn't stand the pitiful expression he assumed was plastered on Hotch's face. So he dropped his gaze again, waiting for the pitiful words from the older man that would match the pitiful facial expression.
"We need to find him, Reid," the senior profiler repeated after a while. He wanted to comfort his subordinate, wanted to say some assuring things, but now was not the time for that. "You were arrested near the crime scene with a knife in your hand that will probably turn out to be the murder weapon. It's still in the lab. If Jase...Christian is responsible for this, we have to find him and stop him from killing more people."
Reid listened to his boss' words, trying desperately to focus, but his body was screaming for rest. He had a feeling that if he wouldn't lie down any time soon, sleep would take him forcefully.
"I don't know where he is," the young profiler said wearily. "He just ran away, left me alone in the alley."
For the second time the door was opened harshly. Reid turned his head as much as he could to see who was joining them. He half-expected detective Jacobs to come back and continue his unpleasant interrogation, but the face that came into his field of view was not the gray, tired and embittered one belonging to the policeman.
"What is it, Gerald?" Hotch asked instantly. He wasn't that surprised about the psychologist's appearance. Earlier they had already spoken on the phone and agreed to meet at the station.
Instead of replying, Emerson focused on his patient. "Spencer, are you alright? You had us worried." There was no accusation in his tone, only pure concern. He gestured to the handcuffs. "Are these really necessary, Aaron?"
"I'm afraid so," Hotch replied evenly. "Until we find Sanders, Reid is still the prime suspect for Jacobs."
Giving the young man on the chair a sympathetic look, Emerson sighed heavily.
"OK then. I talked to Christian Sanders' psychiatrist, Dr. Kuttler," he began. "According to him, Christian suffered a deep trauma from the events in Las Vegas. Apparently, he'd been living in the underground for several months. After a while he suppressed the natural urge to fight his captors and gave in. However, after the sudden release all those repressed emotions came back full force and triggered a psychotic break."
Emerson stopped for a moment to draw breath. Both profilers were watching him anxiously.
"I told Dr. Kuttler that Christian might have went to see Spencer. It turned out that Christian had been talking about you for quite a while." The psychologist glanced down at Reid. "Kuttler thinks that, since you were Christian's latest, uhm, partner, you are the strongest impression imprinted on his mind before the breakdown. In his delusional state he sort of considers you – if not a lover – than at least a companion in his suffering."
Now both profilers nodded their understanding. That made sense. They had seen things like that before and knew it'd be very well possible that Christian thought of Reid as kindred spirit.
"Wait," Hotch suddenly said. "If he really feels that way, why did he abandon Reid tonight?"
Emerson rubbed his eyes in a tired motion. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 48 hours. "Well, as I said, he is not acting on a rational base. He was probably scared or thought he had to continue that mission he seems to be on."
"Killing sexual offenders," the senior profiler added absent-mindedly.
"Yes. My guess is that he won't be able to stay away from Spencer for very long. So...," Emerson trailed off, hoping that he wouldn't have to verbalize his idea.
Hotch got the hint, but remained silent. His brain was working at high speed, weighing up the pros and cons of the unspoken suggestion.
He hadn't reached a conclusion yet when Reid blurted out of the blue: "Just say it, Hotch. You wanna use me as bait."
***
He lay on his left side with his knees drawn up to his chest, his back pressed against the cold wall. Facing the door. There was no way he could turn away from the door. He needed to stay alert, to keep his eyes glued to the entrance, watching if someone would open it.
He needed sleep. His body was screaming for rest; his eyes were hurting because he'd been denying himself the pleasure of closing them for more than five seconds.
He knew it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later the door would open again and someone would come to hurt him. Another lesson, another client, another experience he didn't want to make, another deep impact into his already damaged soul.
He drew his knees a bit higher up towards his fast beating heart, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. It was a futile attempt to make himself a smaller target – he was very well aware of that.
If Tristan or one of his goons would come to get him, there would be no way to escape. No-one would prevent it from happening again. Not that it mattered anymore. But still...
Still he wished that his team would come to save him – just to let him know that he wasn't alone. Another futile thought, he mused bitterly.
A squeaking sound. The door.
He stiffened as he watched it swinging open. Slowly.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. There was no use in keeping them open anymore. It was too late. Perhaps – if they thought he was asleep – they would just leave again.
The tiny glimmer of hope was instantly destroyed, however, when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.
A loud voice calling him.
"Reid!"
He didn't want to face the inevitable. He wanted to ignore it so it would go away.
"Reid, wake up!" Again the voice.
"No, please," he murmured, trying to pull away from the hand.
"Come on, man, calm down." The same voice, but it didn't sound hostile. It wasn't the cheerful tone of Tristan Stuart either. It was...
His eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a face of a man only inches away from his own. He wanted to scream but his throat seemed to be blocked somehow. He could hardly breath.
"Get your hands off me," he whispered. He sat up quickly, pulling away from the unwanted touch, pressing himself against the wall.
"Reid, it's me, Morgan. Calm down," the older man said soothingly and lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. "It's ok. You were dreaming."
The young doctor's eyes darted through the room, his brain trying to make sense of the situation. It was a different room. Definitely. He wasn't in the underground anymore. And the man in front of him wasn't one of his tormentors. He was a friend.
"Morgan?" he finally asked with an undeniable amount of uncertainty in his tone. "I...where am I? What happened?"
The older agent managed to put on a casual smile that didn't mirror his own emotional state at all.
"You fell asleep while Hotch was talking to you," Morgan explained. His smile broadened. "Can't blame you, kiddo."
Reid rubbed his eyes. "Hotch? I can't...I can't remember."
"Must be the after effect of the sedative they've given you in the hospital." Morgan sat down on the bed, heaving a sigh. "We picked you up on the streets in DC, remember?"
