The Mind is a Treacherous Thing

Title: The Mind is a Treacherous Thing
By: Eligent
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Berkview Institute for the Criminally Insane is hell on earth and Reid's new home.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, and wouldn't want to either. There's not enough closet space here.
Author's Notes: At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I just want to remind you all that I'm not English speaking. There will be mistakes.
***

"Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtaxed."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Saturday

Reid stood in the medicine line, his arms wrapped tightly around his own body, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, his back slightly hunched. This place was always so damn cold. The standard patient uniform was slippers, sweatpants, t-shirt and a robe. But Reid refused to walk around in a robe all day. It was too stereotypic.

He'd been late today, so he was last in line after Danny, whose OCD made him count his numerous pills seven times before taking them. But he didn't understand how he could be late for something when he was always right here, in this building, on this floor, in this ward, day in and day out.

"Here you go, Spencer." Nurse Grace handed him a medicine cup through the hatch in the Plexiglas hiding the pharmacy. The cup had four pills in it, one big blue, a round yellow one and two small white ones. He took the cup and the small Dixie cup of water and quickly downed the pills, then opening his mouth wide, moving his tongue around, to prove he really had taken the pills. He had a headache, but knew better than to ask for extra medication. That would only lead to inquiries and investigations that he didn't want to be a part of. He just wanted to be left alone.

The orderly guarding the line nodded him clear and he shuffled into the dayroom. He had to shuffle. These slippers came off if he tried to walk properly, and he was sick of them.

The dayroom was painted in mint green. It was probably supposed to be soothing, but Reid was sick of it. He was sick of it all. The calming music, that wasn't calming at all, from the speakers built into the wall. The television that was always on, but that no one watched as it only showed a local channel. All corridors in the hospital were painted in the same not-quite-white color, that made Reid long for bright yellow, or even pink. He hated the bars on the windows in the dayroom, on the windows in the bathroom, on the windows in the canteen, on the windows in his room, no his cell. There were bars on everything. Bars and locks. He hadn't been outside in weeks.

There was a large clock on the wall whose second hand loudly made the time move forward. Without it time would stand still.

The same people were in the dayroom as every day. Danny, whose OCD was too severe for him to function in the real world. He was prone to hurting himself and had to go through his own routines every morning. He counted a lot and had to touch every furniture in a room before he could sit down. He had also stabbed his landlord when pressured about rent.

Eric, who was always having animated conversations with the voices in his head, that always drowned out the sound from the TV, as he liked to pace in front of it. He'd set fire to his own apartment to cleanse it from evil, but only ended up killing three of his neighbors.

Achmed, whose clinical depression disorder made him almost catatonic at times and abusive at others. Today he sat staring out a window, not moving an eyelash. Yesterday he had bitten Reid to get the last roll at lunch. Reid unconsciously rubbed the healing scabs on his arm. He was convicted of assault with a deadly weapon.

Lincoln and Marcus, the bipolar twins, who were here because they refused to take their medication when left to themselves and who were prone to violence when they were in their manic state. Many victims could attest to that. They laughed harder than anyone else, and cried quieter.

Roger, who had killed his wife in a murder/suicide that he had survived. He had since survived eight suicide attempts, three of them since he had been sent here.

Anthony, the Catholic child molester, who cried and confessed his sins to anyone who would listen.

Lester, Homer and Carl, murderers and rapists whose lawyers had beaten the system and had them sent here instead of prison. They played poker everyday, with monopoly money. Not a good idea. The ones who lost always accused the winner of cheating. The morning wouldn't be complete without them fighting.

Jim, who couldn't shake his PTSD and was prone to hallucinations. He had killed his own daughter, thinking she was an Iraqi soldier and was now in a wheelchair after having been shot by the police.

And he, Spencer, a paranoid schizophrenic murderer. He had blood on his hands and they were all here, every day, to punish him for it.

Murderers and evil-doers, the insane and the truly crazy. They all coexisted in this habitat, drifting around each other in a misted, drugged-up haze.

The Berkview Institute for the Criminally Insane. Hell on earth. And Reid's new home.

Reid sometimes played chess with Jim, but not very often. He didn't like socializing with the others. Even if he was here with them, he wasn't with them. He didn't want to identify with them.

Reid grabbed a book out of the bookshelf, not looking at what it was. He had read every book, magazine and scrap of paper in here ten times over. He curled up in the armchair he had claimed as his and started leafing through the book. To the unenlightened it would seem as if he was just turning the pages, but he was in fact reading every word, yet again.

The days were slow in here, and always the same. Individual therapy in the morning, four times a week. Group therapy in the afternoon, every day, no exception. Lunch was at one, dinner at six, always with a choice of tasteless chocolate pudding or tasteless Jell-O for desert. Movie-nights were Tuesdays and Fridays. Lights out at ten, bed check at two, wake up call at seven and then the same day started all over again… and again and again. This place was a hellhole. It was scary how well he fit in.

For group therapy they brought up the chain link gang, as Reid liked to call them. Those who where too dangerous to be kept among the general population. The serial killers and true psychopaths. Those he had once chased but who were now considered his peers.

Ronald Peters had raped and killed 15 red-headed prostitutes in the span of 15 weeks. His eyes were frozen in a permanent leer.

RJ Lawson, a sadistic former doctor who had used his knowledge of the human body to torture his victims for weeks before the actual kill.

And John Unenge, a muscled man covered in tattoos that believed the world owed him everything and then some. Which is why he had felt no remorse as he had taken a school bus full of autistic children hostage and then blown them up, laughing.

Reid always sat as far away from them as possible.

Today was not a therapy day for Reid. So he spent the morning in his armchair, listening to Eric argue with himself. Lunch was a bland vegetable soup that didn't leave anyone satisfied. Afterwards they gathered in the group therapy room, where chairs had been pulled into a circle. Ronald, RJ and John were brought in, cuffed hands and feet, both chains connected to a belt they wore around their waist, giving them a staggering walk. Two orderlies armed with nightsticks stood at the wall behind them, guarding the whole group.

Reid pulled his feet up on the small chair, as was his wont, wrapping his arms around his knees so not to fall off, and rested his chin on his upturned knees. He was still cold.

Today's therapy session was led by Doctor Cecilia Lux, who was also Reid's personal psychologist. Reid had made a habit of not speaking at group therapy, trying to stay mostly invisible, just listening to the others. But today was not his day.

Predictably, Anthony immediately seized the attention, wanting to talk about how his uncle's molestations scarred him for life and did not leave him any choice but to become a molester himself. These sessions always led to a general 'blame everybody but me' cry fest and Reid loathed them all for their lack of self-recognition.

But today Dr. Lux interrupted Anthony, almost before he could get started. "Thank you Anthony, but you and I spoke to lengths about that this morning. Today I would like to hear from someone else. Spencer? You have been awfully quiet during these sessions. Do you have something you would like to share with the group?"

"No."

"Please, Spencer. Group therapy is meant as a mean to help you see other perspectives. Let you comrades help you help your self."

Reid almost gagged at the sugar sweet Dr. Phil moment. They were all hardened criminals. Why would they want to help each other, or even themselves, for that matter? But Dr. Lux got support from the other patients.

"Yeah," Homer said. "You've been here like a month or something and we still don't know what you did."

Reid shrugged. "I killed a guy, that's all," he said as nonchalantly as he could, but inside he was screaming, 'Please don't look at me, please don't see me!'

"Why?" Lester wanted to know.

"Because he sat next to me on the bus."

"And please tell the group why that upset you," Dr. Lux insisted.

Reid shrugged again. "I was saving the seat for someone."

"No, Spencer, tell it all." Dr. Lux was relentless.

"I was saving the seat for my guidance counselor."

"Your guidance counselor?" Ronald asked with a sneer. "What are you, in high school?"

"No, Gideon just helps me with decisions. He tells me what's allowed and not…"

"It," Dr. Lux interrupted him.

"What?"

"Remember, Spencer, we talked about this. Gideon is not real, so therefore it can not be a 'him'. Gideon's an 'it'."

"And you are the one who decides what exist and doesn't Doctor?" Reid took on a defensive stance. "Basic high school philosophy teaches you to ask yourself whether or not the chair you're sitting on exists when you're not in the room. How can you be so sure? Just because you can't see Gideon doesn't mean he's not real. He's real to me. He's always been there for me."

"And where is he now?" Ronald asked, making a show of looking around.

"He's not here," Reid said angrily. "They've medicated him into lala-land. He'll be back though, just you wait. He won't stay subdued for long. He's too smart for that."

"If he's so smart, then why did he tell you to kill that guy?" Homer asked.

"He didn't tell me to. He never tells me what to do, he only helps me make the right decision on my own. And I wanted to make him happy. I asked the guy to please move. I was very polite, but he didn't listen to me. What else was I supposed to do? I had to stab him. He should have moved when I asked him to. If he'd been me, Gideon would have told me to move and I would never have been killed. Gideon is good to me."

Dr. Lux sighed. This was not how their conversation had gone yesterday. Then Spencer had been forthcoming and admitted that 'Gideon' was only an auditory hallucination, brought on by his disease. But Spencer had proved to be a challenge, never giving an inch unless you repetitively poked and prodded at a subject.

"Please, Spencer. Remember what we talked about yesterday? We agreed that Gideon was just a hallucination, he's just a figment of your imagination," she said.

"No," Reid said spitefully. "You decided that he was a hallucination. I just said yes."

"That's usually what agreeing means, dumb-ass," Ronald said.

"Well, I changed my mind," Reid sneered at him.

"What a nutcase," RJ muttered under his breath.

"There's no need for name calling, gentlemen. Okay, Roger. Would you like to tell us about the nightmare you had last night?" Dr. Lux moved on, frustrated.

The world was dark and hushed, as night's blanket wrapped itself around Berkview, its patients and those unlucky few who worked the nightshift. An orderly came walking through the dimly-lit corridor outside the patients' rooms, his well-worn rubber soles not making a sound on the linoleum floor. It was midnight, two hours too early for the next bed check.

He stopped outside Reid's door and peeked in through the window in the door, shining a flashlight at the sleeping figure. He then looked both ways, listening carefully before putting his key in the lock. He turned it slowly, quietly and then slipped in without even opening the door fully. He closed it and locked it behind him.

Reid was only a dark shape that lay on his side facing the wall, his back to the orderly, with his arms crossed in front of him and with his chin buried in his chest. Even in sleep he looked hostile and distant. The orderly had to squint as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The only light in the room was shining in from the window in the door. The orderly crossed the small room and sat down on the bed next to Reid with one leg curled on the bed and the other resting on the floor. His weight shifted the mattress, making Reid roll slightly towards him, Reid's lower back bumping into his knee. He carefully put a hand on Reid's shoulder, rubbing it tenderly.

"Hello, Spencer... Are you awake?"

***

Reid turned around, sitting up and turned his tired eyes on the other man, dislodging the hand on his back.

"Hey, Morgan," he said, looking at a point somewhere over his shoulder. "Since when do you call me Spencer?"

Morgan shrugged. "That's what they call you in the lounge."

"You talk about me?" Reid didn't sound very happy.

"Not specifically, we talk about all patients. So, how are you doing?" Morgan changed the subject.

Reid shrugged a little. "I'm doing okay."

"You look tired."

"It's the middle of the night."

"No, not just now. All the time. And you've lost weight. Don't you eat?"

"Have you tasted the food here?"

"Ha ha, very funny… Reid, you have to eat. You're not well. I talked to Hotch and Gideon, told them how you are doing. Hotch and I want to pull you, right now, but Gideon wanted us to ask you first."

"At least Gideon trusts me." Reid crossed his arms defensively over his lean torso.

"We all trust you, Reid." There was a sharpness in Morgan's voice.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just… this place is getting to me more than I thought it would."

"Which is why Hotch and I want to pull you."

"No, you can't pull me." There was desperation in his voice.

"Have you got anything?"

"No… not yet. I have feelers out though. I'm in a unique position here to observe both the patients and the staff. No one knows who I am."

"But what about you? Are you sure it's not too much?"

"I don't like it in here Morgan. In fact, I hate it. I hate every minute of every day. But I can't give up. Then where would we be?"

"You… we… haven't made any progress. It's been a month. You can't stay in here for ever. You are on your own, unprotected."

"You're here."

"I only have two shifts a week. What if something happens between them? I didn't like this from the start, and I like it even less now. Please, Reid, let it be. We'll find another way to solve this. It's not worth it."

"I'm okay. Nothing's happened. Yes, I'm uncomfortable, and eat crappy food and would love to go outside for a while, but I'm okay."

"What's this then?" Morgan took his arm and held it out towards him, looking at the scabs.

"A little run in with another patient. It's nothing. Just a scratch." Reid pulled the arm back, hiding the bite mark against his body.

"Please, Reid. Are you sure you don't want to be pulled?"

Reid hesitated for a minute, but then said. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll see this through."

Morgan sighed, recognizing his defeat. "Okay, we'll do it your way. Another week. That's all Hotch is prepared to give you. Next Sunday, we're pulling you, no matter what."

"Okay."

He still hadn't looked Morgan in the eyes.

"We miss you, you know." Morgan said gently.

"I miss you too." Reid said automatically but emotionless. He reached under his mattress and pulled out a wad of papers, torn out of a legal pad. "These are my observations since last time. Did you find anything on Doctor Warner?"

"He's got some pretty big debts. Gambling problems."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed."

"I was hoping you'd found out that he lived in a rundown motel just outside town with his mother's mummified body in the bedroom."

"We'll look into that," Morgan said with a smile. "We're checking everybody, in and out."

