It's quiet, he notices.
Tik…tok…tik…tok…~
He frowns as he looks around and sees a room he isn't familiar with. It gives off a vintage sort of feeling. Plain wooden walls, with a few photos of people and places he doesn't know hanging on perfect little hangers. He turns his head around and nearly yelps as he comes face to face with the head of a moose hung on the wall. He's always found those things so eerie- just hanging there off the wall watching him. Shivering slightly, he turns away from the dead animal to continue his search for clues to tell him where exactly he is. Though everything else is fairly normal- A stone fireplace, a desk with a few papers and pens that seem to have no relevance because if he were to look a bit closer they would be blank, and one of those old rocking chairs he'd imagined seeing in poems like 'The Raven' and he could almost picture the old man curled up with his knees to his chest fervently trying to keep that knock knock knocking out of his head or he would surely go mad. But there's no one there, and he's once again left alone to ponder.
Quoth the Raven
Nevermore
He realized he wasn't going to find anything out from his place seated on the old dusty rug, so he slowly brought himself to his feet, his knees nearly buckling because he didn't realize just how numb they had gotten. How long had he been sitting there?
"Reid!"
A very long time.
His gaze snapped down to the floor as he heard the soft clatter of something falling. After seconds he managed to locate the source of the noise and his breath hitched. It was a knife. A butcher's knife, long and jagged with a deadly gleam. It was drenched in blood, slowly dripping off the pointed tip and falling to the ground in little droplets that splattered in an almost artistic way leaving stains on the floor.
Who's blood was it?
You should know.
"Reid, come on, put the knife down!"
He strains to keep his eyes open, but he snaps them closed as a wave of nausea sweeps over him, and his head throbs painfully. His head hurts. He feels sick. He just wants to sleep. Where is he?
Where's his team?
You know where they are.
"Reid, please!"
Bright. It's too bright in here. Even though there's nothing but the dim glow of the fireplace- It's too god damn bright!
It's not even that bright, is it? You know that.
"No! Stop it Reid!"
Voices, lots of voices. Where are they coming from! His hands are over his ears now, eyes screwed shut as his teeth grid together, his frame trembling and threatening to crash to the floor. It's too bright! It's too loud! It smells bad!-
That smell, it's very familiar to him. He knows he's smelt it a hundred different times and he can barely stop smelling it because no matter what it seems to soak into his clothes like cigarette smoke and no matter where he goes and no matter how hard he scrubs the smell follows.
Blood.
Why does he smell blood?
Do you really have to ask? For a genius you're kind of stupid, aren't you?
Who are you?
You should know.
I don't know.
You do know.
But I don't.
I killed them.
Killed who?
We both did?
Who did you kill.
We both killed them.
Who did WE kill?
You already know.
But I don't.
Just think.
A woman's scream.
What…?
Blood splatter everywhere.
Wait…
Gun fire.
It was fun, wasn't it?
A man yells out.
No way…
A badge clatters to the floor.
Fbi?
You're an FBI agent, aren't you Spencer?
Am I?
You killed them.
Killed who?
Your team.
Did I?
Wasn't it fun?
Yeah, it was fun.
And then he woke up.