The younger man shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Gradually, bits and pieces of the last night's events came back into his conscious. "Yeah," he replied slowly. And suddenly it hit him. "Oh God, Morgan! They think I'm the killer, don't they?" In panic, he took a look around once more. "I'm in prison. This is a prison cell. I ..."
"Whoa, okay. Reid, it's okay," the other profiler tried to calm him. "The detective insisted on holding you here for the night. We're still at the police station."
Reid looked at his colleague with a doubtful expression. "How long...?"
"You've been out for almost ten hours," Morgan replied quickly. "It's nearly noon."
Ignoring the puzzled expression on his teammate's face, the older man turned to the side, reaching into the big paper bag he'd brought with him.
"I got you some clothes and something to eat," he murmured as he rummaged through the items in the bag.
After a moment he handed Reid a pair of clean trousers and a thin long-sleeved shirt.
The younger man took the clothes hesitantly. He wasn't very fond of the idea that someone had just gone through his stuff at home. However, he realized that at the moment this was by far his smallest problem.
"I, uhm, I need a shower," he said instead.
Morgan nodded. He could relate. After having spent a night in a dirty cell, he would want to shower too. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. "But I think you should eat something first. I brought a few doughnuts."
He fished one of the sweet chocolate-iced pieces out of the bag and held it up for Reid to take it. "Your favorites."
The younger man eyed the tempting looking whorl. He wanted it. God, he was so hungry. But he knew what was going to happen if he ate it. The sight alone was enough to make his stomach cramp prophylactically.
"I'm not hungry," Reid lied, not wanting to have a discussion that would keep him from having a shower longer than necessary.
A disappointed expression spread on Morgan's face. "Reid, you look like a damn skeleton." He lifted the doughnut a bit more. "At least one...please?"
"No, I really want to shower before I do anything else," the younger man said, trying to ignore the wonderful smell coming from the delicious piece of dough under his nose.
His colleague sighed deeply and stuff the doughnut back into the bag. "I leave them here for you," Morgan commented as he moved to the exit of the cell. "And I'll see what I can do about the shower."
He gave his young team member a final tight smile before calling the guard to let him out of the interim prison cell.
"I really don't like this Agent Hotchner." Detective Samuel Jacobs wasn't sure what to think about the profiler's plan. Of course, he wanted to catch the real Unsub – should this young agent be the wrong man. On the other hand, he didn't want to take the risk of letting the kid outside.
Hotch was glad that he could talk in a reasonable manner with the policeman today. Last night everyone had been very worn-out. After Reid had fallen asleep in the interrogation room, they'd decided to call it a day and get some sleep. After all, they could be pretty sure that the Unsub wouldn't strike twice a night.
"It looks as if this is the best way to catch Sanders," Hotch repeated. He'd said this sentence several times already in order to convince the detective.
"Given that this Sanders is actually the killer. You don't even know for sure that he's in town," Jacobs pointed out, earning himself a tired groan from the other profilers.
Gerald Emerson had come to attend the briefing too. Hotch knew the psychologist had gotten along with the young genius quite well. Right now the team leader was happy about every bit of support he could get.
"I've had very intense talks with Dr. Reid," Emerson interjected. "There was nothing in his words or attitude that would even as much as hint at him being responsible for the murders. He's not seeking revenge."
The policeman wasn't convinced at all. "If you're wrong and I let him go..."
"You don't let him go," Hotch interrupted. "We'll keep a close eye on him. He can't get away."
The door opened, preventing Jacobs from uttering another doubt.
"He wants to take a shower," Morgan said bluntly as he walked over to his boss without even looking at the head detective.
"Of course he does," Emerson murmured quietly, barely loud enough to be heard by Prentiss who stood closest to him. She gave the psychologist a worried expression, wondering about the deeper meaning in his statement.
"This is not a hotel!" Jacobs exclaimed impatiently.
Which was JJ's cue. Upset locals were her specialty. She went swiftly to the detective and touched his upper arm ever so lightly.
"We should discuss the mission for tonight. Where to position your men and things like that, you know..." She smiled at him.
"I've not even agreed with the 'mission' as you call it, miss," Jacobs said, his tone much quieter already.
JJ led him gently away from the others. "I know. Nothing decided yet. But we should be prepared, just in case..."
Her voice faded as the door fell shut behind her and Jacobs.
Hotch gave an inward sigh of relief. He turned to face Morgan.
"How is he?" the senior profiler asked quietly.
The younger man shrugged. "Was having a nightmare, I guess. He was a bit upset at first, but seemed to be holding up well considering...," he trailed off. "He really wants to shower now. Someone will have to go with him."
Everyone's eyes wandered to the psychologist. "Spencer won't be comfortable with someone escorting him," he stated knowingly. "At least it should be someone he trusts."
Uneasy silence.
It was Hotch who finally decided: "I will go. You keep Jacobs at bay."
No-one questioned the team leader's order.
The corridor that led from the overnight cells to the washroom was long, narrow and lit by a white and extremely disturbing fluorescent light.
Silently, Hotch and Reid walked towards their destination. At first, the younger man had argued that he was able to take a shower on his own. However, the senior profiler had made it very clear that Reid wouldn't be permitted to move alone freely – at least not for the time being.
As soon as they reached the blue tiled washroom, the young doctor took in the surroundings. Four open shower cubicles to the left, two toilets and a somewhat rotten looking wash basin on the right hand side.
No curtains, no doors. Only one big room and nowhere to hide. Luckily, the two profilers were the only people in there right now.
Reid glanced nervously at his superior.
"I can't leave you alone, Reid," Hotch said before the younger man even had the chance to ask. The older man moved to the last cubicle in the row and put the soap and a sponge down on the floor. The nice old cleaning lady had given him those things after they'd met her in the corridor. At the sight of Reid, her face had gone all sad, showing clearly the pity she'd felt for the ill-looking young man.