"Nurse Grace is stealing drugs. I think Eric Harding has been misdiagnosed. This place is an absolute mess. The staff is incompetent, to say the least. Once the case is over, I want to shut this place down, or at least this ward."

"We'll talk to Matthews about it. Take it easy tonight, okay. Try to get some sleep. I'll keep watch." Morgan stood up.

"Morgan, wait." Reid reached out and grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving.

Morgan stopped and looked down at him, seeing only his large, pleading eyes.

"The case is real, right? There is something going on in here, isn't there? You're not just humoring me because I'm crazy?"

For a second, Morgan's face was completely unreadable, his expression galloping between emotions before it turned into concern.

"Oh, Reid. No." Morgan sat back down on the bed. "Of course there is a case, and you're not crazy! There's nothing wrong with you. You're not really a patient here, you're only pretending, remember? We'll solve this and then you'll be back with us at BAU, where you belong. You're not crazy."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you."

Reid had lowered his head and kept his gaze on his own stomach, his voice so soft that it was almost inaudible. In a way Morgan was glad he was no longer looking at him. The look in Reid's eyes had been so raw that it had scared him.

"No, Reid. You're not crazy. Don't you trust me?"

"With my life."

"Then trust me. If you can't trust yourself, then trust me. I would never lie to you, I swear."

He really didn't want to leave now, but he knew he had to. The other staff thought he was just in the bathroom; he couldn't be gone too long.

"Try to get some sleep, Reid. Please. It will all work out in the end."

"Good night, Morgan."

"Good night." He squeezed Reid's shoulder before standing up and leaving the room.

Reid waited until Morgan had locked the door behind him, smiled at him through the window and left. Then he crept down under the blanket again and imagined himself in his own bed and his own apartment. He lay facing the wall, as always, trying to protect his privacy a little from the night round's harsh flashlight that would shine in through the window once a night, sometimes more. He drew his legs up against his chest and re-crossed his arms in front of him.

But sleep didn't come easy in this place. He hadn't slept more than four hours a night since he'd been here. And they had never been consecutive. Apart from his nightly rounds when he'd go out to snoop around, to check that the patients were still in their beds, and the staff was in the lounge, it was impossible to relax in this place. Even when he was asleep he was listening. Listening to the cries and moans from the other patients. Listening for footsteps, coming for someone, coming for him. He'd moved passed exhausted two weeks ago and was now running on fumes and sheer willpower.

Three months ago a nurse at the institution had gone to Dr. Isaiah Matthews, the director of Berkview, and told him that she had found strange markings on some of her patients and that several of them had begun showing strange personality changes. Also, the suicide rate at the ward had dramatically skyrocketed, and even though she never mentioned murder or any kind of foul play, she had clearly been suspicious.

Three days later she had been found dead in her apartment.

The police had investigated and ruled it as suicide. They had investigated Berkview as well, but found nothing. Dr. Matthews, however, was not satisfied. Since Berkview was a federal institution he went directly to the FBI and his old college roommate, Jason Gideon.

Gideon had listened seriously to him and had then invited him to tell his story again to Hotchner. Even though there was no love lost between the BAU and those who usually inhabited institutions for the criminally insane, the team took pride in believing that every victim of a crime was equally important, especially those who, for one reason or another, were incapable of defending themselves.

The undercover operation had been Reid's idea. The team had been distinctly unhappy about it, but Gideon had backed him up, knowing that the younger man had something to prove to himself, not as an agent, but as his mother's son.

Matthews had been very skeptical, but was persuaded by Gideon and Reid who impressed him with his knowledge and understanding of schizophrenia. He had helped put together Reid's fake medical chart, while Hotchner set up his new identity. Matthews had also supplied them with the blueprints of the hospital and information about the entire staff and all patients. He also vowed to find a way to make sure Reid was never given real medication, only sugar pills.

He'd been able to get Morgan a temp position as an orderly for two nightshifts a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Morgan was to be Reid's contact man, and for real emergencies Reid would contact Matthews, but unless it was absolutely necessary, they would have no contact, to avoid suspicion.

On the day Reid was committed he was met by Dr. Lux, who was to be his personal therapist, and Dr. Matthews, who always oversaw the admittance of new patients. Matthews had then smuggled Reid a master key that would get him in or out of every door in the hospital. It was a considerable risk, but it was necessary. Reid was to keep it concealed on his body at all times.

He'd been admitted as a newly diagnosed schizophrenic and during the first weeks of his stay he'd carefully scaled his faked symptoms down as he let the supposed medicine do its work. He'd become a surly and standoffish young man. He'd given himself an angry, sullen personality, wanting to stay distanced from the other patients. He was here to observe, not to interact.

Sunday

The public wake up call sounded through the speakers that were built into the wall. At the same time all their doors were automatically unlocked. Reid always jumped right out of bed when he heard it. Most of the patients were not morning people, and this way he could be alone in the shower room. He grabbed his towel and toilet bag and went out into the corridor.

"Good morning," Nurse Frank greeted him cheerfully as he went around making sure everybody was getting up.

"Mmm," Reid answered, as he disappeared into the shower room, which also held a row on sinks with the only mirrors in the house over them, safely hidden behind Plexiglas. There were low-voltage electrical outlets in between them. Electric shavers were the only ones allowed here.

Reid looked at himself in the mirror. Morgan was right, he didn't look well. He was pale, with deep shades on the skin under his eyes. It took a lot of energy to always be so withdrawn and constantly on edge. Trying to maintain a schizophrenic persona was exhausting and he was constantly afraid that he would go from faking it to the real thing. In this place it was easy to be sucked in and just let go of reality.

A motion behind him in the mirror tore him out of his musings. What was that? He turned his head… and gasped horrified, backing up until the sink painfully dug into his lower back.

Anthony was hanging naked from a shower head, a torn up towel wrapped around his neck. His face was black, his tongue hanging out, his arms dangling. Jim's shower stool lay toppled by his feet.

As despicable a man as Reid had found Anthony to be, they had shared a dinner table and inadequate counseling for over a month. This was much different from seeing a dead body at a crime scene. At least at a crime scene, he expected it. This was pure shock.

He took two halting steps towards the slowly swinging body, before regaining his senses. He ran for the door, slamming it open.

"Help!" he called at the top of his lungs. "Help me, he's dead." He moved back into the shower room as the staff started pouring in to the room. He backed into a corner and tried to make himself invisible. He had to stay in character, but he also had to be an agent, and this was what he was here to investigate. He should have looked closer at the body before letting the others in, he berated himself. But what if this was murder and the murderer had stood right outside, waiting for him to make the discovery? He or she would then have become suspicious. No, he'd done the right thing. He knew that Matthews would make sure a proper autopsy was done this time, probably by FBI personnel. The BAU would be all over this. They could solve it without him.

There were purple spots on Anthony's torso, right below where the towel was wrapped around his neck. They looked like small bruises. Petechiae bleedings maybe? Those were common with asphyxiation. There would be more in his face and eyes if that was the case, but it was impossible to tell due to the discoloration of his face. Or were they simply bruises? Was this truly a suicide? Reid didn't want to think that it was. He didn't remember Anthony showing any suicidal tendencies. He tried to look for other markings or wounds on the body, but the people were moving around, constantly blocking his view of the body from the neck down.

So instead he looked at the staff that was gathered around the body, debating how to get him down, and whether to do it now or if they had to call the police first. The doctors, Warner and Lux. The nurses, Grace, Frank and Angela. The orderlies, Adam, Marcus and Leyla. Were any of them responsible for this? Had one of them gone to Anthony during the night and done this to him? But who? And why? And what had been done? True, Anthony was a sadistic child molester and very few would mourn his passing. But the person doing these things to Berkview's patients was a sadist as well, and who knew how long he or she would be content to stay within these four walls. This had to be stopped.

Then Dr. Lux turned and saw him covering in the corner. She said something to Dr. Warner and then walked briskly over to him.

"Spencer, are you okay?"

He jerked his head in what was supposed to resemble a nod, his arms wrapped around his own body, looking like a poster boy for misery.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay. We'll talk about this later, you'll feel right as rain in no time. Angela," she turned around and called for a nurse. "Fetch me some diazepam for Spencer, would you?"

Angela nodded and disappeared, but Spencer protested. "No, no, I don't want anything. I'm okay. I don't want any drugs. Please."

"It's okay, Spencer. It's not dangerous. It will just help you relax a little, to forget about this dreadful sight. Don't you want that Spencer? A little peace and quiet?"

"No, I'm fine. This is nothing, I've seen much worse," he said, but he couldn't hold back a look of nausea as he watched Anthony swirl slowly on the towel.

Angela came back, with a syringe and a vial. Dr. Lux prepared the syringe with what Reid thought was an unnecessary large dose.

"No, please," he pleaded. "It's not necessary." He wanted to stay alert, he needed to be around for the investigation, to snoop around, to listen and observe.

"I'm the doctor here, Spencer, and I say it is. Hold out your arm, please."

"No!" He was starting to panic, a wave of helplessness washing over him. Why wouldn't she listen to him? Because she thought he was insane, his mind told him. But still he backed away. It was his body, he should have some say.

"Don't make trouble, Spencer," Dr. Lux said calmly. "It's for your own good. Trust me. Now, give me your arm, please."

"No. I don't want it. I don't need it." He was almost shouting. He knew it wasn't helping his case any, but this was too much. Being given medication would truly mark him as sick. If he let the drugs into his body, he could just as well admit to being insane. But he wasn't. He wasn't like the others in here. He wasn't sick. Was he?

Dr. Lux had lost her patience. "Frank," she called and before Reid could move the burly nurse had locked him in a bear hug from behind, trapping his arms to his body. He still fought, truly panicked now. He tried to kick Frank, to pull lose, to keep his arm away from the syringe, but it only resulted in Dr. Lux drawing more liquid into the syringe before plunging it into his arm.

"No, no. Don't do this to me. I don't need it. Why won't you listen?" He was sobbing now as he watched the drug disappear into his body.

He felt the burn as the medication quickly spread through his blood, and his head started to swim almost immediately. This was so unfair, he thought as his legs turned to rubber and his eyes drooped. He could feel Frank locking his arms around him to keep him upright until Angela brought a wheelchair. With one last, drugged look at the hanging body from the ceiling he was taken out and away from the investigation his team counted on him to conduct.

***

Berkview was a five-hour drive from Quantico. A trip that Morgan made twice a week. They'd chosen nightshifts for him, partly because it was the best time to be alone with Reid, but also because whatever was happening at the hospital, it was most likely happening at night.

Usually Morgan spent a couple of hours at a motel before driving back to Quantico, catching up on his sleep, but this Sunday morning he drove straight back, surprising the others with his early arrival. They were all at the office, finishing up the paperwork from the last case, and waiting for him and what news he would bring. They saw the fatigue and sadness in his eyes and body language and they all feared the worst.

"Reid? Is he okay?" Elle voiced their common worry.

Morgan rubbed his face wearily and looked away for a moment before answering. "He'd like to think he is."

"But…" Gideon prodded.

"He's losing it. We're losing him."

"What do you mean?" Hotchner's forehead was frowned with concern.

"Last night, when we first started talking he was just like he's been the last couple of weeks… he's lifeless, empty. There's no spirit left in him, only stubbornness. He's evasive and doesn't want to talk about anything but the case. He isn't sleeping, and he's thin as a rake… He'd been bitten by another patient and he didn't even care!"

"So what had changed? Is he worse?" Hotchner asked, wondering why much of this hadn't shown in Morgan's earlier rapports.

Morgan looked up into the ceiling. He didn't need to see their faces for this, he knew what they would look like. "Much worse. When I was leaving he asked me if there really were a case or if we were just humoring him because he was crazy. He was completely serious, and scared to death."

A shocked silence followed his statement as they looked around at each other. Gideon sank down on a chair, letting his clasped hands hang limply between his knees. As the weeks dragged on he had feared something like this.

"What did you do?" JJ asked.

"Nothing. What could I do? I tried to reassure him as best I could, but… all I really wanted to do was to grab him and make a break for it. I'm scared that if we leave him in there for much longer, we'll only end up pulling him out of there to put him in another institution."

"What about the information he's been giving us?" Gideon wondered. "Can we trust it or has it been compromised?"

"It's valid. His work is the only thing that keeps him going. Without it… We can trust it, what little there is," Morgan said bitterly.

"Morgan, what wrong?" Elle asked, putting her hand on his arm.

"I just hate seeing him killing himself like this for nothing. We've got nothing, we're getting nowhere, and still Reid is in there, risking himself in all kinds of ways."

"This is too much," Hotchner said. "I've heard enough. We have to get him out now."

"He won't be happy about it," Morgan said. "He doesn't want to be pulled. He wants to keep at it. He's convinced he'll find something soon. Before he… well, I'd already told him that Hotch would only authorize another week, and he still think that's his timeframe."

"I don't remember putting a time limit on the operation," Hotchner said.

"I know. I lied. I wanted him out even before he…" Once again, Morgan had trouble repeating Reid's last words to him. "I thought that when I came back today and told you that he wasn't doing too good, you'd agree. But now…"

"Well, he can forget that," Hotchner said. "He's not getting a week, and I don't care how upset he will be about being pulled. Nothing is worth risking his health like this. I only wish we'd known sooner."

"But…" Elle started.

"But what?" Morgan asked sharper than he had intended. "You want to leave him in there?"