Reid followed his boss hesitantly to the far corner of the wash room. He clutched the clothes Morgan had brought him tightly before his stomach.
Hotch looked at his subordinate. He held out a hand, gesturing Reid to hand him the clean pieces of clothing.
For a moment, the young doctor just wanted to turn around and go back to his cell. But the urge to wash the filth off his body was stronger. Much stronger. He needed to shower. Now. It had been ages since his last shower.
Reid swallowed hard and handed Hotch the neatly folded clothes, before he began to slowly strip down. With his hair falling protectively over his eyes and not even once looking at his boss he got undressed and stepped quickly into the small cubicle.
Hotch had been looking away the whole time, of course. He waited until he heard the sound of running water before picking up the worn clothes, putting them on a small pile. On the outside he was his usual calm self, but inside his mind was racing. Jacobs wasn't a problem. He was as good as convinced to let Reid out for a couple of hours. But what if this Sanders guy was actually lurking somewhere? What if he didn't have Reid's best interest at heart, as his psychiatrist assumed? And another, even more upsetting thought kept flashing through Hotch's brain: What if Sanders wasn't there? What if Reid...?
"I...I need a towel, Hotch." The insecure voice of his youngest team member interrupted the team leader's musings.
Hotch moved quickly to the edge of the cabin, careful not to look, and handed Reid a big blue bath towel that matched the color of the tiles.
After two minutes of silence: "My clothes...please?" And it was that small request, uttered with an even smaller voice, that caused Hotch's stomach to knot painfully. There was something in the tone...something pleading, unsure, almost on the verge of panic...
As if he doubts that I give him his clothes back, Hotch thought sadly.
He lifted his hand to give Reid the clean pile and waited for the young profiler to come out.
"For how long will they keep me here?" Reid asked as he climbed out of the cubicle.
Both men turned to go back to the cell. "Depends," Hotch replied calmly. "We need to find Christian first. I hope our plan will work out."
The plan. Earlier in the cell, Hotch had told Reid about said plan. The younger man gulped as his prison came into sight again. "When do you wanna pull it off?" he wanted to know, his eyes glued to the metal bars.
The senior profiler gave his agent a brief side glance. "Tonight."
***
Hours had passed since Hotch had left him in the cell. No-one else had come to see him or talk to him.
They're probably busy with the preparations for tonight, Reid mused. He sat with his legs crossed on the hard mattress of the uncomfortable bed. Every now and again he glanced at the paper bag with the doughnuts Morgan had brought him earlier.
Reid's stomach had given up growling. He didn't feel really hungry, just entirely empty. And he was scared.
The plan.
The profiler knew that he was going to play a major role tonight. His teammates wanted to use him as bait to lure Jase into a trap.
Christian, Reid reminded himself. His name is Christian. And I am not Matt. I am...
The familiar sound of the cell door being unlocked put an abrupt end to the young agent's train of thoughts. He tensed instantly, beginning to twist his hands in his lap.
Reid glanced up to see who was visiting. At the sight of Emerson entering the cell he allowed himself to relax slightly.
The psychologist gave the guard on duty an assuring nod before focusing his attention on his patient.
"Spencer, how are you holding up?" Emerson asked as he approached the young man sitting on the bed.
Reid merely shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He had been locked up in a prison cell like a dangerous criminal and for hours no-one had even bothered to visit him.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to come here," the older man said, as if reading the agent's mind. He gestured towards to mattress. "May I?"
"Sure," the profiler said quietly.
Emerson sat down, careful to leave enough space between himself and his patient.
"I talked to Christian Sanders' psychiatrist," he explained his late appearance. "I asked him to come here. It's important to know every detail about Christian's delusions. We need to know what he sees in you."
Reid looked down at his hands. He had asked himself the same question. Several possibilities had crossed his mind and none of them were rather appealing.
"So...what did his doctor say?"
It took Emerson a few seconds to weigh up which information he should give his patient and what he had better keep away from him.
The psychologist drew a deep breath. "The most important fact is that none of his alleged feelings for you are real." He looked at Reid with an earnest expression on his face. "You need to understand that he is not in love with you nor does he care about you."
Reid was confused. What was Emerson implying here?
"I didn't...I mean, I'm not..."
"I know," the older man cut him off. "It's not about you. You just happened to be his last partner before..."
Now it was Reid who interrupted his doctor. "Don't talk about that. I...I just have to know how I am supposed to deal with him if I meet him tonight."
There was a hint of annoyance in the young agent's tone that concerned Emerson.
"Don't try to negotiate with him," he said firmly. "He's suffered a severe psychotic break. You cannot communicate with him on a logical level. The only thing you have to do is to be there and wait for the others to arrest him."
Reid put on a bitter smile. "Lure him into a trap like an animal. Tristan Stuart used to go with very similar tactics, you know..."
It was then that an array of warning bells started to ring in Emerson's head.
"Spencer," the psychologist began earnestly. He paused, causing the younger man to look at him. "You know that he didn't have the right to kill those men, don't you?"
Reid let his gaze drop again.
Since there was no reply, Emerson stressed the statement once more: "What he's been through did not give him the right to murder innocent people."
The younger man snorted. "Innocent...," he repeated dismissively.
"Spencer..."
"I know, Gerald," Reid finally blurted. He didn't have the strength to shout, but it was close enough. "I know all that. I know that he didn't have the right to kill them. I know that he has to be caught. And I know that he doesn't care about me."
The profiler took a few breaths to calm himself down. After a moment of silence he finally whispered: "I just want it to be over. I wanna go home. I want..." He stopped, not knowing what exactly it was he wanted.
Emerson gave him a sympathetic look. He felt for his patient. There was only so much a person could take.
"It will be over soon, Spencer," he said reassuringly, hoping that he was right. He glanced sideways at the paper bag with the doughnuts. "Did you eat something?"
Reid shook his head tiredly.
The doctor nodded. Not really a surprise. He reached into his own shoulder bag and brought out a small can. Emerson handed it to Reid.
"Drink that," he told his patient. "It's a liquid supplement. You will need the energy."
It was almost half past nine in the evening. Usually at this time of day, the main office of the police department in Washington DC wasn't that crowded anymore. Now, however, almost every single desk in every single room were occupied by people in uniforms – and suits.
For more than an hour Aaron Hotchner and head detective Samuel Jacobs had been discussing the best strategy to catch the serial killer.
"I have every man of my unit out on the streets," the policeman said once again – as if to assure himself that he'd done everything he could to finally solve the case.
"Good," Hotch replied. "My team will be there too. We will stay close to Reid..."
"To make sure he's not gonna take a running jump," the detective added quickly. On more than one occasion he'd uttered his doubts about the whole plan. He'd been so relieved the day before, assuming that he'd already caught the killer. And then these people had expected him to start from zero again – well, almost zero. At least he had the kid. And he was going to keep a close eye on him tonight.
Hotch sighed. "We will stay close to make sure he's alright. There's no way to predict how Sanders is going to react to him."
"If Sanders is even out there," Jacobs pointed out again.
The senior profiler had heard this phrase way too often for it to be tolerable anymore. "Look, you agreed to go with the plan. We need to focus our attention on that now."
The detective gave the agent one final doubtful look and finally stepped into action.
"I'm going to instruct my men now. We should leave soon," he stated grumpily and turned to move to the very inconspicuous looking uniformed crowd waiting in front of the entrance.
Hotch shook his head lightly. He was so fed up with the whole situation. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so exhausted. Well, maybe a few months ago on the other end of the continent...
"Hotch!" Morgan called from the main entrance, interrupting his boss' thoughts.
Wearing a quizzical expression on his face, the unit chief walked swiftly to his agent.
Morgan handed his cell to his superior. "It's Garcia. Wants to talk to you personally." He put emphasis on the last word, apparently irritated by his baby girl's wish to rather speak with Hotch than with him.
The senior profiler took the cell phone and took a few steps away – not that there were many quiet places to go in the busy office.
"Garcia? What is it?" he asked.
And listened.
He raised an eyebrow. "What? When?"
The slightly agitated tone in his superior's voice was not lost on Morgan. Prentiss must have noticed the unusual hunched posture of their stoic boss too, because she joined her athletic colleague. Morgan rewarded her questioning stare with a shrug. He had no idea what Garcia wanted to tell Hotch.
The team leader kept silent, listening to the tech girl's words, taking in the new and very unexpected information.
"OK," he said eventually, clearly struggling to keep calm. "No, it wasn't your fault, Garcia. Thank you." He hung up and looked at his agents.
"What's going on?" Prentiss asked, a frown on her face. "Something wrong?"
Hotch glanced around. "Well yes, I think there might be trouble coming up."
"Trouble?" Morgan inquired impatiently. "More trouble than..."
In that moment the door behind him was opened forcefully, hitting the profiler's back.
Morgan spun around – and froze. From what seemed like another planet he could hear Prentiss call the arriver's name.
"Gideon?"
Then something seemed to snap in Morgan's head. Something that made him raise his fist and punch the man before him hard in the face.
"Morgan!" Hotch called and jumped at him from behind, holding back his arms. The unit chief's piercing voice was enough to bring the younger agent back into reality. He stumbled backwards, never taking his eyes off the man who was now crouching on the floor with his hand pressed against his bleeding lip.
Hotch didn't know where to look first. Everything had happened so quickly. Garcia had called to warn him that Gideon was already on his way to the police station. A little bit too late, unfortunately.
"Prentiss!" Hotch hissed, motioning her to take care of Morgan who was now simply standing and staring, muttering a mantra that consisted of 'son of a bitch' and 'what the hell'. The female profiler permitted herself to stare a bit longer at the retired agent as well, before turning her focus on Morgan to make sure another attack wouldn't follow.
The unit chief bent down to his former colleague who had started to wipe the blood away with a handkerchief.
"You alright?" Hotch asked, not trying to keep the coldness out of voice.
Gideon nodded and stood up slowly.
The team leader straightened himself and crossed his arms before his chest. "What are you doing here?"
Gideon stuffed the blood stained piece of cloth into his pocket. He glanced briefly at Morgan and Prentiss, but ignored their shocked gazes and faced Hotch instead.
"Garcia told me where to find you. She contacted me, said that Reid's in trouble," he explained quickly.
At this, Morgan took a step forward – despite Prentiss' effort to hold him back. "You asked him to come here, Hotch?"
"Yes, he did," Gideon shot back before the BAU-chief even got a chance to reply. "So what is going on?"
Hotch placed a hand on his former friend's upper arm in an attempt to lead him to a quieter place where they could talk in private. And even more important: He had to keep Gideon out of Reid's sight. At least for now. He had no idea how the young doctor would react to his old mentor's sudden appearance.
"It's really not the best time, Jason."
"We're ready!" Jacobs suddenly called, storming into the office. "My officers are on their way. All we need is our bait."
Gideon turned to Hotch. "Bait?"
As if on cue the elevator door opened. Emerson was the first to emerge, followed by Reid who was led through the office by two guards – one on each side.
At first, the young agent kept his head down. He didn't want anyone to see him being treated like the common suspect he was. When the guards stopped he glanced up to see what was coming next.
Reid let his look wander through the room until finally his gaze fell on the person who was standing next to Hotch. The person with the split lip. The person with a facial expression that was probably not that dissimilar to his own.
The sounds and movements in the large office were still there, of course. To Reid and Gideon, however, the whole world seemed to stop. The situation was too much the same as back then in the underground. Too many painful memories were crashing down onto both of them.
And just like then in the underground maze neither of them were able to do something about it.