"No, of course not. I'm just worried, that if we pull him now, won't it feel like he's made this huge sacrifice in vain? I know I would feel like that, if it were me. I think we're going to have to do some great work from the outside, we can't let this case linger on. He'll only feel bad for not being able to stick it out undercover, he'll blame every setback on himself. You know how he is. If he could take on the responsibility for the dinosaurs dying out and the outbreak of World War Two, he would."

"So, we'll work harder, dig deeper, do more research. If there is something to find, we'll find it." Morgan's voice was hard with resolution. He would not let his friend down, and he didn't want to see him hurting.

And more research they did. While Hotchner prepared what he needed to pull Reid, the rest of the team found out that Dr. Warner did not have his dead mother in the basement. In fact, she was very much alive, teaching kindergarten in Colorado Springs.

Nurse Grace lived well above her means, supporting Reid's suspicion about her stealing drugs, especially considering that her boyfriend had already had two drug-related charges against him. They decided to send a head's up to the police department when their case was over.

They found a lot of little things, about a lot of people, but nothing that would indicate any kind of involvement in any kind of strange happenings at the institution.

The problem was that they didn't have a profile, for the simple reason that they still didn't have any evidence that there actually was any foul play going on. All they had was a dead nurse's suspicions. But they were adamant. They would not give up until they knew the entire staff better than their mothers did.

And then they heard about Anthony's death and everything changed.

Now they desperately needed someone on the inside, and Hotchner decided to postpone ending the operation for 24 hours, unless something happened. He just hoped that Reid was up to the challenge, that they weren't asking too much of him. He wished there were some way to contact him and talk to him, but 24 hours wasn't a very long time… was it?

The rest of the day passed in a haze for Reid. His wheelchair had been pushed into the dayroom. He didn't move it or change position, he simply sat there as the day passed. He saw Andrew's body being wheeled out, but he didn't care. He saw policemen flutter around, but he paid them no heed. The conversations in the dayroom were of no interest to him. When someone spoke to him he looked blankly at them until they gave up and left him alone. At lunch he mechanically ate whatever they put in front of him, but later he didn't know what had been served. At group he sat staring at a stain on Dr. Warner's tie without listening or participating in anything being said. It was late afternoon before the drug finally started to wear off, and he came to the realization that he was well and truly disgusted with this place and everyone in here. He skipped dinner and spent the evening curled up in his room, not wanting to do anything or see anyone. When the door automatically locked at 10 p.m. he sighed in relief and fell into a weary sleep.

Monday

Reid felt that Dr. Lux had dragged their session out until infinity this morning. She was convinced that seeing Anthony's body must have left him utterly traumatized, and nothing Reid said or did could convince her otherwise. And his tantrum, as she called it, when she wanted to give him a sedative was so interesting that he had to sit through several of her misguided theories and promise to start keeping a dream journal before she would let him go. He was then late for lunch, which meant that he was last to arrive to group therapy that afternoon.

The only available seat was next to John Unenge. 'Crap,' he thought. He sat down and pulled his feet up on the seat. He wrapped his arms around his legs, crossing them at his ankles and hid his face in his knees, letting his hair build a wall between him and the world, hoping that they would let him be this time.

Dr. Warner was leading the session today. "Okay guys," he said cheerily, always with the annoying 'I'm one of you' attitude. "Who has something they want to talk about?"

The room was quiet. Anthony had always been the one to open, and he would talk until he was stopped. Now no one wanted to start.

"Okay then," Dr. Warner said, looking around the room with they eyes of a high school teacher who wanted to see if anyone had done their homework. "John, why don't we start with you today?"

John wasn't a psychopath in the medical sense. Though he lacked conscience and empathy, he also lacked the charm and manipulative abilities connected with the diagnosis. He had little self-control and always wore his emotions on his sleeve. His emotions mostly consisted of anger and indignation over some perceived injustice. He was a short-tempered narcissist with a really mean sadistic streak that had landed him here. Reid could bet a year's salary that this was not a man who would want to talk about either his childhood or his feelings. He was absolutely right.

Dr. Warner started with what he thought was a very innocent question about where John thought his anger originated from. Could he remember the first time he acted out in anger, and what did it feel like just before the anger surfaced? More questions along the same line only served to rile John up and he grew angrier and angrier and started shouting at Dr. Warner, who took it all in stride and tried to turn his current anger into a therapeutic tool.

Reid had raised his head and shifted his eyes between the men in what felt like an odd tennis match. He wondered which of the two who were the crazier. Could Dr. Warner not see how provocative he was being? Reid shifted his chair a little further away from John.

The turning point came when Dr. Warner voiced a theory that John would have been severely bullied and abused as a child, and that as a teenager and adult he had set out to take his revenge wherever he could find it. John, however, did not care at all for being portrayed as a week, bullied, defenseless child.

"No!" he screamed, "No, that's not right. You don't know anything." He stood up, screaming in anger, stretching his arms out as if he wanted to take hold of Dr. Warner and shake him, just as his whole body was shaking with anger. Suddenly the part of the chain that connected the handcuffs to the belt burst. He looked around wild-eyed, surprised at this unexpected albeit limited freedom.

Seeing that the security guards were moving towards him at the same time as Dr. Warner tried to calm him with words, he backed up, turning over his own chair and bumping into Reid's, which was pushed away.

Reid put his feet back down on the floor, wanting to get away from the crazed man, but he wasn't fast enough. Somehow believing that this was something he could use for his own good, John wanted protection against the guards. He wrapped the chain that linked his arms together around Reid's neck, pulling him backwards.

A strangled gasp came from Reid as he desperately wanted to keep breathing. The sharp pull made him lose his balance and he stumbled backwards, toppling his chair over. His body wanted to continue downwards, but the sharp pain around his neck and John's biceps had other ideas. Instead he was left hanging in midair until he could get his feet under him again. John pulled him into his chest. The chain bit harshly into Reid's neck and his fingers clawed at it, making red marks on his skin. When that didn't work, he moved his hands higher, trying to scratch John in the face. But John was too pumped up on adrenaline to notice the little mosquito he was holding.

He was swinging Reid around from side to side, trying to keep him between both him and the guards, and him and the doctor, who was trying to placate him with gentle words and calming hand gestures.

Reid saw the other people advancing on them, but he didn't pay them much attention. His mind was focused on one thing only; to be able to breathe. John's erratic movements made the chain slack a little from time to time, and Reid's mind worked overtime to be able to foresee those moments, and when they came he took big gulping breaths, only to find his airway closed again a second later. It was so frustrating. He could feel the air in his mouth, he just couldn't move it down his throat.

'Help me, someone, please help me. Gideon? Morgan? Where are you? I need you.' His thoughts began to jumble as his surroundings became fuzzy.

John had found the door and was backing out into the corridor. Did he really think he could get away? And why didn't the guards do something? Jump him or whatever. Where were the trigger-happy, syringe-wielding doctors when you needed them? Dark spots floated in front of Reid's eyes as the blood in his brain lost its source of oxygen.

John's feet were still chained together, making him take small, jerky steps. But when he pulled Reid over the threshold, Reid's feet got caught on it and he stumbled, his head hitting John's chin painfully. John roared and threw his head back, upsetting his own delicate balance and ended up falling. He sat down hard on the floor, Reid falling onto his legs. John quickly parted his legs and pulled Reid up so they were sitting back to chest.

Reid's abused throat was on fire, as were his lungs and his entire chest. His world consisted solely of floating colors and sounds, mostly the roaring in his ears. He didn't know if it was John roaring, or his own head affected by the loss of oxygen. And then his body couldn't take it anymore. A dark black came from the corners of his eyes, robbed him of his sight and then his sense of feeling and lastly of his consciousness. His last thought was 'I'm sorry,' but he didn't know who he was apologizing to. His body went limp.

"Spencer? Spencer? Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

There were faces all around him, floating around, shouting to him and to each other. But none of them was the faces he wanted to see. What was he doing here without his friends? He didn't want to do this anymore.

Hands were touching him, lifting him, prodding him. He wanted them off, he wanted to be left alone, but no one was listening to him. Maybe he wasn't even talking.

Reid was asleep, but nor really. It was more like dozing, the pain in his neck and throat made rest impossible.

Dr. Matthews had come down as he was brought into the infirmary. He'd been given anti-swelling drugs to reduce the swelling in his neck and help ease his breathing and he'd been propped up against pillows so he'd remain upright all night. At first he'd had an oxygen mask, but now he only had a nasal cannula.

His throat was really tight. It reminded him of a high school biology class where the teacher had made them all breathe through straws to imitate what an asthma attack felt like.

The unyielding steel band across his chest had loosened a little, but it still felt as if there wasn't enough room for the lungs to expand. He knew, of course, that there was. The feeling was just the muscles, tired from having to fight to re-oxygenate themselves.

The outside of his neck was hot to touch as the bruising spread around it. The skin was raw where the chain had chafed his skin. The inside of his throat was sore, like a really bad cold. He remembered being sick as a kid, having sore throats. At times he'd wished he could just rip his own throat out, convinced that it could not possibly hurt so much if there simply wasn't a throat to be sore. He'd thought nothing could ever hurt so much. Boy, had he been wrong.

Swallowing was painful and he was suddenly aware of how often he swallowed reflexively. He'd been eating ice chips the entire night, enjoying the partial numbness they left behind.

He'd been given mild pain relievers, but not much. Instead the doctors had decided, over his head of course, to give him a sedative to make him sleep though the night. Dr. Matthews, however, had heard his protests. Reid didn't know if Matthews had managed to switch the drugs undetected or if he was just a really good actor, but whatever had been in that syringe, it hadn't been a sedative.

So here Reid was, pretending to sleep the sleep of the heavily drugged, with nothing to distract him from the ever-present, oh-so-annoying, impossible-to-ignore, pain.

He was alone in the infirmary, which consisted of four beds. John had been taken to an isolation cell somewhere. The room itself was dark, but the brightly-lit nurses'/doctors' office was on the other side of a large window, through which he could see Nurse Frank with his feet up on the desk, reading a magazine. He was in the bed furthest away from the office.

Something broke through Reid's light doze. A sound. What? Keeping as still as possible, he turned his head and peeked through his eyelashes. Dr. Lux was in the office. It looked as if she and Frank were arguing about something. Then they left. Both of them. Reid's senses were immediately alerted. He slipped out of bed, leaving blankets and pillows in an array to make the bed look less empty. His master key was pinned to the cuff of his sweatpants. He quickly unpinned it and opened the door. Barefoot he made no sound as he hurried along the corridor. He came to a screeching halt when he almost ran around a corner where Dr. Lux and Frank stood waiting for the elevator, but he managed to stay hidden until they got onto the elevator. Reid kept watching the display until it told him what he needed to know. Two floors down. His key opened the door to the stairwell and he snuck down it, listening by the door but hearing nothing.

He carefully opened it, hearing the staccato beat of Dr. Lux's heels down the hall. He hurried after them. They were on their way to the cells of the dangerous patients. Staying behind the corner he looked at the cells that were all in a row. The doors were heavily enforced with a hatch for the food tray and a window covered by another hatch. Dr. Lux and Nurse Frank stopped in front of one door, unlocking it. RJ Lawson stepped out into the hall, and suddenly he and Dr. Lux were kissing.

Reid could feel his jaw drop. What the…? This could not be happening. But his arms were around her, hers clasped around his neck as she stood on her toes. Nurse Frank just looked bored, until he said something that made the other two break apart and they started walking back towards Reid.

Not wanting to be caught he sprinted a few feet and found a broom closet in which he hid. This door, as all others at the hospital had a window in it and once he was sure their footsteps had passed he peaked out, just in time to see the trio make their way down the stairwell that led to the basement.

Reid had memorized the blueprints of the hospital before coming here, and he wondered what they could possibly want down there. There was only the laundry room, some storages and the janitorial office. But his curiosity was well and truly awoken by now, and he would not be left behind.

He could hear them speaking quietly to each other as he came down into the basement, but then suddenly everything was quiet. A door to a storage room stood slightly ajar and he approached it cautiously. The room appeared empty. He wandered around the shelves for awhile, trying to pick up a trace or a sound. Something about this room was bugging him, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Then he saw it. The faint, semi-circled scrapes on the floor. They looked as if a door had been opened here. Looking up he saw only a shelf with cleaning supplies. But unlike the other shelves in the room, this one had a hard back. Why? The shelf must be movable. Dared he try? How much noise would it make? He hadn't heard anything before. What if they were right behind it? He would get caught. And he was unarmed. He couldn't go in. Hotch would kill him for putting himself in unnecessary danger. No one was missing so no one was in immediate danger. And with what he had seen tonight there was really no question about who was behind the strange things that had been happening, even though he still didn't know exactly what it was they were doing. If he could just get this information out, then they would have enough to pull him out.

Finally.

Now he just needed to get back to the infirmary without getting caught.

The next morning, Dr. Matthews found a note under his door. It simply read, 'Call G'.

***

Tuesday

Reid was in the dayroom deeply engrossed in his writing, even though he kept a sharp eye out so no one would see what he wrote. Over the dim in the room he heard Nurse Grace come in.

"He'll be so glad to see you, I'm sure. He doesn't get many visitors… Spencer, you brother is here," she called cheerily.

Brother? He turned around and saw Hotchner coming towards him, smiling.

"Hey Spencer."

"Hi…uh… Aaron." Wow, that felt odd.

Hotchner pulled him into a brief hug as a long lost brother would do and then held him at arm's length, his eyes darkening dangerously when he took in the dark bruising around his neck.

"What happened to you? What happened to him?" he turned to Nurse Grace, accusingly.

"It's okay H… Aaron. I'm okay," Reid said, wanting to move on to more important things.