Reid opened his mouth to perhaps say a thing, but the guards had already been told to take him outside. He wanted to resist. He wanted to stay here. He had to convince himself that this was not a hallucination; that he hadn't finally lost it. But they pulled at him and shoved him forcefully through the office, past his colleagues and the image of the man who was probably really there or maybe just in his head. They then led him to the car that was going to take him to the man who had stolen his youthful innocence in the first place. The man who was probably really there.
Or maybe only in his head.
***
Hotch sat in the backseat next to his youngest team member. He'd insisted on staying with him during the drive. How could he not? After Gideon's sudden appearance Reid had looked so utterly confused and lost – there was no way the team leader could have left him alone any sooner than absolutely necessary.
The senior profiler listened to the oppressive silence reigning in the car driven by one of Jacobs' officers. He kept throwing nervous sideway glances at Reid. The young man hadn't looked at him, let alone spoken to him since the drive had begun. The handcuffed agent was simply staring out of the window. Every now and then, Hotch could hear him drawing deep, shivering breaths.
The unit chief was worried. He had serious doubts if his agent would be able to hold it together over the course of the night. He knew that Reid was both physically and emotionally exhausted. He also knew that the plan could only work if the young agent stayed calm. Hotch just didn't see how Reid would be able to keep his composure should he actually meet Sanders.
The team leader really wanted to blow the whole thing off. However, the choice had been made and Jacobs was determined to arrest someone tonight. They needed to catch Sanders in order to clear Reid of suspicion.
Hotch cleared his throat. "How long?" he asked the policeman behind the steering wheel.
"Five minutes," the officer replied.
They were almost there.
The senior profiler glanced at his agent again. Reid hadn't moved an inch during the trip. He was still looking out the window, as if there was something outside he couldn't tear his eyes away from.
"Reid?" Hotch asked tentatively. He knew there was no going back anymore, but he had to at least try to ease his subordinate.
The younger man didn't turn around to face his boss. "Was Gideon there?" he asked very quietly.
The older agent frowned. "Yes. You saw him."
Reid nodded weakly, still refusing to make eye contact. "Just wanted to make sure."
Everything inside Hotch screamed at him to call a stop to the mission. It was apparent that Reid was not at all in the condition to focus on his role as bait. Thanks to Jason Gideon once again, Hotch mused wryly.
"Reid, don't think about Gideon now. You can talk to him later, " Hotch said firmly. "I need you to stay alert. Concentrate on the case. We have to find Christian."
Now Reid turned around. He looked at his superior with big eyes. "Talk to him?" His speech sounded slurred somehow, as if he was still under the influence of the sedative – which wasn't possible, given how much time had passed.
"Reid, focus," Hotch ordered, more forcefully this time. He knew they had almost reached their destination. Soon enough the young doctor would be on his own, waiting for a potential murderer to find him.
Reid blinked and shook his head in an attempt to make all the voices and images go away.
"I don't wanna talk to him," he said fearfully, his breath becoming faster and shallow.
At that point Hotch seriously considered to tell the officer to drive them back to the station.
"Here we are," the policeman announced just then. The car stopped and the driver climbed out of the vehicle.
Hotch sighed. It was too late. He knew that. Dozens of cops were already on the street. The second car with Morgan, Prentiss and Jacobs had arrived too. The team leader moved out of the vehicle and walked around to let Reid out as well.
Slowly, the younger man stepped out. Hotch placed one hand on his shoulder to get the agent's attention.
"Reid, we're here. You know the plan," he started. "I'll go with you to the place where the latest murder happened. You will continue alone and go the club. You know the way, don't you?"
The younger man looked around. He saw Morgan and Prentiss talking to the detective. He wondered what they were talking about. About him, perhaps? What did Morgan tell Jacobs? Did Morgan even know about...these things? Jase had said that everybody knows. Everybody.
"Reid."
He could hear his boss calling him again.
Hotch knew too. Reid was sure of it. It had been Hotch who had found him in the desert. On the bed...
"Reid!" the senior profiler almost yelled at his agent. "Are you listening?"
The younger man brought his cuffed hands to his forehead. His hair had fallen into his face again. He needed to tuck the strands behind his ears.
Suddenly he could feel Hotch's grip tighten on his shoulder. He wanted to draw back, but he couldn't move.
"Reid, look at me," Hotch said in his most authoritative tone. "Look at me!"
The younger man did. He forced himself to focus on his superior's face. It took a lot of willpower to ignore the thunderstorm of noises and pictures in his head.
"This is important, Reid. We have to find him. Tell me that you can do it," Hotch demanded earnestly.
Reid nodded.
"Tell me," the senior profiler urged. "Say the words."
"I can...I think so," the younger man replied quietly. He wondered why he couldn't hear his own voice. Why was it so loud here? Where did all the sounds come from? Reid decided to speak again nonetheless, assuming that his boss wanted to hear something more assuring.
"I can do it, Hotch. I, uhm, I want it to be over."
The team leader gave his subordinate a tight smile. He didn't believe a word. In his opinion it was only a matter of time until his youngest agent would finally crack. All Hotch could do was pray that it wouldn't happen tonight.
"Good," he said evenly. "Let's go then."
The office of the PD was nearly empty. Almost everyone had gone out on the streets to help catching the killer. Civilians, of course, were not allowed to be in the field during a mission. Too high the risk of someone getting caught in a possible cross fire.
That was why Dr. Gerald Emerson and the retired SSA Jason Gideon had been left behind at the station. The two men were not very happy about that – for very similar reasons.
Emerson had tried to convince Hotch that Reid would need psychological support. However, the senior profiler had agreed with Jacobs who had found it irresponsible to get more people involved than necessary.
Gideon also wanted to come along, but Hotch had told him in a very icy tone that Reid could do without his old mentor's disturbing presence. And the older man couldn't help but agree. He knew he'd shown up at a particularly bad time and it was certainly not his intention to distress his former protégé further.