But Nurse Grace fluttered around nervously, wanting to make things right. "We had a little incident at group yesterday. One of the other patients got a little violent, but he was properly taken care of. Spencer was looked at by our doctors and spent the night in the infirmary, but he is fine now. A sore throat, that's all. We've already started an investigation according to protocol, to prevent similar incidents in the future. You have nothing to worry about. We take the best care of Spencer here."

Hotchner tilted Reid's chin up and prodded his neck gently, feeling the swelling, seeing the black and blue where there should be only pink. His fingers ghosted over the angrily red marks Reid's fingernails had made as he had clawed at the chain. His eyes sought Reid's, seeking confirmation.

"I'm fine," Reid said again.

Hotchner dismissed Nurse Grace with a smile and a nod and sat down with Reid.

"Are you okay? Really?"

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm ready to get out though. Really, really ready. I think I have enough for you to pull me now."

"Gladly," Hotchner said. "What have you got?"

"Dr. Lux has a relationship with one of the patients."

"A relationship as in…"

"A romantic one. With a convicted serial killer, RJ Lawson, who was a doctor who liked to perform Mengele-like experiments on his victims. Nurse Frank is in on it too somehow, but I don't know how."

"A doctor in liege with a patient?" Hotchner sounded doubtful.

Reid immediately pulled back. "I'm not crazy," he said. "I know what I saw."

"I know," Hotchner said, patting his hand. "I believe you."

But Reid pulled his hand away and wouldn't look at him.

"So, what did you see? What are they doing to the patients?" Hotchner asked.

"I don't know exactly. I followed them last night. Dr. Lux and Frank let RJ out of his cell and they disappeared down into the basement. I lost them in a storage room, but I'm pretty sure one of the shelves in there is a hidden door to something. I saw scrape marks on the floor as if it had been moved a lot. But I didn't dare open it while they were still in there."

"Wise move."

Hotchner was quiet for a long time, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. It made Reid nervous.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

Hotchner looked up. "I'm sorry, I… umm… I'll go to court and get a search warrant and arrest warrants on Lux, Lawson and Frank. It might take awhile though. Will you be okay here until morning?" He looked searchingly at him.

Reid sighed, looking away. "I guess… Yeah, I can do one more night."

"Reid?" Hotchner's voice was guarded.

"No, I'll be okay. Just… just hurry, okay?"

"We will. Be careful tonight, okay? Lay low. You've done your part, leave the rest to us. We'll come get you before breakfast. I promise."

He hugged him again before leaving, Reid's notes safely tucked into his pocket.

Reid looked longingly after him, envying how easy it was for him to go through the door, and then the next, no one stopping him. He envisioned him walking through the corridors, down to the first floor. How he checked out with the guard, how he opened the large front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. He looked out the window and corrected himself, how he stepped out into the rain. Reid went over to the window and waited and watched as Hotchner came out, holding out a hand to test if he needed an umbrella or not. He then walked hurriedly over to the visitor's parking lot and got into his car. Reid watched as he drove away, leaving him behind. He felt a strong sense of abandonment, but shook it off. 'It'll be you soon enough,' he thought. 'Just one more night, then you'll be in that car with Hotch. Get a grip.'

"Your brother didn't stay long. Such a shame. Is he a business man? A lawyer perhaps? He looked very smart and well dressed." Nurse Grace's curiosity was almost as big as her love of gossip.

But Reid donned on his sullen face and ignored her.

Hotchner barely noticed the way out of the hospital, he was too deep in thought. What had this place done to Reid? He came out into the bleak, overcast daylight and felt an overpowering urge to get away from this place as soon as possible. But when he sat in his car, he suddenly couldn't move. His hands clamped around the steering wheel he leaned forward and rested his forehead on his hands. Had he made the biggest mistake of his life, sending Reid here?

Slowly turning the key in the ignition he got the car moving, but his mind was not on his driving. Instead he was analyzing the day he had had. The papers were burning in his pocket. Not Reid's notes, but the other papers. The ones that were meant to discharge Reid.

They had all driven here and set up operations at the local sheriff's office when they got the news about Anthony. This morning they had been sitting around a table pouring over old records as they waited for Anthony's autopsy report when Gideon's cell phone suddenly rang.

"Gideon," he'd answered. He'd listened for a minute. "Thank you for calling."

Pushing the off-button he'd said, "That was Isaiah, Reid wants contact. I'll go." He was already out of his chair and moving towards the door when Hotchner had stopped him.

"No, it's too risky. Who knows what stories Matthews has told about his college days, or what photos he might have laying around. Someone could make you. I'll go."

Gideon had looked at him, wanting to protest that any such chances would be really small, but he knew that Hotchner wouldn't take even the smallest risk when it came to Reid's safety. As much as he wanted to see his friend, he'd let Hotchner do it his way.

"I'll go in as his brother and visit. The paperwork for his discharge will be ready in a half-hour. If everything goes all right, I'll be able to bring him back with me. This has gone on long enough."

When he'd stepped out of the car and seen the impressing building that was The Berkview Institute for the Criminally Insane for the first time, he'd shuddered at the thought of being imprisoned there. The large stone building had seemed to loom over him, blanketed by the gray sky.

He'd entered through the imposing wooden front doors and stepped up to the security guard. "I'm Aaron Reid. I'm here to visit my brother, Spencer Reid."

The security guard had barely glanced at him as he pushed a sign-in sheet over the table and tiredly asked for ID. Hotchner had handed him his new driver's license, not even two hours old, that supported his claim of being a proud member of the Reid family. The security guard had glanced at it briefly and pointed to a long couch.

"Someone will be down to get you soon. Please have a seat, sir."

He had, and only his long years as an agent had kept him from bouncing his foot nervously. This place gave him cold chills, and he was only in the lobby yet.

Some time later a peppy brown-haired nurse had come to fetch him. Her nametag said 'Grace'. She'd talked the whole way through the meandering corridors and elevator rides. Hotchner had mostly hmmed and nodded, but she'd seemed perfectly happy with the one-sided conversation, until they came to the dayroom.

Hotchner had heard Nurse Grace say something, but he hadn't heard the words. His eyes had been on Reid. From behind, he hardly even recognized him. His hair had grown while he'd been in here, and his posture was so hunched and guarded. He looked impossibly small. And then he had turned around and Hotchner had been taken aback by the haunted expression in his eyes. He'd had to force himself to smile, when he really just wanted to weep.

"Hey Spencer."

"Hi…uh… Aaron."

It had sounded odd in Hotchner's ears. Had Reid ever called him Aaron before? He'd crossed the distance between them and caught him in a brotherly embrace, frowning. The cheek against his had been chilled, and the sharp, protruding shoulder blades had bit into his arm through Reid's thin t-shirt.

This ended here, he had decided. One way or another, Reid was coming out, as soon as possible. But then he'd decided to wait and hear why Reid had called him here. Had Reid already come to the decision to quit, then there was no use in saying something right now that would only hurt his pride.

He'd pulled away from the embrace, but had kept his hands on Reid's shoulders, looking him over more thoroughly. He'd gasped when he noticed the ugly discoloration of his throat.

"What happened to you? What happened to him?" he had turned to Nurse Grace, wanting someone to step up and take responsibility.

"It's okay H… Aaron. I'm okay,"Reid'd said, but now Hotchner had been acutely aware of the raspy edges in his voice. The nurse had started defending the hospital, and had the audacity to claim that they were taking the best care of his agent. He'd wanted to scream at her, yell at someone. How could she say that they were taking care of him, when his eyes told him different? People who were taken care of did not lose 25 pounds in a month, and they did not look like they wanted to run away from the world.

He hadn't been able to stop himself from running his fingers over Reid's damaged neck, wondering how bad it really was and how close he'd been to death, all alone in here. Reid had stood there and let him prod what must have been his very sore skin. But he had claimed that he was fine, and of course Hotchner wouldn't have expected him to say anything else, and he had decided to let it be for the moment. They could talk about it when they were on the other side of the doors. For now they were still undercover.

He'd been so happy when Reid said that he wanted to be pulled, but when he'd said that one of the doctors was having a relationship with a serial killer psychopath, he'd had his doubts. It'd sounded too farfetched. And of course Reid had picked up on it immediately and had pulled back from him, withdrawn what little emotions he'd been showing. Hotchner had berated himself and tried to placate him, but to no avail. Reid had shut him out. He'd told him about how he'd followed the doctor last night, and Hotchner had been relieved to hear that he hadn't taken any unnecessary risks. That meant he still had the logic thinking of a good FBI agent, and it made Hotchner trust his information even more.

And then he had wondered. He'd thought about the papers in his pocket. All he had had to do was to go up to Matthews and get his signature, and then he could've taken Reid away from there. But would their cover story about Reid being granted a leave to visit his father's funeral have been believable enough? Or would it have been be suspicious? Dr. Lux was a smart woman and it had only been two days since the police had been all over the hospital. The best way to avoid suspicion was to leave things the way they were. He had felt so torn. Should he or shouldn't he? Yesterday he had wondered what could happen in 24 hours, and Reid had almost been strangled. But Dr. Lux was Reid's primary caregiver; it would've seemed odd for Matthews to grant him leave without consulting her. And now that they knew she was one of their unsubs, it would've been foolish to rock the boat. So he had made his decision. He would have to leave Reid in the institution for now.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

Reid's question had awoken him from his pondering, and he had decided not to tell him that he had the means to pull him right now. Instead he had asked if he would be okay one more night. Reid's answer had been more hesitant than he would have liked, but he was forced to accept it.

When he'd hugged him again before leaving, Reid hadn't hugged him back.

Hotchner drove up to the sheriff's office, but waited a few minutes to get out of the car to collect himself. The others would be very disappointed to see that he was alone.

Tuesdays were movie nights, and Reid had sat through yet another black-and-white Spencer Tracy movie. There seemed to be an infinite supply of those. 10 p.m. and automatic lock-down was just a minute away as he hurried from the shower room to his room, having just brushed his teeth.

He walked into his room, elated by the fact that this would be his last night here, but then he stopped cold. Dr. Lux was sitting on his bed.

"Hello, Spencer," she said softly.

***

He turned around just as he heard the automatic locks engage. Behind the door Frank had been hiding. Reid took a step backwards, but there was really nowhere to go. He turned back to Dr. Lux, donning his sullen face.

"Dr. Lux," he greeted her. "It's a little late for a session, don't you think? Or… maybe you're not really here. Are you a hallucination, Dr. Lux? I'll have to remember to tell you about this episode in therapy tomorrow."

"Don't play cute with me, Spencer… We do have things to speak of, and I'm not really patient enough to wait. You see… the head of security came to my office this morning. Apparently a bird flew into a window in the administrators' corridor, setting off a silent alarm. He found out that it was a bird by viewing the security tapes for that floor, and guess what else he saw? He saw you, slipping something under Dr. Matthews' door. Dr. Matthews told him to forget about it, which he thought was odd, so he came to me, seeing as you are my patient and all. I must say I was surprised. You were supposed to be deeply sedated, in a locked infirmary… so how is it that you were wandering the corridors at two-thirty in the morning?"

Reid closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. This was bad. Would he be able to bluff himself out of this? And the timing! Apparently the gods of faith were not on his side.

"Can't we talk about it tomorrow? I'm really quite tired."

But Dr. Lux pretended like she hadn't heard him and went on. "Then I hear that you had a short visit from you brother today, which struck me as odd, so I checked your file and according to that you're an only child. That's peculiar, don't you think?"

"We're only half-brothers, barely know each other." Reid tried.

"Uh-hu," she said, clearly not fooled. "But I started to wonder, if you'd been in the administrators' corridor, then where else could you've been skulking around? Now, there aren't very many security cameras in here, budget cuts and all, but all stairwells are equipped with them, and what I'd like to know, Spencer, is why you were following us last night."

"I wasn't following anyone. I couldn't sleep and Gideon suggested that a little exercise might help with that."

"Cut the crap, Spencer," Dr. Lux said angrily. "There never was a Gideon and you know it. You've been faking it all along, haven't you? I just haven't been able to figure out why yet. To get out of prison?"

Reid smiled crookedly at her. "Oh, there is a Gideon, trust me on that. And you don't want to piss him off."

"Frank," Dr. Lux said, and suddenly Reid felt his burly arms lock around his upper body again, lifting him slightly off the floor. He started to struggle, and tried to kick him in the shins when he saw that Dr. Lux had pulled a syringe from her pocket. He really didn't want to know what was in that syringe. Squirming as best as he could, protesting wildly, he tried to avoid being stuck, but just like last time he was no match for the pair, and once again drugs where injected into his body against his will.

He felt his body go lax, but surprisingly, his mind stayed sharp.

"It's only a muscle relaxant. We still have plenty to talk about," Dr. Lux said before opening the door and disappearing for a few minutes. She returned with a wheelchair and Frank lowered him into it none too gently. There were restraints on the armrests of the chair and Dr. Lux strapped him in while Frank lifted his feet up on the footrests. Reid had no choice but to let it happen as he no longer had any control over his body.

"Where are we going?" His voice was sluggish and it was difficult to pronounce the words around his stiff lips and uncooperative tongue.

"I think you know. Same place as last night."

Dr. Lux pulled his pillows together into a pile in the bed and pulled the blankets over them.

"You really think that's gonna fool bed-check?" Reid slurred.

"Seeing as how Frank's in charge of bed-check tonight, I don't foresee a problem. Now, before we go out, on the off-chance that we do meet someone on our way out, you should be aware that I have in my pocket syringes loaded with much more dangerous drugs than just muscle relaxants."