Now both Emerson and Gideon sat in the waiting room of the PD, anxiously waiting for news. They knew each other, had occasionally been working together in the FBI for a couple of years, but as distinct to Hotch, Gideon wasn't Emerson's friend. The psychologist had had intense talks with the skilled profiler after Boston. He'd also heard about the agent's backdoor retreat from the FBI. Emerson could understand why Gideon had chosen to leave the bureau. However, he found it hard to comprehend why the man who had shown so much empathy for each victim – and sometimes even for the killers – had just walked out on Reid after the young man's ordeal in Las Vegas. It just didn't seem to fit.
"I'm glad you came back, Jason," Emerson said nonetheless. After all, he had been the one recommending to bring the retired profiler back. "I just wish the timing had been better." He gave a small, tired laughter, not wanting to increase the tension in the room further.
Gideon sat next to the experienced psychologist, his fingers wrapped around the cup of foul smelling coffee.
"Garcia called me. I came here as soon as possible," he explained weakly. He knew everyone was blaming him for Reid's desolate situation. He blamed himself too. Not a day had passed in the last two months where he hadn't asked himself the one question:
Had it been the right thing to go away?
'Yes', Gideon kept telling himself. He had been there in the underground maze where his friend had been held. He had seen what they had done to Reid. And even more important: Reid had seen him too. The retired profiler knew that he was a living reminder of what had happened. That's why he'd decided to leave. He had considered it the best thing to do in order to let his friend heal.
That wasn't the whole truth, though. If Gideon was honest with himself he had to admit that he had not only left because he wanted to help Reid.
Fear. At least partly, it had simply been the fear to face his protégé again that had driven the older man away.
"So you worked with him?" he asked Emerson.
The psychologist took a sip of his own coffee. "Not for long. But we talked, yes."
A few moments of silence.
"He's blaming me, isn't he?" Gideon couldn't help but ask.
"It's not about blame, Jason." Emerson sighed. "It's not about you at all. He has to come to terms with himself. He has to process what's happened to him. I don't know all the details about his ordeal in Vegas. But I know you were there and I think it might help him to talk to you about it."
The former agent shook his head. "I don't think he wants to see me."
"Let's just hope that Aaron's plan works out. We can discuss later what to do." The psychologist stood up to get himself another coffee.
Gideon watched the man disappear. He ran his fingers through his thin hair and glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. 10 pm.
They should be there by now.
It was the nightmare all over again. It was dark, the streets only sparsely lit by the colorful lights coming from the bars and clubs. There were people, so many people. Smoking, chattering, kissing, fighting. Crowds. Reid hated crowds. He was alone and had no choice but to go to the place where he'd tried to convince himself that he was a man – after all. It hadn't worked back then, and right now he didn't feel like a grown man either. Actually, he didn't feel much at all. Not only were the noises from the environment nagging at his nerves; there were still all those sounds and images inside his head that just wouldn't allow him to focus on the task at hand.
So Reid kept walking. His team were there. Hotch had assured him several times that his co-workers were close by.
'You won't see us, but we will be there. Don't worry.'
That's what Hotch had told him. Reid knew the plan. He knew that all he had to do was wait for Christian. Back at the station they had wired the young profiler so that Garcia would be able to track him if necessary. They also needed to hear him because they would only be able to arrest Christian if Reid identified him.
'Don't forget to say his name aloud when he's there.'
That had been Hotch's final order. The most important thing to do. Say his name.
Reid didn't even know if the man who seemed to be obsessed with him would come. The young doctor couldn't really imagine that Christian would step right into such an obvious trap. He knew that Reid had been arrested. Surely, the profiler mused, Christian would become suspicious if he saw him walking down the street as if nothing had happened.
As the blinking sign of the 'Pandora's Box' came into view, the young agent stopped. He was there. He wasn't supposed to go to the brightly lit entrance.
'Stay a bit secluded. He won't feel comfortable in the lights.'
Reid remembered Prentiss' advise. Of course, he thought, if Christian was actually going to contact him, he would most likely do it in a more shadowy area. The profiler's eyes darted nervously around, trying to make out faces. It wasn't easy to recognize anything, especially not with the blast of images flashing before his mind's eye.
The hand touching him lightly at his back caused Reid's heart to skip a beat. He spun around and was immediately shoved against the nearest wall. Then the feeling of a familiar mouth against his own lips. He placed his palms against the other man's chest, but didn't push him away. Every bit of strength that had been left, seemed to be sucked out of him now.
The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but to Reid it felt like a century.
Finally, the assaulter drew back. Only a couple of inches. Just enough for Reid to see the smile on Christian's face.
"Can you hear something, Garcia?" Hotch asked over his headset. He'd stayed in contact with the team's technical analyst ever since the operation had begun. The agents didn't dare to get too close to their youngest colleague. They couldn't take the risk of being discovered by Sanders. However, Garcia was monitoring Reid and kept Hotch posted about every step the young doctor took and every word he said. Although, until now, he hadn't said a thing.
"Silence," she replied curtly. "And he's still there."
Hotch glanced at Morgan who gave him a questioning look. The team leader shook his head. Nothing.
"I missed you." Christian's lips merely formed the words. It was probably a whisper, but Reid couldn't hear it.
All he could hear was the screaming voice inside his head.
Say his name!
But for some reason he didn't have enough breath in his lungs anymore to actually articulate the words his team members were waiting for.
Christian tilted his head. He grabbed Reid's hand and whispered. "Come."
"Sir, he's moving." Garcia sounded alarmed. Her favorite genius boy was walking away from the rendezvous point and still hadn't said anything at all.
"What?" Hotch was more than surprised. Reid was not supposed to walk around. "Give me a direction, Garcia."
"He's only two block away from you now, heading southwest," she replied quickly.
"Tell Prentiss too. She's with Jacobs," Hotch ordered.