But the corridors were empty. All patients were safely behind lock and key and the staff rarely ventured outside the lounge during the night, except for rounds or if they were called. Dr. Lux and Frank kept quiet, and Reid didn't feel any overwhelming desire to keep the conversation flowing. He was too busy trying to think of an escape plan. There were at least eight hours before his team would be here. He had a feeling they were going to be very long hours.

This time they took the elevator all the way down to the basement, which was dark and quite. No one were ever here at night. As they neared the storage room where Reid had lost the trail last night, Dr. Lux started telling him about the hospital's history.

"This hospital was originally a 19th century manor, built by a lumber tycoon. His grandson lost all the family's money and had to sell it. It was turned into a mental hospital in the 1880s, but in 1943 it was struck by lightening and burnt to the ground. Most patients were killed, and a few of the staff. When they rebuilt it, they moved it a few yards to the left. The property lines had changed and they wanted it in the middle of the property. But they didn't fill in the old basement, as the ceiling was still intact. They just reinforced it and covered it up with dirt, turning it into a lawn. It's not visible on any of today's blueprints, but the old ones are still in the county's archive. We made this door to get through."

They had come into the storage room and Frank fiddled with something, a hidden lever probably, to unlock the door, and then demonstrated how easily and quietly it swung open. Flicking a switch the brick corridor on the other side was lit up by a string of low-wattage bracket lamps, leaving the corridor in a gloomy light. But at the other end of the corridor, Reid could see a room that was bathed in fluorescent light.

"But why? Why would you want to get into an old basement?"

"Well, we had a pretty good idea about what we were going to find. When RJ and I first came here, we researched the place. One of the doctors, Dr. Richard Hulme, who died in the fire were reputed for having conducted some very interesting experiments in a lab in the basement, and we were hoping to find traces of his research. We got very lucky, I must say. Much luckier than we could have hoped."

She pushed Reid into the room, and the first thing he saw was an old, corroded metal slab, complete with restraints for arms, legs, torso, neck and head. The restraints looked much, much newer than the table. He had no doubt he would soon find himself on that steel table. He had his suspicions about what kind of experiments Dr. Hulme might have conducted, and he was familiar with RJ Lawson's MO.

"Almost his entire lab was intact, and we found several notebooks detailing both completed experiments, experiments in progress and ideas for future experiments. Dr. Hulme was really ahead of his time. It was such a shame he never got to finish his work, our world would have been such a different place. RJ, Frank and I have simply been trying to honor him by continuing his great work."

Looking around the room properly, Reid felt like he had stepped into the set of a Frankenstein re-make. There were shelves on the walls with jars filled with organs and formaldehyde. A long workbench stood beneath it. The brick walls were moist and the room was chilly. Every here and there rusted shackles were screwed into the wall. A small, modern refrigerator stood against the wall, humming. In a corner a machine of some sort loomed. It was at least 60 years old, and Reid really didn't want to know what it had been used for. But compared to the shelves, it wasn't very dusty, so odds were it had been used recently.

Dr. Lux undid his restraints and pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Frank grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up, pushing him against the wall to keep him upright.

"You're very quiet, Spencer," he said. "Most loonies have been crying and begging at this point."

"I've never been one to embark on impossible missions. Will you let me go if I beg?"

Frank cocked his head and looked at him. "Of course not."

"Then what's the point?"

"Reasonable thinking from a loon… I'd never have thought."

Dr Lux was tugging on his sweatpants, pulling them down, leaving him in only his boxers. She threw the pants on the floor next to his t-shirt, and when they hit the floor a soft clinking sound was heard.

Reid closed his eyes and prayed that they hadn't heard it, but of course they had.

Frank bent down and picked up the pants, letting Dr. Lux hold Reid upright. He had a confounded look on his fact and it didn't take him long to find the key pinned to the cuff. He continued to look confounded, but Dr. Lux immediately caught on. She grabbed the key and started waiving it in Reid's face.

"So this is how you get around at night. How did you get it? Who gave it to you?" She was furious.

"The tooth fairy left it under my pillow one night," Reid said.

"The tooth fairy?" Frank laughed at him. "Why not the Easter bunny?"

"Because it's November, stupid. Do you think the Easter bunny has some kind of all year round service?"

Frank actually seemed to think about it for a minute, before he realized that he was being insulted.

With a roar of anger he threw a powerful punch that landed on Reid's jaw, making his head bounce painfully into the wall behind him. He drew back his fist, preparing for the next punch when Dr. Lux put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"No, Frank. Remember what we said about leaving visible marks?"

"But…but…" Frank stuttered, his face still red with anger.

"No, sweetie. Not now."

'Sweetie?' Reid thought. 'Isn't she with RJ?'

"Just help me get him onto the table and then go get RJ, will you?"

Together they hauled him over to the table and lifted him up. Reid tried to make himself even slacker as a way to resist, but they were obviously used to this kind of work. He soon found himself on his back, looking up into the ceiling. Frank left them while Dr. Lux were fastening all the restraints.

"What's the point of restraints when I can't move anyway?" Reid asked her.

"The drug will wear off soon enough, and there are other things that can make a body move."

She pulled the leather restraint over his neck tight enough that he could feel it move against his Adam's apple when he swallowed. Another band was attached over his forehead, leaving him with a very limited range of movement for his head. The rest of his body was strapped down in a similar fashion.

Reid lay staring at the ceiling, not that he had much choice in the matter, listening to Dr. Lux moving around the room, pulling out drawers, glass clinking, pen on paper. Sometimes she would flutter by in his line of vision, but she didn't speak to him or even acknowledge him. He was fine with that, and he didn't try to attract her attention. The longer he was ignored, the better. But his heart was beating wildly in his chest.

The muscle relaxant was letting up, he could feel control being returned to his muscles and he wiggled his toes experimentally. Dr. Lux saw this and smiled. She squeezed his bare toes as she walked by, making Reid jump in surprise. After that he concentrated on staying still.

He heard movement in the corridor and for a second he hoped it was the cavalry. His hopes were soon squashed as he recognized RJ's voice.

"You got the guidance counselor-nut? Haven't we done enough schizos?"

"I'm not so sure he is one. It seems Spencer here has been pretending," Dr. Lux said.

Suddenly RJ's face filled his line of vision, giving Reid dentist flashbacks.

"He sure looks the part. Why do you think he's faking it, Cissy?"

"For one thing, this."

Reid couldn't see her, but he guessed she was holding up the key she'd confiscated.

"Is that a master key? How'd he get it?"

"Don't know. But someone must have given it to him. If it'd been lost or stolen it would have been reported, and he obviously has the security codes for the keypads too. I've seen security tapes with him all over the hospital at night."

RJ sighed. "Smells like undercover pig, doesn't it?" His face once again hovered over Reid's. "You a cop, schizo?"

"No." Reid tried to shake his head, but the movement only made the leather restraints chafe his skin.

"No? What then?"

Reid wisely kept quiet.

"He left a note for Dr. Matthews last night," Frank said. "Maybe he's working for him. Like a P.I. or something."

"And where would Matthews get the money for that? This place is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy as it is. Without the federal money it would have shut down years ago." Dr. Lux said.

"Federal, eh? Maybe that's where he's from. Huh? Are you with the government? Some sort of medical board?" RJ nudged Reid to let him know he was being addressed. Reid bit his lips together and kept his eyes firmly on a water stain in the ceiling.

"Does it matter?" Dr. Lux said. "He'll probably talk before long anyway. And I was thinking about how interesting it would be to do the tests on a healthy brain. He could be our control group, change the parameters. But we'll only have this one session, I'm afraid. We'll have to dump him come morning."

"Like you did with Anthony?" Reid suddenly found his voice, surprising the others who were already objectifying him enough to forget that he had a mind of his own.

Dr. Lux's face filled up his line of vision. "Do you expect this to be the part where we confess all our awful deeds? Are you expecting to be rescued? It doesn't really matter to you what we have done or will do, does it? All you have to know is that tonight you will be a vital part of a science that might very well revolutionize the modern psychiatric care."

"And you win fame and riches?" Reid asked.

"Well, yeah. Humanitarian awards only go so far. A Nobel Prize wouldn't be out of order, I think."

"They don't give the Nobel Prize to someone who has committed illegal human experiments."

"Then maybe we won't tell them. Once our treatment is finished, we can remake the rests in a controlled laboratory environment and clean up our records."

"Why not do that from the beginning? Why hurt and kill innocent people to get there?"

"Huh, innocent my ass…" Frank said from the sidelines as Dr. Lux bent over him again.

"There you go again, expecting some sort of explanation that isn't really any of your business."

"You're planning on killing me, and you don't think it's any of my business?" There was a hint of panic in his voice.

"I can't listen to his whining anymore. Shut him up," RJ said tersely.

Frank seemed to have been waiting for the order, for he was quickly in place, pressing a piece of duct tape over Reid's lips.

They all turned away from him and huddled over something on the work bench.

"What do you want to start with?" RJ asked.

Reid tuned them out for a moment, even if he unconsciously kept track of what they were saying. He tested the bonds that held him down, but they were designed for this purpose and would of course not budge. The restraints were padded, so they wouldn't leave any marks, just like there had been none on any previous victims. His death would at least not be so inconspicuous. His team would never in a million years believe it was a suicide; there would be hell to pay. That was however only the smallest, smallest of comforts. He would much rather be alive and be the one that was raising the hell.

Dr. Lux had said that they would dump him in the morning and Hotchner had promised he would be back before breakfast. He wondered who would be the quickest. What time was it now? It had to be midnight at the very least. Maybe even later.

His mind suddenly filtered out and highlighted one word from the conversation in the room; voltage.

Voltage?

And in one terrifying moment he realized what the machine in the corner was. Now an antiquity, in the 1940's it had been a top of the line, state of the art, electroconvulsive therapy machine.

***

"Dr. Lux… widow… no children… grew up in Cambridge, Maryland… maiden name Taylor…" Morgan was droning out details from the files.

"Taylor?" Gideon said, and started leafing through the numerous papers in front of him. "As in Nurse Frank Taylor?" He started reading. "Who also happens to have grown up in Cambridge, Maryland. They are brother and sister."

He was interrupted as Hotchner entered the room. "Reid has already matched them up, along with a patient, RJ Lawson, who is apparently having a romantic relationship with Dr. Lux."

They looked up at him.

"What?"

"Damn."

"We never even thought of that angle," Elle said. "Why didn't we? We should have checked for connections between the staff and the patients long ago."

"It just seemed too far-fetched, I guess," Hotchner said. "It's a mental institution after all. The staff is supposed to be a sane counterpoint to the patients."

"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked. "He isn't with you?"

"No, I had to leave him." Hotchner's face turned dark.

"Why?"

"Later. Let's concentrate on the case right now. We need to find the connection between Lux and Lawson, and we need to find it now. JJ, get a judge and get arrest warrants on those three, and a search warrant for Berkview."

"On what grounds?" she asked, phone already in her hand.

Hotchner tossed her Reid's notes. "Here, take your pick. What about the autopsy?"

"We were just waiting for you, Aaron." A man in his 50's with glasses and graying hair came into the room.

"Alan." Hotchner moved forward to shake his hand. Dr. Alan Charleston was his favorite FBI pathologist. He was the most thorough person he knew, perhaps with the exception of Gideon, and he had requested him especially for this autopsy, to make sure nothing was missed. He was joined by Dr. Helen Paltrow, the local medical examiner who had performed the autopsies of all other patients who had died at Berkview. She had been understandably furious with Dr. Charleston's intrusion into her domain, but now she followed him with an apologetic expression, telling Hotchner that Dr. Charleston had found something that she would have missed.

"What have you got for us, Alan?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for you, I would have ruled it a suicide. But with Gideon breathing down my neck and questioning my every incision, I looked harder than I would have otherwise."

"Let me guess," Morgan said. "He didn't die from hanging."

"Actually he did. As you can see here," he pulled up a photo taken in the morgue, "He has the tell-tale v-mark on his neck, which shows beyond all doubt that he was alive when he was hanged. There were also petechiae in his eyes, on the inside on his eyelids and on his chest, all consistent with death by suffocation. His jugular veins had been closed off, causing his face to turn cyanotic. Also, his hyoid bone was intact, proving that he wasn't manually choked, so there's no evidence of murder. A rather remarkable bone, actually, the hyoid bone. Of all 206 bones in the human body, it's the only one not connected to any other bone… But I digress. Everything I— I mean, everything we found proved that he died from a short drop hanging."

"What about the tox screen?" Gideon asked.

"He was a psych patient, he was full drugs."

"Anything unusual?"

"Actually, yes. I matched all the drugs with his chart, except one. But there were only trace amounts of it, and the lab couldn't identify it," Dr. Charleston said.

"It's an experimental drug," Dr. Paltrow said. "Berkview has been testing it for about a year."

"How do you know?" Elle asked.

"I first found it in a suicide from Berkview about a year ago. When I didn't recognize it, I contacted Berkview and they told me that they were a test facility for this drug before it was put on the market."

"What is it supposed to do?" Elle asked.

"Suppress hallucination, apparently," Dr. Paltrow answered.

"Who did you talk to at Berkview?" Hotchner wanted to know.

"Dr. Lux."

"Of course," Morgan said sarcastically. "Only, from what I remember, Anthony wasn't suffering from hallucinations."

"Listen," Dr. Paltrow became agitated. "I've been the ME for this county for fifteen years, and I lost count of the Berkview suicides thirteen years ago. It's a mental facility, for criminals I might add. It's a large facility and they have a really high suicide rate. I do between ten and twenty autopsies for them every year. I've never had cause to distrust them. And suffocation is the most popular way for the patients to kill themselves, it's the most accessible method. There's an occasional cut wrist or neck, but getting material for a shiv is getting harder and harder, the staff is getting better at spotting them. The drugs are locked up really good, but every now and then someone manages to hoard enough of their medications for an overdose. But mostly they hang themselves with their sheets, with their clothes, with anything. They stuff their mouth and nose with toilet paper or tie their pillow over their faces. One guy stole wire from a carpenter and tied it around his own neck. They are inventive. One guy tied a belt around a sink and his own neck and then turned on the faucet. He drowned. My point is, the patients kill themselves. Why would I suddenly and without suspicion start to look for miniscule signs of murder?"

"That's all right, Dr. Paltrow. We're not pointing fingers or laying blame here. But, Alan, you believe you've found something, right?" Gideon implored.

"Yes. It wasn't easy to detect, because of the discoloration in the face, but there were marks on the victim's temples and I probably wouldn't have thought to look for them unless I'd seen signs of thalamic haemorrhaging in the brain."

"What's that, doc?" Morgan asked.

"It's a very rare side effect of ECT."

"ECT?" Morgan said with a grimace. "As in brain-frying? Ouch!"

"You're quite right. ECT, or electroconvulsive therapy, was invented in Rome in 1938. Initially it was a treatment for schizophrenia, but it soon became a common treatment for neurologically based mood disorders, such as depression and bipolar disorder. In the beginning it was administered without any kind of anaesthetics, and there were a lot of subsequent injuries during seizures. Thankfully, that's now illegal. In my opinion ECT is a rather cruel thing to inflict on another person. You see, electricity follows the shortest course, which is through the fronto-temporal lobes and the diencephalon including the thalamus. It also follows the least resistant course, that is the blood vessels, and the non-insulated axons. It induces a spasm in the vessel walls, a pressure spike consistently over 200 systolic, and subsequent lactic acid build-up. The blood vessel walls become fatigued, swollen and leaky. This is known as a breakdown of the blood brain barrier or BBB."

"Hey, doc. What does that mean for us without a medical degree?"

"It means that it's notgood for the brain, it leaves it permanently damaged."

"But," Elle said with a frown. "Why is it still in use then?"

"It's actually growing rarer and rarer as the medication for many psychiatric conditions become better, but fact is that no controlled study has found a more effective treatment for depression than ECT. And though I'm not a fan of the procedure myself, it's not as bad as pop culture has made it out to be. One flew over the Cuckoo's nest didn't exactly help with the public opinion, as you can imagine. It's still a very controversial procedure, surrounded by laws and guidelines. Its side effects are after all brain damage, memory loss and personality changes."

"And finding evidence of ECT in a mental patient is strange because…?" Hotchner asked.

"First of all, it's illegal to perform ECT without informed consent. It may not be initiated by a physician or family member without a judicial proceeding and in nearly every state in the US, the administration of ECT on an involuntary basis requires a judicial proceeding at which the patient may be represented by legal counsel. As a rule, the law requires that such petitions are granted only where the ECT treatment is regarded as potentially lifesaving, like when a patient is too catatonic to eat by tehmselves. I've made a few calls, and no such petitions have been granted for Berkview for the last eight years. Also the marks on the victim's temples are too large to have been made by a regulated ECT machine. It appears to have been made by a much older machine. That, in conjunction with the unidentified drug, leads me to the conclusion that there are some illegal experiments going on at Berkview."

"But why?" Elle wondered.

"That, my dear, I cannot answer. That's why I'm a pathologist, and you are agents."

JJ came back into the room, with the Sheriff on her heels. "I can't get through to the judge. The sheriff says he's out hunting."

"That's right. It's prime deer buck season. Judge's got a beauty of a cabin a couple of hours from here. I'm quite envious, I must admit."

"Well, how do we get in touch with him?" Hotchner asked.

"You can't. There's no cell reception up there."

Hotchner swore.

"When we need him, we usually send a deputy up there to get him," the sheriff offered.

"Do it."

"I'll se who's available. How soon do you need him?"

"Right now. No, wait," he called after the sheriff. "Find a deputy to come here and pick up Agent Jareau. JJ, I want you to go to the courthouse and get all the necessary paperwork and have the judge sign them directly instead of bringing him back here. Tell the deputy to drive with lights and sirens the whole way. And use whatever means necessary to convince the judge. Beg, plead, threaten, anything you can think of. Do not take no for an answer."

"On it." JJ grabbed her coat and bag and hurried after the sheriff.

Gideon came over and took Hotchner's arm, leading him away from the group.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Why are you so agitated?"

"I just want this to be over with. I want Reid back."

"Speaking of that…"

"Why didn't I bring him back? I wanted to, Gideon, I swear. I was going to, but I couldn't. I had to prioritize the case. He had figured out the unsubs and I couldn't think of any way to pull him without alerting them. And I promised him we'd be back as soon as humanly possible. Just one more night, I said. Before breakfast, I said. And now they tell me the judge has gone hunting and is incommunicado! How can I not be agitated?"

"What was wrong with him?"

"Huh?"

"You wouldn't be this guilt ridden unless something had happened."

"Well, apparently he spent last night in the infirmary, after another patient tried to strangle him with a chain."

"What? Is he okay?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't think so. His neck looked terrible. All of him looked terrible. Morgan was right. He's wasting away in there. And I could have pulled him on Sunday when Morgan came back, but I decided to let him stay, and that almost got him killed."

"It's not your fault. We all thought it was a good idea to let him stay until we figured out what had happened to Anthony. And it's not long now. All we need is that warrant, then we'll have him back. A couple of hours, tops. Look, you missed dinner. Why don't you grab something to eat while we research Lux's connections with Lawson. JJ'll be back before we know it, and then we'll have our boy back. It'll be fine. Don't worry."

But he did worry, and so did Gideon. How could they not?

Wednesday

The clock had just passed the midnight hour and it was dark. Hotchner stood by the window, nursing a coffee cup, contemplating the darkness outside. He was nervous and jumpy for no other reason than that his guts were screaming at him to hurry, to run, to break every law come hell or high water to get to Reid. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was needed over at the hospital, and needed now.

JJ had called not long ago, to let them know that she was back into cell range. The judge had signed off on the warrants, but she was still a couple of hours away.

In Quantico they had Garcia sweating over the Lux-Lawson mystery. Since Gideon had already discovered that Frank and Dr. Lux were siblings, it had been easy to follow that lead back. Dr. Lux was nine years older than her brother, and when their parents had been killed in a car crash she had taken over raising him. He obviously adored his sister. Their father had also been a doctor, leaving his daughter to follow in his footsteps. Frank had tried too, but had never managed to get good enough grades for medical school. He'd gone for nursing instead to be able to stay close to his sister. They had often worked in the same hospitals, but usually in different wards. But Frank had never been able to keep his nose clean. There had always been rumors about petty thefts and disgruntled patients left in his wake. He'd never stayed long at any job. He'd even changed his name a couple of times to get away from his bad reputation. Until Berkview. There he had apparently fit right in and he'd been there for close to two years now. His sister had been there a month longer than he, and Lawson six weeks longer.

Hotchner turned back to the room when he heard a phone ring. The room had been mostly quiet all evening as they played the waiting game. It was Morgan's phone, which hopefully meant that it was Garcia.

It was. Morgan put her on speaker phone. "Tell us what you found, hon."

"I found a birth certificate. Lilly Marie Taylor. Mother Cecilia Taylor, father Robert James Lawson."

"They have a kid together?" Morgan asked incredulously

"Had, baby, had. I also found a death certificate. The poor tyke barely had two months in her. But from there it was a piece of cake. I just had to check where they both were during the year she was born. Turns out they attended the same pre-med program at Berkeley University. I found an old school mate of theirs who confirmed that they were indeed a couple for most of their time there. After the kid died, however, they split up, went to different medical schools. Lux got married in med school to a Dr. Frederick Lux, one of her professors. She was widowed a couple of years later, cancer apparently. She never had any more children, threw herself into her work after that. Has been bouncing between patient care and research most of her career. Went into psychiatry rather recent, only about four years ago. There are no records to tie her and Lawson together again until Lawson's trial. According to the court records, she was there every day, sitting right behind him. Then, two weeks after he was sent to Berkview, she applied for and got a job there. Lawson was of course, as I'm sure you already know, sentenced to life imprisonment for eight counts of first degree murder after having released terminally ill patients from the hospital only to bring them home to his basement where he experimented with new surgical procedures on them, until they either died or he killed them. And I heard he wasn't too generous with the anesthesia either. Nice chap, don't you think? Anyway, from there, you tell me."

"You know what, Pen? Your talents never cease to amaze me." Morgan said.

"I live to please, honey-buns." She hung up and the team was left staring at each other.

"Lux's had a pretty tough life," Elle commented.

"It's about to get tougher," Hotchner said. "I foresee another life sentence in the couple's future, one to be served at different hospitals, without any contact whatsoever."

When JJ finally came back, she barely set foot in the room before she was ushered out again. The team impatiently pushed her back out into the car. The sheriff and several deputies followed them, forming a little convoy of law enforcement vehicles on the empty night streets. It was close to four a.m. when they drove into the courtyard in front of Berkview.

'I made it before breakfast, Reid,' Hotchner thought as he stood before the quiet building. Only a few lights were on. He looked around to make sure everybody was ready and then they moved as a tight group up the stairs. Hotchner pounded on the massive doors until they were opened.

"What's this about? This is a hospital, please keep it down," the guard said as he peered at them. Hotchner shoved his badge in the man's face.

"FBI. We have a search warrant for this facility."

"All right, all right, hold your horses," the guard said grumpily as he opened the door widely for them. The fluorescent light in the lobby made them blink a couple of times.

Back at the station, Morgan had showed them his copy of the week's staff schedule, so they knew that both Lux and Frank were at work tonight. The others held back and let Morgan lead the way, as he had learnt his way around the corridors during the weeks he'd worked here. The security guard trailed behind them.

They came up to Reid's ward and Hotchner gestured for the guard to unlock the door. Morgan didn't have his keys as the ward keys were not allowed to leave the premises and had to be checked out at the beginning of every shift. The guard did as asked and once again Morgan went in front. He went directly to the lounge where the orderlies Adam and Leyla sat, playing cards and drinking coffee.

"Derek?" Leyla said. "What are you doing here? You're not working tonight." She quieted when she saw the many people behind him.

"Where are Dr. Lux and Frank?" Morgan asked them.

They shrugged. "Haven't seen Dr. Lux all evening, she has to be in her office or at another ward. Frank was here for bed-check a couple of hours ago. He said that he's working in the infirmary tonight and that we should call him if we needed him. It's been really quiet though," Adam said. "Do you want us to call him?"

Morgan looked at Hotchner and Gideon, who both shook their heads. "Go get Reid," Gideon said.

"Leyla, we're from the FBI." He showed her his badge. "I need to borrow your keys for a minute."

Wordlessly she handed them to him and he disappeared towards the patients' rooms. Adam and Leyla watched with big eyes as the team conferred. Why was the FBI here in the middle of the night?

Morgan came running back. "Reid's gone."

"What?"

"He's gone, the bed's empty. Just a bunch of pillows."

Hotchner swore a long tirade. He had no doubt about where Reid would be. "JJ, do you still have his notes?" he asked, pulling out and readying his gun.

That was a mistake he'd discovered pretty soon after JJ had left. He himself had only glanced at them on the way back and the rest of the team had of course not seen them at all, so JJ had had to read them out loud to them over the phone from the car.

"Yeah, here they are," she said, pulling them from her pocket.

"The directions to the secret room, fast."

She quickly flipped through the pages until she found the right section. "We need to get to the elevators in the B wing," she said.

Hotchner nodded to Morgan to take the lead, leaving two deputies to guard Leyla and Adam so they would not do anything to tip their suspects off.

They found the elevators and went down to the basement. With JJ reading directions out loud, they stealthily moved through the corridors until they found the right storage room.

They used flashlights to illuminate the room. Reid's notes led them to the far wall and they soon found the only shelf with a hard back. Morgan and Elle started searching around it for a way to open the secret door. Reid hadn't known how to do it, and therefore neither did they. When Elle finally signaled that she had found what was apparently a lever, Hotchner motioned everybody into position. With his fingers he quietly counted down.

Three… two… one.

"GO!"

***

Reid was trying very hard not to panic, but it was difficult. He knew that ECT rarely killed anyone these days, but with a machine that old, who knew? Was that what had really happened to the other patients? And even if it didn't kill him…

One of Reid's biggest fears had always been brain damage. He had always felt like his intelligence was the one thing he had going for him, it was the one thing that made him him. Where would he be without it? Who would he be without it? He would be so lost.

He knew that they were planning on killing him in a few hours anyway, but the fear of being brain damaged pushed away that anxiety. He'd never really been that scared of dying, either. Living without control of his mind, however…

He tried to keep calm, he really did, but he couldn't help but to struggle against his binding, determined to find a weak link somewhere. But the restraints weren't any looser than before just because he wanted it more now. The only thing that happened was that he attracted the attention of his captors, and they were not happy to hear from him.

RJ ripped the strap of tape from his mouth. "Now what?" He sounded irritated.

"Just, please let me go. My friends know where I am and they are looking for me."

"And would one of those friends be Gideon, perhaps?" Dr. Lux said patronizingly.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"And how would they know where to find you?"

"I told them."

"Cissy, are you sure he ain't schizo? He sure sounds delusional to me," RJ said.