He looked at Morgan who was wearing a rather worried frown. "Something's wrong," the team leader said and started to run. The younger man followed his boss. He hadn't heard what Garcia had said, but he knew that expression on Hotch's face. And he knew that tone in his superior's voice. The two things combined could only mean trouble.
The profilers sprinted along the streets like hell. Both were in good shape and it didn't take long until Garcia called them through the speaker.
"Stop. He's there," she said, her eyes fixated in the blinking spots on the screen. One for Hotch and one for Reid.
The two older agents looked around. Apart from the few orange street lamps it was really dark in the empty alley Garcia had led them into. There was no sign of Reid.
"He's not here," Hotch said quietly.
"He has to be," the tech girl repeated. "I can see his signal. It's right there."
They stood in front of an old, apparently forsaken building. Morgan took a few steps and examined the vicinity closely. Approaching the house, he noticed that the big metal front door was left ajar. Which was odd considering that no-one seemed to live in there.
Morgan looked up. And he saw something standing out as a silhouette against the dark blue sky. A small shadow.
He called Hotch and indicated to the top of the building.
An unfamiliar emotion that might have been panic flickered across the unit chief's face.
"The roof."
***
It was peaceful. So high, so dark, so far away from all the trouble. From the top of the abandoned building everything seemed so small. Tiny spots of light were decorating the city. Some of the spots were moving. Car headlights. Some of them were still. Street lights. Some of the spots were flashing in blue and red. Police.
Reid stood at the edge of the roof, looking down at the streets below. He could hear the muffled sound of sirens approaching; could see the cars coming closer. But it didn't really matter to him. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten here. Jase, of course. No, Christian. Christian had dragged him along the streets, into the alley and up the stairs to the place where he was standing right next to him now. Reid was staring into space and at the world that didn't seem to be his world anymore.
"They're coming," the sweet voice from the left murmured.
Reid didn't reply. His voice still refused to work for him. He was out of breath from the run. His heart was beating too fast in his chest and the cool air didn't get deep enough into his lungs. His brain was dizzy, still projecting random images in his mind. Images of his mother begging him to take her back; images of slaughtered people looking at him with accusing eyes; images of a man in black and the barrel of gun pointed at his forehead; and the memory of white light hurting his eyes; the feeling of betrayal and pain and shame.
"They don't want us to be together." Again Christian's words, forcing Reid's mind back from the past.
"No," he whispered, somewhat surprised that his voice had returned. "They don't."
He felt his hand being taken by the other man. He didn't want to be touched, but what was the point in fighting it any longer?
"There's no other way, Matt," Christian said in a low tone of voice. "If we want to be together, we have to do it."
Reid was pulled a few inches closer to the abyss. He looked down. The blinking red and blue lights were right below them now. So they had come for him? Why? The young profiler didn't understand why so many people would come here. Had he done something wrong? What was he doing here anyway? Were they going to lock him up again? Why?
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice betraying the panic that was rising inside him.
The young agent looked at the man next to him. "Jase?"
And he felt gentle fingers stroking his cheek, brushing back the long strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.
"It's time," the other man said. He sounded almost relieved. Relieved at the prospect of finally leaving this world that had nothing to offer anymore.
Reid suddenly knew what was about to happen. It wasn't really a shocking realization, but rather the acknowledgment of something that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a very long time.
"We can't do that," he said quickly. "It's...it's not right." He tried to pull back, but the hand gripping his own kept him at the very edge of the roof.
"We have to," Christian replied evenly.
"No, we don't."
"It's very easy, Matt. Just close your eyes and let go."
And, really, it sounded so tempting in Reid's ears. It would have been so easy to just go with it and fall and finally forget all the pain and disappointment he was feeling.
Yet it was so wrong.
Reid drew his hand back – forcefully, this time. He felt the other hand reluctantly release him.
It was dark, but the young profiler could still see the hurt expression on the other man's face.
He took a step back at the same time as Christian moved even closer to the edge of the house.
"Don't do this," Reid pleaded. He didn't want to see the other man jump into death; to go through with the final plan.
However, the only reply came in the form of a weak smile, followed by an even weaker: "Goodbye, Matt."
Hotch and Morgan had almost reached the top of the stairs.
"Hotch!" the younger agent hissed and shone with his flashlight at the slightly open door that led to the roof.
The senior profiler nodded. He motioned his subordinate to stay behind him and moved on. He had no idea what to expect. Was Reid alone? Was Sanders with him? Why on the roof?
What if we're too late?
Hotch moved faster. He knew they had to be careful. Christian Sanders was delusional and obviously dangerous. To simply storm the roof with a little army of cops wouldn't have helped to find a peaceful way out. That's why he'd told Jacobs and his crew to stay down. On the other hand, Hotch had a hard time controlling the urge to just run out and get his agent back in one piece.
Reaching the final step, the unit chief slowly pushed the door open. With his right hand he motioned for Morgan to follow, before warily exiting upon the roof. Apart from the rays of light coming from the profilers' torches, everything was a deep opaque.
They let the lights wander around, trying to find the person they had seen from the street. After a few seconds, Hotch's movements came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the slim back of the man standing close to the rim of the roof. Way too close for Hotch's liking.
"Morgan," he murmured, drawing his agent's attention to the familiar shape of their youngest teammate as well. "Stay back."
The younger man nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Reid.
Slowly, Hotch approached the young man who stood motionless with his back to his colleagues, seemingly unaware of their arrival.
"Reid?" the team leader called cautiously, not wanting to scare his subordinate. "Reid, turn around please."
Still the young doctor didn't move. He simply kept staring into the black deep hole where the other man had just disappeared. He could hear someone calling his name, but he wasn't ready to respond to something that was so real. He wasn't ready to face the world again. The idea of following Christian into that blissful nothingness was tempting. How much harder would it be to go back and be confronted with all those memories again?