Dr. Lux looked at Reid, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I don't know, babe. I thought he was, but he sounds just like he did in therapy. If he's faking it, he's really good at it. We should probably up the dosage of the drug, just to be on the safe side."

"What's this new miracle drug of yours supposed to do anyway? Reid asked sourly.

"Once the formula is perfected it will help counter the side effects of ECT, so that the doctor's can use stronger currents, which will mean fewer sessions per patient. That will help make the treatment more long-term effective and we believe it will make the treatment popular again. Hopefully it can be used for more mental illnesses. It's quite sad that it has become so unpopular, when it is so effective," Dr. Lux said.

"So the patients here are just the trial and error part of the development?"

"Basically, yes."

"You do realize that involuntary ECT is illegal, don't you? Not to mention murder."

"Hasn't stopped us yet."

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to feed me the for-the-greater-good speech yet." Her arrogance was grating on his nerves.

"I may be many things, Spencer, but I'm not a hypocrite."

They were working efficiently around him, his questions not distracting them one iota. Dr. Lux stuck a needle into his thigh.

"What's that?" he asked worriedly.

"Just another muscle relaxant. We don't want you to break any bones during the seizures."

"How very considerate of you."

"Not really, they are just hard to explain in a drug overdose."

Reid swallowed. So that was how they were planning to get rid of him.

"Why bother?" Frank asked. "We could just throw him out of a window and say he jumped. It would be a nice change."

"Shush now, Frank. Isn't it time for you to make rounds?"

Frank looked at his watch and swore. "Don't start without me, okay?"

He disappeared from the room.

Reid once again felt the incredibly terrifying feeling of becoming paralyzed. In a controlled situation the doctor would have given him an anesthetic so the he wouldn't have to suffer from this unpleasant experience. But this was a far cry from a controlled situation.

RJ stuck an IV-needle into the back of Reid's hand and connected it to an IV bag. "It's only saline for now," he said. Then he pushed a needle into the crook of Reid's other arm and proceeded to draw several vials of blood.

An EKG machine was pulled out from somewhere and electrodes where placed on Reid's chest. Suddenly his rapid heartbeat was audible and visible to everyone.

He heard an electrical whirring behind him as the ECT machine powered up. A shiver ran down his spine, not just from the cold.

RJ took off the restraint across his forehead and smeared a gel over his temples, so to not leave burn marks. Then two electrodes were firmly pushed in place.

"What about unilateral electrode placing?" Reid said, desperate for anything that might change the outcome of this nightmare.

"What about it?" RJ asked, clearly not interested.

"It's considered more humane than bilateral placing, and the risk of brain damage is considered lesser. I believe that my right cerebral hemisphere is my non-dominant hemisphere, if you want to give it a go."

"Bilateral placement is more effective," RJ said, "And it is still the standard."

"Only in the US and the UK," Reid said.

"What are you a doctor now?"

"Sort of."

"Well, I'm a traditionalist. Open wide." He thrust a plastic wedge into Reid's mouth, to keep him from biting on his tongue, but also effectively shutting him up.

And Reid lay there, completely paralyzed, the plastic wedge uncomfortably pushing on his tongue, his eyes on the ceiling, ignored by his captors who were busy with their own agenda. He was cut out from the rest of the world and felt more alone than he had ever felt before.

His team was coming, he knew that, but though they might be in time to save his life, it wasn't likely that they would be able to save him from this. He wondered who he would be when they found him. What would the ECT do to him? Would they still recognize him as their friend? Would he still be able to work with them? Or would they look at him apologetically as they locked him up in another institution for the rest of his life? How long would it be before their visits became fewer and longer apart? How long would it be until he was just a memory of days gone? How long until he would sit alone, like his mother, who had once had a rich social life but was now only visited by her son? He was scared, more scared than he had ever been before. Thoughts were rushing through his head, and he was grateful that there was still a place in the world for his thoughts. He hoped there always would be, but what if he didn't even recognize himself after this? Maybe he would be so damaged he wouldn't remember how it used to be. In a way, that might be a blessing.

A while later Frank came back.

"All right," he said, rubbing his hands in glee. "Let's get this show on the road."

The EKG monitor was turned off, so it wouldn't cause interference, and the mystery drug was pushed into Reid's IV, before it too was disconnected so it wouldn't be pulled out during the seizures.

'This is it,' Reid thought bitterly as he said goodbye to the life he had known.

An electrical current suddenly pierced his head, making him scream in anguish, and then he knew no more.

He didn't see his body jerk involuntary, and he didn't see RJ turn the controls again and give him another shock, and another, and another, and another.

He didn't hear when the EKG machine was turned back on and blared out his erratic heartbeat.

He didn't see the electrodes on his scalp being replaced with electrodes for an EEG machine.

He didn't feel Dr. Lux drawing more blood from him.

He never noticed all the other tests that were done on him.

Reid floated around in a vacuum. It was like he existed in outer space. There was no light, but he didn't miss it. All there was, was his meager existence, though he didn't know who or what he was. He wasn't thinking, had no thoughts. Those weren't necessary. There was no pain here, no sorrow, no nothing. Could he stay here? He didn't want to leave, but there was something pulling at him and he reluctantly felt his safe haven dissolve around him.

Dr. Lux noted Reid's latest vitals in her chart and looked at her watch. The time was worrying her.

"I've got everything I need, RJ, how about you?"

"Just a minute, love."

"I'm not sure we have a minute. We need to get rid of him in good time before the shift change."

"Okay," RJ relented. "Let me just get one last vial of blood, I want to know how much of the drug that's still in him. I'm worried that it might be too long lasting. We need to make it move through the system faster to cut down on recovery time if we want to market it for out-patient treatments." He drew the blood and marked the time on the vial.

"Do you want to dilute it?" Dr. Lux asked, surprised.

"No, no, not at all. But I have ideas for changing the formula. There, I'm done, do your thing."

He moved away from Reid to give Dr. Lux the access she needed. She disconnected the EEG and EKG monitors and pulled the electrodes off him. With her hands still on his chest, she looked down on the table and for a moment she met Reid's eyes before they flickered away. Reid was conscious, and had been for some time now, but he was nowhere near lucid. His eyes were constantly moving and every now and then unarticulated mumbling could be heard, but he didn't react to or interact with anything or anyone. She felt no remorse about what she was about to do.

She slowly filled a syringe to the brim with a lethal substance. She tapped the syringe and pushed out the excessive air, more out of habit than anything else.

She pushed the needle into the IV port and had her finger on the plunger when a sudden commotion interrupted her.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, people filled the small lab to its brim, with loud shouts of "FBI," "Stay where you are," and "Put you hands behind your head."

Dr. Lux looked around her. Frank and RJ didn't stand a chance, there was nothing between them and the intruders, but she was on the other side of the table, literally holding Spencer's life, or death, in her hand.

They were circling her, their cool, measuring eyes evaluating her and her intentions.

"Stay where you are," she warned, "Don't come any closer." RJ and Frank had already been handed off to waiting deputies, Frank screaming crude obscenities the whole way. She had no interest in joining them. If everybody could just back off for a while, if they could just give her time to think.

"Don't do it, Cecilia, just put the syringe down." The night orderly, Derek with the soothing voice, watched her carefully over his gun, confusing her. What was he doing here?

Spencer's brother was moving up around the table, making her shift, grabbing the IV pole for balance. "He's right, let's not do any more damage here," he said seriously.

A brown-haired woman followed him around the table, they were coming closer and closer. She could feel her breath coming faster. They were trapping her.

"No. No I won't go. I'm doing good things here. You have to see that. I'm doing good things."

"No one is doubting that, Cecilia. I've seen your work, remember. I know how good you are, how good you've been to the patients here. But you need to put down the syringe," Derek said. She had always liked Derek. He was fun to work with, kept everyone's moods up when the night shifts felt long. She wavered, but she desperately wanted to keep control of the situation.

"What would be the difference? If you're here, then you obviously already know what I've done. One more body isn't going to change anything."

"Yes it does," Spencer's brother said. "All lives are counted and valued. Showing mercy now will grant you leniency. It's never too late."

"No," she said, calmly and coolly. "If I'm going down, I'm going down in style." With that she pushed the plunger, rapidly evacuating it of its content.

Suddenly she felt herself being pushed out of the way, into Spencer's brother's waiting arms. She spun around, furiously, and saw that the older man had snuck up on her from behind, and had now torn the IV line right out of Spencer's hand, making most of the toxin spill on the floor. He was already pressing hard on the wound that was bleeding profusely, but Spencer wouldn't suffer any more than a bruise. He wouldn't be any worse off, he would live. It had been her last challenge and she had failed.

She met the eyes of the older man. "You must be Gideon."

"I am."

"Well, he did warn me about you," she said as she felt the handcuffs being tightened around her wrists.

There were sounds around him. Voices maybe? Who was it? Who were they talking to? Faces floated in and out of his vision. He felt like he should know them. Their lips were moving. That must be the sounds he was hearing. What did they want? Was he supposed to do something? Maybe he had done something wrong. No, they didn't look mad. For some reason he felt a giggle in his throat. Mad, madder, maddest. Mad as a hatter, mad as a March hare, mad as a wet hen, mad as a bag of snakes, mad as a cow, mad as a box of frogs, mad as a box of mittens. Mad was bad, right. Another giggle. Mad was bad.

Suddenly he felt like he was floating. The ceiling rushed past him in a dizzying motion, lights burning in his eyes. Where was he? What was he doing here? Was he supposed to be here? He couldn't remember. He was too tired to remember. Then he saw stars. Pale stars on a pale morning sky. He smiled. Everything was all right then. Because what could possibly be wrong in a world blanketed by such a beautiful sky? He was so tired… He closed his eyes and let the stars guard him as he slept.

Reid was completely unresponsive, and that was frightening. There wasn't any kind of recognition in his eyes when they tried to talk to him. They wanted to comfort him, to support him, but he didn't even know they were there.

Elle and JJ had carefully removed the restraints and covered him with blankets as Morgan went up to direct the EMTs to the hidden room. Gideon kept trying to contact Reid, who suddenly started to giggle. He wondered what was going on inside that brilliant mind. He glared at the machine in the corner, now turned off and quiet, and wondered what damage it had done to his friend. He had known Reid to laugh and smile, but he had never heard him giggle before.

Gideon and Hotchner insisted on lifting him over on the stretcher themselves and as there was no immediate danger to their patient's life, the EMTs let them. Once again Reid was enclosed in restraints, but this time it was for his own safety. Gideon walked with the stretcher and saw Reid's eyes shift from lamp to lamp as he was rolled through the corridors. He looked confused and stressed, until they stepped out of the hospital. Suddenly a very serene look spread over his face and with a light smile he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Gideon wondered if he knew that he had finally left the institution.

Reid woke up slowly, feeling lightheaded and weak, his mind feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. His eyes opened a crack, leaving him staring into a blurry ceiling. He wearily turned his head to see the metal guardrail of a hospital bed. He must still be in the institution, still trapped in this unending nightmare. How odd that he didn't have the energy to really care. He closed his eyes again, no longer having a reason to stay awake.

Then a warm voice enveloped him, and he instinctively turned his head towards it, searching for the face that belonged to the voice. "Hey, Reid. Welcome back." It was Gideon. His face was soft and smiling, his voice low and soothing. "You're in a hospital. A real hospital, for broken bones and other bodily hurts. We got you out."

How fast things can change. A minute ago he didn't even care about his own faith, but now a sense of relief flooded over him. It was so powerful it was actually a physical sensation of warmth spreading through his limbs. A warm hand touched his cheek and Gideon's smile didn't waver. Reid unexpectedly felt tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, running down his temples. He couldn't help it, he didn't even feel like crying, but the pain and exhaustion of the last few weeks overtook him. A few minutes later his eyes fell together again on their own accord, and with Gideon's now wet hand on his cheek he fell into a healing sleep.

***

Epilogue

Reid slept the sleep of the exhausted for three days, only waking up sporadically every now and then, and never for longer than a couple of minutes. There was always a friend there to give him kind words and help him drink a little water before he drifted off again. But his sleep seemed troubled, he moved restlessly, with rapid eye movements and distorted mumbling. His team waited worriedly for him to come back to them, and just as they started to worry that he never would, he opened his eyes and showed awareness.

He had been moved to a Washington hospital that had a top neurological ward. All the doctors had been outraged on his behalf, over what their so-called collogues had done to him. Doctors were supposed to 'do no harm', and they made sure to take extra good care of Reid because of it.

Once he was properly awake he was subjected to numerous tests, but as it turned out he'd been rather lucky. The brain damage was minimal, he had only suffered from some minor memory loss. He'd forgotten everything after Hotchner left the hospital on Tuesday, and there were gaps in the days before. Of the happenings in the basement he had no concrete memories, only snatches of floating faces and unidentified sounds, nothing substantial. And from what his team had told him, he wondered if that wasn't for the best. His long-term memory seemed to be mostly intact. Morgan and Elle had taken to dropping old cases into their conversations and so far he'd remembered all but one. Perhaps the drug Lux and RJ had developed really worked like it was supposed to do, or maybe it had just been chance.

The biggest anomaly was that he couldn't remember his own clothes. Morgan had brought a bag from his apartment and Reid had thanked him for going out and buying new clothes. He didn't recognize a single item in the bag, and he couldn't fathom buying any of them for himself. He had fleetingly wondered if it was a prank, but the rest of the team had backed Morgan up, and the clothes did show signs of wearing.

But even though the tortuous experiences in the basement were forever erased from his mind, the rest of the month he'd spent in Berkview was still clear in his mind.