"Reid."
Louder this time. Firm, but gentle. Hotch. Reid knew he couldn't stay in that limbo between death and life forever. He had to choose now. He turned around as in slow motion, his eyes meeting those of his boss.
"What are you doing here, Reid?" the older man asked calmly, trying to sound like a tower of strength and not to reveal his own panic.
If he jumps, Hotch thought as he took a step closer to his agent, I'll never be able to cope with that. He remembered vividly their last argument before the kidnapping. I sent him away. It's my fault. Not Gideon's. Not Reid's. Mine.
"Hotch?" the younger man asked wearily. "Don't...don't...," he trailed off, but motioned his superior to stop.
The senior profiler did. Of course, he knew how to play the negotiation game. He'd been in similar situations so many times. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. He knew he was too emotionally involved and cursed himself for leaving Emerson at the station.
"Step away from the ledge, Reid," he said equally calmly.
"He's dead," the younger man replied, ignoring Hotch's order.
"Who's dead?"
"Jase. He...he just..." Again Reid didn't get the words out. He indicated helplessly towards the abyss. "I tried to stop him, but he just..."
"It's okay, Reid," Hotch assured him. He was irritated that no-one had bothered to tell him. After all, he'd been in contact with Prentiss all the time. If Sanders had actually jumped off the roof, they should have informed him. However, Hotch was careful not to show his surprise. He needed to focus on Reid now. "It's not your fault. Just come down here and we can go home."
The young profiler looked at his boss. Hotch was only a few feet away from him. Reid's eyes narrowed.
"I know what you think," he hissed.
Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag.
Hotch frowned. "What do you mean?" He was completely out of the loop and he didn't like it at all.
Reid became more agitated. "Don't play with me, Hotch! I know what you think of me."
The unit chief made an attempt to step closer but his agent lifted his hands in a warning gesture.
"Don't come any closer!"
"Okay," Hotch agreed and stopped short. "Just tell me what you're talking about."
Reid let his arms drop. He felt suddenly very tired. Did he really have to articulate these things? Did Hotch want to hear it again? Hadn't it been enough that his boss had seen him...like that?
"You know what I did," Reid said quietly. He looked at his co-worker, before adding: "You know what I am."
And now Hotch knew what was going on. In a way he was glad to realize what this was about. On the other hand it pained him that his youngest agent had kept these thoughts to himself for so long.
"You did nothing wrong, Reid," he said firmly.
"I'm filthy," the younger man said. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the disgusted expression on his colleague's face.
"No." Hotch didn't know where to start. "No, you're not, Reid. Spencer. Please, look at me."
It took a while, but eventually Reid dared to open his eyes again. He was glad that Hotch kept the flashlight down. He didn't want to humiliate himself further by crying in front of his boss. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the tears back much longer.
"You're not filthy, Reid," Hotch repeated in a gentle tone. "It wasn't you. They are the bastards, not you. They..."
"He fucked me, Hotch!" Reid yelled out of the blue.
The cruel words echoed through the cool night air for a few very long seconds.
Morgan swallowed. Hotch winced. Reid stared with a shocked expression at his boss. He couldn't believe what he'd just said aloud. It was the brutal truth, of course. They all knew it. But no-one, least of all Reid, had been prepared for that.
"I'm...sorry. I didn't..." He wanted to take it back. He wanted to turn back the time – at least for a couple of minutes. Reid turned his head a bit to the side, glancing down at the now crowded alley. Oh God, the temptation to just stop it all then and there was almost overwhelming.
"It's alright," Hotch said quietly, trying to catch his agent's attention.
Reid turned to face his superior again. "I didn't want it," he whispered.
"I know."
"I told them to stop." He tried desperately to blink the tears away, but there were just too many.
"I know," Hotch repeated softly. He watched Reid's head drop and dared to step closer. "It wasn't your fault."
The younger man didn't seem to notice. "I should've tried harder," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "Should've tried."
"You did everything you could." Hotch took one more step and was finally close enough to reach his subordinate. In a swift motion he grabbed Reid's arm and pulled him away from the edge.
The younger man didn't fight, nor did he look at his boss.
"I just want it to stop," Reid said weakly. "I'm so tired."
"I know."
Hotch laid his arm around his agent's shoulder and led him to the door and back into the building. Morgan watched the two men disappear and walked close the rim of the roof. He looked down. It was really high. No-one could survive such a massive fall, he mused. And he felt a small glimmer of satisfaction deep inside, thinking that at least one of Reid's tormentors had gotten what he'd deserved.
When Hotch and Reid had reached the ground floor again and stepped out of the building, they were greeted by Prentiss and Jacobs.
The policeman approached them quickly. "What the hell happened up there?"
The unit chief ignored him at first. "Prentiss," he said and motioned her to come closer. "Take him to the car. Don't leave him alone," he ordered.
Somewhat startled by the worn-out look of their youngest team member, the brunette agent just nodded and led Reid to one of the SUVs.
"What happened?" Jacobs asked again, getting more and more impatient. Apparently, the mission hadn't gone as planned and he wanted to know why.
Hotch rubbed his eyes. "Nothing happened. We...talked," he said, deciding that the detective didn't need to know all the details.
"You talked?"
"Yes," the senior profiler retorted. "Let's leave it there." He looked around. "So where is the body?"
A puzzled expression on Jacobs' face. "What body?"
***
Next part of Filthy.
- Criminal Minds - home page
- New stories
- Reid/Morgan
- Reid/Hotch
- Reid/Gideon
- Hotch/Rossi
- Hotch/Morgan
- Hotch/Gideon
- Prentiss/JJ
- JJ/Garcia
- Prentiss/Garcia
- Morgan/Garcia
- JJ/Reid
- JJ/Morgan
- Prentiss/Reid
- Hotch/Prentiss
- Morgan/Prentiss
- Other pairings
- Gen stories