Physically he was fine. The bruises on his neck were becoming yellow-greenish splotches, but he wasn't troubled by his throat anymore. He also suffered from headaches. They would come unexpectedly, stay for a couple of minutes and then disappear just as quickly. The doctors assured him that they would go away. He'd also been ordered to gain the weight he had lost, and Morgan had promised him many nights out at all his favorite fast food places. That was another thing Reid had a problem with. He remembered eating all kinds of food, but he often couldn't recall if he'd liked it or not. And at the moment he was questioning almost everything he remembered anyway.

His team was relieved to have him back, to say the least, but he could see the guilt in their eyes and hear the pity in their voices and it was grating on his nerves. He wasn't interested in apologizes or promises that everything would be all right. He just wanted things to get back to normal, to they way they were before. A futile hope maybe, but still a hope. If they wanted to feel guilty, there was nothing he could do to stop them, but he didn't want to be burdened with it. They would have to talk it out amongst themselves, he couldn't help them, not right now. He kept himself slightly distanced from them. He was really happy to be with them again, but he wasn't comfortable in his own skin anymore, and the oddest things irritated him. Mostly he just wanted to be alone. His mind was the only company he wanted or needed. And it was keeping him very busy.

They were disappointed, he knew that. They wanted a happy reunion. They wanted to sneak in extra desserts and gossip about what had happened at the office when he'd been gone, but he didn't have the energy to let them in just yet. They respected that and though they still visited daily, they kept their visits short and their conversations light. Reid felt like he had to gain back some control in his life and get to know himself again before he could open himself up to other human relations again.

Reid wondered a lot about what would happen to the drug now. The finished product had been removed from the lab and was being kept as evidence, as were the notes Lux and RJ had made. But Reid was sure that somewhere down the line it would end up in the hands of scientists, who would want to see if it could really do what Lux had said it could. Though Reid hated the thought of developing a drug that facilitated ECT, and he hoped that whoever was entrusted with it would be more responsibility with it.

On the day Reid was released from the hospital, he told no one. He just left a message on Gideon's voice mail so they wouldn't go to the hospital looking for him. Then he took a taxi home. Putting the key in his apartment door made a victorious feeling run through his body. He was finally here!

He put his duffel bag on the floor and took off his jacket. Then he slowly walked through his apartment, reading the titles on the books in his bookshelves, touching little knick-knacks, pushing a picture frame back in place, refolding the afghan that hung over the back of the couch. His place. His things. Just like he'd left them. Just like he wanted them.

He turned up the thermostat, determined to never be cold in a t-shirt again. He then put on a CD, playing it loud. Music he'd chosen.

His plants were alive and there were hardly any dust. 'Elle,' he thought fondly.

He turned off the ringer on his phone and changed his outgoing message to say, "I'm fine, I'll call you in the morning." Then he turned off his cell phone. He wanted today to be his day.

He stood a long time in front of his closet, looking at all the unfamiliar garments, once again wondering if this was some kind of joke. How could he remember everything else in the apartment, and not recognize even a single pair of socks? It was so bizarre. He contemplated just throwing everything out and start from scratch, but he didn't want to feel conquered by his memory loss. Maybe if he wore them, he would remember them…

His cupboards and fridge were empty. He would have to go out shopping. That thought made him smile. He would go out, where there were mothers with strollers, aging couples walking hand in hand, stressed business men with cell phones glued to their ears, school children enjoying their afternoon freedom. He would walk among them and be normal. He wouldn't be a mental patient, a freak, an FBI agent or a genius. He would just be.

Yes, he would go to the library, the mall, the park, to McDonald's and the video store. All places that would be full of people who wouldn't think 'head case' when they looked at him.

Then he'd go to the grocery store and leisurely stroll through the aisles, taking in the colors, the smells and the tastes. He would be able to choose only the food he wanted to eat. The simple act of deciding what and when to eat, why hadn't he appreciated that before? Maybe he would eat ice cream and cookies for dinner tonight. He'd always wanted to do that when he was a kid, and who could stop him now?

Yes, the hollow, gnawing emptiness and insecurity inside him would be drowned in colors, sounds and sugar. Then he'd be happy again. Wouldn't he?

Something had awoken Gideon, but he didn't know what. He lay absolutely still in bed, trying to figure out what it had been. His clock radio told him it was 2.48 a.m. Then he heard it again, and was surprised he'd woken up in the first place.

The timid knock on his front door wouldn't have scared a canary.

He picked up his robe from the chair beside the bed and made his way to the front door. He didn't bother with the peephole, already knowing who would be on the other side.

"Come in, Reid," he said as he opened the door for the nervous young man, who raised his hand and stuttered a "Hi."

Gideon waved him in and walked before him into the living room, turning on lights as he went.

"Sit," he said, pointing to the couch. Reid did, looking every way except at him. Gideon sat down in an armchair, facing the younger man.

"Reid?" he said, imploringly.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," Reid said, looking down at the carpet.

"No you're not," Gideon said. "If you were you wouldn't have come."

Reid looked up sharply and stood up. "Oh… I'm sorry." He took two steps before Gideon halted him.

"I'm glad you did. Please, Reid, sit down."

Reid sank back into the soft cushions, resuming his scrutiny of the carpet. Gideon sighed. He would have to wait it out, it seemed.

"I won't offer you coffee, because, well, it's three in the morning. How about some tea?"

Reid nodded.

Gideon fixed the tea and went back into the living room, handing Reid a cup. They sat quiet for a long time, the tea still too hot to drink.

"So, how are you doing?" Gideon asked.

"I had a friend in high school." Reid sounded like he hadn't really heard what Gideon had said, and that he had just been waiting for something to help him start up a story he had long wanted to share.

"Or, I don't know if you could call us friends. It was more of a necessity thing, we were both equally ostracized, me because of my age and he, well he was just different. So whenever you had to choose a lab partner or something, we were the ones left over. I would go home with him every now and then, but I never liked it. His parents… they didn't hit him or anything, but they ignored him. There was always food in the house, but he had to cook for himself. He had to steal money from his mother's purse to buy clothes. They looked right through him, never talked to him. How can anyone do that to their own child? Justin, that was his name, it felt like he wasn't even a real person, he was just a shell that walked and talked. I remember thinking that I could never stand living like that, but… now I have.

"Did you know that schizophrenia comes from the Greek words schizo and phren, meaning shattered mind? I felt like that many times in the hospital, like my mind wasn't my own anymore. All day, every day, people told me I was insane. Maybe not in words, but in their actions, looks and the tone of their voices. The only one to say I was not, was me. And my voice was so small and soft compared to the others' that it was hard to hear.

"And the way I was treated… I've been treated in many different ways in my life, both good and bad, both with respect and contempt, but in there? It was like they couldn't fathom that I could have a soul or mind of my own. They thought they already knew everything worth knowing about me, so there was no point in listening to what I was saying. I was like a goldfish in a bowl. Interesting to look at for a few minutes every now and then, someone you talk to the same way you would talk to a plant, someone you feed dutifully, but when it dies you flush it down the toilet without remorse.

"We always see ourselves through the eyes of others, you know. If they love us, we believe we are worthy of love. If they despise us, we believe we are despicable. Can you imagine growing up in a house without love? Imagine how worthless you must feel. That's how I felt in there. No one in that building loved me or even liked me. No one respected me, no one cared for me or thought of me. I felt like I was starving, and I was only there for a little more than a month. After a while, I just went numb. What was the point of feeling anything anyway, if no one cared about it? Now I can't help but think of all those who've had to live that life, like Justin. The hospital was an emotional wasteland. I honestly didn't know if I'd survive it.

"I've never felt that before. Even if I was bullied at school and mostly ignored at college, there was always kindness around me, if only in the smile of a librarian or a waitress. But the hospital was so cold. There were smiles, but they were patronizing let's-humor-the-monster smiles. It was difficult to know… to remember the world outside. Sometimes I thought that that was just a dream, and that my life in the institution was reality."

"At first when Morgan came, it was a blessing, a reminder of the world outside," Reid went on. "But then his visits became a mockery, showing me what a life in freedom was and then… then I started to think that maybe he was just humoring me. That there really was no case, that I was a patient for real and that the case was just an illusion that you let me keep up to make me feel better. I mean, nothing was happening for a long time… But I guess Morgan already told you that."

"Yes, he did."

"It seems so surreal now. Why would I ever think something that stupid? Why would I think you would do that to me?"

"We fool ourselves if we think we can outthink ourselves," Gideon said. "Self-control of the mind is a noble but unrealistic goal. There are parts of our brains and paths of our minds that are impossible to govern or control. The trick is to be aware of those parts, and learn when to and when not to listen to them… I'm sorry we didn't see how bad it was. I'm sorry we weren't there for you." Gideon said.

"I never asked for your help did I?"

Some time during his monologue, Reid had taken off his shoes and curled up on the sofa. He couldn't get out of the habit of always making himself as small as possible when he felt someone else's attention on him. He kept spinning the tea mug round and round in his hands, his ring finger playing on the brim. It gave him an excuse to keep his head down and not look at Gideon, who was watching his every move with interest.

It was obvious that Reid had thought a lot about his experiences, and had waited a long time to be able to voice his analysis of them to someone. He had had a lot to tell and had therefore been speaking hurriedly, jumping from topic to topic, and yet somehow he had tied them all together. Gideon felt honored that he was the one to be allowed inside Reid's defense walls.

"You know, I'm actually kind of grateful to John for trying to strangle me. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been in the infirmary that night and I would never have discovered where they went or who was in on it. I would have still been in there, wondering what was real and what wasn't."

"Was it difficult? To keep up appearances all the time, I mean."

"Oh, it was easy to fool the doctors. The hard part was trying to fool the other patients."

There was another long pause, but Gideon was nothing if not patient.

"My mom is sick, you know," Reid said suddenly.

"I know."

"No, I mean really sick. As in will never get better, only worse. As in will never be able to take care of herself and always be dependent on others. As in will never get to decide what is done to her body or what medications to take. She has no control over her own life. Sometimes she realizes that, sometimes she doesn't, sometimes she…" He lost his momentum, and had to take a deep breath to get his next worry out.

"Schizophrenia is hereditary, you know."

"I know."

"It's common for schizophrenics to have above average IQ, you know."

"I know."

"I'm at the prime age for it to start manifesting, you know."

"I know."

"The odds are against me."

"That doesn't mean that you'll get sick, Reid."

"Doesn't mean I won't either. I mean, why should I be so lucky?... Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wonder if this will be the day when the symptoms start showing. Not often, but sometimes. Sometimes I come home and start second guessing the things I've said and done during the day. Were they normal decisions? Were they rational? Or did they come from a sick man?"

He was quiet for a while, his finger moving round and round the rim of the teacup, in a hypnotic motion. Then he said,

"It's a real, constant fear. It's like being in remission from cancer. You live your life as normal as you can, but deep inside you feel like a ticking time bomb, you're constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Six months, a year, ten years, never… You just never know."

He looked up real quick, just to see if Gideon was looking at him.

"I have a favor to ask, Gideon. I have an appointment with an attorney tomorrow to draw up a living will. I need someone to be my power of attorney. Would you?"

"Of course."

"I understand if you wouldn't want to. I mean, it's a huge responsibility. It's a life-long disease, after all. But even if I don't get sick, it's probably a good idea for me to have a POA since I don't have any family who can make medical decisions for me if I get shot and need surgery or something. Also…"

"Reid," Gideon interrupted him. "I said yes."

Reid looked up at him, finally smiling.

"Oh… Thank you. I…um…I've got money set aside on a special account if I need long-time care and I've been looking at some private facilities in the area that seem to be good, so you don't have to worry about that. I… thank you."

"You're welcome. But… wouldn't you want to stay with your mother?"

"No, I couldn't do that to her. She'd be devastated and blame herself... Family trait, I know." He smiled shyly. "But no, I don't want to ruin the few good days she has. I… I hope you don't think I'm morbid for doing all these things."

"Absolutely not. You're just being cautious. That's good. But Reid…"

"Don't let it govern my life, I know."

"Right. Don't let it keep you from anything you want to do, don't miss out on great chances and opportunities because of it. If it comes, it comes, but don't start living like you're sick until you actually are. Don't let it rob you of the life you might have had."

"So I'm just supposed to sit back and wait and see?" There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Wait and see? Yes. Isn't that how life mostly works? You wait to get older, you wait for the right one, you wait for your children to be born and grow up, you wait for retirement, grandchildren… death. And in between all this waiting, you live your life such as you chose it to be. So for the 'sit back', that's up to you. Because it's what you do while you wait that matters."

"I… I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Gideon. For listening and for… well everything really."

"Any time, kid. More tea?"

"Please," Reid said, holding the cup out to him.

It took Gideon a couple of minutes to fix the tea, and when he came back into the living room he found Reid asleep on the couch, just as he'd known he would be.

He smiled fondly and fetched a blanket, spreading it out over his friend. He enjoyed seeing his face in sleep, for once without a frown. Then he became serious again. He wondered how long it would be before Reid once again felt safe, how long it would be before he could bring himself to trust his surroundings. How long it would be before he could once again trust himself.

And he wondered if they would be allowed to keep him or if they would one day lose him forever to the unforgivable disease he dreaded so much.

"Sleep well," he whispered, turning off all lights and heading back to bed.

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one.

Albert Einstein

THE END

Author's Notes: The part of Reid forgetting his clothes is actually inspired from real life. There really was a woman who after ECT couldn't remember her own clothing and demanded to know who had put the unfamiliar dresses in her closet. There are also records of persons forgetting how to cook familiar dishes and on a sadder note, those who have forgotten their own children.

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